Read Online One More River by Mary Glickman - Free Book Online Page A

marry as soon as possible, have children, live on a farm, die old and happy in each other’s arms. But young lovers can talk all they like about being discreet. The eyes of those who care to notice always will. Laura Anne’s parents took measures. The first of these was the subterfuge of hospitality.
    On the weekend of their third date, Rose Needleman invited Mickey Moe to Sunday dinner. The boy was encouraged by this and did all he could to make an impression. Despite the heat of that August day, he dressed in his good seersucker suit. Minutes before he left Guilford, Roland cut a bunch of blue daisies and yellow mums from Mama’s garden as a bouquet for him to take with. Sara Kate tied a damp piece of cheesecloth around the stems to keep them fresh during the ride. Mama instructed him before he left. Now you present these to the mistress of the house, she said. You were not invited by Miss Laura Anne but by her mama.
    Two and a half hours later, Mickey Moe arrived at the outskirts of Greenville. Along the way, the LTD’s air conditioner had broken down. By the time he reached Laura Anne’s house, it was close to three hours since he’d left his own, and the blooms, no matter how carefully prepared, had wilted. The formerly perky petals of his mama’s exotic daisies curled in. The centers of the mums had gone brown. He studied them sitting there in the passenger seat where Laura Anne ought to be. Was it an insult to give Mrs. Needleman flowers in disrepair? Was it a worse insult to arrive empty-handed?
    Mickey Moe checked himself out in the rear view and wiped the perspiration from his face with his handkerchief. Dang the flowers, he thought. They either like me or they don’t, and a lot of dang flowers ain’t goin’ to tip the scales one way or t’other. He picked up the bouquet and tossed it in the back. Then just before leaving the car and heading up Laura Anne’s front walk, he had an idea. He turned around and plucked the freshest-looking daisy from the pile and stuck it in the buttonhole of his seersucker lapel. Ok, he thought, smoothing his collar, ok. That looks right smart. He went up the walk and stairs to the front porch with a bounce in his step. He rang the bell, waited there rocking back and forth on his feet, his straw fedora in hand, a goofy smile on his face, feeling confident and free and full of good will.
    Lot Needleman answered the door all smiles of sweet welcome. At the sight of that beaming red face, Mickey Moe caught his breath. The salesman in him was trained to read the hidden intentions of others. Right off the bat, he saw the man’s desire to crush him in his two hands and brush the pieces off into the four winds. Mickey Moe knew men like Lot. Knew them well. Every sugared look had a vein of arsenic in it. Those smiles were a call to arms. He straightened up, narrowed his gaze, and offered his hand. He was ready to fight for his woman. Let the games begin, he wanted to say.
    Thank you, sir, for invitin’ me this fine afternoon.
    Lot Needleman widened his grin to show more of his teeth. He leaned in to take the boy’s hand and squeeze the life out of it. It hurt like hell, but Mickey Moe would sooner perish than wince. He returned as much pressure as he thought respectful.
    It was the ladies’ idea, son. Thank them.
    There were footsteps, light, sprightly as a dancing cat. Laura Anne popped around her daddy’s bulk to stand at his side with her right arm around Lot’s waist and her left hand on his bicep. There was comfort, love, pride in the gesture as if she were presenting Mickey Moe with a giant doll or a seriously overgrown child.
    Lord, he thought, how she loves him! But then if a girl doesn’t love her daddy, she can hardly love a mug like me so hard so fast. His heart twisted in his chest thinking how important it was to her that he and her daddy got along, how difficult it was going to be to make that happen. Maybe, he thought, it’d be easier to go at the old man