Bayou Born(9)

“She’s from an old family. They own the Lincoln and Cadillac dealership in town, a tow truck company, an auto parts store and a detailing shop. You know, one of those places that paints trucks to look like that.” He motioned to a Ford truck painted blood red with yellow and oranges flames from hell burning from behind the wheels.

“I see.” She filed the information way, in case she needed the tidbit in the future. Like at a party during a trivia game about the college President. Or to have her Volvo painted.

“Yeah, the doctor married up when he married her,” he said.

Brian didn’t bother to ring the doorbell, just opened the front door and walked in as if he owned the place. She followed his lead.

“My mother and Claire, Mrs. Westcott that is, are second cousins on their mother’s side,” he whispered. They reached the dining room where desserts covered every surface, and a woman directed traffic.

“Brian, as if I don’t see you enough.”

“Cousin Claire, this is one of the new faculty members. Please meet Miss Branna Lind.”

“Welcome. And I’ll bet you’re the one who brought the salad,” Mrs. Westcott said, peering into the open box.

Brian gasped with mock surprise. “You know I can toss a salad.”

Mrs. Westcott smiled sweetly at her, then turned to Brian. “You can toss a football, toss a basketball into a hoop, but toss a salad? You can’t toss that one over on me.”

They laughed. She liked Mrs. Westcott. Though she couldn’t quite reconcile the middle-aged woman in a pressed linen dress, wearing sandals and pearls as the wife of the much-older Dr. Westcott. She wondered if Mrs. Westcott had ever been on the horns of dilemma.

“If you wouldn’t mind, Brian, please take the salad to the buffet table set up out back. The food is arranged under one of the tents. Ms. Lind, I look forward to visiting with you.” Mrs. Westcott left them to greet other incoming guests.

“I like her,” Branna said.

Brian grinned. “Yeah, she’s great. Paddled my butt a time or two when I was kid and got out of line. She’s always Cousin Claire to me.”

She followed Brian out the back door to a wide expanse of yard. A wooden dance floor had been constructed a few feet in front of the opening of the long tents that formed a U. Another tent on the other side of the dance floor protected the band as they played on a raised stage. Large fans, like ones she’d seen on the sidelines at professional football games, pushed air around to keep everyone cool.

The two side tents were dedicated spaces for dining. Cloth-covered tables showed off flower centerpieces and chairs offered seating. Pots and serving dishes and casseroles lined the tables of the self-serve food tent. Given the setup of the tents and the crowd flow, it appeared Mrs. Westcott had organized this type of function before. It all looked effortless, but Branna had experience with event planning and understood the magic that happened behind the scenes.

“Miss Lind, welcome!” Dr. Westcott boomed. From the food tent, he motioned to her. She picked her way, careful of where she stepped. Darn Jimmy Choos. Her heels caught in the soft ground making her bobble like a doll.

“Salads on this end,” Dr. Westcott told Brian, who placed her salad bowl on the table. “Adult beverages are over there.” Dr. Westcott pointed to the far side of the tent where a bar stood with tubs of drinks surrounding it.

“Thank you, sir. I think I’ll get a glass of wine,” she said. “After I toss the salad.”

“Enjoy yourselves.” Dr. Westcott slapped Brian on the back.

“I’ll catch up with you in a few minutes,” Brian said when Dr. Westcott wandered away. “Save me a dance.” Then, he, too, disappeared into the throng.

Alone, she scanned the crowd as she crossed the tent to the beverage bar. She recognized a few faces, folks she’d met during her interview, but didn’t see the man who owned the beat up pickup. Nor her mystery man. Maybe her assumption was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t a faculty member after all.

“Dr. Brown, nice to see you.” She greeted the Vice President with a handshake.

“Nice to see you, Ms. Lind. I hope you’ll enjoy yourself this evening. You remember Ms. Parker?”

“It’s Vivian. Please, call me Vivian,” the woman said with a lilting laugh.

The woman’s grace, her perfect blond hair, perfect manicured nails, chic summer dress and not-too-high heels charmed Branna. Vivian reminded her of her mother—in only the best way, however, she doubted Miss Vivian would appreciate the comparison.

“I want to introduce you to the man you haven’t met, yet. But I haven’t seen him. I’ll find you when I can tie him down,” Dr. Brown said, looking around.

“Branna,” a raspy voice called.

Riggs made a beeline in her direction. The short stocky man was the antithesis of what she expected whenever she thought of a basketball coach. If someone had said football or wrestling, she’d believe that, but Lakeview Community College didn’t have a football or wrestling team. The squat man chewed on the end of a fat unlit cigar and hiked up his pants at the waist when he reached her.

“You’re gonna have to come watch us play,” he said out of one side of his mouth.

“Ah, sure. I can do that.”

“We’re gonna make the playoffs this year. Might go all the way in our division!”

Branna stared and nodded. Did Coach think she was hard of hearing? Must, given the way he was yelling at her.

“Hello, Coach. I need to borrow Ms. Lind.” Bitsy Webster, Dr. Brown’s secretary, stepped into the conversation. She linked her arm with Branna’s. “I brought my famous spinach and artichoke dip. I know how much you love it.”

Bitsy took another step back and pulled her along. “Later,” she called over her shoulder, continuing the retreat.

Branna tried to stay upright while she walked mostly backwards. Bitsy still clutched her arm. The woman had to be close to Grandmother Lind’s age. Even had the apple-round cheeks and warm smile of a perfect grandmother. Her shiny gray hair curled into a halo around her head, and a pair of reading glasses hung around her neck.

“Whew! Thank goodness the heat and humidity let up.” Bitsy turned and continued to march her across the yard. “Riggs can be one intense man.”

They stopped by two empty chairs and Bitsy motioned for Branna to sit. “I’ve known Arty for years. He’s not much to look at, but he’s a winning coach.”

“I see.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Oh, yeah, honey. He’s really a marshmallow-moon pie.”

“Good to know.”

“Well, he can get excited, ya know—talking sports—I didn’t want you to ruin your pretty white blouse. He has a tendency to spit.” Bitsy’s mouth curled into an apologetic grin.

“Spit?” Did she really want to know?

“Talking and chewing at the same time when he eats. Not a good thing.”

“I see.” It wasn’t a pleasant picture.

“Grab a plate and get some food. Everyone’s nice.” Bitsy hurried off when the band started up an old country song.

Branna sat. She watched Dr. Brown move Vivian around the dance floor, and then when the band came to the end of the song, Dr. Brown folded Vivian backward into a dip. Even over the music, she heard Vivian’s lilting laugh.

She heard love in the laughter. Sadness pinched her heart. She had never laughed like that with Steven. She never looked at Steven the way Vivian looked at Dr. Brown.

Vivian was a woman in love. Would she ever look at a man like that? Well, certainly not at her boss. As for Vivian and Dr. Brown, their relationship in or out of school wasn’t her business, and she wouldn’t pry. Yet, she envied the ease of company the two shared. Their love.

She came to Lakeview to work. She’d pour all of her energy into her students and take up a new hobby. Maybe pottery. Maybe she’d get a pet. A dog. The one pickup-guy had with him appeared impressively obedient. Yes, she’d investigate a dog.

“I’m back,” Brian said. “How about that dance?” He offered his hand.

“Now?” Brian had no clue that dancing made her squeamish. She’d embarrassed herself in public more than once at the charity ball her mother hosted each year. Folks at home expected sub-par dance moves from her. Often, she was the free entertainment. That wasn’t the impression she wanted her fellow faculty members to have of her. “Maybe later?” she pleaded sheepishly.

“No pressure. I’ll find you before the night is over.” Brian snagged a passing woman and with a tug, both were on the dance floor.

Wanting to be farther from the dancing, she rose and started in the direction she’d originally intended—to the beverage bar. Something in her hands would mask her awkwardness. Maybe Dr. Newbern would show, they would make polite, but brief conversation, and then she could thank her hosts and leave. After living all her life in a small community where everyone knew everyone else, or was related, she’d taken social events for granted. Here, she was a fish out of water.