For My Daughters

by Barbara Delinsky

  “More than. I love you, sweetheart.”

  “Me, too,” she said, growing teary-eyed. She dreaded hanging up the phone and severing the connection. Jean-Paul was her lifeline. “Jean-Paul? Thank you for making me come. I’d have regretted it if I hadn’t.”

  “Shhh. Be with your sisters now. Help them through this.”

  “I love you.”

  “Go,” he whispered.

  Cornmeal. Flour. Baking powder. Honey. Leah assessed what was on the counter and quickly added butter, buttermilk, and eggs. She emptied a quart of blueberries into a colander and held them under running water while she picked out stems and bits of leaf. She did the same with a second quart, then a third.

  “Leah,” Annette approached from behind, “what are you doing?”

  “Making blueberry corn muffins. I really wanted to do something with raspberries, but the season isn’t right so the market didn’t have enough.” She began measuring cupfuls of cornmeal. “I’m making eight dozen. I figure I’ll give four to Julia and keep four here for us. People will be stopping by. We’ll need this to add to what Julia will bring.” They had set the funeral for Monday. That didn’t leave much time to prepare.

  “You don’t have to do this now.”

  “I do.” The busier she kept, the better she’d feel. “Since you and Caroline are making all the phone calls, this is the least I can do. It’s much easier than having to call Gwen. How was she?”

  “Not surprised. But very upset.”

  “And Mother’s friends? I wasn’t eager to talk with them. I know you thought I loved them all, but I really didn’t.”

  “I think we should talk.” This from Caroline.

  “Where’s Ben?” Annette asked.

  “Sleeping. He drove the damn cycle halfway across the country with two six-hour rest stops. He’s a crazy man.”

  “Incredibly sweet.”

  It was a meaningful minute before Caroline said a soft, “Yes.” Leah spared them a fast glance, before returning to the cornmeal. But she had lost count of how many cups she had measured. She wasn’t sure if she had reached five, or six. She stared at the mound in dismay.

  “So while Ben sleeps, let’s talk about Jesse,” Caroline said.

  Leah started again, scooping out one cup from what was in the bowl and dumping it into a second bowl.

  “Leah?”

  “There’s nothing to say,” she murmured.

  “It didn’t look like nothing.”

  “It looked like a definite something,” Annette put in.

  Four cups. Leah measured out a fifth. “I suppose.”

  “Since when?” Caroline asked.

  Then a sixth. “Since Monday. Sunday, if you count him creeping up on me while I slept on the swing Sunday night.”

  “What kind of something is it?” Annette asked.

  Leah set down the near-empty cornmeal container and reached for the flour. “What kind of question is that?”

  “One from a concerned sister.”

  “Make that two concerned sisters.”

  “This is something new,” Leah remarked dryly.

  “Yes.”

  “Put down the flour, Leah. Talk to us.”

  Sensing that they wouldn’t leave her alone until she answered them, she set down the flour, gripped the edge of the counter, and said to the cabinet’s pickled wood, “It’s no big thing. We met. We started talking. He’s an interesting man. But he’s the gardener. He lives here, I live in Washington. He wears denim, I wear silk.”

  “Not now you don’t,” Caroline pointed out.

  Leah wiped a hand on her jeans. “Yes, well, this place is different and besides, I’m cooking—or trying to cook. Honestly, you’re making something out of nothing. Jesse and I are wrong for each other in a million ways. Okay, forget denim and silk. Try beer and champagne, beef stew and crepes Suzette. He does his traveling in winter, I do mine in summer. I mean, I can’t stay here. I’m going away.”

  “Where are you going?”

  She had walked into that one. Improvising, she said, “Montana, I think. The plans aren’t firmed up yet. But if it isn’t Montana, it’ll be somewhere else, and then I’ll be back in D.C. to chair the Cancer Society gala, while Jesse’s here mowing the yard. I’m light, he’s dark, I’m opera, he’s reruns—”

  “Reruns of what?” Annette asked.

  Leah had no idea. She had never seen him watch television. When she was with him, he was engrossed in her. But reruns sounded good.

  “Funny,” Caroline said, “I would have pegged him for ‘Twenty-Twenty’ Or PBS. He seems articulate and bright. You said he was self-educated. You called him a horticulturalist. That implies smarts.”

  Leah half-turned. “He is smart.”

  “And good-looking.”

  “And polite.”

  “He’s all of those things—” she vowed, stopping short.

  “And more,” Annette finished for her.

  Leah made a face. Tugging a garbage bag tie from the drawer, she gathered her hair and twisted the tie around it. Wild hair was fine and dandy for walking along the bluff, but it was definitely in the way when she cooked. She thought of cutting it short, but felt a twinge. What was it Ginny had said? And to think we used to hide this away. As through Leah’s hair, unbound, reminded Ginny of all she had renounced.

  Tears came to her eyes. She pressed several fingers to her forehead and said without turning, “Why does life have to be so complex?”

  “Sometimes it only seems complex,” Caroline offered. “With a little sorting and organizing, the complex becomes simple.”

  “Oh,” Leah breathed, “I don’t know. I’ve been trying to sort and organize since last Monday. No. I take that back. I’ve been ignoring the situation since last Monday, and all the while I’ve been getting in deeper and deeper.”

  “Love?” Annette asked.

  Leah sighed. “I guess.”

  “Sex?” Caroline asked.

  What the hell. “Oh yeah.”

  “That’s incredible,” Annette said. “Where were we all this time?”

  “Sleeping. Or shopping.”

  “You did it while we were shopping?”

  Leah shot a look over her shoulder. She spoke slowly and pointedly. “While you were shopping, we talked. We walked along the bluff. I watched him work.” She grew less pointed, more bewildered. “Think of what Mother was describing of her relationship with Will. That’s what I have with Jesse. It’s both the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me, and the most terrifying. I mean, Mother and Will, now Jesse and me. It’s eerie.”

  “What does he say?”

  Leah rolled her eyes. “He says it was meant to be. He’s a romantic.”

  “Like Will.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And you’re like Mother.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “In terms of social life you are, certainly more so than either of us,” Caroline said.

  “In looks,” Leah conceded, anxious to put the misconception to rest once and for all. She turned to face her sisters. “Maybe in general lifestyle, but that’s it. Mother was obsessed with maintaining her place in society. She loved the invitations, loved the company she kept. She was a stickler for convention. I’m not.”

  “Leah, look at your life!”

  “I am. I’m not driven to impress people. I dress stylishly because that’s what I’ve always done. I shop because that’s what I’ve always done. Same with having my hair done and getting a manicure. Same with sitting through board meetings. It’s just what I do.”

  “But not what you want?” Caroline asked.

  “It’s what I do,” Leah repeated, at a loss for anything better to say. Her life in Washington was familiar. She knew what to expect. There were no surprises. She could handle herself.

  “Oh, Leah.”

  “Mother chose it,” she said in an attempt to sort through her thoughts. “I just woke up one day and it’s what I was doing.”
r />   “What would you rather?”

  In a moment of pique, Leah crossed her arms over her chest. “Bake. I’d rather bake. I feel productive when I bake. When I’m done, I have a product to show for it.”

  “So bake,” Caroline said. “Start a catering service. Open a restaurant.”

  Leah sighed. “It sounds simple. But it isn’t.”

  “Why not?” Annette asked.

  “Because I’m a dabbler, not a trained chef, and I don’t want to go to school to become one. School and I never got along. That would take the fun out of it, for sure. Besides, restaurants are a dime a dozen in Washington. Same with catering services.”

  “So leave Washington.”

  “But I love Washington,” she insisted, and it wasn’t wholly a lie. Washington couldn’t be beat when it came to culture. And some parts of it were just beautiful. Of course, she could live without the social climbers, the bores, and the humidity.

  “If you love Washington, and you love Jesse, something has to give.”

  “Exactly,” Leah cried. She knew that she had to move on with her life—she and Ellen had discussed it at length—but she had never dreamed that moving on would entail such upheaval.

  “Stay here and open a bakery,” Caroline suggested.

  Leah gaped. “You’re kidding.”

  “No.”

  “I can’t stay here.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just told you. I love Washington. I have commitments there. Besides, now that Mother is dead, we’ll be selling Star’s End.”

  Caroline looked at Annette. “Did we decide that?”

  “I don’t recall we discussed it at all.”

  “Maybe we should.”

  But Leah was uncomfortable. Deciding on the future of Star’s End would bring other decisions to a head. “Not now. It’s too soon. I don’t think we should think about it until after Mother is buried.” She turned back to the counter and reached for the flour.

  “What are you afraid of?” Caroline asked quietly.

  Leah turned her head. “Are you talking to me?”

  “Come on, Leah.”

  Forget the flour. She turned around again, but held her ground. “I’m not afraid of anything.” Except change. Except failure.

  “You say you love Jesse.”

  “You say you love Ben,” she tossed back.

  “So I’m starting to rethink things. Maybe you should, too.”

  “What things are you rethinking?” Annette asked Caroline.

  Leah wanted to know, too, but Caroline wasn’t being sidetracked. “Do you think Mother made the right decision leaving Will?”

  Leah shrugged. “She had Daddy, and she had us.”

  “But she lost Will. She did the noble thing. Was it the right thing?”

  “How can I answer that, Caroline?” Leah cried, exasperated. “I’m not in her shoes.”

  “No. But close. You’re in love with a man whose lifestyle is the antithesis of yours. Staying with him means making major changes in your life. So do you make those changes, or don’t you? Nobleness isn’t a factor. You don’t have a husband. By your own admission, you do things more out of habit than choice. Maybe it’s time you changed that. Make a choice, Leah.”

  “Jesse’s the gardener.”

  “Oh, please,” Caroline barked. “Why are you playing the snob? Are you trying to anticipate what we’re thinking about him? Well, if you are, you’re wrong. I meant what I said the other day—my problem with Ben has never been that he doesn’t come with papers, like we do. Things were different in Mother’s day. People didn’t marry out of their social class, or religion, or race. Today, those things are less important. At least, they should be. The fact that Jesse is a gardener is irrelevant.”

  “If you love him,” Annette said. Her voice trailed off.

  Leah sighed. She raised bewildered eyes to the ceiling. “I’m having trouble believing it, I guess. It happened so fast.” Her gaze fell. “And then, there are the parallels to Mother and Will. I don’t want to mistake sentimentality for something else.” Of course, she’d been falling for Jesse before she ever knew about Ginny and Will, but that was beside the point.

  “Has Jesse said he wants you to stay?”

  Leah’s insides moaned. “In every look.”

  It was Annette’s turn to sigh. “That’s so romantic.”

  But Leah wasn’t being lulled into submission. “There’s more to a long-term relationship than romance. Romance fades. I know. It happened to me twice.”

  “Those two were nitwits.”

  Caroline added, “She’s right. I could tell it first thing.”

  Leah felt a stir of her old insecurity. She was the dumb one, the one with a head full of fluff. “Really? How?”

  “I watched them at your weddings. They were more interested in looking at who was watching them than in looking at you. They wanted people laughing at their jokes, hanging on their every word. You were a prize.” She shook her head. “Bad match. Both of them. It was obvious.”

  “If it was so obvious,” Leah charged, “why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Would you have listened?” Caroline shot back.

  “You were in love with being in love.” Annette said.

  “Who knows I’m not still?” Leah asked with a touch of defiance, but the defiance was for show. She was haunted by her own inadequacies, where love was concerned. “I’ve known Jesse Cray for all of five days. That’s pathetic.”

  “Maybe you just need more time.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

  Caroline held up her hands and backed off. “Okay. Take more time. But I have to warn you, I can’t stay here forever. Regardless of what I decide to do with it, my life is in Chicago. Another week, and I’ll have to go back. Same with Annette. The house is yours.”

  “But we’re not keeping the house,” Leah argued.

  Caroline turned to Annette. “How far down that list did you get?”

  “About halfway. Lillian’s helping by calling her circle of friends. She wasn’t any more surprised than Gwen was. She said that Mother was too thorough with her farewells.”

  “She’s dead,” Leah continued to argue. “We can’t keep the house.”

  But she might as well have saved her breath, because Caroline was heading for the door, asking Annette, who followed, “Will Lillian be coming for the funeral?”

  “Yes. They’ll stay in Portland Sunday night and drive here early Monday. It may be a good-sized group.”

  “Guys?” Leah tried again.

  Caroline turned back. “Gwen is on her way. Better make use of the kitchen before she arrives. She’s apt to give you a fight.”

  Irked that they weren’t taking her seriously, she called, “She can fight all she wants. The fact is that Mother built this kitchen for me. If I want to use it, I will.” This time she turned in earnest to her muffins.

  * * *

  Caroline sat at the foot of the bed, marveling at the nature of the man Ben was, as she watched him sleep. He had set his work aside during the height of his creative season and weathered the wind on his motorcycle for the better part of thirty-six hours, speeding eastward to be with her. He hadn’t known Ginny had died. He hadn’t even known she had finally arrived at Star’s End. He had wanted to be with Caroline. That was all.

  As she watched him, her insides went soft and melting, aching in ways that went beyond physical attraction, though there was that, too. He was sprawled, face down, covered by a sheet from his buttocks down. Above was a long expanse of skin that was firm and tanned, freckled shoulders, sturdy neck, mussed hair. She could feel every muscle of his back, though she didn’t touch a one. Not now. But she had. Many, many times.

  He stirred, shifting beneath the sheet with a deep breath that undulated over his back. Twisting his head around, he cracked open an eye. When he saw her, he smiled and held out a hand.

  She scooted closer and took it, holding it to her throat, then her mout
h.

  “Whatcha thinkin’?” he whispered sleepily.

  “That you’re a beautiful man. That I still can’t believe you’re here. I was imagining awful things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you’d left me for another woman.”

  “Missed me that much, huh?”

  She smiled. “Yeah.” When he gave a tiny tug, she stretched out beside him. She kissed him softly and let her fingers linger on his mouth, then trail down his throat to his Adam’s apple.

  It was such a male thing, an Adam’s apple. Like body hair and muscularity and erections that told of morning desire. Such a male thing. Such a Ben thing.

  She felt the vibration in his throat when he said, “I want us married.”

  “I know. I think I’m weakening.”

  The Adam’s apple bobbed. “Really? How come?”

  “Because you’re right about things. Like my firm.” She told him about Luther Hines, all of which had happened while he’d been on the road.

  “If I’d heard the news,” he swore, angry on her behalf, “I’d have called you first thing.”

  “But then I wouldn’t have known how loyal my partners are. You had them pegged, Ben.”

  “Um-hmmm.” He unzipped her jeans, slipped his hands in back, against her skin, and pulled her closer.

  Whispering by his jaw, taking in the scents of sleep and awakening sexuality, she said, “How come you saw it and I didn’t?”

  “You saw it,” he whispered back, inching the jeans down. “You knew what they were.”

  She sighed. Her insides were starting to hum. They always did when Ben touched her. He had a way of reaching in and turning her on. “I hate the idea of going back there.”

  He was up on his knees, working the jeans lower. “Don’t. Open your own place.”

  She raised her hips to help. “Where?”

  “Near me.”

  “But I can’t practice in the country,” she protested, kicking jeans and panties aside. “Not my kind of law. I need to be near a courthouse. That’s where things happen.”

  “Then live with me and commute,” he said, bringing her up to straddle his lap. “Set up an office at my place for the days when you don’t have to be in court.” He rocked her against him.