Deciding she had to come up with a way to cope before she started the next dish, she placed all the ingredients on her left-hand side. Then, as she added the item, she placed the container on her right. Creating coping skills was nothing new, but sometimes the need to stop and reorganize simple tasks to make them manageable still stung.
All in all, the cooking experience was a good one, and as Julia sat down at the dining room table to enjoy her dinner, pride and joy filled her heart.
Glancing around the table at the empty chairs, however, dulled the satisfaction a bit. She had loved cooking for friends -- that much she remembered. Invitations to her dinner parties had been coveted, as only the best and brightest attended, and they’d been all about expensive food, fine wine, and networking. Her get togethers were an opportunity to sharpen her wit and further her social status. None of it had been a heartfelt matter; it was about power and strength and ego.
Considering the fleeting bits of faded memories, twisting and turning them in her mind, she realized it hadn’t been about the food or the friends at all. Frowning down at her food, she wondered if she’d ever really had a friend.
Steam, fragrant and spicy, rose from her plate and she shrugged off the sad thought like Ringo shook after a bath. Picking up her fork, she huffed out a deep breath and dug into her salad, pointedly savoring the flavor of a cherry tomato as it burst in her mouth.
Chapter Nine
Julia scooted George off her lap, checked again to be sure her notebook was in her purse, and pulled the keys from the ignition. “You wait here,” she instructed the two small animals who observed her seriously. “I don’t want you running off.”
After one last gentle push to make sure George wouldn’t leap from the truck, Julia pushed the truck door closed and turned toward the rows of plants at Fergus’ greenhouse. Wandering past a few plant stands, she saw the old man at the end of the aisle talking to an angry looking man. Fergus had his feet planted in the gravel, and his skinny arms crossed over his chest. The other man spoke with his hands, clearly frustrated, and making slashing motions in the air. Neither noticed her.
Julia scanned the rows of flowers, her mind flitting among the possibilities and ideas for where she would plant them. The smell of soil and fertilizer filled her nostrils, reminding her that she lived closer to the earth now.
Annoyed voices brought her attention back to Fergus, where the strange man now yelled at the little old man outright. Fergus took a step back and for the first time, Julia felt a frisson of alarm run down her spine. Glancing around the property, Julia didn’t see anyone else, so she stepped behind a tall stand of plants, adjusted her purse on her shoulder, and called out.
“Fergus? Fergus, Rob and I could use some help over here!”
Peering between the hanging ferns, Julia saw the angry man’s gaze lurch toward her, then toward her truck. He made a final comment to Fergus, his glower dark and voice deep, then turned and stalked away. Fergus watched as the man climbed in his truck and slammed the door before revving his engine and driving away, his tires spitting up gravel behind him.
Julia waited where she was until the man was out of sight and then stepped from behind the ferns to greet Fergus. The old man appeared shaken, one gnarled hand rubbing up and down his other arm as he walked.
Taking in his muddy apron and ancient, laceless boots, Julia wondered if the old guy was okay out here alone. “Fergus? Are you okay?” she asked, her hand on his shoulder.
He shook his head. “I suppose I’m all right.” Then he seemed to shake off his concern, his beady crow eyes rising to meet Julia’s concerned gaze. “How are you, Miss Julia?”
She smiled. “I’m fine, thanks.” Her eyes followed the back of the other man’s truck as it rounded the curve. “Who was that?”
Fergus shrugged. “Some feller from DC. He’s been after me to buy a chunk of my back property.”
“Back property?” Julia asked.
He nodded. “Yeah, down yonder, behind the greenhouses. He’s been botherin’ the folks behind me as well.” The old man pointed over his shoulder. “You know Bobby. His momma told me that feller has been around her place, harpin’ at her.”
Tara pointed in the direction he indicated, her eyes narrowing in concern. “Bobby and his mother live back there?”
Fergus nodded. “Their people have lived there for generations, and my family has been on this spread for nigh on seventy years.”
“I take it you don’t want to sell?”
He scoffed. “Not in this lifetime. Now, what can I help you with today?”
With long-forgotten sensations tingling down her spine, Julia tossed one final glance down the highway and turned her attention back to the rows of flowers, then to Fergus.
Her face fell. “I was...” the moment hung in the air, collecting dust, then Julia shook herself and reached into her purse for her notebook. Flipping through dog-eared pages with a frown, she finally found the one she was looking for and her shoulders relaxed. Her gaze met the old man’s and she forced a smile. “I was thinking about planting shrubs along the far side of the driveway.”
He nodded once and turned to shuffle toward the tall line of trees and shrubs. “Lots of folks think that looks good,” he said, ignoring her obvious discomfort, then turned back to face her. “But truth is, shrubs grow fast and before you know it, they crowd the driveway.”
Julia’s brow furrowed as she struggled to regain her thought process. “Really? I hadn’t thought about that.”
“May I suggest hastas? They come up each year and grow in real nice. Low maintenance.” He blinked up at her, his neck twisted to compensate for the hunch in his back.
She smiled. “Show me.”
The old man shuffled ahead, his twisted fingers reaching out to pluck off a dried leaf or blossom as they filed through the long rows of plants. “I heard all about them roses you sent up to the inn,” he called over his shoulder.
Stunned, Julia paused. “You did?” “Yup, seems they was a big hit,” he chuckled. “Well, you should get the credit,” she assured him.
His grizzled head shook, his jowls swinging. “Nope, nope, you’ve grown them real nice.”
Embarrassed but pleased, Julia stopped next to Fergus. “Thank you so much for your help.”
His dark eyes glittered among the wrinkles, revealing a toothless grin. “My pleasure ma’am.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, when Julia and Fergus reached the front of the greenhouse, Tara’s truck pulled up next to Julia’s, a billow of dust rolling up from behind the truck as it clicked and cooled. Tara stepped out, a hand raised in greeting as she neared them.
Julia waved back.
“Hello, Miss Tara. Can’t recall the last time I was surrounded by such loveliness—” The old man grinned, one arm around each woman. “What can I do for ya?” he asked.
Tara’s expression grew serious. “I’m having trouble planning flowers for the wedding. There just aren’t any good florists around here. I was hoping you’d have some ideas,” she told the man, her countenance hopeful.
He cackled. “Seems as how you came along at the right time.”
Tara’s brow rose in question.
The man’s gnarled finger nudged the purse hanging at Julia’s side, and Julia glanced from Tara to Fergus in question.
“This lady here,” he continued. “She should do your flowers.”
Julia stepped back, shock and horror in her face. “Oh, no—no, I’m not a florist.”
The old man held up both hands, palms forward, as if to hold off her response. “Now, just give the thought a minute to roll around in yer head.” He turned to Tara. “I’m tellin’ ya, this here gal has a head fer flowers and a knack fer color and texture. She’s a natural.”
Tara tilted her head to one side, watching her new friend choke and struggle against Fergus’ comments. “Maybe he’s right.”
Julia shook her head, her eyes large.
“Hold on, don�
�t panic, let’s just talk about it over coffee. What do you say?” Tara asked.
Coffee did sound good, Julia thought.
Fergus gave the girls a push toward their trucks. “You two ladies go talk this out and let me know how I can help.”
Tara laughed. “Follow me to the café?” she asked Julia.
Julia was still not quite sure what had just happened, and her head swam. “I— I guess so.” As she opened her truck door, George leapt back to give her room to sit down, and Ringo barked happily. She muttered a goodbye to Fergus, her hand raised in a wave, and she climbed into the truck.
“I’ll send them hastas around to you!” the old man hollered to Julia as the women started their trucks. Grinning ear to ear, he watched them back out and drive away.
* * *
Marge smiled up at the women as they entered the café. “I’ll be right there, sit wherever you’d like,” she called as she finished wiping off the counter. Julia inhaled the now familiar café scents of bleach and bacon grease as Octopus’s Garden rang from the jukebox.
“This okay?” Tara asked as she paused by a table. Julia nodded, so Tara pulled out a chair, laughing as she caught sight of George and Ringo both gazing out the windshield of Julia’s truck. “Your cat kills me,” she said, her head shaking.
Flopping her purse on an empty chair, Julia nodded. “He’s a case all right.”
“Ladies,” Marge greeted them as she made her way to the table, her hand on one hip. “What can I get for you today?”
Julia tugged the menu from behind the salt and pepper shakers and then glanced at Marge. “What’s the special today?”
“Cabbage rolls, and they’re surprisingly eatable,” Marge replied with a grin.
Tara laughed. “I’ll be brave. Bring me an order and some coffee, please.”
Marge turned to Julia.
Her expression one of concern, Julia hesitated. Flipping over the menu, she glanced quickly down the list of sandwiches. “I’ll just have a tuna melt with fries and coffee, please.”
“You bet,” Marge said as she turned away. Then she paused and turned back to the table. “Your roses are the prettiest things in town,” she said solemnly.
Clearly shocked, all Julia could do was nod and mutter, “Thank you.”
Tara smiled at Marge’s retreating back, then adjusted her chair and placed both palms on the table. “So, flowers.”
“I don’t know what Fergus is thinking,” Julia said miserably.
“He thinks you have a gift,” Tara replied.
Feeling crowded and awkward, Julia glowered down at the tabletop. Couldn’t she go even one day without someone pushing her to think or feel things she didn’t want to face? She’d come here to get away from the pressure and expectations -- not to take on a load of new ones.
“Just let me tell you what I’m thinking, then you can tell me to go blow,” Tara said, her expression hopeful.
Puffing out a long breath, Julia’s gaze rose to meet Tara’s. The warmth and hope flowing from her new friend’s face broke her heart. How could she explain that she wasn’t dependable? She had no solid future in which to make her own plans, let alone be a crucial part of something as special as a wedding. Besides that, Tara didn’t even know her. Not the real her.
Continuing on, Tara said, “It will be a small wedding on the deck of the inn. There are already potted plants, I’ll just need some color and a bouquet and flowers for the dining room, living areas, and guestrooms. Nothing fancy, I want them to feel informal, homey.”
Still quiet, Julia considered Tara’s words.
“When we had the grand opening of the inn, I had to get up at the crack of dawn and drive clear to Uniontown to get flowers,” Tara continued. “I don’t want my wedding day to be like that. I just want bunches of fresh, local flowers around me, without the hassle and worry of doing them myself.”
“There is no florist in town?” Julia asked with one last hopeful rebuff.
Tara snorted. “Hello?”
“Someone who delivers?” Julia floundered.
“Sure, if I want some canned, out-of-a-box arrangements,” Tara said.
“Come on, it can’t be that bad.”
Tara shrugged and glanced toward Marge who stepped up to the table with coffee cups on saucers and a steaming pot, all on a tray.
“What do you think?” Tara asked the waitress.
“Me?” the older woman said, her hand on her chest.
“Yes, you,” Tara laughed.
Julia shrugged miserably into her chair.
The coffee cups clinked as Marge set them in front of the girls. “About what?” she drawled, squaring her shoulders.
“Do you think Julia could do flowers for my wedding?”
The coffee pot clunked onto the table with coffee nearly sloshing out the top as Marge yanked up a chair from the next table and plopped into it, the tray tucked under one arm. “Oh, heavens yes!” she exclaimed.
Silent and withdrawn, Julia didn’t respond.
Concerned, Marge placed a hand on Julia’s shoulder. “What is it, honey?”
Julia sat sullen.
“Sweetie, I’ve watched you come in here nearly every day and I’ve kept to myself—”
“That’s a miracle,” muttered Tara, pouring herself a cup of coffee.
Flashing Tara a glare, Marge continued. “You’re part of this town now and we all adore you. Please talk to us.”
Surprised, Julia’s gaze flashed to Marge then Tara. “Adore me?” They both nodded vigorously. “You don’t even know me,” Julia argued.
Marge chuckled. “We know enough. You walk that cute little dog every evening, and your crazy cat rides on your lap when you drive. Flowers bloom when you look at them, and your old house is coming alive.”
Numb with the fatigue of loneliness, Julia stared at the table. Silence lay between them as the women waited for her to respond. Finally, she took a deep breath. “You don’t know what I was like before I came here,” she started.
Tara sipped at her coffee, her eyes large and expectant. Marge waited, her gaze never leaving Julia’s face.
Realizing she’d have to say something more or sprint from the café, Julia continued. “I was— not very nice.”
“That’s hard to believe. Like how?” Tara asked, her eyes narrowed in confusion, her coffee cup poised halfway to her mouth.
Julia shrugged guiltily. “I was judgmental and uptight. No—mean. I was flat-out mean.”
Tara’s cup lowered to the saucer and Marge squirmed, glancing at Tara, then back to Julia.
A long breath escaped Julia. “There, it’s out! I was a horrible person.” She flopped back in her chair, resignation and sadness clear on her face.
Tara leaned slightly over the table, both hands around her coffee cup, her expression unguarded and concerned. “Not that I can believe that, but what changed? Because you’re very nice now.”
Julia massaged her forehead, then swept her hand across the top of her head, ruffling her blond curls. Finally, she looked up to make eye contact with Marge and Tara. Both women appeared to be completely open and willing to listen. She sighed. “I had everything. The high-paying job, the expensive car, the handsome husband, the beautiful condo, and glamorous clothes. I judged people who didn’t live like I did. I used my power and connections to get anything I wanted. I was—horrible.”
Even though both Tara and Marge seemed speechless, Julia felt as if a ton of weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Admitting the disgust she felt for what she remembered of her past self had somehow freed the weight of the guilt a little bit. Her back straightened and she took a deep breath. Her eyes flitted from the table to Tara and Marge, waiting for their disapproval and rejection. But both women just shrugged.
Marge stood and lifted the chair she’d swiped earlier. “Well, I for one don’t give a fig who you were back then. You’re here now and your food is most likely melting under the heat lamp. I’ll be right back.” She turned and hurr
ied away.
Julia watched Marge’s retreating back and couldn’t meet Tara’s eye. She stared miserably at the table waiting for the sting of rejection that she rightly deserved. The lengthening silence finally forced her eyes up to meet Tara’s.
Reaching across the table, Tara took one of Julia’s hands in hers. “Do you know what I was like last year?” she asked.
Stunned by the response, Julia mutely shook her head.
“Do you know how I treated Justin back then?”
Again, Julia shook her head.
“Do you know who my parents are, or where I grew up, or went to school?”
Julia shifted in her seat. “That’s not the same.”
“Why?” Tara asked, her face determined.
“You don’t understand,” Julia huffed. “I’m not who I used to be.”
“Exactly,” Tara said crisply, letting go of Julia’s hand to sit up stiff in her seat. “It just doesn’t matter who you were, you are here, and I like you now.”
Julia shrugged, trying to get her head around the thought.
“On second thought,” Tara said, “what happened? I mean, if you were so mean … and now you’re awesome?”
Once again, the continuous tedium of dealing with her past illness rose to the surface, swamping Julia’s heart. “It’s a long story.”
Tara leaned back so Marge could place the plates on the table. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Julia unwrapped the paper napkin from around her silverware and then adjusted it by her plate, even though she wouldn’t be using it.
Marge interrupted. “Look, ladies, I’ve got a big group coming in for dinner, and I have to get some work done.” She laid her hand once again on Julia’s shoulder. “Honey, I like you and I want you to know that I’m your friend, okay?”
Looking up at the older woman, Julia’s eyes glistened with tears and a lump formed in her throat as she nodded. Marge gave her a businesslike confirmation nod, and then glanced over the table one more time to be sure they were set and hurried away.
Hometown Series Box Set Page 40
