a/n: can you believe it? a timely update.
an au where Mary is a happy little housewife. hm...
Her eyes lifted from the apples in her hands- only for a second- out the glassy window, to the driveway. The driveway, where he worked on the cream and aqua blue Cadillac, polished to a near reflective surface. As he leaned against the open hood, careful not to touch the paint, he wiped his cheek, leaving a smear of feathered grease under his startling blue green eyes. He grabbed a rag, dragged it across both of his hands, and he looked up, through the window. At her. And he smiled with a nod in her direction.
Feeling like she'd been caught doing nothing, she averted her eyes downward, back to the shiny green apples with stubby brown stems sticking out like half-burned candle wicks. With careful, precise hands, she set to slicing the fruit with a silvery knife- a wedding gift from her mother-in-law.
"Mary- Mary, would you bring us that iced tea?" Francis said from the doorway. "Please," he added with a smile.
"Of course." She smiled back. He stooped back through the doorway. Smoothing the loose fabric of the skirt of her dress- a satiny blue thing, with white polka dots the size of dimes, and a heart shaped neck and short sleeves. A new dress- Francis was thoughtful that way, and it matched the pearls he got her, for the wedding. She combed her open fingers through her hair, making sure it fell just right at her shoulders.
Carrying the circular blue tray, her finger nails a delicate and tasteful pink, she stepped out on the porch. The cups, perfect long clear cylinders, rattled and sloshed, so that the ice tinkered against its glass walls as she eased down the steps.
"Thank you," Bash said, rushing up to take the cup, relieving some of the weight from her.
"You're welcome." She said, and then she served Francis. He wrapped an affectionate arm around her.
"Mary makes lovely tea. And even better pie. You'll stay for a slice, won't you Bash?"
"I'd hate to impose-"
"It's no trouble," she said, long dark eyelashes encircling bright brown eyes. "And a whole pie for two people." Her brow crinkled and then she smiled the kind of smile that comes before a laugh- only it wasn't really funny.
"It's settled then- you'll stay." Francis grinned, clapping Bash's shoulder.
"Alright. I'm sure I can manage." Bash glanced at Mary.
He was different from Francis, so young and professional in his button up and tie and trousers and hat and his hair cropped just so. Bash greased his hair- like the boys on the south side. A black t shirt. Blue jeans.
He started working for Francis' father in construction when he was fourteen. Francis thought of him as a brother; he was a favorite employee- but Henry dare not promote him, lest he fuel the rumors that he had become 'inappropriately involved' with his mother, Diane, back when he was mayor.
At least that's what Francis said.
Mary had only met Bash once before the wedding, at the wedding, and now because Francis asked him to come work on the car. They usually went for a drink on Thursdays after work though.
Those eyes though- like she was a ribbon coming loose.
She didn't know if she liked it; she didn't know if she didn't.
"Right. You boys let me know if you need anything, alright?"
And so she settled back into the house, and, with careful, nimble hands, she peeled the bright but waxy skin from the white flesh of the apples. It coiled off in perfect green spirals, leaving the naked fruit, ready for baking.
When they came inside, the smell of cinnamon and baked apples warmed him. And there she was, leaning down to ease the dessert from the pale yellow oven. His stomach woke up, and he became aware of his appetite.
"I hope you're hungry," she said, setting the pie on a towel on the pale yellow tiles of the counter top. "This needs to cool for a little while, but I've made sandwiches- they're over on the dining table. I can go ahead and serve you up, or you can help yourself if you'd like." She wiped each of her hands in butter colored dish towel.
From the cream and yellow ice box, she emerged with a large glass bowl brimming with potato salad.
"Let me help you with that." Bash said, striding over.
"Well aren't you sweet." She lobbed her head to the side so that her hair moved from her face, only to fall right back. "I can manage. But if you'd take that pitcher to the table." She nodded toward a pitcher full of honey colored tea, ice, and lemons like wheels slowly spinning where they were suspended in the fluid.
"You're making me look bad, Sebastian." Francis laughed, clapping him on the shoulder.
"Only trying to help."
"Nonsense. You've done more than enough today already. Here, I'll help Mary. You go wash up."
Francis pointed him to the bathroom, and Bash washed his hands, splashing water on his face.
And- not for the first time- he decided that Francis had the most beautiful wife this side of the French Quarter. Maybe in all Louisiana.
Best to finish the Cady and not come around here anymore. Lest he say something he ought not.
So he sat at the table with a stiff back, not quite leaning fully into the chair. The had full place settings- no doubt Catherine insisted on those. He hated silverware, and he was grateful it was only sandwiches.
"Bash," Mary said. "Francis tells me you've been working construction since you were fourteen?"
She warmed over a very formal question, and he wondered how he could have ever felt anything less than at home.
"I have."
"Well, then- you simply must visit us more often."
"Mary has it in her head that we're going to fix the back yard." Francis said. "She wants a garden." He took another healthy bite of potato with a cheery glint. A smile through her closed berry lips.
The awareness of her love for him- or his for her- failed to dull Bash's realization of her beauty.
"I'm sure Francis-"
"Would greatly appreciate your help." Francis set down his fork. "And would pay you for your efforts. Mary will need someone to look out for her- while I'm gone for the week. The business trip. I know I'd feel better about it."
Bash set his eyes on Mary.
"Then, how could I refuse?"
"Wonderful." Francis clapped his hands. "We'll have pie, and you'll be here on Monday."
Quietly, Mary got up. She returned with the perfectly golden pie in its round tin. And she cut it into wedges with flaky crusts crumbling at the edges, and it scented the room.
"This is wonderful." He couldn't imagine he'd ever had better pie.
"Mary is the best baker." Francis beamed, squeezing his wife's hand.
"Pie is very difficult."
"You bake?" Francis snorted.
"On occasion." Bash shrugged.
A peculiar smile emerged on Mary's lips. "It's not too hard. The secret is my vanilla."
"She's wonderful, isn't she? Just an absolute dream."
Bash had a feeling she was. And so when all was done and Bash drove his Chevy truck home- he believed he couldn't begin to know the whole truth of it.
a/n: hm. stylistically different than my usual. let me know what you think:)
i know i'm kind of beating a dead (pun only semi intended, as i'd hate to be too morbid lol) horse having bash compete with francis. but i guess it's just how my brain is wired.