Belle Pointe

Hell, he could kill two birds with one stone. The Jacks wanted him nearby so they could keep an eye on his progress. But what could they do if he left? He wasn’t going to be able to play and Schrader wouldn’t want him visible to the fans walking like a cripple. If he arranged to have his physical therapy in Mississippi, he could be near Anne. He’d have to pay for it out of his own pocket, but it was an expense he’d gladly bear.

His adrenaline was flowing now. He was a man of action. Instead of sitting on his butt, he was going to do something. But first he had to get to Mississippi. With his knee messed up, he couldn’t drive. And he didn’t want to fly commercial. Too public. Too embarrassing. He’d have to charter a plane. Simple enough. For the first time since driving the Porsche off into that ditch, he felt he was in control again. He could handle Gus Schrader’s reaction, no matter what it was. His biggest worry was what kind of reaction he’d get from Anne.

By the third day in Tallulah, Anne was sick of her own company. The baby was her first thought upon waking and her last at night, a sore and tender spot on her heart that felt as if it might never heal. She appreciated the fact that Beatrice and Franklin took her at her word that she wasn’t ready to talk, but a part of her wanted to tell someone how she’d felt when all was well in her pregnancy. She’d been so joyful. If a boy, she’d imagined him a carbon copy of Buck, complete with that rakish smile and easy charm. Or a girl with those same gifts. Would she be a tomboy? Would Buck’s son have his athletic gifts or would his talents be similar to hers? Or would their baby be nothing like either of them?

Lord, enough of that. To keep from dwelling on her troubles, she was headed to the Spectator to take her dad up on his job offer. She was genuinely eager to resume her career, but it was icing on the cake that she’d have access to the Spectator archives. According to Beatrice, who had proved to be a walking encyclopedia of Tallulah’s history, the archives would be chock-full of references to Buck’s family. The things Buck told her about his family had only whetted her appetite to learn more. It was a golden opportunity to fill in the blanks.

She had not spoken with Buck. She simply wasn’t up to arguing with him. After she’d refused to take his calls, he’d stopped trying. Maybe after thinking it over, he was relieved that she was the one who dared to say their marriage was in trouble. Maybe he’d been looking for a way out and just hadn’t found a way to tell her. God knows, there were scads of women who’d love to be with Buck Whitaker. And not a single one of them would complain about not having his baby.

Her stepmother had generously offered the use of her car and Anne was halfway to the newspaper office when she realized the gas light was on. She was torn between irritation and amusement at Beatrice. The woman was a crackerjack businesswoman with a creative bent but Anne noticed that, in practical matters, such as keeping gasoline in her car or stocking the pantry with groceries or picking up clothes at the cleaners, she was woefully forgetful. Franklin groused about it when it affected him directly, but Anne had seen right away that he was so besotted with Beatrice that it would take a lot more than a depleted pantry or a wardrobe mishap to make him truly angry with his wife. In the time that Anne had been their houseguest, she was completely convinced that her father was happier than he’d ever been. She suffered a pang of conscience every now and then, feeling a bit disloyal to her mother, but Beatrice really was a sweetheart.

At the service station, she swiped her card and prepared to pump gas into the tank of the small car. For just a second, she thought of her Mercedes and wondered if Buck was driving it in St. Louis. He shouldn’t be driving at all, but she couldn’t imagine him staying cooped up in the house even when ordered to stay put. Of course, he may have already replaced his wrecked Porsche with something equally fast and expensive. And for just a second, she wondered if he was missing her.

“Anne! Anne Whitaker? What the hell—”

With her hand on the nozzle, Anne turned to see who’d spoken. Coming around the hood of a large black Lexus on the opposite side of the pump station was Buck’s older brother.

“Jesus, it really is you, Anne.” While still a yard away from her, Pearce Whitaker opened his arms wide and smiled, showing a lot of teeth. He swept her up in a bear hug, his kiss just missing her lips when she turned at the last second. Then, holding her by the arms, he looked her over. “Talk about surprises, honey, I about drove into the pump when I saw who it was gassin’ up Beatrice’s bug. How the hell are you?”

“I’m fine, Pearce. And you?”

“Couldn’t be better.” He’d removed his sunglasses and was still studying her as if he wasn’t sure she was real. Her own sunglasses were firmly in place in the hope that she’d go unrecognized once she left her father’s house. And of all those who might have recognized her, she would have wished it anybody but Pearce. Or possibly his mother.

“Where’s Buck?” He glanced at the passenger seat of the Volkswagen looking for his brother. “After the accident, I thought he’d be confined to quarters in St. Louis by the Jacks. You’re looking great, but how’s our fair-haired boy?”

“He’s okay.”

“He didn’t sound okay when I called him Sunday. Grouchy as a bear with a burr up his—” He caught himself. “And he didn’t say a damn thing about coming to Tallulah. So, how long y’all been here?”

“Just since Tuesday.” Skirting the truth. If she could get by without telling him outright that Buck was not with her, she would avoid questions about why. Let Buck break the news.

“And you haven’t called us at Belle Pointe?” He was shaking his head. “I know Buck would rather kiss a snake than have a conversation with Mama, but y’all can’t hole up at your daddy’s house and pretend she’s not just five miles down the road. She’ll have a fit like you never saw when she finds out. Hey!” His eyes lit with a new thought. “I assumed Buck would be playing, which is why I haven’t called him to set up an appearance in my campaign, but now you’re here it changes things. He’s able to get around?”

“More or less.” She looked at the gauges on the pump and willed the gas to flow faster. “How is your campaign going?”

“Couldn’t be better,” he repeated, reaching into the breast pocket of his jacket. He took a business card out of a small leather case and used the surface of the pump to scribble a number. “Here’s my cell. Tell Buck to call me. Today. Within the hour. His name’s gold around here. I’ve been lucky the way support is growing, but word gets around that Buck’s gonna make an appearance, the voters will love it!” He grinned, handing her the card. “This is just great. Couldn’t happen at a better time. The polls say I’m the front-runner, but it’s early yet and you can never be too far out front. A couple of appearances with the great Buck Whitaker and it may even scare my opponent into pulling out!”

The pump clicked off automatically. “You’ll need to talk directly to Buck about that,” she told him, with a glance at her watch. “I’m sorry to run, but—”

“No problem. Got things to do, huh?”

“I’m heading for Dad’s office.”

He spread his hands wide with another grin. “Another major advantage for me, having connections at the Spectator. I’m hoping Franklin will do more than just an endorsement. I’d like a nice profile piece, from the standpoint of the Whitakers. You know, playing up the contributions made to the town—hell, the state!—by my ancestors, emphasis on me, of course.” He gave her a playful wink. “Get folks thinking it’s the natural thing, having a Whitaker in the Capitol.”

Anne bent to screw the cap of the tank in place thinking Pearce had found his calling as a politician. With his profound conceit he assumed not only the cooperation of her father in his campaign, but Buck’s as well. Fortunately, it wasn’t her place to disabuse him of this notion.

She closed the lid with a thump. “Good luck, Pearce.”

“Wait a minute.” He opened her car door for her with the courtesy that seemed innate in Southern men. “How about coming out to Belle Pointe tonight? No joke, Buck can’t hole up at the Marshes’ and avoid Mama. Y’all need to make an appearance, if nothing else.”

“I’m sorry, but I really can’t speak for Buck.” She reached over and turned the key in the ignition. “And I’m afraid I really do have to run, Pearce. Tell Claire I said hello, will you?”

“Sure, sure.” He stepped back as she put the car in gear. “And you tell Buck I’ll be looking to hear from him today, okay?”

With a smile and a wave, she drove off. He would know the truth before the day was done, but he was right about one thing. Now she was here, out of courtesy she must pay Victoria a visit. And soon. But she didn’t have to look forward to it.

“Hello, Tyrone?”

“Yeah. Who’s this?”

Nursing a Coke in one hand and the phone in another, Buck leaned back in his recliner. “Somebody who knows you were the one who tied Ray Dixon’s jockstrap in a knot fifteen years ago, then forced Coach Randall to use you to pinch hit for him while Dixon spent precious minutes trying to straighten it out.”

A moment of stunned silence. “Buck? This Buck Whitaker?”

Buck grinned and felt something ease in his chest. “Yeah, you sonofagun, who else?”

“Buck! Man, how you doin’? I saw on TV where you like to’ve killed yourself and your wife in that expensive car. Y’all okay, man?”

“Yeah, we were both lucky. I’m stove up some, but with a little physical therapy, I’ll be okay.” He took a sip of Coke. “How you doin’?”

“Fine. Fine. But I gotta say if what they reported is anything like accurate, you got a knee injury that needs more than a little physical therapy. You gotta be careful underestimating the damage and what it takes to overcome it, you know what I mean?”

Buck held the Coke can against his forehead. Cold seemed to ease the ache. “That’s why I’m calling, Ty. I hear you’re one of the best physical therapists in the South.”

Tyrone gave a snort and then chuckled low. “I don’t know about that, but I’m enjoying regular employment here in Memphis.”

“How would you like to spend the next, say six months working in a place outfitted with the best state-of-the-art equipment, be your own boss, right in your own hometown?”

“That would be Tallulah, right?”

“Right.”

“I would say it would cost a nice chunk of change and where would it come from?”

“Here’s what I was thinking, Ty. I’ve chartered a plane and I’ll be flying in to Tallulah in a few days. I need a PT and you’re the best. The setup will be wherever I’m staying in Tallulah, which is a little up in the air at the moment. But after you check me out, you’ll have an idea what kind of equipment and all the other bells and whistles I’ll need for therapy. Are you with me so far?”

“I guess…so far.”

“We could meet, talk, work out the details. I’d leave it to you to set the schedule and start the torture.”

“What time frame we talking here?”

“I need to start right away. And I’d like to hire you exclusively for as long as it takes, Ty. I realize this means you’d have to ask for a leave of absence from your employer. If you need me to make a call or even to see somebody personally, I’ll do it.”

When Ty remained silent, Buck said, “If a leave of absence puts your present job in jeopardy, I’d be willing to subsidize a private clinic here in Tallulah, Ty. That’s how bad I need you. You have any heartburn about being in business in your hometown?”

“I’ve still got family there,” Tyrone said. “I guess you know that.”

“To tell the truth, I wasn’t sure.” After Buck had left Tallulah, he’d lost touch with Ty, who had been an athlete—a good one—but had never quite made it to the pros. From the time Buck was a boy, Oscar Pittman, Ty’s daddy, had been employed by the Whitakers operating and repairing machinery at Belle Pointe. Buck and Ty had played together, gone to school together, been busted for smoking together. They’d done a few other things together that Buck didn’t like to think about. Only by the grace of God and Ty’s mother, Frances, they hadn’t wound up as outlaws. The woman was a saint.

“I know it’s a lot to ask, Ty, but I’d count it a personal favor if you’d consider my offer. I know you probably have a life in Memphis—”

“Like a wife and eight kids?”

“Holy—” Buck stopped himself. “Are you serious?”

Tyrone laughed. “Gotcha goin’, didn’t I? No kids, but I married Lily Thigpen, you remember her, don’t you?”

“I do. Lucky you.”

“She keeps reminding me. You say your lady’s okay after the crash? I’ve seen her at the games and she’s nearly as pretty as you are.”

“Anne. I’ll introduce you when you get here.”

“Sounds good.”

“So, you like the plan? You think you can wrap up things there in Memphis and be in Tallulah within, say a week or two?”

“For a chance to add to my credentials a patient whose name is as big as Buck Whitaker’s? I think I can manage that.”

For the first time in the conversation, Buck relaxed. “Then here’s my cell phone and the number of the Jacks sports medicine director who can give you the technical details of my injury and will no doubt tell you the treatment regimen he recommends, which you can decide to follow or not. Name’s Steve Grissom.” He reeled off the numbers and waited as Ty wrote them down. “Give it a day before calling Grissom, okay?” he added.

“Why? I assume the Jacks are okay with this?”

“They don’t know about it yet.”

“Whoa now, Buck! How can you—”

“I’ll handle it. And Ty…”

“Yeah?”

“I know what I’m asking is a lot, so I’m prepared to put my promises in writing. We’ll have a contract, all right and tight and legal. You think it over and if you decide it’s too risky or you just don’t want to go there, I’ll…well—”

“You’ll think of another incentive,” Ty said with a smile in his voice.

“Yeah, probably. But if you do this, I’ll owe you and I won’t forget it, Ty, I swear.”

“I’ll hold you to that, buddy.”

Five

On her way to the Spectator, Anne impulsively decided to stop at Beatrice’s shop. She’d probably be recognized, but now that Pearce had outed her at the gas station, she might as well satisfy her curiosity about her stepmother’s place of business.

A bell tinkled over the door of the Hodge-Podge as she entered and somewhere in the back of the store Beatrice called out, “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

“It’s just me,” Anne said, wandering over to a display of pottery. She had always loved pottery and had once joined a class to learn the craft, but like other projects she’d undertaken, she’d had to quit when Buck’s career forced yet another move. Somehow, she’d never re-enrolled.

“What a nice surprise,” Beatrice said giving her an affectionate hug. “You’ve decided to come out of hiding.”

“Might as well since my cover’s blown,” Anne told her. “I had to stop for gas and who else but Pearce pulled up at the same time. He assumes Buck is here with me and hasn’t bothered to call his mother.”

“Seems a reasonable assumption. Did you explain?”

Anne sighed. “No, I lied. More or less. I didn’t admit Buck was still in St. Louis. I thanked him for his invitation to Belle Pointe and told him Buck would be in touch.”

“Naughty girl.” Beatrice clicked her tongue and wagged a finger at Anne.

“I know,” Anne said with chagrin. “You can believe I’ll soon have to come clean because he’s counting on Buck’s endorsement for his campaign. I bet he’s trying to reach him right now, probably at your house, which is where he thinks Buck and I are staying.” She stopped. “But enough of that. I’m here to see your shop. It’s wonderful.”

“Do you think so?” Beatrice said with a pleased look around. “I mean, is it wonderful? I try, of course. What you see is mostly the work of Mississippi artists, pottery, candles, soap and all local whenever possible. I—”

She stopped as the bell over the door tinkled. “Oh, shoot! Let me take care of this customer while you look around and—” She stopped again, recognizing the woman entering. “Oh, Victoria. Goodness, it’s been a while. How are you?”

“I’m well, Beatrice.” With a regal nod, Buck’s mother headed toward them. “And you?”

“Good, I’m good.”

Victoria’s cool gaze shifted to Anne. “Hello, Anne. I thought I might find you here. Pearce called after running into you a while ago and no one answered the phone at the Marshes’. I was a bit surprised to hear you were in Tallulah.”

“It was a spur-of-the-moment decision.” Anne managed a smile, uncertain about greeting her mother-in-law with a hug. It would be like embracing a mannequin. When Victoria kept her distance, Anne relaxed. “And how are you?”

“Busy. Very busy. I imagine Buck has described the flurry of activity at Belle Pointe this time of year. We’re up at dawn and we don’t stop until dark.”

“It must be exhausting,” Anne murmured. In fact, Victoria looked tired. Upon meeting her for the first time, Anne had been struck by the woman’s vigor. She guessed her mother-in-law’s age at about sixty, but she’d always looked fifteen years younger. Today, however, even with skillfully applied makeup, she looked her age.

“Well, of course, it is exhausting, but not so much so that I couldn’t find time for a phone call, if not a visit, from Buck. His trips to Tallulah are rare enough that I would have decided to have a little celebration,” she said. “Of course, I would have to know he was here.”

Anne sighed. It was silly to think she could be in Tallulah and avoid explaining Buck’s absence. “Buck is not here, Victoria,” she admitted. “I came alone.”

“Really?” Perfectly penciled eyebrows went up a notch. “Does that mean he was more seriously injured in the accident than he told me when I called?”

“I don’t know what he told you.”

“Well, knowing the media’s habit of sensationalizing anything about him, I wanted to hear from him personally the extent of his injuries. When I finally got beyond his answer machine, he said the media exaggerated. He’d be up and playing before long.”

Anne sighed. “He had a concussion, Victoria, and he’ll need extensive physical therapy before he can pitch again. When I left, it wasn’t clear just how long that would be.”

“And you left…when?”

“We were both discharged from the hospital on Monday. I left Tuesday.”

“I’m finding it somewhat puzzling that you chose a time when Buck is…handicapped to take a vacation.”

“Buck would be the first to say he doesn’t need me to hold his hand at any time, Victoria. You must know that he isn’t the type to tolerate anybody hovering over him.”

“Hmm…yes.” Victoria paused, studying Anne as if sensing something more than what she was being told. “And have you recovered from your injuries? Buck danced around my questions about you, too.”

“I’m just fine.” If Buck hadn’t shared the fact that she’d miscarried, Anne wasn’t in the mood to tell her mother-in-law.

“So, how long do you intend to be here in Tallulah? Naturally, we’d like to have you over for dinner and soon.”

“Thank you,” Anne said. “In fact, I was just thinking today that I’d call and find a convenient time to visit. I’ve hardly done anything but putter around Beatrice’s house. She and Dad have been very gracious in just giving me the run of the place.”

“It’s been our gain,” Beatrice spoke up. “In just two days, Anne’s got everything in the house spic and span. Next, I expect her to start doing yard work.”

“That sounds as if you might be bored,” Victoria said, still studying Anne’s face keenly. “If so, there’s plenty to do at Belle Pointe.”

Anne smiled. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about farming cotton.”

“And I wouldn’t expect you to. I meant there were other diversions. You’ve never spent much time with us and Belle Pointe has an interesting history.”

“I’ve always thought so. I’d love to know more.”

“Well, now’s a good time, wouldn’t you say? I’ll check with Pearce and Claire about their calendars and we’ll fix it. Now, I should be on my way.” With a nod, Victoria headed toward the door. Just short of her destination, she paused and turned back. “By the way, with Pearce’s campaign in full swing, as he must have mentioned, it occurs to me you’d be an asset. I’ll have Pearce call to see how best to use you.” With a tinkle of the tiny bell, she was gone.

Anne met Beatrice’s amused eyes. “Use me?”

Beatrice laughed. “I’m sure she didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

Anne sighed. “That woman scares me to death and has from day one. I feel as if I’m back in the fourth grade and I’ve failed to turn in my homework.”

“She has presence all right,” Beatrice said. “But rest easy, you were very gracious and respectful. Which is as it should be.” She watched Anne pick up a platter from one artist’s display. “Maybe it would help to remember that Victoria hasn’t always been the chatelaine of Belle Pointe. She wasn’t born a Whitaker, you know. She married into the family.”

“I know that, of course, but it’s hard to imagine her as anything except the quintessential Southern matriarch.”

“Which is exactly how she wishes to be perceived.” Beatrice moved a beautifully glazed bowl to a different position. “However, in high school, she was Vickie Hinton.”

“Vickie?” Anne gave Beatrice an astonished look. It was hard to visualize Victoria Whitaker as a schoolgirl, let alone being called Vickie.

“Yes, Vickie. Before she married John Whitaker, her father worked for the Whitakers. Benny Hinton was a master mechanic and since farming at Belle Pointe is highly mechanized, his job was important. Still, he was hired help. In fact, he died in an accident while on the job and Victoria’s widowed mother moved somewhere up north, I believe.”

“That is so amazing. It explains why Buck’s memories of his maternal grandparents are pretty vague.”

Beatrice studied her thoughtfully. “The Whitakers figure prominently in Tallulah history, which is the reason I’ve suggested you might want to drop in at the Spectator and poke around a bit in the archives.” She paused, tweaking a quilt displayed on the wall. “If, as Victoria suggested, you’re a bit bored, I’ll bet that once you start digging, you won’t be bored for long.”

Anne wondered at Beatrice’s prediction as she surveyed the newsroom at the Spectator a while later, finding it as calm and quiet as a doctor’s office. The level of activity was nothing like the frenetic energy that characterized the news-rooms in a daily newspaper or a television station and, from her observation, unlikely to relieve anybody’s boredom. On the other hand, one reason Franklin gave for leaving his job in Boston was his desire to work under less pressure. He’d certainly managed that.

His face brightened when he looked up and saw her. “Anne!” He rose from his computer and motioned her inside. “Bea called and told me you were headed this way.”

“Don’t let me interrupt whatever you’re doing, Dad. I’ll just look around and get acquainted until you’re free to talk.”

“You aren’t interrupting anything and I mean that literally.” He looked at the screen of his monitor with disgust. “I’ve spent the afternoon trying to write next week’s editorial. So far, I’ve deleted almost everything I’ve written.”

He waved at a chair. “Bea suggested you might want to look at the Spectator archives. Curious about the Whitakers, are you?”

“The Whitakers and other Tallulah history. The Mississippi Delta is a very unique place. Maybe I’ll write a book.”

Franklin looked delighted. “Good idea. And I think you’ll find the Whitakers figuring pretty prominently in your research.”

“I was kidding, Dad.” Unwilling to interrupt him, she lingered at the door. “Actually, I was thinking that since there’s a political campaign going on I might do something with that. I ran into Pearce as I was pumping gas and he gave me the idea himself. Of course, he suggested an article favorable to him, but I thought it would be interesting to put Pearce and his opponent in the same article, showing the contrasts in their platforms.”