Mayor of Macon's Point Read online

  “Yes, well,” Annie began, not sure what to make of this. He had postponed the auction, not called it off. But postponing was a start, at least. “Thank you, Jack. I have to say I really hope you’ll see something that will make you change your mind.”

  “I know,” he said, and here his voice changed notes. Was that regret she heard? “I’ll be in touch.”

  Annie sat there with the phone in her hand until a recording came on and asked her to please hang up and try her party again.

  She punched the off button and dropped the cordless onto her desk. Okay. So something must have happened at the picnic yesterday. Something significant enough to get him to take a closer look. At least they were moving in the right direction. Patience, then, Annie. A change of heart was a change of heart, whether it happened in one giant leap or a hundred baby steps.

  * * *

  ON FRIDAY AFTERNOON, Annie left work a little earlier than usual, resolving to keep her mayor’s hat at the office. For tonight, she was simply a mother hosting a sleepover for her son and five of his friends.

  At Macon’s Point Elementary, Annie got in line and waited her turn around the circle where the children were picked up. The school had been built in the late forties, a two-story brick building with tall white-paned windows. Boxwoods curved around the sides, more than a half century old. The building had the old-fashioned charm not found in many modern structures, and Annie loved it.

  She spotted Tommy sixth or seventh back from the front, and as usual, her heart ka-thumped its gladness. It had taken a while for her to get used to him being in school every day. She’d missed him so much the first couple of months that she would drive out at recess time just to look at him on the playground. Of course, she never let him know this. He’d gotten a very early case of I’m-not-a-baby-anymore-Mama, so she tried hard not to dote on him.

  He climbed into the Tahoe now with a grin on his face just about half as wide as he was tall.

  Annie smiled at him. “Excited?”

  Tommy nodded. “Did you get the stuff?”

  She reached over, gave him a kiss on the head. “Yep. Bought Patterson’s out of every cap gun and feather headdress they had.”

  “All right!” Tommy shot a fist in the air.

  Annie grinned. She couldn’t help it. Her child’s happiness was to her a gift in itself. She’d always felt the need to be careful of spoiling him. He was an only child; it would have been easy to do. But so far she’d seen no evidence of that, his joy at some of life’s simple good things still pure in the way she remembered feeling as a little girl. And yes, she couldn’t deny her own sense of needing to make up for the hurt J.D. had caused him.

  She braked at the end of the circle, waved a couple of school buses past, then pulled out onto Hickory Street and handed Tommy a carton of his favorite fruit juice.

  “Thanks, Mama,” he said and took a long gulp. “Will Aunt Clarice be there tonight?”

  “Later,” Annie said. “She called this afternoon and said she had to run up to Lexington to cover a story.”

  Tommy nodded. “Do you think it’ll be there when we get home?”

  “What’s that, doodlebug?”

  “My present from Daddy.”

  Annie’s grip tightened on the wheel. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “I bet it will,” Tommy said, hope in his voice. “What do you think it’ll be?”

  “A new glove maybe?” Annie played the game while pure fury churned inside her. Tommy had checked the mailbox every afternoon for the past week. Nothing J.D. had ever done—and he’d done a lot of things during their marriage—had infuriated her the way his cavalier treatment of their son’s feelings did. She was long past over his betrayal of her, had planted a sign that read GOOD RIDDANCE! in her heart’s front yard and was even glad now to be on her own. It had taken some time to admit it, but she’d spent most of her marriage to J.D. weighed down by the feeling that he was just waiting for something better to come along. That she would do until then.

  Something better had—at least in his eyes. And she was over that. Really, she was. But at moments like this, when she could hear the hurt in her son’s voice, see it in the visible struggle on his face, she wished for the power—even if it was just for one day—to make J.D. feel the same kind of pain he was causing their son.

  CHAPTER SIX

  HE SHOULD HAVE CALLED first. What if she wasn’t home? What if she had company? A date?

  This was a bad idea, Jack. One of your recent worst.

  True, he was anxious to talk to her. True, he did have something for Tommy.

  But both could be accomplished later, after he’d called first.

  Just as he was negotiating a U-turn, the sign for her road popped up on the left. Apple Tree Lane. Just as Essie had described in the directions she’d given him a short while ago.

  So he was here. Might as well see if she was at home.

  Jack wasn’t sure what kind of house he’d expected Annie to live in, but it wasn’t the one he found at the end of the gravel road deep in the heart of Langor County. He’d had her figured for a city girl, and yet the big white farmhouse said differently. The house was old, the kind with character that couldn’t be built into a new house. Green shutters bracketed the windows. Flower boxes beneath each one held profusions of red geraniums, refusing to give in to fall. A porch ran the width of the house, terra-cotta flowerpots holding what looked like a collection of cooking herbs.

  Jack followed the circular driveway and parked his car beneath a tall old maple tree. He got out, his feet leading him up the flagstone sidewalk to the front door, where he stopped in midknock. Sounded as if somebody was having a party in there. He threw a glance back at the driveway. Annie’s car was the only other one here.

  His knock was tentative. When no one came, he knocked again. Footsteps sounded from inside, hurried, thwap, thwap, thwap, and then the door flew open.

  And there stood Annie McCabe in full Native American regalia—pink, yellow and red feather headband, paint slashes on each cheek, a doe-colored leather dress with beading down the front. Looking just a shade chagrined.

  “It’s Tommy’s rule,” she said. “If you come to his birthday party, you have to dress up.”

  “Good one,” he said, pointing at her costume.

  “I passed muster, anyway.”

  Jack took a step back. “Look, I just stopped by to ask you a few questions. I’ll call in the morning. Tomorrow.”

  “Oh, no,” she said, taking him by the arm and tugging him through the front door. “That’s the other rule. Once you’re here, you have to stay. Wait. Don’t go anywhere.”

  Jack did as he was told while Annie disappeared in the direction of what sounded like a giant cowboys-and-Indians battle. Whoops and hollers echoed out from the back of the house, the seriousness of the injuries denounced by a leavening dose of giggles.

  The house smelled of just-baked cookies, fresh lemons. The foyer gave indication of its personality: a long wooden table sat against one wall, a walnut hutch against another. An old oil painting hung on the staircase wall.

  Annie was back, carrying two things: a ten-gallon hat just about the size of the sofa in the living room behind her and a fake handlebar mustache.

  She held them both out to him and said, “These should fit.”

  Jack laughed, surprising himself. The past few days hadn’t given him much to laugh about. He took the offerings, lowered the hat on his head like a crane placing a house in a new location and stuck the mustache on his upper lip.

  This time it was Annie who laughed, a good long laugh that rose up from somewhere deep and left tears streaming through her war paint.

  “You look...” She broke off, again overcome. Finally, touching a hand to her side, she said, “Like Hoss Cartwright.”

  “With a fake mustache.”

  She nodded, pressed her lips together. But still, her eyes danced. And he found himself glad that he’d been the one to put that look there.

>   “Come on,” she said and tipped her head toward the battle being waged somewhere in the direction of her backyard.

  They followed a hallway that led through what was obviously a family room. He had a quick impression of a couple of comfortable-looking leather couches, framed photos of Tommy from a baby onward atop a round mahogany table. They stepped through a set of French doors into a huge yard enclosed with a white picket fence. Here the cowboys and Indians, six or seven boys altogether, were waging the battle he’d heard from the foyer. At the sidelines stood an enormous dog, chocolate-cake Cyrus, no doubt, which had been decked out in a Pony Express costume, leather saddlebags hanging from either side.

  “Mr. Corbin!” Tommy spotted them and came running across the yard. His spurs jangled behind pointy-toed cowboy boots, and from the holster at his side hung a neon-green plastic water gun.

  “Looks like it’s been a wet battle,” Jack said.

  Tommy grinned, and Jack saw on his face happiness, pure and real. “Isn’t this a great party?”

  “About the best I’ve ever seen. Your mom do all this?”

  Tommy nodded. “She’s pretty cool, huh?”

  “I’ll say,” Jack said, glancing at Annie, who looked pleased by her son’s compliment.

  “Whose team do you wanna be on, Mr. Corbin?”

  “Call me Jack, and how about I take turns to keep it fair?”

  “Okay!” Tommy grabbed his hand and tugged him into the fray. “But either way, you’re gonna get wet!”

  * * *

  WATCHING FROM THE SIDELINES, something deep inside Annie ached for the fact that Tommy’s own father would never in a million years have been out there in the middle of what to this group of boys was heaven on earth.

  How had she managed to pick a man as a husband who couldn’t get past entertaining himself long enough to even think about entertaining a child?

  It was a question she’d asked herself many times and the main foundation of her own lack of confidence in her ability to choose more wisely next time. What guarantee was there that she would do better?

  Jack, drenched to the skin, was now taking a relieved-looking Cyrus’s place as packhorse, one boy on his back, Tommy on his shoulders. When they squeezed with their legs, he responded with an appropriate gait, his tall hat bumping Tommy in the nose when he broke into a gallop, sending all the boys into a fit of giggles.

  This went on for fifteen or twenty minutes until Jack finally collapsed onto the grass and declared exhaustion. Leaving them there, Annie slipped into the house and pulled Tommy’s new cake from its hiding place. She positioned seven candles around its perimeter, set it in the middle of the kitchen table, then stuck her head out the door off the back of the kitchen. “Everybody, come on so we can sing ‘Happy Birthday’ and Tommy can make his wish.”

  They came in a thunder of footsteps, crowding around the table and offering up exclamations of delight for the three-tiered cake before them.

  Lagging behind was Jack, still wearing his hat and a now-limp mustache. He met her gaze, smiled and held the look for just a second too long to be deemed casual, long enough to knock her pulse up a beat or two.

  And there was something on his face— Annie couldn’t quite decide what it was, but it was at least akin to contentment. The notion that this visit to her house had brought about that look was somehow pleasing to her. Lit a spot deep inside her that had once known how to be a woman in a man’s presence. Oh, she wasn’t kidding herself—he’d been outside roughhousing with a herd of very exuberant boys, a hero in their midst. Still...

  She chopped the thought off right there, whirled around and got busy lighting Tommy’s candles, giving herself a good scolding in the process. What in the world are you thinking, Annie McCabe? Talk about jumping from the frying pan into the fire! So maybe J.D. wouldn’t have thrown himself out in the middle of those boys, but as far as Annie could tell, Jack lived his life with a great big sign that read GLAD TO BE SINGLE on his back. And that was fine. Nothing wrong with it. Especially when a man was up-front about it. Which J.D. had not been.

  She’d realized at some point along the journey to divorce that he had never really wanted to be married. She’d been a convenience. Like the mini-mart just around the corner where a person could dash in when they ran out of eggs. Someone to keep his clothes washed, his meals on the table... And the worst part? She’d let him treat her that way! Doormat Annie.

  “That’s some cake,” Jack said, interrupting her silent lecture. “Did you make it?”

  Annie turned, met his complimentary gaze and nodded. “Actually, twice. Once for Cyrus. And another for Tommy.”

  Jack smiled. “I can see why he couldn’t resist. How do you find time to be such a good mother and mayor of Macon’s Point?”

  The compliment startled Annie and then sent a trickle of warmth down her center. “I love my son. Doing things for him isn’t work. It’s a part of my life I wouldn’t trade for anything.”

  “He’s a lucky boy.”

  Annie dipped her chin, brushed a nonexistent speck from her dress. “Thank you.”

  “Mama, can I blow them out now? I know what my wish is!” Tommy had taken the chair at the head of the table and was itching to get on with the tradition.

  “Sure. Let’s light them up.” Annie pulled a pack of matches from the pocket of her dress.

  “Want me to do that?” Jack offered.

  “Okay, just don’t catch your mustache on fire,” she said.

  They both laughed then, and the moment had a familiarity to it that defied explanation. Undeniable, though, this tug of emotion deep inside her. No, Annie. Not this one. Not this time.

  One of the boys started “Happy Birthday” and they all joined in, Jack surprising her with a very on-key rendition. When they’d finished, she grabbed her camera from the kitchen counter, positioned herself at the other end of the table. “Okay, ready, set.”

  Tommy drew in a big gulp of air, fanned out the candle flames on top of his cake in a single blow. Everyone cheered.

  “Presents or cake first?” Annie asked Tommy.

  “Presents!” he said. All the other boys clapped their agreement.

  Annie looked at Jack. “As if I needed to ask that question.”

  She handed Tommy the first one, and he tore into it with the excitement of having waited three hundred sixty-five days for this moment. And Annie was proud to say that he showed equal enthusiasm and appreciation for each of the gifts from his friends, giving them all a “Wow! Thank you!” that made her beam a little inside. It was a lesson she had tried hard to teach him, the meaning of a gift, and that in addition to the present itself, it meant that another person had taken the time to pick out something they thought would be special to him.

  “He’s a good boy, Annie,” Jack said in a low voice by her side. “You must be really proud of him.”

  “I am,” she said. And even though he had no way of knowing it, there wasn’t a compliment in the world that would have meant more to Annie.

  Tommy had opened the last of his gifts. “Boy, was that great!” he said.

  “That’s a lot of good stuff,” Annie said.

  Jack dipped his head close to Annie. “I have a little something for Tommy. Kind of a coincidence, but do you mind if I give it to him now?”

  “Of course not,” she said, surprised.

  Jack reached into his back pocket for his wallet. He opened it, pulled something out, then stepped forward and handed it to Tommy. “I did a little digging around the attic and found this. I’d like for you to have it.”

  Tommy took it, stared at it for several seconds, his eyes wide. “It’s your Hank Aaron card.”

  “Yep. It’s yours.”

  “Wow. Thanks, Jack!”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Jack, that’s an unbelievable gift,” Annie said, not sure what to say.

  “When I was a boy, I thought so, too. And I had a pretty good idea it would mean as much to Tommy now as it did
to me then.”

  Annie swallowed, but a lump of sorts had settled in her throat and made her eyes water. “Thank you,” she said again and then busied herself with cutting the cake and getting each of the boys a slice. All the while thinking about the look on Tommy’s face when they’d gotten home that afternoon and the mailman had failed yet again to deliver a birthday present from his father.

  * * *

  “THAT’S THE BEST CAKE I’ve ever eaten in my life,” Jack said, and not a single word of it was flattery. It really was. Each layer had been topped with what looked like an inch of cream-cheese icing, every bite melting in his mouth. “Did you go to cooking school or something, Annie?”

  She laughed, flattered in spite of the common-sense flag that had all but folded itself up at his words. “Self-taught.”

  Jack shook his head and aimed his fork at another bite. “Unbelievable.”

  The doorbell rang. “I promise we’re going to get around to the reason you came over in the first place,” she said. “Let me just go get this.”

  “I’m not exactly suffering,” he said. Most of the women he knew were on a first-name basis with Sara Lee, as in frozen goods, not Betty Crocker, as in cookbooks. He stretched for one last glimpse before she disappeared down the hallway. Don’t go there, Jack.

  The kind of woman he normally dated had no interest in home and hearth. That was deliberate on his part. He liked women who had their own plans for the future, and they didn’t include settling down and turning in their laptops for aprons. It was just a lot less complicated when both parties expected the same thing going in.

  Jack had long ago decided he wasn’t the marrying type. Life worked just fine without it. A man who lived the way he lived had no need for permanence of any sort.

  So what are you doing in Annie’s kitchen thinking what a great chocolate cake she makes and how good she looks in that dress?

  “Jack! What a nice surprise!”

  Annie’s sister, Clarice, led the way back into the kitchen. He caught her curious expression and said, “I’m afraid I interrupted Tommy’s birthday party.”

  “Nice hat,” she said, her smile dimming a little.