by Dianne Miley
“Laura!” Emily’s eyes came alive. She turned on Laura, hands flung to her hips. “You have no idea what growing up with alcoholic parents is like. And thank God you don’t. As if being poor ain’t hard enough!” She lapsed into the Appalachian accent of her childhood. “At least where I growed up, everyone was poor. Jake had to live next to people who have everything and don’t even know it.” She looked down her nose a bit. “Besides being Puerto Rican in a town full of English snobs.”
Laura blinked. “Guess I hit a nerve.”
“Yes you did. To act like you’re better than him, to not even care, that gets my goat.”
Laura bristled. “So you’re taking Jake’s side?”
“No. But it’s tough to break a cycle you’re born into. I had to leave, but I was lucky enough to finish school. Jake had to quit to support himself. That’s a hard row to hoe.” She shook her head sadly. “You don’t know how much it means to have security. To know where your next meal is coming from. To know you’ll get a new pair of shoes when yours wear out. Jake and I didn’t have that.”
Laura understood security. Hers was in her faith, her family, the flower shop, and her hometown. “So I guess you and Jake have something in common,” she joked.
“If I hadn’t met your father—” Mama couldn’t finish.
“I know Rachel wanted to help Jake. But it isn’t working,” Laura said sadly.
Emily nodded. “So what did he do?”
Ducking her mother’s radar, Laura reached under the table for a box of teacups to make the Springtime Tea centerpieces.
“You’re not going to explain, are you?”
“What’s to explain? That fun-loving Jake is neither fun nor loving?” She carefully unwrapped a delicate teacup painted with pink roses.
“Yet he definitely has charm.” Her voice was knowing, suspicious. “Any woman breathing—” she stopped mid-sentence when the bell on the door jangled. With a huff, she headed for the counter.
Saved by the bell. Laura looked up and her relief turned to horror. Myrtle Winthrop marched in, nose in the air and chest puffed out. She had seen everything.
****
Brett kicked at the cobblestones in frustration as he stepped off the bridge. Laura James had a boyfriend.
Just as well, he supposed, since he’d be moving on soon anyway. But he’d never forget those eyes.
Thunder rumbled and the sky darkened suddenly. Bushes and trees waved as wind kicked up around the square. The smell of those purple flowers whisked around him.
He had to get away—away from Laura’s scent, away from his father, away from Crystal Falls.
He stepped into The Parkside Café and bought a newspaper. Having lost most of his appetite, he ordered only one sandwich, but added chips, a pickle, and a jumbo drink.
Rain pelted the windows as he sat down in a quiet corner. Tiffany ceiling lights cast colorful shapes across the darkened room as thunder rocked the building. It fit his mood.
After tearing the paper from his straw, he slid it through the lid of his cup. With a high-pitched squeal, even the straw seemed to cry out in agony. Something had to change.
Brett chewed roast beef and rye while perusing the want ads. He needed income and a temporary place to live while he waited for the right position to come along. The empty dorms at Riverside College rented cheap in the summer.
Taking a bite of pickle, he dripped juice onto the newspaper. The spot outlined a job he might never have considered.
Summer Job—Carpenter’s Helper. No experience necessary. Will train a hardworking individual. Chadwick Builders, Crystal Falls.
He was no carpenter, but he could use a hammer and nails.
He wolfed down his lunch, searching for something else. There!
Riverside College. Cleaning crew needed. No dorm rooms available, all booked for the summer.
No rooms. And cleaning was even worse than carpentry. He knew how college kids lived, and he swore he’d never wipe someone else’s puke off a toilet again.
He scanned the paper one last time. Nothing else in Riverside, nothing in Springfield. Chadwick Builders wasn’t the perfect answer, but what choice did he have? Hopefully before the end of summer he would find something better and move on.
As he left the café, rain began pouring down. He sprinted to his car and mustered the courage to tell his mother the news.
****
Laura hid behind the workroom wall. With shaking hands, she set down the fragile teacup before she dropped it. Humiliation, and a measure of fear, gripped her.
Myrtle Winthrop was the worst person on earth to have witnessed what happened with Jake. Confronting that awful woman would only make things worse.
“Hello, Emily,” Mrs. Winthrop squeaked.
“Good afternoon, Myrtle. How can I help you today?”
“I saw your daughter out on the sidewalk with Jake Santos just now.” The pitch of her voice rose even higher.
“Yes, he came by,” Emily tamped papers on the counter. “But that’s none of your affair, is it?”
Mama didn’t have an unfriendly bone in her body, but made every effort to dissuade gossip. Especially when it came to protecting her family.
Myrtle ignored the question. “Shameful how that young one...cohorts with her sister’s husband.” The nasty witch always got in her vicious slurs.
“Do you need some flowers?” Emily demanded.
“Some mother you are, letting this kind of thing go on right under your nose.”
No one insulted her mother! Anger and indignation fueled Laura as she stepped around the corner and eyed the old bat’s expression. Amid pinched, white cheeks, her sharp nose pointed toward the ceiling.
“How dare you!” Laura retaliated. “My mother has nothing to do with this and neither do you. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You weren’t even there.”
Myrtle gave a tiny snort, as lady-like as possible. “No, I wasn’t. I was in the dress shop where I belong, not off...gallivanting...” she swished a wrinkled hand through the air, “with someone else’s husband,” she concluded with a huff.
“Not that I need to explain myself to you,” Laura retorted. “But just for the record, I went to lunch. By myself. My brother-in-law stopped me as I was coming back.”
Under crinkly lids, pale gray eyes pierced Laura. “That was no family-friendly conversation, young lady. I saw him remove his shirt right there on the sidewalk!”
Emily sucked in a breath.
“His shirt got chocolate frosting on it.” Laura feigned innocence, hoping Myrtle hadn’t seen all.
“Yes! From an éclair you smashed all over him! I saw...” Myrtle blanched, blinked hard, and then blushed. “I wonder if your sister knows what’s going on.”
The barb stung, but Laura held firm. “I won’t even speculate what you assume is going on. Maybe things look a little differently through that picture window of yours.”
“You don’t fool me, missy.” Myrtle poked a needle-like finger at her. “You’d better be careful. This town has eyes.”
“It has a nose and mouth too. Big ones. And I’m lookin’ at ‘em.” Laura caught her mother’s warning look but didn’t regret a word.
“That’s enough.” Emily turned to Myrtle with extreme annoyance. “If you’re needing flowers, I’d be happy to help you. Otherwise—”
“You’d better watch this one, Emily.” The cold gray eyes narrowed. “She’s—”
“Don’t you have a dress shop to run?” Emily cut her off.
“She’s trouble,” Myrtle finished indignantly. “But I see I’m wasting my time here. Good day.” She turned on her heel, scraping the polished wooden floor as she gathered her prissy skirts and pranced out the door, nose higher than ever.
“I hope she trips on the step,” Laura muttered.
Emily gasped and her eyebrows shot up. Then she gave in to laughter. “So you smashed an éclair on Jake, did you?”
Laura wouldn’t get out of explaining now.
; Why couldn’t she just keep her mouth shut?
Lilacs For Laura
Lilacs For Laura
Chapter 5—Brood of Vipers
Dodging puddles, Brett ran for his car and ducked the downpour. He had nowhere to go but home. Lucky for him, his father wouldn’t be home from work for a few hours. Then dear old Dad would surely stop at the bar after a day like this. His mother didn’t deserve to deal with that man. Tonight, Brett would be there to take the flack.
He drove home, walked in the kitchen door, and tossed the newspaper to the table. Sauce simmered on the stove, smelling of tomato, sausage, and garlic. A pasta maker sat on the counter and freshly cut herbs soaked in a jar of water on the windowsill. Instrumental music played from the spare bedroom his mother used as an office. After tugging off his work boots, he padded across shiny green tile to get a pitcher of lemonade from the refrigerator.
Angelina Mitchell popped her head out of the office. “Brett! What are you doing home so early? Did you get hurt?”
“No, I’m not hurt.” He reached for a plastic glass.
“Your father wouldn’t let you come home early without good reason.” Hands on her hips and puzzlement in her dark eyes, she approached. “What’s going on?”
A half sigh-half laugh huffed from him as he poured lemonade. “Oh, he had good reason, Ma. He fired me.”
Her thick black hair nearly stood on end. “What is wrong with that man?” Tiny hands waved through the air. “He can’t fire his own son!” Under her breath she ranted Italian gibberish Brett couldn’t understand.
“Mama, it’s all right.” He pulled her close.
Her petite body relaxed in his embrace. “You deserve better than this,” she said against his chest.
“So do you. I’m glad I came home to spend time with you before I move who-knows-where.” He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “I hate leaving you here with Dad.”
“Don’t worry about me.” She pulled back, looking up into his eyes. “You have to move on with your life.”
He sighed. “I want to make peace, but Dad won’t cooperate.”
“He’s a stubborn old mule!” She stomped to the stove and vigorously stirred sauce.
“I looked through the classifieds.” He paused. “There’s a job right here in town.”
The wooden spoon in her hand stopped mid-stir as she faced him with wide eyes. “An engineering job?”
“No.” A deflated sigh escaped his lips. “Just a summer job. But it should get me through until I find something else.”
“Enough to pay your father’s rent?” she scoffed.
“I hope so. I can’t get tied into a lease right now. Besides, the food here is awesome.” He pecked her cheek.
“You men and food!” She batted at him. “What kind of job?”
“Carpentry. No experience necessary.”
“Good luck.” She rolled her eyes. “There are no carpenters in this family, only mechanics. But it’s a good thing to learn.” She tapped the spoon on the side of the pot.
After a long drink of lemonade, Brett sat at the table.
“Since you returned, the garage’s income has doubled.”
“Good.” He picked up the paper.
“Your father will never replace you. Everyone in town knows his temper.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you no matter where I go.”
“No.” She banged a lid onto the pot. “We’ve been over this before. I don’t want you sacrificing for me. You have your own life to build.” She wiped her hands on a green and white checked towel and tossed it down.
“But if something happens to Dad—”
“Don’t say it.” She shook her head and covered her ears. “I’m really angry with your father right now, but you know how much I love him. Underneath all that...that grizzly bear temper...you know there’s a teddy bear inside, just wanting to be loved and accepted.”
“Yes, I know. But Mama—” His protective look set her off.
“I can take care of myself,” she insisted. “I’ll sell the garage and that will be enough. This little house is paid for. I can take a bookkeeping job, you know.” With a proud look, she stamped down the hall and disappeared into her office.
With a smile, Brett opened the paper to the pickle juice stain and dialed the phone number.
After five rings, a gruff voice answered. “Hello.”
“Is this Chadwick Builders?”
“Yes.” The tone changed dramatically. “How can I help you?”
“I’m calling about the summer job.”
“Ah. Are you a carpenter?”
“Well, no. The ad says ‘no experience necessary.’”
“Hmm. Yeah. I was just hoping.” A scratchy sound came through, like he was rubbing his chin. “How soon are you available?”
“Right now.”
The man laughed. “Well, I can’t use ya right now. It’s pouring down rain, in case you hadn’t noticed. Just got in and I’m drippin’ all over the floor.”
That explained the gruffness, Brett hoped.
“Can you come for an interview today?”
“Sure.” Brett scribbled down the address. As he hung up, Angelina returned to the kitchen.
“How’d it go?” she asked.
“We’re meeting in half an hour.”
As he prepared to leave, Wayne pulled in the driveway.
“This could get ugly. I’d better not leave.”
“You’re going,” Angelina said sternly. “I’ve handled him for twenty-eight years. What do you think I did while you were at college?”
He shook his head. “But this is my fault.”
“Brett.” She kissed his forehead. “I love you for wanting to protect me. But it’s better if you’re not here right now.”
Dang it, she was right. His presence would only spur Dad’s anger. “Okay. I see your point.”
She straightened his collar. “Now go before you’re late.”
He opened the door and Wayne faced him on the step. His right hand was bandaged in gauze. Probably slammed his fist into the cement block wall.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Wayne growled.
“To a job interview,” Brett replied matter-of-factly. His father’s jaw dropped as Brett walked out the door.
****
The large colonial on Rose Hill Drive had dark empty windows and a patchy new lawn that swallowed up the rain. As Brett turned onto the newly cut driveway, a light snapped on in the front window. He checked his hair in the rearview mirror, but the wind would wreak havoc anyway. Running through the rain was out of the question. He’d twist his ankle on the huge rocks that made up the driveway. Finally reaching the wrap-around porch, he touched the lighted doorbell.
Apprehension washed over him. He was no carpenter. But at least he’d earn his keep until he found something better. At construction sites he’d avoid Laura James. No sense pining for a woman he couldn’t have. The door burst open. A big, muscular guy greeted him with a strong handshake. His dark, wet hair was combed back neatly and he smelled of soap.
“Hi there. You’re here for the job?”
“Yes. I’m Brett Mitchell.”
“Chad James.” He pumped Brett’s extended hand. “Come in.”
James! Was there a brother? Dark hair, but similar features. And the same deep blue eyes. It all made sense—greenhouses behind the farmhouse next door, roses on the hillside. His stomach flip-flopped as he stepped onto a square of blue ceramic tile by the door surrounded by plywood floors.
“Don’t worry about your shoes. Builder’s house, you know. I don’t have the carpet in yet.” Even Chad’s laugh resembled Laura’s. He motioned to a sparsely furnished great room. “Have a seat.”
A massive stone fireplace covered one wall, but the others were primer white. A navy sofa faced a wide screen TV. Newspapers and various mugs on a table near the worn recliner marked this man’s territory. Brett sat on the sofa.
“Cup of tea?”
Chad moved toward the kitchen which boasted an abundance of oak cabinets but lacked a woman’s touch. “Sorry, I don’t have coffee. English parents, both sides.”
“Tea’s fine. Typical Crystal Falls family, huh? I’m a half-breed. English father, Italian mother.”
Chad smiled and set two mugs on the blue countertop. Builders usually stuck with neutrals for an easy resell. It looked like Chad was here for the long haul. And no wonder. The French doors beyond the empty dining area framed a breathtaking view of undoubtedly family land.
In the stormy darkness of mid-afternoon, rain glistened on bright green grass leading to a meadow blooming with wildflowers. Misty fog rose above a wooded area that fell off toward the banks of Crystal Creek. Next door, a split rail fence encircled a pasture, pond, and big red barn. Horses poked their heads out in the rain.
At the barn door, the most beautiful view of all appeared in a yellow slicker. Wind whipped off the hood and blond hair fluttered around Laura’s face.
Chad caught him looking. “My sister rushed home from work to get the horses out of the storm.” He shook his head. “She’s crazy about those animals. I already had them in the barn, but she insisted on staying until the lightning let up. Scared or not, they aren’t too happy being cooped up inside.” With a warm, robust laugh, he said, “And I’m with them. Sorry I was cranky on the phone.”
“No problem.” Brett waved it off.
“Sugar?”
Yeah, she was sweet as sugar. Brett shook off the notion as Chad held a mug of tea. “Just a little.”
“Rough day,” Chad explained as he carried in steaming mugs. “I can really use some help.” He set one mug on the coffee table amid rolled up blueprints.
“Thank you.” Brett slowly sipped hot liquid. “Good tea.”
“Mama would be proud.” Chad made a serious face. “But I don’t do teacups.”
Brett chuckled, noticing the southern term ‘mama’, so different than his Italian version with an accent at the end. Somebody in the James family had southern roots.
“So, you wanna be a carpenter, eh?” Chad set down his mug and leaned back in the recliner.
“Well, I need a summer job.” Boy, was that evasive.