The Potluck Club (15 page)

“She said she’s bringing her brisket and something about throwing ‘you all’ a baby shower.”

“Oh, she wouldn’t dare.”

“She would, and she’d have the entire populace of Summit View there with gifts in hand.”

“Well, she’s got to be stopped!”

“Don’t worry, Evie, you’ll find a way.”

“Yes, of course. If push comes to shove, we just won’t go, that’s what.”

I laughed. “Be tactful, now, Evie. Tactful.”

Evie huffed again, then added, “Oh, I almost forgot why I called. What are you bringing to the Potluck?”

“My famous fruit salad?”

“No, that won’t do. I’m bringing a peach cobbler. That’s too much fruit.”

“My baked beans?”

“No, beans make me bloat.”

“Corn bread?”

“Perfect. Yes, do your cheesy corn bread. Glad that’s settled. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

We hung up. Settled for her, maybe, but now I had to figure out what in heaven’s name I’d done with Mom’s recipe. Before I could start thumbing through my stack of cards, the phone rang again. This time it was Donna.

“Hey, Vonnie, the Potluck still on for tomorrow?”

“You bet. You’ll be able to come, won’t you?”

“Yeah, I have to work tonight, though. Got a hunch as to what I should bring?”

“Well, so far, we’ve got cobbler, brisket, and corn bread.”

“Salad. I’ll pick up the makings at the grocery.”

“Okay. I’ll see you at noon.”

I hung up and looked at Chucky, who wagged his tail.

“We’re going to see our girl,” I told him.

I’d swear that dog understands every word I say, and with that bit of news, Chucky seemed to smile with his whole body. But he’s always had a liking for Donna. Why wouldn’t he? It was Donna who united the two of us in the first place.

Donna had been on duty when I called her to see if she could investigate the mystery of my disappearing picnic lunch. I’d been in the process of laying out a beautiful spread of sandwiches, iced tea, and apple pie for Fred and me. But every time I went back to my kitchen, the food I’d placed on the picnic table would disappear.

Fred was in the house reading the paper when I said, “Something here isn’t right.”

He looked at me with his eyes a-twinkle and said, “Sounds like a case for Donna. It’ll give her an excuse to join us for lunch.”

So I called her cell phone.

Moments later, Donna showed up in her sheriff’s Bronco, siren off, but lights a-blazing. She came in all official, and even before I could finish describing the crime, she pulled out this frizzy-haired stray from beneath my back porch.

“Mystery solved,” she said. “Are you inviting me to lunch?”

“Only if you turn off the light show in front of the house,” I said. “What will the neighbors think?”

She grinned. “Sure thing. Gotta rope so I can tie this mutt while we eat? I hate for him to stink up my truck.”

But when we tied that pooch to the porch railing, the dog began to whimper and squeal, just like a brokenhearted woman. I just couldn’t stand it. He looked at me with those big, brown eyes of his as if to say, “Save me!”

“You know,” I said to Fred, “that dog looks like Chucky, the baby doll Evie bought me on her trip to Durango.”

Fred stopped chewing and stared at me. “Vonnie, you want that dog?”

I turned to Donna. “Do you suppose it would be okay?”

“Well, he doesn’t have any tags. But tell you what, why don’t you keep him and if anyone shows up looking for him, I’ll let you know. He probably ran off from the campground, and I’m guessing his folks are long gone. It happens a lot.”

“You mean I can keep him?”

“Sure. But why don’t you take him over to Doc Ivy’s to be checked out.”

So that’s how Chucky became mine. And after a good bath and a brushing and a checkup at the vet’s, that terribly matted dog turned into my fluffy, beautiful Chucky.

Aha!
I picked up a tattered note card.
Here’s the recipe I’m looking
for. Now, let me check for the ingredients.

The phone rang. This time, the ID announced Kevin Moore, the pastor from Grace.

I picked up. “Hello?”

“Vonnie, it’s Jan.”

“Jan, it’s nice of you to call.”

“Vonnie, isn’t your Potluck Club meeting tomorrow?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, I’ve got a prayer request for you.”

I grabbed a pad and pencil to take notes. “Anything for you, Jan. What is it?”

Her voice sounded brave. “I haven’t been feeling well, have been losing weight. So I finally got over to see Doc Billings. Vonnie, he gave me a bad report this morning.” She sighed from deep within before going on. “I’ve got cancer. Doc Billings says it’s inoperable.”

I sat down hard on the kitchen chair.

“Jan, no. Are you sure?”

“Yes. That’s why I’m calling. I don’t want this to go beyond the Potluck Club until Kevin can announce it on Sunday. But please ask the girls to pray. Ask them not to tell anyone else just yet. I still have friends and family I need to tell in person.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll let the girls know. But, Jan, what exactly does Doc say? You know I used to be his nurse, so you can tell me . . .”

“Doc Billings says it’ll take a miracle.”

My heart stopped at the words.

Miracles never happen. At least not to me.

17

That’s her, a mother
without children . . .

Clay sat hunched over a cup of coffee at the café and flipped through his ever-growing notebook of PLC facts.

Vonnie Westbrook. Who is she apart from her doll collection?
He mused.
The city of Summit View should make that house some sort
of museum.

Impressive . . . but a bit unusual.

Well, anyway, he had a soft spot where Vonnie Westbrook was concerned. In a way, she’d been like a second mother to him, always bringing him leftovers. He glanced down at his belly.
Not
like I need them.

Still, he’d always wondered why a loving woman such as Mrs. Westbrook hadn’t had her own children. Not that it was any of his business, he’d just wondered.

18

Dirty Dishes

I hung up the phone in the kitchen not two seconds after I’d said hello.

“Who was that, Aunt Evie?” Leigh asked from the kitchen table, where she was folding the linen napkins I bring out only for the PLC meetings.

My palms pressed the front of the new slacks Leigh insisted I buy when we’d gone shopping for nursery items a few days earlier. “That was Vonnie. She’s going to be a tad late.”

Leigh nodded, continuing in her work. “Something wrong?”

I shook my head no. “I don’t think so. Though to tell you the truth, she didn’t sound just right.”

I stepped from the kitchen into the dining room, where the table was all set and ready for the girls to arrive. We typically keep the food on the kitchen table and eat buffet style. I know I could just leave all the dishes in the kitchen for everyone to pick up and then serve themselves, but I like the looks of a formally set table, and so that’s what I do. I set the table. I took a moment to walk around it, making certain all the little flowers on my mother’s china pattern were facing forward, and they were. Of course they were; I’d set the table myself.

Leigh walked in with the napkins arranged on a silver tray, nicely folded into a little pattern she told me she’d learned to do when she was waiting tables at some restaurant back home. “See?” she said, holding up the tray. “We’ll set these in the center along with a little teapot filled with the flowers I bought yesterday, and we’re all set.”

“Pretty,” I commented, flexing my hands.

Leigh set the tray in its proposed place, never once taking her eyes off me. “What’s wrong, Aunt Evie? You keep working your hands.”

I looked down at hands that looked more like my mother’s with every passing day. “Oh, nothing. A little arthritis, I guess.”

Leigh straightened as much as she could with her belly sticking out and it weighing nearly what she does. “I think it’s a little nerves, you know what I’m saying?”

I placed my hands on my hips. “What in the world do I have to be nervous about? It’s not like I haven’t been having this meeting every month since I was not too much older than you.”

But she smiled at me knowingly. “You’re nervous about people being here, in your home, with your pregnant niece.” She ruffled the back of her crop of hair with her fingertips, grinning all the more. “And not a wedding band in sight.”

I pointed a finger at her. “Now, you listen to me, Leigh Banks. You may think this is funny, but come two months from now you won’t when you’re lying up in that hospital without a husband to support you. And what about after that, when
you
have to support the child?”

“I’ve told you more than once that Gary will support the baby. And believe me, he can afford to support the baby.”

I frowned. “There’s more to supporting a baby than sending a check.”

“I know, Aunt Evie. And he will. He’ll see the baby whenever he wants. We’re going to get it all set up legal. It’s gonna work out. You’ll see.”

Before I could voice more of my disapproval, the doorbell rang, causing me to flex my hands again. Leigh noticed too. “See,” she said with a wink. “Nerves.”

That child. When did she grow up and get so smart, that’s what
I want to know.
I turned away from the table and headed for the front door, which was opening on its own. The good Lord help me, the first arrival was none other than Lisa Leann Lambert, who obviously was raised in a Texas barn and didn’t know you’re supposed to wait for someone to answer the door before you just go barging right in. Unless, of course, you’re from Summit View and everyone knows you, and then you can knock and enter. But Lisa Leann is still, in my opinion, an outsider and shouldn’t be opening doors on her own accord.

“Helloooooooo,” she called out, sticking her head in before anything else.

With all the times I’ve seen this woman at church and in town, I’m still not used to all the makeup and the hairdo and the flashy clothes, so it took me a second to respond. “You’re the first one here,” I said, working hard to remember the good manners my mother had instilled in me. “Do you need some help there?” Lisa Leann was nearly weighed down with what smelled like her brisket and a large basket loaded down with six pink-foil gift bags all tied up with gold ribbon with lots of pink and gold swirly paper sticking out.
What in the world is that woman bringing to our prayer club?

“No, no honey. I’ve got it. Oh, is that a new outfit?”

Leigh walked in about that time and said yes it was and then commented on the aroma from the brisket as I shut the door (but not before sticking my head out for a quick look-see, hoping against hope that one of the other girls was not far behind. Of course, there was not a PLC soul in sight).

“Wow, that smells scrumptious,” Leigh said.

“Darlin’, it is scrumptious. I don’t cook unless it’s scrumptious.” Lisa Leann let out a little-girl laugh.

For a moment I thought of Ruth Ann. It was a fleeting thing, and I knew it was caused by Lisa Leann’s giggle.
Just like Ruth Ann’s,
I thought. Almost an innocence about it . . .
Oh, Ruth Ann, why’d
you have to go up and die on me? Why couldn’t God let you live long
enough to see me through?

I watched Leigh and Lisa Leann disappear into the kitchen. My shoulders sagged ever so slightly, then came back up again when I heard Lisa Leann remark, “You didn’t by any chance get up to Breckenridge for Oktoberfest, did you?”

“No, ma’am, I didn’t.”

“I wish I would’ve known about it beforehand. One thing I can do is polka with the best of ’em.” Lisa Leann laughed a hearty laugh.

I shook my head at the very thought.
Oh, dear Lord, why don’t
you and I just start our prayers out right now?
I took a step toward the kitchen, thinking I may as well join them as stand there like a ninny in my own foyer, when I heard a car door slam. I all but twisted myself like a screw, I turned so fast to open the door. A nice push of cold air hit me square in the face as soon as I did, and I thought,
Well, Evie-girl. You deserve that slap.

Lisa Leann bypassed the foyer altogether. She shot out of the kitchen and into my living room, parting the curtains for a quick look-see. “Who’s that?” she asked. “Is that Goldie?”

I didn’t answer. “Hurry, Goldie,” I called out. “It’s dropping colder by the minute.”

Goldie ran in, ducking her head a bit while balancing a glass dish covered in aluminum foil. Quite frankly, she looked like she had been run over by a truck, though I would never dare to say so. Lisa Leann, however, was another matter.

“Look at her,” I heard the Texan say to Leigh in a low voice. “Looks like she hasn’t slept in days.”

Goldie stomped her feet on my welcome mat before entering, carrying a white bag of Toll House chocolate chip cookies she’d obviously bought from our downtown bakery, Sprinkles. She extended the bag to me. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t have time to cook anything.”

I looked from the cookies to the Lambert woman, worried at what she might say. My sweet Leigh saved the moment with, “I
love
Toll House cookies.” She rubbed her swollen belly. “You can’t go wrong with the original recipe and a great big glass of milk.”