“And me,” he said helpfully, sliding her onto his lap.

“Yes,” she said. “You, too.” She pushed herself off his lap. “Now can we please go back to the Pinecone? You were going to court me, remember? If we’re going to do it, let’s do it right.”

On the way back to the motel, she found the cassette tape she’d made and slid it into the player. When Steve Perry sang the opening lines of “Open Arms” she looked over and saw that Mason was singing right along with Journey at the top of his lungs. Shane had said Journey was cheesy. She didn’t care. This was their song. They were getting a do-over. For once, their timing was flawless.

47

Annajane looked around the conference room of the law offices of Thomas and Fleishman, attorneys at law, and saw that the lines had already been drawn in what looked like a troubling Bayless family feud. Sallie, dressed in a chic black St. John Knits suit, black and bone Ferragamo spectator pumps, and her ever-present pearls, had seated herself at the head of the sleek glass and chrome table.

Davis sat at her right hand, in his customary navy suit and striped rep tie. He’d scooted his chair over until it was only inches from his mother’s, and their heads were bowed together as they shared a whispered confidence.

By contrast, Mason had seated himself at the far end of the table. He looked remarkably composed, Annajane thought. His pale green dress shirt and khaki slacks were crisply pressed and he wore a hunter green tie with the red Quixie Pixie logo woven into it. Annajane smiled to herself when she saw that tie.

She’d custom-ordered the ties for all the Bayless men: Glenn, Mason, Davis, and even Pete, the first year of her marriage. Mason, who seldom wore a dress shirt, let alone a tie, swore he loved his Quixie tie. But she couldn’t remember ever seeing him wear it again. The tie, she knew, was Mason’s subtle way of letting his family know where he stood. With Quixie.

He glanced over at her, saw what she was looking at, and gave her a wink. Annajane looked away. How could he be so relaxed, knowing the company’s fate—their fate—would be revealed in just a few moments?

She’d been a bundle of nerves all morning, trying on and discarding outfits until her room at the Pinecone was strewn with clothing, shoes, and jewelry. In the end, she’d decided on a slimly cut pale aqua sleeveless sheath with a matching jacket. She’d twisted her hair into a modified french knot and, on a whim, chose Grandma Bayless’s diamond engagement ring as her only piece of jewelry—an unspoken declaration of her loyalty. To him. No matter what the day’s outcome.

Annajane had nearly turned her car around when she arrived at Norris Thomas’s law office above the Mid-State Bank. Why should she be here, she asked herself, for the tenth time that morning. This was Mason’s battle, not hers. But when she saw Davis and Sallie drive up together in Davis’s Porsche Boxster, she knew why she’d come. For him, yes, but mostly for herself.

Glenn Bayless considered her part of his family. He’d made that clear the day of her wedding to Mason, when he made a special trip to her house to tell her about his gift of stock in Quixie. No matter what Davis or Sallie thought, she too had a stake in Quixie’s future.

She waited until Sallie and Davis went into the bank, gave them a five-minute head start, and then followed them in. Sallie’s greeting to her when she entered the conference room was decidedly frosty.

Annajane was surprised to realize that for the first time she could remember, she wasn’t fazed by Sallie’s hostility toward her. “Hello, Sallie,” she said sweetly.

The conference room door opened, and all eyes were riveted in that direction. Pokey rushed in, her face flushed, her hair mussed.

She wore a brightly flowered red, yellow, and purple linen maternity tunic; yellow slacks; and spangly purple thongs, and the oversized tote slung over her shoulder was actually a green and navy quilted diaper bag.

Sallie’s eyes flickered briefly but meaningfully over her daughter’s outfit. “There you are,” Sallie drawled. “We were about to send out an all-points bulletin for you. You do know you’re ten minutes late?”

“Sorry, Mama,” Pokey said, sinking down into the empty chair between Annajane’s and Mason’s. “The sitter was late, and then I couldn’t find the car keys because Clayton had hidden them in the potty chair, and then I got stopped at the railroad crossing by a train that I swear was a mile long…”

“Never mind,” Sallie said, waving away any other excuses. “Just so you’re here. Did you tell the receptionist to let Norris know we’re all present now?”

“She knows,” Pokey said, reaching for the bottle of water sitting in front of her place at the table and taking a hefty swig. “She said to tell you he’s on the phone.”

“He needs to let one of his junior associates tend to the phones so he can tend to business,” Davis snapped. He glanced down at his watch. “I’m about over all this waiting.”

“Relax, Davis. We’ve been waiting five years,” Pokey said. “Another five minutes won’t kill us.”

“Some of us give a shit,” Davis shot back. “Some of us have a business to attend to.”

“Davis!” Sallie said sharply, laying a warning hand on his sleeve. “That’s enough.”

But Pokey was undaunted. “It’s not even ten thirty yet. No worries, Davis. You can sell off the company after lunch, and then you can hightail it to Figure Eight Island and still have plenty of time to spend your new fortune.”

“Pauline,” Sallie said sternly. “I want this unpleasantness stopped immediately.”

“Whatever,” Pokey said. “I guess we know whose side you’re on, Mama.”

“I’m not on anybody’s side,” Sallie said, struggling to retain her majestic bearing. She looked around at her three grown children. “We are all here for the same reason, and I’d appreciate it if you would all remember that. Your father would not have tolerated this petty bickering.”

“Not so petty, Mama,” Mason said. “Davis wants to sell to Jax Snax for thirty million. That’s a lot of pepperoni popcorn.”

Pokey giggled, but before Sallie could admonish her again, Norris Thomas walked into the room, a thick file folder clutched tightly under his left arm.

Annajane had met Thomas on several occasions and reflected now that he didn’t seem to have aged in the past ten years, despite the fact that he must be in his late seventies. His build was storklike, with long legs and a slight paunch in the belly. His wiry white hair stood up in tufts above his high, patrician forehead, and the silver aviator-frame glasses he’d favored for the past thirty years had come and gone back into fashion again without his notice.

Davis and Mason got up and shook hands, and Sallie, still seated, coolly offered her own hand in greeting, deliberately making the elderly attorney a supplicant, rather than the trustee of a multimillion-dollar family fortune.

Pokey stood and gave the older man a hug. “Uncle Norris,” she said. “How is Miss Faye?”

“She’s good, spoiling the grandchildren rotten, and she sends her love,” Thomas said. He turned and greeted Annajane warmly, before making his way to a chair in the middle of the table on the far side.

He cleared his throat twice, took a sip from the bottle of water at his place, and cleared his throat once more.

“All right, y’all,” he started, flipping the file open on the table. “I do apologize for being tardy.” He peered down his nose through the spectacles at the file, and then at the family members ranged around the table. “I’m happy to see that everybody is here today, and I trust that you all are enjoying good health?”

“We’re fine, Norris,” Davis said impatiently. “Busy, but fine.”

Sallie shot him a look, but Davis shook it off. “The trust, Norris. We really need to know the details of the trust Dad set up for us.”