“You look great, too,” Mia said. Was that a baby bump her buddy was sporting?
“You finally get to meet Todd,” Bailey said, beaming at the gorgeous thing beside her. “He owns the Man Cave.”
“I’ve been in there,” Colin said. What was he still doing here? “Cool place,” he added and the two men shook hands.
“We also have a tea shop together,” Bailey told Mia. “You definitely have to come by now that you’re finally back in town.” Bailey’s sunny expression disappeared. “Gosh, I’m acting like this is a party. I’m sorry you lost your grandma.”
“Thanks,” Colin said right along with Mia. She ignored him. Or tried to.
“I wish you were here for happier reasons,” Bailey finished.
She was kind enough not to say, “I wish you’d made it back for my wedding.”
Mia should have. She’d missed her old friends, missed Icicle Falls. But the wedding had fallen on the weekend of an important business conference, and she’d had to settle for sending a present. Plus, there was the Colin factor. She’d had no desire to risk another encounter like her last one with him.
She’d come out for Aunt Beth’s surprise birthday party, newly engaged and nervous about seeing Colin for the first time since their breakup in college. It turned out she’d been right to be nervous. Their meeting had been ugly, nothing she wanted to repeat, so she’d kept her distance.
She wasn’t going to do that anymore. If she wanted to see Aunt Beth at Christmas, she was going to. And if she wanted to visit for Mother’s Day instead of sending flowers, she was going to do that, too. No more chickening out.
She’d almost chickened out on coming for the funeral, except Colin’s dad had insisted she come. She was in the will. Maybe Grandma Justine had left her a small piece of jewelry or something. But why Dylan couldn’t have sent it to her, she had no idea.
Cass Wilkes, the owner of Gingerbread Haus, passed them, bearing a pie. “Mia, great to see you back in town. How are you?”
“I’m fine,” Mia said. She was, darn it all. She’d set out to prove herself and become a success, and she was well on her way to doing exactly that.
“You look good. Chicago must agree with you,” Cass said. “Your aunt tells me you’re moving up the ladder at GF Markets.”
“I am.” She was thrilled about her new responsibility and had been about to share her good news with Grandma Justine when Beth called to tell her Grandma was gone.
“Of course you should go to the funeral,” Andrea Blackburn, her new boss, had said. “We can start work on the Sprouted Bliss campaign when you come back on Monday.”
That was last Tuesday. Mia had flown out on Wednesday. That gave her until Sunday to mourn, commiserate and get her Icicle Falls fix before she jumped back into the world of marketing food products to the nation.
GF stood for Good Food, but you had to use the term loosely when it came to some of the GF products such as Zombie Bites, a sugary corn cereal like half the other sugar-buzz treats on the shelves. Its distinguishing features were the cartoon zombie characters on the box and the goofy zombie-shaped bits of cereal inside. Then there were Yum-balls, a cheap rip-off of another company’s snowball-shaped cakes, complete with marshmallow coating and coconut. Yes, they were yummy but hardly what you’d call a nutritious snack.
Yum-balls were only the tip of the company’s sugar iceberg. A variety of GF Markets goodies lined the shelves of grocery store baked-goods aisles, and some of them owed their continued existence to Mia. During a marketing brainstorming session on how to reinvigorate sales, she’d suggested simply acknowledging that, other than sensory pleasure, those goodies had no food value whatsoever.
“But people still love treats.” Herself included. “So why not appeal to that with a slogan like ‘Indulge Yourself.’”
“Go on,” Andrea had said.
So she had, outlining an ad campaign that would show happy food consumers on picnics in the countryside, their Fiats parked nearby, or soaking in a bubble bath surrounded by candles, drinking champagne, all of them consuming decadent GF Markets goodies.
Sales increased, everyone was happy, and she got a raise, along with a case of various GF Markets cake and cookie mixes.
The company also offered nutritious products, and Sprouted Bliss Bread was the newest addition to that family. The marketing department was under orders to give it a big push, and this one was Mia’s baby. She’d been excited about both the product and the opportunity. The news of Grandma Justine’s death had drowned the thrill.
“So you like it there?” Cass asked.
It wasn’t Icicle Falls, but then what place was? “I do.” She had a sweet little apartment, nice friends. No boyfriend. Who had time for a man, anyway, when you were working sixty-hour weeks?
“And Colin, it’s always good to see you back,” Cass continued. “I’m sorry about your grandmother. We hated to lose her.”
The reminder of why they were all there brought fresh tears to Mia’s eyes.
“Thanks,” Colin said. He looked as if he wanted to cry, too. But, of course, he wouldn’t. That guy thing.
“I guess I’d better get this pie over to the kitchen. See you later,” Cass said and moved on.
Mia was flying out on Sunday, but she’d make an effort to get to Gingerbread Haus and order a gingerbread boy for old times’ sake.
More people stopped by on their way to the pie pig-out. Harry Defoe clapped Colin on the back and gave Mia a big bear hug. Harry was several years older than they were, and he was one of Grandma Justine’s many success stories. He lived on the other side of the mountains in the wealthy community of Bellevue. Mia had once eavesdropped on a conversation between Grandma Justine and Harry as they all sat on Grandma and Grandpa’s front porch, Mia and Colin playing gin rummy, and Grandma and Harry on the front porch swing, having an earnest conversation about his future. It had been June. School was out and many of Harry’s friends had had plans to go away to college. Not Harry. His grades hadn’t been good enough.
She’d patted his shoulder and said, “Harry, college isn’t for everyone.”
“I just wish I was smart,” he’d mumbled.
“You are. You’re smart in practical ways.” Mia had peered over in time to see Grandma take his hands in hers. “You’re smart with your hands. You know how to put things together, how to fix things. That’s an important gift. Let me talk to Everett Jenson. I think he could use a strong young man with clever hands.”
Grandma had, indeed, talked to Everett Jenson, who owned Jenson Plumbing. Harry became a plumber. He eventually started his own business in Seattle and now he was a very rich plumber.
Harry was one of a dozen success stories standing in the church foyer; kids who’d been lost until Grandma Justine helped them find their way. Kids like Mia, who’d needed a mom. Now here they all were, related by grief.
Mia stood politely, hugging, fielding condolences. Colin disappeared. Good, she told herself. Now she could relax and enjoy reconnecting with people she hadn’t seen in ages.
But how did you enjoy yourself when such an important person was gone from your life?
* * *
If one more person told Colin what a great woman his grandma was and how lucky he’d been to have her, he was going to sit down in the middle of the church foyer and bawl. He got into his restored Corvette and peeled out of the parking lot. When he was a kid, he would’ve climbed the maple tree in his grandparents’ backyard and hidden in the tree house or run off into the orchard to lick his wounds. That wasn’t possible now. The old farmhouse on Apple Blossom Road had passed out of the family years ago. So the next best place was the river.
He drove away from town and parked in a scenic pullout alongside one of the turbulent bends in the Wenatchee River and made his way down the bank. That roiling mass of water c
rashing past boulders in the riverbed perfectly reflected how he felt inside. Why did Gram have to die when she did? Even though he still had Dad and Aunt Beth and Uncle Mark, he felt...abandoned. He picked up a stone and tossed it into the angry rush of water. He was like that stone, sunk in the riverbed while his dreams raced past. While people he loved were rushed around the bend and out of sight.
His cell phone vibrated and he checked caller ID. Lorelei. He didn’t want to talk but he knew she’d keep calling until he answered. “Hi, babe.”
“How’s it going?” she asked.
“Rotten.”
“You should’ve let me come up with you.”
“Nah. No sense both of us missing work.”
“I don’t mind,” she insisted. “It’s not like I can’t reschedule people.”
As a personal fitness coach, his girlfriend had a certain amount of flexibility. He could have taken her up on her offer. Somehow, and he wasn’t even sure how, it hadn’t felt right.
“That’s okay. We’ve got the reading of the will tomorrow, and then I’ll head back.” He almost added that he’d be home in plenty of time to do something. Except he didn’t want to do anything. Going for a bike ride or out dancing felt disrespectful of his gram. It seemed wrong to have fun now that she was gone. In fact, it all seemed a rather obscene mockery that the sun was out and the birds were happily singing, cars were driving by up on the highway, filled with people ready to come to Icicle Falls to hike and shop and enjoy themselves. He wanted to yell, “Don’t you all know my grandma is dead?”
Life goes on. How many times had he heard that expression? Yeah, it did go on, but that philosophy seemed callous now.
“I’ll call you,” he promised vaguely, and then said goodbye.
He knew people would be coming to Aunt Beth and Uncle Mark’s place after the affair at the church for more talking and eating, but they’d have to talk and eat without him. The last thing he needed was to stand around and make nice when he wanted to hit something. Losing Gramps had been hard enough, but at least he’d had plenty of warning that Gramps was on his way out. Gram’s death had struck like lightning. She’d been the linchpin of the family and now she was gone.
He picked up another rock and hurled it. Then he sat down on a boulder and cried. And wished he’d come to Icicle Falls to visit Gram more often.
Too late. He’d have to do better in the future with Aunt Beth. And Dad, too, of course. Checking in via phone every once in a while really didn’t cut it. He needed to go fly-fishing with the old man, take him out for burgers at Herman’s, come see his aunt and uncle more than once in a blue moon.
He should probably go back to Aunt Beth’s. She’d expect him to.
He stayed on the boulder and watched the river roar past.
Late that evening, as night crept in to steal the last glimmer of daylight, he went back to town and slipped into the house where he’d grown up. All the lights were off and he assumed his dad was still over at Aunt Beth’s until he walked down the hall past his father’s office and a voice said, “You back, son?” scaring the crap out of him.
The door was slightly ajar and he pushed it open. “Dad? What are you doing sitting here in the dark?”
“Just sitting and thinking.”
He heard a click as Dad turned on a lamp, revealing a lawyer’s lair. This was Dad’s private office, the inner sanctum his clients never saw. There was his big mahogany desk and the requisite green-shaded reading lamp. Tall barrister bookcases filled with legal tomes and literary classics lined the walls.
Dad was in his favorite leather reading chair in the corner. He looked sad and worn-out, like some John Grisham hero, ready to give up the fight.
Colin fell into the matching chair opposite him. “You didn’t go to Aunt Beth’s?”
“For a while.” Dad sighed heavily. “I needed to be alone. Your grandma was one of those people who...” He broke off and glanced away. “Of course, we all knew she couldn’t go on forever.” He shook his head. “Damn, but the heart attack came out of nowhere.” He swirled the remaining amber liquid in his crystal glass, then downed it.
Colin watched as Dad moved to his desk where the bottle of Scotch sat. “Care to join me?”
“I think I will.”
As Colin fetched another glass from the liquor cabinet he couldn’t help remembering the time he and his buddy Neal got into that cabinet and did some sampling. Dad caught them working their way through a bottle of brandy and just about broke it over their heads.
His father filled the glass, then lifted his own. “To your grandma.”
“To Gram,” Colin said, and they solemnly took a drink.
Dad returned to his chair, crossed one long leg over the other and downed some more booze. He was fit and lean and still pretty good-looking. And still single.
Colin knew his father’d had a few dealings with women—a short-lived fling with someone in Seattle, a date or two here and there—but he’d mostly kept his life female-free. Colin had once asked him why he’d never remarried after Mom left. “No reason to,” he’d said. Not exactly a shining testimonial to marriage.
Colin got it, though. Dad had gambled on love with Mom and lost. He could hardly be blamed for not wanting to throw the dice again.
Mom certainly wasn’t much of a poster girl for the wedded state. She’d been through a couple of husbands and had given up. Now she was in the process of moving to Italy to live with some business shark who owned a villa in Tuscany. A “relationship of convenience,” she called it. Colin didn’t expect to hear from her again anytime soon. Not that he’d heard from her very much in the first place.
“Don’t get married young,” she said one of the few times she’d met up with Colin for a visit, hoping to earn some good-parent points. “It never works out.”
Gram and Aunt Beth took a different view. As far as they were concerned, everyone’s life should be like a Vanessa Valentine romance novel. They’d considered Dad’s single state a condition in need of curing, throwing various women at him. Dad had remained incurable. It left the women in his family mystified, but after his own experience Colin understood.
“I’m glad you came, son,” Dad said. “It means a lot to your aunt Beth.”
Colin perched on the edge of the desk and took another slug of whiskey. “I get having to be here for the funeral, but I still don’t see why I have to be here tomorrow. What could Gram possibly have to leave to me? I already got Gramps’s coin collection and that signed Babe Ruth baseball.” Uncle Mark had inherited the tools and Dad had Gramps’s classic Ford truck. What else was there that a guy would want? Colin had no interest in Hummel figurines or quilts or jewelry.
Dad shook his head, a look of disgust on his face.
“What?” Colin prompted.
“It’ll all be clear tomorrow. Meanwhile, I’ve got a mother of a headache. I’m going to bed.” Dad tossed down the last of his drink, stopped to lay a hand on Colin’s shoulder as he passed then walked out of the room. “Turn off the lights when you come up.”
And that was that.
All this mystery. Why couldn’t Dad just tell him what Gram had left him and be done with it?
Oh, well. A few more hours, then he’d be out of here. He’d go back to Seattle and recover his equilibrium.
At least he wouldn’t have to see Mia again. She’d be gone, too. And that was fine with him.
April 26, 1986
Dear Mother,
I’m sorry to have to tell you that Bethie lost another baby. This is the third miscarriage, and I don’t think she and Mark will try again. Two boys and now this one a girl. She’s heartbroken. I feel so horrible for her. I remember how swamped you feel by sadness, how your arms ache to hold that child. It’s a cheat, a horrible, evil cheat.
Her best friend, Anna, had her little M
ia earlier this month and she asked Bethie to be Mia’s godmother. I do hope that will turn out to be a blessing and not a constant reminder of what Bethie herself almost had. Anyway, please pray for Bethie and Mark.
On a happier note, the orchard is in bloom and it’s beautiful. If all goes well we should have a bumper crop of Gala apples this year.
Well, that’s it for now. I have to go restock the information booth.
I hope you’ve finally resolved the issue with the neighbor’s tree overhanging your fence. There’s the advantage of living in the country like we do. No fences!
Mother’s Day is right around the corner and I’m looking forward to coming out and spending it with you.
Love,
Justine
Chapter Two
“Are you sure I need to be at the reading of the will?” Mia asked Aunt Beth as they sat at the vintage red Formica table in Beth’s sunny kitchen, enjoying coffee and blackberry scones with homemade boysenberry jam for breakfast.
It was probably the hundredth time she’d asked, but Beth nodded patiently and said, “Yes, you really do.”
“I can’t imagine what Grandma Justine would leave me that you couldn’t have sent me in the mail.” This was going to be awkward.
“Trust me when I say you need to be here, not just because of what’s in the will but because you’re family.”
Mia felt the same way. The Wrights were the only family she had. Unless she counted an aunt and uncle and some cousins in Mexico whom she’d never met and a father who wasn’t a father.
“I hope you know how much you all mean to me,” she said. “Taking me in after Mama died, raising me like your own.”
“Honey, you make it sound as if that was a hard thing to do. You were already part of the family. You’ve always been like a daughter to me.”
Mia studied Beth over her coffee mug. She was in her early sixties now, but she’d aged well, with laugh lines around her eyes and a few threads of gray mixed in among the blond hairs. She’d put on some weight but not much, and to Mia, she looked the same as she had when Mia was a child. She’d been a great second mom, and Grandma Justine had been a perfect grandma.
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