“Tulips of the South.”
“I’ve seen pictures of tulips in one of our books at school. Don’t they grow best in Holland?”
“Yes. They like the cool weather there.”
“And amaryllises like it hot, I guess.”
Linda almost laughed aloud. Riley had no idea of the double meaning of her words. “Yes, they like it hot, like we do.”
They’d almost finished planting the bulbs when Riley said, “Granny, when you were little, you had lots of friends, right?”
So that’s why Riley had sounded upset on the phone earlier.
“Yes.”
“Did any of them like somebody else better than they did you?”
Ah. That had to be the crux of the problem. Linda sighed. “They sure did. They always seemed to have a favorite, but they’d change their minds a lot. I felt great when I had a best friend, but then we’d have a fight or something and wouldn’t like each other best anymore.”
“Oh. Did that happen to you and Gramps?” This seemed to be a new realization for Riley.
“Yes. It’s just the same. In some ways people get smarter as they get older, but in others they feel and act like they did when they were kids.”
“Well, I don’t like it when somebody likes another girl better than they like me.” Riley stuck out her lower lip.
Linda imitated her expression and patted her arm. “Neither do I, Riley. Neither do I.” Thank the Goddess for children, she thought.
*
On her way back from taking Riley home, Linda swung by Bree’s house on a whim. Her little Mustang was sitting in the driveway so Linda pulled up behind it.
“Linda. What a surprise. Come on in. I was just burning some bacon. Want to eat a BLT with me?”
Linda sniffed the tangy air. “Sure. If you’ll let me fry my own meat.” She grinned.
“Gladly. How am I going to get this horrible odor out of the house?”
“Just use a little Febreze.”
“What’s that?”
“Honestly, Bree. Haven’t you ever been in a kitchen? How have you made it on your own all these years?” Linda tossed the black strips of what used to be bacon into a garbage bag and washed out the frying pan. “Febreze is an air freshener. Just buy some at Kroger.”
Bree stuck out her lower lip in a way that reminded Linda of Riley. “It’s not my fault. Mother never let me in the kitchen because she wanted some peace and quiet when she got home from teaching school.” Then Bree grinned and transformed into the woman Linda was beginning to treasure. “Besides, I was usually outside or involved in some project. So as an adult I’ve always stuck to the very basics or ate out or hired someone to come in and cook for me once a week.”
Linda laid four strips of bacon side by side in the skillet and clicked on the gas, then lowered the blue flames to a medium height. “Poor thing. I bet Riley can cook better than you.” She smiled. “But I can teach you the basics, if you want.” She set the skillet on the fire.
“Would you? I always wanted to learn. Cooking seems as mysterious to me as overhauling the engine of my Mustang. What do I do first?”
Linda looked at the copper-bottom pans and skillets hanging from the nearby pot rack. “Timing’s important when you prepare a meal, and making a BLT’s a good place to start.” She pointed to the refrigerator. “Get a tomato and a head of lettuce out of the refrigerator.” Bree didn’t move, and Linda pretended to be impatient. “You do have some, don’t you?”
“I can shop for groceries, if that’s what you’re asking. I even have fresh bread,” Bree said as she opened the refrigerator door.
“And grab the mustard and mayonnaise.” Linda was beginning to enjoy her unfamiliar role as Bree’s instructor.
“All I have is mustard. Okay?”
“It’ll have to do. And don’t forget pickles, preferably dill chips.”
“Got it.” Bree lined the items up on the white tile counter. “Now what?”
“You better turn the bacon over so it’ll brown evenly on both sides.”
Bree held the long black plastic fork awkwardly but managed to do as Linda directed. “Ouch. Some hot grease popped on my hand.”
“What a sissy.” Linda laughed. “Who’d ever suspect? And I used to think you could do everything you tried perfectly.”
Bree pretended to be offended. “I can do almost everything perfectly. But why should I learn to cook when I can get someone to do it for me?” She put her hand over her mouth. “I sound like Ann, don’t I?”
Linda pulled a paring knife from a knife block and waved it at her. “A little. Now, turn down the fire so the grease won’t pop so much, and then I’ll check some more of your skills.” She handed Bree the knife. “Let me see you peel this tomato.”
“Peel it?” Bree looked like she’d asked her to perform brain surgery. “I never peel tomatoes.”
“Did you read the label?” Linda shook her head.
“No. Why should I?”
“To find out where the fresh produce you buy was grown.”
Bree squinted at the small print on the tomato’s white label. “It says product of Mexico.”
“That’s why you should peel it.” Linda put her hands on her hips. “Haven’t you ever heard of salmonella?”
“Of course I have.”
“And you still feel safe eating an unpeeled tomato from Mexico?” Linda raised an eyebrow.
“Well, now that you mention it…Hey, you sound like my mother.”
“And that’s a good thing. Now peel the little sucker.” Linda was really getting into the role but warned herself not to overdo it.
Bree hacked her way around the vegetable, wasting at least a third of it. “There.” She held the massacred tomato up like it was a trophy. “How’s that?”
“It’ll have to do.” Linda handed her a paper plate from the stack she’d found in the pantry. “Okay, slice it onto this plate and then go turn the bacon again.”
“What a slave driver,” Bree muttered as she stood at the stove. “No wonder I never learned to cook. It’s more complicated than I realized.” But she grinned. “What next?”
Linda held out a head of iceberg. “You need to core and wash this lettuce.”
“Oh, that’s easy.” Bree immediately grabbed a knife and began to plunge it into the bottom of the head.
“Whoa. That’ll work, but let me show you a better, faster way.”
“Jeez.” Bree laid her knife down. “I’m going into information overload.”
Linda laughed. “I promise it’s not complicated. Just hold the lettuce in two hands, the core side on the bottom.”
“Like this?” Bree gazed at the iceberg as if it were an alien artifact.
“That’s perfect. Now, slam it down onto the counter as hard as you can.”
“Slam it? Really? Won’t that hurt it?”
“I’ve never had one complain. Come on. You can do it.”
“All right, but I just hope I’m not arrested for lettuce abuse.”
Linda laughed. “I know a good lawyer in Tyler who can get you off if you are.”
Bree took a deep breath. “Here goes.” She winced as the head of lettuce hit the counter, then turned the head over and stared at it. “Now what?”
“Just pull the core out, wash the lettuce, and it’s ready for our BLT.”
“Hey, it worked.” Bree acted like she’d just won a tricky hand of bridge.
“Yeah. Here’s a couple of pieces of paper towel for you to put it on after you wash it.”
Bree looked around the kitchen after she finished that chore. “Now what?”
“Bacon?”
“Oh, right.” She rushed over to the stove and turned the pieces, brown and beginning to crisp. “Does it look almost done to you?” she asked as she peered into the skillet.
“Almost. I don’t like mine very crunchy. What about you?”
“I like mine almost burned, but not as much as my first try.”
“Then
take mine out and drain it on some paper towel. By then, yours should be about right.”
Bree toasted her wheat bread while Linda spread mustard on hers straight from the loaf. Then they loaded their two pieces with the ingredients they’d assembled and carried them to the square kitchen table.
Bree tossed several bags of chips onto the table. “What would you like to drink?”
“Milk, please.”
“Two glasses of milk coming up. I can handle this part of a meal. Sarah always made me set the table and get the drinks.”
“Great job.” Linda bit into her sandwich. “Hmm. Delicious. I didn’t have any idea of what to eat tonight. I’m glad I stopped by.”
Bree sat down and tried her sandwich. “Yeah. Best BLT ever. I’ll remember your lessons. How did you learn to cook?”
Linda chomped on a large Frito. “I always helped Mom in the kitchen, from about Riley’s age. Maybe even younger. We thought of it as our special time together, by ourselves.”
“Didn’t Ann help?”
Linda shrugged. “Oh, she always had a date or did something else. She never liked to cook or clean.”
“But you did?”
“I really did. Mom and I were close, I suppose because she was my real mom and just the stepmother of Ann and our brothers. She must have felt sorry for Ann, like I did, because her real mom had died, so she let her do what she wanted to.”
Bree suddenly looked up from her sandwich and wiped a spot of mustard from the side of her mouth. “Hey, I guess you heard Ann decided not to get married and came home from Hawaii instead.”
Linda took a drink of milk. “Yeah. She called me today. In fact, that’s the main reason I stopped by. She acted weird, said I wasn’t your friend. She also told me to stay away from you.”
“Yeah. I kinda got that message too.” Bree ate several potato chips, then stuck her hand back into the bag.
“Do you still want to go to tea with me tomorrow?”
Bree drained her glass of milk. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything, or anyone. Ann’s a grown woman, and she needs to act like one, at least most of the time.”
Linda wasn’t sure why, but Bree’s words thrilled her so much she almost hugged her.
Chapter Seventeen
“You’re here bright and early.” Bree’s mother put down her paintbrush and limped the short distance to her recliner.
“Yes. I have plans this afternoon, but I wanted to hear the end of your story.”
“Don’t be in such a rush.” Sarah pointed to a straight-backed chair. “Sit down and try to make yourself at home. I need to ask someone to bring me a softer chair. I chose that one to discourage visitors, but I’m beginning to enjoy having company.”
Bree fit herself into the chair like a cat curling up in a small box. “My rear end would really appreciate it.”
“Good. Now tell me about your plans for today.”
“I thought I’d mentioned them, but Linda’s taking me to Tyler to visit Tea at Troy’s. It’s a support and discussion group for nonconformists.”
“Ah. A bunch of subversives. Sounds intriguing.”
Bree had never considered her mother a nonconformist, but her love for painting and her summer in Paris had probably broadened her horizons more than Bree realized.
“Yes, it does. One of the hosts, Tom, used to teach English at several universities.” Her mother nodded. “And the other one, Troy, got kicked out of the air force under Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, back in the ’90s. The first person that ever happened to.”
“Wish I could go hear his story.”
“Me too, but the doctor says you shouldn’t walk any more than you have to. When you get better, maybe we can take you.”
“I’ll hold you to that. By we, I assume you mean you and Linda?”
“Yes, we’ve become friends. Last night she dropped by and taught me to make a decent BLT.”
“I’m impressed. I always thought of her as talented, but I didn’t realize she could work magic.” She grinned. “No offense, darling, but your skills in the kitchen aren’t top-notch.”
Bree winced. “Don’t I know it.”
“Don’t worry about it. I never did.”
“You were a great cook.”
“But I didn’t worry about it. I just enjoyed myself.”
“That’s good to know, but why the big delay with your story?” Bree studied her. “That’s suspicious.”
Sarah blew out a long breath. “And deliberate. I can’t decide if I should tell you the rest.”
“You can’t let me down now. You can trust me.”
“But Linda’s mother trusted me, and I don’t want to betray her.”
“Okay.” Bree nodded. “I respect that. At least tell me about whatever you’re painting now.”
Sarah glanced over at her canvas. “It’s based on a strange dream I had last night, about you trying on a long, Renaissance-looking dress and holding a homemade lute with twine strings. You sat in a movie theater, and suddenly a woman several seats away from you began to play an instrument similar to yours. Her beautiful song enchanted and awed us, especially when she hopped on a broomstick and zoomed up into the sky. I’m trying to paint her playing her lute.”
“Wow. That’s…different. It should be beautiful.”
“I hope so. And now I think I’ll finish my story.”
“You’ll never stop amazing me.” Bree settled down even more, happy, yet puzzled over the meaning of her mother’s dream.
“Several months after Patrick left, Linda’s mother, Helen, stopped by to visit. She seemed frantic. She told me she was pregnant.”
“When did you say that happened?”
“I didn’t, but it was September,” Sarah said.
“And Linda was born in early 1950. When did Helen get married?”
“She and Mr. White told everyone they ran away to Oklahoma in June of ’49, but…”
“But they didn’t?”
“No. It was actually later that very September. Being pregnant without being married back then would ruin a girl’s life.”
Bree nodded. “And it still could in the ’60s. Remember how girls had to drop out of school, and most of us nice girls wouldn’t associate with them?”
“That’s exactly right.”
Bree suddenly screwed up her face, thinking about Linda’s mother. “Don’t tell me. Patrick was the father and already married, so Helen was stuck.”
“Yes. She confided in Mr. White, a close friend of the family who was recently widowed, and he offered to save her reputation. Oh, did I mention that Helen was gorgeous, and he had three young children who needed a mother?”
“That figures.” Bree shook her head.
“He was also fifteen years older than her, and she was underage. Even her own mother told her not to do it.”
“And Helen didn’t love him. She loved Patrick. Right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“So why did she discuss it with you?”
“She wanted to talk to someone besides her mother and knew I could keep a secret.” Sarah shrugged. “She and Mr. White planned to get married the next day, and she had second thoughts.”
“What did you advise her?”
“To make the best of a bad situation.” Sarah rubbed her hands up and down her thighs as if trying to warm them. “I’ve regretted those words a lot. I wish I’d encouraged her to go somewhere far away and have her baby and try to find someone she loved.”
Bree sighed. What a heavy burden to live with. “I’m sure you did the best you could. And she made her decision, not you.”
“I realize that.” Sarah blew out a deep breath. “But after that, I tried not to get involved in people’s personal lives.”
“I can understand, but finding out about Patrick’s going to turn Linda’s world upside down. She’s considered Mr. White her father all these years.”
“Exactly. Should we tell her the truth and upset her life completely, or should we just keep it to ou
rselves?”
Bree rested her head on one hand. “That’s a hard decision. But I’m glad you told me. Maybe it’ll help me understand what’s going on between Linda and Ann.”
*
Bree and Linda chatted as they drove to Tyler, and Bree kept stealing glances at her. For sixty-five years Linda had lived with a lie about her father and her half sister. Did Ann know the truth? How much difference would it make to either her or to Linda if they found out?
She’d poke around a little before she said anything she might regret.
“How’s Ann? Heard from her today?”
Linda seemed uneasy. “Why do you ask? Has she called you?”
“Nope. Not a peep. Just thought you two might talk to each other every day.” How unsubtle could you get? Knowing about Linda’s father somehow changed everything.
Linda sighed as she gazed at the road unwinding in front of them, the sun high in the sky. In contrast to the brown pastures and green pines, the rest of the trees had begun to blaze with red, orange, and yellow. “No. I’ve wished we were closer, but most of the time it’s like we didn’t even grow up in the same house, with the same parents. You’d think we’d have more in common.”
She obviously didn’t have a clue about what had really happened. “What’s it like to have a sister? Do you recommend it?”
“Honestly, Mom seemed more like a sister than Ann did. And Ann seemed more like a mother.”
“What do you mean?” Neither Linda nor Ann had ever said this before.
Linda gazed into the distance, like she was seeing far beyond the road, into the past. “I can’t put my finger on it, but Mom and I were always like best friends.” She glanced at Bree.
“That’s nice. Best friends how?”
Linda smiled, evidently recalling fond memories. “I’ve already told you how we had the kitchen all to ourselves because Ann wasn’t interested in cooking.”
“Yes. Several times. You’ve convinced me you learned plenty about the subject.” Bree laughed. “And can act like a drill sergeant in the kitchen.”
“Wait till I get you out in the yard.” Linda shook a warning finger. “You’ll think of last night as a picnic.”
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