Sweet Carolina Morning (27 page)

Dottie called out, “Let's pipe down, ladies. We've got work to do. I officially call this meeting of SWAT Team to order.

Linny glanced from her mother to Ruby and then to Dessie. “SWAT Team?” she asked.

Dessie chuckled and Ruby grinned as she nodded. “
Southern Women's Adventure Travel.
We thought of the name ourselves,” she said proudly. She reached in a plastic bag on the floor beside her, pulled out white t-shirts that had
SWAT Team
emblazoned on them in black lettering and handed them out.

“These turned out so pretty,” Dottie said, holding the shirt up to her shoulders. “Ruby tried to get pink lettering, but they didn't have it.”

Linny examined hers. The shirts looked pretty darned official, like the wearer should be skilled at breaking down doors using a battering ram. “Nice,” she said politely. She glanced around at the others, and asked tentatively, “Now, are we supposed to wear these when we are on the road?”

“At all times,” Dessie said in a stern tone, but then cackled with laughter. “No, honey. The shirt is optional. We just wanted to get into the spirit of the road trip.”

“I'm wearing mine at all times,” Dottie said stoutly.

“Remind me how long are you all planning on being gone and what's your itinerary?” Linny asked, her pencil poised over paper.

“That's item one on the agenda,” Dottie said and glanced at Dessie. “Will you please give your report on the best way for us to get from here to there?”

Dessie tapped her pencil on the legal pad and looked at Linny. “We've made reservations and plans to visit the sites we don't want to miss, but we also want to get off the beaten track and take some days to just go where we please.”

Ruby nodded emphatically. “We don't want to miss the whole freewheeling RV experience.” As the women's heads swiveled toward her, she tapped the brochure in front of her. “Right here. That's what they call it—the freewheeling RV experience.”

Dessie hid a smile, and looked down at her notes. “I've been looking at possible routes. From Willow Hill, we'll take it nice and slow while we check out the RV, but our first stop is outside Dollywood. . .”

“My girlfriends went last year. She said the arts and crafts demonstrations were fabulous, and the shows were great.” Ruby put a manicured hand to her chest and looked reverent. “And what if we actually met Dolly? Can you imagine the thrill of that?”

Dessie waited a moment to make sure Ruby was done, and went on. “Then, we motor on to Nashville, swing by The Opry, The Johnny Cash Museum and go visit Graceland. We'll drop Linny at the airport in Memphis so she can go home. Then on to Branson. We'll take a few days to tool around with no agenda and end up at Mt. Rushmore and The Badlands. On the way home, we'll deliver the RV to my nephew and his wife, Brent and Lisette, who have volunteered to drive it back to North Carolina if I buy their tickets back to Nebraska.” She glanced at her two friends. “We girls will fly home from there. None of us can be away more than a month and a half, and Brent and Lisette are thrilled to pieces at the opportunity to travel across part of the country. They're both good drivers,” she assured them.

“No Niagara Falls or Trans-Canadian Railroad,” Dottie said, her mouth drooping. “No Canadian Mounties.”

“Sorry, shug. We're not going to have enough time, and we don't want to be racing from one site to another,” Dessie said.

“I agree,” said Dottie with a regretful sigh. “If this trip goes well, maybe we'll do a Northern circuit next time.”

“We could see the lighthouses of New England,” Ruby suggested, a dreamy look coming into her eye. “Maybe I'd meet a sea captain or a rugged lighthouse keeper.”

“What kind of camping rig did you girls decide we should rent?” Dottie asked.

Ruby pulled a piece of paper from her purse. “I took notes at the RV show. The motor homes are the big ones that look like fancy buses.” She pointed to a brochure that featured a couple who looked like Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie driving a sleek, tan and gold motor coach beside what looked to be The Pacific Coast Highway, their two darling Cavalier King Charles Spaniels asleep on the broad dashboard. “Even though I used to drive a school bus, and Del and Dessie had that camper, these seem really big. Too much for me to want to drive,” admitted Ruby with a delicate shudder. “The pull-behind campers looked fine, but we decided on a Class C. It looks like a moving truck but it's smaller and . . . well . . . cuter.”

“Sleeker. More streamlined,” Dessie clarified. “It'd give us all more room, some privacy, and we both thought it'd be easier to maneuver.”

“Class C it is,” Dottie said, slamming the meat tenderizing hammer down on the table so hard that the cobbler bowls jumped and coffee sloshed in the mugs.

Still wincing, Linny reached over and took the hammer from her Mom. “Good job leading the meeting, Mama,” she said with an encouraging smile.

Dessie made a show of pulling the Class C brochures from her purse, and the four of them slid their chairs in closer to look as she spread them out on the table. “I talked to the RV rental place and these are similar to the Class C models they have available.”

Ruby touched the picture on the brochure with her peachy nail. “Enjoy all the amenities of home! Ideal for ACC football, NASCAR race weekends, and hunting trips!”

With assorted brows raised and heads cocked, the three women studied Ruby.

“It says right here, sillies!” Ruby pointed to the six point font of the copy underneath the photo of the unusually attractive group of sporty-looking friends, grilling and chuckling beside their gleaming Rental RV. “And look,” she jabbed at another photo. “Look at that darling hot tub!”

“Ours will be a more basic model unless we pay an arm and a leg, but see how these walls slide out and give you so much more room?” Dessie pointed to a picture of a living area expanded out much wider than the sides of the RV.

Linny peered more closely at the photos. The bed space tucked neatly above the cab reminded her of the cozy fun of sleeping in blanket tents in the living room with her sister Kate when they were girls. She looked at the other members of the SWAT team, chattering with excitement as they pointed out the small washer/dryer and clever bed that pulled out from under the dining room table. She felt a frisson of excitement and grinned. The road trip that she'd thought of as a daughterly duty might just shape up to be a heck of a lot of fun.

* * *

The next morning, Linny met best friend, attorney Mary Catherine, at Jumpin' Joe's—one of the area's only coffee shops and a hot spot for the morning commuters. Her friend was waiting for her at a booth in the back. Looking sharp as usual in a crisp white high-collared blouse and a double breasted black blazer, Mary Catherine frowned as she stared at the phone on the table in front of her. She moved the salt and pepper shakers around.

Linny caught Mary Catherine's eye, and gave her a little wave.

Her friend broke into a smile, rose and gave her a hug that smelled faintly of lemon verbena. “Hey, married lady,” Mary Catherine said as she plunked back down in her seat.

“Hey yourself,” Linny said smiling and picked up the menu to give it a quick glance.

Mary Catherine waved a hand. “I already ordered for us.”

The pink-cheeked waitress in the bell skirted vintage dress slid two coffees, a bowl of fresh fruit and a basket of muffins on the table. “Muffins are hot,” she cautioned.

Linny's mouth watered as she eyed the supposedly healthy lemon raspberry muffins that she and Mary Catherine loved. “Ah.” She breathed in the rich aroma of butter, cinnamon and freshly-baked bread. She dumped cream in her coffee and took a swallow. Heaven.

“We need to talk fast.” Mary Catherine pointed at her watch. “I have to get back to the office to get people lined up to interview.” She slumped in her seat and sighed. “Before we talk about your marital bliss, my office manager quit yesterday. Left at lunch and never came back. Resigned via text,” she groused, holding out her phone for Linny to read.

The office manager had simply written,
I'm not coming back.

“Oh, dear,” Linny took another sip of coffee and tried to look surprised. Her best friend since fourth grade, Mary Catherine could be brusque. But she did more than her share of pro-bono work, made quiet donations to The Boys and Girls Club, and was a champion for victims of domestic violence. Mary Catherine had a heart the size of the Atlantic Ocean.

Her friend nabbed a muffin from the basket and peeled off the wrapper. Sounding plaintive, she asked. “So why does my staff keep leaving me?”

“Because you don't say hello to them in the morning?” Linny suggested.

“I do, too,” Mary Catherine said, looking injured.

Linny shook her head. “No, you don't. James, that nice young paralegal who used to work for you, said he'd say
good morning
and you wouldn't say a word back. Regularly.”

“Huh.” Mary Catherine paused for a moment, and then looked chagrined. “Sometimes I think
good morning
, but maybe it never makes it out of my mouth.”

“Maybe,” Linny said, taking a bite of the warm muffin. Yum.

“When I've got a case on my mind, my own husband says he can say something to me and I don't even hear him. I'm not ignoring him, just don't hear him.” Mary Catherine took a too-large bite of her muffin and had to swig some coffee to help slide it down.

Linny measured an inch of space between her thumb and forefinger. “Could you be just a tiny bit more personable with your next office manager?”

“So I need to walk around smiling like this?” Mary Catherine gave an awful toothy-looking fake smile.

“Maybe not that smile, but smiling once in a while wouldn't hurt you.” Linny nodded encouragingly and slathered butter on the muffin to make up for its supposed healthiness. “Ask about their weekend, how their kids are, that sort of thing.”

“I don't care about their weekends or their kids,” Mary Catherine grumbled. “I just need them to excel at their work.”

“But you want them to stick around,” Linny said quietly.

“Stupid interpersonal skills,” Mary Catherine said darkly. “You know how I am.”

Linny did. Mary Catherine spent her childhood in trailer parks with a beer-drinking-party-girl mama and no father on the scene. The family would stay in a place for a few months and have to slip out in the middle of the night because the rent was due and the money was gone. Her friend trusted only a few people, but if you were lucky enough to be one of the few, she'd take a bullet for you. Linny speared a piece of melon from the bowl. “Maybe you could warn the next person you hire. Let them know what to expect, and not to take it personally.”

“Ah, a disclaimer. Good idea.” Mary Catherine put her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand. “What about you, girl? What's new? How was the honeymoon?”

Aware of the gossip mongers in Willow Hill, Linny leaned forward and spoke quietly. “The honeymoon was wonderful, but we had to cut it short because Vera and Chaz were fighting so badly that Neal was upset.”

Mary Catherine raised her eyes to heaven. “Gracious. Two big babies.”

“Uh-huh,” Linny said, absurdly grateful to be understood so quickly. Her friend knew all about divorce wars because of her family law practice. “And without running it by me, Jack told Vera he'd pinch hit for an MIA Chaz and take Neal out to Tucson to see an observatory.”

Mary Catherine patted her mouth with the napkin. “So Neal's staying with you until . . . ?”

“Until things over at that household simmer down,” Linny said, with an inward shudder, remembering how the boy could be when he was in one of his moods.

Mary Catherine raised a brow. “If they do.”

Linny grimaced. What if the fighting continued? Jack might end up having to take legal action. Her stomach tightened, knowing from Mary Catherine just how ugly a custody battle could get. And Chaz was an attorney, so he'd likely be a bear of an opponent. And what if Neal did end up staying with them? Was she really ready for a full-time, sometimes openly hostile stepson? She sighed. “Neal was sweet as pie when Jack first picked him up, but he's started acting up. Last night, Jack got a work-related call after we'd just finished supper. Neal's regular chore is to clear the dishes and load the dishwasher, but because his Dad wasn't there to tell him to hop to, he just sat there at the kitchen table and started playing games on his cell. Jack stayed on the phone, and I was putting away food, so I asked Neal to help. He ignored me.” She felt a hot flush of anger just thinking about it. “Just pretended he hadn't heard. I asked again, and he just looked at me and said, ‘No.' When Jack got off the phone, I told him about it. Neal interrupted me, shouting, ‘She can't boss me. She's not my mother,' and ran to his room and slammed the door. And Jack just . . .” she trailed off, shaking her head.

“Let him,” Mary Catherine finished Linny's sentence

“Yup,” Linny said, sounding more hurt than she wanted to. “I talked to Jack about backing me up, but he reminded me of how rough things have been for Neal lately.”

“They are rough for him right now, but you basically just need Jack's backup and to toughen up.” Mary Catherine gave her a shrewd look and popped a last bite of muffin in her mouth. “The mess with Vera and Chaz is likely to stir up bad behavior in Neal, but in general, teenaged boys are like jackals. They'll turn on you with bared teeth, tell you they hate your guts, and ten minutes later, they'll ask you to fix them a grilled cheese sandwich.”