by Susan Wiggs
She felt nauseated. Violated, even. She’d known it was coming; she’d braced herself, but it still sickened her. Calvin Sharpe was opening a place in Archangel. It was as if he had crafted some special torture just for her, moving in as she was poised to finally realize her dream.
She closed the magazine with a decisive snap and set it aside. The wedding was practically upon them. Annelise had returned to Bella Vista for the event, and Tess’s mother, Shannon Delaney, had arrived this morning. At the same time, the cooking school website had to go live soon, and she needed more photos and videos. This was how she should be spending her time—getting ready to launch, not regretting events in the past. She had to keep herself from being distracted by Calvin’s presence.
Have you ever told anyone the truth about that guy? Even yourself? Mac’s question had been weighing on her mind.
A nurse came into the waiting room and approached her. “Jamie wanted me to see if you could join us,” she said softly.
Isabel’s heart skipped a beat. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, absolutely. She’d just like to have you in on the conversation if you’re willing.”
“More than willing,” Isabel said. “She’s very special to me.”
She followed the nurse into the exam room. Jamie sat on the edge of the paper-covered table, wearing her street clothes, the disposable gown wadded in her lap. She looked terribly young, but different, somehow, from the cautious, tightly-wound woman who had come into the clinic just a short time ago.
“The baby and I are healthy, and I’ve decided on adoption,” she said softly. “Dr. Wiley is going to help me make it happen.”
Isabel’s heart lurched. “Oh, Jamie....” She looked over at the doctor, a woman who exuded quiet confidence.
“The decision is a process,” the doctor said, her tone measured and kind. “A journey. And I’ve told Jamie it doesn’t have to happen right away. There’s plenty of time to go over the options.”
“I already know what I want to do. It’s everything I’ve been going over in my head for weeks. It just feels like the right choice. Right for the baby, and right for me.”
“You have lots of time to live with your decision. You’re entitled to change it at any time,” the doctor explained. “The adoption counselor will help you with that.”
“You’re a wonderful person with lots of love to give to a child,” Isabel said. “You’d be a great mother.”
Jamie stared at the floor. “I can love a child. I can be a good mother. But there are things I can never give him or her—a father. A chance.” She pressed her fists into the paper gown. “I got myself into a mess, but something good is going to come of it.”
Isabel exchanged a glance with the doctor. “I’m here to help,” she said. “Anything you need....”
“There’s a lot to be done,” the doctor said, rapidly typing on her keyboard. “The most important thing is to make sure Jamie gets the best possible prenatal care and counseling.”
“How are you feeling?” Isabel asked Jamie.
“Honestly? Relieved. I finally know what’s ahead for me. And I’m good with it.” She slid off the table and placed the gown in a stainless steel can, letting the lid close with quiet finality. “I’m good,” she said again.
* * *
Strains of mariachi music greeted Isabel and Jamie when they got home. Catching Jamie’s quizzical look, Isabel said, “Friends of ours. Neighbors, actually. Oscar Navarro’s been playing in their band since they were all teenagers.”
“They sound good.”
“They’ll be playing at Tess’s wedding.” Isabel paused at the kitchen door. “How about you? Are you still good?”
“Better than I’ve been in a long time.”
She did seem less anxious after the doctor visit. Perhaps it was calming to have a plan in place of the fear and uncertainty. Isabel hoped the feeling would last, but she knew—and likely Jamie did, too, that the moment would come when the baby was very real to her, living and breathing as she held it in her arms, and she would have to surrender it to the adoptive parents. The doctor clarified more than once that Jamie could change her decision at any time, but today, the girl seemed determined that adoption was her best choice.
After the doctor, they had visited with a social worker who specialized in adoption counseling, and they’d come out of the meeting laden with books and brochures about the process, as well as a schedule of support group meetings, online and in Santa Rosa. Jamie seemed determined that this would be her path, and Isabel was determined to help her.
Back at Bella Vista, they spied Tess in the barn, showing her mother and Annelise the ballroom where the wedding would take place—how the tables would be arranged, the chandeliers hung, where the band and the bar would be set up. “Let’s go say hi,” Isabel suggested. “That is, if you feel like it.”
“Sure. One thing I don’t want to happen is to let this pregnancy take over every minute of my life.”
“I understand. Come on, I think you’re going to like Shannon. She works in museum acquisitions, and she just got here from Indonesia.” Isabel liked Shannon, too, although she’d never expected to encounter her father’s secret mistress. It had all happened so long ago; it was hard to hold her at fault. Isabel knew all about making bad choices at a young age.
“Jamie’s my beekeeping expert,” she told Shannon, making the introductions. “We’re kind of obsessed with honey around here these days.”
“Among other things,” said Shannon, giving Isabel a brief, firm hug. “The place looks amazing, like something out of a dream. I’m so impressed.” She turned to Jamie, beaming. “And I do love honey. I don’t actually know anyone who doesn’t love it.”
“It’s nearly time for dinner,” said Isabel. “I’m doing a cheese and honey pairing for cocktail hour.”
“Sounds heavenly,” said Annelise. “Can we come and help?”
“No need,” Isabel said. “Just show up on the patio in about half an hour.” She turned to Shannon. “How was your trip? And is your room okay?”
“The trip from Denpasar is always a killer, but Bali is so worth it that I don’t mind. And being here is an instant pick-me-up. The room decor is fabulous. Vintage California—I love it.” Shannon gave her another quick hug. “I’m so glad you and Tess are together. You’re a blessing, Isabel, I swear.”
Isabel felt a surge of affection for both Shannon and Tess. “I’ve had way too much fun helping with this wedding. It’s addictive.”
“I hope you left some chores for the mother of the bride.”
“And the grandmother,” Annelise said.
“Don’t worry, there’s plenty to do,” Tess assured them. “Like these centerpieces.” She indicated a table draped in linen, and a basket of materials on the chair beside it.
“Yay, something to fight over,” Shannon said.
“Oh, no, you don’t. We are not going to fight over glassware and flowers.” Tess picked up a mason jar and some raffia and went to work.
“All right,” Shannon agreed. “And check out these woven fabrics I brought from Bali. She set a stack of colorful cloth on a table. “Ikat and songket. Aren’t they beautiful?”
Isabel and Jamie left everyone exclaiming over the decorations, pausing in the doorway to look back as Shannon excitedly showed Tess and Annelise her collection of pretty things she’d brought from Indonesia for the tables.
Shannon looked young for her age, and Isabel suspected she and Tess were often mistaken for sisters, with their Irish red hair and fair coloring. There was a lively play of light and shadow in the space as the sun filtered through the plank siding and the high windows, limning all three women in a diffusing glow. They resembled an Old Masters painting, gathered around the table, arranging the fabric, flowers and candles. There was a beautiful sense
of continuity in that moment—the bride, her mother and her grandmother, humming with anticipation over the impending wedding.
Isabel felt an unbidden pang of envy. What would it be like to be standing there with her mother, filled with excitement about her future, imagining children one day, family holidays, that special bond of security a mother and daughter seemed to share? Isabel would never be in that place, never know that feeling.
She put her envy aside, knowing Tess had grown up with challenges of her own. “I wish I had a camera right now,” she said to Jamie. “The three of them look so pretty, gathered around the table in that light.”
“They do,” Jamie agreed. “I’ve never been to a wedding.”
“Really? Ah, you’re going to love this one,” Isabel assured her. “Music and feasting—what’s not to love? Let’s go. I’m going to help Ernestina in the kitchen, and you probably need a rest.”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Jamie said as they walked together toward the main house. “The doctor said I should rest when I’m tired. And I’m not tired. Let me help, too.”
Ernestina went to set the patio table while Isabel and Jamie worked side by side at the kitchen counter.
“Are you and your mother close?” Isabel asked as she blended a bit of culinary lavender into some local goat cheese she’d picked up at the farmer’s market. “Where does she live?”
“In Chico, and no, we’re not close.” Jamie carefully arranged some radishes and crackers on a tray. “I haven’t even told her about the baby.”
“Oh, Jamie. Really? You don’t think she’d want to help you?”
“My Mom? She’d be all, ‘I didn’t raise you to be that stupid,’ and I’d go, ‘No, you didn’t raise me at all, I did it on my own.’” She changed her voice to emulate the dialogue. “And she’d be like, ‘I was on my own, I did the best I could,’ and then I’d be like, ‘Yeah, me, too.’ That’s pretty much how all our conversations turn out.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Having a mother isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” She shrugged her shoulders, then shifted her attention to the hand-labeled glass jars of honey. “Which one do you want to use?”
“Something mild to go with the cheese.”
“The milkweed blossom?”
Isabel nodded. “We’re probably the only ones who’ll notice.”
“The different flavors of honey have always been obvious to me,” Jamie said.
“Not to me. I’ve had to train my palate. Same with wines. I’m not a natural, but I love the alchemy of pairing flavors. If you were twenty-one and not pregnant, I’d give you a taste of this nice new sauvignon blanc from Angel Creek. It’s going to go perfectly with the appetizers.” She turned off the heat under the fried marcona almonds and gave the pan a shake.
“One sip,” Jamie insisted, nibbling a bit of the goat cheese and honey on a cracker.
“One, young lady.” Isabel poured a bit of the chilled white wine in a goblet and held it out to her.
Jamie savored a tiny sip, and smiled blissfully. “You’re right. It’s delicious.”
Isabel took back the goblet. “Look at me, corrupting a minor.”
“When I was younger, I used to try to get under my mom’s skin by stealing sips of her beer. She didn’t care, though. She always said it might help me be less shy.”
“You were shy in school?”
“Yeah. Didn’t really feel like I fit in. I was good at guitar, and I liked the 4-H club a lot. That’s how I got interested in beekeeping. But it was the trifecta for a total misfit—guitar, 4-H and bees. It drove my mom crazy, because she was this überpopular cheerleader, homecoming queen type who wanted me to be exactly like her. It was just something else for us to argue about.”
“I was shy in school, too, and my grandmother and I used to argue sometimes, but about the opposite situation. I was totally overprotected. Given what happened to my father, it’s understandable. But it didn’t exactly prepare me for the world. That’s probably why I’m such a homebody.”
“Pretty nice home,” Jamie said, looking around the kitchen.
“Thanks,” Isabel replied. “I do love it here, although I’d also love to travel more, see the world. But the cooking school—”
“Is not even up and running yet,” said Mac, barging into the kitchen. His hair was damp from the shower, and he was wearing clean cargo shorts and a fresh T-shirt. Isabel couldn’t help but notice that he smelled wonderful, of soap and fresh air.
“You should run away while you have the chance,” he told her.
“Suppose I don’t want to run away?”
“You do. I just heard you say it.”
“I did not—”
“Dude, where do you want her to run to?” Jamie asked, gesturing at the view. The arched window framed the rolling hills, covered in every shade of green and peppered by bursts of floral color, basking in the deep golden afternoon light. “What’s better than here?”
“Right now, nowhere,” he admitted. “Oh, man, what is that incredible smell?” He made a beeline for the salted rosemary marcona almonds, still warm in the pan.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Isabel whacked his arm with the back of a wooden spoon. “That’s for drinks on the patio. Fifteen more minutes.”
“I’ll die,” he said. “You don’t want me dying on your kitchen floor.” He looked over at Charlie, the German shepherd, who was lying with his chin flat on the saltillo tile and watching the food prep as if it was his sole mission in life.
“Here,” she said, handing Mac a tray of glasses. “Take these outside and help Grandfather pour the wine. Take the dog with you. He knows he’s not supposed to be in the kitchen.”
Mac sent her a wounded look. “Come on, Charlie. We know when we’re not wanted.”
Jamie held the door for him as he carried the tray outside. “See, he likes you. It’s so obvious.”
Isabel ducked her head, concentrating mightily on the tray of appetizers. She flashed on the day of the hot springs, and how they had been doing this flirty dance, back and forth, ever since. He took up far more space in her thoughts than she would ever admit to. She liked it. She liked him. She just needed to figure out how to keep herself from liking him too much. “He’s here for a job,” she reminded Jamie. “Nothing more.”
“No, he came here for a job, same as me. Maybe he’ll end up staying, same as me.”
“I’m not putting him on the payroll. And what’s with this romantic streak of yours? Why are you so keen on hooking me up with Mac O’Neill?”
“I’m not doing anything. Just making observations.”
Ernestina came bustling in from the dining room. “The table is ready. Shall I take that tray to the patio?”
“Sure, thanks. We’ll be out in a minute. I’m just finishing the sauce for the pork roast.” She leaned over the fragrant concoction simmering in a pan and gave it a stir. “I hope you’re hungry. We’ve created a feast.”
“I’m starved. But listen, if you want this to be a family thing, I’ll understand.”
“Oh, no, you don’t. You’re part of the tribe now, whether you like it or not.”
“You know I like it. I just don’t want to intrude.”
“Listen,” Isabel said. “You’re not intruding. I want you to know this is your home now. Got it?”
Jamie nodded. Then she grabbed a tea towel and wiped her eyes. The sight of this hardened, body-pierced, purple-haired girl, now soft with sentiment, made Isabel glad she’d taken a chance on the girl.
Jamie went to the sink and rinsed her face, then stared at Isabel with her heart in her eyes. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“How do you just take somebody in? Treat me like I’m family?”
“It feels right,” Isabel said. “You
and I click. We have from the very first day you showed up here. That’s what I felt, anyway.”
“Really?”
“No one could have done what you’ve done with the hives in such a short time, but it’s more than that. You’ve brought something special to Bella Vista—not just your skills. Your energy and your spirit, your creativity and your music. I feel lucky that you arrived when you did, and I hope you’ll stay. I mean that. I know Grandfather feels the same.”
The girl dried her hands. “I hope I can stay, too.”
“Nothing’s stopping you. We all love having you here.”
“Thank you.” She hesitated, then said, “I’d like to tell everyone what I’ve decided. The adoption.”
“Tell everyone...”
“I mean, I wouldn’t make a big deal of it, just want to get the news out there. Because if I don’t, people might be all like, ‘Congratulations,’ and you don’t really congratulate someone who’s not going to be a parent, right?”
“I see your point. But this is such a brand-new decision. Remember what the doctor said. You might want to live with it for a while.”
“Honestly, I’ve been living with it ever since I realized I was pregnant. I always knew this is what I’d end up doing.” She took off her apron and hung it on a hook. “If I say it aloud, and make sure everyone knows, then it’ll help me get used to the idea that someone else will raise this baby. Someone better than me.”
“Whoa, hang on.” Isabel held her by the shoulders and looked her in the eye. “There is no one better than you. No one. But if you do end up choosing adoption, your generosity is going to give the adoptive family more joy than we can possibly imagine.”
“Yeah, that’s what I meant.” She offered a shy, fleeting smile.
“You’re very amazing,” said Isabel. “You know that, right?”
“It’s nice of you to say so. Sometimes I have a hard time believing it.”
“We’re always hardest on ourselves, aren’t we?” Isabel mused. “Except right this minute, I can tell you unequivocally that I am amazing because I just made the most insanely delicious agrodolce sauce you’ve ever tasted.” She offered Jamie a sample on a piece of bread. “Figs, olives, balsamic and honey.”