I scratched my head. I had no idea how to do that, but if anyone knew visually stunning, it was Margot.
She came around the tables and grabbed her purse. “I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going? Don’t you want to eat lunch before it opens?”
“Give me ten minutes,” she called over her shoulder as she hurried off.
She was back in five with potted herbs and flowers at varying heights, which she set up on the table, rearranging things to make room. Standing back, she studied it again and nodded. “Better. And that basil smells so good. Once we sell some things, I’ll use the empty boxes to sort of prop up the little crates along the back of the table, but this will work for now.”
I arched a brow at her. “You’re the boss. Ready to eat?”
“Yes. I’m ravenous, actually.”
We ate lunch at our stand, scarfing down the sandwiches, pickles, and cookies Georgia had packed. “I hope they get to see the house today,” Margot said around a mouthful of cookie.
I uncapped my water bottle and took a drink.
She kicked my foot. “Hey. Don’t you?”
“I guess.”
She clucked her tongue. “You’re such a poop. Well, I’m excited for them. It’s their dream!”
“I know,” I said grudgingly. “And while I can’t say I like the prospect of them buying that peeling, splintering old heap, I do like knowing it’s making Pete and Georgia happy.”
“That is because underneath your grouchy exterior beats an actual heart.” She gave me a superior look. “Admit it—you’re really a softie.”
I made a face. “A softie? I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”
“Don’t worry, Farmer Frownypants, your secret is safe with me.” She patted my leg. “I won’t tell anyone how sweet you really are.”
I leaned over to whisper in her ear. “And I won’t tell anyone how dirty you really are.”
She gasped and giggled. “You better not.”
“Jack?”
I looked up at the woman who’d spoken, and for a terrifying second, I thought I was seeing a ghost. Holy shit. “Suzanne.” Immediately I sat back in my chair and moved it away from Margot’s a little.
“I thought that was you. I saw the banner and expected it would be Pete and Georgia.” Steph’s younger sister looked at Margot and then back at me. “Haven’t seen you here in forever.”
“Yeah, I don’t usually do them.” Fuck, the older she got, the more Suzanne looked like Steph—same coloring, same height and build, even the same voice. They were three years apart, so Suzanne had to be thirty now, the age Steph had been when she died.
“Well, come here, you big lug.” She opened her arms, and I stood up, coming around the side of the stand to give her an awkward hug. She went up on tiptoe the way Steph used to do to get her arms around me, and my stomach turned over. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too,” I lied, letting her go and retreating behind the stand as quickly as I could. At least she didn’t smell like Steph. Suzanne was wearing flowery perfume, and Steph had never touched the stuff.
“Hi. I’m Margot Lewiston.” Margot stood and offered Suzanne her hand and a smile.
Did Suzanne hesitate before taking it? Maybe I only imagined it. My equilibrium was off, and I’d started to sweat.
“Suzanne Reischling.” She shook Margot’s hand, and though she wore sunglasses and I couldn’t see her eyes, I sensed her sizing Margot up from heel to hair.
“Nice to meet you,” Margot said.
“You too.” Suzanne took her hand back. “Are you a new employee at the farm?”
Margot laughed. “Sort of. I’m doing some marketing work for them. Helping them with branding and PR, that kind of thing.”
“Interesting.” Suzanne folded her arms. “Are you from around here?”
“No, I’m actually from Grosse Pointe, which is just north of Detroit.”
“I know where it is.”
Suzanne’s reception of Margot was so cool, it jolted me back to my senses. “Margot is visiting for a week or so and getting to know the business better,” I said, feeling an odd need to defend her.
“Yes, and I just tagged along today to see what this was like. I’ve never been to a farmers market before.” Margot’s smile remained genuine, her tone friendly. Sticking her hands in her back pockets, she rocked onto the balls of her feet. “I’m excited.”
“How nice,” Suzanne said flatly.
“What about you? Are you here with your mom?” I turned to Margot. “Mrs. Reischling sells homemade jellies and jams and baked goods at these markets sometimes.” Yet another reason I avoided coming to them. She never said as much, but how could she not blame me for everything that had happened? Wasn’t she dying to scream at me? I knew exactly what she’d say: If it weren’t for you, she’d be a doctor right now, probably married to another doctor, living in a nice big house with a baby on the way.
She’d be right about all of it.
“I am here with Mom, and I know she’d love to see you. Come over and say hi?” Suzanne cajoled.
I glanced at Margot. Did she realize who this was? If she did, her face didn’t show it. She was so good at keeping calm, at holding her tongue. I could use a lesson in that. “Maybe later. We need to finish setting up here.”
“OK. Don’t forget, though. We’re still your family, aren’t we?” It almost sounded like an accusation.
“Sure.” I stuck my hands in my pockets, hoping she wouldn’t try to hug me again.
She smiled with Steph’s mouth, and it made my spine stiffen. “See you later, then.” Without another look at Margot, she ambled off.
When she was out of hearing range, I exhaled and dropped into my chair. Picked up my water bottle. Took a long drink.
Margot slowly lowered herself to the edge of her seat. “Steph’s sister?” she asked gently.
“Yeah.”
She nodded. “Thought so. They look alike, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s gotta be tough.”
I shrugged. “Steph was really different than her sister.”
“How so?”
“Different personalities. Different interests.” I looked at her. “And Steph never would have treated you that way.”
Margot’s lips tipped up in a sad smile. “I got the feeling she didn’t like my being here with you.”
“Probably because this is something I used to do with Steph.”
Margot tilted her head side to side. “So her reaction is understandable.”
“Maybe. That doesn’t make it OK, though.” I sighed, closing my eyes for a second. “You know, when Steph was alive, her family never even liked me that much.”
“Really?” Margot sounded shocked. “Why?”
I shrugged. “They felt she could have done a lot better than stick around here and marry me. Fuck, she could have done better. I told her that a million times.” Angrily, I chugged my water again, wishing it was whiskey.
“I find that hard to believe.”
“I don’t know why,” I said bitterly. “You’ve seen firsthand what an asshole I can be.”
“Because you’re a good man, Jack. Yes, you get angry and lash out. You get pushed, you push back. And hell yes, I’ve seen you be an asshole.” Her voice softened. “But I’ve also heard you apologize. I’ve seen you treat people and animals with love and kindness. I’ve seen you treat dirt with love and kindness.”
I almost smiled, and she caught me.
“Plus,” she said, leaning over to whisper in my ear. “You’ve got good hands, an amazing tongue, and a big dick. What more could a girl want?”
Reluctantly, I allowed a small grin and shook my head. Did she really believe a big dick made up for everything I couldn’t offer? Margot, of all people? “Uh, stability? Financial security? A nice car? A big house? Expensive jewelry?”
“You told me yourself she didn’t care about those things.”
“But
you do.” It came out of nowhere. Why the hell would I compare Steph to Margot? “Fuck. Forget I said that.”
“No, listen.” She put a hand on my leg. “You’re not wrong. I do care about those things. I’ve never lacked for them, or anything else money can buy. But you know what?”
Christ, we are so different. “What?”
“Something is missing from my life.”
I looked at her. “Like what? What could possibly be missing from your life when you have everything you ever wanted? And if you don’t have it, you can go out and get it?”
She rolled her eyes. “I hate to break it to you, but they don’t sell happiness at Bloomingdale’s, Jack. Plenty of wealthy people are miserable and plenty of poor people are content.”
“I guess.”
“Were you and Steph rich?”
I snorted. “No.”
“But you were happy.”
“Yeah, we were. Too happy.”
She cocked her head. “What do you mean?”
Jesus, why had I said that? Working off sexual tension with her was one thing, but I didn’t want to reveal too much of myself. “Nothing.”
“You meant something, Jack. Tell me.”
I exhaled, feeling weight return to my shoulders that hadn’t been there all day. “I just meant that it can’t last, the kind of happiness that we had.”
“Why not?”
“Because it was too good to be true. I didn’t deserve it.” Shut your goddamn mouth, Valentini! What the hell are you doing?
She studied me a moment. “Why not?”
“Christ, Margot. Can we drop this, please? I really don’t want to talk about it. You won’t understand, and it has nothing to do with you.” And I can’t start telling you things. I just can’t.
“But I—”
“Drop it, I said! Steph and I are none of your fucking business!” And because my temper was threatening to get the best of me and I had a habit of running my asshole mouth when that happened, I jumped out of my chair and stomped off.
I had no idea where I was going, I just wanted some distance between us. Marching past other vendors in a blind rage, I strode through a public parking lot and took off down the street.
Goddammit, why did she have to get into it with me? I’d been in such a good mood today. Happy, even. Why did she have to ruin it by prodding at my pain with a fucking hot poker? Just because I was fucking her didn’t mean she had the right to ask me about my feelings. She and I weren’t going to do feelings—it was sex for the sake of sex and that was it! We didn’t need to complicate things by talking about our pasts or our pain or what was missing from our lives. The moment we started to do that meant this was turning into something else, something I didn’t want and she didn’t need.
Taking a few deep breaths, I stopped walking and locked my hands behind my head. Waited for my heart rate to slow. For my agitation to ease. For my raw edges to smooth over.
After a few minutes, I was calm.
And ashamed of myself.
I was the one who’d said too much. What was it about her that made me spill my guts like a slaughtered animal? I couldn’t fucking do that. And again, I’d gotten mad at myself and taken it out on her. When would I learn that lashing out at people who were trying to help only made me feel worse? Margot didn’t have any idea how guilty I felt about Steph’s death or why I felt responsible. And I wasn’t about to tell her—not only would it burden her unnecessarily and cast a pall over what was supposed to be an uncomplicated good time, but it was too big a betrayal. Sex was one thing, but our connection had to remain purely physical.
Friendly was fine, but romantic was pushing it, and intimate was out of the question. The less she knows about me, the better.
I had to be more careful. For both of us.
On my way back, I stopped to buy some flowers for Margot. Unsure what kind of blooms were her favorite, I chose a small arrangement of blue hydrangeas because the color reminded me of her eyes. They were nicely wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine, but when I saw her sitting alone at our table, looking a little nervous and a lot sad, I felt like I should have bought a bigger bunch.
I walked around the stand and dropped down beside her chair, balanced on the balls of my feet. “Hey.”
“Hey.” She kept her eyes on her hands, which rested in her lap.
“These are for you.” I handed her the flowers. “I’m sorry.”
She looked at the bouquet and then at me. Took a breath. “Me too.”
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about.”
“I do, I do…” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have bugged you about what you said. I’ve never lost anyone like you have, and I don’t know what it’s like. I’ve never even loved anyone like you have.” Her eyes met mine. “I have no business trying to give you advice. I don’t blame you for getting mad.”
“It wasn’t you I was mad at. I know it seemed like it,” I said quickly when I saw the doubt on her face, “but I promise you it wasn’t. I was mad at myself and let it get the best of me. I apologize.”
“Apology accepted.” She smiled and then buried her nose in the flowers she held. “I love hydrangeas. Thank you.”
“I’m impressed you know what they are.”
Over the blooms, her matching eyes glittered. “Good.”
“The color matches your eyes. That’s why I chose them.”
She lowered the bouquet and looked at me in surprise, her cheeks going pink. Her mouth opened slightly like she might say something, but then she closed it again.
Looking at her, my heart started to beat a little too quickly for comfort, so I checked my watch and saw it was coming up on three. “Market’s about to open up. You ready?”
“Yes.” Smiling, she set the bouquet gently under the table and stood. “What should I do?”
“Don’t let them walk away without buying something.” I straightened up, my joints cracking.
She grinned. “Easy peasy. I could sell water to a drowning man, remember?”
“I remember,” I said. “And I’m counting on it.”
She gave me a thumbs up as a few people approached the stand. I watched her charm them, smiled and shook hands when she introduced me, and gave her a high five after they left with a bag full of eggs and vegetables.
It happened again and again.
Margot was a natural. People were drawn to her. They listened to her. Talked to her. No wonder she was so good at her job—she was beautiful and sweet and sincere. People wanted to please her. And I could tell she’d done her research on sustainable farming and the benefits of organic eating. She even dazzled me with her knowledge, especially because I knew she’d acquired it in such a short time. She was smart. And was she really doing all this for free?
“This is awesome,” I told her. “I just have to stand here and take money while you do the work.”
“Don’t be silly, this is nothing. You do the hard work growing everything! Honestly, I can’t believe I never thought about where my food was coming from before, or what was on it.” She blinked those blue eyes at me. “I’m in awe of what you do. Plus, I think this is fun!”
She turned her attention toward the next customers, and I couldn’t resist catching her around the waist from behind. “Careful, city girl. I’ll want to keep you.”
She laughed as I let her go.
But the scary thing was, I was only half joking.
Twenty-Four
Margot
After the market closed and we’d loaded the truck, Jack wanted to take me out for dinner to thank me for working today. I told him it wasn’t necessary, that I’d truly enjoyed myself, but he insisted. I think he still felt bad about the little blow-up, too, although he didn’t mention it again.
I still felt bad about it. I’d only been trying to reassure him that he was good enough for Steph and deserved to be happy, but I shouldn’t have pushed like that. He’d asked me to drop it. It was so sad, though—why did he think he d
idn’t deserve to be happy? I’d never heard anyone talk about himself that way. It made my heart ache.
After he’d left me at the table, I’d felt like crying. Here I’d practically forced him to come to the market, something he used to do with his wife, and he’d run into her sister, which had dragged up painful memories, and then I’d made it worse by digging where I didn’t belong.
And what an asshole I was, offering platitudes like money doesn’t buy happiness!
How could I compare my situation, which was probably just boredom, to his tragic loss? What a spoiled brat I was, complaining about “something missing” from my life. I’d never wanted for anything. God, I wanted to kick myself! I could just imagine how that sounded to someone like Jack, who knew what it was to fight and struggle and suffer. What did I know about any of those things?
And his apology was so sweet. I’d gotten roses from Tripp before, but he’d always had them delivered. And while I appreciated the classic formality of the gesture as much as any woman, there was something so endearing and personal about the way Jack had handed me the bouquet today. The way he wanted to take the blame. The way he hunched down next to me and offered the flowers. The way he’d chosen them because they matched my eyes. It meant something to me.
He meant something to me. I just wasn’t sure what.
He never did go over and say hello to Steph’s mother, which I was glad about. I believed in social niceties, but after seeing the way Suzanne had acted toward me, I didn’t feel he owed her any favors. She’d made things uncomfortable for him when she could just as easily have been nice. After all, I was no threat to her sister’s memory. I just wanted to make him smile and laugh and feel good, even if it was only for a little while.
“I know a place you’ll like in town,” he said as we left the parking lot.
“And how do you know I’ll like it?”
“Because it has things on the menu like charcuterie and fromage and craft cocktails.” He put his pinkie in the air. “Very chic.”
After We Fall Page 15