Spring Fever (22 page)

“What’s going on between you and Celia? Not that it’s any of my business.”

Mason shrugged. “Nothing really. She was annoyed that I ate a late lunch, and then she was annoyed because I broke one of our wedding-present wineglasses. I think I kinda wrecked her plans for our big evening together.”

“Where is she now?”

He laughed. “At my mom’s. Her aunt had some kind of spell, and you know Sallie. She’s not exactly Nurse Nancy. She called and issued a summons, and of course Celia went.”

“Nobody, not even Celia, ignores a summons from Sallie Bayless,” Annajane agreed.

Mason laughed. He’d forgotten how easy Annajane was to be around. Effortless. With Annajane there was no subterfuge, no hidden messages. She was as open and real as … well, he didn’t know. Just easy, that’s all.

How the hell had things gotten so complicated, so quickly, with Celia? He felt like he was treading on broken glass every time they were together lately.

“Let me ask you something,” he said. “Do you think I spoil Sophie?”

Wow,
Annajane wondered.
Where was this coming from?

“Spoil?” She repeated the question, stalling for time. “I don’t know. I don’t think so, but I’m probably biased. Sophie’s … she’s special, you know? She was so tiny, and so needy, when you first brought her home. I guess maybe some people might say you went a little overboard. But she’s your daughter! And she is the sweetest, smartest, most loving little girl in the world. She doesn’t ask for a lot. And it’s not like she really plays you or manipulates you.”

Mason was nodding thoughtfully as she spoke, so Annajane took a deep breath and asked a question of her own.

“Does Celia think Sophie’s spoiled?”

“She thinks I should be firmer with her,” Mason said. “Sophie was kind of rude to Celia today at the hospital. You know, pulling her covers over her head, not talking to her, that kind of thing. Kid stuff, really. But it really got under Celia’s skin.”

Annajane was tempted to fire off something clever or flippant about evil stepmothers. But something made her hold back.

Sophie’s only five, but she’s no dummy. She could tell Celia was trying to buy her off. And she can spot a phony, even if her clueless daddy can’t. Tread cautiously here. Think before you open your mouth.

“Well,” Annajane said finally. “Discipline and rules and politeness, those are things every child needs. It’s not like Sophie to be rude. Maybe that’s something you and Celia are going to have to work on together.”

Mason nodded. “Yeah, probably you’re right. Guess I shouldn’t be so touchy, huh? Anyway, it’s too nice a night to get into all this heavy stuff. We’ll work it out. Eventually.”

Hope not,
Annajane thought.

18

When they got to the turnoff for the farm, Mason swung the car easily into the graveled drive. Lights glowed from within the old white-painted farmhouse, and a battered pickup was parked in the shade of the tin-roofed shed that had once sheltered tractors.

“Somebody’s living here?” Annajane asked.

“You remember Grady Witherspoon? Maybe not. He was a little older than me. Went in the navy right out of high school, and I guess they’ve lived all over the world. He and his wife moved back last year. They’re renting the place. He’s planted one of the old cornfields, gonna be selling organic vegetables to some of the fancy restaurants over at Pinehurst. At least that’s the plan.”

The Chevelle bumped along over the rutted dirt road that skirted an old pasture gone to weeds. Waist-high pine-tree saplings lined the rusty barbed wire fence. More than once, the high-beam headlights caught a deer bounding gracefully across the path, and junebugs and moths seemed to float in the still, cool air. Finally, Mason pulled the car alongside a weathered outbuilding.

“What is this place?” Annajane asked, half-rising from the seat to get a better look. It had been years and years since she’d visited the farm.

“It’s the old corncrib,” Mason said. “It’s about to fall in, along with the rest of the buildings out here. Davis and I used to bring sleeping bags and camp out here back in the days when we deer hunted together. We thought we were Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett.”

He cut the engine and they let the quiet settle over them. It was a country kind of quiet, lush and deep and green, Annajane thought, with cicadas sawing away and the hooting of an owl echoing from a nearby treetop.

“Do you and Davis still hunt together?” Annajane asked, shivering involuntarily at the sound of the owl.

“No,” he said, and she thought she detected a note of regret in his voice. “The only deer he’s chasing these days are the kind spelled d-e-a-r. We actually don’t do much of anything together anymore, except bicker.”

“About the company?”

“That, and other stuff,” Mason said. “Lately, I look at him and have to wonder how we could be so completely different and yet come from the same set of parents.”

“Davis definitely marches to his own tune,” Annajane said, trying to be diplomatic.

“That’s part of the problem,” Mason said darkly. “We’re supposed to be running a family business. I keep trying to remind him of that, but it doesn’t do much good. If he had his way, Quixie would be a division of some giant chemical company, and he’d be sitting in a penthouse office in Manhattan. But that wasn’t my grandfather’s vision for the company, and it sure wasn’t Dad’s. Nor mine. Jax Snax, my ass.”

“Jax Snax?” she asked. “The potato chip company?”

“You won’t say anything to anybody, right?”

“Of course not.”

He cleared his throat. “They’re making noises about buying a controlling interest in Quixie. Nothing formal yet, just talk. But some numbers have been floated. The people I’ve talked to say it’s a decent offer. Not great, but decent, considering our recent sales slide.”

She wondered if she should disclose the conversation she’d overheard Celia having earlier at the plant. Did Mason know his bride to be was in cahoots with his baby brother?

“Would you sell?” Annajane asked.

“It’s kind of a moot point right now,” Mason said. “You know Dad’s biggest fear was that after his death the company might get broken up or sold off. He’d seen it happen to other family-owned companies, seen the kinds of feuds that erupted between siblings, and he was bound and determined it wouldn’t happen to Quixie. Or to us. Which is why he put the company ownership in an irrevocable trust that would prohibit any discussion of a sale until after he’d been gone for five years.”

Annajane raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know that.”

“The rest of the estate was settled after Dad died,” Mason said. “That part was pretty cut and dried. He left Cherry Hill to Mama, and Davis and Pokey and I got what we got. But none of us realized, until we met with Norris Thomas, Dad’s lawyer, that he’d left it so that Quixie couldn’t be sold. Not only that, he instructed Norris that the exact details of the trust couldn’t be disclosed for five years.”

“It’s been more than five years now,” Annajane pointed out.

“The clock on the trust didn’t start ticking until April fifteenth, which was when the will was probated,” Mason said.

“What’s that mean for Quixie?” Annajane asked.

“In the short term, it means no sale,” Mason said. “After that, we don’t really know. Norris told me himself that Davis has been pestering him about the trust for a couple months now—probably ever since the Jax Snax people started talking about a deal. Davis even threatened to sue to get the trust arrangement revealed early, but Norris is a stubborn old bastard. He’s sitting tight. He says he’ll meet with all of us next week—on the fifteenth, and not a day before.”

“Why all the secrecy?” Annajane asked, studying Mason’s face for any clues. “I mean, your dad always said he was leaving the company to you kids, right? So I don’t understand why he’d make y’all wait five years to find out exactly how everything would play out.”

“You knew Dad. He was a poker player his entire life. He always liked to play his cards close to his chest. And to tell you the truth, I think he probably liked the idea of controlling us from beyond the grave.”

“And your mama doesn’t know what’s in the trust agreement either?” Annajane asked.

“Nope. She swears she can’t get Norris to tell her a thing. And believe me, she’s tried everything up to and including bribery and death threats.”

Annajane grinned. “How’s that sitting with Sallie?”

“She’s been pissed about it for five years,” Mason admitted. “But there’s not a damned thing any of us can do about it.”

“I guess selling the company would mean a lot of money,” Annajane said.

“That’s why Davis is so fired up. A sale would make us all rich.”

She coughed politely. “Pardon me for stating the obvious, but you’re already rich.”

“Moderately wealthy,” Mason corrected her, laughing at himself. “On paper, anyway. Don’t forget, Dad took on a lot of debt when he bought that land in Fayetteville. That’s what Mama would prefer we be called. But Davis definitely would prefer to be rich. Filthy, stinking rich.”

“What
does
Sallie think of all this?” Annajane asked.

“She’s playing it cool. She says she’ll listen to any offer. But she’s gonna have to hop off the fence pretty soon. The Jax offer is looking like a reality, and if our costs keep rising and our sales keep sinking the way they have been, they may cut their price, or just go away for good.”

“Would that be a bad thing?”

“We can’t keep going the way we have been,” Mason said. “We’ve been in a holding pattern since Dad died. Maybe it’s my fault. I’ll admit I’ve been reluctant to make any drastic changes.”

He lowered his voice. “Not long before he died, Dad hired a food chemist to come up with some new flavors of Quixie. To extend the brand. He’d tasted and liked the key lime and pomegranate, but hated the peach soda. He’d pretty much made up his mind to do it—roll out one new flavor a year. But then he had the heart attack and died.”

“So you put the plans on hold,” Annajane said. “Probably wise, given the economy.”

“Maybe,” Mason said, sounding dubious. “Or maybe I’m just chicken. I keep worrying, what if I screw it up? And then I start second-guessing myself. That’s no kind of leadership. Something has to give. That’s all I know for sure.”

He turned and gave her a half smile. “But none of this is your problem. In a way, I envy you. You can just walk away and start over. Do your job, cash your paycheck, clock out on Friday, and forget about it until Monday.”

“Theoretically,” Annajane said.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I guess maybe you’ll never be a wage slave. You care too much about stuff.”

“Way too much.”

He yawned and stretched and slipped his arm easily along the back of the seat.

“Sophie is gonna miss you like crazy when you move,” he said, deliberately changing the subject.

Annajane felt a sharp stab of sadness. “Leaving her is the hardest thing about making this move,” she said. “God, I’m going to miss her. More than you know. Do you think Celia would let her come and visit me in Atlanta? Maybe with Pokey? I really can’t stand the idea of not having her in my life.”

“I don’t think she’d have a problem with that,” Mason said. “More importantly, I wouldn’t have a problem with it. You’re family to her. Always will be, if I have any say in the matter. Which I will.”

“Thank you for that,” she said earnestly. “I mean it. I guess it’s weird to fall in love with your ex-husband’s child. I didn’t mean to, but not loving Sophie? That would be impossible.”

They heard the owl hooting again, and Mason craned his neck to try to figure out where the bird might be perched.

“What about Shane?” he said, trying to sound casual. “How do you think he’d be with having your ex’s kid hanging around?”

“I’ve told him how much Sophie means to me,” Annajane said. “Shane loves children. And he doesn’t have a jealous bone in his body. Anyway, he’ll be traveling most of the summer.”

“So…” Mason strung the word into two syllables. “You’ve set the wedding date?”

“Not exactly,” Annajane said. “Shane wants to get married right away, but I’d really like to get settled in first. You know, new apartment, new job, new town. It’s a lot, you know?”

“You’re not moving in with him?” Mason sounded surprised.

“Why do people keep asking me that?” Annajane snapped. “Why do I have to live with him? Just because we’re engaged? Do I have something to prove?”

“Not to me,” Mason said quickly. “Seems to me you just met the guy. Why rush? In fact, I’d say you definitely should not live together.”

“You and Celia have been living together for months,” she pointed out.

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“I don’t know,” he sounded impatient. “It’s not like I planned for Celia to move in with me. It just sort of happened. She left some clothes at my house, and then the place she was renting at first was so far from the office … Are you going to get mad at me if I tell you I don’t think you’re that kind of girl?”

Annajane smiled to herself in the dark, turning away from Mason so he couldn’t see her reaction.

“I won’t get mad if you mean that as some kind of twisted compliment.”

“I do!” Mason said. “Of course it’s a compliment. You act like I never say anything nice to you.”

“Do you?” She swiveled around on the leather seat to face him.

He sighed. “Don’t I?”

“No,” she said decisively. “You haven’t said anything, well, nice to me, in a personal way, in a really long time. You say things at work like, ‘good job’ or ‘great idea.’ Sometimes you copy me on an e-mail with a thumbs-up emoticon. But that’s not really a compliment, Mason.”

He nodded slowly and took a deep breath. “Okay. Maybe I’m just
thinking
the compliments. And I got out of the habit of saying them out loud.” He paused. “Or maybe I got worried about what other people would say if I, you know, paid you special attention.”

“People? Or Celia?”

“Celia,” he said.

“Why would Celia care if you’re nice to me? I’m certainly no threat to her.”