by Nora Roberts
Sitting there, skin clammy, stomach rolling, she wished desperately for her pretty, familiar house, her tidy garden, the routine of her demanding but impersonal job in someone else's shop. Sitting there, she wished for the anonymity she'd cloaked herself in for four steady years.
She should never have come back. She should never have risked herself, her savings, her peace of mind. What had she been thinking?
Of Hope, she admitted, and slowly raised her head. She'd been thinking of Hope.
Foolish, reckless, she thought. Hope was dead and gone and there was nothing she could do to change it. Now everything she'd worked for was on the line. And to preserve it, she would have to face the stares and the whispers.
When she heard the knock on the shop door her first instinct was to crawl under the desk, curl up, and slap her hands over her ears. The fact that she nearly did, could actually see herself huddled there, pushed her to her feet.
She had thirty minutes until opening, thirty precious minutes to pull herself together. Whoever was out there would just have to go away.
She straightened her shoulders, ran a hand over her hair to smooth it, then started out to tell the early arrival to come back at ten.
She saw her grandmother's face on the other side of the glass and sprinted to the door. "Oh, Gran. Oh." She flung her arms around Iris and clung like a woman dangling off a cliff clings to a rock. "I'm so glad to see you. I didn't think you were coming. I'm so glad you're here."
"Not come? For your grand opening? Why, I couldn't wait to get here." Gently, she nudged Tory into the shop. "I drove Cecil crazy badgering him to push a little more speed out of his truck. That's Cecil behind the corn plant, and Boots behind the mountain of him."
Tory sniffled, then managed a laugh when Cecil poked his head around the long, bladelike leaves. "It's wonderful, and so are you. All of you. Let's put it ..” She turned around, calculating space and impact. "Right over there, at the end of the display along the wall. It's just what I needed."
"Doesn't look to me like you needed a thing," Iris commented. "Tory, this place looks spiffy as a June bride. All these lovely things." She hooked her arm around Tory's shoulder, studying the shop as Cecil grunted the ornamental tree into place. "You always had an eye."
"I just can't wait to buy something." Boots, polished as a new penny in her yellow sundress, clapped her hands like a girl. "I want to be your very first sale today, and I warned J.R. I was going to have his credit card smoking before I was done."
"I've got a fire extinguisher." Tory laughed and turned to hug her.
"And lots of breakables." Mindful of them, Cecil put his hands safely in his pockets. "Makes me feel clumsy."
"You break it, you bought it," Iris said with a wink. "All right, honey-pot, what can we do?"
"Just be here." Tory let out a long breath.
"There's nothing left, really. I'm as ready as I'm going to be."
"Nervous?"
"Terrified. I just need to put out the tea and cookies, keep my hands busy for the next little while. Then—" She turned as the door jangled.
"Delivery for you, Miz Bodeen." The young boy from the florist carried a gloss white box.
"Thank you." "My ma's coming over later today. Said she wanted to see how her arrangement looks look, but I expect she wants to see what you got.”
"I'll look forward to seeing her."
"Sure got a lot of stuff." He craned his neck to look around while Tory took dollar out of the cash drawer. "I expect people'll be coming in soon. Everybody talking about it."
"I hope so." He stuffed the bill Tory handed him in his pocket. "Thanks. See ya later."
Tory set the box on the counter and took off the lid. It was full of gerber daisies bright, cheerful colors and fat, sassy sunny flowers.
"Aren't they pretty!" Iris leaned over her shoulder for a better look. "And just exact right. Roses wouldn't go with your pottery and wood. Somebody knew enough to send you nice, friendly flowers." "Yes." She'd already opened the card. "Somebody always seems to know the right thing."
"Oooh, aren't they sweet, aren't they pretty." Boots fluttered her hands over the flowers. "Tory honey, you'll drive me crazy if you don't tell me who sent them."
Boots snatched the card Tory offered. " 'Good luck on your first day. Cade.' Awww."
Head cocked, Iris pursed her lips. "Would that be Kincade Lavelle?" "Yes. Yes, it would."
“Hmmm.”
"Don't hmmm. He's just being thoughtful."
"Man sends a woman flowers, the right flowers, he's got a woman on his mind. Right, Cecil?"
"Seems to me. Thoughtful's a plant. Flowers are romance." “Now there. See why I love this man?" Iris tugged on his shirt to bring him down for a kiss, and made Boots beam. Daisies and sunflowers are friendly," Tory corrected, but she had to struggle not to sigh over them. “Flowers are flowers," Boots said firmly.
“Man sends them, means he's thinking about a woman." And she dearly loved the notion of Cade Lavelle thinking about her niece. "Now, you go on and fuss with them, and I'll put your cookies out. Nothing I love more’n getting ready for a party."
“Would you mind? I've got one of the raku pots in the storeroom. It's perfect for these, and they'll add a nice splash to the counter."
"Go on, then." Iris waved her away. "You just point us in the direction things need to be done. We'll get this show on the road."
The first customers walked in at ten fifteen headed by Lissy. Tory decided to take back every unkind thought she'd ever had about the former prom queen as Lissy proceeded to escort her friends around the shop and coo over merchandise.
By eleven, she had fifteen customers browsing and debating and had already rung up four sales.
By lunchtime, she was too busy to be nervous. There were stares, and there were whispers. Her eye or ear caught more than one, but she coated steel over the prickles of discomfort and boxed up the choices of the curious.
"You used to be friends with the little Lavelle girl, didn't you?" Tory continued to wrap the iron candlesticks in brown paper. "Yes." "Terrible shame what happened to her." The woman, with her sharp eagle eyes fixed on Tory's face, leaned closer. "Hardly more than a baby. Was you who found her, wasn't it?"
"Her father found her. Would you like a box or a bag for these?"
"A box. They're for my sister's girl. Getting married next month. Seems you went to school with her. Kelly Anne Frisk."
"I don't remember many of the people I went to school with." Tory lied with a pleasant smile as she boxed the purchase. "It was so long ago. Would you like this gift-wrapped?"
"I'll do that, honey-pot. You've got other customers." Iris stepped in. "So, Kelly Anne's getting married. I believe I remember her quite well. That'd be Marsha's oldest girl, wouldn't it? My, where do the years go?"
"Kelly Anne had nightmares for a month after the Lavelle girl." The woman said it with a quiet satisfaction that rang in Tory's ears as she walked away.
Tory was tempted to slip into the back, just to breathe until her heart stopped pounding. Instead she turned to a tall brunette who was debating over the selections of serving bowls. "Can I help you with anything?"
"It's hard to make up your mind with so many nice choices. JoBeth Hardy—Kelly Anne's aunt there? She's a very disagreeable woman. And you can hardly say anything that. You always were a careful, composed creature. You won’t remember me.”
The brunette held out a hand. “ No, I'm sorry." "Well, I was considerably younger then and you weren't in my class. I taught, still teach, second grade at Progress Elemental Marietta Singleton."
"Oh, Miss Singleton. I do remember. I' sorry. It's nice to see you again."
"I've been looking forward to your opening. I've wondered about you off and on over the years. You might not have known was friendly with your mother once. Yes before you were born, of course. It's a old world."
"Yes, it is."
"Sometimes a little too close for comfort." She glanced toward the do
or as Faith walked in. The two of them locked eyes and that contact sparked before Marietta turned back to study the bowls again. "But it's all we have to live with. I think I'll take this one here, the blue on white's very charming. Why don't you put it behind the counter for me while I wander around little more?"
"I'd be happy to. I'll get you one out the stockroom." "Victoria." Marietta lowered her voice brushed her hand over the back of Tory’s.
“You were very brave to come back here. You always were very brave."
She moved away while Tory stood, puzzled and surprised by the wave of grief that had flowed off the woman and into the air.
She stepped into the stockroom to clear her mind and fetch the bowl, and was annoyed when Faith marched in behind her.
"What did that woman want?"
"I beg your pardon? This is employees only." "What did she want? Marietta." Coolly, Tory reached on the shelf for the bowl. "This. A number of people who come here want merchandise. That's why I call it a store."
"What did she say to you?"
"And why would that be your business?"
Faith hissed between her teeth and dug a pack of cigarettes out of her purse. "No smoking." "Damn it." She shoved them back in and began to pace. "That woman has no business flouncing around town." 'That woman seemed perfectly nice to me. And I don’t’ have time for you snits or your gossip.”
Though she couldn't deny her was peaked. "Now, unless you'd like help me replace stock, or refill the iced tea pitcher, I'll need you to step back out.”
“You wouldn't think she was so nice if she'd been fucking your daddy." With that one snarling outburst, Faith whirled for the door. Tory remembered Faith's temper very well and, anticipating her mood, Tory shifted the bowl and slapped a hand on the door before Faith could wrench it open.
"Don't you make a scene. Don't you bring your family troubles into my place You want to have a catfight, then you just go somewhere else."
"I won't make a scene." But she was vibrating. "I have no intention of giving the people around here anything to snicker about. And you just forget what I said. I shouldn't have said it. We've gone to considerable trouble to keep my father's association with that woman quiet. So if I any talk, I'll know you started it."
"Don't threaten me. The day you push me around is long past, so you pull in your claws around here nowadays I fight back."
She would have left it at that, was angry enough to , but Faith's lip trembled. One small quiver of emotion and Tory saw Hope. "Why don't you stay in here a minute? Go on, sit down until you’re calm again. You walk out looking like that and you won’t have to make a scene to set people talking. Besides, right now they’re having a fine time talking about me."
She opened the door, glanced over.
“No smoking," she repeated, and closed the door behind her.
Faith dropped into a chair and, glaring at the door, pulled her cigarettes out again. She stuffed them guiltily back into her purse when the door swung back open.
But instead of Tory, it was Boots who slipped into the room. Just because she was having a high time flitting around the store didn't mean she was blind to subtleties. She'd seen the hot rage on Faith's face, just as she saw the embarrassed misery on it now.
"We sure are hopping out there." She spoke cheerfully and waved a hand in front of her face. "I needed me a minute out of the crowd." And thought it the perfect opportunity to corner the woman who had Wade wrapped in knots.
"Why don't you sit down, Miss Boots?" Faith got quickly to her feet. "I was just going back out."
"Oh, keep me company a minute, won't you, honey? Don't you look pretty today, then you always do.”
“Thanks, I can say the same for you." Now that she was standing, Faith wished she had something to do with her hands.
“Ah, you must be very proud of Tory today.”
“I’ve always been proud of her. And how’s your mama doing?”
“She’s well.”
"Never known her to be otherwise for long. You be sure to give her my best now, won't you?" Smiling easily, Boots wandered over to the bakery box, selected a cookie. "Haven't seen Wade today, have you? I expect he'll be over."
"No, I haven't seen him today." Yet.
"Boy works so hard." She sighed, nibbled on the little frosted cookie. "I wish he'd settle down, find a woman who'd help make a home with him."
"Ah.
“Hmmm.”
"Oh, now no point in being flustered, sweetie." Boots kept nibbling, and her eyes were sharp enough to pin even a clever butterfly like Faith. "He's a grown man, and you're a beautiful woman. Why shouldn't you be attracted to each other? I know my boy has sex."
Well, Faith thought, there you have it. "But you'd prefer he didn't have it with me."
"Now, I don't believe I said any such thing." She selected another cookie, held it out to Faith. "We're private here, Faith, and both of us women. That means we know just how to draw a man into doing what we want him to, at least most of the time. You got a wild streak. I don't mind that. Could be I'd pictured some other kind of woman for my Wade, but he pictures you. I love him, so I want for him what he wants for himself. That appears to be you." "It's not like that between us, Mrs. Mooney."
The formal title amused Boots. If she wasn't mistaken, the use of it meant Faith was intimidated. "Isn't it? You keep coming back to him, don't you? Ever ask yourself why? No," she said, lifting a finger tipped with pearly pink polish. "Maybe you should just think about that. I want you to know I've got an affection for you, always have. That surprises you?"
Stupefied her. "Yes. I suppose."
"It shouldn't. You're a smart and clever young woman, and haven't had it as easy as some like to think. I like you fine, Faith. But if you hurt my Wade this time around, why, I'll just have to snap that lovely neck of yours like a twig, that's all."
"Well." Faith bit into the cookie, narrowed her eyes. "That clears everything up."
Suddenly Boots's face was soft again and her eyes mild and dreamy as always. She let out a light, trilling laugh, and to Faith's confusion wrapped her in a hug, kissed her cheek.
"I do like you." With her thumb, she wiped the imprint of her lipstick from Faith's cheek. "Now, you sit down and eat your cookie till you feel a little better. Since I'm feeling just fine, I believe I'll go out and buy something else. There's nothing like shopping, is there?" she added as she pranced out the door.
"Jesus." Speechless, Faith sat down. And ate her cookie.
Tory kept busy, but saw Faith go out ten minutes later. Just as she saw Cade come in, his aunt Rosie in tow, during the first lull of the afternoon.
It was impossible not to recognize Rosie Sikes LaRue Decater Smith. At sixty-four, the woman made just as much of a statement as she had at her debutante ball, when she'd shocked society by doing an exuberant barefoot jitterbug on the tennis court of the country club. She'd married Henry LaRue, of the Savannah LaRues, when she'd been seventeen, and lost him to Korea before their first anniversary.
She'd grieved for six months, then had opted to play the merry widow, flaunted a hot-blooded affair with a struggling artist, and suspected Communist, whom she'd married for the hell of it at twenty. She and the artist both espoused free love and held what many considered orgies at their estate on Jekyll Island.
She buried husband number two there after nineteen tumultuous years, when he tumbled from a third-story window after spending the evening with a bottle of Napoleon brandy and a twenty-three-year-old model. Some said foul play was involved, but nothing had been proved.
At the ripe age of fifty-eight, she married a longtime admirer, more out of pity than love. He died two years later, on their second anniversary, after being gored and partially devoured by a rogue lion during their second honeymoon trip to Africa.
Burying three husbands, and an untold number of lovers, hadn't dimmed Rosie's style. She wore a wig, at least Tory assumed it was a wig, of platinum blond, a flowing floor-length dress striped like a red-
and-white awning, and enough jewelry to topple a lesser woman.
Tory spotted the gleam of diamonds among the plastic beads.
"Toys!" she said in her rusty squeak of a voice and rubbed her hands together. "Stand back, boy. I'm in a shopping mood."
She made a beeline for the display of blown-glass paperweights and began tucking them into the crook of her arm.
Torn between amusement and alarm, Tory hurried over. "May I help you with those, Miss Rosie?"
"Need six of them. The prettiest six."
