Magnolia Market (9780310330585)

by Christie, Judy

  If he occasionally seemed patronizing, she pushed it aside, wanting to believe she had found the man for her. If the Broussard lifestyle seemed excessive, she lectured herself on not being judgmental and sent her father more money from her campus job.

  The recollection made Avery shake her head, and she picked up the phone to send her father a good morning text. Maybe she could help right here at Magnolia Market.

  It might not be Haiti, but it was a start.

  Checking the handwritten recipe, she went to work on more biscuits, mixing the flour and cutting the dough with a water glass from underneath the register.

  Bigger than the batch before, the biscuits rose and looked beautiful when she took them out of the oven. But the extra ten minutes she had left them in resulted in a hard crust on the bottom.

  She picked it up and nibbled the top. Not too bad.

  After frying bacon and scrambling eggs, she assembled the assigned number of combinations and wrapped them in white paper. One she set aside.

  The store was empty at midmorning when Avery pulled the receiver to her ear by its stretched-out cord, perching on Bill’s wooden stool. Her heart thumped harder as the phone rang.

  “Hello,” Kathleen said.

  “Thank goodness, Kathleen,” Avery said in a rush, but her words were talked over by the recording. Disappointment settled on her like a heavy blanket.

  “Kathleen!” she said again when the beep sounded. “Call me, please, to let me know you’re all right.”

  She slipped the receiver back and rested her head on the wall. Kathleen didn’t seem unreliable. What had happened?

  The rest of the day dragged. Business was light—“pitiful,” as Bill described Tuesdays—with a steady rain. She sold all the biscuits, except the one, and a few cups of coffee, a loaf of bread, and a gallon of milk, hardly enough to keep the lights on.

  Restless, Avery rearranged the bread, disapproving of out-of-date loaves that needed tossing. Even though stock was low, she dreaded an encounter with another delivery person frowning over the market’s unpaid bills.

  From the counter, she surveyed the room for the thousandth time. Despite her cleaning efforts, everything had a gray look. The packaged food had faded in the natural light from the windows. Water seeped from beneath the back cooler. The central heat thumped each time it kicked on, contributing to the industrial feel.

  For a moment, she longed for the comfort of the dress shop.

  When customers stepped into Evangeline’s shop on a gray day, they smiled with relief. Magnolia Market, despite its lovely name, piled grim upon grime. If it weren’t for the biscuits, she didn’t think the store would have any business at all.

  Why hadn’t Martha and Bill built on the popularity of the biscuits?

  Avery strolled down each aisle, assessing the mix of products and how they were placed. Then she reversed her steps and did it again. And again.

  There had to be a way to make this place look better—and to make more money.

  The electronic bell on the door buzzed, itself an irritation, and Avery turned with a smile. “May I—?” She blinked. “Kathleen?”

  “I figured I might as well stop by since you obviously aren’t going to quit calling.” Kathleen’s words were hoarse, and she gave a weak smile, her eyes bloodshot, lips pale. She scarcely looked like the same woman who had given Avery a ride to the hospital five short days ago.

  Not only did she wear no makeup, but her hair was the light-brown color it had been when Avery first noticed her in the store. The bright-red spikes were tamed into what resembled a dull bob—choppy, but a bob nonetheless.

  “What happened to your hair?”

  Kathleen put her hand up to her head. “That red was silly. It was supposed to signal the new me, but . . .” She gave a huff of laughter. “What a joke.”

  “I liked it.”

  “You’ve left me two-dozen messages and you want to talk about my hair?”

  “Did you have . . . the flu or did someone . . . is everything all right? What happened? I’ve been worried.”

  “I didn’t figure you’d miss me since I was hounding you for money.”

  Avery gathered up the old bread and wedged it between her forearms and her torso. “I was getting used to having you around.”

  Kathleen looked from Avery’s face to the bread and then over the counter, her expression as startled as if a ghost stood nearby.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “You’re smashing Bill’s bread. It makes him mad when customers do that.”

  “Oh.” Avery relaxed her hold. “This stuff’s stale. It needs to go.”

  Kathleen stared toward the register again. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. He lets it stay at least a day or two past its expiration date.”

  Avery looked down at the bread. “Isn’t that against the law?”

  “That’s his business, not ours.”

  “Maybe I could put it on clearance.” Avery walked behind the counter as she spoke, then dumped the loaves onto the wooden worktable.

  When she turned around, Kathleen’s mouth had dropped open. “Have you lost your mind?”

  Avery cocked her head. “I was sort of wondering the same thing about you.”

  “Bill will kill you if he sees you behind the counter.” Her eyes darted behind Avery.

  “You must have skipped that message. I’m working here for a few days.”

  “You’re working here?”

  “I’m filling in until Bill decides what to do.” Avery sat on the stool and patted the old office chair where Martha usually sat. “Come sit down, but I’ll warn you. The mystery evaporates when you step back here. You’ll never look at the place the same.”

  Kathleen gave a bark of laughter and seemed almost surprised that she had done so. “Not quite as glamorous as Dresses for Rich People?”

  “The rodent count at Evangeline’s isn’t as high as it is here.”

  “You are a snob.” Kathleen let herself through the swinging gate that led to the register. She looked down at her feet. “Because you’d better not be talking about real rodents.”

  Avery wrinkled her nose. “The mice apparently know Bill’s away.”

  “Gross.” Kathleen’s gaze drifted to the biscuit case. “Who’s making the biscuits?”

  “Moi.”

  Kathleen’s eyes widened. “You are making the biscuits.”

  “Yes, I am making the biscuits.”

  “Baking takes practice.”

  “My father’s a preacher. I had to learn to cook for all the potluck dinners.”

  “But your kitchen . . . it looked so . . .” Kathleen’s voice trailed off.

  “Vacant? I haven’t cooked much since Cres . . .” Now it was Avery who couldn’t find the word she sought. She nodded at the case. “That’s for you, by the way.”

  Kathleen took a step closer to the case. “You saved me a biscuit?”

  “Yep.”

  “I gave you my biscuit that day of the wreck.”

  “The one labeled ‘hers.’ ” Avery nibbled on her lip.

  “You’ve saved me one?”

  “Every day, except for Saturday when they were inedible. Help yourself. On the house.”

  Kathleen shook her head.

  “I’ll pay for it,” Avery said.

  “It’s not that. I’m afraid if I stick my hand in that case, Bill will appear and chop it off.”

  Avery chuckled. “He’s staying at the hospital with Martha.”

  “I know. I’ve been by a few times to check on her.” After taking the biscuit out of the case, Kathleen unwrapped the white paper and stared at it for a moment, then sniffed. “Looks good,” she said, but bit into it as though it might bite back. She chewed for a moment and took another bite, still not speaking.

  Avery had not been this nervous on the day she hosted her first trunk show at the boutique. So she waited. While Kathleen took another bite. And another.

  “I can’t stand it any longer
! What do you think?”

  “Not bad.”

  “What do I need to change?”

  “A little dry, but not all that different from Martha’s.” She chewed more and gave a nod. “It’s pretty good.”

  “Why do you sound so surprised?”

  She motioned to where Avery sat. “If you’ll let me have that stool, I’ll tell you.”

  “I left you the chair. It’s more comfortable.”

  Kathleen waggled her eyebrows. “But the stool’s the seat of power. I can look out at Bill’s empire.”

  “You’re a nut,” Avery said, but scooted from the stool to the chair.

  Kathleen folded the white paper into a square. “I thought you were some prissy society woman who had a maid to cook for her.”

  “That’s what you get for judging me.” Avery sounded like her fifth-grade Sunday school teacher, a woman bigger on scolding than loving. “I’m happy to see you.” She hesitated. “We haven’t known each other long, but I’ve missed you.”

  “I got laid off.”

  Avery blinked.

  “That big corporate meeting I organized, the day after Martha’s heart attack?” Kathleen made a clucking noise. “They didn’t want my opinion. They wanted to give me the ax. Reduction in force. Cutbacks. Blah, blah, blah.”

  “Hadn’t you worked there for years?”

  “So much for loyalty. They gave me a thanks-for-your-service speech and sent me on my way.”

  “Sounds familiar,” Avery murmured. “Will you retire?”

  “I used to think I’d retire young and travel with Wayne.” She groaned. “I guess you know how that turned out. I just turned fifty-five, and I’m in the market for a job. And Wayne went and died.”

  “So you haven’t been by because you got laid off?”

  Kathleen nodded. “At home crying for the weekend. Job hunting yesterday.” She grimaced. “Any of your rich friends hiring?”

  “The only person I know who’s hiring is Bill. Want to buy the market?”

  “Are you kidding? My money’s tighter than those jeans you wore to the bank.”

  Avery made a face. “I’m sure you got some sort of severance.”

  “Oh, I got a ‘package’ all right.” Kathleen scowled. “I work for them for thirty years, and they give me ten minutes’ warning and three months’ pay. They escorted us from the building—twenty of us—like we were criminals.”

  “With your qualifications, you’ll find a job.”

  “Have you seen what’s out there?”

  Avery shook her head. “I’ve been afraid to look.”

  “I called every administrative and secretarial listing—online and in the paper. There was one oil-and-gas office job. They quit taking applications after fifty people showed up the first hour.” Kathleen paused. “I called a dozen friends from church. Nothing. Nada. Zip.”

  “I’m afraid retail’s going to be the same.” Avery straightened her apron. “All we can do is keep trying.”

  “Since when did you get all spunky?”

  Avery shrugged and looked away.

  “Don’t just stand there. Give me something to do.” Kathleen gestured around the room. “I might as well help as sit at home and stare at Howie.”

  “What about your job hunt?”

  “I have my cell if anyone follows up.” Her shoulders drooped. “Although from early indications, I’ll be living out of my car by the end of the year.”

  “If it’s back from the shop by then.” Avery winced.

  “Davis called yesterday. It’ll be ready early next week.” She lifted her eyes. “I nearly forgot. He has a ‘classic clunker’ you might be interested in.”

  “Is ‘classic clunker’ code for old junker?”

  “Beats me.”

  Avery squeezed her eyes shut for a second. Cres had once teased her about the station wagon they would buy when they had “a passel of kids.” She had stashed money at the house, hidden from Cres, for the emergency she always felt was sure to come. At the time, she felt guilty. Now she wished she had saved more.

  “Here’s his number.” Kathleen wrote the number from memory on a slip of cash-register tape. “Said to call him if you’re interested. He can even help you find insurance.”

  Could she possibly afford even everyday expenses?

  “Well?”

  She touched the bracelet. “I do need a car.”

  Chapter 16

  The guy held out his hand to Avery, who grimaced. Her stomach felt as if it had been invaded by a swarm of butterflies. Maybe this was a dumb idea, but she took his hand.

  “Davis Sonnier.”

  “We met when I came to check on my SUV.” Avery liked his firm handshake and his calloused hand.

  He made a face. “I’d rather pretend that never happened. I owe you an apology, Mrs. Broussard. I was way out of line when I told you about the food pantry.”

  “It’s Avery, and don’t be silly. I was miserable that day—and it was thoughtful of you to be concerned.”

  A big guy, tall and muscular, the mechanic carried himself as though comfortable in his own skin, which for some reason made Avery nervous. With his light-brown hair and hazel eyes, he resembled a younger version of his aunt.

  Kathleen had scooted out midafternoon for another job interview. The notion of her future desertion propelled Avery to take a cab to the garage.

  Now she felt vulnerable, on turf more alien than Evangeline’s coronation at the Samford Spring Cotillion. Life had crashed in on Avery in the past week and a half, and she had darned well better figure out how to right things.

  “I sounded like a jerk,” Davis continued, “presuming you needed help and that I might bestow it on you.” His mouth quirked at one corner. “It’s enough to give churches a bad name.”

  “I did need help, but I wasn’t sure how to accept it.” She clasped her hands. “It took a few days for your offer to sink in.”

  “My aunt Kathy told me you’re lending a hand at the market in your spare time.” His gaze roamed over her. “Looks like things have turned around for you.”

  “Right.” She rolled her eyes. “That’s why I’m here to buy the cheapest car you’ve got.”

  “I hope I’m not out of line again, but you look great.” He offered a grin, and her anxiety faded.

  She looked down at the black slacks and houndstooth blazer finished off with her favorite red heels. “I wasn’t sure what to wear to buy a ‘classic clunker,’ ” she said with a wry smile.

  A familiar burst of laughter erupted. Clearly that ran in the family as did the eye color.

  “I’ve never bought a car on my own before.” She held out her hands. “I’m at your mercy.”

  “Just the way I like my customers,” he said with a mock sneer. “You’re going to love this baby—as long as you don’t do a lot of driving.”

  “That’s a ringing endorsement.”

  “It doesn’t get great gas mileage, but I know the old guy who owned it. It’s dependable—and fast too.”

  “What color is it?”

  Davis furrowed his brow. “Don’t you want to know what model it is first?”

  “That too.” Her face heated.

  “Follow me.”

  On either side of the glossy royal-blue door into the waiting area, two cone-shaped junipers perched in large blue ceramic pots. Oversize white rockers sat to the side, a small wrought-iron table between them. A sisal welcome mat lay before the door, and Davis stopped to wipe off his work boots before entering.

  The entrance was a disturbing contrast to the shabby entrance of the corner market. If only Bill and Martha had not let the store slide, perhaps someone might actually buy it. This place showed what a little creativity could do.

  The chairs weren’t the usual industrial vinyl of auto shops but a glossy orange plastic with an embossed gray chevron stripe. Magazines were arranged on an orange coffee table, and they lacked the usual battered look of waiting-room reading material.

  �
�The car’s out back.” Davis led her through a small hall with restrooms, a watercooler, and a coffeepot. Everything looked clean.

  “This shop’s so inviting,” Avery said. “The owner has quite an eye for design.”

  Davis scrunched up his face. “Not really.”

  “It looks great. I kind of want to live here.”

  He laughed. “I’ll pass along your compliment to Aunt Kathy. She helped me put it together.”

  “You’re the owner? I thought you just worked here.” As soon as the words were uttered, she clapped her hand over her mouth. “That sounded incredibly rude.”

  “No problem.” Davis waved his hand. “You can’t believe how many people tell me they’d rather talk to the owner.”

  She laughed. “You look young.”

  He patted his cheek. “Baby face. I’m thirty-five, which gives my aunt hives. Makes her feel old.” He smiled. “She was twenty and had married her childhood sweetheart when I came along. She practically raised me and would rather people think she’s my big sister.”

  “So you lived with Kathleen?”

  “Most of the time. My mom got pregnant in high school, and Aunt Kathy and Uncle Wayne stepped right in, let Mama stay with them. They are the kind of people who will do anything for anyone.”

  “I’ve seen glimpses of that.”

  “Wayne was a mechanic here and helped get me a job cleaning the garage after school. I stayed on and bought it five years ago.” A shadow ran across his face. “He died not long after. What a shocker. And then . . . life sucked for a while.”

  Avery laid her hand on his shoulder for an instant, the pain in his eyes familiar. “I’m sorry.”

  “My aunt’s a rock.” His hazel eyes were intense as he met Avery’s. “But I guess you know how it feels to lose someone like that.”

  “Yes, well . . .” She looked away. Until recently she had focused on the loss—when she awoke alone and unsure, when a memory skittered forth, when she caught a whiff of someone who smelled like Cres or a glimpse of someone who looked like him. But not now. “I guess we move forward a day at a time.”

  Nodding, he looked around. “This place has been a refuge for me. Work therapy, I suppose.”

  Davis had created what she had wanted with the boutique. She clasped her hands and fought an instant of envy. “How’d you come up with all these ideas?”