Antiques Knock-Off (5 page)

I just shrugged and said my good-byes, thinking about how a fling with an old flame at my high school ten-year reunion had ended a marriage.

Mine.

By eight that evening, I had left Peggy Sue’s and was heading for Tina and Kevin’s house. I felt it was time to bring them into the mix, not wanting my BFF and her husband to hear Connie’s scuttlebutt from any scuttle but me.

The couple lived just north of town in a white ranchstyle house on a bluff overlooking the mighty Mississippi. I had cell-phoned ahead to make sure they were home, keeping my voice calm and friendly, because with me in the last trimester, they had become very jumpy expectant parents.

All I had to do was call and say, “Hi,” and I got, “Are you all right? Brandy, is everything all right? We’re on our way! Don’t panic! Everything will be fine!” (I didn’t specify whether that was more likely to be Tina or Kevin, because it could have been either.)

The setting sun was sending brilliant pink rays darting through the trees as I tooled along the two-lane blacktop to their house, where I found Tina and Kevin sitting on the porch in matching white wicker rockers. As I pulled in, they stood and moved in tandem to the edge of the porch, Kevin slipping an arm around Tina.

Teen was a year older than me, slender, with natural blond hair and blue eyes. We had become BFF’s in high school, when some snooty senior girls were picking on her in the hallway, and I came around the corner and tore them all a new one.
(Editor: Can I say that?)
We had a fun year together at community college, then I escaped home (and Mother) by marrying a hunky thirty-year-old investment banker named Roger, and moving to a suburban utopia near Chicago. Meanwhile, Tina snagged Kevin and stayed put in Serenity, working at the tourism department, while her hubby sold pharmaceuticals. Now they were both awaiting the arrival of a much-wanted baby.

I got out of the Buick, then headed up the walk.

“What’s up, girlfriend?” Tina asked. Her voice was perky, but she tried a little too hard. She looked younger than her early thirties, cute in her white cut-off jeans and floral cami, her feet bare, toes painted a sparkly pink.

“Everything okay?” Kevin chimed in. He was a handsome devil in khaki shorts and a plain white T, his somewhat unruly sandy hair lightened by the summer sun.

What hung in the air was the unspoken “…
with the baby?”

I said, “I’m feeling great and the baby is fine,” as I headed for one of the rockers to sit down. “I just wanted
to share some news with you two, before it got around town.”

“What is your Mother spreading
now?”
Tina asked, taking the other rocker.

Kevin stretched out on the top step, his back against the railing post, head turned toward me.

“This is one slice of gossip Mother isn’t likely to serve up,” I said.

“Nothing terrible, I hope,” Tina said.

I took a moment to settle into the rocker. “Kind of hard to qualify it, actually. Really … pretty bad, I guess.”

Tina’s smiled faded as she sat forward. “What is it, honey?”

Suddenly I had a crushing sensation in my chest and couldn’t breathe.

I started making horrible, gasping sounds, and Kevin jumped up and grabbed me as I fell onto my knees, fighting for air.

“Call 911!” he shouted to Tina.

But a self-composed Tina said, “No. This isn’t the baby. Brandy’s having a panic attack—she’s had them before. I know what to do.”

My friend knelt beside me, one arm around my shoulders, and as I continued to gasp, she commanded, “Breathe slower … not so fast … that’s right … slower still … now deeper.” Then, soothingly, “You’re not going to die, sweetie … you’ll be all right … nothing’s going to happen.”

As quickly as the attack came, it went, leaving me exhausted.

And frightened.

Would it happen again? And what if I was alone? Who would talk me down from the ledge? And what if I was behind the wheel of my car?

Tina helped me back into the rocker while Kevin hurried off to fetch some water.

“I’m all right,” I managed.

Tina held out her arms and smiled goofily. “Will you look at my hands—I’m
shaking!”

“Me, too.”

We both started to laugh. Our laughter was relieved and had just the tiniest hint of hysteria.

Frowning, Kevin returned with a glass of water. “I didn’t realize it was funny,” he said with a tentative smile, handing me the drink. He looked a little shook up himself.

I took a sip, then said, “Haven’t had one of
those
for a long time. The Prozac must have kept ‘em at bay.”

Tina settled at my feet, crossing her legs, Indian-style. “Maybe you should go back on the Prozac,” she suggested gently.

I shook my head. “I don’t want anything to hurt your baby.”

Kevin, having settled back on the porch step, said softly, “Maybe it would be
best
for the baby….”

I waved a dismissive hand. “I had a panic attack because of this damn hot weather.”

They were both looking at me suspiciously.

“And, well … there could be
another
reason. I suppose it could be because of what I came here to tell you.”

Tina and Kevin waited patiently, their eyes clouded with concern, while I collected my thoughts.

“About nine months ago,” I began, “I received an anonymous letter in the mail….”

I went over the poison-pen soap opera of the past six months, including the content of the letters right down to my parentage, and ending with that morning’s episode—Mother’s scuffle with Connie in the clock shop.

My friends looked stunned.

Teen said, “I can hardly believe it! All this time, and Peggy Sue never
told
you?”

“And what about
Senator Clark?”
Kevin put in, spitting
the name out like it was something foul. “You can’t tell me he didn’t know—and here I
voted
for that bum!”

I let them go on for a while, watching their shock turn to indignation and then came the inevitable hurt from Tina.

“Brandy,” my best friend asked plaintively, “why didn’t you tell me sooner? Why didn’t you trust me with this? You must have been suffering.”

It was a valid question; we never kept
anything
from each other.

I locked eyes with her. “I don’t know, Teen. I guess I just hoped the whole thing would go away like a bad dream.” I gave her a chagrined smirk. “Anyway, I didn’t suffer that much—remember, I was on Prozac through most of it.”

Tina nodded, her expression forgiving. “I understand. Coming here tonight? That
had
to be difficult.”

Kevin asked, “Who all knows about this?”

“Peggy Sue, Mother, Senator Clark I’m pretty sure, and now you two…. And the instigator, of course—Connie Grimes herself. Wicked Witch of the … which one had the house fall on her again?”

Teen touched my knee. “You’re
sure
the letters came from her?”

I nodded. “She as much as admitted it.”

Kevin looked out across the lawn, where darkness had crept in. “There must be a way to stop her.”

I slapped at a mosquito. “I don’t think there is one—that woman is hell-bent for leather to ruin us.”

Tina was getting to her feet. “What does that mean, anyway … ‘hell-bent for leather’?”

I stood with a sigh. “Don’t know … but it fits her to a T.” Another expression I didn’t understand. “I should go.”

Kevin rose, kissed me on the cheek, then retreated inside, giving us girls some privacy.

“Why don’t you let me drive you home?” Tina asked as we made our way down the porch steps. “Kev can follow in his car.”

“No, honey. I’ll be fine. Honestly.”

Our conversation was accompanied by a chorus of cicadas and crickets.

Tina said, “Brandy, I
am
worried about you having another panic attack. Won’t you please consider going back on—”

“Look, we’ve been over that. Nothing but aspirin.” We were at my car now. “But I will go see my therapist, and talk to her about this latest attack.”

“Promise?”

I smiled. “Girl Scout’s honor.”

She gave me a hug, then held me by my forearms, her eyes painfully earnest. “You know there isn’t
anything
I wouldn’t do for you. Kevin, too. We both love you.”

I touched her cheek. “I know. Please don’t worry. As somebody much smarter than me once said, ‘This too shall pass.’ “I opened the car door. “And after all, I’m not the real victim in this—it’s Peggy Sue and Mother who will have to face what’s to come.”

Tina shuddered. “And your sister so values the opinions of others.”

“Tell me about it. And Mother hates being on the wrong end of gossip….”

That got a little laugh out of Teen, and I got in my car, backed out of the drive. I watched her in my rearview mirror, still standing in the driveway, smaller and smaller until the darkness swallowed her.

What
was
to come?

Mother ridiculed.

Sis ostracized.

And me caught in the middle.

The next morning I slept in later than usual, and when I finally made it downstairs there was a note from Mother taped to the coffee machine (I would not give
that
up for
any
baby) saying she had taken the gas-driven trolley downtown to do some personal business (i.e., snooping).

This gave me the privacy I needed to get Connie Grimes on the phone. The conversation was fairly brief.

“I’d like to come and talk to you,” I said.

“Talk to my lawyer. Violate that restraining order at your own risk.”

“I’ll only stop by if you give me permission.”

“Why should I? I can tell you right now what my plans are—I’m going to have your mother arrested, and that little dog of yours put down. For attacking me.”

Getting Mother arrested was one thing, but threatening to have Sushi put to sleep? I felt my face flush and I had to tell myself this was just Connie blustering—after all, a day had passed, and neither the police nor animal control had shown up at our door….

So I took a deep breath, let it out, and replaced my fear and anger with a gently ribbing tone.

“Ah, come on, Con—imagine the fun you’ll have … me, groveling at your feet? You really want your attorney to be the one who hears me beg for mercy?”

Long pause. “All right. Come at noon…. I’ll be at bridge club until then.”

After tending to Sushi—breakfast followed by a shot of insulin and the obligatory payoff of a treat—I decided to forgo my shower, and put on a pair of sloppy maternity shorts and an oversized gray T-shirt. Figured I might as well look
really
pathetic, as I pleaded with Connie to undeclare her war against us.

By now Soosh had figured out I was heading somewhere, and was dancing at my feet, unaware that Connie Grimes wanted to see her take a very long doggie nap.

So I scooped her up, saying, “You have an apology to make, girl, and are going to be on your bestest, and cutest, behavior!”

She cocked her head in “huh” fashion, but willingly allowed herself to be stuffed into my front carry-on.

Full disclosure:
I entertained only the slightest hope of Connie backing off. What seemed more likely was that my hostess would verbally reveal herself in all her vengeful glory …

… in which case, I would capture her misbehavior on a small tape recorder hidden in a pocket of my spacious shorts.

The Borne girls weren’t the only ones in Serenity who could have their reputations ruined.

Would you think less of me (or is that
even
less?) if I were to type the following:
Heh heh heh….

At eleven-thirty, under a sunny sky for such dark skulduggery, I headed out to my Buick. For the ride over, I had move Sushi from my baby pouch to the rider’s seat, where she stood at the window and, paws just reaching the glass, stared out fascinated at a world gliding by that she could probably only discern as the vaguest blur.

This was a little early to be leaving for my noon appointment, but I thought Sushi and I would sit in Connie’s drive and devise our strategy—come up with things I could say that would
really
set my reluctant hostess off. (I was not counting on much strategic input from Soosh.)

The witch (with a b) lived across town in a subdivision designated Hidden Pines, despite the developer having chopped down all the pine trees to make way for the houses. Those pines were
really
hidden. For much of the 1980s, Hidden Pines had been
the
place to live for the well-heeled of Serenity; but time marches on, and so do subdivisions, one new one coming after the other, each making the former seem less fashionable.

Not that HP wasn’t still nice. But it was filled with split-level homes that had long since gone out of style, and with good reason: who wants to walk up a bunch of steps to their house, then be confronted with more steps inside? Especially if you’re loaded down with groceries.

Connie’s home was at the end of a cul-de-sac, white with gray shutters and a green-tiled roof. The manicured lawn was tastefully studded with fruit trees and a couple of colorful flower beds. But a stone bubbling fountain to one side of the front entrance seemed too grand for the mid-price-range home, a tip-off to Connie’s higher aspirations.

I frankly didn’t know much about the woman’s family. Just that Connie’s husband, Fred, worked at a luxury car dealership, and that her two married boys lived at opposite ends of the country, as far away from her as they could get, without falling in an ocean.

We were sitting in the car only a few minutes before it became too hot for a pregnant woman and a blind dog to remain there, even with the windows powered down, so I got out. Anyway, Sushi aside, you’re not supposed to leave a baby in a closed car, and a baby inside of me inside a closed car qualified.

An unclaimed package on the front porch meant Connie wasn’t home yet, so I walked around the side of the house, hoping to find a back patio where I could park myself—preferably in the nice cool shade of a tree. I let Sushi down—she would not stray far from me in this foreign land, not without bumping her little noggin, anyway.