by Dianne Miley
****
Brett downshifted as he turned onto Market Street. The Corvette growled into gear and slowed to a crawl. Wayne wouldn’t be happy he’d been gone forty minutes.
Large maple trees shaded the weathered sign for Mitchell’s Garage. A tattered pink slip of paper, taped to the office door, lifted in the breeze. Wayne didn’t appreciate the mayor’s reminder to tackle peeling paint and unearth baby maples from the sagging gutters. He’d put planned maintenance on hold just for spite.
Humiliating as the run-down building was, his hard-nosed reputation embarrassed Brett more. The townspeople begrudgingly brought their cars to Wayne because no one in Bloomfield County could beat his mechanical expertise and low prices. Besides, he owned the only garage in town.
Another reason Brett needed to leave Crystal Falls. Besides opportunity, freedom, and a little adventure, he wanted to hold his head high for a change, instead of being seen as son of the local son-of-a-gun.
But for now, he’d make peace. And forget Laura James. He’d never meant to hurt Sally, and couldn’t live with that kind of guilt again. As close as Chief Hunter and the James were, he couldn’t afford another rash of speeding tickets either.
Brett parked beneath a tree to shield his fading black paint from further sun damage. He walked past his father’s pickup. Gravel dust covered the tailgate and a few stray stones lay on the bumper.
Regret chafed him. Deep down, beneath the hurt and anger, he loved his father. Why did Dad have to make it so hard? He brushed away the stones and trudged toward the open garage door.
Pushing fifty, his father hefted a radiator under the hood of Mr. Calvin’s ‘52 pickup. Those old radiators weighed a ton.
Brett moved quickly toward him. Wayne shot that same old scowl, punctuated with a puff of smoke from the cigarette butt between his lips. After a dose of the evil eye, his sturdy arms faltered and the radiator slipped in cock-eyed. With a huff, he wrangled it back out.
“Let me help.” Brett grabbed one end.
His stubborn father relented, grasping the other side as they eased the radiator into place.
“About time you showed up to help your old man.”
Brett patted his father’s back. “I needed a break, Dad.”
“After you finish that Toyota,” Wayne ordered, “give this thing a tune up. And I’m docking half an hour from your pay.” He pointed a thick, greasy finger under his son’s nose. “Don’t ever walk out on me like that again.”
Brett nodded and turned away with a smile. So much for making peace. Yet only an act of God could ruin his good mood.
“I work my fingers to the bone supporting your lazy butt,” his father ranted. “And I don’t appreciate—”
Blah, blah, blah. Same old spiel. Brett grinned as he walked toward the Toyota with the broken strut. Half an hour’s pay was a small price for meeting an angel with violet eyes.
****
Great loss settled over Laura as she wrapped teacups in newspaper. Her modest collection consisted of three cups and saucers and two teapots. She pulled the display shelf from her kitchen wall. She hated leaving this little kitchen of her own.
In the last two years, she’d prepared plenty of green tea, vegetables, and poached salmon, but no gravy, mashed potatoes, or chicken-fried steak. She’d lost ten pounds too.
Suddenly someone banged on the door. She opened it to find her father on the landing, nostrils flaring.
“What do you think you’re doing, young lady?”
“Packing,” she said with a wince.
“Your mother tells me you took a pay cut. So you’re giving up the apartment just like that?” He looked angrier than she’d seen him since she’d walked home from prom.
“We talked about this a month ago, Daddy.”
“And I told you I have savings. You don’t need to do this.”
“You need that money for your retirement.” What was left after hospital bills, she didn’t dare mention. “The best way to keep Rosebuds solvent is to cut expenses. I did.”
He took a calming breath. “You’re always welcome to live with us. But I know how you love this apartment.” Shame crossed his features. “If anyone takes a pay cut, it should be me.”
Her heart broke for him. “You’ve cut your pay to the bone. And reduced your health coverage.”
He hobbled to a chair and slumped into it. “I don’t know what else to do. We may have to cancel that insurance altogether.” His head hung over the table.
“You need health insurance now more than ever!”
The defeat in his eyes frightened her. She’d seen that look before, heard the argument she knew waged in his head.
“I’ll work for free if I have to,” she told him adamantly, “but I won’t let the shop go under.”
In frustration, he raked a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “We may not have a choice, Laura. Our older customers keep dying off, and the few young folks who haven’t moved away work and shop out of town. If the whole town dries up, how am I supposed to stay in business?”
“Crystal Falls is not drying up!”
“Laura, you know I love you. But honey, you’re in denial.” His blue eyes pleaded for understanding. “The old days are over, and you can’t change that. The younger generation lives in the city where there’s money and shops at fancy new strip malls.”
“I am the younger generation!” she shouted with indignation. “I don’t care about money, and I hate strip malls!”
Unwilling to argue, she pulled out two unpacked mugs and poured tea for them both. Steeped in tradition, she stirred in honey, just like her grandma always did.
“Look at me, Daddy,” she said with exasperation. “I’m not your typical yuppie twenty-something. Some people my age have bigger aspirations than shopping and sex.”
Her father allowed half a smile. “I can only hope so.”
“Daddy, Rosebuds is worth this sacrifice to me.”
“You shouldn’t have to do that.” Pain wrinkled his brow and his tanned face suddenly looked old and weathered. “Maybe I just need to sell the farm,” he mumbled under his breath.
“Stop it!” she demanded. Panic brought her voice to a whisper. “That would kill Grandma.” And Laura’s spirit too.
****
Sunday after church, Laura went upstairs to her childhood bedroom. Desperately missing the privacy of her apartment, she closed the door. She changed out of her church clothes and looked around for the hamper. Shoved in a corner, it held her bedding and linens.
The laundry chute was in the bathroom down the hall. She had to get dressed before she could even toss her clothes in the wash. She unpacked a wrinkled shirt and shorts. As she entered the hall, someone closed the bathroom door.
Heaving an impatient sigh, she stomped back to her room. Living on her own, she’d never closed doors, never waited to use the bathroom, never wiped specks of her father’s beard from the sink. This adjustment was harder than she’d expected. Every ounce of determination would be necessary to maintain her independence. And to save Rosebuds .
Mama had shuffled her sewing things to the guest room. Laura’s brother Chad moved her furniture in. Despite his knee surgery, Daddy had insisted on carrying boxes upstairs, cramming a home’s worth of stuff into a twelve-by-twelve room.
Her loveseat was piled with end tables and boxes and lamps. But she wouldn’t further impose by asking for storage space. She hated depending on her family, forcing them to accommodate her.
Downstairs in the kitchen, pots and pans clanged. She hurried down to help with dinner. Emily and Kate James, her mother and grandmother, stood at the stove. Emily dropped peeled potatoes into a boiling pot while Grandma stirred beef drippings. Eating like that, she’d end up short and squat like Grandma. She eyed her tall, slender mother with envy.
“Need some help?”
“Nope. Beef Wellington’s in the oven,” Emily answered.
“I’m not helpless you know,” Laura huffed. “Before I moved
back here, I cooked my own dinner every night.”
Her mother blinked, more shocked than hurt, as if her youngest child taking care of herself was a foreign and unwelcome idea. “I...I didn’t realize...”
“That’s the point.”
“Laura, I’m only trying to protect you. No one ever protected me, until I met your father, and I got into a lot of trouble because of that.”
“I’m sorry you grew up so rough, Mama. But I’m not fifteen, and I’m not you.” Frustrated, Laura stomped outside.
“Honey, where are you going?” her mother called.
Laura ground her teeth as she grabbed clippers from the potting bench by the back door. Taking a deep breath, she replied calmly, “I’ll cut a bouquet for the table.” Did her mother think she was capable of that? She grabbed the hose and filled a galvanized pail with water.
Worst of all, she feared losing her hard-won self-reliance. Living alone, she didn’t have to report where she was going or when she’d be back. She hated being the baby of the family. Her parents still treated her like some china doll. Maybe if she took care of them by saving Rosebuds , she could finally prove to her family that she didn’t need them to take care of her.
“Dinner will be ready in half an hour,” her mother called.
As if she didn’t know that. Like every Sunday, the whole family would arrive by 12:30.
Including Jake.
Lilacs For Laura
Lilacs For Laura
Chapter 3—Calm before the Storm
Laura dreaded facing Jake again. Although he was part of the family, his attendance at their weekly get-togethers had deviated from getting a free meal into another way of tormenting Rachel. Last Sunday, he’d greeted Laura with a hug too close and too long. She couldn’t bear the hurt on her sister’s face.
That wouldn’t happen again. Today she’d keep her distance. She wouldn’t let him ruin Rachel’s only day off.
They’d arrive any minute, but Jake would never step foot in the garden. He might get his shoes dirty. Two things he avoided like the plague: dirt and hard work.
Laura plodded into a bed of pink tulips in the side yard.
“Hey there!” A male voice called. Her brother Chad walked over from his house next door. “Never get tired of flowers, do you?” he teased. “You’re a James through and through.” He shook his head and stepped onto the porch.
Laura envied her brother’s confidence. He appeared so sure of himself. He loved the countryside, but he hadn’t inherited an interest in gardening. To a degree, she resented that the family heritage fell on her shoulders. For all her claimed independence, she felt taken for granted.
Chad was the courageous, independent one. He took after the men in their mother’s family who built houses, furniture, cars, and trucks. Those Appalachian men worked with their hands, built something out of nothing, and could fix anything.
Like Mr. Calvin’s old pickup. When her elderly neighbor left for Mitchell’s Garage, that contraption growled like an angry lion. The truck returned home purring like a kitten.
Laura felt like purring as she pictured dark-haired Brett Mitchell with his dazzling smile.
Here she was, out in the garden to avoid a man, yet thinking of another. Returning to the gazebo on Monday tempted her, but she didn’t dare. If Brett even showed up, he’d just break her heart later.
A child’s voice jarred her thoughts from Mr. Tall, Dark and Wholesome. “Aunt Laura!” The three-year-old pulled her hand from Rachel’s and bounded across the yard with dark curls bouncing.
“Hi Amelia! Hi Rachel!” Tall, lanky Rachel had blond hair, but Amelia had her father’s Latin features. Laura sighed with relief as Jake and blond-haired Jessica headed for the house.
Laura stepped out of the garden to give her niece a hug. Unlike her older sister, Amelia had Rachel’s sweet disposition. She hugged Laura’s legs with all her might. Then she spotted a butterfly and chased it into the front yard.
Jake stopped at the porch steps. Over his daughters’ heads, he winked straight at Laura.
Astounded, she sucked in a breath. Rachel approached with a funny look in her green eyes.
“What’s that all about?” Her expression gave no indication if she suspected hanky-panky or some silly secret.
“Don’t look at me, sis. That wink was for you,” Laura assured her quickly. She’d never lied to her sister before, but the truth would destroy her. Best friends forever, they’d been inseparable until Jake became a sharp wedge between them.
Guilt at the bald-faced lie tore at her soul.
“Sorry. You’re probably right.” Rachel seemed unconvinced. Well aware Jake couldn’t be trusted, at least she didn’t blame Laura. “I know you’re having a tough time.”
“You could say that,” Laura agreed, staring at the grass. Tough didn’t begin to explain her inner turmoil. Surely there were still good men out there. Was Brett Mitchell one of them? He’d been so kind. Maybe Myrtle started that rumor about how he’d dumped Sally.
“I’m really sorry about your apartment,” Rachel said. “I know how much it meant to you.”
“Uh...oh, yeah.” She’d nearly forgotten the apartment.
“It’s something else, isn’t it?” Rachel looked suspicious.
Before she asked about Jake, Laura had better explain, fast. “Actually, I ran into someone.” She plunked tulips into the bucket. “Do you remember Brett Mitchell?”
“Oh, yeah,” Rachel’s face slowly transformed into a sly grin. She let her tongue hang out and fanned herself.
“You’re terrible!” Laura shoved her shoulder. Gratefully, the suspicion in her sister’s eyes vanished.
“So Brett’s back in town, is he? Surprising, after the way his father treated him.”
“Maybe he’s trying to patch things up,” Laura speculated.
“Maybe.” Rachel grew thoughtful. “He’s very loyal. Never had a bad word to say about anybody. Even his dad.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, he’s too good. Remember our senior class pranks? Brett wouldn’t paint graffiti on the water tower or switch license plates in the faculty parking lot like the rest of us did.” She tucked hair behind her ear with a naughty smile.
“Hmmm...tell me more.” Laura remembered the look in Brett’s eyes when she’d told him her last name. Clearly, her sister’s antics hadn’t been forgotten.
“Well, let’s see.” Rachel tapped her chin with one finger and looked up at the sky. “Layla Gallagher—” She chuckled. “She practically threw herself at him, but he politely declined. Every other guy in school either took advantage of her or, if they didn’t want to catch anything, treated her like dog dirt.”
Plagued again by Layla Gallagher. At least Brett had turned her down. “So he doesn’t sleep around?”
“Hey, that was a long time ago.” Rachel held up a hand with a no-guarantees expression. “Are you seeing him?”
“Not exactly.” Laura plopped down on the grass and Rachel joined her. Then she shared her swan story.
Rachel laughed out loud. “Brett saved your butt, eh? Remember how he was dubbed “Best Butt” in the yearbook?” Her eyes danced. “So you’re meeting him tomorrow?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re kidding,” Rachel teased.
Amelia wandered within earshot. Both arms raised above her head as she wound a dandelion in her hair. Her yellow dress hiked up to reveal chubby thighs and Soap Dish Bob panties.
“Look, don’t say anything, okay?” Laura pleaded. “There’s no sense getting everyone wound up over nothing.”
“Oh, he’s definitely something,” Rachel whispered. “There’s something inherently good about him.”
“Well, I tried dating a good boy—a respectable college student—and you know how that turned out.”
“Not all men are like Oscar Meyer, that big weenie.”
“Alton Moyer,” Laura corrected with a smile. “But what about Sally Hunter?”
Rache
l waved a hand in dismissal. “Sally expected fancy restaurants and diamond jewelry. I don’t blame him.”
“So that’s why Brett couldn’t afford to date her?” But Sally Hunter wasn’t rich or spoiled. She was the police chief’s daughter. “Sally was after money? What’s wrong with people?”
“I don’t know, just rumors. But Brett’s different, I’m telling you. He has Christian morals.”
That would be a nice change. Would that mean no pressure for sex? No lies about how they’d be married one day so it was all right? No lavish gifts to riddle her with guilt? No bruises from being shoved against a car door? “No being dumped for a tramp with a trust fund?” she voiced aloud.
Rachel smiled with a nod toward her approaching daughter.
Christian morals. Laura had to think about that. She’d become emotionally dependent on Alton. She’d expected an engagement ring and gotten a slap in the face instead.
Adding insult to injury, Chad was right. Again. He’d told her at the beginning that Alton was a spoiled rich kid out for a good time. For too long, Laura convinced herself it wasn’t true.
But Chad read him, just like he’d read Ronny Tillman. She’d never forget the sting of his words: Ronny Tillman doesn’t want to go to a dance. All he wants is sex. Walking home from prom, carrying her broken heels as the asphalt grindings at the edge of the road dug into her bare feet, the sarcasm of Chad’s words had ticked her off most of all. Chad was the best judge of character she’d ever met. But she’d never admit it.
“Mommy,” Amelia called. “I’m hungry.”
“Surely Grandma has some scones.” Rachel winked. “English appetizers.” She stood and brushed grass from her baggy shorts. They’d fit her perfectly last summer.
Laura gathered her tulips and led the way to the back door. Jake would be in the front living room with Chad and her father.
The lure of her family’s safety net made her more determined than ever to be independent. She didn’t need her family to protect her. It was bad enough she lived with them.
Beyond the gingerbread screen, Emily and Kate James sat in the sunny kitchen drinking tea and discussing the Rose Festival.