Dandelion Wishes

by Melinda Curtis

  “I used to drive here,” Mildred said. “I could bring us next week. I have my license.”

  Will gave Mildred’s thick glasses a double take. “I thought you weren’t supposed to drive.” Emma had a better chance of obtaining his permission to transport Tracy to bingo than Mildred did. And Emma’s chance currently stood at zero.

  “Agnes told you that, didn’t she? She thinks I can’t see the road. My vision is fine. Let me tell you, I used to time myself driving the loop on Parish Hill. I know that road like the back of my hand. My best time was under five minutes.”

  “A record that will have to stand.” He drew Tracy aside. “I want to ask you something.”

  She beamed expectantly at him, the way she used to when they were kids, as if he was her hero and could do no wrong.

  And he knew. He knew as soon as the words I want you to stay here and work for the winery left his mouth, that smile of hers would disappear. He could hear Emma telling him, “I told you so.” And she was right. Tracy didn’t want to stay in Harmony Valley and if he tried to force her to... Well, the words Tracy would use to describe him wouldn’t be pretty.

  “What?”

  He couldn’t ask her. At least not yet. He’d suggest a job to her when the winery was approved. By then she may have realized that she was blossoming in Harmony Valley. “I’m a tyrannical idiot.”

  She laughed. “Yes. You are.” She claimed a folding chair next to Mildred and fanned her cheeks with a bingo card.

  Will stood like a dolt, unable to take his eyes off his happy sister. He didn’t think he could stand not knowing what the future held for her.

  “Luck needs a boost. First, you’ve got to blow off all the bad juju, like this.” Mildred demonstrated by blowing across the face of one of her cards as if it was a birthday cake loaded with candles. “Then you place it front and center on the table.”

  For Mildred, bingo was all about the ritual. In the six weeks he’d been taking her to bingo, she wore the same lucky shirt—a faded black Justin Bieber T-shirt one of her granddaughters had given her with the wise Canadian philosopher’s advice: Never Say Never. She always made Will take the back road into town so she could hold her breath as they drove over the old Russian River bridge. She’d buy an evening’s worth of cards with two tens—never a twenty. And she always sat in the middle of a table on the right-hand side of the room.

  With another laugh that lifted Will’s spirits, Tracy did as Mildred instructed. “Now what?”

  “Now we use all our lucky charms.” Mildred waved over one of the hostesses and gave her a white plastic travel mug with her husband’s picture on it, requesting a coffee. Then she withdrew a plastic container from her backpack-size purse. From it she took out her good luck charms—a hot pink rabbit’s foot, a three-inch-high wooden tiki, a black polished marble-size stone and a five-dollar poker chip from the old Sands hotel in Las Vegas.

  “I need. Lucky charms.” Tracy grinned.

  “You collect them as you age, dear, like sunspots and ex-husbands.” Mildred picked up the pink rabbit’s foot. “Until then, you can borrow this.”

  Grinning again, Will took a seat on the other side of Mildred, leaving a chair open between them. That seat was usually occupied by a retired school bus driver named Earl, who had a thing for peanut-butter cookies and Mildred, although his COPD sometimes kept him at home. He checked his cell phone for text and email messages.

  The noise in the church hall became more raucous as seats filled up at the folding tables. But one voice rose above the others. A voice belonging to someone with dark hair, an Indian-print blue skirt and the ability to increase his blood pressure.

  “Tracy, can I sit next to you?” Emma’s smile was bright and hopeful.

  Will stood, prepared to escort Emma out the door, or at least to another table. All his sister had to do was say the word.

  Tracy glanced up at Emma. Will couldn’t see his sister’s face, but he could see Emma’s clearly, watched as her smile lost its grip.

  “No, no.” Tracy’s tone was firm with just a hint of standoffishness. Then she patted the chair next to her at the end of the table. “Rose.”

  “Of course I’ll sit with you, Tracy.” Rose appeared behind Emma in a dark skirt and muff-like braids over each ear. “And Emma will sit on the other side of Mildred.” Rose paused, a hand on the back of her chair. She took one look at Will before advising Emma, “Scoot as far away from the computer nerd as you can and tell me if he tries anything.”

  Emma’s cheeks bloomed a soft rose that matched the color of her lips.

  Add lechery to the list of sins Rose had assigned him.

  “Granny, please stop.” Emma reached for the chair on the other side of Mildred.

  At the last moment, Will remembered he didn’t want Emma at their table and gripped a section of the chair back. His fingers brushed against Emma’s cold ones. He quelled the impulse to shift his hand over hers, to warm her fingers beneath his own.

  Emma snatched her hand away, cradling it against her stomach as if his touch burned.

  “I’m saving this seat for Mildred’s friend Earl.” His voice sounded too gruff, too intimate. The tone of a lover.

  Unwisely, Will waited for their eyes to meet, waited to see again the longing in her gaze and know it was him she wanted. Him.

  Emma didn’t look at Will. Instead, she glanced around, a slightly desperate tremble to her lips, as if her vague smile was her last and only defense against the tension between them.

  Most people had already taken their seats, but there were one or two chairs available at the tables in the back. It was better for Will’s sanity if Emma sat as far away from him as possible.

  “It’s okay.” Mildred glanced up at Will. “I don’t think Earl is coming tonight. He would have arrived on the senior-center bus, and those people came in five minutes ago.”

  Emma’s gaze caught on Will’s hand, still on her chair, before she accepted Mildred’s invitation. “Thanks. I’ll move if Earl shows up.” She took the metal chair and pulled it out until Will’s hand dropped away.

  Will sat at the end of the table next to Emma. Why couldn’t he just ignore her and let the attraction he felt for her fade?

  Because Emma wasn’t easy to ignore. She was bright and colorful and wounded, hurt by the loss of Tracy’s friendship and burdened with panic attacks, the source of which he had yet to uncover. A result of the car accident?

  And yet, as much as he knew Emma was hurting, and that he was the cause of some of that pain, he couldn’t let his guard down. He could feel compassion, but he couldn’t let himself forgive. The fear of losing Tracy—and the memory of his grief when his mother died—was too debilitating.

  “It’s nice of Tracy to sit and visit with Rose tonight. I’ll have plenty of time to visit with Tracy later.” Emma spoke hopefully, somehow managing to put a semiconfident smile on her face despite the death-grip clasp of her hands in her lap.

  Will leaned back so he could see Tracy. She was demonstrating Mildred’s lucky card-blowing technique to Rose.

  “So much. Luck,” she said. “Big winners. All of us.”

  “Even Emma?” Rose asked with wide, innocent eyes.

  A few days ago, Will would have applauded when Tracy didn’t answer.

  Tonight, he was aware of how much Tracy’s silence hurt Emma.

  Everyone wanted him to give Emma a second chance. The more he listened to her side, the more he put himself in her strappy shoes, the more he realized there were two sides to every story, two sides to every hurt, two sides to forgiveness.

  Maybe his father was right. Maybe Will was only making the situation between the two friends worse. Maybe he should try harder to forgive.

  For Tracy.

  * * *

  “FIRST GAME OF the night, ladies and g
entlemen. Let’s get things rolling.” The emcee of the event was a soft-spoken minister who morphed into a corny cross between a comedian and a game-show host when he picked up a microphone. “B twelve. B twelve. That’s B as in butterfly, twelve. Butterflies may look harmless, but they have been known to swarm like bees, which would send any pacemaker into overdrive.”

  Emma didn’t have B twelve. She felt like she didn’t have a lot of things—hope for a damaged friendship, confidence in her talent, common sense enough to know that pursuing these unexpected feelings toward Will would be disastrous. She arranged her bingo chips in neat little stacks.

  Will put his arm across the back of her chair and leaned in close. He did that a lot, as if he wanted to close the distance between them so only she heard what he said. He probably had no idea of the effect he had on her—how the woodsy hint of his aftershave drew her closer, how the varying intensity of his eyes, from electric to soft baby blue, enthralled her. “Are you okay? I’d offer to drive Rose home so you could leave, but I doubt she’d accept a ride from me.”

  “I’m here to play bingo.” Emma tried to feel happy just being in the same room as Tracy, but with Will in her space it was hard to think of anything but him.

  “Do you hear Tracy talking? Her speech has been better this evening than it’s been in weeks.” His fingers touched the thin cotton over her shoulder blade.

  Emma held herself very still. “Maybe my visit this morning helped her.”

  Will surprised her by not arguing the point. “Tracy’s passed another milestone. We should all be celebrating.” He sounded upbeat, but his words had the opposite effect on Emma. Despite wishing Tracy well, she wanted to share those milestones with her friend.

  “She looks wonderful,” Emma said. “And so happy.” Maybe Will was right. Maybe Tracy was better off without her. “You haven’t talked to her about working for you, have you?”

  He removed his arm from the back of her chair.

  “G fifty-eight. G fifty-eight. That’s G as in George, fifty-eight. We’ve got three Georges here tonight and one has a birthday.” The minister led the room in song.

  When the singing ended, Emma turned, scooting her bottom to the farthest edge of her seat, giving her breathing room. “Well?”

  His eyes were a flat, cold blue as he shrugged. “I’ve floated the idea past her. She rejected it, but she could get used to it. No sense forcing the issue until we get our property rezoned.”

  “I’ve been thinking about you—” Don’t say that! She rushed on. “Your winery and Harmony Valley. You’re right. The town needs emergency services.”

  The stare he gave her was probing, assessing, skeptical.

  She tamped down her annoyance. “I might be able to make things easier for you. With Granny Rose.”

  His expression didn’t change.

  “And in return, you could...perhaps...” Emma plunged on “...not make a fuss when I ask Tracy to go shopping with me.”

  “Only if I drive.” Will blinked, as if surprised at his own answer.

  Hope burst inside Emma, expanding her chest with the air she hadn’t realized she’d been denying herself. “Really? You don’t mind?”

  “I don’t mind if you ask because she’s going to say no,” he grumbled.

  “Thank you!” Before Emma realized what she was doing, she leaned in and kissed Will’s cheek. It was warm and lightly stubbled. She fell back in her chair, heat spreading in places it had no right to.

  He rubbed his cheek. “Emma...” The way he said her name—slowly and with wonder—caused a flutter in her stomach.

  A flutter that died when he turned away from her without another word.

  “G fifty-three. G fifty-three. That’s G rhymes with C for cat, fifty-three. Did you know that cats have a sixty-note vocal range? But they probably still couldn’t sing ‘Happy Birthday’ in tune.”

  The patter of polite laughter filled the room, but Emma barely heard.

  There were fools, and there were people who did foolish things.

  At that moment, she couldn’t decide which she was.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  EMMA DROVE BACK to Cloverdale the next afternoon to use the wireless connection at Starbucks. She’d finished a print ad for one client and needed to upload it to their password-protected website for review.

  While she enjoyed a skinny latte and checked her email, she accepted two more print-ad assignments from the advertising agency Tracy used to work for. She’d wanted to take out her sketchbook and pencil while she enjoyed her coffee, but her fingers got clammy at the thought.

  Miracle of miracles, her mother had sent her an email and left her a voice mail. Both mentioned her murder case wasn’t due to be handed over to jury for deliberations until early next week. As soon as a verdict came in, she’d come down from Sacramento for a visit. Yes, Emma should call the doctor. No, she didn’t want the character of Harmony Valley to change, either. Love, etc., Mom.

  Will had invited Emma to the Harmony Valley Lions Club meeting later that afternoon. She’d promised to try to broach the topic of the winery with her grandmother if he promised to respect the character of Harmony Valley, something Will admitted he and his partners were already trying to do. Unfortunately, Emma hadn’t found the right moment to discuss the winery with Granny Rose.

  “What did I miss?” Emma asked her grandmother when she slid into the church pew just after four o’clock, craning her neck to see if Tracy was there.

  She wasn’t.

  “You missed nothing. Will is saying the same old, same old,” Granny Rose whispered, sparing a breath to blow a lock of white hair off her forehead.

  “They didn’t mention anything about scaling back their designs or respecting the character of the town?” She’d expected that much, at least.

  “They said they’ve decided to restore the existing buildings, but I don’t believe them. Look at that. It’s that hoochy hot spot again. Looks like the perfect place for someone like Will to be an exhibitionist. He hasn’t made a play for you, has he?”

  Given the small size of the church and the urgency of her grandmother’s question, everyone heard her, including Will. He was up on the altar, as he’d been the night of the council meeting, looking handsome in khakis and a burgundy polo. He stopped talking and pinned Emma with a dark look that demanded she rein in her grandmother.

  Dark, demanding looks from Will were something Emma absolutely did not need.

  She’d spent a fair amount of time lecturing herself on the perils of infatuation. As lectures went, she’d thought the message had sunk into her brain.

  Obviously not. She could almost smell Will’s aftershave from four rows back.

  Cheeks heating, Emma waited for the meeting to resume before whispering, “Did the doctor call?”

  “Your doctor didn’t call,” Granny Rose whispered back, her gaze locked on Will. “I don’t know who your doctor is.”

  Emma swallowed her exasperation. “Did your doctor call?”

  “Yes. How did you know?” Granny Rose spared Emma a quick glance.

  Sam, who was sitting in front of them, frowned over his shoulder.

  “They called the other day,” Emma lied, wishing her grandmother could read lips. “While you were working on The Music Man. What did they want?”

  “They wanted me to come in for a checkup, but I’m much too busy.”

  Emma blew out a frustrated breath.

  Granny Rose tilted her face toward Emma, still keeping Will in her sights. “You should call your doctor if you’re not feeling well. At my age, I expect I’ll feel good until the moment I keel over. But that’s just the way I am. At your age, even the most minor problem could turn into something that could kill you. Like the Big C. Cancer isn’t something you postpone. If it’s cancer you’re worried about, head ri
ght home and call your doctor.”

  “I feel fine. I don’t have cancer.” Knock on wood.

  “I’m just saying. I’ve seen enough people in this town ignore those little warning signs and then bam—” Granny Rose snapped her fingers “—you check into the Eternal Rest Motel. Why, just this spring, Nadine Tarkley dropped dead of heart failure hefting a bag of kitty litter out of the back of her Caddy.” She paused, looking at Will skeptically. “I wonder if that computer nerd lifts a lot of kitty litter.”

  That strange feeling—the one that Emma had when she’d first come back to town and found Granny Rose in her long johns—did the jitterbug in Emma’s gut. “We should go.” Before Granny worked herself into one of her off-kilter fits. Before Will accused her of not holding up her end of the bargain they’d made last night about her trying to make Granny see the value in change.

  Emma gripped Granny Rose’s arm and scooted down the pew, trying to bring her grandmother with her.

  Granny brushed off Emma’s grip. “Not yet. They’re coming to the finale. I didn’t get to see it Monday night, since we had to leave the council meeting early.”

  Emma checked the projected image on the wall. It was the same one they’d walked out on Monday night. The oak tree was gone, replaced by the modern-looking hot spot. The square footage of the town square’s lawn had been reduced to the size of a large bedroom to make room for more parking.

  And next to the rendering stood Will. “Although our partnership is only proposing a few businesses, we hope that their success sometime next year will attract other entrepreneurs to the area. We see opportunities for a sandwich shop, a bakery, an ice cream—”

  “Or gelato parlor,” Flynn interrupted from the front pew.

  Slade elbowed him.

  Will continued as if they hadn’t spoken. “An office supply store where you can make copies and ship items, a beauty salon, an auto-mechanic shop. The opportunities are endless.”

  “I used to own a bridal shop,” Mae Gardner piped up. She was tall with unnaturally red hair, a love of heavy makeup and gossip. “Someone could open a bridal shop.”