"And down here, a lineage like hers is worth its weight and then some. Her looks, her bloodline, she could've had any man she wanted. Younger, older, or in between, single, married, rich, or poor. But
she stayed on her own. Raised her boys."
Alone, Stella thought, sipping champagne. She understood the choice very well.
"Kept her private life private," Jolene went on, "much to Memphis society's consternation. Biggest
to-do I recall was when she fired the gardener—well, both of them. Went after them with a
Weedwacker, according to some reports, and ran them right off the property."
"Really?" Stella's eyes widened in shocked admiration. "Really?"
"That's what I heard, and that's the story that stuck, truth or lie. Down here, we often prefer the entertaining lie to the plain truth. Apparently they'd dug up some of her plants or something. She wouldn't have anybody else after that. Took the whole thing over herself. Next thing you know—though I guess it was about five years later—she's building that garden place over on her west end. She got married about three years ago, and divorced—well, all you had to do was blink. Honey, why don't we make that two early glasses of champagne?"
"Why don't we?" Stella poured. "So, what was the deal with the second husband?"
"Hmmm. Very slick character. Handsome as sin and twice as charming. Bryce Clerk, and he says his people are from Savannah, but I don't know as I'd believe a word coming out of his mouth if it was plated with gold. Anyway, they looked stunning together, but it happened he enjoyed looking stunning with a variety of women, and a wedding ring didn't restrict his habits. She booted him out on his ear."
"Good for her."
"She's no pushover."
"That came through loud and clear."
"I'd say she's proud, but not vain, tough-minded but not hard—or not too hard, though there are some who would disagree with that. A good friend, and a formidable enemy. You can handle her, Stella. You can handle anything."
She liked people to think so, but either the champagne or fresh nerves was making her stomach a little queasy. "Well, we're going to find out."
THREE
She had a car full of luggage, a briefcase stuffed with notes and sketches, a very unhappy dog who'd already expressed his opinion of the move by vomiting on the passenger seat, and two boys bickering bitterly in the back.
She'd already pulled over to deal with the dog and the seat, and despite the January chill had the
windows wide open. Parker, their Boston terrier, sprawled on the floor looking pathetic.
She didn't know what the boys were arguing about, and since it hadn't come to blows yet, let them go
at it. They were, she knew, as nervous as Parker about yet another move.
She'd uprooted them. No matter how carefully you dug, it was still a shock to the system. Now all of them were about to be transplanted. She believed they would thrive. She had to believe it or she'd be
as sick as the family dog.
"I hate your slimy, stinky guts," eight-year-old Gavin declared.
"I hate your big, stupid butt," six-year-old Luke retorted.
"I hate your ugly elephant ears."
"I hate your whole ugly face."
Stella sighed and turned up the radio.
She waited until she'd reached the brick pillars that flanked the drive to the Harper estate. She nosed in, out of the road, then stopped the car. For a moment, she simply sat there while the insults raged in the backseat. Parker sent her a cautious look, then hopped up to sniff at the air through the window.
She turned the radio off, sat. The voices behind her began to trail off, and after a last, harshly whispered, "And I hate your entire body," there was silence.
"So, here's what I'm thinking," she said in a normal, conversational tone. "We ought to pull a trick on
Ms. Harper."
Gavin strained forward against his seat belt. "What kind of trick?"
"A tricky trick. I'm not sure we can pull it off. She's pretty smart; I could tell. So we'd have to be really sneaky."
"I can be sneaky," Luke assured her. And her glance in the rearview mirror told her the battle blood was already fading from his cheeks.
"Okay, then, here's the plan." She swiveled around so she could face both her boys. It struck her, as it often did, what an interesting meld of herself and Kevin they were. Her blue eyes in Luke's face, Kevin's gray-green ones in Gavin's. Her mouth to Gavin, Kevin's to Luke. Her coloring—poor baby—to Luke, and Kevin's sunny blond to Gavin.
She paused, dramatically, noted that both her sons were eagerly focused.
"No, I don't know." She shook her head regretfully. "It's probably not a good idea."
There was a chorus of pleas, protests, and a great deal of seat bouncing that sent Parker into a spate of enthusiastic barking.
"Okay, okay." She held up her hands. "What we do is, we drive up to the house, and we go up to the door. And when we're inside and you meet Ms. Harper—this is going to have to be really sneaky,
really clever."
"We can do it!" Gavin shouted.
"Well, when that happens, you have to pretend to be ... this is tough, but I think you can do it. You have to pretend to be polite, well-behaved, well-mannered boys."
"We can do it! We..." Luke's face scrunched up. "Hey!"
"And I have to pretend not to be a bit surprised by finding myself with two well-behaved, well-mannered boys. Think we can pull it off?"
"Maybe we won't like it there," Gavin muttered.
Guilt roiled up to churn with nerves. "Maybe we won't. Maybe we will. We'll have to see."
"I'd rather live with Granddad and Nana Jo in their house." Luke's little mouth trembled, and wrenched
at Stella's heart. "Can't we?"