Jane of Austin

by Hillary Manton Lodge

  “That was the one you showed me, right?” I asked, looking from Celia to Chad.

  “Yeah, the cool vintage one. That’s…man. That’s really too bad,” she said, running a frustrated hand through her hair.

  “Are there other spots? Close by?” We’d met him down here, after all. There had to be something else.

  Chad nodded. “There are two more spaces, but I have to warn you, they’re not as strong as the Duval space.”

  I grimaced. In my experience, if a leasing agent said anything negative about a space, it usually meant that now was the time to tie on your running shoes.

  Sure enough, one had such a tiny kitchen that I would have had to look at renting a separate commercial kitchen space. The other was just a few blocks from the capitol building, yet too far from the main foot traffic area to justify the higher price tag.

  Discouraged, we stopped at Torchy’s Tacos, after Internet research convinced Margot that we had to go.

  One bite in, and I offered my younger sister a high five. “Good find, kid. This is the most amazing thing I’ve eaten since we left the Bay.”

  Celia nodded in agreement, a dollop of avocado crema at the corner of her mouth.

  I finished my first taco before turning to Celia. “So, today was a bust.”

  “It was. I really wanted that spot on Duval.”

  We’d driven by it on the way to the first alternative, and I’d recognized it immediately. Without looking inside, I knew it probably would have been perfect.

  “We’ll keep looking,” Celia said.

  “We’re getting steady orders with the online business. I need to fill a bunch tonight. With Valentine’s next month, I thought about blending a new tea—something with hibiscus, that will brew up pink—and promoting that. Make an event out of it.”

  “Sure,” Celia said, distracted. “That sounds great.”

  I suppressed a frown at her lack of interest, deciding it wasn’t worth commenting on. Instead, I drowned my sorrows in another taco.

  Back at the casita, Celia caught my arm. “Thanks for making tea earlier for everyone.”

  “Oh.” I had to think for a moment and shift my mind back to that moment. “You just looked uncomfortable. I’m sure there were better ways I could have, I don’t know, redirected things, but it was the first idea that came to mind.”

  Celia’s lips quirked upwards. “Of course it was. At any rate, it was very kind of you.”

  “Of course,” I answered. “Though Mariah looked at me as if I were crazy.”

  Celia’s mouth eased into a sideways smile. “Not everyone has your passion for dead leaves.”

  “The global tea industry was valued at $38.2 billion last year,” I retorted with a shrug. “She’s missing out.”

  “True enough.”

  “I’m putting the kettle on,” I said, glancing upstairs after Margot, who seemed to have disappeared into the loft.

  I filled the kettle with water, glancing over my shoulder at Celia. “I know it’s been a hard time for you too. And I’m still curious about what exactly happened with you and Teddy. Everything seemed fine, at least from my spot in the cheap seats.”

  Celia looked at the ground, looked at the boxes, looked everywhere but at me. “We broke up.”

  “I mean, were you expecting that? Which one of you, I mean…”

  “There were a lot of factors,” Celia said, her face a careful mask. Even from where I stood, I could tell she was choosing her words carefully, examining each one for appropriateness. “We were starting to want and need different things, and it became clear that we needed to go down different paths. There were…factors. It was complicated.”

  Nope, that still didn’t jive, not with every other observation I’d ever made about those two. “How can it be complicated? You either want to be together, or you don’t.”

  Celia shook her head. “Sometimes it really is complicated. But it doesn’t matter; none of it matters. We’re here; we should unpack.”

  I cast my gaze around the small, cluttered guesthouse. She was trying to distract me, but she had a point.

  It was a redirection, but I’d allow it. “All right. How much should we unpack? How long are we going to be here?”

  “We shouldn’t leave until we have a new space,” she said. “We can’t afford rent and utilities on the Internet business alone.”

  “If we promoted it a bit more, we might get there. We’ve got our nest egg—”

  Celia shook her head emphatically. “It’s too risky. Let’s wait. More spaces will come up. Chad said that things will pick up in the spring.”

  My eyebrows flew upward. “Spring? I missed that part. You mean we might not even be able to sign for a place until spring? It could take us months to get the permits going. You’re planning to have us stay here that long?”

  Celia’s delicate blond brows furrowed. “Of course that wasn’t the plan. I should have committed to the Duval location sight unseen. I just thought we had time. It’s my fault.”

  “There’s no fault. You didn’t know,” I said, though I felt the seed of resentment burrow into my heart. “I just…I guess if I’d known we weren’t jumping straight into a place, I feel like we should have stayed in California.”

  Celia crossed her arms, stung.

  “Look,” I said. “I’m not saying we should go back. We can’t afford it. I just…I don’t like it. I don’t like limbo.”

  “I know you don’t.”

  I turned away and looked at our belongings, packed and piled along the walls, and then back at Celia. “Can we talk about the food-cart idea?”

  “Let’s hang in a little while longer,” she suggested, a note of pleading in her voice. “Food carts still cost money, and I feel like we should consider all of our options before we sink money in that direction. Chad said there were more spaces.”

  “I thought he said there wouldn’t be more until spring.”

  “Better ones in the spring, but we can still look.”

  I hugged my arms to myself. Numbers weren’t my thing; they were Celia’s. Trying to figure out a balance sheet created a headache from behind my eyes, like my brain was trying to retreat from the source.

  But there were a lot of things about the situation that weren’t adding up.

  Were we here because Celia was running away from the situation with Teddy? I opened my mouth to query my sister, and then closed it.

  Right now? Even if it was true, she wouldn’t tell me. And what did it matter? We were here now, and like it or not, we were stuck in this guesthouse in Texas.

  I took a deep breath. Finding a café-type space, finding an apartment—those things took time.

  Maybe she was telling me the truth, but I didn’t for a moment believe that she had shared the whole story about Teddy. Not even close. I’d seen them together, and I knew my sister. They were head over heels in love with each other.

  Something happened, and now we were in Texas.

  I looked up at Celia, her face shadowed as she looked out the back window.

  She’d talk to me when she was ready.

  I turned my attention back to the stove. “I’ve got an appointment to take Margot to the high school tomorrow, to get her registered,” I said as my tea water began to boil.

  “Oh. That’s good. Thanks for arranging that.”

  I shrugged. “Just doing my part to keep Gogo literate.”

  “Do you want me to go with you?”

  “Of course, if you want,” I said, reaching for the mug I’d unpacked, the one with a watercolor llama on the side.

  “I told Mariah I’d go with her and the children to the park tomorrow.”

  The park. I cleared my throat. “We’ll be fine,” I avoided her gaze, fishing in my tea bin for a sachet of my favorite chai blend. “But I’ll text if anything goes awry.”

  “Yes.” She squeezed my shoulder. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  She climbed the stairs to the loft, leaving me with my tea and my th
oughts.

  Margot climbed beside me in the truck, a sullen expression fixed firmly to her face. “I don’t want to go to a new school.”

  I pulled the seat belt across my chest. “It’s this or homeschooling, and if I were in charge of your education, all you’d learn would be the Latin names for plants and how to play four different instruments.”

  “Not how to brew tea?” Margot asked archly.

  “You’re funny,” I said. “You’re learning that no matter what.”

  “I won’t fit in there. I’d rather stay here. Nina could teach me.”

  “I bet Nina could teach you many things,” I said, putting the truck into reverse before starting down the long driveway. “And she still can. After school.”

  Margot grunted a reply.

  “It’ll be a change,” I told her. “I’m not telling you that you’ll love it off the bat. But I think that if you give it a chance, if you smile at people, if you put a little energy into meeting people and making friends—”

  “Like you?”

  I cleared my throat. “I had friends at school.”

  “But now?”

  “It’s different when you’re an adult, when you’re running a business. I was friends with Atticus, and we had our neighbors. And Celia, of course, and you.” At the stoplight I turned to smile at her. “That’s a lot.”

  Margot seemed mollified, and we cranked up the Ramones for the rest of the drive.

  In short order she was registered at Westlake High School, where the counselor enthusiastically encouraged her to try out for the dance program.

  Naturally, Margot groused the whole way home. “I have math in the mornings. That’s the worst.”

  “But the rest of your day will only get better. Unless, of course, you discover that you really like algebra. Cool women like Katherine Johnson really like algebra.”

  Margot wasn’t biting at my attempts at positivity. Instead, she crossed her arms and stared out the window. “The dance team is dressed like cowgirls.”

  “I don’t think actual cowgirls dress like that,” I said, though when I saw the team picture, I had a hunch Margot might not go for it.

  “Cowboy boots. I’m not trading pointe shoes for cowboy boots.”

  “Nobody said anything about trading, hon. We’ll find you a dance studio next, it’s just that it seemed as though your formal education might take precedence.” I snuck a glance at her. “You might just try for the team. It’s other girls who dance, a new kind of step. I’m sure you could do it.”

  Margot’s arms crossed tighter. “Cowboy. Boots.”

  “You know we’re in Texas, right?”

  Margot grunted. “That’s hard to forget.”

  “Think of it this way. You’re learning about a new culture, and the boots represent their cultural dress.”

  Silence.

  “We’ll find a dance studio for you soon. I promise.”

  “I want to go back.”

  We drove in silence for the next several blocks. “It’s a new adventure,” I said at last. “Let’s listen to music, okay?”

  I let the Ramones take over before we had any chance at continuing. Because the fact was, I wanted to go back too.

  After herding Margot through the high school to enroll, an afternoon spent unpacking and organizing felt like child’s play.

  Sean would be coming to dinner at the Vandermeides’ and even a cursory glance in the mirror told me that a shower would be in order before dinner if I wanted to be presentable.

  So after getting enough of the kitchen put away—enough that I felt like I’d actually done something more than just make a bigger mess—I retreated to the bathroom for a long, hot shower. I scrubbed my face, washed my hair, and after toweling off, twisted my hair up and jabbed a pencil into it. As I stepped into the bedroom, Celia eyed the coif and sighed. “I wish my hair would do that.”

  “I’ve always wished I had your hair,” I reminded her, turning to tuck a piece behind her ear. “If I get crumbs in mine, they might hold for a week.”

  “You got Mom’s hair, you and Margot.”

  I pressed my lips together. “I’ve missed her, especially of late.” Life felt so turned around. I missed the days when I could go to her and let her untangle things for me. And if she couldn’t, she could at least reassure me of my ability to untangle it on my own. I needed that reassurance about now.

  Celia placed a hand around my waist. “I miss her too.”

  “I still like your hair.”

  She laughed, and I realized then how rarely I’d heard it since we left. Since Teddy.

  I smiled at her “I like hearing you laugh.”

  “I laugh!”

  Not like you used too, I thought.

  Margot tromped up the stairs in a rush. “Can I borrow some lip gloss?”

  I gestured to my open makeup bag. “Have at it.”

  “You look pretty,” she said. “But you need mascara. You look weird without it.”

  I wrapped an arm around her. “I’m so thankful for you,” I told her. “Without you, I might be at risk for thinking too highly of myself.”

  I shrugged into a cardigan before we left, though the evening wasn’t overly chilly, with the temperature hovering around seventy. “Grab your jacket,” I told Margot before we closed the casita door behind us and left for dinner.

  As the three of us trekked back across the Vandermeides’ immaculate lawn, I felt my stomach churn in anxiety. Thinking of Sean gave me the butterflies. But what if my memory had been messing with me? Sure, in my recollections he’d been tall and golden and perfect. Did the fact that he recovered my tea plants and tossed me the keys to his pickup cause my memory to sharpen his cheekbones? Did my response to his ability to start the truck cause the cleft in his chin to appear from nowhere?

  It wasn’t just his looks though.

  Really.

  I’d have been impressed with an average-looking guy who took charge like that. A guy who didn’t mind stopping to help in the middle of a rainstorm. The fact that he was thoughtful and good looking? He just seemed too mythic to be real.

  Maybe the real Sean Willis, in the light of Mariah’s chandelier, would be smug or overbearing. I didn’t know. All I knew was that he’d taken care of me, my sisters, and my tea, and the past forty-six hours had built him into Captain America with a Stetson.

  We crossed the lawn to find Ian, Mariah, and Nina on the back patio, strings of lights reflecting their glow in the swimming pool and a fire pit at the center taking the edge off of the slight chill.

  Also, there were dogs.

  Half a dozen dogs.

  Ian waved when he saw us. “There you are! Seemed too nice out not to eat outside. Come meet my dogs—there’s Sam and Margaret, Sally, Frances, Adele, and Lucadia.”

  “All named for a President or First Lady of Texas,” Nina told us, beaming with pride.

  I knelt down to pet the one passing closest. Sally, I thought. Or Lucadia. “What kind of dogs are they?”

  “Springer spaniels. Excellent hunting dogs; they can spot a bird a mile away,” Ian said, chest puffed out as he reached into his pocket.

  All six dogs sat immediately.

  He tossed out treats and called commands, and they obliged. Maybe not as quickly as they’d sat, but still they watched and tried to follow in a series of rolls and jumps. Mariah ignored the furry fracas, choosing to give instructions to Pilar. Once the exhibition ended, Lucadia—or perhaps Frances—returned to my side for pets.

  We’d had a golden retriever when I was young, but I hadn’t had a dog in my home since I was sixteen. Now, rubbing the ears of Ian’s dog, I could see the appeal.

  When the clock said ten after seven, I began to think that maybe, just maybe, my memory had been overgenerous on the subject of Sean Willis.

  “It’s a pity,” Nina said. “He seemed like the sort of young man who would show up for dinner. And we’re having Frito pie, so he’s missing out.”

  I frowned. “F
rito pie?”

  “Yes!” Nina confirmed enthusiastically.

  “What’s that?”

  In my head, I was trying to picture some kind of savory crust made of the salty, fried chips, but Nina set me straight.

  “It’s chili,” she explained. “Served over Fritos, with sour cream and cheese on top.”

  “Fritos?” Margot looked up at me. “What’s a Frito?”

  Ian laughed. “Poor girl doesn’t know what a Frito is! Is that what San Francisco does to you?”

  “It’s possible,” Celia agreed.

  “Frito pie was your mother’s favorite dish,” Ian said. “Talking about this is making me hungry. Let’s serve up, y’all.”

  “We’re still waiting on Jane’s young man,” Mariah protested.

  “He’s not my young man,” I countered. “Especially if he doesn’t show up.”

  Ian sprinkled a layer of Fritos into his bowl. “If there’s no chili left,” he said, ladling chili over the top, “he’ll learn an important lesson.”

  “It’s true,” Nina said as the rest of us reached for bowls. “Muscles like that need protein, mark my words. Oh well. There’s always Beckett. He’s a catch.” She turned and brightened as the man himself entered. “Beckett! You’re just in time; you have no idea.”

  This morning, Callum had been dressed in workout clothes. Tonight he wore pressed chinos, a button-down shirt, and a sport coat. His shoes bore a military sheen, and once again I felt sorry for him. He seemed too stiff, too polished. I wondered if he’d ever be comfortable as a civilian.

  “Did you have a nice afternoon?” I asked, having no idea what else I could ask about, besides the weather.

  Or how well he knew the dogs’ names.

  “I did, thank you,” he said with a nod.

  A pause, long and ungainly, inserted itself between us.

  “Tea,” he said after that moment. “How did you start growing your own tea?”

  “Oh,” I said, brightening. “I studied abroad for a year, in college.”

  “Your major?”

  “Music,” I said with a wry grin. “But the time overseas made me want to switch to botany. I went to Japan, and the family I stayed with took their tea ceremony very, very seriously. So when I took an interest, they introduced me to friends of theirs who owned a tea plantation.”