by Ava Miles
He heard an answering bleating, and he sprinted to the portico. The baby goat was running toward him on his short, spindly little legs. He sank to his knees when he reached the little animal, wrapping his arms around his furry neck.
“Hey, buddy,” he said, crying now. Hell, if anyone saw him, they’d think he was crazy, but he loved this little guy.
Chou-Chou nuzzled his neck, bleating softly. This goat was another thing Beau didn’t want to leave behind. Who was going to take care of this little orphan when he was gone? Oh, hell.
“Thanks, buddy. For hanging out with me in the fields and helping me write the songs.” He scratched him under the ears and made himself turn away.
Chou-Chou’s cries followed him back to the car, and as he closed the door, he saw the goat running after them on the road as the driver punched the gas, sending dirt spraying in their wake.
The sky turned cloudy, and when he turned around, he couldn’t see Chou-Chou anymore. Fear shot through him. He couldn’t see the house. Or Caitlyn.
It was all gone as if it had never been.
He opened his right palm and unrolled the first paper from Ibrahim. The earth trembled as he read it:
When someone lies to me or makes me a party to their lies, I…
He crushed the paper against his heart, afraid to hear the answer, knowing it would change his course.
But a guitar sounded in his mind, and then he heard his own voice singing: Damn her.
Damn her, those roots were false.
Have to find the truth of me.
Have to seek out the best in me.
Have to plant new roots.
Beau had to find his new equilibrium, or the road ahead would always be cloudy.
Chapter 27
After Beau left, Caitlyn pulled her clothes out of the chifforobe and hefted them over to Michaela’s room. She couldn’t stand smelling Beau everywhere.
Her sister wouldn’t mind changing rooms. She’d been through a breakup.
She finally went online. Just like Michaela had warned her, the media had hazed her good. The papers were saying she’d enticed Beau Masters to be the spokesperson for her new perfume, and when the relationship had soured, he’d gotten his revenge by signing to do Ryan Williams’ new cologne. They both looked like fools—even worse, petty lovers—but the impact would be worse for her because she was the woman. Who was going to buy her perfume? See her vision?
Everything seemed hopeless. Ibrahim deserved to know what was going on, and so she summoned the will to walk to the guesthouse.
The perfumer was sitting at his desk, listening to the poignant sounds of a Verdi opera, smelling strips on what looked to be a windmill. It made her think of Don Quixote and Beau and Chou-Chou sitting in the fields.
“Am I kidding myself, thinking we can still succeed without Beau as our spokesman?” she asked, sitting in the chair across from him. “People are saying some nasty things.”
“Are we not still making one of the best perfumes out there?” he asked, inhaling as he spun the wheel. “One that will help every woman remember that she’s important? One that will help her embrace her true essence and power?”
Those words—her words—had her hanging her head. “I don’t feel any of that right now, and I hate it.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a violet handkerchief, which only reminded her of the one Beau had given her. She’d stuffed it into the back of the chifforobe before she’d changed rooms.
“Best cry it out,” he said. “The songs say love hurts, but I’ve found it’s the loss of it that hurts the most.”
She sniffed, the tears starting to fall. “I thought he loved me.”
“Ah, chérie,” Ibrahim said softy, gazing at her warmly from across his glass table. “He does, but he made some choices that have made you question it. The truth is, his actions don’t diminish you in any way.”
“You haven’t seen what the media is saying,” she said, sniffing.
“The media does not know the full story, do they? You still matter to Beau even though he chose to know his real father over doing this perfume.”
She sat up straighter. “He told you that?”
“Before he left. He visited the poor baby goat too; I saw from my window. He seemed very upset to say goodbye to it. Not too many men could feel such love for a mere goat, but every life matters, does it not?”
Hearing he’d been torn up over leaving Chou-Chou warmed her heart. But rage wasn’t far behind. “He didn’t stop his mother or tell me his record label was against him doing this perfume. I don’t want to be with someone like that. I mean, my brother Quinn can be tough—you’ll meet him at dinner—but he flew here to help me combat the mess with the media. That’s loyalty.”
“So it’s loyalty that tells you that you matter,” Ibrahim said, spinning the wheel again. “Interesting.”
“I know my family has my back when the chips are down. Why wouldn’t I want the same in the man I love? I deserve that.”
“Because sometimes a man’s choice isn’t about loyalty to this or that person,” he said. “It’s about love. Have you thought any more about the question I first asked you about what the foundation of a good woman is?”
She nodded. “If I had to answer today, I’d say it was the people who love her.”
“I see,” Ibrahim said, spinning the wheel. “You know, I think I have our perfume here. I was wondering just before you arrived, but now I’m sure of it. All along, my instincts told me to model it after you, and they are never wrong. You have been on the quest every woman must undertake—to embrace her true self, to know she matters. Come, inhale gently.”
“You modeled it after me?” She pointed to herself in shock.
“But of course, chérie,” he said, crooking his finger.
Standing, she bent over as he spun the wheel. She caught something woodsy and earthy, followed by an unmistakable hint of lavender, which made her think of her father. Then a top note burst through. “Is that grapefruit?”
“Very good. What did the lavender make you think of?”
“My dad,” she said, inhaling again. “It’s calming.”
He made a soft sound. “You know there are many studies on the soothing effects of lavender, but the one I have found the most interesting and telling postulates that lavender helps build trust. In people and in oneself. If I were a betting man, I’d bet it’s why you bought this lavender farm and why you want it to be in your perfume. It’s also why you’ve been learning to trust yourself more. It’s why Beau could find himself in the fields.”
And why they’d chosen to make love for the first time with the lavender all around them, she thought, her heart tearing. She’d trusted him then. With everything she was.
“What else do you smell?” he asked. “Close your eyes.”
She inhaled again, feeling the slight breeze from the wheel spinning. “I don’t know what the note is, but it smells like Flynn.”
“Who else?” he asked, his voice low.
She focused on the tip of her nose and inhaled softly. The earthy note made her think of Beau. Tears filled her eyes. “You know who.”
“The name, please,” he said, quietly yet firmly.
“Beau.”
“What else?”
“There’s something spicy with the grapefruit. I can’t place it.”
“Open your eyes and sit down.” He folded his hands on the glass table. “Take a breath.”
She inhaled raggedly until her chest eased. “This is intense, Ibrahim.”
“It’s because we’re coming to the end of our journey with this perfume. When we first spoke, I understood how important family was to you. When I met Flynn, I smelled vetiver and clove at the base. He’s the brother you’re closest to, the one who always makes you feel you matter because you’re important to him. Like a best friend, in fact.”
Her mouth parted. “Yes, I guess you’re right.”
“Then there’s the lavender symbol
izing the kindness your father showed you by buying those soaps for you when you were a young woman, just beginning to discover yourself. It wasn’t often he thought of you and you alone. That act told you that you mattered to him too, which is why it soothes you. We all want our parents to love and cherish us. They give us life, so to speak.”
Daddy issues. “God, I’m a cliché.”
“If that’s true, we all are, Caitlyn.” He spun the wheel again. “I added the notes I gave to Beau, ones he couldn’t make out at the time. But they’re like him. Earthy. Sandalwood. Cedar. And one housed in mystery, the facets of himself he was discovering while he stayed here: best described by myrrh, I thought. He made you feel you mattered too, like a lifetime partner should. Much like my wife made me feel every day we spent together.”
She wasn’t following, her heart tripping in her chest now. “But that’s them. That’s not me! And that’s the whole problem, isn’t it? I want to matter for me and me alone. I don’t want to…need anyone to tell me I count.”
He spun the wheel again. “Which is why the top notes are you. You see, the base and middle ones sometimes hold us up—like a foundation to a building, if you like. But the top note is all our own. Grapefruit for your zest for life, with a touch of cinnamon because you speak your mind and from your heart. Like every woman wishes for herself. Truth, Caitlyn. It’s the most prized of fragrances.”
Tears ran down her face, and she swiped at them. “Ibrahim, I had no idea when I hired you that making a perfume was going to be anything like this.”
He laughed. “The perfume industry writ large has mostly lost its soul these past few decades, creating mass, synthetic scents that have no soul. It’s no wonder so many people eschew perfume these days, saying it’s unpleasant to the nose. What they are smelling are fakes, as crass as a false Monet. You hired me because you wanted a true perfume, one that meant something. Why wouldn’t it be a process of great discovery? There’s nothing more evocative, personal, or powerful than scent.”
Hadn’t she just moved out of the room she’d shared with Beau for that very reason? “Let me smell our perfume again.”
“Spin the wheel,” he said. “It’s your perfume, Caitlyn, one that will, I believe, resonate with every woman around the world.”
She spun it with flourish, closing her eyes, savoring every note. “I love it, Ibrahim.” This time her tears were for a different reason. “We women smell pretty great.”
“Yes, you do,” he said, smiling. “So again, at this final stage of our perfume journey, I ask you: what is the foundation of a great woman?”
She felt her heart open as if it had wings. “Herself.”
“Brava” He clapped softly, the operatic music in the background a perfect accompaniment to his applause.
“We do need another spokesperson, however,” she said.
“You’ll find the right person,” he said, reaching back and handing her a curved purple glass perfume bottle with a carved crystal top. “Here’s the perfume. Now that we have the ingredients, I’ll draw up the quantities we’ll need to purchase.”
“I’ll talk to our bottle designer and finalize things,” she said, enthusiasm cutting through her gloom. “Thank you, Ibrahim.”
“You’re most welcome,” he said, “but really it’s you who I need to thank. Without someone or something to inspire the master perfumer, there would be no perfume, and who would want to live in that scentless world? Not me.”
“Come meet my brother tonight at dinner,” she said. “You’ll have to tell me what you think Quinn wears.”
He turned and perused his glass cabinets before facing her again. “From what little you’ve told me, I’d say he’d be guided toward leather notes. And bergamot. But we’ll see.”
She stood, the perfume bottle tucked carefully in her hand. “I can’t wait.”
“Caitlyn, if I may…”
He ran his slender, well-manicured hands down his suit. It struck her that this was the first time he’d ever seemed at a loss for words.
“I hesitate to say this, but I feel I’d be doing you and myself a disservice if I did not. While I’ve been here in the lavender, I’ve been asking myself questions much like the ones I’ve asked you and Beau. The one that stood out bears mention, for all of us. What is the single thing worth living for?”
The question startled her for a moment. Had he thought about not going on after his wife died?
“My answer remains unchanged. It’s love. I had a great love, one I thought I could never replace. Here, I’ve come to see that my life is about discovering new people and passions. Our lives are but vehicles to find and feel more love. However things go in the next couple weeks and months of your own loss, I hope you’ll remember that.”
She nodded. “I will, Ibrahim, and if I forget, I’ll have you roll up a piece of paper and hand it to me as a reminder.”
“Count on it,” he said, reaching for the violet handkerchief she’d left on the table. He dabbed it with a vial on the table and handed it to her. “Your scent, chérie. Wear it proudly.”
She left with her head held high, her perfume bottle in one hand and the scented handkerchief in the other. The harvest was in. The perfume was done.
Time to bring it home like the businesswoman she was.
She searched the farmhouse for Quinn and found him with her father and Flynn at the kitchen table. They were all drinking wine, serious frowns on their faces.
“Flynn! When’d you get here?”
He was out of his chair and had his arms wrapped around her tightly. “I hopped on a flight as soon as I saw the headlines. I only wish I’d gotten here before that jerk left. I would have laid him flat. I filled Trev and J.T. in, and they feel the same way. No one messes with our sister.”
She caught Quinn’s eyes, and he nodded. “That goes for Con and me too.”
“Can a father punch someone out and still be a good role model?” A smile rose briefly on his face.
“That’s sweet of you guys,” she said, “but unnecessary. Where’s everyone else?”
“Arthur and Clara are in their room, and Michaela is sitting with Chou-Chou.” Flynn made a face. “She’s a softie. That darn goat was crying something fierce.”
Missing Beau, she imagined, just like she was.
Her dad rose and put his arms around her. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
Nerves danced in her belly. “Sure, Dad.”
They walked into the hallway, and he tapped his thigh for a moment. Was he going to chew her out for bad business practices? Best head this off.
“I know I screwed up,” she said.
He waved his hand. “Why would you think you needed to say that to me?” Something flashed in his eyes. “Damn, your mother was right. You kids are afraid of me.”
She blinked. “Mom said that?”
“She’s said it since Connor was born, but I wouldn’t hear it. I guess I didn’t want to believe it. I love you kids with everything I am.”
Crap. She was going to cry again. “We know that, Dad.”
“Do you? Caitlyn, when you texted to thank me for bringing you those lavender soaps from Provence when you were sixteen, I honestly didn’t know what you were talking about. But your mother did, God love her. She’s been the true north of my compass from the moment I met her. She told me it was the only gift I’d ever given you.”
He started to pace while she stood there speechless. Her mother had said that?
“I told her that was crazy. I’d given you a lot of things. Of course, I couldn’t name any, and she laughed at me like she does whenever I don’t want to admit she’s onto something.”
Go, Mom, she thought.
“It took me a few days to admit she was right. I worked a lot when you were kids, and I let her do most of the parenting. That included the gift giving. She did all that and more. I came here because…I wanted you to know I have a lot more to give you than a set of lavender soaps bought over fifteen years ago. You mom h
as been saying I need to spend more time with you kids—that I need to get to know the men and women you’ve become. That’s why she didn’t make this trip with me. When she’s around…you gravitate to her. Makes sense, of course, but I need to forge a new path.”
She bit her lip as he extended his hands to her before dropping them.
“I very much want to get to know you,” he said, looking more unsure than she’d ever seen him. This wasn’t the Shawn Merriam who ruled Merriam Enterprises for decades. This was a scared father, one made more approachable by his vulnerability.
“If you’ll let me,” he said, his mouth lifting briefly to form a smile. “If I’m not too late.”
“Oh, Daddy,” she said, crying softly to herself as she stepped forward and hugged him.
He cupped her head like he used to when she was little and curled her face into his neck. “Thank you, Caity girl.”
“Everything all right in here— Whoa!” Flynn’s face froze in place.
Caitlyn laughed, squeezing her father one last time and then stepping over to her brother. Flynn had come to save her, and that earned him his own hug.
“You’ll have to tell me about that chat later,” he whispered in her ear.
“You’re not getting away so easily, son,” her dad said when she and Flynn parted. “Come here, Flynn.”
His eyes widened as their dad grabbed him and man-hugged him. “What the hell?” Flynn mouthed to her.
All she could do was smile in return.
“I hate to break up…whatever this is…” Quinn appeared in the hallway, shaking his head as if they were all crazy. He sidestepped when their father released Flynn and reached for him. “Leave us with a little dignity, please.”
“Hugging is going to undo your dignity?” their dad asked.
“Yes, very much.” Turning to Caitlyn, Quinn said, “I know things have been trying today, but we need to create a new plan of action.”
“I know,” she said, nodding. “But do you want to smell my perfume first? Ibrahim finished it today.” She’d find Michaela in a second. Her sister couldn’t hear an animal’s cries without trying to comfort them.