The Things We Do for Love (15 page)

“You gave it to someone else?” He gazed at her in amazement.

She nodded pleasantly, trying to look unconcerned.

“Did it work?” he asked. “Why did you do this?”

“For experimental purposes. And I don’t believe it had any effect at all.”

“Was the person supposed to fall in love with you?”

Mary Anne thought of Cameron, reminded herself that Cameron seemed to have told no one that Graham actually drank the love potion. But wasn’t it Cameron’s fault that Paul had found out about the potion? Cameron had explained that it was Clare who’d let the cat out of the bag to her son—or something like that.
Tomorrow I’ll find out everything from her,
she told herself again.

She told Jonathan, “No. Definitely not.” Because Graham Corbett had drunk the love potion. She hadn’t wanted Graham to fall in love with her. She’d wanted Jonathan.

And she supposed she had him—or could if she wanted.

But all she could think about was Graham getting her father out of Giuseppi’s before he could “sit in on a set” with Paul.

She thought no one had ever done anything nicer for her.

“W
HAT WAS
B
RIDGET DOING
telling Elinor Sweet all of that?” Mary Anne demanded of Cameron the next morning. She had called her cousin at nine, as early as seemed reasonable on a weekend morning.

“I think she’s mad at Paul.”

“Who?” Mary Anne demanded. “And what does that have to do with anything?”

“Bridget’s sometimes a little passive-aggressive. She and Paul had a problem at the zoo. At least, he thinks that’s what she got mad about. And it’s just like her to get mad at Paul and
accidentally
let slip something that would be a problem for him.”

“It didn’t have anything to do with Paul! Or with Bridget.”

“Well, it was supposed to get me angry at Paul, I think. I know it’s all a little convoluted.”

“What was the fight at the zoo about?” Mary Anne asked, accepting that Bridget’s excuse for indiscretion was no excuse at all.

“She was there with the preschool group on Halloween, and Nicky, that’s her son, was beside the duck pond, and she was twenty feet away talking to another mother.”

“That’s dangerous,” Mary Anne agreed.

“Well, exactly,” Cameron said. “I mean, he’s just three, and the pond’s four feet deep, and even if it wasn’t…But Paul wasn’t very tactful, I guess. He said something about her needing to stop trying to be the Mother Goddess and just try to be an adequate mother.”

Mary Anne made a small sound, indicating that indeed Paul had not been tactful. “Well, at least you haven’t told anybody about Graham getting the potion.”

“Would I?” Cameron demanded.

“No,” Mary Anne admitted. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re falling for him, aren’t you?” said Cameron.

“For who?”

“For Graham.”

Honesty warred with tact. Finally, Mary Anne said, “You know what he did last night?” And she described Graham getting her drunken father out of the restaurant.

“So Jonathan’s lost his charm,” Cameron said, in a tone that implied that Mary Anne was fickle, childish, impulsive, casually shifting her affections from one man to another.

“You
said
it was okay if I went out with Graham,” Mary Anne told her.

“After you’d already told him you’d go out with him.”

Mary Anne tried to remember if this was true and she thought it might be. “I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you, Cameron.”

“You haven’t,” Cameron said, a bit coolly. “Anyhow, I’ll see you tonight at the birthday party.”

Which Graham would be attending—as Mary Anne’s guest.

M
ARY
A
NNE’S FATHER
was remorseful about his night out, and she didn’t want to hear it. At the breakfast table, where he arrived at eleven, he said, “Hope I didn’t embarrass you last night, Mary Anne.”

She was grabbing a quick cup of coffee before heading off to a D.A.R. luncheon she was covering for the newspaper. She said nothing. There was nothing
to
say. Of course, he’d embarrassed her. Of course, she wished he wouldn’t drink. She burst out, “I thought you were going to AA.”

“Not anymore.” He shook his head. “Those are career alcoholics there. Career
recovered
alcoholics I should say. Can’t go on with their lives, those folks. No, I face up to God with my mistakes.”

And keep making them,
Mary Anne thought bitterly. She said, “It seems to me that people who go to AA are trying to do something difficult and they recognize they need help. And, yes, you embarrassed me.”

“Damn,” he said, gazing into his own cup of milky coffee. “If the Lord would only forgive me…”

Mary Anne wanted to tell him he shouldn’t doubt anyone’s forgiveness except the humans he’d offended.

“Where’s Mom?” she asked.

“She’s upstairs with your aunt, making some changes to Nanna’s bedroom.”

“No, she’s not. She and your aunt are right here,
chicken,” said Aunt Caroline, from the foot of the staircase. “Pretty suit, Mary Anne,” she added, admiring the earth-toned shantung silk Mary Anne had put on for the luncheon. “I like that!” she enthused.

Thank God for Aunt Caroline. Talking of clothes, so Mary Anne wouldn’t have to listen to her father’s mawkish expressions of regret. Soon, he would start saying he hadn’t been much of a father to her. He might even weep.

“Heard you and your Graham on the radio yesterday,” Aunt Caroline said. “You two do a good job together.”

Mary Anne’s mother said, “I wish you wouldn’t take part in those shows, Mary Anne. All those talk shows are so
tawdry,
with all those people calling up and talking about their problems. And all those questions about sex. I don’t care to hear them.”

“Then, you should turn off the radio,” Mary Anne said matter-of-factly.

“And what was that silliness about a love potion?”

“No idea,” Mary Anne answered, but was startled by the speculative look in Aunt Caroline’s eyes. Cameron had visited alone with Aunt Caroline, but surely Cameron wouldn’t have said…Cameron had denied mentioning it to
anyone.
“Happy birthday, Aunt Caroline,” Mary Anne finally said. “Graham’s going to join us for dinner.”

“Wonderful,” her aunt replied. “That will be such fun. Now, what shall we have? Lucille’s coming to cook, and she has a few options planned. What does Graham like?”

“It’s not Graham’s birthday,” Mary Anne replied with a smile.

“He stayed till eleven last night,” her father said, “but he wouldn’t stay till the end of the game.”

So they
had
played Progressive Rummy.

“Very nice of him,” Aunt Caroline said, and Mary Anne knew that her aunt had recognized Graham’s chivalry in getting Jon Clive Drew out of the public eye.

“I wish Mother could be here with us,” her aunt added. “We’ll all have to go in a crowd to visiting hours and celebrate with her there.”

“Now, Mary Anne,” her mother said, “you know Nanna wouldn’t want you being on a show like that.”

Mary Anne wanted to scream. But being a lady meant not screaming even when people made you feel insane. It meant not shaking people you wanted to shake. She said, “I’m off to the luncheon. See you this afternoon. You and Mom can decide on the food with Lucille,” she told Aunt Caroline.

And fled.

G
RAHAM WAS LOOKING
forward to the birthday party for Mary Anne’s aunt. He’d observed her misery the night before and was glad, for her sake, that her father had agreed to go home to a card game. Graham spent a good part of every day now thinking about Mary Anne. She was distracting him from his professional project, that first self-help book.

Had he ever not thought her pretty? No. He’d always admired her prominent cheekbones, her incredibly lush eyelashes and eyebrows, and those green eyes. For a while, he
had
told himself she was a little heavy. But that was before he’d started admiring her posture and the natural grace with which she moved.

That had been quite a scene in the corridor outside the bathrooms the night before, with Elinor Sweet accusing Mary Anne of trying to entrap Hale with a love potion.
Once he’d heard Elinor’s accusation at Giuseppi’s, he seemed to remember something about a local woman making love potions—love potions some people said worked. But he’d never put it together, that the witch in question was David Cureux’s ex-wife. It would be interesting to quiz David about it sometime. His neighbor, who had retained his city council seat, was a rational man, and Graham was sure that David Cureux would feel as he himself did about love potions. That they were a lot of nonsense.

Anyhow, though Jonathan Hale certainly seemed to be pursuing Mary Anne, Graham didn’t suspect the station manager of being in love with her. But he was beginning to suspect himself of having certain feelings. Not in love. No. He was just attracted, very attracted. And, he told himself, he was more interested in her depth, in her personal qualities, than Hale was.

At five twenty-five in the afternoon, he left the house and walked to Mary Anne’s bearing a potted begonia, wrapped in cellophane as protection from the cold. He also had a bag of dog treats that had been baked locally. The plant was for Caroline and the treats were for her dog. He’d considered bringing a bottle of wine, but then he’d thought of Mary Anne’s father and decided not to.

He had only just rung the doorbell when Lucille opened the front door. She beamed her usual welcoming smile. “Well, hello, Mr. Graham. How nice you look.”

“Thank you, Lucille.”

Caroline called from the living room, “Hi, Graham! We’re all in here.”

Mary Anne, however, came to the arch that led into the
living room. She wore a gold-colored dress that hugged her shape nicely.

“You’re beautiful,” he said appreciatively.

“Thank you. You, too.”

He sensed a tension beneath the words, a tension that stiffened her face even as she smiled at him.

He came into the living room, where Paris lay at Caroline’s feet. Approaching Mary Anne’s aunt, he said, “Happy birthday.”

“Why, thank you! How nice. Isn’t this pretty, and you remembered Paris, too.”

A few feet from her sister on the sofa sat Mary Anne’s mother, her mouth slightly pinched, while Jon Clive Drew stood by the sideboard. “We’re having cocktails. What can I get you, Graham?”

A swift survey of the room showed that only Caroline and Jon Clive were having cocktails—a glass of wine in her case and something mixed in his. Mary Anne and her mother were drinking ice water, each with a slice of lemon.

“I’d love a glass of water,” Graham said. “Some days I just don’t drink enough.”

Mary Anne said, “I’ll get it,” but Lucille shook her head and hurried toward the kitchen.

Graham asked, “How is your grandmother?”

“Fit as a fiddle,” Mary Anne’s father replied on her behalf. “Ready to come home and tell everyone what to do. She must know the dog’s lying on the living-room carpet.”

“She does know,” Mary Anne’s mother said. “She says she has asked Caroline not to bring Paris onto the carpeted areas.”

“And Caroline has told her,” Caroline replied placidly, “that Paris’s little paws are cleaner than the soles of her
shoes.” She changed the subject. “Graham, I enjoyed listening to you and Mary Anne on your show.”

For some reason, Mary Anne looked apprehensive.

“Yes, well,” said Mary Anne’s mother. “I think we should talk about something else.”

Graham wondered why she thought so. He certainly had no intention of sitting around discussing his own radio show, but it seemed a strange remark for Mrs. Drew to make.

He had wanted to tell Caroline that Mary Anne was a great guest and that her presence filled out many discussions, but after Mrs. Drew’s comment all he felt he could do was tell Caroline, “Thank you. It was nice of you to listen.”

Mrs. Drew offered an explanation for which no one had asked. “I just don’t like hearing all those people talk about all sorts of things. I’d rather not know.”

What a telling statement,
he thought, unable to keep from wondering if it extended to her own life.

Mortified by her mother’s rudeness, though she knew Katie Drew would be upset to think that she’d been rude, Mary Anne said, “I’m not sure any of us is ever that lucky. What some people manage to do is to pretend that they don’t know, which isn’t the same thing.”

A puzzled look briefly crossed her mother’s face. Then, she said, “Well, Mary Anne, it’s just not necessary to talk about everything in our lives.”

It occurred to Graham that Mrs. Drew’s response seemed almost generational—but of her mother’s generation. Because once no one
had
discussed uncomfortable things—or so he sometimes thought.

Caroline rose from the couch. “I need a cigarette. I’m
going to take Paris around the block. Anyone want to come?”

“I do,” Mary Anne said quickly. “Graham?”

“Wonderful,” he agreed.

“Now, don’t drop your cigarette butts in the neighborhood,” Mrs. Drew said.

Graham couldn’t imagine Mary Anne’s aunt doing such a thing. In any case, she completely ignored the admonition and merely went to retrieve the Maltese’s lead.

“I wonder if we should go, too,” Mrs. Drew said softly to her husband.

“We’d love the company,” Graham said, which was a lie. He knew that Mary Anne’s eagerness to walk the dog was connected to the fact that it offered escape from her parents.

“Sure. Why not?” said Mary Anne’s father.

“Well, let me see if Lucille needs my help first,” said Mrs. Drew.

“Oh, hell,” Mary Anne said suddenly. “I forgot. Cameron and Aunt Louise are coming. I should stay.”

“I’ll stay with you,” Graham said. Maybe Mary Anne’s parents would go with Caroline.

“Well, I’m going with Caroline and the dog,” Jon Clive Drew announced, downing the remainder of whatever had been in his glass.