having another piece of pie?” Mrs. Matthews asked, as she sat across from Beth with a cup of black coffee.
“You mind your business, Maude.” Ida smiled at Beth. “So, how do you know our David?”
Beth had just swallowed a mouthful of the chicken soup but she pretended to chew. The truth was pretty embarrassing, yet she didn’t want to lie, either.
“And you tell me to mind my business?” Mrs. Matthews’s perfectly arched brows went up. “Really, Ida, can’t you let the young lady eat in peace?”
Color climbed all the way to Ida’s salt-and-pepper hairline. “Of course. Eat.” She motioned with her chin to Beth before digging into the large wedge of lemon meringue in front of her.
Beth quickly spooned up another portion of the delicious soup. She was hungry but also grateful there’d be no more questions. At least for now.
Mrs. Matthews looked exactly like Beth would have pictured her had she thought about it. Perfectly styled chestnut-colored hair, even at bedtime, perfect teeth, a perfect figure. Her nails were manicured and polished a subtle pink. She looked and smelled rich. Old money rich. Just like David.
Of course they were from old money, according to Tommy. Their family went back to the gold rush days when the Matthews name became a prominent San Francisco fixture. In the legal arena, their firm was number one, if she could believe Tommy. He seemed awfully impressed with that kind of social stuff these days, so she figured he ought to know.
What impressed Beth was the way Mrs. Matthews treated Ida. The woman was a polar opposite—on the frumpy side, her curly graying hair in need of a trim, her roughened hands looked like those of a farmer’s wife.
“Are you ready for another bowl?” Ida asked, and to Beth’s humiliation, she realized she’d practically inhaled her food.
“No, thank you. This was plenty.”
Ida grunted as she got up and took Beth’s empty bowl. “That was hardly enough to keep a bird alive.”
“But I had two pieces of that great bread. Did you make it?”
Ida nodded, her face one big smile. “No store-bought baked goods in this house.”
“She’s determined to make me fat.” Mrs. Matthews sipped her black coffee with a look of phony disdain.
“Don’t mind her. She thinks three strawberries with a teaspoon of fat-free whipped cream is dessert.”
Beth smiled. “Sorry, but nothing beats real whipped cream, or freshly churned butter. I haven’t had either since I left the farm.”
Both women stared at her. Ida spoke first as she set another bowl of soup in front of Beth. “You actually lived on a farm?”
Beth nodded, and silently cursed her big mouth. These people would think she was some kind of hick. She brought her napkin to her lips—a linen napkin, no common paper stuff here. That she’d momentarily been ashamed of her roots shamed her even more. First her parents, and then her brother provided her with a good home in Rock Falls. Better than good, it had been idyllic.
She lifted her chin. “Back in Rock Falls, Idaho. My family has owned it for five generations. We were all born right there in the master bedroom.”
“My heavens.” Mrs. Matthews set down her coffee cup, the china making a pleasant tinkling sound. “How long have you been here in the city?”
“A little over a year.”
Mrs. Matthews’s brows drew together in a sympathetic frown, and Beth’s defenses soared. “How you must have hated to leave.”
“I’ll say.” Ida placed another bowl of the steaming soup in front of Beth. “Why did you?”
She didn’t know what to say. Not because of Tommy, but because she’d expected disdain, because she’d been prepared to defend her rural childhood.
She shrugged. “My brother works the farm now. He lives there with his wife and three kids.”
“You two aren’t grilling our guest, I hope.”
David’s voice had all three of them turning toward him.
He stood at the door, rolling back the sleeves of his blue oxford shirt, which he’d left unbuttoned at the top. He’d traded his suit pants for jeans and his black dress shoes for battered brown loafers, no socks. The casual look shaved ten years off him, and a totally inappropriate flutter in Beth’s chest startled her.
She hiccupped.
Oh, God. Not now.
Mrs. Matthews turned to her. “Are you okay?”
Beth nodded, and hiccupped again.
Ida jumped up and went to the sink. “Hold your breath for ten seconds while you drink down this water,” she said while she filled a glass. “It works every time.”
“Nonsense. That’s an old wives’ tale.” Mrs. Matthews waved a dismissive hand, but she said nothing more as Ida handed Beth the glass.
She hiccupped again, and then carefully avoided looking at David while she started to down the water. Slowly she counted to ten, and wondered if this evening could possibly get any more humiliating. Nerves hadn’t caused a hiccupping fit for almost five years. Why now?
She set down the glass and everyone waited in mortifying silence to see if Ida’s cure worked.
No more hiccups. She was afraid to so much as smile.
Ida planted her hands on her hips with a triumphant grin. “What did I tell you?”
Mrs. Matthews sighed. “I suppose we’ll hear about this for the next two weeks.”
“Indeed you would if I were going to be here.”
David went to the refrigerator and opened it. “Where are you going to be?”
“On vacation. I’m going to Denver to see my grandbabies,” Ida said, eyeing Mrs. Matthews who remained silent and apparently displeased, judging from her pinched expression.
“Good for you.” David took out an apple. “I’m glad to see you take some time off.”
“Nice someone’s happy for me,” Ida mumbled and got up and cleared the pie off the table. “Beth, can I get you anything else?”
Beth cleared her throat and prayed the hiccups were truly over. “No, thank you.” She briefly glanced at David who was giving his mother some kind of silent warning. “You’ve both been very kind, but please don’t let me keep you up.”
David pulled a chair out and sat down. The two women looked at him in clear astonishment. “Mother, you and Ida go on to bed. I’ll take care of Beth.”
The women exchanged startled glances, their differences temporarily forgotten.
Beth experienced a
