Change of Heart (The True Heart Series Book 3) Page 4

  Parker found Susan out in the garden talking to an older woman. Susan looked at Parker and held up one finger. “Let me take Mrs. Elderwood inside.”

  “Is it dinner time already?” Mrs. Elderwood asked.

  “No, but it’s time for lunch. They’re serving tuna fish sandwiches,” Susan told her.

  “I like tuna. My husband, Phil, used to fish for them. He’s supposed to visit later.”

  “All right then. Let’s get you a sandwich,” Susan said.

  Parker watched Susan patiently walk the old woman back inside. She studied her friend. Susan was in for a rough ride. It was more than apparent that Carrie was here to stay. Parker looked over at the gazebo where several old women sat on its benches, enjoying the fine weather. They held their faces up toward the sun’s rays like flowers searching for their life-giving force. She had designed and built that gazebo with her own two hands. She loved to see her creations being used.

  Not for the first time, Parker wished people were more like the things she built. Piece by piece, she constructed something of beauty. Carpentry made sense. The means produced a specific result. With humans, things were more complicated. There were too many pieces, too many variables. It was like buying a puzzle only to find out there were missing pieces.

  Parker wished she could build an impenetrable box and put Susan’s heart inside, giving only Tess the key.

  Susan returned. She sat down on the bench next to Parker. “Well, how did it go?”

  “I talked to her and she told me to fuck off.” No sense sugarcoating what happened.

  “Oh,” Susan said.

  “Perhaps you and Tess should move to the city until she goes away.”

  “This is my home. My work is here. My life is here. I’m not going anywhere,” Susan said. “If she thinks she can just waltz back into my life, she’s in for a rude surprise.”

  “I told her as much.”

  Susan stared out at the garden with her shoulders slumped and her hands limply in her lap. “She’s going to try to ruin my life, isn’t she?”

  “I don’t know if that’s her intention, but it could be the outcome.”

  Chapter Three

  When Amy stopped by after work to see Millie, her old neighbor and dear friend, she found her dressed in overalls instead of her usual activewear. Millie was in her eighties, but still spry enough to do yoga every day. She was a fireball in a small, cute package and Amy adored her.

  It had surprised Amy (in a good way) when Millie and Amy’s Aunt Bernie had fallen in love. It was a later-in-life romance. It heartened Amy to see them both so happy. Millie had lost her husband years before and Bernie had lost her partner, Connie, to ovarian cancer. They’d started hanging out together and their friendship had blossomed into love.

  Bernie was also wearing overalls. She was a tall woman with long gray hair she kept in a braid that hung halfway down her back. Bernie was on her hands and knees on the floor. She was writing something on a big piece of white poster board.

  “What’re you doing?” Amy asked, staring down at the poster. She noticed there was also a pile of one-by-one boards lying on the floor.

  “We’re making protest signs,” Millie said, loading a staple gun and pointing it toward a stack of completed signs in the corner of the room.

  “What for?” Amy asked.

  “What for?” Mabel shouted from the dining room. “I’ll tell you what for! We are part of a nationwide movement—Marches on Main Street—and we are going to take the patriarchy down!”

  Amy peeked into the dining room. Mabel was sitting at the dining room table with a super-sized magic marker furiously scribbling on a poster board.

  “Hi, Mabel,” Amy said.

  “Hi yourself,” Mabel barked.

  Mabel never ceased to amuse Amy. She was in her late 70s and claimed to be five feet tall, but everyone knew that was an exaggeration. Unless you counted the inches her spikey gray hair added to her height. Her violet eyes shined mischievously. Mabel and Clara had been together over twenty years and counting, as Mabel always said. They looked like Mutt and Jeff when together. Clara was tall, regal, and imposing—the opposite of Mabel.

  “Did they make you sit in here by yourself?” Amy asked. “Are you in time-out for being bad?”

  “No,” Mabel said. “I needed some room for my creative expression. I’m in charge of slogans.”

  “She has a god-given talent for them,” Bernie added.

  “Too much talent sometimes,” Millie said under her breath.

  Mabel and Clara were Millie’s good friends, bingo partners, and neighbors. They’d recently purchased Amy’s mother’s house. Parker had helped Amy fix it up after her mother’s accidental fire had destroyed part of the house. One of the main selling points of the house was that it was next door to Millie and Bernie.

  “Where’s Clara?” Amy asked.

  “She’s at the doctor. She won’t let me go with her anymore. She says I have a bad rapport with her doctor,” Mabel explained.

  “Which means she tells him off all the time,” Millie said.

  “I just don’t understand why she doesn’t have a woman doctor like Susan,” Mabel groused.

  “Because he’s a geriatric doctor and he is a very nice man,” Millie said.

  “What about woman power?” Mabel said forcefully, thrusting her fist in the air.

  “That power means choosing your own doctor,” Millie said reasonably. “Even if it is a man.”

  Amy flipped through the completed protest signs and read the slogans: My Pussy Grabs Back! Women’s rights, Men’s wrongs! I can’t believe I’m protesting this shit again! I am a Nasty Woman, hear me roar!

  Bernie said, “I remember back when the women’s movement didn’t want lesbians to be included because it sent out the wrong impression. They didn’t want the men to think that all feminists were dykes. It was very sad.”

  “That’s why I did this one,” Mabel said. She held up her newest sign. It read: I’ve been holding this sign so long I’m on social security. She looked up at Amy. “What do you think?”

  “I think all this stuff should have been decided and implemented a long time ago,” Amy said.

  “That’s why we need a constitutional amendment for equal rights so they can’t take away our civil rights any damn time they see fit,” Millie said. “One president says we have rights, the next president doesn’t. I’m getting motion sickness from all the back and forth.”

  Amy smiled at the women. Her heart swelled with pride. These senior citizens were getting involved again. Hadn’t they already suffered enough just being a woman in a man’s world for the past eight decades? A light bulb went off in Amy’s head. “You know, I should do a piece in the Sentinel about all this.”

  “Will Jeb Marshall go for it?” Bernie asked. She dug another marker out of her front pocket and handed it to Mabel who was furiously shaking the one she had as it was out of ink. Mabel snatched it and went back to work.

  “He will if he wants to live in the same house as Clementine,” Millie said.

  “Or ever have sex again,” Mabel added.

  “Long live Lysistrata,” Amy said.

  Bernie cocked her head. “Who?”

  “Lysistrata is a Greek story about how women wanted to stop a war so they refused to have sex with their husbands until they stopped fighting. It proved to be very effective,” Amy said.

  “Huh, now that’s an idea for all those straight women,” Bernie said.

  “The power of being female,” Amy said.

  “Fuckin’ A!” Mabel growled.

  ***

  Rascal lay on the floor by Parker’s desk, his feet in the air, snoring loudly. Every once in a while, his back legs twitched and he yipped in his sleep. Rascal had been Parker’s birthday present to Amy. He was a pit bull mix that Parker had rescued from the animal shelter. Rascal turned out to be intelligent and caring. In fact, Parker believed that Rascal was more highly evolved than most men.

 
Parker sat at her desk, perusing wedding cakes on Pinterest. After Amy told Parker what Millie and the others had planned, Parker said, “I better get some cash out of the bank in case we have to post bail.”

  “They’re pretty hot under the collar,” Amy said, leaning over Parker’s shoulder and studying the computer screen.

  Parker scrolled down, studying each photo.

  “That’s a nice one,” Amy said, pointing at a photo of a three-tiered cake. “It looks simple in a sort of elegant way.

  “Yeah, but it’s made out of Swiss cheese.”

  “Maybe that’s what they do in Wisconsin,” Amy said, leaning in to look closer. The tiny figurines at the top did appear to be standing in a cheese hole.

  “Why would they do that?” Parker asked.

  “Because they’re cheese-heads.”

  Parker looked confused. “Cheese-heads?”

  “That’s what the people in Minnesota call the people who live in Wisconsin.”

  “Is it a compliment or an insult?” Parker asked.

  “I’m not sure, but I think we should stick with a wedding cake that is actually cake.”

  “That would be best, I think.”

  Amy pulled up a chair and sat down beside Parker. “Is this wedding stressing you out? Be candid,” Amy said.

  Looking up from the computer, her blue eyes studying Amy, she said, “Yes. It is.”

  “We don’t have to get married. I love you and you love me. That should be enough, right?”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “Are you going somewhere?”

  “No.”

  “Neither am I. So, I think we’re cool. We don’t have to exchange vows.”

  “But I want to get married,” Parker said. She swiveled in her chair and put her arms around Amy. She buried her face in Amy’s neck.

  “Then that’s what we’ll do.” Amy kissed the top of Parker’s head. Suddenly, Amy made a face. She sniffed the air. “Are you cooking something?”

  “Oh, no! Dinner!” Parker said, jumping up abruptly.

  Rascal jumped to his feet and barked. Parker ran to the kitchen with Rascal close on her heels. She threw open the oven door. Smoke billowed out, engulfing the room with its stench. The smoke alarm shrieked. Rascal sat on his haunches and howled at the high-pitched alarm. Parker quickly grabbed a kitchen stool, climbed up to the smoke alarm which was positioned high on the wall, and shut it off.

  Amy opened the kitchen window and door. She waved her arms around trying to clear out the smoke. It wasn’t doing much good.

  “Damn. I forgot to set the timer.” Parker put on oven mitts and took the burned and smoking casserole dish out of the oven. She carried the dish onto the back deck and set it down on the tile table.

  Amy, Parker, and Rascal stared forlornly at the blackened mess. It was like their dinner had been cremated and they were solemnly preparing to scatter its ashes.

  “What was it going to be?” Amy asked.

  “Chicken pot pie. I found the recipe on Pinterest. They said it was quick and easy,” Parker said.

  “I know what—let’s go out and eat. We’ll talk wedding plans while somebody else cooks and serves us dinner. How about that?” Amy said brightly.

  Parker looked more dejected than ever. “I want to learn to cook. Nothing has ever eluded me like this.”

  “It’s just one little setback,” Amy said. “Besides, you have lots of other talents.” She wrapped her arms around Parker and kissed her softly.

  “You promise you’ll help me with the wedding thing?” Parker asked, obviously frustrated.

  Amy seldom saw this side of Parker, the one that could not manage something. “Absolutely. It’s my wedding, too, you know.”

  “I thought I could do it, but I didn’t realize it was so difficult. No wonder people hire wedding planners,” Parker said.

  “I’d rather we didn’t,” Amy said. “I haven’t heard good things about them.”

  Parker laughed.

  ***

  “I don’t think punching her in the face was the best idea you ever had,” Rosa said. She was in the kitchen, sitting at the table. Her hurricane was leaning against her chair. Hurricane was what Rosa jokingly called her cane. She jokingly pronounced it hurry-cane.

  Steph was cooking pork loin roast with mashed potatoes and Brussels sprouts. The savory smells wafting around the kitchen made Rosa’s stomach growl.

  “I’ve been waiting a long time to punch her,” Steph said, folding butter and sour cream into the cooked potatoes.

  “Still,” Rosa muttered. “You’re better than that.” She hoped her admonishment sounded sincere.

  Steph looked over at her. “Really? You haven’t wanted to do the exact same thing?”

  Rosa sighed. “About a hundred times.”

  “See?”

  “What if you’re charged with assault and battery?”

  “She won’t press charges. Besides, Chief Bob Ed already counseled me on not taking the law into my own hands. If Susan feels like Carrie is stalking her, she can file a restraining order. I’ll stay out of it from now on.”

  “That sounds like a better idea,” Rosa said, sticking her finger in the mashed potatoes and scooping up a taste.

  Steph smacked Rosa’s hand with the spatula. “Carrie doesn’t want to mess up her chances with Susan. She’ll keep quiet about the sock in the eye.”

  “True. If she had pressed charges, you would’ve been hauled in by now,” Rosa said. She pulled Steph into an embrace. “I’m secretly glad you did it. Now, I don’t have to.”

  “I knew you’d be proud. I didn’t like her putting you in the ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ predicament after you found out about the affair,” she said. She kissed Rosa’s neck. “Not to mention the heartbreak and embarrassment she put Susan through.”

  “I still worry that Carrie might tell Susan that I knew about the affair.”

  “I don’t think it ever crossed her mind that you overheard her talking to Monica. Right now, she’s focused on getting Susan back, not about anything that happened before. That’s water under the bridge. Rehashing the past is not in her best interest and she knows it.”

  Steph pulled the pork roast out of the oven and set it on a trivet on the counter. She poked a meat thermometer in the center of the roast to insure it was thoroughly cooked. You had to be careful with pork.

  “That’s just it. I hate her having something to hold over me. It’s messing with my head.”

  “I could punch her in the other eye if it would make you feel better. Give her a matching pair. Maybe then she’ll leave,” Steph said. She cut the roast into slices and arranged them on a plate.

  “Or we could find her another girlfriend to torture,” Rosa said.

  Steph stared at her with a spoonful of potatoes in her hand. “That’s a brilliant idea.” She dished the potatoes and then the Brussels sprouts onto their plates.

  They sat down at the table. “This is fabulous,” Rosa said after she’d had a bite of everything on her plate.

  After they ate, Rosa pushed her empty plate away.

  “You know, I meant it about getting Carrie a new girlfriend,” Steph said, as they cleared away the dishes.

  Rosa filled the sink with water and added dish soap. They didn’t have a dishwasher. The kitchen was too small. The bungalow was small in general, but it was cozy and the large porch out front and the deck out back added square footage. In winter, the cozy house made the heating bills a lot less.

  “Who would want to go out with the town pariah?” Rosa asked, washing the plates and handing them to Steph who rinsed and dried them.

  Steph shrugged. “Someone from out of town?”

  “You’re saying it’s all right to mislead a stranger.” Rosa dunked the roasting pan in the soapy water.

  “No, that would be Carrie’s decision. Everyone has their own version of the truth, you know.”

  Rosa raised an eyebrow.

  “She’d probably tell her pote
ntial girlfriend that she was pushed into the marriage and that Susan was a control freak and she couldn’t get away from her until Monica came along. Something along those lines.”

  “What about Ruth?” Rosa said. “She’s still single, right?”

  “I would not do that to her. Besides, she has a little girl. It wouldn’t be fair to introduce her to a new person with such dubious credentials,” Steph said. She snapped the towel at Rosa’s butt.

  “Hey,” Rosa said, grabbing her around the waist. “Don’t make me arrest you.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “Blatant towel snapping. It carries a heavy penalty,” Rosa said.

  “Oh yeah, what’s the punishment?”

  “I get to choose what movie we watch.”

  “Okay, but none of that shoot ‘em up stuff,” Steph said. She stepped away and studied Rosa then snapped the towel at her again.

  “Hey! That’s a second offense.”

  “What does that get me?”

  “One whole evening of being my love slave,” Rosa answered with a leer.

  “Done!” Steph tossed the towel on the counter and dashed off toward the bedroom.

  Rosa laughed and grabbed her cane. She hobbled out of the kitchen and down the hall, muttering, “Hurry-cane, hurry-cane.” By the time she walked into the bedroom, Steph was in bed and buck naked. “I’ve never seen anyone get out of their clothes as fast as you.”

  “It’s one of my many talents.”

  “You have other talents?”

  “Come here and find out.”

  Rosa dropped her cane and joined Steph on the bed. “Are you doing this just to get out of watching The Fast and the Furious?”

  “Maybe,” Steph said, nibbling Rosa’s ear. “Do you care?”

  “Mmmm…Not really,” Rosa said.

  Chapter Four

  Rosa was now working the switchboard on a more or less permanent basis. Mike had been given a temporary assignment as a beat cop to see if he could handle the job. Rosa didn’t mind answering calls. It gave her something else to do besides wade through paperwork.