by Viragh, Brea
Until I reached the produce section.
I should have stayed home.
That was my first thought when the cart stopped just short of bumping into the legs of an extremely displeased Isabel. The hum died in my throat and all thoughts of dinner left my brain. It was disheartening to see her, I realized, trying to form an immediate, appropriate greeting and falling short of the mark.
“Isabel,” I managed. At least I’d broken the awkward silence that had fallen over us. “How nice to see you again.” My hand shifted into my pocket of its own accord, the inked smiley face hidden by the depths of the overlarge t-shirt and worn jeans.
She glanced at me and my stomach hollowed, my core turned to nothing but gas and empty air.
“Leda, was it?” Her eyes were dull behind what looked like a porcelain mask. Unwilling to give anything away. I took her in with a single swooping gaze. Isabel was slender, neat even after work. She wore a simple top with wild roses embroidered along the hemline. Looked every bit the part of the put-upon woman in the midst of a triangle. Or should that be a square?
I mustered the finest grin I could and stuck out a hand. “Yes, it’s Leda. We met at dinner the other night,” I went on, my voice too bright and loud in the rapidly shrinking space. Were the walls closing in, or was it just me? “Thanks again for the lovely time. You and Duncan made great company.”
It seemed like the right thing to do, thanking her then.
She knew me. And she knew that I knew as well. Of course, feigning ignorance would become our personal game.
“Oh yes. You came with August. I can’t remember all of the people he hangs around with, sorry.” She ignored the offered handshake.
I watched her hand fist at her side. “I’m sure it’s been difficult for you. Moving back here after living on the West Coast.”
“This is my home.” Isabel’s gaze hardened. “The adjustment period is over. Thank you for your concern, but I’m sure you already knew that.”
“Excuse me?”
“Duncan. He tells me you’ve been...going out to lunch. As friends.”
Something about the way her mouth held the vowels, slashed the consonants, let me in on her feelings. I would not be winning any popularity contests soon.
“I’m showing him around town. Nothing more.”
There in aisle three of the local supermarket, with a ready audience staring down ingredient lists with their ears tuned toward our conversation, Isabel and I were at a stalemate. She stood a scant two feet from me with disgust in her eyes. I felt my heartbeat falter before resuming a normal if somewhat awkward pace.
What did I say to her? What could I say?
“I’d love to stay and talk but I’m actually in a bit of a rush. So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way. Say hello to August for me,” Isabel finished. In a single smooth motion, her cart swiveled in the opposite direction. She made a show of walking unhurriedly so each step counted.
She did not so much as glance at me again, her final quip hanging in the air, but I caught a glimpse of her mouth tightening. Isabel didn’t care that I was standing there. And I was still scrambling to come up with a response when I bolted toward the register, forgetting why I’d come in the first place.
Isabel needed nothing more than a look to silence me. My face burned from the weight of her presence, her words, and I wondered why I hadn’t said something more. As I made my way back to the house—without the butter or the half dozen remaining items on my abandoned shopping list—it hit me with a humbling sort of sadness that August’s true love, as I knew her, was more than that. She was a heavy hit player with more at stake than I.
**
The next day, after lunch and a blinding fall back to reality, the cell phone vibrated out of my pocket and landed with a plop on the ground. Cursing, I bent to pick it up, swiping my thumb to answer.
“Hello?”
“Leda? It’s Mrs. Monroe.”
I started at the name and walked into the house. My feet refused to move in a straight line. An after-effect of spending hours in Duncan’s company.
“It can’t be time for another trim? Or are you calling to tell me your husband promised you a second honeymoon when he saw you?” I teased.
A twitter of laughter fluttered through the receiver. “He did! But I’m calling for another matter. We’ve decided to go ahead with a little get-together before the anniversary. Something without the kids, because I can’t stand the idea of them making a fuss over me. I was thinking maybe next week sometime, while everyone else is at work. I don’t want to make a big deal out of it.”
“You want to plan it instead?” I asked.
“Exactly. I need you to come up with a dessert menu for me. Something tasteful and simple to knock their socks off. Or maybe to take the attention off Bill and me.”
I rubbed my forehead, thinking ahead to my schedule for the next several weeks. “I would love to, but I don’t have the equipment at my disposal for a large gathering. How many people do you think will be there?”
“Not many. Maybe forty or fifty. We’ll hold it at the city park during the afternoon and hope the weather cooperates.”
I didn’t have the capacity to handle more than a scattering of people. “You know, Esme, I’m afraid my oven won’t be able to handle the load. There’s a bake shop in town—”
She cut me off with the precision of an ax. “Nonsense. It’s just going to be close friends in the area and such. I’m sure you can handle the number with ease. If you need a larger setup, you can use my double ovens Bill insisted on installing last year.”
I thought about my oven, wheezing and struggling to get by. Hers would be better, but it didn’t sound good to utilize the guest of honor’s kitchen. It wasn’t the image I wanted to present to the world and have them remember when I opened my own business. “I can try.”
“I’m afraid I won’t take no for an answer,” she responded. “Those strawberry rhubarb cupcakes, and a chocolate tart or two for the rest, should be satisfactory.”
I entered my kitchen, eyes drawn over to the stove, begging it to hold on for a while longer. “I’m not sure two tarts are going to hold off fifty people, Esme.” I flipped through my mental database of recipes. “You’re going to need a table or two for sweets before the day is done.”
“I’ll leave it up to you. If you think we need more, then by all means, plan away and let it be a surprise. Money is no object.”
“Anything else?” I asked, pursing my lips. “Any special requests for the happy couple?”
“Do you think you can do any more of those things with the white chocolate ganache on top? The ones with the cinnamon? They were delicious!”
I stifled a small chuckle. “I can try. When do you need it?”
“Next week.”
On the counter was a note pad I kept there for orders. I jotted down a few notes for the cakes Esme wanted. “Wow, next week is pretty soon. You’re able to put this together before then?”
“I have people,” she replied. Talk about a cryptic answer.
My date book was front and center in the junk drawer. Gathering it, I flipped through the pages to the paperclip marking the week. Considering my schedule, I didn’t have any concrete plans for catering. None of the dates overlapped, although I might have to reschedule a few hair appointments into empty slots. “Do you have a day in mind?”
“Friday. Bill is taking off work then.”
I prayed I wasn’t over-committing myself. However, I would rather stretch myself thin than lose a client like Mrs. Monroe. Keeping her content meant my reputation was safe. “I would be happy to help out. I still get the invitation, correct? Or will you keep me separated and chained to the dessert table?”
“Don’t be daft. I’ll see you in the park at two p.m. sharp. Let me know if you need my ovens,” she finished.
The conversation terminated with a click and I grinned. How nice it was to know my sweets were in demand.
When I glanced
down, Duncan’s carefully drawn smiley face on my hand captured my attention once more. Damn. I was a goner.
**
I slammed my hand on the coarse wooden door. August jumped a mile, the guitar string falling from his hands and slithering across the floor. Overhead the summer sun caused a flurry of heat rays to dance and swing in the lackluster breeze. The perfect day for an attack. Or, if I thought about it, a splendid afternoon to grow the sack Essie accused me of having and stop feeling sorry for myself.
August wiped his forehead with his sleeve and said, “Leda? Do you want to give me a heart attack?”
Steeling my nerve, I took a deep breath. “I’m not sure I can do this anymore.”
“What do you mean, this?”
“I don’t think I can help you with Isabel anymore. I’m not equipped for the job, and I need to focus on my bakery. I’ve got a catering job to do and, after my little run in with Izzy at the grocery store, I realized I’m not equipped for this commitment.” I mimed wiping my hands clean. One palm slammed down on the other. “Case closed.”
“Oh.” The word was a single drawn-out syllable holding a world of meaning. August bent to retrieve the guitar string before setting it aside. “How about we go into the house and we can talk about it.”
I shook my head. “I refuse to be swayed. Consider my part in this completed. I think I’ve been more than enough help.”
He crossed the space separating us and placed his hand on the small of my back. “You’ve been a great help.”
“You aren’t going to change my mind,” I warned, letting him steer me away from the studio and the mess of wood shavings and wax. “He’s a wonderful man.”
“Duncan?”
I wanted to throw my arms in the air and knock sense into August. We trekked across the gravel driveway toward the porch. He had taken the time to plant flowers in a riotous bouquet of textures and varieties. For a man, he’d done a great job with landscaping.
Now, I needed to focus on my future. No taking the time to observe the flowers.
“Yeah I’m talking about Duncan, you idiot! Who else?”
“I just wanted to clarify.” August held the door open for me.
The cool interior of the farmhouse was a welcome change from the heat of the day. I kicked off my sneakers, slipping down the hallway toward the living room. Trembling hands twisted through my hair and shook the sweat-slicked strands.
“Get me a drink and give it your best argument, but I refuse to do this anymore,” I called out, spinning in a circle. “He’s way too nice. I don’t want to hurt him. It’s better for everyone involved if I make a graceful exit now. I still love you, I do, but you’re on your own.”
Releasing the twang of tension in my body took effort. It threaded through every portion of my anatomy like a fiber wound too tight. I slumped onto the couch, flinging an arm over my head and sighing. If I opened my eyes I knew I would see the smiley face. Still visible after two days because I refused to scrub it off.
“He’s too nice,” I said again, with less force this time.
August, who was willing to accommodate my rather brusque interruption, scurried to the kitchen and returned moments later with two tall glasses of iced water. “Let’s talk about this in a rational manner before you abandon me.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“You said to give it my best argument and I’m going to do so. You said family sticks together.”
I jerked the glass out of his hands and downed half before nearly choking. “And they do, but this is getting too deep. I’m not equipped to deal.” The words croaked out. “Now I’m calling it quits. Finished. Done. I went to bat for you and now I’ve struck out, so you might as well bench me.”
He stood over me and probably wished to close the distance and do a little light strangling. “What changed your mind?”
The look I slung in his direction said he should know, but I explained anyway. “I have the tingle, okay?”
The past few days had been spent buried in work, trying to forget my feelings. A rational woman would either run far and fast, or embrace her feelings and let them burst free. I went back and forth between the two and found neither appealing. I knew I had to speak to August. Resolve had me hurrying to his farm before I lost my nerve.
“The tingle?” August asked. He was, without a doubt, skeptical.
“Yeah, you know...” I gestured toward my arm. “The feeling you get when you meet someone you like. It’s kind of a...” I searched for a term to appropriately describe it and fell short. Instead I hugged my arms around my chest. “An ooh, ahh, oh yes, oh yes!” The orgasm noises were the closest thing I could find.
August shrugged and came to sit across from me. He drew the ottoman closer then plopped down. “You like him, and potentially messed your underwear. So what?”
“No, I mean really like him.” I debated following through and decided he had the right to know. “As in love. I think I may love the man, okay?”
August stared at me, face and neck reddened from a combination of heat and exertion. He took a couple of seconds to compose an answer before opening his mouth. Snapping it closed. Shaking his head. “Impossible. It’s only been a couple of weeks.”
I returned the expression, willing understanding across the space and through his thick skull. “How long did it take you to fall in love with Isabel?”
With a sigh, and a ragged hand run through his hair, August slumped. “Goddammit, Leda.”
“I know!” I cried.
“You’re right. Man, I—” He broke off on another sigh. “Wow. You’re in love.”
“I know. And it’s killing me.” I let my hands fly up before dropping to my knees, useless. “It’s a damned inconvenience, and poor timing, all rolled into a big problem.”
“Pardon me if I’m not following you here, but it seems like the math adds up.” He held his fingers in front of me to illustrate. “Me and Isabel. You and Duncan. In the end, it’s a win-win situation.”
He was using his man logic instead of looking at the ramifications. “You don’t understand. Do you think Duncan will want anything to do with me once he finds out I worked toward breaking up his engagement? On purpose?”
“Look.” August scooted closer and clasped my hands, the contact vastly different from Duncan’s touch. I pulled away before his fingertips smudged the pen drawing. “We are the sort of people who believe in real love. The everlasting kind spanning continents and lifetimes. Would you agree?”
I gave him a single brusque nod.
“If you want out, then I understand. But I need you to have hope, okay? True love will win in the end.”
“I do have hope!” I exclaimed. “Hope I’ll make it out of this situation in one piece. Damn you to hell, McKenney.”
Face tilted, I averted my gaze toward a lovely vase the color of the sea: gray and green and blue. I already recognized the sliver of guilt eating away at me for refusing to help August further. I’d always known, had it beaten into my head once our nuclear home unit of three became two. Family is always there for each other. You don’t leave when the circumstances change, when life flips on a dime. You tighten your arms and pray for the end of the storm.
It was the delay in August’s reaction and the barely perceptible twitching of the muscles near his temples. It was the way he ducked his chin and blinked. He already knew what I thought, as though he’d seen the wheels in my head grinding toward the same answer.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Leda, although I would have never taken you for a quitter.”
A surge of frustration had me yanking my hands away. “You have a lot of nerve. What is wrong with you?”
“Calm down,” he soothed. “I meant because you are a strong woman with the fortitude to see what she wants and go for it. I know, if you stay with me on this and trust me, we will get through and come out the other side with the prize.”
“My heart’s been on my mind too often lately,” I grumbled. Ic
e clinked along the sides of my glass when I took a drink. The last of the moisture drained away and my tongue lapped the rim.
With a chuckle, August reached for his water as well, holding it to his forehead for a moment before drinking. “Hearts are treacherous things. I know.”
I wanted to leave my heart out of this discussion and focus on my graceful exit, which the odds of happening were getting smaller. “I don’t want to lose him as a friend. I’m afraid if he finds out the truth, it’ll destroy our friendship—and worse. Any chance for a relationship. Do you think it’s worth the risk to continue the charade? He’ll hate me as much as Isabel does.” I remembered our encounter at the grocery store and shuddered.
August acknowledged my doubt with a sweeping gesture before gathering me beneath the crook of his arm. “Impossible. If he adores you even half as much as I do—”
“Ugh, don’t finish that statement.” Still, I leaned into the contact.
I didn’t believe in pretenses when it came to love. It had been a possibility on the table...until the tingle. Then the inner romantic swept those pretenses aside and begged me to reconsider the arrangement. Love waited for no man, or woman. To lose Duncan due to a lie...no, it wasn’t worth the risk.
August chewed on a piece of ice, the sound grating and right next to my ear. “I believe it will all work out in the end,” he countered.
“You have to say it will. You’re invested.”
“And I need to see this through.” He bumped me with his shoulder. “Love finds a way, through obstacles and roadblocks and all manner of other things. I know Isabel and I are meant to be together and I will do anything to make it happen, even when fate takes its time. I have faith. I would expect the same of you.”
I pondered his words. August had a way of spinning a situation so the negatives were banished and the positives always shone through. I believed in being optimistic but there was no sense in his brand of blind faith.