his father said as he filled his plate from the serving dishes on the antique sideboard.
Tom swallowed the desire to answer honestly and admit that he’d considered doing just that. “We didn’t have much chance to talk last night,” he said instead. “I thought we could catch up this morning. How’s your golf game?”
“Still better than yours, I imagine,” his father replied.
“You playing at all, or do they even have a course in that place you’re living?”
Tom clung to his patience by a thread. “The town is Serenity, Dad, and yes, there is an excellent golf course nearby and another one being built just a few miles away. If you and Mother would take a drive over one day, you’d discover there’s a whole big world that isn’t Charleston.”
“So, you are playing,” his father said, sticking to his favorite topic with characteristic tenacity.
“Actually, I haven’t had the time,” Tom told him. Or the desire, for that matter. Golf wasn’t active enough to suit him, or maybe he just played it badly. At any rate, the prospect of coaching Little League was much more appealing.
“Are you determined to turn your back on everything I do?” his father inquired, finally hitting his stride on his favorite complaint about Tom.
Tom was way past the stage of wanting to rebel against everything his parents stood for. “I’m just making choices that work for me, Dad. I wish you could understand that.”
“What I understand is that you’re wasting opportunities. You could have put that law degree of yours to good use right here in Charleston. You’d be making the right connections at the club. In another year or two, you’d be in a perfect position to run for governor or even Congress. That’s your destiny, Tom, not counting the pennies in the treasury of some nothing little town.”
“Seems to me the folks in Washington could do with a few lessons in counting pennies,” Tom commented dryly, drawing a scowl from his father.
“You know what I mean,” Thomas McDonald scolded.
“You’re way overqualified for this job. You have an undergraduate degree in business, a law degree and all the right connections to make something of yourself. You won’t do that in Serenity.”
Tom pushed aside his plate and sat back with a sigh. “I’m sorry that I’m not ambitious enough to suit you. I like knowing the people in my community. I like seeing the results of decisions I’ve made when I step outside my office. I like solving problems for individuals and for the town.”
“What the hell do you think politics is about?” his father bellowed. “It’s all that, but on a much grander scale.”
“Maybe so,” Tom conceded. “When it’s not about raising enough money to win an election or taking the most popular stance to win the next election or doing the expedient thing to get the backing of some organization. I’m not saying there aren’t decent, hardworking politicians who can do a lot of good, but I don’t have the patience to deal with all the rest of it. I’m sorry. Obviously you and I will never agree about this. I hope we’re not going to have this same discussion every time we see each other.”
“I can’t promise you that,” his father said sourly. “I’ll never give up trying to talk some sense into you.”
Tom sighed heavily, wishing he could understand why this mattered so much to his father. Since figuring out what made his father tick seemed unlikely, he settled for trying to make peace.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to drive over to Serenity one Saturday and play golf with me there, take a look around?
We have a first-class restaurant, too. I think you and Mom would like it.”
His father looked as if he was about to dismiss the suggestion out of hand, but his mother came into the room in time to hear the invitation.
“We’d love to do that, wouldn’t we, Thomas?” she said, giving her husband a fierce look.
“Whatever you want,” he mumbled. “I need to go. I have an early tee time.”
“Shall I expect you for lunch?” Tom’s mother inquired.
“No, I’ll eat at the club.” He was halfway out the door, when he turned and said, “Good to see you, son.”
“You, too, Dad.”
After he’d gone, Tom turned to his mother. “Well, there was no bloodshed. I’d say that’s an improvement.”
She shook her head and sat down facing him. “I don’t understand why the two of you can’t see eye to eye on anything.”
“Because I won’t bend to his will. I know he wants what he thinks is best for me, but one of these days he needs to listen to what I want.”
Clarisse McDonald gave him an amused look. “Oh, I think you’ve made yourself abundantly clear. He just disagrees. He had such hopes for you.”
“I know, and I understand that it’s normal for a father to want certain things for his son, but Dad seems obsessed with getting his way, no matter how many times I explain that I’m happy with the path I’ve chosen.”
“You know why that is, don’t you?”
“Because he’s a stubborn old coot?” Tom suggested. His mother frowned. “He doesn’t deserve your disrespect. Someday you need to come down off your high horse, Tom, and really talk to him. Life wasn’t as easy for him as it has been for you.”
Tom was taken aback. “The McDonalds have had wealth and a place in Charleston society for generations.”
“No thanks to your grandfather,” his mother said with obvious distaste.
Tom regarded her with surprise. “What does that mean?”
He barely remembered his grandfather McDonald beyond the fact that he’d always tucked a quarter into Tom’s hand, then chortled when he’d said, “Don’t spend it all in one place.”
“Ask your father about him,” his mother said. “Perhaps then you’ll understand him a little better.”
“Couldn’t you just tell me?”
“I could, but the two of you need to learn to communicate,” she informed him. “Now, tell me about this little town you’re running. Are you happy there?”
“I’m still getting a feel for the place,” he admitted. “But I think I’m going to like it.” He thought of the woman he’d met on his visit to The Corner Spa. “It definitely has some intriguing residents.”
His mother’s expression brightened. “A woman? One in particular?”
“Possibly.”
“Tell me,” she commanded, leaning forward with interest.
“There’s not much to tell. I don’t even know her name. I ran into her outside a women’s spa. We exchanged a few words and then she shut the door in my face.”
His mother sat back, her expression indignant. “Well, that doesn’t sound very pleasant. She must not have very good breeding.”
Tom grinned. “I didn’t inquire about her pedigree, Mother. She was already annoyed enough.”
“I’m just saying that a lady does not go around shutting doors in people’s faces.”
“I’ll explain that to her when we cross paths again.” And they would cross paths. He intended to see to that. He figured Cal Maddox might have some ideas along that line since the woman in question must work with his wife. Thinking of Cal reminded him of the Little League proposal. Wanting to change the subject, he decided to mention that. His mother had always been a big supporter of his interest in baseball, even though she’d embarrassed the daylights out of him by coming to his games outfitted as if she were going to tea with the queen.
“Wait till you hear about this,” he said, and described his meeting with Cal Maddox.
“There’s a former professional ballplayer living in Serenity?” she said, clearly stunned. “I had no idea.”
Tom laughed at her expression. “You’d probably be surprised by a few more of the people you’d meet there. Ever heard of Paula Vreeland?”
“The artist? Of course. Her works are displayed at some of the finer galleries here in Charleston.”
“She lives in Serenity.”
His mother shook her head. “You must be mistaken. I’m quite sure she lives here.”
“Nope. The mayor pointed out her home and studio when he drove me around town. And this spa I mentioned has apparently received a lot of acclaim around the entire region, as has Sullivan’s for its gourmet spin on old Southern favorites.”
“Obviously I need to see this place for myself. Sit right here while I get my calendar. We’ll pick a date and I’ll come for a visit.”
“With Dad?”
She cast him a wry look. “Perhaps I should come alone the first time. Scout it out, so to speak.”
“That suits me,” Tom said. If his open-minded mother left with a favorable impression, perhaps she could get through to his father. Their years of marriage had been achieved through an interesting balance of power. His mother, remarkably, wielded most of it.
She bustled from the room and came back with a bulging day planner that he knew was stuffed with business cards from her favorite florists, printers, dressmakers and caterers, along with those from newly opened businesses hoping to capture her attention. She flipped through the pages, muttering under her breath as she did.
“Two weeks from today,” she said at last. “It’s the best I can do. I’ll have to cancel my luncheon and bridge plans, but there’s time enough for them to find a fourth.”
“Two weeks from today will be perfect.” He stood up and bent down to kiss her cheek. “Thank you, Mother. I’ll look forward to it.”
His words were totally sincere. He wanted her to see Serenity as he did, as a lovely town to live in and a place with a promising future. And though he hardly dared to say it to himself, as a stepping stone to an even better job down the road. Contrary to what his father thought, he was not without ambition. He merely planned to take a different path than the one Thomas McDonald had charted for him.
4
Because so many of her best clients were working women who could only come in for treatments on Saturday, Jeanette rarely had an entire weekend to herself. She liked it that way. Sundays seemed endless, especially the ones when she didn’t go to church. The day stretched ahead of her with too many empty hours.
How long could she possibly spend doing laundry or stocking her refrigerator for the few meals she ate at home?
Serenity didn’t have a movie theater and she wasn’t interested in golf, kayaking or any of the other activities available in town. It was the one drawback she’d found to living in a small community after spending several years in Charleston. Despite all its other charms and the wonderful people, the peace and quiet of Serenity got on her nerves from time to time, especially with no one special to share her life.
This Sunday seemed worse than most. She had way too much time to think about Christmas and her family and all the reasons the holiday had lost its meaning for her. By three o’clock she was going a little stir-crazy. She glanced at the phone next to her and thought about how long it had been since she’d spoken to her parents. They lived less than two hours away, but she hadn’t seen or spoken to them in months. After leaving home, she’d soon learned that if she didn’t initiate a call, it wouldn’t happen. It was almost as if they forgot her very existence unless she reminded them.
Impulsively, she picked up the phone and dialed before she could talk herself out of it. It rang several times before her mother picked up.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Jeanette, is that you?”
She wasn’t surprised that her mother wasn’t sure. “Yes, Mom, it’s me. How are you?”
“Doing well enough,” she said, not volunteering anything additional.
Despite the terse response, Jeanette pressed on. “And Dad? How is he?” Her father was nearing seventy, but seemed older. Working outdoors had weathered his skin and what her parents always referred to as “the tragedy” had aged him before his time.
“Working too hard, as always,” her mother replied. “The farm’s too much for him, but it’s the only life he knows.”
“Did he hire any help this year?” Jeanette asked, determined to keep the conversation flowing and hoping to spark even a smidgen of real communication.
“He had several day workers when vegetables were coming in, but he’s let most of them go now that the only crop left is pumpkins. He loads those up himself and takes them to the market on Saturdays.”
“Is he there? I’d like to say hello,” Jeanette said. At one time her father had doted on her the way Cal doted on Jessica Lynn. All that had changed in the blink of an eye, and while she understood the reason on an intellectual level, the chasm between them didn’t hurt any less.
“He’s outside working on the tractor,” her mother replied, not offering to get him. After a slight hesitation, good manners kicked in and she added, “But I’ll tell him you called.”
Jeanette barely contained a sigh. She couldn’t even recall the last time her father had spoken to her. Her mother always had some excuse for why he couldn’t come to the phone. Some rang true, like this one. Others didn’t. Sometimes she thought he’d simply stopped talking to anyone after her brother had died.
Forcing a cheerful note into her voice, she asked, “Tell me what you’ve been doing, Mom. Are you still baking for the church receptions every week?”
“Took a coconut cake in today,” her mother said. “I’ll do chocolate next week. That’s everybody’s favorite.”
“Mine, too,” Jeanette said. “Maybe I’ll drive down for a visit soon and you can bake one for me.”