“That’s all right,” Virginia said, but her voice shook. “You loved the little guys, I loved the little guys. I’m just sorry they aren’t here for their next adventure in Fat Chance!”
Dymphna was about to say she wasn’t sure when they’d all be on their way, but she held her tongue. As she walked out the back door, her breath caught as her old life came flooding back to her. The guesthouse she’d called home sat nestled between two trees at the far end of the yard. It was a perfect replica of the main house, except for the guesthouse door, which Dymphna was glad to see was still red. The rabbits were housed in yet another Victorian—their hutch designed by Erinn’s last boyfriend, Christopher, a local artist and craftsman. Dymphna was sorry to hear that the two of them had broken up last year; she always thought Christopher would love Fat Chance. But early in her friendship with Erinn, she had learned not to pry.
When Erinn, a TV director and producer, was working on a show that involved investigation, there was no stopping her, but that door did not swing both ways. It used to hurt Dymphna’s feelings that Erinn never wanted to share what was going on in her life. But now she understood a little better that perhaps Erinn herself didn’t always know what was going on. Dymphna certainly couldn’t articulate what was going on in her own life right now.
Piquant’s squirming in her arms brought Dymphna back to the present. Virginia was staring at her as Dymphna put Piquant on the porch.
“Is everything all right?” Virginia asked.
“Yes, fine,” Dymphna said. “It just feels strange to be back. I . . . didn’t think I’d be gone so long.”
“Ready to say hello?” Virginia asked, gesturing toward the Victorian hutch. Dymphna laughed as she spotted Caro lying in the sun on the roof of the hutch. It was as if he’d stayed in one place since Dymphna left. But of course, he hadn’t stayed in one place. None of them had.
She was surprised to find herself nervous. Virginia reached in and pulled Spot out of the hutch. He was enormous! Dymphna took him in her arms and breathed in his sweet smell. He settled immediately into her arms.
“I think he remembers me,” Dymphna said softly.
“Of course he remembers you,” Virginia said. “You’re hard to forget, you know.”
Dymphna gave Virginia a grateful smile.
Was she hard to forget?
And was that a good thing or a bad thing?
She picked each rabbit up in turn, telling them about Fat Chance, and how they would all be going for a long car ride, though Dymphna wasn’t sure exactly when that would be. She warned the rabbits that life in Texas would be very different. For one thing, they would no longer be sharing their space with an old dog that was smaller than they were, and a house cat that was equally furry. Instead, they were going to be part of a real farm, with chickens, a rooster, and four Angora goats.
“Once I get you settled, I might bring in some more brothers and sisters for you. But we’re going to take it slow,” Dymphna said, although running her fingers through the rabbit mohair, she was itching to start making yarn with it as soon as possible. The Angora goats produced lovely fiber, but to Dymphna’s mind there was nothing quite like yarn spun from rabbit hair. She had a roster of loyal customers and she couldn’t wait to present them with new shawls, scarves, hats, and gloves.
After reacquainting herself with her brood, Dymphna gave Caro a quick pat and she and Virginia walked back up the porch to the main house. Dymphna could hear voices coming from the kitchen. She couldn’t identify all of them. Then she heard a laugh, which she could identify immediately. It was Erinn’s younger sister and Virginia’s youngest daughter, Suzanna.
The other voices must belong to Suzanna’s husband, Eric, and their children, Lizzy and London. Dymphna remembered talking to Erinn on the phone the day London was born. The connection from Fat Chance was, of course, deplorable, so Dymphna hadn’t been sure she had heard correctly.
“London, did you say?” Dymphna had said into the phone, circling the spot in the street for the best reception. “The baby’s name is London?”
“Yes, his name is London,” Erinn said. Did Dymphna detect a note of annoyance? With the dead space and popping sounds that accompanied every call, it was hard to tell. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing,” Dymphna backtracked. “It’s just . . . unusual.”
“Really, Dymphna?”
Dymphna stopped in her tracks. She knew her name was uncommon, but she wasn’t to blame for that. It had been her parents’ idea; she didn’t choose it! But she let the moment pass. It was easy to let irritants from California fall by the wayside. She wondered if the reverse would be true. Would Professor Johnson’s annoying habits seem less offensive from a thousand miles away? She would be interested to find out.
As she opened the screen door, Dymphna saw that Virginia was glowing with happiness at the sound of her two daughters chatting away in the kitchen. Dymphna never spent much time thinking about family. Her own upbringing had been complicated and she didn’t like to dwell on it. But now that she was in her early thirties, the idea of having more than animals to care for seemed vaguely appealing.
“There’s our girl!” Eric said when he caught sight of her.
Dymphna was instantly enveloped in Eric’s bear hug, which lifted her off the ground. As soon as she was back on her feet, it was Suzanna’s turn to zero in on Dymphna’s personal space. Dymphna looked over Suzanna’s shoulder to see Erinn leaning against a counter, hands wrapped around a cup of coffee. Dymphna smiled weakly at her. Erinn smiled back and shrugged. It wasn’t that they weren’t happy to see each other; it was just that they were two kindred spirits. They both knew what the other was thinking.
I know you love me without your squeezing me to death.
Suzanna let go and scooped a toddler off the floor. The boy had a riot of red hair and freckles.
“This is London,” Suzanna said. “London, this is your long lost auntie Dymphna.”
London, who had been looking at her with laser intensity, suddenly snapped his head around, showing Dymphna his cowlick instead of his face. He made a little “humph” noise. Suzanna looked stricken.
“He’s really happy to meet you,” Suzanna said. “He’s just shy.”
“I get it,” Dymphna said. I really do!
“And I know you remember Lizzy,” Virginia said, pulling a taller, slimmer version of the toddler Dymphna remembered, into view. “Lizzy, do you remember your auntie Dymphna?”
What’s all this? I don’t remember Lizzy ever calling me Auntie.
Dymphna smiled at Lizzy. If these women, who were her adopted family, wanted the kids to call her Auntie, that was fine with her.
No one else will probably ever call me Auntie.
“Hello, Lizzy,” Dymphna said. Before she could stop herself, she added, “You sure have grown.”
Dymphna sighed. She had hoped to come up with something more original, something less cliché. On the other hand, Lizzy probably hadn’t heard enough clichés to be tired of them yet. Lizzy was a little more sociable than her brother and smiled shyly. She still had a head of ringlets. A pair of pink glasses perched on her upturned nose. There was no denying Eric and Suzanna Cooper had very cute kids!
Details flew fast and furious. The Rollicking Bun, Suzanna and Eric’s tea shop and bookstore, was doing well. They still lived in the huge apartment over it, but were thinking of buying a house on one of the neighboring streets now that they were a family of four. Suzanna and Erinn were raised in Napa Valley, although given their age difference, they grew up a decade apart. Suzanna, Eric, and Fernando were the same age, spent their high school years together, and collaborated at the Rollicking Bun until one fateful summer eight years ago. Eric and Suzanna declared their love for each other after a massive earthquake sent a bookcase crashing down on Eric, and Fernando decided he wanted to spread his wings by opening a bed-and-breakfast on Vashon Island. The fact that Fernando was now spreading his wings in Fat Chance was thrilling
to them all. It was almost as if life had come full circle for them.
Suzanna said she was so happy Fernando had opened his café and was successful. She tried to send him recipes, but all her emails bounced back.
“It’s almost like you guys went to the moon,” Suzanna said.
“Cell phone reception is horrible out there,” Dymphna said, trying not to sound defensive. “Communication with the outside world is tough.”
“Fernando mentioned that,” Suzanna said. “He’d call me from a town on a ranch . . .”
“Yes, Spoonerville,” Dymphna said. “The Rolling Fork Ranch is so big it needs its own town. We get our supplies there, too. It’s our link to the outside world.”
“When you live here,” Erinn said, “where communication is instant, it really is hard to believe there are still places like Fat Chance. What do you do about weather reports?”
“We’re surrounded by cowboys,” Dymphna said. “They can read the signs.”
London started to get restless, and within an hour the Coopers piled back in their minivan and headed back down the coast to Venice Beach. Virginia and Dymphna took the rabbits out to the rabbit run that Christopher had built for them before he and Erinn broke up, then Virginia retired to the guesthouse.
Erinn was sitting at her computer in the front room when Dymphna came looking for her. Dymphna knocked softly on the gleaming wood archway, in case Erinn was busy and didn’t want to talk. Erinn looked over her half-moon glasses and waved Dymphna in. Caro, who had been sprawled across the large desk when Dymphna entered, leapt up and curled up on Dymphna’s lap before she’d even fully sat down on the sofa.
“Have you missed me?” Dymphna cooed, stopping herself from saying, “Have you missed your auntie Dymphna?”
“He has,” Erinn said, before adding matter-of-factly, “We all have.”
Erinn shut down the computer and laid her glasses on the desk before joining Dymphna. Dymphna felt guilty. She’d been on such a wild adventure in Texas that she probably didn’t stay in touch as well as she should. She could only blame the lousy cell phone reception so much.
“I want to hear about everything you’re doing,” Dymphna said, a little too eagerly.
“I can’t complain,” Erinn said. “Well, I suppose I can, but as Immanuel Kant so brilliantly put it, ‘One who makes himself a worm cannot complain afterwards if people step on him.’”
Dymphna recalled Erinn’s penchant for quoting philosophers and writers. Dymphna had no idea who Immanuel Kant was, nor was she sure if Erinn was feeling like a worm. If she was feeling like a worm, that would be worth complaining about. Wouldn’t it? Dymphna decided to eat a piece of chocolate from the side table instead of addressing the comment.
“I’ve finally clawed my way to the middle of this ghastly profession,” Erinn said, joining Dymphna in a piece of chocolate.
The “ghastly profession” was being a director/producer/camera operator for various History Network shows. She’d dabbled in food and design shows and had been fired from several reality shows, but she’d found a home at History. Anyone but Erinn would be thrilled with this career. But anything less than making a comeback as the toast of Broadway (which she was in her twenties) would always remain a letdown for her.
“Are you working on anything interesting?” Dymphna asked.
“I have a first-look deal right now,” Erinn said. “That means the network wants to hear my ideas before I take them anywhere else.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Very good,” Erinn said. “I just haven’t come up with anything I want to pitch.”
“You’ll think of something,” Dymphna said. “Don’t worry.”
“Why would I worry?”
“I know you kind of have permanent writer’s block when it comes to writing Broadway plays, and I just thought you might be afraid you were freezing up again.”
“I wasn’t,” Erinn said. “Until now.”
Chapter 6
Dymphna had been gone a week and Professor Johnson sat alone in his museum, the weight of Fat Chance on his shoulders.
He had no one to blame for his current circumstances but himself. He’d had a fine life in California, with tenure at a prestigious university, a place where people had respect for knowledge and advanced degrees. He had returned to Fat Chance as soon as he could ethically leave the university. It was hard to believe his grandfather’s crazy experiment had worked in the first place, but that they continued to flourish in this tiny sun-blasted town was a miracle.
Of course, “flourish” might be an overstatement.
Professor Johnson sighed. Dymphna had surprised him with a call. He’d hoped she was calling to say their “break” was over, but she only called to tell him the Outback was not going to make it back to Fat Chance. He wasn’t sure what to do. He really had no money to fix the car. He’d put what was left of his capital into the Great Grape Gamble, as had everyone else in town. Professor Johnson was sure that in a year’s time, maybe two, with the proper care, Fat Chance would produce wines with Historic Importance.
At first, everyone in town was behind the plan. But as the venture required more and more capital, tempers were fraying. The support on which Professor Johnson counted for the delicate “road situation” was split on “the grape situation.” Powderkeg still stood with him, but Fernando and Pappy had jumped ship. Professor Johnson felt thwarted at every turn. He had researched the wine business thoroughly and could not understand why everyone didn’t just fall into line. He had to admit that Fernando, having grown up and worked in the vineyards of Napa Valley, had some interesting insights. But why was he so emotional about everything?
This was, after all, strictly business.
Professor Johnson had spent most of his own inheritance getting a liquor license for the museum. During the eighteen hundreds the place had been a bar, and Professor Johnson had high hopes of returning it to its former glory, but with a twist. The Boozehound would become a tasting room, with an interactive museum helping people understand not only how their wine was made but also the history of Thomas Volney Munson, the Texan who saved the French wine industry during the late 1880s when he grafted mustang grape rootstock onto sickly French vines. The fact that the grafting was still in operation was the exciting hook Professor Johnson was looking for. People would flock to the Boozehound! Perhaps the liquor license was a bit premature, but he was always prudent in his choices. If only he could sell his fellow investors on this. He had to admit, he was safe and sorry.
The Boozehound was attached to the Cowboy Food Café by an adjoining archway. Professor Johnson could hear Polly talking to Fernando about her latest crush. Professor Johnson tried not to listen. He was busy deciding if he should ask the people of Fat Chance if they should buy a centrifugal de-stemmer with must pump for $4,000, and Polly’s chatter was distracting. He already knew that Fernando would be opposed. Fernando considered himself the wine expert in Fat Chance and seemed to buck Professor Johnson at every turn.
“Wine is art,” Fernando had said. “You don’t force it. You wait for it and see what unfolds.”
“Wine is science,” Professor Johnson replied. “You control it and invest in the outcome.”
“We’re talking about mustang grapes,” Fernando said. “Yes, most vintners bottle the wine quickly, and that’s a shame. But we have an opportunity to make a really great wine—if we cellar the wine for three, four, or five years.”
“Why do that if you can get a wine people will drink right away?” Professor Johnson asked. “The ‘drink it now’ wines are perfectly respectable. Why wait for the profit when we can have it now?”
Grapes were apparently like politics. You could talk about it for eternity, but you weren’t likely to change anyone’s mind.
Professor Johnson looked down at Thud, who was sprawled on the floor in a patch of late-afternoon sunlight.
“Ready to head back to the farm?” Professor Johnson asked, frowning through the arch
way as Polly’s voice bounced off the walls. “I don’t think I’m going to get anything done today.”
Thud thumped his tail but didn’t move.
“Is that a yes or a no?” Professor Johnson asked as the bloodhound’s tail hit the floor again.
Thud and Professor Johnson both looked up as Titan came in.
“I hope I’m not bothering you,” Titan said.
“No, not at all.” Professor Johnson cleared charts, graphs, and wine catalogues off the glass showcase he’d been using as a desk. “Any sign of Fancy?”
Titan shook his head sorrowfully. Professor Johnson didn’t know what else to say. He wondered what Dymphna would do. He guessed she might hug Titan. Should he hug Titan?
Probably.
Professor Johnson steeled himself. He walked over to the big man and put his arms clumsily around him. Titan seemed surprised, but within seconds, he was crying uncontrollably. Professor Johnson patted Titan’s muscular, heaving back, trying to quiet him, but the sobs brought Fernando and Polly running in from the kitchen.
“What have you done?” Fernando asked Professor Johnson accusingly. He reached for Titan, who turned and collapsed into Fernando’s embrace—not an easy feat, since Fernando was a foot shorter.
“I was only trying to help,” Professor Johnson said. “He’s upset about Fancy.”
At the mention of the buzzard’s name, Titan’s weeping escalated. Polly threw herself into the Titan-Fernando tangle. Thud struggled to his feet and leaned against Titan’s legs. For something to do, Professor Johnson took off his glasses and wiped them on his shirt.
“Thank you.” Titan sniffled as he disengaged from the group hug. “I’ve been holding that in all day.”
“Come on over to the café,” Fernando said. “I’ll make us some tea. Would you like that?”
Titan nodded and trailed miserably behind Polly and Fernando. Thud followed the group. Professor Johnson hesitated, not sure if he was invited or not. He wished he had Thud’s social skills. Polly suddenly turned around and gestured that he should come with them. She rolled her eyes, but Professor Johnson didn’t care. He tried to keep the gratitude out of his step as he walked into the café and joined everyone at the table.
Livin' Large in Fat Chance, Texas Page 4