Рита Браун - Catch As Cat Can

On Fair's part, the affair was a flight from responsibility, pure and simple. He realized it. Broke it off after six months and went into therapy—a tremendously difficult thing for him to do, to ask for help. After the first year of therapy, he begged his ex-wife's forgiveness. He still hoped to win Harry back. She was the best mate he could find and he knew it. She understood horses. She understood him. She expected to work hard in this life and what she asked in return was a partner who also worked hard, remained faithful, and had a good sense of humor. He knew he could do that now.

She remained diffident, although at times she would be pulled back toward him not just emotionally but physically, and that only stirred the pot. Not that she told BoomBoom but Susan knew, of course, and Mrs. Hogendobber suspected.

The animals remained discreet on the subject.

Harry, silent for a while, finally spoke. “What I don't get is why you won't leave me alone? Why is it so important that we be—something?”

“Because we're part of one another's lives. We grew up together. And because we're women and women are smarter than men about these things.”

“I don't think I'm smarter than a man about infidelity.”

“But he wasn't unfaithful, Harry. You were separated.” BoomBoom made this point again, as though speaking to a slow child.

“Can we table this?” Harry rolled her eyes heavenward.

“You've been tabling it for years. Surely we can coexist. We work on all the same projects.”

“So does everyone else. It's a small town,” Harry said peevishly.

“We hunt together, we play golf and tennis together.”

“I hardly ever play golf and tennis. I haven't got the time.” Harry fidgeted.

“Okay.” BoomBoom took a deep breath. “Will you be Diego Aybar's date?”

“That's his name?”

“Diego Aybar. And trust me, he is handsome, full of energy—even if lightning doesn't strike, you'll enjoy his company. Please say yes, Harry. I know he'll like you and it will be an unforgettable weekend for all of us.”

“Fair asked me to the Wrecker's Ball. I could go to everything but that and I'm parade coordinator for the festival”—she paused—“but you know that. 'Course once that last float pushes off—”

“Say yes,” Pewter meowed. “A little shake-up in the status quo can't hurt.”

“All status and no quo.” Mrs. Murphy watched her human struggle with conflicting emotions, the most obvious being mistrust of BoomBoom.

“Harry, if you don't like this, if you suffer through the weekend I'll buy you that new Wilson tennis racquet everyone is raving about. Then you can beat me.”

“I beat you anyway. You don't have to bribe me, BoomBoom.”

“Well?”

“Clothes?”

“God, she's a hard nut to crack.” Pewter exhaled.

“And lacking in all spontaneity but I love her,” Mrs. Murphy purred as she leaned into Pewter who'd come up right next to her.

“Don't you two make a pretty picture, but I'm next to Mom and you aren't.”

Rising to the little dog's challenge, the cats leapt onto the back of the sofa. They plopped down behind Harry's head.

“It will be fun. All you need is a spring dress for the tea. Your white evening gown looks lovely on you. You need only one new dress. I know how you hate to shop.”

“That evening gown was Mother's.”

“Classic. Christian Dior classic. Your mother had fabulous taste.”

“And no money. She won the gown.” Harry smiled, remembering her mother and her pride in the gown that she had, in fact, won in a contest to design the Christmas Ball for the United Way. Christian Dior, a friend of Tally's—Big Mim's aunt who knew everyone and anyone—put up the gown as a reward.

“Come on. It will wake up Fair. He has no competition.”

Harry uncrossed her arms. “That's a fact.” Her eyebrows twitched together a moment. “All right, BoomBoom. I'll do it. I don't exactly know why I'm doing it but I'm doing it.”

“Thank you.”

“Spring fever,” Pewter laconically said, a small burp following.

“Excuse yourself, pig.” Mrs. Murphy reached out and touched Pewter on the shoulder.

“Excuse me. Spring fever.”

“Pewter, what are you talking about?” Tucker wanted an answer. She hated it when the cats got “airy,” as she called it.

“Spring fever. That's why Harry is going out with this new guy.”

“You might be right,” Mrs. Murphy agreed. “This will get Lottie Pearson's knickers in a twist. She's on the man hunt and BoomBoom ignored her in favor of Mom. She'll have her revenge. Just wait.”

“ On whom? Mom or BoomBoom?” Tucker lifted her head.

“Both, if I know Lottie. Her social ambitions seethe. Being escorted by a handsome man working on Washington's Embassy Row is her idea of perfect. She'd get to meet more important people and she'd look important. She cultivates people, I guess that's how you put it, before she asks them for hundreds of thousands of dollars for the university. She'd like to run this town someday, too. Never happen. Big Mim will live to be one hundred and fifty. Look how old Aunt Tally is. They never die, I swear. But you mark my words, Lottie Pearson is smart and devious. She'll get her revenge.”

“It's so petty!” Pewter exclaimed.

“Precisely but that's the way people are. They're further and further removed from nature, and they get weird, major weird.” Mrs. Murphy watched as Harry walked BoomBoom to the back door in the kitchen.

“Spring fever.” Pewter marched back into the kitchen for more crunchies.

6

The work week rolled along without incident. Harry and Miranda sorted mail, light this time of year. Big Mim made pronouncements about how to improve the Dogwood Festival before Saturday's parade. Everyone smiled, said, “You're right,” and went about their business.

Fair, Harry's ex-husband, was just wrapping up foaling and breeding season. Upon hearing that Harry would be accompanying Diego Aybar to the tea party and then the dance, he fumed; but Fair had committed the mistake of thinking he didn't need to ask Harry. He assumed she would be his date if he could shake free of work. Usually a low-key and reasonable man, he slammed the door to her kitchen, upsetting the cats and secretly delighting Harry.

Miranda glowed for her high-school beau, who would be returning from Hawaii, where he had finally settled his estate, would be her escort for all festivities. She was to pick him up at the airport Friday morning and she figured he'd bounce back from his travails and travel by Saturday, the big day. Tracy Raz, former star athlete of Crozet High, class of 1950, was a tough guy and an interesting one, too.

Reverend Herbert C. Jones, pastor of the Lutheran church and parade marshal this year, was the most jovial anyone had ever seen him, which was saying something as the good pastor was normally an upbeat fellow.

Little Mim, as vice-mayor of Crozet, used this opportunity to insist more trash barrels be placed on the parade route. She endeared herself to the merchants in town by having flags made up at her own expense for them to hang over their doorways. The flags, “Crozet” emblazoned across a French-blue background, also had a railroad track embroidered on the bottom right-hand side. As Crozet was named for Claudius Crozet, former engineering officer with Napoleon's army, she hoped out-of-towners would ask about the tracks. Crozet, after capture in Russia, again rejoined the emperor for Waterloo, managing to escape the Royalists and sail to America. He cut four tunnels into the Blue Ridge Mountains, an engineering feat considered one of the wonders of the nineteenth century. His work—sans dynamite, using only picks, shovels, and axes—stands to this day, as do the roads he built from the Tidewater into the Shenandoah Valley.