Yankee Doodle Dixie (38 page)

“You’re not gonna call him, are you?”

“Just give me the phone number and watch the master at work.”

“I don’t know about this, but okay: 802-555-9998.”

“Thank you very much, may I have total quiet please?” Alice pulled out a Virginia Slim, cracked the window and took a puff before punching in the numbers. “I did a star-sixty-seven, just in case.” Alice put a finger to her lips. “Shhh, it’s ringing. Still ringing. Hi-eee,” she said in her best Yankee voice, “is this Sam?”

“You’ve got the wrong number.”

Alice held the phone out from her ear so Virginia and Mary Jule, who were huddled toward the phone, could hear every word. “This isn’t Sam Owen?”

“Nope. You’ve got the right last name, but my first name is not Sam.”

“Oh well, that operator must have given me the wrong Owen. I’m looking for my old college boyfriend. He lives in Vermont on Acklen Road and I’m desperate to find him. Do you have a cousin named Sam Owen?”

“No, I don’t have a cousin named Sam.”

“Is your middle name Sam?”

“No, Sam is not my middle name.”

“Are you sure you’re not pulling my leg? Sam, this really is you, isn’t it?” Alice pinched her two fingers together and glided her hand through the air, pretending to be writing. Mary Jule quickly dug in her purse and handed her a pen.

“It’s not Sam,” he said with a giggle. “And I’m not your old boyfriend. What’s your name anyway?”

“Shauna.”

“Nice to meet you, Shauna.”

“You, too, Sam, I mean, whatever your name is.”

“Peter.”

“Okay, nice to meet you, Peter. Listen, would you please do me a favor?”

“I’ll try.”

“If you ever meet Sam Owen up there, will you tell him I’m trying to find him?”

“You bet.”

“Thanks. Hey, what’s your address? Maybe I’ll send Sam a letter in care of you.”

“It’s 415 Forrest Drive, but I doubt I’ll ever meet him.”

“In Willingham?”

“No, Dover.”

“And that zip?”

“05356.”

“Alrighty then. Thanks, Peter Owen. Good talking to you and have a greet day.” When she got to the “day” part she accidentally lost her accent. She recovered, though, when she said good-bye. “Byeeee.” She closed her cell phone and blew two smoke rings. “And that’s how it’s done.”

“I gotta say. You never cease to amaze me,” Virginia told her.

“All in a day’s work. I can’t believe we actually caught him at home. What are the odds of that?”

“Ooooh, I’m getting excited,” squealed Mary Jule.

“Who’s got the letter?” Alice asked.

“It’s in my purse,” said Virginia.

Alice ruffled through Virginia’s pocketbook and opened the unsealed envelope. She took out the newspaper clipping, which had one of the want ads circled with a black Sharpie, and read aloud:

CHEF NEEDED Peach Blossom Inn—small, gourmet restaurant in mint condition. Must have nice attitude, pleasing personality, GOOD HYGIENE, and expertise in classic and nouvelle cuisine. Historic Germantown, 462 Old Poplar Pike, Memphis, Tennessee 38108. Call 901-555-8912 or apply in person.

“Leelee’s left us no choice but to take matters into our own hands, and we’re all in agreement, right?” After nods from the other two, Alice folded up the ad and stuck it back inside the envelope. She gave it a lick and under Peter Owen’s name she copied down his address.

“Here’s a stamp,” Mary Jule said, leaning over the front seat. “I’ve only got a love stamp. Do y’all think that’s too obvious?”

“So what if it is?” With a quick lick, Alice placed the stamp on the letter and handed the envelope to Virginia.

They pulled into the post office and got in line for the drop box. Virginia rolled down the window and reached out to place the letter on the edge of the mail slot. “Okay. It’s worth a shot.”

She gently let go of the envelope and let it slide down, deep into the mailbox.

*   *   *

“So here I am,” Peter says.

“I can’t believe they hid this from me,” I say, waving the envelope in the air. “They are the craziest three women on earth. I’d tell you I’m surprised but—”

“You don’t have to. I’ve met them, remember? Believe me, they are
quite
memorable. I’ll never forget my first day at the inn when they helped you out in the restaurant. It was a miracle the meals were delivered hot.”

“Or that the wine was ever poured without cork pieces floating in the glasses. I remember every detail of that night. It’s the night I fired Helga,
remember
?”

“Do you think I could ever forget that?”

“Probably not,” I say. I can’t stop smiling at him.

“So, I’ve got a question for you,” he says.

“Okay.”

“What exactly
is
the Kravitz Agency?”

I slowly shake my head. “It’s just a little something we made up in the seventh grade. Remember the nosy neighbor on
Bewitched
, Gladys Kravitz? And how she always spied on Samantha and Darrin? She knew everything that was going on.”

He nods his head. “Yeah, I do remember her.”

“We named it after her. The agency is the way we get our information. But it’s top secret, you know. You mustn’t ever tell anyone else about it. To tell you the truth, I can’t believe they confessed it to you. You must rank high on their list.”

“As long as we’re on confessions, I’ve got one for you.”

“Uh-oh. I don’t know if I like the sound of this.”

He reaches in his coat pocket and pulls out a stack of yellow lined legal papers folded business style. “These came from the girls, too.”

I recognize them immediately but I distinctly remember throwing them in the trash a few weeks ago. I can’t help feeling embarrassed. If I had wanted to send them to him I would have. Clearly having the girls help me unpack boxes and redecorate my rental house granted them access to the more personal areas of my life.

“Why didn’t you ever send them to me?” he asks.

I reach out for the wineglass and he hands it over. After taking another sip I breathe deeply. Fingering the rim of the glass, I look into Peter’s soulful eyes. “When you told me on the phone that you couldn’t move down here, that you didn’t think a long distance relationship would work, I wrote the letters as a way of getting everything off my chest. It didn’t seem like you wanted to talk to me, and I didn’t know any other way of telling you how I felt. I didn’t mail them because I didn’t think you cared.”

Peter slowly closes his eyes and he’s silent long enough for the moment to feel awkward. If not for his arms resting on my legs, I’d be afraid he might be contemplating leaving. Finally he opens his eyes. “It had nothing to do with not caring about you. In fact I cared too much about you to move to Memphis without a job. Uprooting my life without the guarantee of an income is not something I’ve ever done. I’m too practical for that. It had nothing to do with you and everything to do with me. When you were leaving, even though I was wrecked by it, I didn’t want you to feel like you had to stay in Vermont for me. I knew you wanted to go home to Memphis. Who would I have been to try and stop you?”

“That’s exactly what my friends have been telling me all along.”

Peter looks into my eyes an extra-long moment. Lifting under my knees and around my back, he hoists me onto his lap—cradling me as if I were a small girl. Our faces are level and I move my hands around his neck, clutching them together at the base of his scruffy hair. I come so close to his mouth, our breaths moving back and forth, I can smell and taste chardonnay and Peter all at once. No other words are spoken, nor is there a need, the reunion of souls speaks loudly enough.

In the pale lamplight of the darkened house, with the moon shining in from the open door, his perfect lips smile radiantly only inches from mine and his crystal blue eyes glisten. Peter opens his mouth to break the silence but stops abruptly, choosing to brush my lips with his and in an instant we rediscover what it’s like to kiss. With no one in the world watching this time, we set out on a journey, exploring each other’s faces and necks, scents and tastes, kissing as if our lips have never been touched before. Twenty minutes pass before either of us is willing to let the other go.

Out of nowhere, my stomach growls loudly and Peter places his hand on top of it. “Sounds like you need some dinner.”

“I have not eaten one morsel of food all day. That’s how busy I’ve been.”

“Why don’t you let me take you into the kitchen and fix you whatever your heart desires?”

“I have a better idea. How about we let someone cook for you for a change? Kissie’s at my house and has dinner waiting.”

*   *   *

When we drive up to my house, with no porch lights and the drapes and blinds blocking any sign of life from the street, Peter comments on it right away. “Is anyone here?”

“Yes,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Kissie likes to keep all the windows covered and most of the lights out.”

“Is Memphis that dangerous?”

“No, it’s not that.” I point to the house next door. “My next-door neighbor drives her a little crazy.”

“Uh-oh.”

“He’s actually very sweet. It’s sort of a long story.”

Once in the carport, he turns off his engine. I had ridden with him, deciding to pick up my car in the morning. When we stroll inside to the dimly lit kitchen, the irresistible aroma of Kissie’s cooking permeates the whole room. There are several pots on the stove and when I glance over at the oven, I can see a roast warming. The sound of the TV is wafting in from the den. I put my fingers to my lips and motion for Peter to creep in behind me. When we peek into the room, Sarah and Issie are on either side of Kissie, playing with her long hair. They’ve taken it out of the plated bun and she’s leaning back with her eyes closed while Issie brushes and Sarah styles. Roberta lifts his head and I duck back inside the kitchen, pulling Peter with me. “Yoo-hoo,” I call, before switching on the light. “Is anybody here?”

“Mommy’s home,” I hear Issie say, and the girls bound into the kitchen, right behind Roberta, who tries his best to jump up in my arms. I lean down to pet him and he covers me with tongue licks. He’s quite a jumper, that little dog. After a visit to the vet we learned he’s part Jack Russell. And part poodle.

Sarah and Issie’s faces look as if they’ve just seen Santa Claus. “Mr. Peter,” they both squeal at the same time. He squats down and my little girls fall into his outstretched arms.

“You guys have gotten so big, I don’t know who’s who,” he says, pulling them closer. “Who’s this?” he asks, and rubs Roberta’s back hard enough to make his foot thump.

“Roberta. He’s a boy but Mama wanted to give him a girl name,” Sarah says, rolling her eyes.

Peter looks up at me and I shrug my shoulders. “I needed a reminder of my dear friend.”

“What’s all this commotion?” Kissie says, strolling in from the den. She’s twisting her hair back up into a bun and has just taken the last black hairpin out of the side of her mouth when she spots Peter. “You don’t mean it!” she exclaims, inserting the hairpin back inside her bun. “Is this Peter?” When she holds out her big, cushiony arms Peter lets go of the girls and folds right inside. “Ooo-wee, you are a nice-lookin’ man, Peter. Let me take a good look at you.” She takes a step back. “Leelee’s bragged about you so much, I guess I just didn’t know what to expect.” With hands in his pockets Peter glances down at his feet before shooting Kissie a bashful smile.

“What took you so long to get here anyway?” she says.

“I had some things I had to work out first. Some business to get out of the way.”

“That’s right. Nothin’ wrong with gittin’ your business straight.” She runs her hand through his hair, which is hanging a little past his collar these days. “Look at all this pretty blond hair. You’ve got a plenty of it, too.”

“Well, thank you, Miss Kristine,” he says.

“Lawd, chile, you might as well call me Kissie. Everybody else does. Okay now,” she says as she’s heading over to the fridge. “We’ve got company, girls. Not just any company. There’s a
good-lookin’
man in this house. And he seems like a mighty fine one to me. Sarah, why don’t you set another place at the table? When a man has been driving for hours like Peter’s done, he’s got one thing on his mind. We are gonna serve him a fine Southern meal.
Hm, hm, hm.
” She opens the refrigerator door and studies the inside.

“I will never object to that,” he says, touching his stomach.

“Dinner is ready, I’mo just heat it up. Won’t take long.” Now, she’s got eggs in one hand and milk in the other, which she sets on the counter. Next I see her pull out the sugar canister, and the vanilla out of the spice drawer. When she’s got everything she needs, she strolls over to Peter and places her hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you let me take your coat so you can stay awhile.”

When he removes his jacket, I can’t help staring at him. Tonight he’s wearing a hunter green flannel shirt that he’s rolled up at the cuffs with a white crew neck T-shirt underneath. His jeans are, as usual, a little raggedy but he’s wearing a pair of new brown leather work boots and he is probably
the
most beautiful thing I have ever laid my eyes on.

“Now Peter, why don’t you go on in the den there and put your feet up. Let the girls play with that fine head a’ hair of yours. ’Fore you know it you’ll be fallin’ asleep it feels so good.”

“That sounds nice,” Peter says.

“Come see our room first, Mr. Peter.” Issie pulls on his hand.

“Is it any bigger than the one you guys had in Vermont?” he asks.

Both girls laugh. “It’s waaaaay bigger,” Sarah says.

Peter takes Sarah in his other hand and I watch the three of them stroll down the hall.