All around them tents and tarps had been erected, sheltering displays of fresh produce, organic meats, and colorful blooms from the sun. Shoppers filed into the available spaces, eagerly chatting with vendors and stuffing their reusable bags with produce.
With a shopping list in hand, Ginny directed Julia to follow her as she aimed for the butcher first. Olive, armed with a yellow wicker basket and wearing a bohemian wide-brimmed straw hat, blandly said goodbye to run her own errands. She made a sharp turn toward the flower stalls and disappeared. Ginny’s heart caught at the sight of her daughter walking away, a single braid running down the back of her tank top, a long, flowing skirt swishing breezily around her tanned legs. Olive had so much beauty to share, if only she’d knock that giant chip off her shoulder. She worried for her daughter’s future.
She worried for them both.
Catching herself still lost in thought, she directed her focus back to the task at hand. The three of them had agreed to meet back at the car in an hour, which wouldn’t give her much time to gather all the ingredients needed for the party expected the next night. Plenty needed to be done in anticipation of such a large group.
But at the moment, it seemed her sister was struck with awe.
“Wow, this is cool,” Julia murmured, her eyes wide. “Do you really buy all your food here?” Her gaze remained fixed on the row of tents as if mesmerized.
Ginny pushed her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose and grinned.
“Yeah. I try to source as many local ingredients as possible,” she said, slowing her stride as Julia rubbernecked around. A little flutter filled her chest. She recognized that look in Julia’s eyes. It was easy to recall that same feeling of pure glee she’d had the day she’d first discovered the market. Seeing it through someone else’s eyes now brought up that familiar sensation.
Julia started walking faster now, drawn to the sweet aroma in the air. Ginny could tell her sister was taking it all in with a renewed sense of wonder. It made her chuckle when Julia broke off only to duck into a booth to press her nose into a display of homemade lavender soaps.
“Did you smell these?” she asked, holding a bar of soap in the air before bringing it back to her nose.
“Nice, huh?” Ginny came to her side.
“Amazing.”
“Okay, well, we kind of have to keep going. You can come back when we’re done.” Ginny had to laugh at how her thirty-eight-year-old citified sister had suddenly turned into a wide-eyed child. It was sweet, and Ginny was glad to see some of the gloom Julia carried from New York slip away for a while. She knew, however, a quiet distress bubbled just under the surface. Her sister had more troubles than she was letting on.
Julia was hiding out. Plus, she wasn’t talking much about that oversize engagement ring on her finger. Ginny had asked earlier but had been promptly shut down. Did Julia not trust her enough to share her relationship problems? Something was obviously going on. Ginny wasn’t naive, but for now she was content not to probe and merely let Julia enjoy the day. They both deserved a little happy distraction.
All of their problems would still be there tomorrow.
Over the next hour, the pair hopped from vendor to vendor, purchasing cuts of grass-fed beef, sampling organic fruits and artisan cheeses, and asking lots of questions. It was fun to introduce Julia to the flavors of specialty items, like locally made honey infused with rosemary and rich, buttery Arizona pecans. Julia was a willing participant, trying anything Ginny pointed out.
A flash of nostalgia shot through Ginny as she thought of the old days, when Julia would sneak through the back door of her restaurant, eager to taste new flavors. That was also when Julia wasn’t so stick thin, as she was now, and was careless about the calories Ginny’s food might contain. It was back in the days when the sisters trusted one another fully. Before the fighting and hurt feelings. Spending time in the market with Julia that Sunday provided a small slice of that old camaraderie, and for that, Ginny was grateful.
When their hour of shopping was up, Ginny came away inspired. She was excited to get back to her kitchen and start experimenting with her newly purchased ingredients. There was a moment, when she’d pulled out her nearly maxed-out credit card, when she fretted over the price. The previous week’s dinners had provided the smallest of cushions to her finances, but that wouldn’t last for long.
Knowing she now had two helpers, however, friction with Olive aside, soothed her nerves. However momentarily.
Julia had announced she would stay until midweek. She claimed it was in order to spend time with her niece, but the way her sister avoided eye contact when she said this made Ginny suspect that Julia was actually avoiding whatever awaited her back home. Surely GBN required her at some point. Didn’t her sister have a show to host? And what about her personal life? There was something looming behind Julia’s eyes that made her seem fragile. It was best not to push.
Ginny mused on how the two of them could pick up where they left off yet strategically avoid the bigger, more volatile topics that simmered just below the surface. Ginny believed they’d have to broach those topics eventually. Certain things still needed to be said.
At present, she was just happy for the additional help with Mesquite. Driving back home, with her daughter and her sister together in one car, she felt a warmth spread over her. She wanted to hold on to this feeling. It was the closest thing to family togetherness she’d experienced in a long while.
The question was, how long would it last?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
JULIA
The incessant buzzing on her bedside table woke Julia with a start. Squinting, she cast about in the dark and attempted to focus. Three a.m. She groaned. Brutal. Especially when she’d not been able to silence the noise in her head until nearly one. And now someone was trying to reach her at an ungodly hour. She immediately thought of James.
Propping herself on her elbows, she reached for the glowing device. A New York number popped up. Peter. Julia frowned. She should have known that her boss would call first thing on Monday morning.
With a heavy hand, she grabbed the phone and hit “Answer.” “Hello?” A slumber-induced hoarseness coated her voice.
“Julia?” Peter’s voice boomed. He sounded too alert, as if he’d already had too many cups of that blackened espresso he was always drinking.
She cleared her throat and sat up against a lump of pillows. “Hi, Peter.”
“What’s the matter with you? Are you sick?” His tone was not one of concern but rather had the clipped irritation Julia was all too familiar with. Peter did not like to be inconvenienced. Especially by his staff.
She sprang up. “No, I’m fine.” She wanted to explain that while it might have been 5:00 a.m. and the start of his Monday in New York, she was two hours behind and nowhere near a normal caffeine-drinking hour. But no doubt the madness of Monday had hit GBN and Peter wanted to discuss strategy.
“Well, we need to hash this Rossetti thing out. Thankfully we’ve been able to keep his legal team at bay with a retraction.”
You don’t have to tell me, she thought, bringing her fingers to pinch the bridge of her nose. She’d seen the updates Peter was talking about one too many times.
Her boss didn’t wait for a response. “We’ve promised we’re looking into crafting a meaningful explanation and apology. But the mayor is still livid. You can’t imagine all the fires I’ve had to put out over the weekend because of that interview. Thankfully, Miller is soldiering on, carrying the show with a new stand-in for now.”
A stand-in.
Julia’s heart sank. She’d already been replaced. And this time it was more than just one of her colleagues filling her chair. “Who is doing the show with Miller today?” Her eyes squeezed shut, steeling herself against the blow that was coming.
“A gal named Hannah O’Brian. Brought her up from one of the local stations. Today’s her first day on air, but I believe she’ll fill your spot nicely.”
“Fi
ll my spot?” Was he serious? Panic fired on all cylinders. Had she officially been replaced? So soon?
Peter coughed and then readjusted his tone. “Well, at least temporarily. Just until we can sort this thing out. You know we can’t put you back on the air yet. The network is balancing on the edge of possible litigation. That’s the most important thing right now, protecting the network. Rossetti’s people need to think you’re being reprimanded for what you did. That’s why I’m calling. The network has decided to formally suspend you for a period of four weeks.”
Four weeks. That was an eternity in the media world. Enough time for her to become obsolete. She was already taking a big risk by being away for days. But this was different. An uncomfortable lump wedged in her throat. It was suddenly difficult to breathe. Gripping the phone, she willed herself to calm down. “I’m being suspended?”
“Yes. What you did calls for consequences, Julia.”
“Peter,” Julia began, shoring up her nerve. “You do realize all I did was report something I got from a source. This whole ‘fake news’ angle the AP ran last week—or maybe that was Rossetti’s PR team dishing it out—wasn’t entirely true. Granted, I didn’t run the bit past you for approval, but I didn’t just make it up.”
“That may be so, but the fact remains that you didn’t do your due diligence on this one, Julia. There was no fact-checking or cross-referencing. You went rogue. When it comes down to it, you were in the wrong. And because of it, there must be repercussions. Rossetti could sue for defamation of character or slander, or worse. You’ve got to fall on your sword for this one.”
“I see.” A stifling weight settled around Julia’s shoulders. Peter was simply not going to save her.
“What I can’t seem to understand,” Peter continued, his impatience waning a bit, “is why you did it. It’s rather out of character for you to have such an outburst on air, especially one of this magnitude. You’ve always been content to leave the theatrics to Miller. Is there more to this whole thing than you’re telling me?”
Yes, I was afraid of losing my job, of the ratings slip and the ridiculous pressure from the execs. I panicked and went for the Hail Mary, all without thinking it through. Julia sucked in her breath and debated whether to share the truth with him. This was a possible way out, her route to clemency. Peter was offering a rare chance to defend her actions, but for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to speak up. It was as if her courage had rooted down too deep and was now unable to dislodge from its hiding place and reach the light.
“I suppose I just got caught up in the moment.” She slumped forward. She hated herself for being so weak. In truth, she’d foolishly hoped the whole affair would blow over and she could get on with her job. Clearly, that wasn’t going to happen.
“Well, you leave me no choice but to put you on extended leave. The network will issue a statement, and we’ll send an official apology—one you’ll willingly sign—over to the mayor’s office today. We’ve let this thing go for an entire weekend, but we can’t afford to sidestep it any longer. I need to meet with legal, but let’s talk again this afternoon, once we have something in writing for Rossetti.”
“Fine.”
“And Julia . . .” Peter paused.
“Yes?”
“If any other detail comes to mind regarding what you heard, let me know. We’re going to need all the ammunition we can get our hands on if this thing gets any uglier.”
Isn’t it already ugly enough? Julia wanted to ask, but she held her tongue. Peter was giving her one final chance to clear her reputation. Maybe if she had something more concrete on the Rossetti story, some shred of evidence, she could return to her job and undo the damage done to the network. She needed to look further into it.
It was that maybe that planted a small seed of hope inside Julia as she said goodbye and hung up with Peter.
Much later that morning, after a stock of hearty winter vegetables had been chopped—and rechopped with excruciating precision to meet Ginny’s consistent-knife-cut requirements—the long table had been set.
Julia’s mind was still buzzing with Peter’s announcement. Four weeks of punishment. It was too awful to think about. If she allowed herself to dwell on the consequences, she might find herself curling into the fetal position right there on her sister’s floor.
In an effort to avoid her spiraling doom, she aimed her focus in the direction of another gnawing concern. Her niece hadn’t resurfaced, yet again. This was a bad sign. And it was having an effect on her sister.
Ginny silently fumed as she worked, banging stainless-steel pots around at great volume. Julia assumed this was for Olive’s benefit: Ginny’s raucous commotion was her means of jolting the slumbering girl from her bed. When Olive still hadn’t materialized and the majority of prep work had been completed, Ginny uttered something under her breath and stalked off to take a shower. The master bedroom door slammed on its hinges, causing Julia to jump.
Between the call from work, James’s disappointment, and the tension in her sister’s house, Julia felt as if everything around her was unraveling.
And then, as if she knew her mother had left the room, Olive appeared. Emerging from the hall, the sleepy-eyed girl ambled in and made her way toward the coffee maker. Julia stopped what she was doing and turned to greet her. Her eyes took in the cotton pajama bottoms and oversize T-shirt Olive wore depicting the name and tour dates of a band Julia had never heard of. Her lightened hair was knotted high on top of her head in a messy beehive. The tanned skin of her face was washed and bare, save for a sparkling silver stud in her left nostril. Julia pushed aside a newly rinsed wineglass and blinked. She couldn’t help but stare. So much had changed about Olive; it made Julia’s heart ache. Did she even know this girl anymore?
Julia continued to examine Olive as the girl poured hot coffee into a mug. So many questions hovered, but Julia decided to wait until Olive was more awake. Judging by the significant droop in her niece’s eyelids, this was not the time for probing conversation.
“Morning,” Julia said, her tone overly cheery. The need to connect with Olive felt urgent, her time to make amends short. After three years of no communication, there was now an unfamiliar awkwardness looming between them. Julia supposed she didn’t blame Olive for her obvious caution. From her niece’s perspective, here was the aunt with whom she’d once been somewhat close but who had now turned into a stranger. Why else would she be so chilly and disinterested?
Olive sensed her staring and offered a puzzled frown. Her gaze went to the row of upturned red-wine glasses drying on the counter. “Hey, Aunt Julia. I see you’ve been added to the chain gang.”
“Oh yeah. Ha! I get it. That’s funny. I’m happy to help out.” Julia chuckled and then cringed inwardly. She was trying too hard. Instead of giving off a casual air, she was coming across as goofy. It was pathetic how much she wanted this grown-up version of Olive to like her.
“Uh-huh.” Olive brought down a container from a nearby cupboard and proceeded to spoon a hefty helping of granulated sugar into her mug. Julia watched her delicate fingers circle the spoon around, creating a miniature whirlpool in the dark liquid.
“So,” Julia ventured. She squeezed out the sponge and returned it to the sink. “What’s your plan today? Your mom mentioned something about flowers.”
Olive cradled the mug and pushed her hipbone against the counter. She reached up to drag a lazy finger underneath a row of smudged lashes. “Yeah. All that stuff I bought yesterday has to be trimmed and arranged. Mom likes things to be just so. You know how she can be.” She cocked her head. “Or maybe you don’t, considering how long it’s been since you’ve come around.”
“Right.” That one stung. Julia dried her hands on a towel and gulped back a response. It was important to remain friendly and not defensive. Olive needed to see she was on her side. Julia did know how Ginny could be when it came to her work, demanding and precise. And she suspected all this sleeping in and slow playing was Olive
’s way of giving her overbearing mother the virtual finger. “Your mom also mentioned you’re quite good at it. The flower-arranging thing, I mean.”
Olive raised an eyebrow. “My mom said that?”
“Yes, she did. She said you have a knack for it.” Julia noticed something like suspicion flash in her eyes. It was clear that communication in this household had completely disintegrated.
Olive slurped her drink and then pulled herself from her lounged position. “Well, I’d better get to it, then. There’s a bucketful of greenery and flowers out in the garage that has my name on it.” She gave a faint wave and breezed out of the kitchen, trailing the aroma of fresh coffee behind her.
“Okay,” Julia replied. She hung the wet towel over a hook and noted a pit returning to her gut. Reaching Olive was going to be a lot harder than she’d thought. And while a large piece of her yearned to follow the girl into the other room and figure out a way to repair the lost connection, another, more fearful part of Julia worried about how to do the same with her situation back home. Her job was in jeopardy. And she should bring James into the loop on all of this. Her personal and professional lives were currently deteriorating, and the blame was all hers.
How she was going to mend any of it remained a mystery.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JULIA
After pacing Ginny’s back patio with mounting worry, Julia decided to phone James. She’d been anxious ever since their disaster of a conversation the day before. She chose her timing carefully. On weekdays, he typically made a habit of ducking out of the office at lunchtime, if only for a quick stop at the food cart down the street. She also knew he took his lunch hour later in the day than most. If she wanted to reach him, now was the time. Sneaking into her room while the others went about their chores, she gently shut the door. A little privacy was required. Her intuition told her this wouldn’t be the easiest conversation. As far as James knew, she was already boarding a plane for a quick return. Hearing otherwise might not go over so well.
The Second Chance Supper Club Page 12
