The Enchanted Garden Cafe

by Abigail Drake

  “What the hell is going on?” she asked, her voice an urgent whisper. “Are you cheating on the Ken doll?”

  Kate called Scott “the Ken doll” and me “psycho Barbie.” She thought it was hilarious. I didn’t. Mom had called Scott “Ken” twice by accident.

  “We ran into each other and went to the market together. And we had lunch.” I covered my mouth. “Oh my. You’re right.”

  Kate nodded. “Sounds like a date to me.”

  I blinked. “I didn’t mean for it to be . . .”

  Mom came out of the kitchen and took the basket from my arm. She leaned down to get a whiff of the herbs. “This dill is divine, darling. And look at the chives.”

  “Did you hear about Yonky’s? It’s closing.”

  Mom nodded sadly. “I did. That poor man. And what a loss to our little community.”

  “I’ll miss his lemon drops,” said Kate. “And the way he always let children pick out something, even if they didn’t have enough money.”

  “He’s a kind man, and his goodness will be rewarded. Karma will take care of him, and karma will take care of those soulless people at Anderson too. We can’t focus on it, though. We need to keep moving ahead.” She glanced at Kate. “Did you tell her?”

  Kate shook her head. I had a moment of panic, wondering what else might have broken, but Mom grinned.

  “We sold almost all of the fertility charms. We only have half a dozen left. And a bunch of girls came in from one of the sororities at the university and bought all of our stardust necklaces.”

  “They did?” The stardust necklaces were small, corked glass bottles filled with glitter that we hung on black leather cords. We’d put them together for next to nothing. It had been Kate’s idea. “Way to go, Kate,” I said.

  “It’s marvelous news. We can get the air conditioner fixed now. Marty said he’d stop by later today.”

  Marty, a retired mechanic and the sweetest old man in the world, did all the handyman jobs for us we couldn’t do ourselves. We kept him busy. A house as old as ours existed in a constant state of disrepair.

  Mom went back into the kitchen. I heard her talking with Matthew and Chad. Kate gave me a squinty-eyed look. “What are you going to do about Matthew?”

  I gave her a squinty-eyed look right back. “What are you going to do about Chad?”

  We stood there, in the middle of a squinty-eyed standoff, when Matthew stuck his head through the door.

  “Whoopie pie anyone?”

  Chapter Eight

  Breakfast in bed is the kindest sort of luxury.

  ~Aunt Francesca~

  “Good morning, sunshine.”

  Mom carried a tray laden with breakfast foods and put it on the table next to my bed. She had on faded jeans and a delicate white blouse made of tiny ribbons and lace. I’d found the blouse for her at a thrift shop, and it made her look even more dainty and fragile than usual.

  Rubbing my eyes, I looked at the clock. I’d slept in, something that never happened. “Oh no.”

  “Oh yes.” She sat down on the side of my bed and brushed the hair out of my eyes. “You’ve been working too hard. You needed to rest, but I feel like there’s more to it than that. What’s going on, Fiona?”

  “Nothing.”

  I covered my face with my pillow. I’d been up half the night wondering if lunch with Matthew equaled a date, worrying about what might happen if Scott found out, and remembering the way Matthew’s eyes crinkled in the corners when he laughed and the way he kept seeking an excuse to touch me throughout the day. A random brush of an elbow. His hand on my lower back as we walked along the crowded sidewalk. His arm hung loosely around my shoulders. It was almost as if he couldn’t stop himself, like he craved contact with my skin. I kind of craved contact with his skin, too, especially when I recalled how he’d yanked up his shirt to show me his tattoo-free abdomen. It’s no wonder I couldn’t sleep.

  Mom pulled the pillow away. I could tell she was trying not to laugh at the expression on my face. “I know you well enough to know that it isn’t ‘nothing,’ but I’ll wait until you are ready to talk to me about it. You should know, however, I’ve been there myself, darling.”

  I picked up a croissant and nibbled on it. “What do you mean?”

  As the sunlight hit her face, I realized, once again, that she was a remarkably beautiful woman. A bit of gray now threaded its way through her hair, and some fine lines etched themselves around her eyes, but otherwise she didn’t look old enough to be my mom.

  She wiped her hands on her apron, a faraway look in her eyes. “You probably don’t know this, but when I was in college, I got engaged.”

  I blinked in surprise. “To be married?”

  She nodded. “His name was William, and my parents adored him, but he was all wrong for me. It took me a while to understand that, but as soon as I did, I broke it off.”

  “How did you know?” I asked softly. I put some jam on my knife and slathered it on my croissant, wondering where this revelation had come and why she’d brought it up now. “What made you realize he wasn’t the one for you?”

  She gave me a sad, little smile. “Because I met the right man. The only man for me. Your father.”

  I almost choked. “My father?”

  “Yes. We Campbell women seem to be doomed to the same fate.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She shrugged. “It happened to Aunt Francesca. You know that story, right?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  She blinked, surprised. “Oh. I thought I’d told you. She was engaged to a steel baron, you see, one of the wealthiest men in Pittsburgh. He begged her to set a date, but she hesitated. She wanted to live her own life a bit before settling down, and he was a bit of an adventurer as well. I guess he understood, and he was willing to wait for her.”

  “What happened?”

  “Well, he decided to go on an Arctic expedition. He wanted to marry Aunt Francesca before he left, but she brushed him off again. She told him they had plenty of time, but she had a secret. While he was away, she organized a huge wedding, the biggest people around here had ever seen. She reserved a church, planned out an amazing menu, and bought an elegant dress, made with Irish lace so delicate it looked like part of a spider’s web. She made the cake herself, of course. She was a baker, after all. And on the day he was supposed to return, everything was finally ready. But sadly, he never came.”

  “Oh no,” I said. “He met someone else?”

  She shook her head. “He got sick while on the expedition and died. They weren’t able to bring him back home. Aunt Francesca didn’t even have a body to bury.”

  I put a hand over my heart, thinking about the photo of Aunt Francesca and her sad, lonely eyes. “What did she do?”

  She cupped my face in her hands. “She threw a party in his memory and invited everyone she knew. She wore her lovely gown made of Irish lace, cried over him at the church she’d reserved for their wedding, and then set out with one intention. To celebrate his life and the love they shared in the best way she knew how. By not letting another moment go to waste.”

  “That’s terrible,” I said, reaching for a tissue. “Heartbreaking. She never met anyone else?”

  “No,” said my mom with a faraway look in her eyes. “Campbell women never do, it seems. It was like that for me with your father. All it took was one kiss for me to know it was very different from what I felt for my fiancé. Something magical. And the sex . . .”

  I held up a hand to stop her. “Please, don’t go there.”

  She laughed. “Okay, my little Puritan. The truth of the matter is that kisses can be enjoyable with just about anyone, but when you kiss the right person, it goes so far beyond that. It’s powerful and raw, and the desire can be overwhelming and almost frightening, but it’s also something sacred. Predestined. At least that’s how it was with your father.”

  “But he left you.” The words came out of my mouth before I could stop them, and I gasped. “I�
��m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  She patted my hand. “Don’t apologize for speaking the truth. He may have been the one for me, but I may not have been the one for him. I guess we’ll never know.”

  I slid to the side of the bed to sit next to her, putting my head on her shoulder. “Who was he?” I didn’t want to make her sad but needed to know and had never found the courage to ask before.

  “His name was Simon, and I met him at an ashram in Rishikesh.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Of course you did.”

  “We had two perfect months together, and then it was over, and he was gone.”

  “What happened?”

  She rested her head on top of mine. “I figured out I was pregnant.”

  I swallowed hard. “He left you because of me?”

  She turned to me in surprise. “Oh no. Simon didn’t know about you. He also didn’t know I was engaged. I had to go home and tell William I couldn’t marry him. It was the right thing to do, but I asked Simon to meet me in a café before I left. I wanted to tell him the truth.”

  “What did he say?”

  “It was kind of the same thing that happened to Aunt Francesca, in a way. He didn’t show up. I waited for hours, but he never came.” She played with one of the ribbons on her blouse. “He must have gone back to Belgium. He always hated goodbyes.”

  “He was Belgian?”

  “Yes.” She tweaked my nose. “I guess that’s why you like chocolate so much. And waffles.”

  “You never saw him again?” I swallowed hard. “It’s so unfair.”

  Mom sighed. “I hadn’t been honest with him. I pretended to be into free love, but truth be told, I wanted Simon all for myself, and losing him almost broke my heart.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I went back home and told William. He wanted to get married and pretend you were his, but I couldn’t do it. William was a good, decent person, but Simon was my soul mate.”

  I shook my head. “He deserted you. Soul mates, if they exist at all, wouldn’t desert you.” I brushed away the hot, bitter tears that ran down my face.

  “It wasn’t like that, darling. Loving Simon was the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me, until you came along, of course.”

  I rested my head on her shoulder, inhaling her sweet, warm scent. She patted my back, comforting me, even though I should have been the one comforting her.

  “Did you ever try to find him?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “I didn’t even know his last name. It seemed so unimportant at the time. He didn’t know mine either. He called me ‘Claire de Lune.’ I made that my real name after my parents kicked me out. It made me feel stronger somehow. Less alone.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom.” I’d thought I’d known her so well, but really I didn’t know her at all.

  She pinned her clear-blue eyes on me. “I’m not. I experienced real, true love, Fiona, and eventually I had you. I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

  “Aren’t you even curious about him?”

  A brief shadow flickered across her face, like a cloud covering the sun on a bright summer day, and then it was gone. “I only hope he’s happy. But it was because of karma we met the first time, and it’s up to karma if we meet again.”

  I wanted to yell but controlled myself. “Or you could try to look him up.”

  “Without knowing his last name? And what would I do if I found him?”

  “Contact him. Ask him why he didn’t show up. Tell him about me.”

  My voice shook, and she pulled me into her arms. “I didn’t want to upset you, but I felt it was the right time to share this with you. I don’t regret anything, but the thing I am most proud of is the fact I didn’t marry William. I considered it, mind you. I was scared, and it would have been the easy way out. William would have taken care of me. I could have continued living the pampered, spoiled life I’d grown accustomed to, but I couldn’t do it.”

  “What happened to William?”

  She smiled. “He married a friend of mine from high school. They have three children and are very happy together. I get a card from them every Christmas.”

  “Has there been anyone else you loved since Simon?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve tried, but it was like being given grape juice after you’d had fine wine.” She shuddered. “No point.”

  “Aren’t you lonely?”

  She squeezed my hand. “I have you, my friends, and this wonderful shop. Sometimes, I even feel like darling Aunt Francesca is still here, floating around somewhere, looking after me. How could I be lonely?”

  She went downstairs, and I stayed in bed a long time, staring at the ceiling. I heard her chatting with Kate and knew they were getting things ready for the lunch crowd. Normally, I’d rush downstairs to help them, but today I needed time to think.

  This morning’s conversation had been an obvious attempt to get me to reevaluate my relationship with Scott. I had to admit I felt a strange sort of attraction to Matthew, but it was meaningless. My mom didn’t understand Scott was the right person for me. Matthew was merely a bump in the road. A blip on the radar. A burr under my saddle. A snake in my boot.

  And I didn’t believe in the curse of the Campbell women. And who said a person was only destined to love once in a lifetime? The whole idea was ridiculous.

  I got up to change. An excessive use of unrelated cowboy references meant I was overthinking things.

  My phone rang. “Tarnation,” I muttered. It was Scott.

  “I was just thinking about you,” I said as I hugged the phone against my ear. I had been thinking about him. Sort of. “I, uh, miss you.”

  “Aw. Sweet. Work is crazy busy. I only have a minute, but I wanted to hear your voice. I miss you too.”

  “Should I bring anything to your parents’ house tomorrow?”

  Scott chuckled. “No. They just want to meet you. I talk about you all the time, you know.”

  “You do?”

  “Of course I do. I told you not to worry. They’ll love you. I’ve got to go. Harrison is calling. Did your mom decide what to do yet?”

  I frowned. “About what?”

  He let out an exasperated sigh. “About the café. She’s going to sell, isn’t she? I could help her crunch numbers, if you’d like.”

  “She isn’t selling the café, Scott.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line. For a second, I thought we’d been disconnected. “But she’s considering it, right?”

  “No. We’ve been over this before.” I wanted to know why he asked, but he seemed distracted.

  “Harrison keeps calling. He’s been driving me nuts lately. Sorry, hon. I’d better take this.”

  He hung up, and I felt a little let down by the whole conversation. I’d never even had a chance to tell him about my father, and once again we’d gotten into a pointless discussion about the café.

  Nothing was on the schedule for today, which was a relief. I visited Moses and helped Mom and Kate with lunch, but my mind kept going back to what my mom and I talked about that morning. I finally had a name for my father and knew something about him. I’d always thought it had been a one-night stand, only because mom said they didn’t have much time together. I’d assumed that meant hours, not weeks.

  I went out to spend some time in the garden. It always made me feel more at peace. Mom followed, carrying a tray with two steaming cups of coffee. We sat quietly side by side, both lost in thought.

  “What did he look like?” I asked.

  She took a sip of coffee, a little smile playing on her lips. “He had dark hair and green eyes, and he was very tall. You look like me, but I see bits of him in you. You have his dimple in your cheek and his smile.”

  I touched my cheek, like trying to feel a connection to my father through my dimple. Ridiculous. “Thanks for telling me, Mom.”

  “It was too painful to talk about it before, but now I sensed . . .” Her eyes scanned the garden, and
she let out a wistful sigh. “It was the right time. Don’t make a mistake that will mess up your whole life, Fiona. Don’t be like Aunt Francesca. Don’t be like me.”

  I stared straight ahead, watching as the fountain bubbled and gurgled up its pseudomagical water. “I won’t.”

  Chapter Nine

  You are what you eat, so don’t be

  cheap, fast, fake, or easy.

  ~Aunt Francesca~

  Getting ready to meet Scott’s parents made me a nervous wreck. I couldn’t decide what to wear, and discarded clothes soon piled up high on my bed. I finally chose a navy-blue vintage Dior dress I’d found at Second Hand Sally’s down the street. Sally, a former NFL star who traded in her cleats for pumps a long time ago, had excellent taste in clothing, and she always put the best things aside for me as soon as they came in.

  “I saw this and thought, ‘Simple, classy, elegant. It screams Fiona.’ I knew you’d love it,” she said. I got up on my tiptoes to kiss her cheek.

  “You’re the best,” I said, patting her face gently. “And you need to shave. You’re all pinchy.”

  Sally batted her false eyelashes at me. She had on Chanel and was a six-foot-five-inch vision in pale pink. “My new beau likes me scruffy. It’s so ridiculous what we do for love.”

  I understood exactly what she meant. My hands shook as I slipped on the beautiful dress. It fit like a glove and instantly made me feel better. A pair of navy-blue pumps and pearl earrings that had belonged to Aunt Francesca completed the outfit. I pulled my hair into a tight chignon, put on a touch of mascara and lipstick, and grabbed a navy-and-cream striped clutch I’d also found at Sally’s. We were still in the midst of a rare summer cold snap, so I borrowed a pashmina scarf from Mom. I attributed the cold snap entirely to the fact we’d just paid hundreds of dollars to fix our air conditioner.

  When I walked downstairs, Kate and Mom clapped, and Mom handed me a bouquet of flowers she’d put together for Scott’s mom. “You look beautiful, darling,” she said.

  I smiled shyly. “Sally strikes again.”

  Kate nodded. “Sally is a genius. I got my boa there.”