Cold Tea on a Hot Day by Matlock Curtiss Ann

Author:Matlock, Curtiss Ann [Matlock, Curtiss Ann]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin Enterprises
Published: 2012-09-17T00:00:00+00:00

Fourteen

Chocolate Sundaes

The bell over the door rang out. It was Charlene MacCoy. She came over to the soda fountain and ordered two barbecue sandwiches and three fountain Coca-Colas to go.

“The sandwiches are for me and Oralee,” she said. “Dixie doesn’t touch barbecue. I wish I wouldn’t,” she added with a sigh.

“Marilee will make the sandwiches for you.” Belinda sat where she was. “You’re already workin’ around, Marilee.”

Marilee reached for the container of buns. While she began making the sandwiches, Imperia Brown came in to discuss another month of weekly Blaine’s Drugstore ads in the newspaper with Belinda, since Vella, who usually handled the store’s advertising, wasn’t available.

Belinda refused to do anything about the advertising. “I’m not takin’ on that job. You’ll have to talk to Daddy.”

Imperia, who never minced words, said, “Girl, talkin’ to Perry is like talkin’ to a stump.” Then, “Marilee, that barbecue smells good. Would you make me one?” Imperia was a big-boned woman who deemed worrying about eating schedules and calories and cholesterol harmful to health.

Marilee got out another bun.

Imperia, who sported fire-engine-red fingernails, admired Charlene’s manicure, and Charlene said that it was the work of the new nail technician who had just begun that week.

“I’m getting too old to be doin’ nails,” Charlene sighed. “It is a young woman’s job.”

“Oh, listen to you, girl,” Imperia said, waving her away. “Age is a matter of mind.”

“Age is a matter of eyes, too, and mine are starin’ down the barrel of the far side of forty-five. You can do all sorts of things to look thirty-five forever, but there is just no way to make your eyes see like they did at thirty-five.”

Imperia, who was in her midthirties, cast Charlene a startled look.

“I don’t imagine you need to work, anyway, bein’ married to Mason MacCoy now,” Belinda said, not at all concealing envy.

“Well, I still have a life,” Charlene pointed out. “I’ve gone back to school for a license in therapeutic massage. I’ll do that in a dim room anyway, and we’re planning to put in a salon at the retirement community. Iris is going to finance it, and Dixie and I are goin’ to run it, and we’re goin’ to offer massages and all sorts of herbal treatments.”

Marilee, who had been listening idly and who now handed Charlene her sack of sandwiches, thought how lovely Charlene was. Attitude, she concluded. Since marrying Mason, Charlene seemed to get younger every day, which was a mark in favor of marriage, Marilee thought, her gaze drifting to the mirror to check out her own appearance.

There were deeper than normal circles under her eyes, and her hair was limp. She was just about ready to fall off the vine, and then who would want her? Would she bloom, as Charlene had done, if she married Parker?

Just then Charlene said, “I got your note last week, Marilee, and I meant to call and tell you that we’ll be there for Parker’s birthday party on Saturday. I’ll bring my sour cream dip.”

The

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