Authors: Eileen Goudge
“Me neither.”
“I don’t think I should stay. It would only make it worse.” Byron was suddenly having trouble meeting her gaze.
She blinked, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “You’ll stay in touch?”
“Yeah.” His voice cracked.
She knew it could be months, maybe years, before they’d be ready to see each other in person. She was just as certain they’d never be entirely out of touch.
When Melodie brought the check, he tossed some bills down on the table. They rose in unison, chairs scraping over the patio’s worn bricks. Several people turned to glance at them but, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, went back to what they were doing. It seemed only natural, as Claire and Byron made their way toward the exit, to join hands: not as lovers, but as old friends consoling each other in a time of need.
David wore a knowing expression as he saw them out the door. He’d clearly had his share of experience in such matters.
They walked home in silence. When at last her house came into view, complete with Matt’s truck in the driveway, it seemed the perfect coda to a perfectly awful day.
Matt rose to the fore with a firm handshake and friendly smile. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “Claire’s told me a lot about you.”
“Likewise.” Byron forced a smile, glancing impatiently toward the house. She could almost hear him thinking:
How quickly can I grab my things and get out of here?
“You down for the weekend?” Matt’s gaze was clear and untroubled, giving no indication that it meant anything to him one way or the other. Claire felt a burst of gratitude.
“Actually, I was just leaving,” Byron told him.
Matt’s face registered surprise. “Didn’t you just get here?”
Claire sensed him wanting to dig deeper. “Something came up,” she quickly put in.
Byron went along with it. “The guy who was supposed to cover for me got sick.”
“Tough break,” Matt said.
“Well … nice meeting you.” Byron was halfway up the porch steps, shoulders slumped as if with the weight of the suitcase he hadn’t yet retrieved, when he turned and said, “By the way, I like what you’ve done with this place.”
If he had the slightest inkling that much of it had been a labor of love, it didn’t show. Byron couldn’t know that, in some ways, she considered this house to be as much Matt’s as hers.
She watched Matt amble over to his truck and begin unloading his tools. It was all she could do not to run to him, beg him to understand. But she remained where she was, gazing about at the mock cherry tree in bloom and the honeysuckle creeping up over the hedge. The old shade trees that lined the drive cast lacy patterns over the grass, and, spotting a gopher hole, she wondered about getting a cat.
Why does everything have to be so hard?
she thought.
Minutes later Byron reappeared, suitcase in hand. He looked diminished somehow as he trudged down the steps, and her heart went out to him. She wasn’t good with good-byes—part of the reason she’d stayed in Miramonte for so long—and for a fleeting instant she found herself wanting to run as fast and as far as she could. Anything to keep from having to say those dreaded words.
She walked him to his car, where she hugged him self-consciously, mindful of Matt. “Drive carefully.”
“Yes, Mom.” For years he’d teased her about being like Millie, though this time the words had a hollow ring.
“I’ll miss you.”
“Me, too.” He dropped his gaze, but not before she saw the tears in his eyes. “I’m not going to wish you luck with the opening. I’m sure it’ll be a big success.”
“From your lips to God’s ear.”
He kissed her lightly on the mouth, and ducked into his car. Moments later he was disappearing around the corner. She watched him go with an ache in her throat, the light all around her suddenly too bright. She wasn’t aware of Matt coming up alongside her.
“I could come back another time if you like.”
She turned slowly to face him. She knew what he was asking: Was he part of this, or a mere bystander? She didn’t know what to tell him. The only thing she was certain of right now was that if she tried to speak, she’d come unglued.
“I’d like it if you stayed,” she said at last in a remarkably calm voice.
She saw a light go on in Matt’s eyes, but it was obvious he didn’t want to get his hopes up. He shrugged. “I’ll be out of your hair soon enough. Give me another hour or so.”
“Are you in a hurry?”
He hoisted his power saw from the bed of his truck and set it down on the grass. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“If there’s anything else that needs doing.” He squinted up at the roof.
“I was hoping you’d stay for supper,” she found herself saying. “The last time I asked, you said you’d take a rain check.”
He brought his gaze back to her, his tea-brown eyes soft and considering. “I don’t believe those were my exact words.”
“Byron didn’t leave because he had to,” she said. “We decided it would be for the best.”
“I figured as much.”
“It’s over, Matt. It has been for a while, I just didn’t know it.”
“I guessed that, too.”
“You did?”
“If you’d really loved him, you wouldn’t have been with me.”
It was as if a fog had lifted. Was it too late? Had she blown it? Calmly, she asked, “So why did you ask me to choose?”
“I wanted you to know what kind of man you’d be choosing.”
She looked at him long and hard. It all made perfect sense now.
There was no fanfare when he slipped an arm about her shoulders. Just the chittering of the starlings in the branches overhead and chugging of a sprinkler next door. A quiet sense of wonder filled her, the kind of acute, trembling awareness that only comes in the wake of great happiness or sorrow. She thought of the fruit trees she was going to plant—dwarf peach, plum, and nectarine—and how each spring she would look forward to seeing them blossom. Whatever happened, she would always have that: a place to hang a bird feeder, and enough fruit to fill her pantry.
And someone to share it with.
Kitty arrived the next day, filled with apologies. While the hot water heater was being repaired, it had shorted out a circuit, and she’d had to call the electrician, who kept promising to come, then didn’t. Sean had offered to pinch-hit, but he was studying for his finals and she hadn’t wanted to disturb him. It was enough, she said, that he was taking care of Maddie. As for Tea & Sympathy, she’d left Willa in charge, with her sister Daphne taking a break from the novel she was writing to help out.
“I feel guilty, dragging you all this way,” Claire told her.
Kitty had been given the grand tour and the two were enjoying a glass of lemonade on the porch, where Gerry’s recent gift of a pair of wicker chairs was being put to good use.
“What kind of a partner would I be if I’d stayed home?” Kitty wanted to know. “Though it looks as if you would have gotten along just fine without me.” Radiant in a loose top and trousers, her loose curls the color of ginger ale cascading down around her shoulders, she looked as relaxed as ever.
“You should’ve seen me a week ago.” Claire rolled her eyes.
“Well, I’m all yours for the next three days.”
“Believe me, you’ll have your work cut out for you.”
Kitty laughed as if she hadn’t a care in the world. “By the way, when am I going to meet your new family?” She looked around as if half expecting them to spring from the shrubbery.
Claire told her they would be here any minute. “Mavis has a recipe for whiskey cake she wants to try out.” Claire was amazed at how much lighter she felt. Last night with Matt had helped put things in perspective.
Kitty drew back to eye her admiringly. “You look different. Did you do something with your hair?”
Claire ran her fingers through it. “No. In fact, I keep thinking I should get it cut.”
“That’s it, you let it grow out. I
knew
there was something.” Kitty smiled as if that wasn’t the only change she’d noticed. “Better watch out, or pretty soon you’ll be wearing a pair of these.” She cast a wry glance at her Birkenstocks.
“Most of the time I go barefoot.”
“You
have
changed.” Kitty looked as if she approved.
They were in their aprons, Kitty measuring ingredients for oatmeal-pecan squares, which would freeze well, and Claire melting chocolate for a devil’s food cake, when Mavis walked in trailed by Gerry and her kids. Without a word of introduction Mavis set down the bag of groceries she was carrying and enveloped Kitty in a hug. Seeing them together, both with the same reddish hair and Irish coloring, Claire thought they might have been long-lost relatives.
“You must be the famous Kitty Seagrave we’ve been hearing so much about.” Mavis drew back, beaming. “The way Claire goes on, I thought you’d be walking here on water.”
“I almost did.” Kitty told them about the flood in her basement, and they all had a good laugh.
Gerry turned to Claire. “She’s every bit as wonderful as you said.”
“You must be Gerry.” Kitty hugged her. “I feel as if I know you.”
Gerry’s eyes were clear and untroubled. “I’d like you to meet my younger children—Andie and Justin.” She placed a subtle emphasis on “younger.”
“Do you have kids?” Justin asked hopefully.
“One, but she’s only three.” Kitty made a consoling face.
“Is your tearoom anything like this one?” Andie wanted to know.
“In spirit,” Kitty said. “That’s the secret, actually—every place should have its own personality.”
Soon they were chattering away like old friends. Kitty regaling them with tales of her regulars. Mavis reminiscing about the Carson Springs of her girlhood. Gerry filling them in on the latest goings-on at Our Lady.
Before long Mavis was elbow to elbow with Kitty at the counter and Andie peeling apples at the table, while Justin cored and sliced. Gerry, a self-professed kitchen klutz, made herself useful ironing napkins.
She was refilling the iron at the tap when she spied the note tucked inside the pot of African violets on the sill. “ ‘Looking forward to the big day. Love, Aubrey,’ ” she read aloud, flags of color appearing in her cheeks.
“For a man with his suitcase packed, he doesn’t seem in too big a hurry,” Mavis observed dryly.
“He’s coming to the game on Saturday.” Justin tried to sound as if it were no big deal, but the look on his face was a dead giveaway: that of a boy who’d scanned the bleachers once too often in search of a father who wasn’t there.
“Which is more than I can say for
some
people,” muttered Mavis, who clearly had no fondness for Gerry’s ex.
Andie surprised everyone by blurting, “You should marry him, Mom.”
Gerry’s head jerked around. “What?”
“He’s just your type.” Andie ticked off all the reasons on her fingers. “Mysterious and unavailable … till now, that is. And he’s never, ever going to bore you. Not to mention he’s crazy about you.”
“Crazy is the word for it,” Gerry joked. “He doesn’t know what he’d be getting into.” But from the deepening color in her cheeks she’d obviously given it some thought.
“Oh, I think he has a pretty good idea,” Claire said.
“Why don’t we take a vote?” Kitty spoke as if she’d known Gerry all her life. “Let’s see a show of hands for all those in favor.”
Three hands went up. Only Kitty, who had yet to meet the man, abstained. Claire knew they’d scored a direct hit when Gerry let out a little yelp: She’d scorched the napkin she was ironing.
“I have a better idea,” she said. “Why don’t I mind my business, and you mind yours?”
“I guess that means Simon and I can elope after all,” Andie deadpanned.
“Over my dead body,” Mavis shot back, wearing a look of mock outrage.
“When you’re my age and your life is already ruined, you can do as you please,” Gerry said.
Listening to them, Claire probed for the secret envy she’d once felt as gingerly as she might have a sore tooth. But somewhere along the line it had gone. She would never be as much Gerry’s as Andie or Justin, but they had a different kind of bond: They’d chosen this as surely as Lou and Millie had chosen her.
If only Mom and Dad could see it that way.
She felt sorrow well up in her, but it was more of a phantom pain. She still hoped they’d make it to the opening, but if not … well, it would be their loss.
“It just hit me,” she said. “In less than forty-eight hours, we’ll be officially open for business.”
“That calls for a drink.” Mavis hoisted the bottle of whiskey she’d brought for her cake. She took down six glasses from the cupboard and poured a splash into each one, including Justin’s.
“Long live Tea and Sympathy,” Kitty toasted, lifting her glass.
“To second chapters.” Mavis tossed a meaningful glance at Gerry.
Justin sipped his and made a face. “Ugh.”
“It’s an acquired taste.” Andie spoke with an air of experience.
Claire looked about the sunny kitchen filled with the familiar faces of the people she loved. Was it only a few months since she’d moved here? It felt like aeons. The future no longer seemed so scary. She’d taken the biggest leap of faith in coming here, and look how it had turned out. Everything else was just encore.
“I couldn’t have done this without your help,” she said to no one in particular.
“Nonsense. What are families for?” Mavis walked over and hugged her. She smelled faintly of whiskey, but in a good way—like medicine to make you feel better.
“Not to mention friends,” Kitty chimed.
“I think I’m going to be sick.” Andie made a gagging noise.
“Don’t move anyone.” Gerry reached into her bag for her camera and, ignoring Andie’s and Justin’s groans, snapped off several shots.
“I just hope they don’t make me look fat,” Andie said.
“You don’t need a camera for that.” Justin looked pleased at having scored a direct hit.
“Cut it out, you two,” Gerry scolded, though it was obvious her heart wasn’t in it.
Claire just stood there, smiling. In her mind, she’d already picked out the spot on her bedroom wall where the photo would hang.
Sunday, the day of the opening, it poured for the first time in weeks. Gerry was in a cold sweat that morning as she dressed. Of all the days for it to rain! Poor Claire. An image flashed across her mind: an array of cakes, pies, tarts, and cookies with no one to eat them. For in Carson Springs, where the sun shone year-round, the rare shower might as well be a monsoon. People stayed home for the most part, and those who happened to be out and about went racing for the nearest shelter, their collars pulled up around their ears. Some might end up here, but most would opt to come another day.