“Wheezie’s an interesting name,” James remarked.
“It’s really Louisa, but I called her Wheezie when I was a toddler and it just stuck. Oh! And speaking of names, I’ve got to remember that I’m not supposed to call my baby sister Patty anymore. It’s Paulette Martine now. The Diva of Dough.”
“Seriously?” James asked incredulously. “Even I know who that is.” He poured himself a glass of water and studied Milla’s familiar features. “We don’t have a single culinary magazine in the library that hasn’t run an article on her this year. And she wrote that cake book too, right? The one all the moms and church ladies check out so they can out-bake their friends?”
Milla spread the mustard mixture onto the surface of the lamb chops. “ The Diva of All Cake Books . I believe it’s sold a million copies by now. Patty’s been quite successful,” she added, but James thought he caught a trace of ire in Milla’s voice. “And you can stop studying me, James. I don’t look a lick like her. Never did. Wheezie and I take after our mama, but the ‘Diva’ always favored Daddy’s side of the family.”
Jackson looked troubled. Without a word, he set off for the den and James suspected he was in search of a bottle of Cutty Sark. A few minutes later, he could see that his assumption was correct. Jackson set a tumbler on the kitchen table and resumed his seat.
“Oh boy.” Milla set the oven to heat and then put her hands on her hips. “ Now what’s eating at you, Jackson? Is it Patty?”
“Call me a fool if you want, but ain’t your famous, jet-settin’ sister gonna find our little country town mighty dull?” And beneath his breath his muttered, “And the man you’re gonna get hitched to?”
“But Quincy’s Gap is absolutely charming!” Milla declared defensively. “And Pat-Paulette said she’s looking forward to some time away from her busy celebrity life. She says she gets no privacy and is looking forward to slowin’ down some.” Milla retrieved a plump tomato and a small cucumber from the fridge, wiped her hands on the dishtowel, and then knelt down beside Jackson. Taking his hands in hers, she looked up at him with one of her illuminating smiles. “This is my chance to reconnect with my sister, dear, and that means so much to me. We’re not getting any younger and our time on this earth is best spent with those we love. If you and James and I all welcome my sister with open arms, I know she’ll come to adore our town and the man I chose to marry.” She turned moist eyes upon James. “Will you both help me to make her feel at home?”
“Of course,” James responded on behalf of himself and his father.
Satisfied, Milla commenced chopping the cucumber at breakneck speed into paper-thin slices. James never grew tired of watching her work her magic in the kitchen. He had first met her when he and the other supper club members had enrolled in one of her cooking classes and had been impressed with her ability to teach others some of the tricks of her trade, but he never imagined that Jackson would fall in love with her. James was thrilled that his father had someone in his life, for Jackson had inched out of his shell more and more with each day spent in Milla’s company. The only negative about his father’s engagement was that Milla cooked for the Henry men every night and James had had a difficult time exercising away the results of Milla’s rich meals. Rubbing a hand across his soft belly, he resolved to be stricter with his diet once he lived on his own.
“James?” Milla glanced up briefly as she made a quick salad dressing using tomato juice, balsamic vinegar, an envelope of Italian salad dressing mix, and a spoonful of sugar. “I wanted to ask you for a big favor.”
“There’s no sayin’ no to a bride-to-be.” Jackson smirked and took a sip of Cutty Sark.
James ignored his father. “Sure, Milla. What is it?”
“Would you mind picking up Paulette from the airport this Saturday? Jackson and I have some wedding errands to run, and we’ve got to buy more canvases too. His paintings are simply flying out of that D.C. gallery.” She rubbed Jackson affectionately on the shoulder.
“I’m happy to help,” James answered.
Milla rubbed a cucumber slice between her fingertips. “There’s just one catch about this favor. Actually, two catches.”
James raised his eyebrows. “And they are?”
“My sister would only fly to Dulles so your trip is going to take half the day, what with going there and back. The other issue is that…” Milla wound the dishtowel around her hand as she tried to find the right words. “Paulette can be a tad prickly, especially around strangers.”
“Imagine that, bein’ that she calls herself a diva and all,” Jackson grumbled.
“She could always rent a car if you’re busy,” Milla hurriedly backtracked. “It’s just that it would be awfully expensive from Dulles to my house and she’s already incurring enough expense to fly here and make all this food for us. I’d at least like her to be driven by a friendly, trustworthy, and kind-hearted person. No one fits that description better than you, my dear.”
As Milla spoke, Jackson began to sort through the mail. James could see the familiar graphics of the postcard announcing Murphy’s book peeking out from beneath Jackson’s Reader’s Digest.
Lunging forward, James snatched up the postcard, stuffed it into the pocket of his pants, and, imbalanced, fell against Milla with his arms outstretched. He turned the awkward movement into a hug and announced, “I’d do anything for you, Milla.”
“Thank you, James.” She squeezed him gratefully. “Her flight comes in at ten, so running to the airport won’t interfere with the Christmas Cavalcade. I know you and your friends have plans to watch it Saturday night. I’ve gotten too old to stand out in the cold, even though I love all those lights and how excited the kids get.” Milla pushed gently on James’s arms. “Now let go of me, honey, so I can get those chops into the oven.”
As he climbed the stairs to change from his work khakis into jeans, James heard Milla say, “Jackson, I just love that boy of yours.”
“He’s all right most of the time,” Jackson huffed. “But now he’s gone and crumpled both my Reader’s Digest and my Star Ledger.”
Shaking his head at his father’s customary gruffness, James continued down the hall to the room he had occupied since the day his parents had brought him home from the hospital. Kicking his shoes off, he laid back on his bed and picked up Pillars of the Earth, a book he made a point of rereading every five years or so. Before he could get too absorbed in Follett’s prose, he heard Jackson roughly shake a newspaper page and exclaim, “Look here, Milla! If my eyes are workin’ right, James’s ole girlfriend has gone and written a book about our town. And it’s one of them murder mysteries. Look at this mess of blood on the cover.”
James covered his face with Follett’s novel, hoping to block the image of Murphy’s book cover.
“Oh, dear!” Milla stated woefully after a few moments of silence. “It says in this article that one of the characters is an intelligent, overweight librarian. I sure hope that librarian isn’t our own sweet James.”
“I bet it is. That boy attracts trouble like a bear to a honeycomb.” Jackson shook his head. “Too bad he can’t sleep away the winter. He might have finally found a book that he’ll wanna ban from his library.”