Dress Me in Wildflowers

by Trish Milburn

  She drove down Main Street, stopped at the first traffic light in front of the courthouse, glanced around at the sidewalks she’d walked after school to get to the library, the drugstore for the occasional ice cream cone, the countless trips to Tammie’s house three blocks off the square. When the light changed to green, she made the familiar turn onto Catawba Lane.

  Farrin smiled when she reached 211 Catawba and pulled into the driveway. The white swing still swayed on the porch. The shutters were still the green of the first spring grass. And Faye still had the prettiest flowerbeds on the street, probably in town. Even now with fall in full swing, blooms in similar hues to the leaves on the surrounding trees filled the beds to bursting. The nerves that had plagued her as she’d headed into town dissolved. This was her safe place, a house filled with lots of good memories of laughter, delicious food and the types of giggling conversations best friends have over quizzes in Seventeen.

  She’d probably worried for no reason. After all, she and her classmates were fifteen years removed from the things that had seemed so important back then. They were adults now with jobs, families, more genuine grown-up concerns than what had seemed life and death when Oak Valley had still been their cocoon, when the bigger world had still been “out there”.

  Farrin got out of the car and retrieved her small overnight case and garment bag. She heard the front door open and looked up to see Faye’s thin frame hurrying out onto the porch. Farrin smiled the widest, most genuine smile she’d offered in a long time. Faye was older, grayer, perhaps the tiniest bit slower, but she was still Faye.

  “Drop those bags and hug me, girl,” Faye said as she met Farrin halfway between the car and the front door.

  Farrin did as ordered and wrapped her arms around the older woman. Maybe it was because she was no longer a teenager, but she didn’t remember Faye feeling so bony. Of course, Faye was closing in on sixty-five and would seem more frail as the years wore on. Farrin sometimes forgot that had her mother lived, Doris Taylor would be even older.

  Faye leaned back and looked at her. “It’s so good to see you somewhere besides a magazine or TV.”

  Farrin soaked up the sight of Faye’s familiar short perm and the thick green sweater she’d likely knitted herself. “I’m sorry.”

  Faye waved her hand. “Don’t apologize. I don’t see how you have time to breathe, let alone trek all the way down here. And Oak Valley isn’t exactly on the way to anywhere else, is it?”

  Farrin might look negatively on Oak Valley’s lack of progress, but there were some things she didn’t want to ever change — things like Faye’s sunny attitude. With one sentence, she put to rest any concern Farrin had about not visiting.

  “You’re probably tired from all that sitting. Let’s put your bags inside, then I’ll show you what I’ve done to the back yard since you’ve been here.”

  In the years that had passed, Faye could have grown a forest in her yard.

  She tossed her bags onto the bed in the room which had been used by Tammie’s grandma until her death when she and Tammie were sophomores in high school. Now, the room served as a sewing nook and guest bedroom. Farrin eyed the sewing machine in the corner. Another thing that hadn’t changed.

  She smiled at the memories of Faye traipsing from this room to the kitchen and back, teaching her to hem and Tammie to make meringue.

  Her phone rang, the brief respite of interrupted service over. “Yes?”

  “I need to run some of these expenses for Fashion Week by you,” said Adam, her business manager.

  “Okay, make it quick. I’ve had a hellishly long day.” Farrin noticed Faye pass by in the hallway and took a deep, calming breath so she wasn’t so sharp-edged.

  “The price for the tent is insane, especially with the decorations you ordered for the runway.”

  “You know impression is everything.”

  “Yes, but a white tent is a white tent. I have a friend in Jersey who has a wedding equipment rental—”

  “Adam, you are the number cruncher. Do what is necessary without making us look second rate.”

  Farrin ended the call and held her thumb over the phone’s power button, tempted to cut off the outside world, just for a day. She sighed and slid the phone into her pocket instead.

  But while the inside of the house hadn’t changed much, the back yard had. It had been perpetually worn down from the activities of children during the days Farrin had spent here, but it now bore no resemblance to that place of long ago.

  “Wow.”

  Faye smiled. “It is nice, isn’t it?”

  “I’ll say. It looks great — and so peaceful.” Stone paths wound through yet more flowerbeds, and several ornamental maples now lined all three sides of Faye’s fence, blocking her backyard retreat from view of the neighbors. Eventually everyone knew everything about each other in Oak Valley, but the illusion of privacy was nice while it lasted. Farrin walked along the central curving path toward a white iron bench in the back corner. “I bet you sit out here a lot, don’t you?”

  “A fair amount. I like to sit here and read when the weather is nice.”

  It sounded like heaven to Farrin, but she couldn’t remember when she’d had time to read for pleasure. She missed it.

  “It’s lovely. It must have taken forever to do all this work.”

  “Not as long as you’d think. That Drew is a natural at it.”

  “Drew?”

  “You remember Drew Murphy. He helped me design the layout and then helped with some of the heavier work like the stone laying and tree planting.”

  Farrin hadn’t heard that name in a long time. She didn’t even know Drew had stayed in Oak Valley. Last she’d heard, he was in law school. What was he doing planning landscapes?

  Faye looked across her yard. “But I’m happy to say I did most of it myself. We had the tea at the end of last year’s garden tour back here.”

  “Garden tour?”

  “Yes, the one the Homemakers Club sponsors to raise funds for city beautification projects. Oh, we did start that since you’ve been gone.”

  Farrin sank onto the bench. “I guess a few things have changed around here.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  The screen door at the back of the house screaked. Farrin looked toward the house to see Tammie descending the steps, her blond hair shorter than when she’d seen her last. The shoulder length flattered her face.

  “I see Mom’s showing off her little oasis.”

  “Hey, Tam.” She rose and walked across the lawn to meet her friend. They hugged each other, but she felt the barrier she’d sensed during their phone call. Not all that many years ago, they would have screamed each other’s names and sprinted across the lawn to meet. Odd, the sense of having lost a person when she stood in front of you.

  Tammie gave her mother a hug, and Farrin was surprised by the feeling of being an outsider that came over her. Her cell phone rang, giving her an excuse to step away.

  “Thought you should know that you’ll be getting a call from Cara Hutton in a few minutes,” Justine said. “Seems her mother’s getting antsy about the dress, and that’s making her nervous.”

  On top of being one of the most stunning people Farrin had ever seen, Cara Hutton was sweeter than one might expect a person in her position to be. Her mother was another matter. How many times in her career had Farrin been forced to calmly suggest that weddings weren’t about the mothers of the bride but rather, shockingly enough, the bride? But one didn’t have those types of conversations with the First Lady. Farrin could hold her own in the business world, but that was one fight she wasn’t willing to pick.

  “Fabulous. Just what I needed today.”

  “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

  No sooner had Farrin ended the call than her phone rang again. She didn’t even look at the caller ID as she watched Faye and Tammie retreat to the house. “Farrin Taylor.”

  It took fifteen minutes, and some curious looks from Faye and Tamm
ie out the kitchen window, to put Cara’s mind at ease. She set a date two weeks away for a fitting. Farrin feared she might have a panic attack every day between now and then.

  Thank goodness her phone remained silent when she ended the call. Another ring might make her brain explode.

  “Here. Looks like you could use this.”

  Farrin looked up from where she’d collapsed on the bench to see Tammie extending a glass of homemade lemonade. Her mouth watered in anticipation. No one in the world made better lemonade than Faye Kern.

  “Thanks.” She scooted over so Tammie could sit down beside her.

  “The president’s daughter?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bridal jitters?”

  “Let’s just say her mother isn’t happy with the timeframe for completion of the bridal gown.”

  “Ah. She seems . . . demanding.”

  Farrin lifted her eyebrows. “And you, Mrs. Donovan, win the award for Understatement of the Year.”

  Tammie laughed and squeezed Farrin’s hand. “It’s good to see you.” That small gesture gave Farrin hope that they could make amends quickly.

  “You, too.” It really was. How had she gone so long without the familiar comfort of Tammie’s friendship? Farrin’s cell phone rang again. “If this thing had a neck, I’d choke it to death.”

  “I think you need to throw it in the river,” Tammie said.

  Farrin offered a rueful smile. “Somehow I don’t think the catfish could handle all my calls.”

  ****

  CHAPTER THREE

  Farrin fielded three more calls before following Tammie inside. Her stomach rumbled when she stepped into the kitchen and smelled the heavenly scent of fresh-baked bread. Faye placed a couple of plates topped with her homemade chicken salad sandwiches and coleslaw on the table. Farrin almost wished she hadn’t given in to the craving for the dipped cone so she could eat more of Faye’s fantastic food.

  “You really need to open a restaurant in New York. You’d make a killing.”

  Faye waved off her compliment the way she always did. “A big city isn’t for me.”

  “You’re probably right. You need to stay here because if you come to New York, I’ll buy every one of my meals at your place and end up as big as a house.”

  “That I doubt,” Faye said. “But don’t worry about your waistline while you’re here. And save room for dessert because Tammie brought her chocolate marshmallow cake.”

  Farrin turned her gaze toward Tammie, who slid into the chair opposite her. “You didn’t.”

  “I did.”

  “You are pure, unadulterated evil. And my thighs will always hate you.”

  “But your taste buds will love me forever.”

  Farrin laughed at the truth of the statement. Tammie had created the recipe about the time Farrin had designed her first wedding dress. And both ventures had been the start of bigger things to come.

  As soon as she took the first bite of her sandwich, Farrin closed her eyes and ummed in appreciation. “It’s even better than I remember.”

  “Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” Faye said. “So, I want to hear what it’s like to design Cara Hutton’s wedding gown. That must be exciting. Or maybe you’re used to working for famous people now. Goodness, you are a famous person.”

  Farrin knew Faye was just curious and being her normal sweet, chipper self, but the description was embarrassing. To have it come from a woman who’d seen her when she was just the poor girl living in an ancient trailer at the end of a dirt road seemed odd to say the least.

  “Not much to tell really. I’ve only met her once, to take her measurements.”

  “Was the place crawling with Secret Service agents?” Tammie asked.

  “There were several guys in black.”

  Farrin managed to answer the rest of their questions about her work without talking about her clients in too much detail. With Tammie and Faye, it felt pretentious to talk casually about working with movie stars and royals as if everyone came into daily contact with the people in those echelons of society. It made her realize just how much her life had changed in the fifteen years since high school graduation and how much it differed from Tammie’s.

  It was strange how they’d once shared everything, even homework answers, and now their lives didn’t even resemble each other. Small business owner versus the head of a successful international business. Family woman versus too-busy-to-do-more-than-casually-date. Knoxville’s downtown versus Manhattan. While Farrin created dresses for Hollywood’s A-list, Tammie baked cakes for the Knoxville mayor’s inaugural party. Talk about two paths diverging in a wood.

  Before Farrin could steer the conversation in a different direction, her cell phone rang.

  “Sorry to bother you again,” said Justine, “but Katrina Wellington wants to schedule an interview. She wants to devote the entire hour of Katrina Live to you, particularly Cara Hutton’s wedding. And she asked to see the dress.”

  “And you told her what?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Hopefully not what you thought.”

  “Alas, no. I told her you were out of town and would call her back. And then, the nosy bitch wanted to know where you were.”

  Farrin couldn’t help smiling. Justine was one of those people who wasn’t the queen of hiding her feelings. And from the day Katrina Wellington’s show had debuted, Justine hadn’t liked her. She thought Katrina was snooty, and Farrin couldn’t disagree — though enough people evidently liked her program to make it the new number one daytime talk show.

  “And you said?”

  “Timbuktu.”

  “Original.”

  When she hung up, Tammie asked, “Does your phone ring like that all the time?”

  “No, today’s a light day. So, how are the girls?”

  “Fine. They have more of a social life than I ever dreamed of at their ages. I mean, they’re seven and eight years old and I have to keep a planner to know what practice, party or play date they’re at.”

  Tammie hadn’t seen more than pictures of Amie and Danielle since they were toddlers. It was hard to imagine them as little people with whom she could carry on a conversation.

  It almost felt like old times as the three of them sat around the table talking about Farrin’s work, Tammie’s kids and the latest from the Oak Valley gossip mill, including how Rev. Clark’s daughter had been caught in a compromising position with the sheriff’s son down by the river. The conversation helped alleviate some of the anxiety that grew in Farrin’s stomach as the afternoon passed and the time for the reunion drew nearer. She wished they could stay like that a while longer, but when she glanced at the clock, she knew it was time to get ready.

  She told herself it didn’t matter what her classmates thought or what they’d thought fifteen years before — but that was a lie. She’d had more than her share of validation of her success, but there was that unpopular girl still deep inside her who wanted to get up in front of these people and turn up her nose. To show them how well she’d done despite them and their hurtful comments.

  And she’d look good doing it.

  Being a designer had many perks, chief among those the ability to create her own clothing if she didn’t like anything that hung in her closet. But tonight she couldn’t don the Oscar-worthy gowns. She wanted to look good but not so out of place in the setting that it was uncomfortable. She’d been on the opposite end of the spectrum, having the cheapest attire in the crowd.

  Still, she didn’t want to go overboard and show up way overdressed. So she’d spent a good many hours trying to figure out exactly what to wear — sharp but not too sharp. This wasn’t New York. It was Oak Valley, where girls still had to drive to Johnson City to get a basic prom dress or Knoxville if they wanted something nicer.

  For someone who didn’t want to go to this reunion, she devoted a remarkable amount of time preparing for it. She spent longer on her hair, makeup and slipping into her knee-length baby blue
silk dress than she had preparing for the children’s hospital function the month before. She pulled part of her long, dark hair into a simple but elegant chignon and slipped the matching jacket over her arms. Last came the strappy heels that shone blue if you looked at them one way, silver another.

  She turned sideways to examine her profile. At least the chocolate dipped cone hadn’t shown up on her stomach yet.

  A knock sounded on the guest room door, which opened almost immediately. “You ready?” Tammie asked, then stopped to stare at Farrin. “That’s not a dress you can get at Dillard’s.” She looked down at her own dress, a pretty off-the-rack red piece that came to mid-calf.

  Farrin remembered a time when she’d have given just about anything to be able to afford a dress at the Dillard’s department store in Knoxville. Those days seemed so far away and yet fresh and real at the same time.

  She caught the expression on Tammie’s face, one that showed an inferiority complex about her attire. Farrin stepped forward and touched Tammie’s shoulder. “Turn around.”

  Tammie did as told and revealed a nice scooped back that might prove too cool later in the evening. “Red has always been your color.”

  “I seem to remember you also carrying it off pretty well.”

  “It’s okay, but you’d be hard pressed to find many red pieces in my closet.”

  Tammie turned and gave a half-hearted smile. “You probably don’t have a single store-bought dress in there. And they probably all have specialized color names like lemon rind and autumn sunset.”

  Farrin examined Tammie’s expression. Was she being sarcastic? Maybe Tammie had just had a tiring day. After all, she had a lot of responsibilities that put daily stressors in her life — marriage to her college sweetheart Kurt, two children and their zillions of activities, and a thriving catering business. They needed to sit down and talk, catch up, just the two of them. Alleviate the hesitance and awkwardness time and distance had cultivated. After this stupid reunion was over.