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Accosted by a Ghost
We findMagnolia alone at the table, already digging into some creamy yellow soup. Butternut squash, I’m guessing.
“Hello, darling,” she says, dabbing the corners of her mouth. Her blue eyes sparkle as she takes in her son that’s come to join her for a second dinner. The one that’s never home. She then follows it with, “Scarlett.” She doesn’t say it flatly or dismissively, just more of an uninspired acknowledgement: That arm decoration is still here.
Whatever headway I made with her has flatlined since I faceplanted in front of her guests. Never mind it was that heifer Joanna who stuck her foot out.
Jake and I settle into our seats and neither of us ask about Ruby, but Magnolia tells us anyway. “Your sister won’t be joining us. She had some business to attend to.” She doesn’t look up at us as she skims her spoon across the surface of her soup and blows. The flurry of steam tells me it’s nearly too hot.
Two muscled arms place soups in front of me and Jake.
“Preston joining us?” Jake asks. The other end of the table is noticeably emptier as well. His Nanna is probably on punishment for her antics today.
She sighs before taking another sip. “He said he’s feeling under the weather and won’t be joining us.” I note it’s more disappointment than concern lacing her words. She thinks he’s playing hooky.
And he likely is. He did seem fine this morning. But who can blame him?
“Magnolia,” I say as I stir my soup to release some of the heat. “The brunch today was lovely. I’ll make sure and pay you for my plate before Jake and I leave.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” she shoots back, and a tight smile washes over her features. “My treat.”
“Oh, thank you, but I insist. It’s my pleasure to help feed the hungry.”
Her eyes search mine. For what, I don’t know. Maybe she’s assessing if a lowly restaurant manager can even afford it. Remnants of the smile remain as she debates. Magnolia wipes her ass with hundred-dollar bills.
Jake places his hand on my leg.
“If you insist then,” she finally says. She didn’t want to challenge me. Or maybe she didn’t have it in her after a long day of entertaining.
“Now,” she says, finite. “Since it’s just us tonight, apparently, let’s keep business out of our mouths. I want to hear all about what my son has been up to lately.”
My cheeks flame, and suddenly my soup is the most interesting thing in the world. I don’t think she wants to know what we’ve been up to. Jake knowingly squeezes my leg, and I swear I hear him chortle before he finally digs into his soup. He then expertly dives into exactly what she would want to hear—his travels to and around the Daytona race, which is the Nascar Superbowl. Technically, one could consider that business, but I don’t know if they’d have anything else to talk about otherwise. Jake would rather talk about that than family matters.
I zone out as they chatter back and forth about restaurants, their favorite beaches. Family memories…before things went so haywire. Before the wreck. One thing I do home in on is when they start talking about a fake watch Curtiss bought and is parading it around as the real thing. “I know it’s fake,” Jake says, pressing his hand against his chest for emphasis. “Because I was there when he bought it, but he likes to tell people it’s real.”
Magnolia chuckles daintily. “He’s always been a rascal.”
Jake shakes his head and is distracted for a beat as a butler places a plate of lambchops in front of him. Somehow, it smells better than the roast. “He’s a dirty liar is what he is,” Jake muses.
She cuts into hers, sobering. “You know what I always say, dear. If a man’s mouth is moving, he’s probably lying.” Her gaze flicks up to where Harris sat at the table last night, and she clears her throat.
Jake’s expression falls.
An awkward silence fills the room.
“Wine, please?” Magnolia asks the butler, annoyed. They should have already offered.
One jolts into motion. “Cabernet again?”
She flicks her hand as if to say, “Sure, whatever.”
The sound as he pours it into the glass is deafening amidst the awkward silence. When his eyes make their way to us to get a feel for if we want any, Jake and I both say, “No, thank you,” at the same time.
Magnolia attempts to recover the mood. A sigh. A long sip. A gentle smack of her tongue against the dryness of red wine. “Did any of your cousins come to see you race down there?”
“Dara did.”
She nods her approval. “Good. How is she?”
