A Few Pecans Short of a Pie Page 6

  Margot leaped off the couch so fast she knocked Kyle to the floor. “Yipe!”

  With her shirt half-buttoned, Margot scrambled across the house to the box. She broke the seal, a lavender-and-white sticker that read gimme some sugar. Inside was a much larger version of the little pecan tart Marianne had given her—bigger, crustier, more perfect. The golden custard was leaking a bit at the edges, perfuming the air with warm notes of vanilla and cinnamon. And it was hers. All hers. Margot had to wipe her chin, because she was actually drooling.

  “Hey, honey, um, we have the house to ourselves and we kind of got something going here,” Kyle said, motioning toward the couch.

  “Pie first, sex later,” Margot told him. She didn’t even bother to get a fork, she just scooped an enormous chunk of pie out of the pan and shoveled it into her mouth. She groaned indecently, bracing herself against the counter as her knees gave way at the pure, buttery sweetness of the filling.

  “I don’t know how I feel about ranking second to a pie,” Kyle told her as he poured her a glass of milk and joined her at the counter.

  Margot washed down her mouthful of pie with half of the glass of milk. “I will engage in unspeakable acts of lewdness if you give me ten minutes alone with this pie.”

  Kyle’s eyes went wide. “Why do you have to be alo— Unspeakable acts of lewdness? What does that mean? Because I like to think we’ve gotten pretty lewd a few times already.”

  “Acts so lewd, we cannot speak their names,” Margot whispered against his lips.

  He nodded. “I’ll be upstairs. Waiting.”

  “Or, I could just bring the pie upstairs with me.”

  Kyle snatched the pie off the counter and ran up the stairs to the bedroom. Margot followed as quickly as her belly would allow.

  IT TURNED OUT TO BE a banner week for solo adult time in the Archer-Cary household, because the next weekend, Margot got to attend the Sweethearts’ Dance with Kyle while the girls spent the time with Marianne’s boys over at Tootie and E.J.J.’s place. The Sweethearts’ Dance was a local Sadie Hawkins Day–type tradition. Back before the lake even existed, two Sackett County families, the Dewberries and the Walkers, went full-on Hatfields and McCoys over the placement of an outhouse on someone’s property line. No one could remember who was trying to build the outhouse on whose property line, only that afterward, the Dewberries only made their homes on the east side of the Chattahoochee River and the more affluent Walkers transplanted their entire homestead over to the west side, just to get away from the Dewberries. Right after the Civil War, a young girl named Eunice Walker fell in love with Pruitt Dewberry, and what followed was a series of extremely misguided attempts by both families to keep them apart, which served only to push them closer together. Pruitt’s father decided to send his son to work on a hog farm in Macon, hoping to distract him with sweaty work and absence.

  So Eunice stole her daddy’s johnboat and, under the cover of night, piloted it down the river to the Dewberries’ property. She snuck up from the riverbank, then climbed up to Pruitt’s window using a ladder Mr. Dewberry had been foolish enough to leave leaning against the house. She stole Pruitt out of his bed and tossed him in the boat, carrying them to a chapel nearly two counties over operated by a very understanding minister who believed that shared grandbabies were the best way to convince two feuding families that they were being idiots.

  While most of the Walker-Dewberry descendants had moved on to economically greener pastures, locals still celebrated with a Sweethearts’ Dance at a different location around the county every March. In the tradition of Eunice Walker-Dewberry, girls asked the boys, but the good thing about being knocked up by your live-in boyfriend was that it was assumed you had a date to such things. Margot was wearing one of her Blessed Beginnings purchases, the maternity version of a little black dress—a long-sleeved wrap ensemble that gave her curves and emphasized the length of her limbs. And she’d managed to walk in her strappy black heels without hurting herself, so she was flying pretty high at the moment.

  The Main Street square practically oozed in-your-face romantic schmaltz. Strings of Edison bulbs hung between the streetlights to offset the cheesy green fluorescence of safety lighting. Red and white balloons and streamers fluttered around the perimeter of the square, giving it an insistently cheerful air. People had set up camp chairs in little clumps on the sidewalk, far enough from the action that they weren’t in the way, but close enough to watch the couples on the dance floor.

  Overall, the effect was charming, even if it tried a little hard, though Margot could think of about a dozen things she would have done differently with the table placement, DJ booth, and the stand where Aunt Leslie would be selling deep-fried cake balls from Duffy’s friend, the pastry goddess.

  Speaking of which, she spotted Duffy in the crowd, standing awkwardly near a petite redhead in an absolutely adorable red party dress, crinoline and all. Duffy was done up in his Sunday best for the occasion—dark wash jeans, a white dress shirt, and a gray blazer—and his entire body was oriented around the girl at his side. Margot considered this girl a vast improvement over his ex, Lana, who was the living embodiment of everything awful that people said about ex-wives.

  Margot had thought Marianne had been exaggerating when she called her former sister-in-law an “evil she-demon with a gate to hell between her thighs” . . . and then Margot met her and realized Marianne was underselling it. She would support any and all efforts by Marianne to end the on-again-off-again hookups between Duffy and his ex. This girl was clearly a better option, and not just because it would secure Margot’s access to the best pecan pie she’d ever had.

  Margot grabbed Kyle’s hand and practically dragged him across the square like a pastry-seeking missile.

  “Where are we going?”

  “We’re going to go meet Kyle’s friend who makes the magical pies,” she said.

  “We’re not going to tell her what we did with that pie, right?” Kyle asked, glancing around.

  “Oh, no, that might endanger our ability to get more pie.”

  “How are you able to do this in heels?” Kyle marveled as she pulled him along.

  “Duffy, hey!” Margot cried, throwing her arms around her cousin. “You clean up nice!”

  “Thank you, thank you, I do try,” he said, shooting his cuffs and giving his gingery hair a self-conscious pat. “Lucy, this is my cousin Margot and her soon-to-be husband, Kyle. Margot and Kyle, this is my good friend Lucy.”

  “I’ve heard so much about you,” Margot said, reaching for Lucy’s hand, pumping it gently. She didn’t want to damage the pie-making hands.

  “You, too!” Lucy said, giving Margot a timid smile that made Margot want to hug her. Margot knew the signs of someone who was holding on to her polite veneer by a thread—shaky smile that didn’t quite meet the eyes, clammy hands, constantly shifting from foot to foot, eyes darting to every person who passed like they were a potential source of trouble. This was not a woman who was comfortable with her surroundings, no matter how many people she was connected to in the crowd. What was going on with this poor girl?

  Lucy said, “Marianne and Frankie have had nothing but great things to say. I’m so glad they finally have someone to balance their, uh . . . I don’t want to say ‘lack of judgment,’ because that sounds mean . . .”

  Margot laughed, watching as Duffy’s arm slipped around Lucy’s waist. Lucy’s whole body relaxed, melting against Duffy’s side like he was the only fixed point on the planet. The tension bled from her face and her eyes flicked toward Duffy. Her smile warmed and became more confident.

  Not to go full Frankie, but Margot officially shipped these two so hard.

  “But Frankie did convince a kid that zombies had risen and the world was coming to an end. I get it,” Margot said. “I’m addicted to your pecan-based products. And I regret nothing. Your pies are my pregnancy craving.”

  “Subtle,” Kyle murmured in a tone so soft that Margot was pretty sure she was the
only who heard it.

  “And you’re the elementary school principal?” Lucy asked Kyle. “I’m going to be registering my son for kindergarten this fall. He said you came to visit the preschool the other day to talk to them all about moving up to the ‘big kids school.’ He’s very excited.”

  Margot slid her arm around Kyle’s side, a proud smile wreathing her face. One of the things she’d hated most about socializing with her parents as a teen was the way her mother would introduce her stepfather to people: “This is my husband, Doctor Gerald Cary, head of surgery.” As if they were somehow privileged to be in Gerald’s presence because he managed to make it through medical school and snag an impressive title at a prestigious hospital. People in Lake Sackett liked Kyle not because he was principal of the elementary school, but because he was a good man known in his community for doing nice things for people. Margot knew which she preferred.

  “Yep, it’s a very rewarding and important job,” Kyle said. “Though most of the time I feel like the guy at the asylum with the big key ring.”

  “And then you want to marry into my family, which is so relaxing and low-key.” Margot snorted.

  “Hey, I resent that. Just last week, we went two whole days without anybody yelling at work. So how’s it feel to actually attend a Lake Sackett community event that you didn’t have to plan yourself?” Duffy asked her.

  “Really weird,” Margot admitted. “I mean, I keep wanting to tell someone how to set up the tables for better foot traffic flow, but I honestly think that would hurt Aunt Leslie’s feelings, which I would never want to do.”

  Despite the fact that Leslie seemed pretty comfortable kicking Margot’s feelings around like a greased ball bearing.

  “And they told her that her help wasn’t needed,” Kyle said, snickering. “Because I think the little church ladies want to prove they can still plan something without Margot’s supervision.”

  Margot tried not to smirk as she slapped Kyle’s chest lightly. It was nice to know people still remembered the spectacular job she’d done with the Founders’ Festival the previous fall. She prided herself on her skills in bringing large-scale events together, and knowing that those skills intimidated other people? Well, it wasn’t very nice of her, but considering all the dents her self-esteem was currently suffering, she’d take it.

  “They said I should take the time to enjoy myself before the baby is born,” Margot said, rubbing her belly. “And I happen to think they’re right. Which is why I’m not correcting the table placement.”

  “I can tell it’s a struggle for you,” Lucy noted.

  “It really is,” Margot told her just as her Aunt Leslie and Aunt Donna came forward to claim Lucy’s attention. Even as Margot exchanged pleasantries with her aunts, her mind was wandering. She’d hoped that she could somehow find a way to request more pecan pies from Lucy, but she supposed that was pushing it from a new acquaintance. Of course, if the majority of her blood weren’t being directed away from her brain, she probably could have figured out how to bring up the request in a way that didn’t seem too demanding. Her growing pecan pie addiction and faster-growing fetus were turning her into someone who couldn’t work a party effectively.

  Unacceptable.

  “Hey, you want to find a seat while I get us some drinks?” Kyle asked her. “I don’t want you to overdo it.”

  “I would argue with you, but sitting down sounds pretty amazing. Can you get me a sweet tea?”

  “Sure,” he said, kissing her cheek. “Don’t go dancing with other guys while I’m gone.”

  “I would accuse you of being silly, but Nick Burnett did ask me out the other day while I was at the Gas’N’Go.”

  “What the hell?” Kyle scanned the crowd as if Nick were lurking somewhere in the square, waiting to steal his fiancée.

  “He said it was perfect, because it wasn’t like he could knock me up again,” Margot said cheerfully as she sank into a chair by one of the carefully decorated picnic tables.

  “That’s it, I’m finding that guy and kicking his ass.”

  “Oh, please, it’s one of the least offensive things someone has said to me since word of our impending spawn got around,” Margot said. “And at least he didn’t try to touch my belly, which is more than I can say for the random guy at the Stephenson visitation, who just laid hands on my stomach and started praying for a boy.”

  “Maybe we should consider putting you in some sort of pregnant-lady quarantine habitat, like at the zoo,” Kyle mused.

  “Go get me the sweet tea,” she said as he leaned down to kiss her. He snickered against her lips but stepped away and disappeared into the crowd, toward the refreshments table.

  Margot sat back and watched her neighbors mill by. It was sort of sweet to see so many people she knew all dressed up, celebrating the people they loved. The big, strong, manly men who wouldn’t cry if you slammed their thumbs in a truck door were staring at their wives all soft and dewy-eyed. Housewives who spent most of their mornings cruising the cereal aisle in sweatpants were dressed to the nines and giggling like coquettes.

  One person not giggling was Rosie Keller, Kyle’s former mother-in-law. Maggie’s mother was staring at Margot like she was single-handedly responsible for all of her unhappiness . . . and in a way, Margot supposed she was responsible for a healthy part of it. But Margot had made eye contact with the diminutive brunette, and Southern social protocol demanded she make appropriate small talk.

  “Rosie, Hal, it’s good to see you,” she called, smiling politely.

  Margot noted the tiny line of irritation furrowing between Rosie’s brows. Now that Margot had made the overture, it would be considered very rude of Rosie not to respond with some minor comment. And Margot was more than a little disheartened that Rosie seemed annoyed by the very idea of basic social interaction with her.

  Hal, on the other hand, stepped forward with his hand on the small of Rosie’s back, nudging her toward Margot’s table. He even folded his lanky frame into one of the patio chairs and smiled politely. “You look well, Margot. Carrying agrees with you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Where are the girls?” Rosie asked pointedly.

  “They’re with E.J.J. and Tootie, having a big to-do with Marianne and Carl’s boys. I suspect we will return at midnight to find all of them sugared up and ready to party. I’ve noticed that grandparents seem to find that sort of thing karmically hilarious.”

  “Oh, we do,” Hal assured her with a grin. He looked to Rosie, who seemed to prefer staring at Margot to joining in the conversation. “I’m sure the girls enjoy that. That was something Maggie always wanted for them, a big family, cousins to play with.”

  Rosie seemed to snap out of her fog and frowned at him. Hal cleared his throat. “Have you two set a date yet?”

  “Not yet,” Margot said. “We’re still trying to figure out the details.”

  “Well, you better not wait too long,” Hal said, his salt-and-pepper hair glinting in the Edison lights. “Those granddaughters of mine are chomping at the bit to be flower girls.”

  “Oh, I know it.” Margot laughed.

  “There’s no need to rush things, Hal,” Rosie said peevishly. “Kyle and Margot still aren’t sure about their relationship and there’s no need to make a decision they’re not ready for, just because of their . . . situation.”

  Margot blinked at her. “I beg your pardon?”

  “It’s just so soon,” Rosie said. “I mean, I know it’s been years since Maggie passed, but it seems like you and Kyle just met and now you’re getting married? It’s a situation Kyle never would have considered without . . .” Rosie glanced down at Margot’s belly.

  Margot couldn’t muster a civilized response to that, so she sat silently, giving Rosie the expression she used to show to chefs who snuck known allergens into the event sponsor’s dinner. She tried to ignore the rage seething inside her gut because she refused to be caught yelling at Rosie in a public square like some sort of fishwife
. She would not give the gossips fodder to exchange on the kitchen-and-beauty-parlor circuit. She’d been nothing but considerate of Rosie’s feelings. She’d made every effort not to make the Kellers feel like she was trying to take Maggie’s place in Kyle’s family. And now those efforts were being thrown back in her face.

  Hal placed a hand on his wife’s arm, but she shrugged him off.

  “I just want to make sure our girls aren’t pushed aside for the new baby,” Rosie said.

  “I’m not going to be some awful Disney stepmother!” Margot exclaimed. “I love those girls.”

  “Oh, I know you say that now, but it’s just different when the baby is your own. You’re not going to mean to do it, but you’re going to put the baby’s needs ahead of the girls’ subconsciously. You’ll make a favorite of the baby, without even meaning to. It’ll just happen.”

  “Well, that’s a very stunted way of looking at it.”

  “Rosie, Hal, I’m glad to see you here.” Kyle’s voice broke through the white noise building in Margot’s ears, which she was pretty sure was the sound of her blood pressure shooting up. He sat next to Margot, whose tensed shoulders relaxed as Kyle laid a hand on her back.

  Rosie didn’t bother smiling at her former son-in-law. Apparently, they were dropping all pretenses of social protocol. “Kyle, Margot and I were just talking about the wedding plans. And how important it is not to rush things when you’re not sure.”

  “We’re not unsure of anything,” Kyle told her. “Other than the date and location of the wedding.”

  “Well, for the sake of the girls, I think you should slow things down. With the baby coming, you don’t want to bring on too many changes at once. Maybe after the baby is born, and you see whether things are working out between you, and the girls are adjusted, then you can get married.”

  Several emotions flickered across Kyle’s face—outrage, hurt, insult—and it broke Margot’s heart to see just how deeply Rosie’s words were affecting him. Under the table, she slipped her hand into his and squeezed lightly. He glanced at her and his lips quirked upward for a beat. He looked to Rosie. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”