The spaghetti sauce came first, because she wanted to give that plenty of time to simmer. This was her one foolproof recipe, but the stove was the wild card, and she wanted to allow time for a few false starts. “Well, Lolly, here we go,” she said, locating a head of garlic, onions, olive oil, herbs, and a knife and cutting board. Spaghetti was winter food, to her mind, but it really wasn’t quite spring yet, and right now she wanted a recipe she trusted, something warm and filling. She sautéed onions and garlic in the oil and contemplated her next ingredient. Sausage? She wasn’t sure if Bree or Michael were vegetarians, so maybe she should leave out meat products and go heavy on the herbs. And mushrooms—they’d go in later. Salad and bread were last-minute items, but she could try out the oven on the garlic bread. Oh, and the apple crisp, an old recipe of her grandmother’s.
She had to laugh at herself: Farmer Meg, chopping veggies in her rustic kitchen. Maybe she should try raising a few chickens? She could use the eggs, although she drew the line at killing the chickens for dinner. The idea of goat’s milk was interesting, but she definitely didn’t want any baby goats at the moment. Maybe sometime in the future, when she had the orchard routines sorted out. What would fall bring? A good crop, she hoped, although she had no idea what she was going to do to sell it. Christopher would know. And she had plenty of time to figure out a plan.
The afternoon passed pleasantly, as the house filled with the aroma of good cooking. Maybe cinnamon and garlic made an odd combination, or maybe she was just hungry, but it all smelled great to Meg. She set the newly cleared dining table with her new tablecloth and laid out four places, arranging a cluster of candles in the center of the table. She was ready.
Seth arrived first, bearing not one but two bottles of wine, red and white. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted so I brought both. Everything still working?”
“Of course. Put the white in my gleaming new refrigerator, unless you’d like to open it first? Oops, corkscrew. I don’t know if I can find mine.”
Seth reached into his pocket and pulled one out with a flourish. “I came prepared. Can I pour you a glass?”
“Sure, why not? Everything’s about done. Let me stick the bread into the oven.”
When she had slid the loaf, slathered with butter, garlic, and parsley, onto the oven rack, she turned to find Seth holding out a glass to her. “May I make a toast?” he offered.
She took the glass. “Of course.”
He raised his glass. “To all that you’ve accomplished, and all that you will. Congratulations, Meg—you’re doing a great job.”
She raised her glass to his, unable to speak for a moment for the lump in her throat.
“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Bree’s voice startled Meg, who hadn’t even heard her car arrive.
Meg smiled at Seth, took a token sip of her wine, and greeted Bree. “No, not at all. Michael isn’t with you?”
“No, he had something to finish up at GreenGrow, so he’s coming on his own. Uh, I didn’t know what you were cooking, so I just brought you some flowers.” Bree, looking uncertain, held out a bunch of tulips and irises wrapped in florist’s paper.
Meg was touched. “Thank you, Bree. I didn’t even think about that. Let’s see if I can find something to put them in. I bought most of the necessities for eating, but I didn’t think about any fancy touches like vases. I think I saw something in the cupboard in the dining room, though.”
“I’ll check. Hi, Lolly—you look pleased with yourself.” Lavinia was still perched on top of the refrigerator, and Bree gave her head an affectionate rub on her way to the dining room.
Seth was prowling around the kitchen. “You know you can’t use a garbage disposal, with your septic system?”
“Yes, sir, you’ve told me before. Don’t worry. Is that another car?”
“Sounds like it. You want me to get the door?”
Meg checked the stove and oven settings. “No, if it’s Michael, I should welcome him. I want to do the hostess things right, at least the first time.” She dried her hands on a towel and headed for the front door, passing Bree, who was rummaging in the sideboard in the dining room. By the time Michael knocked on the front door, she was there, and she pulled it open. “Hi, Michael . . . and Daphne.”
30
Meg’s stomach plummeted. What was Daphne doing here? Daphne hung back behind Michael, as if she were trying to hide.
Michael looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Uh, hi, Meg. I hope you don’t mind, but I ran into Daphne at the GreenGrow office, and she asked where I was going, and . . .” He looked past Meg, and his expression became even more miserable. Meg turned to see Bree standing in the doorway to the dining room, glaring daggers at him. He turned back to Meg. “If it’s a problem, we don’t have to stay.” Daphne still hadn’t said a word.
Meg ran calculations through her head. She didn’t want Daphne here, especially since she had more or less invited herself. Bree would be furious, Michael would be defensive, and everyone would have a lousy time. On the other hand, she could hear her mother’s voice in her head: These are guests in your home, and you must make them feel welcome. At least she had enough food to go around. “Don’t worry, Michael. There’s plenty for one more mouth. Please come in. Daphne, nice to see you again.” Meg wondered how obvious her insincerity was.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to just barge in like this, I mean, to your private party and all.” Daphne’s forward progress stalled in the hallway, while out of the corner of her eye Meg could see Bree drag Michael aside and start talking in a harsh whisper.
Meg shifted to screen their argument from Daphne. “It’s all right, Daphne. It’s sort of an informal housewarming. I just refinished my kitchen floor and I wanted to celebrate.”
Relief was clear on Daphne’s face. What did you expect, Daphne? Meg wondered. You weaseled your way into the party, but did you imagine I’d stage a scene and bar the door?
“Hey, that’s cool. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No, I think everything is good. Why don’t we go into the kitchen and I’ll get you something to drink. Wine?”
“Oh, no, I don’t drink alcohol,” Daphne replied. “You have something else maybe?”
Meg sighed inwardly. “Of course. Bree, Michael, can I get you something?”
Michael held the kitchen door for her and Daphne. “Not for me, thanks—I’m driving. Bree, what about you?”
Bree stalked past him into the kitchen. “I’ll have some wine, Meg, if that’s all right with you.”
Seth was leaning against the counter in the kitchen and seemed amused by the whole scene, his mouth quirked in a half smile. He cast a sympathetic glance at Meg before turning to the new arrivals. “You must be Michael.” He and Michael shook hands, and then Seth turned to Daphne. “I’m sorry—we haven’t met.”
“Oh, yeah. I’m Daphne Lydon. I work with Michael. Well, kinda work, because I don’t get paid. I mean, I volunteer at GreenGrow. Michael asked if I wanted to come along.”
Meg caught Michael’s stricken glance and doubted he had said any such thing. She distributed glasses to everyone. “Daphne, I have some cider—is that okay? Michael, I gave you some, too. Bree, here’s your wine. Seth, you’re good?” He raised his glass, still half-full. Meg found her own and raised it again. “Welcome to my home, and my first dinner.”
Daphne was still staring at her glass. “Is this organic?”
Meg stifled an urge to swat her. “I don’t know. You can read the label if you want. Or help yourself to a glass of water.”
“Tap water?” At Meg’s glare, Daphne shut up, sipping cautiously at the possibly nonorganic apple cider.
“Hey, your floor looks terrific!” That was Michael’s desperate bid to change the subject. “Bree said she helped you with it.”
“Yes, she did.” Meg glanced at Bree, who had finished half her wine already and was apparently sulking. “This was my first try at finishing, and I’m really happy with the way it tu
rned out.” Meg could have sworn that Daphne muttered something about toxic fumes, but she ignored her. Now Daphne was wandering around the kitchen. She reached the stove and lifted the lid on the simmering sauce. “Hey, this smells great.” She reached for a spoon and poked around in the pot. “What’s in here?”
Meg was rapidly losing patience with her unwanted guest. She took the spoon from Daphne and gave the sauce a vigorous stir. “No meat, if that’s what you’re worried about. Would you mind moving? I have to put the spaghetti on.” As Daphne backed away, Meg dumped pasta into the pot of boiling water she had ready, and set the timer on the stove. “Ten minutes, everyone. Bree, could you take the salad to the table, please? And light the candles?”
Bree grabbed the bowl of salad from the counter and stalked away. Seth was struggling to engage an inarticulate Daphne in conversation. Michael drew Meg aside and said, in a low voice, “Look, I really am sorry about this.” He nodded toward Daphne. “She kind of cornered me, and I didn’t know how to say no.”
Meg felt sorry for him, and she knew he’d have a lot more explaining to do with Bree, so she took pity. “I know how that goes, Michael. Don’t worry—we’ll survive. It’s only one evening, right?”
“Thanks. And dinner does smell great.”
“Good. Can you take the garlic bread in?” She handed him a plate with foil-wrapped bread on it, and he beat a grateful retreat. She could hear the rumble of his voice coming from the dining room, and Bree’s hissed response. Meg sighed: this was not the way she had planned things. But it was too late to do anything about it. “Excuse me, Daphne, I need to get to the stove.” How was it that the woman always managed to get in the way? She really was clueless. “Seth, why don’t you and Daphne go into the dining room, and I’ll bring this out when it’s ready?”
Seth got her message. “Sure. I’ll take the wine along. Come on, Daphne.” He pulled the bottle of white out of the refrigerator, grabbed the bottle of red off the counter, and herded Daphne ahead of him into the dining room.
Blessedly alone in the kitchen, Meg drained the spaghetti into a colander, then poured it into a large bowl. She ladled sauce over it, sprinkled it with grated cheese, and took one last look around. Main course, salad, bread, wine. Oh, right, dessert. She had cooked it earlier in the day, so she made sure she had turned the oven off after heating the garlic bread, then slipped the apple crisp in to rewarm. She was as ready as she would ever be.
She bore the bowl of spaghetti triumphantly into the dining room and set it down on the table. The assorted candles in the middle glowed brightly in the gathering dusk, flickering off the faces of her new friends. And Daphne’s.
The dinner passed in a blur, with uncomfortable undercurrents. Everyone managed to remain civil, although Bree tossed in a few catty remarks. Seth contrived to distract the group with amusing tales of the oddities he had unearthed in his plumbing travels, and Meg was grateful. Daphne, the fly in the ointment, sat like a lump and said little, pushing her food around her plate, eating mainly salad and bread. Why had she wanted to come? Meg studied Daphne discreetly. She didn’t look desperate to Meg, just morose and angry. Maybe Daphne simply couldn’t stand the idea of other people having fun without her.
By nine the wine bottles were empty, the last of the apple crisp was but a memory, and the candles were guttering. Meg felt obscurely exhausted from trying to keep up a neutral conversation with this seething group. Seth once again read her mood and stood up. “Meg, that was great. Let’s get these dishes out to the kitchen and clean up.”
Meg stood up, too. “Thanks, Seth, but if you all can just put everything in the kitchen, I’ll take care of the washing up in the morning. It’s been a long day.”
Wordlessly Bree joined Seth in collecting plates and glasses and taking them to the kitchen. Daphne didn’t move from her seat, instead staring at Michael with a look that Meg couldn’t read. If Daphne needed friends, she certainly didn’t have a clue about how to make any. Was she hoping to make a move on Michael now that Jason was dead? If so, she was in for an unpleasant surprise when she learned that Bree had beat her to it. But once Meg managed to shoo her out of the house tonight, Daphne would not be her problem.
Michael grabbed a bowl and followed Bree to the kitchen, leaving Daphne alone with Meg. They sat in silence for several seconds, until Daphne said, “Sorry I’m not very good company.”
Meg debated seizing the opening that Daphne had presented, and almost asked what she could do to help. But in truth, Meg didn’t want to hear the answer. She was responsible for a creaky old house, a needy orchard, a pair of goats, and a cat, and she didn’t need to take on Daphne, too. Maybe that was callous, but she knew her own limitations, and she didn’t think she had any solutions to offer. Daphne was just going to have to sort out her own life. “Well, we can’t all be chatterboxes,” she said briskly as she stood up. “I’d better go see what they’re up to in the kitchen.” She turned on her heel, leaving Daphne alone at the table.
In the kitchen she said, “Look, guys, I mean it. I’ll take care of this later.”
“I’ll stay over tonight. I can help,” Bree offered, much to Meg’s surprise. “Michael was just leaving. Weren’t you? You have to get Daphne home.” She leaned against the counter, arms crossed, daring him to contradict her.
Michael cast one more imploring glance at Bree, then nodded and turned to Meg. “Thanks for a nice dinner, Meg. I enjoyed it. If you don’t need anything else, we’ll be going now.”
“Thank you, Michael. It was nice to see you again.” Although I could have done without your companion. “I’ll see you out.” She followed him as he rounded up Daphne and headed for the front door, then she stood in the doorway watching them leave.
She returned to the kitchen, where Seth had finished wrapping up the scant leftovers and putting them in the refrigerator. “If that’s it, I guess I’ll go now. Meg, that really was a great dinner.”
“Thanks, Seth. I just wish Daphne hadn’t shown up. I know that sounds cold, but I really don’t like that woman. I hope she didn’t make trouble between you and Michael, Bree.”
Bree shook her head. “It’s okay. He just couldn’t figure out how to say no to her, and she’s a real leech. I think he’s going to learn pretty fast, after this. You don’t mind my staying?”
“Of course not. It’s your room, and you can come and go as you like.”
“Then I guess I’ll turn in, maybe read for a while. ’Night.” Bree fled, leaving Meg and Seth alone in the kitchen.
Meg slumped against the stove. “Well, all things considered, I guess that didn’t go too badly. And at least all the appliances work! Thanks again, Seth.”
“Happy to help. I’ll see you sometime this week—I’ve got a shipment of lumber coming in for the shed build-out. I’ve got to get moving on that if I’m supposed to be out of my current shop by May.”
“And don’t forget my apple storage.”
“I’m on it. Good night, Meg.” He hesitated a moment, and Meg wondered if he was thinking about kissing her good night, and then wondered why she was wondering about it. In any case, he slipped out the back door and was gone.
Meg stood for a moment, debating about doing the dishes despite what she had said earlier. But she was tired, and she had a good book waiting by her bed. She deserved that small treat; the dishes could wait till the morning. She turned off the kitchen light and made her way to the front stairs, turning off lights as she went and checking that the front door was locked. Lolly appeared from wherever she had been hiding and dashed up the stairs, pausing at the top to wait for Meg to catch up.
31
When Meg opened her eyes, it was pitch dark outside, and she wondered what had awakened her. Lolly slept soundly at the foot of her bed, curled up with her nose under her tail, and the house was quiet. She didn’t hear anything from the goats. She checked the glowing numerals of her clock: two fourteen. Why was she awake?
The wave of nausea that hit her answered that q
uestion. She never got sick. She hated throwing up, and she couldn’t remember the last time she had. Years, definitely. What was going on? Couldn’t be a hangover—she’d had no more than two glasses of wine at dinner.
The nausea returned, stronger. Unfortunately she wasn’t going to be able to ignore it and go back to sleep. Nope, not happening. She stumbled out of bed, not bothering to turn on the light or find her slippers, and reached the bathroom with no time to spare, spewing whatever was left in her stomach into the toilet. When that wave subsided, Meg slumped to the floor, weak and sweating.
She wasn’t sure how long she would have sat there, but she was startled to hear a knock on the bathroom door. Meg struggled to her feet and opened it to find Bree doubled over, her dark skin a peculiar ashy color. “Sorry—move!” Bree shoved past Meg and vomited into the toilet. Meg leaned against the bathroom door, confused and dizzy.
If Bree had the same problem as she did, it had to have been the food. Oh, no, Meg thought in dismay. I gave everyone food poisoning! But how? Those ancient pots, a bad can of tomatoes, something in the salad? She’d cheated and bought a couple of premixed bags of greens. Hadn’t she read about contaminated salad mixes? Or had it been spinach? But she had been careful to wash it. That should have helped, shouldn’t it?
Bree had rolled around to sit on the floor next to the toilet, and she looked up at Meg. “This sucks.”
“Tell me about it.” Meg slid down the door to sit, since she wasn’t sure her legs would hold her, and she didn’t want to move far from the toilet. “Food poisoning?”
Bree shrugged, wrapping her arms around her midsection.
“Stomach cramps?” Meg asked. Bree nodded without speaking.
“Damn—we should call the others and see if they’re all right. But I’d hate to wake them if this is limited to the two of us.”
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