by Sally John
“Not with a cast on her ankle.” He chewed an ice cube.
Gina had never heard her dad sound so negative. “What’s with you?”
“Po-Valley Oaks. It’s completely unraveling my sense of equilibrium.” He paused, then, “Do you think I’m clueless?”
She laughed. “I think I was 16 when I explained that one to you, and you didn’t even have to ask.”
“I’m serious.”
“Okay. On what subject?”
“Flowers. I bought some at the hospital gift shop for your Aunt Marsha, you know, hostess gift thing because we were going there for dinner. I gave your mother a rose from the bouquet. I mean, I know she likes flowers. She has a backyard full of them. The nurse called me clueless, and I get the impression that your mother would like her own flowers from me, but not if she has to tell me.”
“She’s a romantic. You know that.” Gina felt more than saw his blank expression. “Don’t you?”
He didn’t answer.
“She cries at sappy commercials. She likes quiet afternoons in art galleries and candlelit dinners and reading by the fireplace and surprise gifts when it’s not her birthday.”
“Is this a girl thing?”
“Not necessarily. I’m not exactly like that. Mom always liked the guys who opened doors for me and dressed up and brought corsages. All I wanted was one who’d stalk lizards in the backyard with me or dig for worms. I don’t care about flowers…” An image of Brady stopped her. He stood a hair’s breadth from her, long arms reaching around either side of her to the counter she leaned against. Her breath caught. She fought down the warmth that flooded her.
“You don’t care about flowers?” Dad prompted.
“Nooo…but…well, Brady said something about flowers. Something about women having the same effect as flowers, being beautiful and bright. Dazzling. Anyway, I guess they mean something to some people, like Mother.”
“After 30 years…” His voice trailed off. “Maybe I am clueless. Why are you in such a hurry to leave town?”
“Brady’s a romantic and I’m not, and he has a-another friend.”
“Did you expect something different?”
“I didn’t think enough about it. Guess that makes two clueless souls sitting on this porch in the middle of the night.”
They sat quietly for a few moments, then her dad asked, “Would you still recommend the guy’s books?”
“Oh, absolutely. They taught me how to see that Jesus was who He said He was. Because of that, I know He won’t let me down, not like people do. I think I’m going to find a lot of comfort in that.”
“You could use some, honey, after the year you’ve had.”
“I think you could, too, Dad.”
“It’ll help to get back to work. Do you want to come with me tomorrow to Brady’s place?”
She bit back the words that snapped to mind. If her dad would stop hiding in his work, maybe he’d get a clue. Straight words from his daughter like that wouldn’t reach his heart though. Friendly as he was, he’d always fit the macho image too well. She smiled now as a new option dawned on her: She could pray about it. “No, I’ll stay home and pack. I’ll have to see Brady at the rehearsal, wedding, and reception. Three too many times.”
“Want me to be tough on him? Teach him not to mess with my Gina?”
“Squish him like a roly-poly bug.” She imagined Brady’s handsome face, how it glowed with contentment and happiness as they roamed through his woods. “Not really, Dad. He’s going to have a hard enough time talking with Maggie Lindstrom’s husband about losing easy access to his beloved property.”
“Maggie,” he mumbled.
“What?”
“Nothing. I think these two clueless souls had better get some sleep.”
Thirty
The flowers began arriving soon after 9:00 A.M. Aunt Lottie, of course, knew the teenage girl who delivered them.
“Erin, it’s Sunday! Your mother’s shop isn’t open today, is it?”
“No. She’s just doing a favor for—” The girl giggled. “Well, you’re supposed to read the card. Bye.” She hurried down the porch steps.
“This is just not like—Oh, Gina! These are for you. Aren’t they gorgeous? I can’t imagine! On a Sunday…”
Gina had been watching the scene from the top of the staircase. She went down only because of the dear woman who eagerly held out the bouquet. No mystery to her who had sent them. Neither the day of the week nor a closed sign in the florist’s window would stop a man who sent flowers because the woman reminded him of—How had he phrased it? “A dazzling burst of fragrant, colorful beauty.” A real-life interpretation awaited her, its overpowering scent wafting upward in greeting. Wrapped in yellow tissue were white baby’s breath, purple statice, and every color of the rainbow in the form of orchids, daisies, tulips, irises, and carnations.
Aunt Lottie pressed them into her hands. “I’ll get a vase. Goodness, I hope I have one large enough. Whom do you suppose they’re from?”
Gina could have sworn there was a twinkle in the old woman’s eyes. She glanced over at her dad, sitting in the front room.
He quickly hid his face behind the newspaper, not soon enough to hide a grin. “You may want to rethink your opinion of flowers,” he murmured.
She didn’t want to rethink her opinion, but that didn’t seem to be an option. She fingered the envelope. “Angelina” was printed in a masculine hand. Did she have to read what was inside? It would be an apology that would yank more vigorously on her heartstrings than did this gesture. If he hadn’t explained his reasoning behind sending flowers, they would have meant little. But she knew their significance. It was affecting her opinion.
With clenched teeth, she opened the card. I’m sorry for the misunderstanding. Brady. Her stomach flipped. What was that supposed to mean? What was the misunderstanding? That he forgot to mention he was leading her on? It wasn’t as if his friend Kim was a misunderstanding. It was rather obvious who she was.
Mother hobbled in on her crutches from the dining room. “Oh, how beautiful! Brady?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Breakfast is ready, you two.” Before turning back around, she lifted a shoulder and wiped awkwardly at her eye.
Gina looked at her dad now standing, watching her mother. He must have also caught sight of the tears. “Psst,” she whispered and went over to him. “You may want to rethink your opinion of flowers.”
He raised his brows, inspecting her armful. “No roses.”
“Hmm.”
The first roses arrived at 10:00. A dozen yellow ones, from the other local florist, addressed to “an Angel” and signed with a smiley face. Maggie was resting upstairs, Aunt Lottie was at church, and her dad was out for a walk. They were all back by 11:30 when the red roses arrived. From Rockville, two dozen sweet-scented velvet blossoms in a heavy crystal vase. More baby’s breath and greenery.
She had stayed home from church in order to avoid Brady and here she was reading yet a third card written by him. This one included a Bible quote. “The mind of man plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps.” Your job loss was not in your plans, but surely God ordered your steps to meet Him here. Praying for you as you interview. Brady.
Gina turned her back to her family and the three bouquets. She crumpled the card in her hand and hurried blindly up the stairs. It was time for a good irrational, illogical cry.
“You could have put in a new road for what you’ve spent on flowers today.” The silver-haired man threw Brady a disarming smile as he approached, removing designer sunglasses and extending his hand. “Reece Philips. You must be Braden Olafsson?”
Brady returned the smile and shook his hand, appreciative of the way the man quickly broke the ice. He wasn’t too far from the truth. The cost of the final, most extravagant bouquet—an arrangement of fresh Hawaiian blossoms to be flown in from Chicago this afternoon—would pay for enough rock to cover half his road. “Not to sound like an ingratiating slob
, but your daughter’s worth it. I was unforgivably rude to her.”
“Well, that’s between you two, although I must say you caught everyone’s attention this morning. Shall we take a walk?”
Like an ice hockey face-off, they had met in the center of Brady’s narrow road and parked their vehicles hood to hood. Let the game begin, he thought. They walked behind his truck, veering off the gravel onto a field of short, stiff prairie grasses that he regularly mowed. It was a clear afternoon, one of those perfect June moments when the humidity was low, the flies and gnats asleep, the tree frogs’ high-pitched humming wove through the gaps between bird songs.
Brady noticed Philips’ olive skin tone and dark, expressive brows. Just like Gina’s. She had her mother’s green eyes, but her height, build, and facial shape resembled more her dad. He suspected she also took after him in that no-nonsense approach to life. Her rational, logical attitude intrigued as well as baffled him.
He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had blown it last night. She would see the situation as an equation. Brady plus Gina did not equal Brady plus Kim. If he had a relationship going with Kim—which it undoubtedly appeared as such—then she wasn’t about to develop one with him. Not to mention everything else she had on her plate, such as finding a job, living in California, and recovering from her injury. None of that fit into an equation that included him and Valley Oaks.
Still, he was scrambling to keep the communication lines open. The flowers were his initial reaction, not very creative and not exactly appropriate given her personality. He had called twice. The first time there had been no answer. The second time, Lottie couldn’t get her to the phone and made apologies for her, saying she wasn’t feeling well. He’d have to go there, talk to her. Somehow convince her that in spite of the fact they had only just met, he was…falling in love? Off the charts for irrational and illogical thinking. Not exactly her style either.
They reached a short wooden stake protruding from the ground. Running along the left side of the road, a row of uniform stakes stretched ahead, about ten yards between each. Fluorescent orange plastic flags were tied to them, flapping in the light breeze.
“Is your attorney coming?” Philips asked.
“Uh, no, sir. I had hoped to have an informal discussion with you about this.”
“That’s my hope, too. Officially, this is out of my jurisdiction. I only work west of the Mississippi, so I wasn’t even in on the decision to purchase this land. But as you know, there’s a family wedding.” He smiled. “I offered to take a look.”
They approached the point where the stakes began lining the other side of the road, to the west. His road no longer ran through his own property. This was where the easement came into play, giving him permission to use this portion.
Philips stopped. “Is this the end of your property then?”
“Yes.”
“So you own the land the road is on from the highway up to this point?”
“Right, about 50 feet in width. The road from here curves for about 250 yards through the land your company purchased. Then it swings back onto my property, the other side of this ravine.”
“No place for a road, eh? What about that cornfield on the east side?”
“Two problems. The owner’s not interested in selling or giving an easement. Second, I’d have to cross the ravine to the south where it grows deeper. The creek at the bottom floods regularly.”
“I see.”
They continued walking along the curving road, where the stakes lined the right side of it.
“Looks like quite a hideaway.” Philips nodded toward the oak canopy in the distance where the stakes were again planted back on the left side. “Good place for writing?”
“Perfect. I’m not looking forward to having neighbors.”
“I imagine you regret not protecting this easement.”
“Regret’s not strong enough a word to describe what I feel. I’m still not clear on how Swanson—”
“The deceased owner?”
“Right. How is it my easement contract with him became null and void when his kids inherited the property?”
“Beats me. Chalk it up to a lawyer you’d rather have on your own side. So what are your options here?” He halted beside the tree-filled ravine, stuck his sunglasses on his head and his hands in the pockets of his khaki slacks.
“Options? My option was to buy this land, but it didn’t go on the market. What do you do, read farmers’ obituaries and then visit the grieving families?”
“Hey, that’s not a bad idea. Wonder if there’s some software available so we wouldn’t have to read every small-town weekly published in the Midwest?”
Brady gritted his teeth.
“It’s business, Mr. Olafsson. Not everybody ends up happy. Your school superintendent is very happy. This housing development will draw families. Your schools need more tax dollars and a higher enrollment or they’ll be forced to consolidate, making it an even larger, far-flung district. It’s a positive for your community.”
“Wide-open spaces and natural habitats are positives. Two other developments are going up in the district, east and south of town.”
“True. Tell you what. Why don’t you think about what you can do with this.” He nodded toward the ravine. “What do you think? Some kind of fill rather than a bridge? Trees will have to come down. Fax me some estimates. Maybe we can offer some sort of compensation. I don’t think we owe you anything, but we’d rather make the gesture than go through court.”
“You still don’t have the Zoning Committee’s approval.”
Philips ignored the comment and started walking back to his car. He pulled a card from his shirt pocket and handed it to Brady. “My phone and fax numbers are on that. Think about it. I’m sure we can reach some sort of an agreement. We can probably even get a deal by using the same excavator.”
Teeth still clenched, Brady felt the beginnings of a headache. “What about selling this slice of land to me? Two hundred fifty yards. Fifty feet off someone’s backyard acreage.”
“I’ll run that by the decision makers. Doubt that they have an alley in mind behind these homes. And with parcels already measured—”
“This isn’t even zoned for housing yet.”
“We’ll be in touch.” Philips shook his hand. “It’s been a pleasure.” He opened his car door, slipped on his sunglasses, and smiled. “Oh, by the way, Olafsson.” He paused and the smile faded. “Make my daughter cry again and I’ll see to it that your road’s permanently blocked.”
Brady stared at the receding car. What happened to “That’s between you two”? Almost imperceptibly it crept in again, that attitude that all Lindstroms and their relatives were the scourges of the earth. Well, except for Lottie.
Brady didn’t often become angry. As he slammed the truck into gear and peeled off the narrow road into a U-turn, gravel shot every direction. A cloud of dust followed him. A stake snapped in two. The crunch gave him a morbid satisfaction. He aimed for two more. They might be on his property, and then again they might not be. Didn’t matter. They interfered with his mowing.
The thought crossed his mind that less than two hours ago he had sat piously in church, worshiping.
The afternoon was a blur of phone conversations and swallowing ibuprofen. Two school board members as well as the superintendent called him, urging him to withdraw his lawsuit. Valley Oaks needed this development.
Village board members phoned. All six agreed that as chairman of the Zoning Committee, he shouldn’t vote on this decision. It was clearly a conflict of interest. He disagreed.
What had Philips done? Put an ad in the newspaper, offering a reward to anyone who swung a punch at Brady?
Well, he wasn’t giving up. This was his property, and he wanted more than 250 yards access added to it. He wanted privacy that the projected 100 neighboring houses would obliterate. He called his lawyer.
By four o’clock the turmoil ended. It felt all wrong, spending Sunday in
this way. He should have been apologizing profusely to Gina, holding her hand, coaxing a smile from that Miss America mouth, stroking the hardness from that jaw that looked so like her dad’s. He remembered the confusion and hurt in her eyes last night. Would that be gone by now, replaced by cold emerald stone that would shut him out?
Well, he wasn’t giving up on this either. Wild as it sounded, he cared deeply for her. She had awakened emotions he thought were dead. Her smile triggered a deafening brightness akin to fireworks in his heart. She fit in his woods as naturally as the shy doe and the raucous bullfrogs and the May apples with their secret blossom. Gratitude washed over him. If his plan to marry Nicole hadn’t been derailed, he never would have written the books. He never would have had a chance with Gina.
Dear Lord, please pave the way here! I have to speak with her!
He was struck with his self-centeredness. What did she need? He thought of the fragility of her new faith.
Don’t let me be a stumbling block. Keep her eyes on You.
Once more he picked up the telephone, this time to dial Lottie’s number.
Thirty-One
“Brady, is that you?” Maggie sat at the kitchen table, left leg propped on another chair, chopping vegetables for a salad.
“Yes—”
“The flowers are absolutely gorgeous! We’re all enjoying them. Thank you. I know they meant a lot to Gina.” She didn’t mention that the reason she knew this was because her daughter cried, and her daughter never cried.
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Philips—”
“Maggie. I assume you called for Gina. She’s not here. She had to leave right after the fourth bouquet arrived.”
