Bellingwood Book 10 Vignettes (Bellingwood Vignettes 2) Read online

  He scooped up the first cone and handed it to Kayla. She beamed as she drew her tongue across the top of the ice cream.

  "Thank you, Stephanie," she whispered. "I love you."

  "I love you, too." Stephanie reached out and caught a drip with her index finger. "Be sure to lick all the way around, now."

  Vignette #3

  What's a Guy to Do?

  "I have no idea what it is I'm supposed to do," Henry said.

  Bill Sturtz clapped his son on the back and laughed. "That doesn't surprise me at all. I'm guessing this isn't the first time and it's certainly not going to be the last with that little spitfire you married. You know, when you were a boy, your mother and I wondered about what kind of life you'd have, but that wife of yours is going to keep you on your toes until the day you drop into your grave."

  "Probably longer than that," Henry replied, rolling his eyes. "But help me out here, what am I supposed to do?"

  "The flip answer is to tell you that she isn't your mother and so you shouldn't have to do anything."

  Henry scowled at his dad. "You buy flowers for Mom. Don't give me that."

  "She's the mother of my children." Bill flipped the switch to turn the sander on and then flipped it back off. "I'm not helping, am I?"

  "Not much," Henry said. "Does she want me to recognize Mother's Day or not? And what about Rebecca and her Mom and Jessie and her baby. We have all of these people in our lives and..." He sat down in a beat up old desk chair behind the work bench. "It shouldn't be this hard."

  "Son, you're the one who is making this difficult. Has Polly hinted that she wants you to celebrate this holiday?"

  "No, but..."

  "No buts," Bill said. "Has she ever hung you out to dry on holidays and celebrations?"

  Henry nodded. "You're right. She would have told me. But what if she just isn't thinking about it. Should I be helping her do something about her own Mom or the woman who raised her? I know they're dead, but maybe she wants to remember them somehow."

  "I declare," Bill said, leaning over the workbench. "When did you lose your ever-lovin' mind? You aren't usually this spineless. I thought you two had one of those open marriages."

  "Dad!" Henry exclaimed. "What in the world do you mean by that? We don't have an open marriage."

  Bill drew back in surprise. "I don't know. What do I mean? What's an open marriage?"

  Henry was still trying to make sense of the conversation. "An open marriage means that we don't care who the other person..." He hesitated. "Well, who they have a relationship with." Henry waved his hand around. "You know... a relationship."

  "Oh!" Bill started laughing. "No! I meant open conversation. You two talk all the time, no matter what it's about. Why haven't you talked this topic into the ground?"

  "We don't talk things into the ground. We just..." Henry looked up at his father, who was grinning at him. "Okay, we talk things to death sometimes. But at least we talk to each other."

  "Yeah. You're part of that new revolution in marriage." Bill drew his hands up in the air and made air quotes as he said. "You 'communicate.'"

  Henry lifted his nose into a hint of a snarl. "And I'm not spineless. If Polly hasn't said anything about the holiday, I don't know if it will upset her because she doesn't have a mother or because she isn't a mother. Why won't you help me?"

  Bill rubbed his hand across the piece of wood in front of him, as if he were testing to see if it really needed to be sanded. "Every marriage is different. You have to figure this out on your own. What works for me and your mother might not be right for you and Polly. What do you want to do?"

  "I keep trying to tell you," Henry slumped in the chair. "I don't know."

  "Then buy her jewelry or chocolate or something."

  "She'd hate that," Henry said. "What are you and Mom doing for lunch on Sunday?"

  "Your mother is probably cooking. I don't know. We haven't talked about it."

  "You aren't even taking her out?" Henry shook his head. "You're terrible."

  "Where are we gonna go?" Bill asked. "Every restaurant's filled to capacity. If Marie wants to go out to eat, we'll do it a different day. No sense standing in line for an hour to feel like we have to hurry through a meal because that long line hasn't gotten any shorter." He glared at his son. "It's no fun when there's a line of people staring at you because you have a table and they don't."

  Henry rubbed his hand down his face and rested his chin in his palm. "You could come over to our place. Polly and I'll cook."

  "Don't you think you should talk to her about this before you make the invitation, son? Or haven't you learned how dangerous that is."

  "She'll be fine."

  Marie Sturtz chose that moment to walk into the shop. She was carrying Jessie's baby, bouncing it gently in her arms. "I didn't hear any machines on out here but I saw your truck, Henry. Why aren't you working at the coffee shop?"

  He shrugged. "I was just talking to Dad about Mother's Day. Am I supposed to do something for Polly or not?"

  Marie gave her husband a smile, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Did he tell you to buy her flowers?"

  "No. He thought I should do jewelry or chocolate," Henry said.

  Bill frowned at his wife. "You don't like my flowers?"

  "They're always lovely," Marie winked at her son. "I already have a spot picked out in the garden for them."

  "Maybe I won't buy any this year," Bill grumped.

  "Don't be like that. I love whatever you give me," she said and turned back to Henry. "Would you and Polly like to come for dinner on Sunday? Maybe that would help."

  "You know Polly. She'll want to feed the world. Jessie and Rebecca and Evelyn and who knows? She'll probably want to invite Stephanie and Kayla and then, if she decides that Sylvie shouldn't cook for herself on Mother's Day, she'll invite them. Oh, and that means that Eliseo will be invited." He paused. "What am I up to now, thirteen or fourteen? I'm sure I've forgotten some."

  "Then we should have potluck," Marie declared. "I'll call Polly and set it up. That way you won't have to worry about anything."

  "But I still don't know whether or not I should get her anything," Henry said with a little bit of a whine.

  "Stop that," Bill said. "You don't whine."

  Marie laughed at the two of them. "If I know Polly, she'll be happy just having all of her friends around. That's what fills her up. She isn't used to having people give her gifts or do nice things for her. Bring as many people as you can in for lunch and she'll be in her element."

  "So I don't have to worry about buying her a present?"

  The baby fussed in Marie's arms and she started to bounce again. She looked up at the clock on the wall and said, "I'll bet you're getting hungry. Mama's probably wondering where we went." Then she said to Henry. "You should always buy her presents. Even if it's just because it's Tuesday." Marie stepped close to her husband and elbowed his side. "Isn't that right, sweetie?"

  "Right, sweetie," he echoed.

  Marie left the shop and Bill groaned. "See what just happened there? Now I have to go buy her a present."

  "You do not," Henry said.

  Bill flipped the sander on and said over his shoulder. "Yes I do. And you should too. You'd be surprised at how much more fun you'll have."

  Any further conversation was cut off at the sound of the sander on wood. Henry stood up and walked toward the door of the shop. He glanced back at his dad and heard humming. All of a sudden, Bill was moving his shoulders and swinging his hips to music that was playing only in his head.

  "That's my dad, folks," Henry said. "He'll be here all week."

  He took his phone out and texted Polly. ""What's your favorite flower?"

  Vignette #4

  Good Morning Sunshine

  "Boys, I'm not going to tell you again to get moving!"

  Sylvie wondered if they would really just stay in bed and miss school if she didn't yell at them. She'd tried everything she could think of and still, they waited u
ntil she was ready to blow her stack before coming downstairs.

  When they lived in the apartment, all she had to do was open one bedroom door and she could move them both. Now it was up a flight of stairs and if she was standing in one door, the other got a few extra seconds of shut-eye.

  That was it. She'd had it. Tonight they were moving Jason's bed into Andrew's room. If those two boys couldn't learn to use their own alarm clocks, they were going to lose the privilege of privacy. She grinned to herself. That would work.

  When Andrew was born, her mother warned her that raising two boys would be difficult. Her mother's words had simply acted as a challenge. Which was odd, because in those days Sylvie had practically given up on every other part of her life. She couldn't believe how she had lost herself in those years she was married to Anthony. Looking back, it felt as if that Sylvie was a stranger she didn't recognize. Anthony had taken away all of her self-confidence, stripping her down to nothing. Thank goodness for her boys. They would never understand how they had saved her. If nothing else, she would give them a foundation so they could make any decision they wanted for their lives. They were good kids, people respected and trusted them.

  Jason had been a mess for a while, but he'd pulled out of it and he made her proud. He was still embarrassed when she tried to be affectionate, but it was getting easier. Polly had been good for him, too. She and he were so comfortable around each other. His little crush on Polly had grown into a deep affection, one that would be there forever. When things fell apart in his life, Polly was the one who listened and put him on the right path. And now he had Eliseo as well.

  Sylvie took a sip of coffee. She heard footsteps upstairs. At least one of the boys was up and moving. And there, Jason's feet just hit the floor.

  She wasn't sure how she'd gotten so fortunate as to land at Sycamore House. What a crazy set of circumstances led to that, but her boys had gotten so much more out of it than she ever would. She hoped they would be able to look back on these days and see what a great gift they'd been given.

  Andrew came bounding down the stairs and into the kitchen, Padme close behind him. He opened the back door and she ran outside, oblivious to the cold, grey, rainy day.

  Sylvie opened a drawer and tossed a towel to Andrew. "Be ready for her," she said.

  "Is it ever going to be sunny again?" he complained, dropping into his chair at the table.

  "Stop whining," Sylvie said. "You'll have plenty of sunshine this summer."

  Andrew opened his mouth to say something, saw the look on his mother's face and decided against it. She put the carton of milk on the table beside boxes of cereal.

  "Can I have toast?" he asked.

  "You know where it is. Help yourself."

  "Did you slice some?"

  Sylvie chuckled. She'd threatened him several times when he tried to use her bread knife. It terrified her that he would cut himself. She knew that one of these days she should train her boys how to properly use knives. There were too many things to do and not enough time. When had her life gotten so crazy?

  Oh yeah. The day she met Polly Giller. First it was a couple of parties, then it was school, and now she was preparing to open a bakery as well as cater out of Sycamore House. Sylvie sat down in a chair and put her head in her arms. If she spent too much time thinking about it, her throat clenched up and she couldn't breathe.

  "Mom?" Andrew said.

  She looked up at him and realized that he was worried. "What?"

  "Did you slice the bread?"

  That one question had sent her spinning into insanity. She chuckled at herself again. "You know, Andrew, you could just open the refrigerator and look. But yes, the bread is sliced for you. Go ahead."

  He shook his head and walked over to the refrigerator. Jason came into the kitchen and instead of walking past Andrew to the table, took the time to stop and push his brother toward the counter.

  "Stop it," Andrew said.

  "Make me."

  Andrew whined, "Mom!"

  Sylvie took another drink of coffee. Jason wouldn't keep pushing. All he had to do was make contact with his brother. He gently shoved Andrew once more and made his way to the table.

  "Up late last night?" she asked him.

  "English paper," he mumbled. "Make me some toast, brat?"

  "Make it yourself," Andrew said.

  She pursed her lips. "You can put two more slices in when you take yours out, Andrew."

  "I don't know why I have to be nice. He's not nice to me."

  Sylvie ignored him and said to Jason. "If it stops raining today, will you mow after school?"

  Jason looked outside. "If it ever stops raining." He poured cereal into a bowl and reached to the center of the table for a banana.

  Sylvie pushed a knife toward him. "Did you finish your paper?"

  He shrugged. "It's not due until tomorrow."

  "But you'll have it done?"

  "No problem."

  Andrew danced across the room, bouncing hot toast on his fingers. He dropped them onto a plate and reached across the table for the butter dish. Sylvie scowled at him, snagged the butter and said, "Sit down and ask for it politely."

  "May I please have the butter?" Andrew asked.

  She passed it to him and said, "Now that I have you both here, we need to have a family discussion."

  Both boys stopped what they were doing and looked at her with concern on their faces.

  "Oh," she said. "Nothing's wrong except your morning behavior. It's going to change. I'm not yelling at you or chasing you out of your beds any longer. You're old enough to get up on your own. You have alarm clocks and you're going to use them. I will give you one wakeup call when I come downstairs, but from then on, you're on your own."

  They nodded and Jason took another bite of cereal. His toast popped up and he went over to get it.

  "I don't think you believe I'm serious," Sylvie said. "So here's the deal." She waited for Jason to sit back down at the table and then put her hands on both of their arms. "I want you to understand how serious I am. I'm tired of being angry in the morning because you two can't be responsible."

  "Okay mom. We'll get up on our own." Andrew said. He moved to take his arm away, thinking it was over.

  "Yes you will and here's why," she said. "The first morning that you aren't down here by seven o'clock, on your own, will be the last morning that you are alone in your room."

  That got their attention. Both boys looked at her, this time in shock.

  "Yep. Exactly. Unless you have a darned good reason, like you're deathly ill and need to be hospitalized, you will be down here, fully dressed and ready to go. If you aren't, after school, Jason, we will move your bed into Andrew's room since it's bigger. I don't care which of you screws up, both of you will pay. Am I clear about this?"

  "You wouldn't," Andrew whined.

  Jason sneered at his brother. "I don't know why you're complaining. You're the one who never gets up on time."

  "No arguing," Sylvie said, interrupting them. "You have less than two weeks of school left. I think you can do it. We'll set a different time for summer, but just in case you think I'll forget, this rule will go back into place when school starts again. Do you understand me?"

  She waited and they nodded. "Say it out loud," she said.

  Both boys mumbled, "We understand."

  Sylvie smiled and released their arms, then patted them. "Good. I'm glad we've had this time together. It won't be so bad, you'll see. And just think. Every morning when you come downstairs on time, you'll have a much happier mother. I might even make a real breakfast for you sometimes."

  Andrew couldn't help himself. He smiled and laughed. "No more cold water on my face in the mornings?"

  "No more. You're going to be in seventh grade next year. It's time for you to grow up."

  She looked at her older son. He was turning fifteen this summer. He must have felt her looking at him and glanced up. Sylvie winked and he smiled at her.

  "I
love you boys," she said. "And I'm proud of you. Every day." Sylvie took another drink of coffee. It had cooled to the perfect temperature. She sat back and craned to look out the window. Padme was sniffing at a bush and Sylvie jumped when she saw a rabbit run out from underneath. The dog chased the rabbit to the other side of the yard and stopped short when it scooted through a hole.

  "You'd better bring the dog in," she told Andrew. "Have the towel ready. She's a mess."

  Vignette #5

  I Don't Understand a Single Word

  "If that big furball gets in my face one more time, I'm going to paint a row of scratch marks down his nose."

  "No you won't. You'll do what you always do and walk away. Anything else would be completely out of character," she replied.

  He harrumphed, pushed at her with his back paws, and licked his chest. "I don't know why we are subjected to those horrible, smelly animals, Cleo. We're better than that."

  "Use my new name," Leia said. "It's been long enough. There's no reason for you to forget it."

  "But I like Marc Antony and Cleopatra. It's much more romantic than those whiny space pirates." Luke stretched out beside her and rubbed his face against her belly. "And you like romance."

  Leia licked the top of his head. "Romance, shromance. Neither one of us has any desire for that. I don't know why you keep bringing it up."

  "Tall-lady and Tall-man are romantic all the time," he protested, continuing to rub against her. Luke liked it when she groomed him. If he was feeling particularly friendly, he groomed her back.

  "They are human. It's what they do."

  "But shortgirl and shortboy and other shortgirl aren't romantic."

  Leia leaned back and stretched out, flexing her paws. Surely he wouldn't mind if she...

  "Don't even think about it," he said. "Keep those claws to yourself. That's what barky-thing is for."

  "Come on. Just a little?"

  "No. You say it will be just a little and the next thing I know, you're digging those daggers past my fur and into my skin. We've had this discussion a million times and you can just stay away."