Dress Me in Wildflowers (8 page)

“Where do you live?”

“Mountainview Apartments.”

Farrin turned to stare at Janie’s tired profile. Janie’s eyes were closed, so she didn’t notice. What Farrin wanted to say was, “You’ve got to be kidding me,” but instead she started the car and drove out of the parking lot. She glanced up to see Kurt pull out behind her.

Thank God, the trip across town required less time than it took Starbucks to brew her coffee each morning. There wasn’t much traffic in Oak Valley during the day. At night, it was nonexistent. The only signs of life were the people whose idea of fun was sitting on their truck tailgates on the court square watching the same people drive by on their continuous cruising routes between the Big Al’s Auto Parts and the IGA grocery. God, how had she ever done that and thought it would somehow make her cool? All it had been was a waste of gasoline and time.

As they rolled by the darkened courthouse and closed Main Street shops, she wondered if the kids sitting on the square were the children of some of her former classmates. Generation after generation of cruisers and loiterers. How sad was that? But really, what were you supposed to do in a town that rolled up the streets at 5 p.m.?

She passed under the green traffic light and veered around the curve that led to the apartment complex and on to Catawba Park, one of the positives the area had going for it. After the fall leaf season, June was her favorite time of the year here. There was something magical about how the mountaintops turned bright pink with rhododendron. She’d walk through those vast expanses of pink and feel a sense of calm, a calm that was nowhere to be found this evening.

Farrin didn’t even have to signal when she turned into the apartment complex. Most of the windows here were dark as well. It appeared many of the residents were still older and went to bed early. How in the world had Janie Carlisle ended up here?

“It’s 312,” Janie said. “Go to the end and turn right.”

Farrin followed the directions. As soon as she turned the corner, she saw the number 312 illuminated on the end building to her left. She pulled into a parking space marked with the same number. After cutting the engine, she glanced over and Janie appeared even paler. Perhaps it was the glow of the fluorescent light on the side of the building. To avoid trying to determine how sick Janie was, Farrin looked in the rearview mirror to watch Kurt park in a space in the opposite row marked “Guests”.

Janie took a deep, slow breath as if to calm whatever it was inside her that was making her so ill. Farrin had done her duty, but for some reason she didn’t open the driver’s side door and escape to Kurt and Tammie’s car. Instead she sat and waited for Janie to say something. Perhaps “I’m sorry I was such a bitch in high school” or “I feel awful that I ruined what was supposed to be the best night of your life.”

She doubted if Janie spoke in the next few minutes, it would be any long-overdue apologies. No, it’d more likely be, “Oh God, I’m going to puke.”

The seconds of silence stretched until Farrin had to look over at Janie again. She turned at the same moment a tear escaped Janie’s eye and coursed down her cheek.

Janie swiped it away and took another deep breath. “Thank you for driving me home. I appreciate it.”

She actually sounded genuine.

Farrin nodded, unable to voice the “You’re welcome” that would normally come as a response to the thank you. Nor was she able to ask Janie if she needed help to her door and into her apartment.

The cool night air perked Janie up a bit as they both stepped from the car. It also brought Farrin back to her senses. She slammed the car door, mad at herself for aiding Janie so easily.

Janie stared at the stairs to the second level. “Can you—”

“No. I’ve already done more than you deserve.” Farrin stalked toward Kurt and Tammie’s car. The core of human decency within her screamed for her to go back and help Janie inside, to make sure she was okay and didn’t pass out only feet from her front door. But bitterness won out over decency in the end. She wasn’t proud of it, but there was no changing the ugly truth.

Farrin slid into the back seat of the car, a newer and nicer model than Janie’s. She couldn’t shake the sense of having slipped into an alternate reality.

To add to the sense of the unreality was the fact that Drew Murphy had tried to strike up a conversation with Farrin like they were old friends and had asked her to dance.

She almost believed none of this was real and that exhaustion had finally claimed her, causing her to fall asleep atop her work. Maybe she’d wake up at any minute in her New York home and swear not to work so much if the result was such strange and disturbing dreams.

The lack of questioning from Tammie surprised Farrin as the blocks between the apartment complex and Faye’s house slid by. With each house they passed, Farrin expected her friend to ask, “What was that all about?” Or remind her of Janie’s many cruelties. She wasn’t sure she could respond when the different parts of herself were warring inside her head like the Romans and the Spartans.

But the third degree never came, which illustrated even further how much Tammie and their relationship had changed. Though Tammie posed no questions, she did shoot Farrin a quizzical look as they both exited the car into the crisp night air. And then Tammie turned and headed inside with Kurt. Farrin waited a few seconds before following.

Faye, who had been getting up before the sun for as long as Farrin had known her, sat in her recliner dressed in her gown, robe and house slippers when they entered the front door.

“I didn’t expect you all back so soon,” she said.

“Farrin was tired,” Tammie said, the barest hint of a bite in her words. She paused for a moment. “We’re all tired.”

“All three of you work too hard. No wonder you’re exhausted all the time.”

“You’re a fine one to talk,” Tammie said, her voice softening.

Faye waved her hand in dismissal, then rose from the chair. “It’s past my bedtime. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Tammie gave her mother a hug. “You know, you don’t have to stay up for us anymore. We’re big girls now.”

Faye patted Tammie’s face. “That I know, dear. But some old habits can’t be broken.”

Farrin accepted a hug from Faye and felt tears sting her eyes. This, she missed. The full squeeze of a hug from someone who really cared about her, not the little barely-there hugs she’d grown accustomed to at parties and fashion shows. Even Mark’s hugs hadn’t been the same. Still restrained, as if pressing someone too close simply wasn’t done.

Kurt disappeared down the hall on Faye’s heels. Farrin didn’t move as she heard first Faye’s door, then the distinctive squeak of the door to Tammie’s room.

Farrin smiled. “I can’t believe that door still squeaks.”

Tammie looked at her. “She’s sprayed it, oiled it, everything. The squeak keeps coming back.”

They stood in awkward silence for a few seconds.

“Well, I really am tired,” Tammie said. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight. See you in the morning.”

They sounded like strangers. Farrin guessed they were.

Instead of going to bed herself, Farrin stayed in the living room, walking around the edges looking at the pictures lining the walls and all available surfaces. As expected, Grandma Faye had plenty of photos of her grandchildren. But what surprised Farrin was how many pictures included her. Even after all these years away, her teenage face still stared out at Faye every day. School pictures, dressed-up shots before homecomings and dances, she and Tammie covered head to toe in mud after going four-wheeling on Tammie’s cousins’ farm, the two of them beaming in their caps and gowns at graduation.

Shame filled her. Of all the photos in her New York home, not a one displayed the faces of the people who’d meant so much to her. Not Faye, not Tammie, not even her mother.

When she spotted a thick scrapbook on the bottom shelf of the coffee table, she pulled it out and sat down on the couch. She leaned back and opened the cover.
Oh my.
She scanned the pages of magazine photos, articles, even some of her early sketches done while in high school. It was a diary of her career from even before it could have been pegged as such. A lump formed in her throat.

Farrin swallowed and swiped away a tear. She ran her fingers over the photos of her first
People
profile, written after she’d been literally plucked from obscurity to design a dress for a Golden Globe-nominated actress. She still loved that pearly pink creation.

By the time she finished looking through the scrapbook, an hour had passed. She closed the book and held it against her chest. Memories of the days when her college classmates had asked her to design dresses for sorority formals and then their weddings entwined with those of how floored she’d been by the requests of increasingly famous clients. Of how the more successful she became, the more she forgot how she’d gotten there.

A long sigh escaped her lungs. In the process of fleeing the person she’d been, she didn’t particularly like the person she’d become.

****

Farrin couldn’t sleep. She dozed for a couple of hours, then tossed and turned. Finally, she gave up and dragged herself and her sketches to Faye’s kitchen table. The stark stillness and quiet of the night distracted her. Funny how eighteen years of living with quiet had been erased by half that time in Manhattan. Eventually, her brain relaxed and she made headway on Cara Hutton’s wedding dress. Instead of erasing every line she sketched, she added to them, becoming more excited with each nuance. She only looked up when she sensed someone watching her.

“I didn’t mean to bother you,” Faye said as she walked toward the sink.

“Oh, you didn’t.” Farrin glanced at the clock on the stove. 5:01 a.m. “I didn’t realize what time it was.”

“How long have you been up?”

“A couple of hours.”

“Not much sleep.” Faye poured water in the coffeemaker.

“No, couldn’t get work off my mind.”

Faye pointed at the sketchpad in front of Farrin. “Can I see what you’re working on?”

The design should be kept secret from everyone but the bride, the First Lady, Farrin and her staff, but who would Faye tell? Farrin turned the sketch around.

Faye stepped forward and slid onto the chair at the end of the table. “Oh honey, it’s beautiful.” Faye lifted the sketch and eyed it like an art lover appreciating a Monet or Van Gogh painting.

“It’s Cara Hutton’s wedding dress.”

“She’ll look stunning in it.” Faye shook her head and ran her fingertips lightly over the sketch. “So simple but elegant. It truly is amazing the talent you have for this.”

“I haven’t felt like that lately. I didn’t think I’d ever get this finished. I’ve been sketching and throwing away designs for weeks.”

Faye chuckled. “Must be something about my kitchen.”

Farrin didn’t laugh. Maybe the little kitchen did have some magic in it. Wasn’t it here that Tammie had learned how to cook? Where Farrin had doodled her first dress sketches? This little kitchen in Nowhere, Tennessee had allowed her to do something endless frustrating hours in her office and own home had not.

The coffee finished brewing, and Faye brought two cups to the table. “I assume you’re not going back to bed?”

Farrin shook her head. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep.”

“I know you have a busy schedule, dear, but don’t run yourself down. You’ll just get sick and further behind.”

“You sound like my doctor.”

“Smart doctor.”

Farrin smiled. “I hope so, as much as I pay him.”

They fell into silence as Faye looked at the sketch some more.

“I saw the scrapbook,” Farrin said. “That was sweet of you to keep.”

“I have one for Tammie too, full of recipes and pictures of events she’s catered. And you know you couldn’t be more of a daughter to me if I’d birthed you myself.”

That awful lump formed in Farrin’s throat again. She reached over and wrapped her hand around Faye’s cool, wrinkled one. “I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch better.”

“It’s okay. I know life sometimes takes over.”

“But I shouldn’t be too busy to pick up the phone and call you.”

Faye placed her other hand atop Farrin’s. “Honey, we all do things in our own time. Things happen when they’re supposed to.”

Like this trip back to Oak Valley? Ironic that the trip she’d been dreading for a month had ended up curing her design block.

“I’m still sorry.”

“I tell you what. You wow them at the meeting this morning, and all is forgiven.”

Farrin chuckled. “Shooting for a spot in the Homemakers Club Hall of Fame?”

“You know it. Somebody has to top prissy old Loni Mayhew. She thought she was it when she brought in her cousin, who works for
Gourmet
magazine. Little does Loni know that everyone thought her cousin’s recipes tasted like the bottom of a boot.”

Farrin snorted. “That’s odd if she works at
Gourmet
.”

“Not if she’s the administrative assistant. Loni didn’t bank on us old ladies finding that out. I love the Internet!”