Cal was still frowning. “Okay, but why take it out on Docia? I repeat—she didn’t live here then.”
Janie picked up her own glass of sangiovese. “I was in high school after y’all graduated, but I remember Margaret. When she came back from college, she sort of took over the town just like she took over the school. Nobody wanted to cross her and nobody ever disagreed with her. Whatever she wanted in Konigsburg, she got. She’s even been president of the Merchants Association.”
Wonder raised an eyebrow. “Believe me, I remember that particular era. Margaret was the bossiest boss ever. Sort of a combination of Scarlett O’Hara and the drill sergeant in
Full Metal Jacket
. She had everybody doing her bidding. That’s when the Liddy Brenner Festival really got going. Nobody had the guts to tell her no.”
“Until Docia.” Cal remembered the malice in Margaret’s voice when she’d talked about Docia at Allie’s restaurant. “I imagine nobody tells Docia what to do.”
Janie smiled. “Nobody except her mama, anyway. She and Margaret don’t exactly clash—I’ll bet Docia doesn’t even realize how mad Margaret is. But every time Docia offers a suggestion or wants to do something different at the association, Margaret just sizzles. Margaret and Docia are like chalk and cheese.”
“I could think of a few less poetic comparisons, but that’ll do.” Wonder took another swig of his wine. “Every time Margaret sees Docia, I’ll bet she’s seeing that principal who wouldn’t do the recount. Somebody else who doesn’t realize the importance of Margaret’s vision. Docia’s just another bump on her road of life.”
“Well, at least we’re good to go for now on the wine and cheese thing, and it should finally get the town to come around.” Jane rapped her knuckles on the table. “Knock wood.”
Allie grinned. “That’s plastic, honey, but the thought’s good.”
“It’ll be a smash.” Wonder shrugged. “First of all, everybody in Konigsburg likes to drink wine and dance. Second of all, everybody will show up so they can watch Idaho, here, kick up his heels with Ms. Delectable.”
“Dance?” Cal gave him a stricken look. “I don’t dance.”
After three days of being a dutiful daughter, Docia was desperate for Konigsburg. She missed the shop. She missed Janie. She missed Brenner’s and the Dew Drop. She missed Nico.
She missed Cal. Rather a lot, actually.
In fact, when she thought about how much she missed him, it made her nervous. And that, in turn, made her grumpy. She felt grumpy now, sitting in what her mama called her breakfast room even though it was dinner time, trying not to eat another helping of chili.
Mama sat in state. Her foot, wrapped in an Ace bandage, was elevated on a rattan stool. She wore a hot pink yoga outfit, although to Docia’s knowledge, her mother had never set foot in a yoga class. In fact, the mental image of Mama attempting Downward Facing Dog was enough to make Docia choke on her iced tea.
Lourdes winked at her and put another basket of cornbread on the table, while Mama picked at a bowl of lettuce salad. “Your father said he took you to dinner last week.”
“Yes ma’am.” Docia tried to tell herself that one more piece of cornbread really wouldn’t do much harm. Not
that
much sugar was involved.
“And you brought a friend?”
Docia glanced up to see her mother watching her carefully. “Yes. The vet who took care of Nico.”
“Oh.” Mama smiled brilliantly. “The one you took to dinner before.”
Drat. Where boyfriends were concerned, Mama had a mind like a vacuum cleaner. She sucked up every little detail and kept it for further examination.
“Yes, ma’am. A few days before that.”
“What’s this new vet’s name?” Mama put the bowl of salad on the table and tried to surreptitiously stretch a hand to the cornbread.
“Let me help you.” Docia pushed the basket toward her.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t. Got to get into that stupid dress.” Mama subsided into her chair with a regretful glance at the crispy golden squares. “His name?”
“Cal. Cal Toleffson.”
“Toleffson. German?”
Docia shook her head. “Don’t think so. I haven’t asked him.”
“Probably is.” Mama tweaked a piece of lettuce her way. “Most of those families in Konigsburg are German.”
“He’s not from Konigsburg. He moved down from Iowa.”
“Well!” Mama sat up slightly. “Isn’t that interesting! You need to bring him down here to dinner sometime.”
“No, I do not.” Docia put her plate down firmly. “Don’t make something out of this, Mama.”
Mama waved a hand. “Docia, I know someday you’ll find someone. I just want you to be happy.”
“I
am
happy,” Docia snapped. “I don’t need to
find
someone to make my life better, and I don’t need a man to make my life complete anymore. I’ve seen how well that works.”
Her mother’s mouth tightened. “Docia, I keep telling you—just because Donnie wanted you to help him do some business with your father, that doesn’t mean he didn’t love you too. It’s not like you have nothing to offer except your father’s and my money. My Lord, just look at you!”
Docia closed her eyes, remembering the moment she’d finally understood Donnie Branscombe, the day they’d gone to dinner with some of his investors, so they could get to know her—and see visible evidence of his link to Billy Kent. The day he’d asked her to go to her father for a loan so that his development wouldn’t go under, taking a sizeable chunk of her own money with it. It had taken her over a year to get over Donnie Branscombe, and she’d only done it thanks to a lot of work and a new mission—to make herself a life in Konigsburg.
Now she felt a slight remembered pang, like a phantom limb. “I really thought I loved him, Mama,” she murmured. “Maybe I talked myself into it, but I really did.”
“Oh, darlin’.” Her mother gave her a hug, holding her tight for a minute. “Maybe he was a dirtball, but I think he loved you too. I know he was upset when you gave him back his ring.”
“Mama, I’m sure from Donnie’s point of view it was just as easy to love a rich girl as a poor one.” Docia sighed, reaching for her iced tea. “The point is, if I’d gone ahead and married him, I would never have known whether he cared more about me or about Daddy’s money. I’m not going to let myself get into that situation again—wondering whether somebody wants me or some Kent cash. Not ever.”
“Docia, it doesn’t have to be that way.” Her mother shook her head. “I keep telling you that. There are good men who’ll love you no matter who you are. Who’ll want you just for you. There are honest men out there—you just have to be honest with them too. Just keep looking, baby. Keep your hopes up.”
Docia looked at her mother, a Texas Brandenburg, born with a moderate fortune that had become a significant one by the time she was eighteen. Mama did not strike her as a model of someone who’d know what it was like to be loved no matter who you are.
She took a breath. “I’m trying, ma’am. I’m really trying.”
Wonder grimaced. “Idaho, need I remind you, you’re going to a street dance Friday night? At which, believe it or not, people will be dancing.”
Cal had a sudden vision of himself at his junior prom, trying very hard not to stumble over his date, who watched him with terror-stricken eyes. Dancing was torture. One false move and it was time for the emergency room. “Yeah, well, I don’t.”
“You’ve got to!” Janie gasped. “You’re taking Docia. Docia loves to dance. And everybody will be watching you.”
Just what he wanted to hear. Cal took a gulp of sangiovese, then remembered that he was drinking from a glass of wine rather than beer. He managed not to choke. “We’ll work something out,” he wheezed.
Allie frowned. “What’s the problem, exactly? Don’t you know how to dance?”
“Sort of.” Cal tried to think of some way out of this conversation short of heading for the door. “I used to know.”
If “knowing” meant being able to get around the dance floor without flattening anyone, yeah, you could say he knew.
“
Sort of
is fine,” Janie said quickly. “It’ll be very crowded.”
“No, it’s not fine!” Wonder brought his hand down flat on the table. “The town’s honor is at stake. We’ll have a shitload of tourists wandering around, and you and Delectable will be center stage.”
Cal frowned. “Why would they look at us any more than anyone else?”
Everyone at the table stared at him. Wonder shook his head. “You’re both very noticeable. I rest my case. Ingstrom?”
Ingstrom leaned his elbows on the bar. “Yeah?”
“Did you ever get that jukebox fixed?”
“Yeah.” Ingstrom narrowed his eyes at Wonder. “Don’t tell me you’re actually going to put your own money into it for once.”
Wonder got up from the table, grabbing the wine bottle. “Come on. Everybody.”
Cal considered making a break for it, but then he saw Horace Rankin standing next to the door. Trapped.
Wonder was staring down at the vintage Wurlitzer Ingstrom kept at one end of the room. “Jesus, Ingstrom, isn’t there anything on here from later than 1952?”
Ingstrom shrugged. “My jukebox, my music.”
Wonder dropped some coins into the slot and began pushing buttons. “Ma’am,” he said, extending his hand to Allie.
Patti Page began singing “The Tennessee Waltz” while Wonder and Allie glided across the floor with considerable grace. Cal watched them, amazed. They were immediately joined by other couples, including, Cal noted with some shock, the clinic assistant, Bethany, and Horace Rankin. At least half the people in the bar were on their feet, pushing aside chairs to enlarge the dance floor.
Jane tugged on his sleeve. “Come on, Doc, now or never.” She held up her hands.
She was around the size of his junior prom date, maybe smaller. In fact, she suddenly looked like a six-year-old. Cal took her hand with considerable foreboding.
Jane slid into his arms easily and followed his shuffling steps with verve. To his amazement, they began moving more quickly. The music switched. Patsy Cline sang “Crazy”. Not exactly a waltz, but he still managed not to step on Janie or any of the other dancers.
“You’re doing fine.” She grinned up at him.
Cal tried a quick turn. It worked.
Someone tapped on his shoulder and suddenly Bethany was in his arms while Janie swooped away with Horace. Willie Nelson sang “Stay All Night”. It definitely wasn’t a waltz and people were dancing something that looked sort of like forties jitterbugging. Cal considered breaking for the sidelines.
“Country swing,” Allie called reassuringly from his left. “Just go with it.”
Cal’s brain told him to sit. His feet paid no attention, and he and Bethany bounced around the room. At least what he lacked in grace, he made up for in energy, and he was still managing not to flatten anybody.
Five minutes later he had Allie laughing in his arms. Willie and Waylon were singing “Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys”. Everybody in the bar sang along with the chorus, including Ingstrom in a surprisingly loud baritone.
Couples swooped around the room in wide arcs, their arms spread wide. Cal and Allie fell in behind Horace and Bethany, twirling happily.
After a few minutes, Cal found himself singing too, trying to remember the words. Oh yes, Mamas, definitely do
not
let those babies grow up to be cowboys.
Why exactly didn’t he like dancing?
God, he loved Konigsburg!
Chapter Eleven
The first day of the Liddy Brenner Festival dawned hot, with an ominous pile of dark clouds stacked in the west. As he glanced out the window, Cal wondered if he’d be disappointed or relieved if rain wiped out the street dance. Not that he was really worried after his evening at the Dew Drop. But if he stepped on Bethany, she’d probably just grin and make a joke. If he stepped on Docia…
He really didn’t want to step on Docia.
He did want to dance with her, though. Slow dancing, preferably. Maybe one of those where you don’t move much, just stand there and rub.
Thinking about rubbing Docia was not the best way to keep his mind on his work. Plus it changed the fit of his scrubs in predictable ways. Cal took a deep breath and pushed the thought under the To Be Continued category.
The clinic business reflected the upsurge in the number of tourists who’d arrived in town for the festival. A lady from Dallas brought in a Lhasa Apso suffering from heat prostration. A Great Dane from Sugarland had had an unfortunate encounter with a prickly pear cactus. Cal removed a thorn from his nose and felt like giving him a lollypop after the dog licked his hand.
A family from Denison had, for unclear reasons, seen fit to bring along the son’s corn snake on the family vacation. The snake had not been a welcome visitor in their bed and breakfast, and the mother wanted to board it for the weekend. The snake’s eight-year-old owner objected vociferously. Cal left Armando to figure it out since he’d be the one who did the snake-sitting.
At four, Horace stopped him in the hall. “Why are you still here? Don’t you have a costume to put on?”