Spring Fever (37 page)

She folded her hands in her lap and blinked rapidly, opening her mouth, then closing it again, before finally the words came out in a torrent, her voice shaking with fear and indignation.

“I have worked for this company since I was fifteen years old. I worked for Mr. Glenn, God rest, and then I was so happy to go to work for Mason. And when he brought Sophie home, I prayed about that, and I called up my sister-in-law, Letha, and told her he needed a good woman to take care of that precious baby. And I have been with this company for thirty-two years.”

“I know that,” Annajane said reassuringly, wondering what this was all about. “And I know Mason and the rest of the family appreciates you and Letha’s dedication.”

Voncile nodded. “Last year, Mason said he was gonna have to quit naming me Employee of the Month because I’d already won it so many times it was making some people jealous. He said he was just going to go ahead and name me Employee of the Millennium and be done with it. But I never did get a certificate or anything.”

“I think that was just Mason’s idea of a joke, Voncile,” Annajane said.

Voncile shrugged. “You know, Annajane, I’ve been praying for you and Mason to get back together. It was a sad day for all of us when you two split up. Miss Celia is nice, and she certainly seems to know a lot about business, but just between the two of us, I think you would make a better mama for Sophie. Not that it’s any of my say-so.”

“That’s very sweet of you to say,” Annajane said demurely. “And I appreciate your prayers. But I think it’s best if Mason and I go our separate ways.”

Voncile gave Annajane an appraising look. “You know I do not listen to gossip. The Bible says, ‘A gossip betrays a confidence; so avoideth a man who talks too much.’ That’s Proverbs 20:19. You could look it up. But Troy Meeks is a good man, and he said the talk around town is that you and Mason have gotten back together again. Is that true?”

Annajane felt herself blush. “Well, uh, not really. I think maybe Troy misunderstood. Mason and I are just friends.”

“But you didn’t marry that boy down in Atlanta.” She nodded pointedly at Annajane’s left hand. “You’re not wearing your engagement ring. And you didn’t take that job down there,” Voncile protested. “I thought that meant Mason was going to ask you to marry him.”

“I’m afraid not,” Annajane said, fervently wishing for an end to the conversation. “Was there something specific on your mind, Voncile?”

The older woman stared down at the floor. “One of the girls in accounting told me the company is in such bad shape, we might get sold off. She said she heard Davis is already talking to some company in New Jersey that wants to buy us.”

Mason had sworn her to secrecy, but obviously news of the Jax Snax offer had begun to leak out. She didn’t want to lie to Voncile, but she also didn’t want to keep the rumor mill going.

“Yes,” she said finally. “I do know that there is a company that’s approached the family about selling Quixie. But as you may know, Glenn Bayless established an irrevocable trust shortly before he died that prohibited a sale for five years after his death.”

“It was five years this past Christmas that Mr. Glenn passed away,” Voncile pointed out.

“Right. And next week, I think, Thomas Norris, Glenn’s attorney, is going to let the family know how Glenn wanted the company left to his heirs. Until the family finds that out, any talk of a sale is premature,” Annajane said, trying to choose her words carefully.

“Mason wouldn’t sell us out,” Voncile said flatly. “He knew what this company meant to his daddy. And his granddaddy. He wouldn’t let that happen. Right?”

Sometimes,
Annajane thought,
doing the right thing means doing the wrong thing for the people you care most about.

“Mason cares deeply about his responsibilities,” Annajane said. “But I’m afraid it isn’t just up to him. Davis and Pokey and Sallie will probably all have a say in what happens.”

Voncile’s breathing grew rapid, and two bright pink splotches appeared on her heavily powdered cheeks. “I was afraid of that. If outsiders buy Quixie, what will happen to all of us?” She nervously chewed her lower lip. “I need this job, Annajane. My Claude, rest his soul, didn’t leave me hardly anything when he passed. If we get bought out, those New Jersey folks won’t want a fifty-nine-year-old like me with bad knees and fallen arches, even with all my Employee of the Month certificates. And I’d lose my health care. Annajane, I have the sugar diabetes. And hypertension. I can’t afford those pills without my health care plan.”

Annajane nodded in sympathy. “Nothing’s been decided yet, Voncile, so please don’t go getting yourself all upset. It’s true that Davis is in favor of the sale. But Mason doesn’t want to sell, and neither does Pokey.”

“And what about their mama? Miss Sallie? She wouldn’t let them sell Mr. Glenn’s company, would she?”

“I’m not sure,” Annajane admitted. “Really, nobody knows how this will all be settled until Mr. Thomas meets with the family next week to explain about Glenn’s trust.”

Voncile clucked under her breath. “Rest his soul. This company was Mr. Glenn’s baby. I just pray he fixed it up good with the lawyers so things can stay the way he intended.”

Annajane stood up and patted the older woman’s shoulder. “I hope your prayers get heard, Voncile.”

Voncile raised her eyes heavenward. “My faith is in the Lord,” she said solemnly. “But sometimes, the lambs of the flock have to rise up and take care of themselves. Sometimes, it is up to the righteous to do the Lord’s work here on earth for him.”

“Okay, then,” Annajane said, walking Voncile back out into the hallway. She wondered, for only a brief moment, what kind of measures the righteous would take to cast somebody like Celia out of Passcoe. And then she got back to work.

At midmorning, she ran to the ladies room down the hall, pushed open the heavy door, and ran smack into Celia herself, who was standing in front of the mirror, touching up her already-flawless makeup.

Annajane nearly did an about-face. But after drinking all that Quixie, she desperately needed to pee, and there was only one lady’s room in the plant, and this small, two-stall bathroom was it.

She nodded curtly at Celia and went to open the door of the nearest stall. It didn’t budge. She glanced downward and saw that it was occupied. As was the one next to it. There was nowhere to hide. Annajane crossed her arms over her chest and stood with her back to the paper towel dispenser, staring up at the ceiling as though it were the Sistine Chapel.

Celia was in no particular hurry. She took a large brush and dusted her face with tinted mineral powder. Rummaging in her cosmetic bag, she brought out an eyebrow pencil and applied short, feathery strokes to her pale brows.

A toilet flushed, and Patsy, one of the girls from accounting, emerged from the stall. She looked from Annajane to Celia and scurried out of the bathroom without even stopping to wash her hands.

Grateful for a reprieve, Annajane ducked into the stall. The toilet next to hers flushed, and she watched while a set of cheerful red ballet flats walked out of the stall. She heard water running, and then the sound of the bathroom door closing. She waited for another two minutes, just to make sure the coast was clear, before emerging.

Her heart sank when she saw Celia, standing at the mirror, fully made up, an odd, fixed smile on her face.

Annajane stood at the sink and washed and dried her hands. She stepped past Celia and reached for the door handle, but Celia neatly stepped sideways, effectively blocking her exit. “Excuse me,” Annajane said.

“I’ll only take a moment of your precious time,” Celia said. “And then I’ll let you get back to packing up your shit and getting the hell out of this company.”

“This is not happening to me,” Annajane muttered. She reached for the door again, but Celia slapped her hand away.

“Oh, honey, it
is
happening,” Celia said. “So you better pay attention. Because I need to have a few words with you.”

“Whatever,” Annajane said. “What’s on your mind, Celia?”

“
You
are on my mind,” Celia said, poking her index finger into Annajane’s clavicle. “Every time I turn around, Annajane Hudgens, there you are. At my wedding,” she poked Annajane. “In the ambulance on the way to the hospital.” Another poke. “At the freakin’ hospital.” Yet another poke. “Fucking my fiancé in a fucking cornfield. And, oh yes, at a restaurant, last night. Did you think I wouldn’t find out about that?” She poked Annajane again. “Did you?”

Annajane caught Celia’s hand roughly. “Do. Not. Touch. Me,” she said. “Ever.” She squeezed Celia’s fingers together tightly and then released.

Celia laughed. “You have been messing with Mason’s mind for months now. Making an exhibition of yourself. The whole town is laughing at you. Yeah. But that ends right now. I saw the two of you talking out in the parking lot this morning. Very touching. Heartbreaking, almost. Was he telling you good-bye? Did he mention that we’ve rescheduled the wedding for tomorrow?”

A wedding? Saturday? Annajane felt as though she’d been slapped across the face, but she would not give Celia the satisfaction of registering her shock.

“No,” she said lightly. “He didn’t get around to a wedding announcement. But he did tell me that last night he slept on the floor of the lake house, with the raccoons and the pigeon poop and the mildew and the roaches, rather than share a bed with you.”

“Don’t kid yourself that he’s had a change of heart, Annajane dear. One little night apart won’t hurt me. Because he’ll be sharing my bed for years and years to come,” Celia gloated. She stepped aside and held the bathroom door open with a flourish. “And don’t bother to wait on an invitation to the wedding. This time, it’s strictly a private
family
affair.”

35

“Voncile,” Celia said, walking into Mason’s outer office. Her voice dripped saccharine. “Don’t you look nice today? I love that shade of chocolate on you. So flattering with your coloring.”

Mason’s assistant looked up at Celia. “Thank you,” she said, preening just a little, patting her hair and straightening the collar of her blouse. “You look nice, too. But I’m afraid Mason asked me to tell people he can’t be interrupted today. He’s trying to catch up on work.”

“Actually, I came in here to speak to you,” Celia said. She perched on the edge of the chair opposite Voncile’s. “I’m so excited,” Celia confided. “We’ve rescheduled the wedding for tomorrow.”

“Congratulations,” Voncile said politely.

This traitorous Bible-thumping cow will be the first to go after we get back from the honeymoon,
Celia told herself.
Mason needed a younger, smarter, more attractive woman for an administrative assistant. Although … not too much younger. And not much more attractive. At least he could find somebody with two years of college, for God’s sake. Mason might put up a little resistance, but after he realized how much more time he would have for his personal life, once the office was running efficiently, he would be grateful for her input.

“But I need your help,” Celia said. “I have a million things to do to get ready by tomorrow and we don’t want Mason to be bothered with the trivial details of a wedding, do we?”

“Well,” Voncile said, reluctantly.

“Fine,” Celia said. “I’ll e-mail you the checklist. It’s nothing really. We’ve already gotten the marriage license, of course. We’re just going to have a very small, private ceremony, at Cherry Hill. Very cozy. So I’ll need you to line us up a justice of the peace, and then you can call the florist and arrange for flowers. I’ve sent you a detailed memo about the flowers, so don’t let them talk you into some tacky daisy and carnation horror. And talk to the caterer from the country club, see if they’ll just do some nice appetizers and deliver them to the house. And wine, we’ll need some champagne—I doubt if Sallie has anything decent at her house, so I need you to go to that nice wine shop over in Southern Pines. Get a couple bottles of Vueve Clicquot, and maybe a nice red. I’ll research it and e-mail you what we need…”

Voncile had been dutifully scribbling notes, but now she put down her pen. “No ma’am,” she said.

“Excuse me?” Celia said, staring.

“I am a godly woman. A deaconess. I’ve never set foot in a liquor store in my life,” Voncile said. “And I’m not starting now.”

“Oh, Voncile, of course you don’t have to go into the store,” Celia said sweetly. “I’ll arrange to have them bring it out and put it in your car. All right? They can put it in your trunk so you don’t even have to look at it.”

“Well,” Voncile said, not convinced. “What if somebody saw those men putting liquor in the trunk? I have people in Southern Pines. It wouldn’t look right.”

Celia narrowed her eyes. “Voncile, I really, really need you to do this. I’m sure Mason will be happy to give you a little time off so you can drive over there to pick it up for our wedding. And of course, we’ll pay for your gas and mileage.”

“All right,” Voncile said reluctantly. She’d been outmanuevered and she knew it. “Since this is for your wedding, I will make an exception this one time.”

“Fine!” Celia said brightly. “It will mean a lot to Mason to know you’re doing this for our special day. And you’ll let me know right away, won’t you, as soon as you’ve lined up the justice of the peace?” She gave a self-satisfied little smile. “Since you work so closely with Mason, I guess it won’t hurt to let you in on a little secret. I’m expecting! And I want the ceremony done before I start to show.”

Voncile’s expression remained wooden. “Yes, ma’am.”

Gone,
Celia told herself,
as she hurried back to her office. That woman is so gone.

She sat down behind her desk and went back to the list she’d been working on. Flowers. A bouquet for herself, something elegant but understated to go with the dress she’d actually intended to wear to the wedding reception before the church wedding was postponed. A boutonniere for Mason, and a corsage for Sallie, of course. Sophie? Definitely not. She wouldn’t give the little brat a second chance at spoiling Celia’s big moment.