~ Lovers and Friends ~

by

Claire Bocardo

One

Flo Huckabee shoved a tray of fresh apple fritters into the display case and raised her head--like Pavlov’s dog, she thought wryly--at the ding of the bell over the shop door. It had been a slow morning. The weather was warm, and people were buying fewer pastries on the way to work these days.

The pretty little woman who entered seemed familiar, though Flo couldn’t place her right away. A floppy, broad-brimmed, blue straw hat blooming with silk flowers hid most of her face. Daintily built, she carried her shoulders braced and her head uplifted like a blossom, as if by posture alone she could add to her diminutive height. A body’d think the three-inch heels would be enough, Flo thought, and smiled. The customer wore a stylishly cut, sky-blue linen suit and a rosy silk blouse with a drooping bow tie at the neck, and her tiny hands glittered with elaborate rings. Flo met the woman’s eyes and took a step backward in shock.

"Why, Ivy Grimes!" she cried. "For heaven’s sake! I haven’t seen you in a dog’s age! How in the world have you been?"

"Flo." The voice was soft and perfectly modulated, but tight. "It has been a long time, hasn’t it?"

Flo came from behind the counter, dusting her large, square hands on her apron and extending them to grasp her old friend’s small, bejeweled ones.

"I’d hug you," she said, "but I’m all over flour. Just let me look at you."

Ivy smiled and returned the hand pressure. She took a step backward and endured Flo’s penetrating gaze for a moment before looking away.

"Smart as ever," Flo allowed, smiling. "You always did look as if you’d just stepped out of Vogue magazine. Never have understood how you do it. So, what are you doing back home in Cedar Grove, for heaven’s sake? I thought Houston had claimed you forever!" Ivy might look like a fashion ad, she thought, but something was wrong. Her face looked pinched, and her body was stiff as new boots.

"So did I," Ivy said, "but I guess forever doesn’t always last. I’m just staying out at the Holiday Inn, trying to make up my mind what to do."

"About what?" Something was wrong, then. Ivy’d never had trouble with a decision in her life; the deed had always followed the thought as the night the day.

Ivy’s shoulders rose as she took a steadying breath.

"It’s a long story, and you’re working. I really just came in to ask if I can take you to lunch, but now I remember you make the best lunch in town right here. Dinner?"

The invitation sounded tentative, not like the brisk, confident, Ivy that Flo remembered.

"Well, sure!" Flo said. "But why not sit down right now and have a little coffee and catch-up? Annie--you remember Annie, my helper?--she’s just gone to the bank. She’ll be back in a minute, then we can talk awhile."

"Well..." Ivy looked uncomfortably around the combination bakery and coffee shop and lowered herself into a small bentwood chair. "Just for a minute, then. Thanks, Flo. That would be nice."

What could be the matter? Flo wondered, retreating behind the counter to pour two cups of coffee. Ivy looked flat beat down.

Flo had known Ivy Grimes since they were cheerleaders together and Ivy lived with her tired, old folks in that tired, old house in the tired, old part of town. In all those years, however bad things got, Ivy had always been chipper as a sparrow, head up and eyes bright. They’d been saving each other’s bacon forever amen, and except in private, Flo had never seen Ivy’s shoulders slump a single time. She slipped an apple fritter onto her daintiest plate before returning to the table.

"Here," she said. "Try that out. See if it doesn’t cheer you up a bit. For heaven’s sake, Ivy, what’s wrong?"

Ivy managed a rueful smile. "Is it that obvious?"

"Probably only to me. Come on, Ivy, it may have been ten years, but this is Flo you’re talking to! Tell."

Ivy’s eyes filled. She reached into her purse for a lace-edged linen handkerchief and blotted her tears with careful decorum.

"Not now," she said. "Not here."

The bell rang again, and a chunky young woman came through the door with a small child hanging onto each leg of her slacks. Flo looked up.

"Morning, Tammy," she said. "Hi, kids. What can I do for y’all this morning?"

"We just came in to pick up some cookies." The children let go of their mother and sidled over to the bakery case.

"Sure thing," Flo said, rising. Turning back to Ivy, she whispered, "You stay put, now. I won’t be a minute." But by the time the cookies had been chosen and paid for, Ivy was gone. A note lay on the table beside the untouched fritter. It read, "I’ll pick you up at your place at six. We’ll talk then."

What had Ivy got herself into this time? Flo wondered, clearing the table. She’d stood up with Ivy ten years ago at her last wedding, feeling like an overdressed plow horse in mauve taffeta ruffles as she held the bride’s bouquet of blush roses, ivy, and stephanotis and listened to that Houston minister intone the vows. Ivy’s voice had been strong and joyous then. James Darling, six-foot-something of black tux and silvering hair, had stood facing her and winked over Ivy’s head. Surely nothing had gone wrong with that!