Liz Talley – Sweet Talking Man (страница 13)

“Would you be serious?”

Fancy reached out and tweaked Abigail’s nose. “Lighten up, Francis.”

“You’re quoting Stripes? Nice.” Abigail stacked the three pillows at the end of the scarred wooden table. “So are you going to get around to what you really want to ask me?”

“You mean something besides how your art lessons with Mr. Yummy Yoga Pants have been going?”

Abigail couldn’t help herself. She chuckled.

Her mother brushed her wispy red hair from her face. “Now, that’s the Abi I love. Big laugh. Fun girl.”

Abigail snorted. Yeah, right. Her mother remembered things differently than she did. “I still laugh.”

“Not often enough.”

“Yeah, well, life sucks sometimes.”

Fancy sank into the fluffy armchair. “Come sit and tell me about Calhoun.”

Abigail took the opposite chair, releasing a huge sigh. “Well, he’s back. He says he’s home to stay.”

Fancy’s gaze dissected Abigail’s face. “You think he’s serious about staying?”

“He says so. Morgan left him, presumably for another man. Quite frankly I’m surprised she lasted five years with him. She saw him as her ticket out of the bayou, but no one could have told Cal that. He was so certain he’d missed out on the life he was supposed to live.”

“What a dumb ass,” Fancy said.

Abigail trilled, “Language.”

“Yeah, yeah. I grew up a Burnside. My papa could make a sailor blush. Apple, tree and all that. Besides, I say my prayers every night. The Good Lord knows Calhoun is a dumb ass, so forgiveness should be forthcoming.”

“True. So Cal’s living with his parents and says Buster gave him his old job at the plant. That surprised me—Buster was furious at him for abandoning us to go chasing fame and fortune.”

“Time has a way of healing anger for some folks. Buster loves Calhoun and the man isn’t getting any younger. He needs someone to take over the business when he retires.”

“Buster will never retire.”

“Don’t be too sure. Diabetes is tough on the body and he’s been having issues with his legs.” Fancy stared out at the winter-weary branches of the roses she loved to tend. “So what are you going to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve known Calhoun Everett Orgeron ever since he drank his first sip of milk. He’s the kind of man who leans on people to get what he wants.” Her mother looked at her, eyes soft and sympathetic.

“What?”

“He wants you back?”

Abigail clutched the arms of the chair, worry clawing her insides. “Why would you think he wants me back?”

“I just told you. I know Calhoun. He’ll want his old life. He thinks he deserves it because he’s an Orgeron...and because he has a pretty smile. He blew through his savings living in California, played footsie on the beach with a veritable child and now he’s home. He’s not going to sign up for eHarmony, so he’ll be over at Laurel Woods sweet-talkin’ you.”

“Well, he can bark up another tree.”

Fancy reached over and patted her hand. “You never could resist Calhoun.”

“The hell I can’t.” Abigail sat up straight. “He broke my heart. I spent years with my self-worth pancaked, so I’m done with Cal. His smile doesn’t work on me anymore.”

“Good girl. I’ve been worried. I saw Birdie yesterday and I swear that child could not stop talking about Daddy this and Daddy that. She’s going to make it harder to say no to Calhoun. Birdie will want to be a family again.”

“We are a family...just not a family who lives together. Birdie understands that. I just need to come up with some guidelines.”

“It won’t be just Birdie who’ll press this. Be prepared, daughter of mine. Be prepared.”

Abigail nodded as her cell phone rang. The clanging bells signaled the ringtone for St. George’s. “That’s the school. Hope Birdie’s sore throat hasn’t turned into strep again.”

Abigail stood, answering her phone. “Hey, Lelah, don’t tell me Birdie’s running a fever.”

Lelah Carter, the most efficient school secretary this side of the Mississippi said, “Oh, no. She’s good. Just thought you should know Cal checked her out thirty minutes ago. Said he was taking her to the Dairy Maid. He’s on the checkout list so I let her go with him, but after I thought about it, I figured you should know.”

Abigail closed her eyes. This was why she needed to clear her head of fluff and attend to Cal and what his return meant for their lives. “Thanks, Lelah. I don’t want her to miss any instructional time, so I’ll have a word with Cal.” She clicked the end button and collapsed into her chair.

“Everything okay with Birdie?” her mother asked.

“Yeah, she’s fine. Cal checked her out to take her to lunch. The man didn’t even bother to call and tell me. I would have told him no.”

Her mother made a face. “Well, he is her father. But this confirms what I said earlier. Things are about to get complicated.”

“Yeah,” Abigail said in monotone, knowing it was important she sit down with Cal to create some rules regarding Birdie. Having Cal in town, something she’d wanted years ago, felt like being shit on by a bird. She didn’t want him here, throwing her life into chaos. She didn’t need him bribing Birdie with hamburgers and ice cream and suggesting he could make up to her what he’d destroyed so long ago.

She was tempted to call Morgan and beg her to take Cal back...for the good of everyone.

“I’ve been praying for a little excitement in your life, but I don’t think you want Calhoun Orgeron to give it to you,” Fancy said.

“Lord, no,” Abigail said. “It’s like he’s trying to rattle me. Provoke me. That’s not the excitement I need.”

“Calhoun’s a man obsessed with himself, so don’t make this about you. He wanted to spend some time with his daughter today and didn’t think about how it might affect anyone else. He’s all about treats and giggles. Always has been.”

“Maybe he didn’t mean to ruffle my feathers, but it was irresponsible of him. And what is he teaching Birdie? That it’s okay to shirk school for a root-beer float?”

Fancy chuckled. “Oh, come on, Abigail. You’re mad because you didn’t give your permission. I’ve sat by for several years watching you exercise such firm control over your life that wiggle room is nonexistent.”

“Oh, God, Mom. Please don’t start this now. Not when I have to go deal with Cal and Birdie.”

Fancy crossed her legs Buddha-style and shrugged. “Maybe that’s why I mentioned it. Yes, you and Cal need to lay some ground rules, but he hasn’t seen his daughter since last summer. Missing a few hours of school won’t hurt her. Birdie needs you to give her a break every now and then.”

Abigail looked at her mother, at the woman who never let her or her brothers miss school unless vomit or a high fever were involved. As a former teacher, Fancy had declared that personal days were for other people. Beauchamps didn’t miss school for no reason. “Who are you?”

“A woman who has stared cancer in the face and known fear. A woman who realizes that doing the right thing is not always the best thing. A woman who has been watching her daughter hold on tighter and tighter to life, thinking she can control every aspect. Birdie needs breathing room, honey.”

“Why do our conversations always turn to my mothering skills?” Abigail shoved her phone into her purse and gathered up the pillows.

“I’m not trying to be critical.”

“Yeah, you are,” Abigail said, attempting to stuff the damn pillow into the bag it fit in moments before but was now refusing to go in. “Get in.”

“Calm down,” her mother said in that voice that made Abigail feel anything but calm.

Aggravation exploded inside her. Screw everyone. She was doing the best she could to raise Birdie. So she liked schedules and rules. People functioned better when they had them. And one of the rules she had was her ex-husband wasn’t allowed to check their daughter out of school for a cheeseburger. “I know I’m not perfect, but I try really hard to give Birdie parameters. That’s my job. To keep her safe and help her make good decisions.”

“Sure, but—”

“No. No buts, Mother. I have to go. Thanks for the pillows.” Abigail didn’t give her mother the opportunity to say anything further. She headed for the front of the house. Her mother called out to her, but she ignored her.

Fancy had become increasingly meddlesome when it came to Birdie, constantly bringing up the way Abigail parented. Her mother’s well-placed suggestions wore on Abigail. She loved Fancy and certainly valued her mother’s opinion, but that didn’t mean she agreed with her.

“Birdie needs some breathing room,” Abigail mimicked under her breath. “Breathing room, my ass. She needs to straighten the hell up is what she needs to do. And Cal needs to learn there are parameters.”

Abigail tossed the bag with the pillows in the back of her Volvo wagon and climbed inside, aware she’d been muttering to herself like an old woman. As she put the key in the ignition, she glanced at her loafers.

The ones she’d picked up at Talbots.

The ones that were like Marcie’s mother’s.

She pulled down the visor and clicked open the mirror. Her brow had knitted into four lines so that when she relaxed, her forehead remained wrinkled. She rubbed at the lines, noticing the dark circles under her eyes and the ever-present swoop of silver that fell over the right side of her hair. The stripe had appeared almost overnight five years ago—a month after Cal left her.