Читать книгу Welcome to Serenity - Sherryl Woods, Sherryl Woods - Страница 8

Tom had one more meeting on his calendar for Friday and then he intended to head to Charleston for a command appearance at one of his mother’s charity events. He’d promised to spend the night, but he intended to be back in Serenity first thing on Saturday so he could start looking for an apartment or a house.

His phone buzzed. “Cal Maddox is here to see you,” Teresa chirped with her unflagging cheeriness.

“Am I supposed to know who he is?”

She sighed. “I’ll be right in.”

“I didn’t ask you to come in,” he muttered, but he was talking to a dead line. His office door was already opening…and closing.

With her short, steel-gray hair, rounded figure and penchant for flowered blouses and pastel slacks, Teresa looked as if she ought to be home baking cookies, but she ran this office with the efficiency of a drill sergeant. Right now she was regarding him with motherly dismay.

“If you and I are going to get along, you have to pay attention when I talk to you,” she scolded. “Or at the very least, read what I write on that calendar I give you every morning.”

Tom winced. “Sorry,” he murmured, shuffling papers until he found the neatly prepared schedule for his day that he’d barely glanced at. He’d jotted his own notes on an At-AGlance calendar. This meeting wasn’t on that.

“Okay, here it is,” he confirmed, finding it on Teresa’s schedule. “Cal Maddox, high school baseball coach.” He stared up blankly. “Why does he want to see me? I don’t have anything to do with the school system.”

Teresa gave him an impatient look and gestured toward the paper.

“Regarding starting a Little League program in the town,” he read aloud.

She nodded. “I do my job. You need to get used to my system.”

Tom barely contained a grin. In most places he’d worked, it was the boss who got to devise the system. “I’ll try,” he promised dutifully.

She regarded him with blatant skepticism. “We’ll see,” she said with a little huff. “Shall I send Cal in now?”

“Please do.”

A minute later, the coach walked in, a grin on his face. “What’d you do to tick off Teresa?”

Tom hesitated, then shrugged. “Almost everything I do ticks off Teresa. Most recently I failed to read her notes.”

Cal held out a callused hand, shook Tom’s, then said, “Just so you understand, Teresa’s been essentially running Serenity for the past fifteen years. You’re an interloper.”

“She was town manager?” Tom asked, startled by the information. “No one mentioned that.”

“No way,” Cal said, laughing. “But your predecessors pretty much let her run the show. If you actually expect to do this job your own way, you’ll have to ease her into it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Tom told him, grateful for the insight. It put a new spin on the uneasy relationship he’d had with his secretary since his arrival. He gestured toward a chair. “Have a seat. What can I do for you? Teresa’s note said something about starting a Little League program.”

Cal handed him a folder. “It’s all in there. I’ve described the benefits to the town, the costs, the businesses who’ve committed to sponsoring the teams, the other communities that have similar summer programs.”

“What do you need from me?”

“Start-up funding,” Cal said. “That figure’s in there, too. And I need another coach. I figure we’d have enough kids for at least two teams, one for the younger boys, another for the older boys.”

Tom gave him a questioning look. “You’re suggesting I coach?”

Cal nodded. “You did play ball at Clemson, didn’t you? First base, as I recall.”

Tom gaped. “How on earth do you know about that? I only played college ball for a year before I was injured and had to give it up.” Then his eyes widened. “Cal Maddox?” he said, the name finally sinking in. “You played for the Atlanta Braves?”

Cal nodded. “Briefly. I was sidelined by an injury, too, but I was there when the scouting reports on you came in. You were a hot prospect, which I figure qualifies you to coach Little League in Serenity. Will you think about it?”

“First you need to have a Little League program in place,” Tom said. He gestured toward the folder. “I’ll go over your proposal this weekend and see if it fits in with the budget the town’s about to finalize, then we’ll talk again.”

“Fair enough,” Cal told him, standing up to leave.

“Hey, before you go, you’re an athlete. Where do you go to get a good workout in this town?”

The confident man before him looked oddly disconcerted by the question. “If you swear never to repeat it, I’ll tell you,” he said at last.

“Confidentiality is my middle name,” Tom assured him.

Cal leaned closer as if he feared Teresa or someone else might overhear. “I sneak into The Corner Spa after hours.”

Tom stared at him incredulously. “You’re kidding me! I’ve been told in no uncertain terms that the place is off limits to men.”

“It is,” Cal confirmed. “I’m married to one of the owners. She pretends not to notice that I borrow her key from time to time. Of course, if anyone ever catches me in there, I suspect my wife would throw me to the wolves and deny knowing me, much less admit she gave me tacit permission to sneak in.”

Tom laughed. “Sounds like an interesting relationship.”

“You have no idea,” Cal said. “Maddie’s a fascinating woman and the best thing that ever happened to me. I’m sure you two will cross paths before too long, especially if we get this Little League thing pulled together.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Tom said. “And I’ll be in touch within the next week or so about your proposal.”

“Thanks. Enjoy your weekend.”

Tom thought about the formal event ahead of him tonight and the inevitable lecture from his father likely to be on tomorrow’s agenda. Enjoyment didn’t enter into any of it.

Jeanette had gotten through yet another day without crossing paths with Maddie. She was hoping to keep it that way. She’d picked up her tote bag and purse and was headed out the side door when Maddie appeared.

“Sneaking off?” she inquired lightly.

Jeanette grinned. “I was trying to.”

“Can you stay for a minute?”

“Is that a request or a command?”

“A request, of course,” Maddie insisted. She held up two glasses of tea and a clear box that held two cranberry-orange scones, Jeanette’s favorite. “I brought bribes.”

Jeanette released a sigh and turned toward the outdoor patio, Maddie following on her heels.

After they were seated, Jeanette took a bite of the light, flaky scone, then frowned. It was still warm. “Where’d this come from? I know we didn’t have scones in the café today. I checked.”

“I asked Dana Sue to whip up a batch and send them over,” Maddie admitted. “They just arrived a few minutes ago, straight from the oven.”

“You really are desperate for me to serve on this Christmas festival committee, aren’t you?” Jeanette said as she savored another bite. Between the comfort food and Maddie’s bribes she was going to be as big as a blimp.

“At the moment, I’m more interested in why you’re so opposed to the idea. I’ve been giving you some space and thinking about our conversation, and I don’t believe your reaction had anything to do with taking on a little extra work for a couple of months. Am I right?”

When Jeanette remained silent, she prodded, “So what was it about?”

Because she absolutely didn’t want to get into that, Jeanette looked Maddie in the eye. “I’ll do it.”

Maddie appeared taken aback. “Do what?”

“Be on the stupid committee,” Jeanette grumbled. “Isn’t that what we’re talking about?”

Maddie did not appear nearly as pleased by her capitulation as Jeanette had expected.

“Forget the committee for the moment. Tell me why Christmas upsets you,” Maddie said. “I’ve just realized that you always take your vacation at Christmas, but you don’t go home to visit your family, you don’t go away, you just hole up in your apartment. I checked with Helen and Dana Sue, too, and none of us can recall you accepting a single invitation to a holiday celebration with any of us. There has to be a reason.”

“I’m antisocial,” Jeanette said.

“No, you are not,” Maddie said, dismissing the reply. “You’ve come to lots of things—Fourth of July barbecues, margarita nights, Thanksgiving dinner. No, this is all about Christmas. You have an aversion to that specific holiday and I want to know why.”

“It’s my business,” Jeanette replied stubbornly. “I know you want to help, but there’s not a problem. I just don’t like Christmas holidays.” She scowled at Maddie. “And don’t you dare tell me that everybody loves the holidays.”

“Well, they do. At least around here.”

“Then I’m an exception to the rule. Look, I said I’d serve on the committee. That should be enough.”

“What changed your mind?” Maddie asked.

“Boy, you really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

Maddie merely lifted a brow.

“No, of course you don’t,” Jeanette muttered. “Part of it was to get you off my case and part of it has to do with Mary Vaughn. She begged me to do it because she has to do it.”

Maddie stared at her incredulously. “You’re doing this for Mary Vaughn? After the way she tried to steal Ronnie from Dana Sue?”

“He and Dana Sue were separated at the time,” Jeanette reminded Maddie, feeling the need to defend her client. “Besides, she never had a chance with Ronnie, and everyone except Mary Vaughn knew it. The point is, she’s a good customer and she asked me to do this.”

“I’m your boss and I asked, and you didn’t have any problem saying no to me,” Maddie groused, then shook her head. “You’re doing this for Mary Vaughn. Wait’ll I tell Dana Sue and Helen.”

“I’m mainly doing this to get you off my case,” Jeanette corrected her. “And that hasn’t worked nearly as well as I’d expected, so I’m going home before I change my mind.”

Maddie opened her mouth, but Jeanette held up her hand. “Leave well enough alone, okay?”

“I was just going to say, if you ever want to talk about anything, all of us are here for you, understood?”

To her regret, Jeanette’s eyes misted. “Understood,” she whispered, and then bolted before she could make a complete fool of herself by bursting into tears.

Tom couldn’t wait to get on the road back to Serenity on Saturday morning. The charity function had been everything he despised about Charleston’s social scene. He could only imagine what the budget had been for the formal dinner and dance that his mother had organized for years. If that money alone had been donated directly to the cause, it probably would have equaled the amount raised. Whenever he mentioned that, she looked at him as if he’d uttered a blasphemy.

“This is what’s expected,” she’d told him more than once. “When you hold a position in society, it is your duty to do good works.”

“I’m just saying it would be more cost-effective to write a check,” he’d argued.

“An event brings attention to the cause. And it supports local businesses. Where would the caterers, the florists, the printers and so on be if we stopped holding these fundraisers?”

“So this is all about supporting the Charleston economy?”

She’d frowned at him. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, you know it’s about more than that. I know you think what I do is frivolous and unnecessary, but one of these days I’ll reduce it all to dollars and cents for you and prove my point in a way you can understand.”

He’d grinned at her. “I’d appreciate that.”

“You’re incorrigible,” she’d declared.

“But you love me.”

“Most of the time,” she’d agreed. “Now, if you would just marry and provide us with an heir to the McDonald legacy, I could forgive all these silly arguments.”

“Mother, you have six lovely granddaughters to dote on. The next generation is off to a fine start.”

“None of them will carry on the McDonald name,” she’d reminded him. “Even if one of your sisters has a son, he won’t be a McDonald.”

“So I’m to marry and have a son, is that the plan?”

She’d given him a stern look, though there was a decided twinkle in her eye. “I’d appreciate it,” she’d said.

If his mother was gently persuasive with her marching orders, his father was downright dictatorial, Tom thought as he finished the eggs, ham, grits and redeye gravy the cook had prepared for him. It seemed he’d never had a conversation with Thomas Barlow McDonald that didn’t end with one of them walking out in a huff. He’d give anything to avoid that this morning, but trying to slip away without paying his respects to his father would just lead to a tearful phone call from his mother later in the day. If arguing with his father was tedious, then listening to his mother’s guilt-inducing lectures was worse.

It was too late to escape, anyway. His father strolled in, already dressed for his regular Saturday-morning golf outing at the private country club where McDonalds had been members ever since the eighteen-hole course had been carved out of the countryside.

“I thought you were taking off first thing this morning,” 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.