Magnolia Market (9780310330585)

by Christie, Judy

  Avery rubbed her knees. “My father-in-law—or ex-father-in-law—I’m never quite sure how that works. What’s the note say?”

  Kathleen wrinkled her nose and began reading. “ ‘Let’s clear this up. Contact us as soon as possible. Regards, CS.’ ” She fingered the card. “Regards?”

  “They’re not an affectionate family.”

  Kathleen arched one eyebrow. “How’d you get mixed up with that hoity-toity crowd in the first place?”

  “I married Cres.” She tried to picture his good-looking face on the day she walked down the aisle and fought to recall the happy first dates and romantic gestures.

  “So he caught your eye across a crowded room and swept you off to wealthy bliss?”

  Avery felt the heat drain from her face. “Nothing like that. We had a marketing class together fall semester of my junior year in college. He was a senior and needed it to graduate.”

  She could remember with crystal clarity the first time he had asked for help with a paper. “He was about to fail.”

  “And you weren’t?”

  “I aced that class. With my help, he passed.” She gave a rueful smile. “Cres was more partier than scholar.”

  “You don’t strike me as the party type.”

  Avery twisted her hands. “That’s one of the things Cres supposedly loved most about me, my common sense. And I loved his happy-go-lucky nature.”

  “That’s sweet.” Kathleen’s voice could have been sarcastic or sincere. It was hard to tell.

  “Our story felt so romantic at first, so unlikely. Like God dropped Cres right into that desk next to me.” Avery gave a dry laugh. Cres’s world was loud and exciting, a welcome contrast to her quiet, lonely days in the dorm. She had been seduced by his careless confidence and flattered that he chose her to take home to his parents.

  What a fool she had been to jump into marriage with a man who wasn’t what he seemed. After her marriage fell apart, she had made another vow: her future decisions would be wiser.

  “How long were you married?” Kathleen’s question poked at a spot that didn’t feel as tender as it had a few weeks ago.

  “Technically five years.”

  Kathleen stood and draped her arm around Avery’s shoulder. “You hardly had time to get to know each other.” She gave her a tight squeeze and then let her arm drop. “Wayne and I took five years to get used to sharing a bathroom.”

  Avery offered a weak smile. “I misread Cres. We weren’t right for each other, after all. I prayed about it. I tried to do the right thing. But it ended so wrong.”

  Kathleen put her arms around Avery, holding her the way she wished someone had held her after the funeral. Close. Tight. Reassuring. Like her mother would have done. For a moment, she savored the connection and then collapsed into the chair behind the counter.

  “I wanted a marriage like my parents’, and I couldn’t have chosen more wrong.”

  “You were young and probably sheltered.”

  “Maybe. I don’t think I was ready for marriage.” She cut her eyes at Kathleen. “Have you ever felt that you weren’t a good enough wife?”

  The air was quiet for a moment except for the hum of the refrigerator case.

  Kathleen took a deep breath. “Wayne smacked his gum in movies and chewed his food too loud. He never could understand why he had to wear a tie to a wedding. For that matter, why he had to go to weddings in the first place.” She paused. “I fretted over stupid stuff, and when he died, I was guilt-ridden.”

  She drummed her fingers on the counter. “I wish I had taken better care of him, forced him to get an annual checkup, cooked healthier meals, nagged him to exercise. But I didn’t and he’s gone.”

  “But when he died, you still knew he was the one for you.”

  Kathleen nodded. “It was so ordinary, our life together. I didn’t get the grand romance I dreamed of as a girl, but I learned to want what I had. I would have married him again in a heartbeat.” She put her hands on her hips. “Could I have been a better wife? Oh my goodness, yes.”

  “When you talk about Wayne, your whole bearing changes.”

  Kathleen’s mouth twisted. “I got married the week after I graduated from high school, so we grew up together. Every couple has their knock-down-drag-outs, though. Or the wife pouts.”

  Avery’s brow crinkled. “Cres and I didn’t fight. We didn’t talk either. My folks talked about everything.” She swallowed. “He was handsome and confident.”

  “And rich?” Kathleen punctuated her sentence by popping her knuckles. “I’ve never known anyone who married into money. Must be nice.”

  “Having money brings its own problems.”

  “To be so unlucky . . .”

  “Seriously. You have lawyers and bankers involved in your life, and the Broussards . . . well, in my limited experience, wealthy parents tend to be overbearing.”

  “Pushy, you mean?”

  Avery pondered how much to say. “They seemed more concerned about a return on their investment than his happiness.” She met Kathleen’s gaze. “In their defense, Cres could be difficult. They gave him everything. I didn’t realize that before we were engaged—and I got dragged into it.”

  The house, the SUV, the expensive wedding the Broussards had insisted on—and subsidized. She was still learning to forgive herself for allowing them to control her with purchases. “I wish we had gone off on our own. Things might have been different.”

  “How so?”

  “Cres leaned on his parents for everything.”

  Kathleen gave a quick shrug. “Lots of students do that.”

  “Even after he started working—at his dad’s firm, by the way. Everything he did was part of their plan for him—except marrying me.”

  “And getting hit by a car.”

  Avery winced. “That too. His parents are so strong-willed. I felt shut out.” She removed the apron, relishing the moment when it hid her face. “Maybe I was too critical of Cres, too needy.”

  Kathleen cocked her head. “That’s what we do in life. We need each other. We do our best.”

  “Did I do my best?” That question haunted Avery. “They paid my rent, leased a car, got me going at the shop.” She sat in the chair behind the counter. “I made the mistake of getting too attached to the boutique, especially after Cres was killed.”

  “Why not use Cres’s life insurance to start your own shop?”

  “My name wasn’t on the policy.”

  “You weren’t a beneficiary?”

  “Nope. The Broussard family is worth a fortune, dead or alive, but they never saw me as part of the family.”

  “And you didn’t fight that?”

  Avery exhaled. “A legal battle would have eaten up any benefits. And, truth is, I didn’t want their money, despite what Evangeline and her friends thought.”

  “That confirms it. You are officially 100 percent USDA crazy.”

  Kathleen’s outburst lightened Avery’s mood. “That money could have bought lots of good stuff for the store, couldn’t it?”

  “Well, yeah. And one or two thousand other things you need.”

  “The problem, though, was how their money made me feel. Almost dirty.”

  “I’m not following. Cres was your husband.”

  “Broussard money always has strings attached. They not only managed our checking account but our lives—who we socialized with, where we vacationed.” She shook her head. “My parents taught me to make it on my own.” Although I’m not doing a great job of that at the moment. “The Broussards helped for a year.”

  “While you were running their fancy-schmancy dress shop. You were doing them a favor.”

  “I intended to buy the shop.” She looked up. “My brother-in-law, Ross, liked the idea, but Evangeline wasn’t so hot on it.” She tore a paper napkin to shreds. “I think Ross left town because he couldn’t stand the sorrow anymore.”

  “Another unhelpful guy? Just what you needed.”

  “Oh, Ross is
n’t like that! Just the opposite. Gregarious. A charmer—but with a good heart. He went on like nothing happened, trying to cheer up his mother and live up to his father.”

  “Sounds like hard work being part of that family.”

  Avery looked at her. “I never thought of it like that, but it is. It can wear you down so fast you don’t see it coming.”

  “You need to stand up to them. Those people left you in the cold.” She tilted her head. “Where are you staying anyway?”

  Avery looked away.

  “You’re not still in that cold, dark house, are you?” Kathleen’s voice rose.

  “Oh no, I found a little place.”

  Kathleen looked suspicious. “Does it have heat and lights?”

  “As a matter of fact it does.” Avery forced herself to look up. “It’s temporary, but I’ll find a permanent place soon.” The words permanent place sounded good after so many months in limbo.

  “Are you going to call Creswell Broussard Sr.?” Kathleen extended the card over the counter, and Avery grabbed it. She looked down at the familiar handwriting.

  “We’ll see.” Then she stuck it in her pocket.

  When she got to know Kathleen better, she would tell her the rest of the story.

  Chapter 18

  Avery pushed the overloaded shopping cart down the aisle of the wholesale warehouse, Kathleen following with their growing shopping list and an accelerating look of worry.

  “Do you have to be so spry?” Kathleen asked. “My feet hurt. It’s been a long week.”

  “Fresh fruit!”

  “My head aches too,” Kathleen added. “This isn’t the way I wanted to spend Friday evening.”

  “Add fruit. And markers. We need to make new signs.”

  “I’d kill for a pizza.”

  “Pizza! Maybe we could add homemade—no, that’s not the tone we’re going for.”

  Kathleen cut her gaze to the basket. “Are you sure Bill will go for this new tone?”

  Perching a bouquet of early tulips on the top of the other supplies, Avery shrugged. “It’s not a new tone exactly. We’re improving on what he and Martha started.”

  “Dumpy chic?”

  Avery laughed. “Surely it wasn’t always dumpy, and we can help restore it. Improve it even.”

  “I don’t think we have enough money to cover this.” Kathleen’s wrinkled expression intensified.

  Avery patted her purse, adding up the money she had left. She wouldn’t cash the check unless it was required to save the market. The insurance claim was still in limbo, but T. J. and Bud insisted they were satisfied to wait. Bill had told them to go on with the repairs and asked Avery to keep things running.

  “Sales are better but they aren’t this much better.” Kathleen pulled a calculator out of her pocket and brandished it like a six-shooter in a Hollywood Western.

  “Not the calculator,” Avery groaned. “Come on. We’re reinvesting Bill’s profits.”

  “And your paycheck,” Kathleen murmured.

  “I don’t need much to live on. Besides, I can pay myself back when our sales improve.” She paused. “Would you mind getting another cart?”

  “I’m not sure who’s crazier: me, you, or Bill.” Kathleen walked off, stuffing the calculator into her pocket and scratching items off the list.

  “Thanks for keeping us organized,” Avery yelled at her back. She examined the display of apples. Picking up sacks of Red Delicious and Granny Smiths, she sniffed their fruity scent before stuffing them on the bottom of the cart.

  Why not offer fresh fruit to customers? Some shoppers might prefer healthier choices—although none of their current customers had requested them—but the bright colors would liven up the store. And if they didn’t sell, maybe Kathleen could use them in some sort of dessert special. She was good with dishes that included sugar.

  Reappearing with a mop and push broom sticking out of the extra cart, Kathleen was surrounded by enough cleaning supplies to disinfect a hospital.

  Avery bit back a smile.

  Looking at the apples and back at Avery, Kathleen tightened her mouth. “Don’t you think we should take this a step at a time?”

  “I am.” Avery drew in a deep breath, loving the smell of the produce. “If I weren’t, I’d buy those expensive raspberries.”

  Kathleen’s hand flew up like a school crossing guard’s. “Halt!”

  Lifting the broom out of the cart, Avery smirked. “Doesn’t look like I’m the only one who wants to spruce the place up.”

  “Like you said, the customers appreciate a clean store. And that old mop is worn out.” She sighed. “While you’re spending money like a drunk monkey, you might as well look at these chalkboard thingies they have up front.”

  “You’re actually suggesting a purchase?” Avery put her hand over her heart. “I knew I was going to like this partnership.”

  “Spoiled rich girl.” Whipping her cart around, Kathleen bumped into another cart. “Now I’m driving like you,” she muttured.

  “Heaven help us,” a man said.

  T. J. stood in front of them, his cart loaded with an array of snacks and juice boxes.

  “Got the munchies?” Avery asked.

  “After-school program.” He raised his eyebrows at their baskets. “And you?”

  “Sam Walton here thinks we need to restock the store,” Kathleen said.

  T. J. moved closer to Avery’s buggy. “With flowers?” The doubt in his voice was bigger than the jar of jalapeños wedged underneath the tulips.

  “A cheerful store sells more,” Avery said.

  T. J. and Kathleen exchanged dubious looks.

  “I have a degree in marketing.” Avery gripped the buggy handle. “I’ve studied the psychology of retail.”

  “How about the psychology of people who want a biscuit on their way to work?” Kathleen massaged her temples. “We’d do better to stand in the parking lot with the coffeepot than to put out bouquets.”

  Avery’s eyes narrowed, and she snapped her fingers. “What a great idea! Some sort of quick service . . . maybe a box breakfast?”

  “There she goes again. If we could sell a cup of coffee for every idea she had, Bill would be a millionaire.”

  T. J. smiled. “I’m sure all of that will help, Avery.” He waved his hand at their baskets. “But Bill’s going to sell the place soon or shut it down.” He tapped on a set of two commercial cookie sheets. “Do you need to buy stuff like that? I can’t imagine you’ll get your money back.”

  Avery looked at the overflowing basket, her heart sinking. At some level she had hoped T. J. might understand. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “But on the other hand,” Kathleen said, “we can take a lot of this with us when we’re finished. Or donate it to a good cause.” She pulled a box of peanut-butter crackers from T. J.’s buggy. “I doubt you get reimbursed for all of this, do you?”

  “No, but it helps students who don’t have a place to go after school,” he said, his cheeks red. “I don’t mind spending money on that.”

  “Well, this helps Bill and Martha,” Avery said.

  A slow smiled worked its way across his face. “You might help one of our GED students while you’re at it. She wants to be a chef, but she has no experience—other than cooking for her family.” He drummed his fingers on a box of granola bars in his cart. “She’s young but she has an idea for a Louisiana seasoning mix with a Mexican kick.”

  Avery’s excitement grew. “What a great—”

  “Wait a minute,” Kathleen said. “We’re lending a hand, not launching a product.”

  “Come on,” Avery cajoled. “It couldn’t hurt to try her spices.”

  Kathleen crossed her arms in front of her chest and looked at T. J. “Whatever. Avery’s the boss.”

  “I’ll take you over to the mission, and you can see what you think.” T. J. glanced at the list in his hand. “Now I need to find little cups of applesauce.”

  He was grinning as he walked off
.

  Avery watched him. He cared about others. He was a man who knew what it meant to work for a living. He was good at what he did.

  What a combination.

  A small smile on her lips, she nudged Kathleen’s cart with her own. “Did you say chalkboard thingy?”

  The Brown Beast could hold enough to stock a small supermarket. Literally.

  Pulling out the last cardboard box of supplies, Avery wiped sweat off her brow with her sleeve.

  “Let me take that.” Kathleen held the back door open with her hip.

  “Whew, thanks.” She handed the box to Kathleen and let the door swing shut behind them. It had been a long day. “I didn’t work this hard during debutante fittings.”

  Kathleen let out a hoot of laughter. “If those society mavens could see you now.”

  “Sorry, friend. I don’t know one person who uses the word maven.” Grinning, Avery pulled a large package of white napkins out of a box and considered how to tie the cutlery. Raffia, maybe? “But you’re right, my former customers wouldn’t believe this.”

  The store was dim, the way Avery kept it in the evenings and early morning hours. Not only did she not want customers to think they were open, but also she didn’t want to attract attention to the fact she was living there. The boxes from the wholesale-warehouse store covered the counter and the table nearest the grill.

  Overall, the place was a mess.

  And she was happy.

  She laid the bright-pink tulips on the butcher-block counter by the sink and pulled out a knife to trim them. Kathleen unpacked perishables, some for resale and some for cooking.

  A small lump swelled in Avery’s throat as she watched Kathleen work. If she had known how much she needed a friend, she would have crashed into someone’s car sooner. She grinned, and Kathleen gave her a puzzled look and turned back to the cooler.

  They had bought enough nonperishables to disguise the store’s barrenness—and maybe make the shelves look presentable to a potential buyer. The cleaning supplies would go a long way to spruce up the place. And they had run into T. J. doing another of his good deeds.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?” a twangy male voice demanded.