“An interesting perspective,” Mary Vaughn agreed. “After all the times your daddy was on my case about one thing or another, including all his objections to the two of us getting married in the first place, I have to admit it’s downright rewarding to see him hoping we’ll get back together. I figured he’d go to his grave still thanking God we’d gotten a divorce.”
For an instant, Sonny looked stunned. “You think that’s what he wants? For us to get back together?”
“I think he wants his granddaughter to be happy, and us getting back together is what she wants.”
“Uh-oh,” Sonny said, looking disconcerted.
Mary Vaughn laughed at his expression. “You scared your daddy’s going to start meddling?”
“He’s not above it,” Sonny predicted direly. “And if I were you, I wouldn’t be so amused. My father almost always gets what he sets his mind to.”
Mary Vaughn felt a tiny shiver go through her. She couldn’t be sure if it was out of fear...or anticipation.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Jeanette slipped into Sullivan’s through the kitchen door, made a dash across the room and peeked into the dining room to see if Tom and his awful mother had been seated yet.
“Not that I don’t love to see you under any circumstances,” Erik commented. “But do you want to tell me why you’re in my kitchen, instead of out there with the other diners?”
“Tom’s mother,” she said in a low voice.
“You checking her out?” he asked, his expression bewildered.
“No need for that,” Jeanette said. “I already know the old harridan.”
Erik’s lips twitched. “Does Tom have any idea what a high opinion you have of his mother?”
“He does,” she said, then pulled out a stool and sat down. “And can you believe he wants us to have lunch together, anyway?”
Erik didn’t even try to contain a chuckle. He pointed toward the dining room. “Out of my kitchen. I’m not getting in the middle of this.”
“Dana Sue would let me stay,” she said.
“Dana Sue’s not here. I’m in charge.”
She frowned at him. “Does being in charge always make you mean?”
“You’ll have to ask Karen or Dana Sue about that. Or maybe Helen. Of course, this kitchen is the one place she never seemed to mind taking orders from me.” He sighed dramatically. “Now that we’re married she never listens to me at all.”
“If I could spare the time, I’d feel real sorry for you,” she said. “But I’m having my own pity party here.”
“No,” he corrected, “you’re having it out there. My kitchen’s off-limits. Go.”
“If you say so, but I’m warning you not to serve us with the good china or crystal. Some of it’s likely to end up broken before we’re through today.”
“Be sure you give me a heads-up before you start throwing things. I’d like to evacuate the other customers.” His expression turned wicked. “Or charge ’em extra for the floor show. Now, go.”
“You are not a very sympathetic man,” Jeanette told him, but she reluctantly left the kitchen and headed toward the table where Tom and his mother were just being seated.
Tom’s expression brightened the instant he saw her, which she figured was going to be the high point of the meal. After his mother caught sight of her, things were likely to slide downhill.
“Where’d you come from?” Tom asked, pulling out a chair for her.
“I stopped in the kitchen to speak to Erik,” she fibbed.
Mrs. McDonald gave her a sour look. “Probably told him to lace my food with arsenic,” she murmured.
“Mother!” Tom chided.
Jeanette gave her a cheery smile. “Now, why didn’t I think of that?”
Tom frowned at her. “Jeanette!”
To Jeanette’s surprise, his mother’s lips almost curved into a smile, though she quickly hid it by taking a sip of water. That tiny hint of approval, though, gave Jeanette hope. Maybe Mrs. McDonald was one of those perverse women who liked stirring the pot, but liked it even better if someone else responded by adding a little spice instead of backing down. It was entirely possible she admired a woman with spunk. Well, she had spunk to spare.
“Erik’s made a wonderful broccoli quiche today,” she told them. “He was just taking one out of the oven when I was in there.”
“I’ve never understood the appeal of quiche,” Mrs. McDonald said.
“The meat loaf is a favorite,” Jeanette said, doing her best to remain upbeat. “And, of course, no one does a better job with fish.”
“She’s right,” Tom said. “I’ve had both and can highly recommend either one. I think today’s special is steamed sea bass with julienne vegetables. I’m having that. Mother, what looks good to you?”
“I’ll just have a bowl of soup,” she said without glancing at the menu.
“The gazpacho is excellent,” Jeanette said.
“Too spicy,” his mother said.
“They put homemade noodles in their chicken soup,” Tom said, starting to sound a little desperate.
“I’m not ill,” his mother replied tartly. “I believe I’ll try the lentil soup.”
Tom regarded her with relief. “I’ll get the waitress,” he said eagerly. Apparently his enthusiasm for this adventure had died and he was now as anxious to have this meal over and done with as Jeanette was.
He placed their orders. Jeanette placed her own and then Tom sat back and regarded the two of them expectantly. When his mother remained grimly silent, so did Jeanette. Under the table he placed a hand on her thigh and then gave her an imploring look. She relented. She could at least make an effort. If it blew up in her face, well, she’d warned Tom his expectations were too high.
“Mrs. McDonald, I understand you’re involved with a number of charity functions. Are you working on anything now?”
Tom beamed at her gratefully. His mother looked as if she wanted to ignore the question, but when he scowled at her, she gave in.
“The ball for the cancer society is coming up,” she said grudgingly.
“That’s always been one of the most successful events in Charleston,” Jeanette said, then added, “We used to get a
