seems obsessed with getting his way, no matter how many times I explain that I’m happy with the path I’ve chosen.”
“You know why that is, don’t you?”
“Because he’s a stubborn old coot?” Tom suggested.
His mother frowned. “He doesn’t deserve your disrespect. Someday you need to come down off your high horse, Tom, and really talk to him. Life wasn’t as easy for him as it has been for you.”
Tom was taken aback. “The McDonalds have had wealth and a place in Charleston society for generations.”
“No thanks to your grandfather,” his mother said with obvious distaste.
Tom regarded her with surprise. “What does that mean?” He barely remembered his grandfather McDonald beyond the fact that he’d always tucked a quarter into Tom’s hand, then chortled when he’d said, “Don’t spend it all in one place.”
“Ask your father about him,” his mother said. “Perhaps then you’ll understand him a little better.”
“Couldn’t you just tell me?”
“I could, but the two of you need to learn to communicate,” she informed him. “Now, tell me about this little town you’re running. Are you happy there?”
“I’m still getting a feel for the place,” he admitted. “But I think I’m going to like it.” He thought of the woman he’d met on his visit to The Corner Spa. “It definitely has some intriguing residents.”
His mother’s expression brightened. “A woman? One in particular?”
“Possibly.”
“Tell me,” she commanded, leaning forward with interest.
“There’s not much to tell. I don’t even know her name. I ran into her outside a women’s spa. We exchanged a few words and then she shut the door in my face.”
His mother sat back, her expression indignant. “Well, that doesn’t sound very pleasant. She must not have very good breeding.”
Tom grinned. “I didn’t inquire about her pedigree, Mother. She was already annoyed enough.”
“I’m just saying that a lady does not go around shutting doors in people’s faces.”
“I’ll explain that to her when we cross paths again.” And they would cross paths. He intended to see to that. He figured Cal Maddox might have some ideas along that line since the woman in question must work with his wife.
Thinking of Cal reminded him of the Little League proposal. Wanting to change the subject, he decided to mention that. His mother had always been a big supporter of his interest in baseball, even though she’d embarrassed the daylights out of him by coming to his games outfitted as if she were going to tea with the queen.
“Wait till you hear about this,” he said, and described his meeting with Cal Maddox.
“There’s a former professional ballplayer living in Serenity?” she said, clearly stunned. “I had no idea.”
Tom laughed at her expression. “You’d probably be surprised by a few more of the people you’d meet there. Ever heard of Paula Vreeland?”
“The artist? Of course. Her works are displayed at some of the finer galleries here in Charleston.”
“She lives in Serenity.”
His mother shook her head. “You must be mistaken. I’m quite sure she lives here.”
“Nope. The mayor pointed out her home and studio when he drove me around town. And this spa I mentioned has apparently received a lot of acclaim around the entire region, as has Sullivan’s for its gourmet spin on old Southern favorites.”
“Obviously I need to see this place for myself. Sit right here while I get my calendar. We’ll pick a date and I’ll come for a visit.”
“With Dad?”
She cast him a wry look. “Perhaps I should come alone the first time. Scout it out, so to speak.”
“That suits me,” Tom said. If his open-minded mother left with a favorable impression, perhaps she could get through to his father. Their years of marriage had been achieved through an interesting balance of power. His mother, remarkably, wielded most of it.
She bustled from the room and came back with a bulging day planner that he knew was stuffed with business cards from her favorite florists, printers, dressmakers and caterers, along with those from newly opened businesses hoping to capture her attention. She flipped through the pages, muttering under her breath as she did.
“Two weeks from today,” she said at last. “It’s the best I can do. I’ll have to cancel my luncheon and bridge plans, but there’s time enough for them to find a fourth.”
“Two weeks from today will be perfect.” He stood up and bent down to kiss her cheek. “Thank you, Mother. I’ll look forward to it.”
His words were totally sincere. He wanted her to see Serenity as he did, as a lovely town to live in and a place with a promising future. And though he hardly dared to say it to himself, as a stepping stone to an even better job down the road. Contrary to what his father thought, he was not without ambition. He merely planned to take a different path than the one Thomas McDonald had charted for him.
4
Because so many of her best clients were working women who could only come in for treatments on Saturday, Jeanette rarely had an entire weekend to herself. She liked it that way. Sundays seemed endless, especially the ones when she didn’t go to church. The day stretched ahead of her with too many empty hours.
How long could she possibly spend doing laundry or stocking her refrigerator for the few meals she ate at home? Serenity didn’t have a movie theater and she wasn’t interested in golf, kayaking or any of the other activities available in town. It was the one drawback she’d found to living in a small community after spending several years in Charleston. Despite all its other charms and the wonderful people, the peace and quiet of Serenity got on her nerves from time to time, especially with no one special to share her life.
This Sunday seemed worse than most. She had way too much time to think about Christmas and her family and all the reasons the holiday had lost its meaning for her.
By three o’clock she was going a little stir-crazy. She glanced at the phone next to her and thought about how long it had been since she’d spoken to her parents. They lived less than two hours away, but she hadn’t seen or spoken to them in months. After leaving home, she’d soon learned that if she didn’t initiate a call, it wouldn’t happen. It was almost as if they forgot her very existence unless she reminded them.
Impulsively, she picked up the phone and dialed before she could talk herself out of it. It rang several times before her mother picked up.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Jeanette, is that you?”
She wasn’t surprised that her mother wasn’t sure. “Yes, Mom, it’s me. How are you?”
“Doing well enough,” she said, not volunteering anything additional.
Despite the terse response, Jeanette pressed on. “And Dad? How is he?” Her father was nearing seventy, but seemed older. Working outdoors had weathered his skin and what her parents always referred to as “the tragedy” had aged him before his time.
“Working too hard, as always,” her mother replied. “The farm’s too much for him, but it’s the only life he knows.”
“Did he hire any help this year?” Jeanette asked, determined to keep the conversation flowing and hoping to spark even a smidgen of real communication.
“He had several day workers when vegetables