The Tea Shop on Lavender Lane (Life in Icicle Falls)

by Sheila Roberts

  Put a plunger on my head and crown me king of the shits. How hard it must have been to think you had a dream securely held in your hands, only to have it slip through your fingers.

  Todd clapped a hand on his brother’s back and started them toward his truck. “Come on over to the house. We both need coffee.”

  Three mugs of coffee, two bowls of cornflakes and an hour later, they were brothers again and hovering somewhere near friendship.

  “I’ve gotta get my act together,” Devon said, staring into his mug. “Dad’s right. I’ve become a total loser.”

  “Dad isn’t always right about everything,” Todd said.

  “Yeah, but he was about me. It’s just that, damn, for so many years—all through high school and then the minors—I was a baseball player. That’s who I was. And now I don’t know who I am. I guess I came here to find out. It seemed to work for you.”

  Todd nodded. He’d figured out who he was long before he hit Icicle Falls, but there was no sense saying that to his brother. “You’re good with your hands.”

  Devon smirked. “That’s what all the women say.”

  “Now, look,” Todd said, “you can’t be playing fast and loose with the women up here.”

  Devon shook his head. “I know. I know. Man, you never used to be such a priss.”

  “And you never used to be...” Oh, no. He wasn’t going to start that again. “What happened with Gina?”

  Devon’s brows drew into an angry V.

  “You guys were serious. What happened?”

  “My career ended—that’s what happened.”

  Todd nodded slowly. “Okay, I get it. She was a bitch to you after your career fell apart, and now you’re going to make every woman you meet pay for it.”

  “No,” Devon protested. “I like women.”

  “You mean you like to use women.”

  “Hey, who doesn’t want to get laid? And don’t tell me you’ve never used a woman.”

  Todd couldn’t tell him any such thing. And at one time, that hadn’t bothered him. His girlfriends had never had any reason to complain when he was with them. He treated them well...except when the relationship began to get serious. Then he’d always bolted. Had he been planning to bolt with Cecily? And what about Bailey? Oh, man, life had been so simple only a few months ago.

  “Speaking of women, what’s with you and the sisters?”

  Todd dropped his head in his hands. “I don’t know.”

  “Man, you’re even more screwed up than me.”

  “That’s not possible,” Todd retorted, and Devon grinned and punched him on the arm.

  He chewed his lip a moment, then said, “I, uh, don’t suppose you want me to help out at The Man Cave anymore.”

  “You, me and beer? Until we both get our heads on straight, maybe not. You can paint the trim on the tea shop.”

  Devon nodded, resigned.

  “And I’ll put in a good word for you with Dan Masters.”

  “Thanks, Todd.”

  Todd pulled a spare key out of the junk drawer. “Here. You may as well move in. I think my love life is toast.”

  * * *

  Cecily was in no mood to see her sister at her mother’s birthday party the next day. She played hooky from church even though Bailey was probably busy in Samantha’s kitchen, making appetizers for the party. Cecily knew how to put on a smiling mask and pretend everything was fine, but she didn’t want to wear the darned thing all day.

  She made herself some French toast—she, too, could make fancy breakfasts—and spent some time surfing the internet and checking out what her friends on Facebook were up to.

  Half of them had posts about their kids. Guess who’s walking!... Here’s the picture of our new baby girl. Isn’t she the cutest?

  Okay, that was enough time on the internet. She wrapped up the rose-scented bath salts she’d made for her mother and then headed for the shower.

  She was at Samantha’s house by one-thirty to help with the last-minute details before the guests arrived at two. Samantha met her at the door wearing a white knit dress that showed off her baby bump.

  She took in Cecily’s pink floral sundress. “Your dress...”

  Cecily smiled and smoothed the skirt. It was the dress’s debut. She’d gotten it at Gilded Lily’s, and the moment she’d put it on she’d felt as if she could rule the world. “I bought it last week. It was on sale,” she said as she stepped inside.

  “Crap,” Samantha muttered.

  “What?” Cecily asked.

  Now their mother came out from the great room. “Cecily, darling, you look lovely,” she greeted her daughter, giving Cecily a kiss on the cheek. “And how sweet. You and Bailey decided to dress alike.”

  Before Cecily could say anything, Bailey appeared, bearing a platter of prosciutto-wrapped dates and wearing the exact same dress. She stopped short and blinked in surprise, then blushed.

  Oh, no. Seriously? If Cecily’s friend Ella had still been running the shop, this never would have happened. Cecily could feel her smile tipping down at the edges.

  “I’ll change,” Bailey said.

  “Don’t bother,” Cecily told her, trying her best not to sound snippy. The effort failed.

  What the heck? They could pretend they were in middle school again, when Bailey had made a habit of copying her style. As the middle daughter, she’d been trying to establish her own identity, and it had been a constant source of aggravation every time her younger sister came home with the same color top or brand of jeans.

  But they were beyond that now. Now her sister went after her man.

  The best present she could give her mother would be not to pull every long, curly hair from Bailey’s head, so she turned to Samantha and asked, “What do you want me to do?”

  “Help us get the food on the table,” Samantha said.

  Cecily nodded and followed Bailey back into the kitchen, where she’d laid out several platters of appetizers. Here her sister’s creative genius was on beautiful display—phyllo cups with some sort of cream cheese filling, veggies and a curry dip, stuffed mushrooms and mini quiches, all beautifully garnished. And on the kitchen table was the birthday cake, no doubt carrot cake, which was their mother’s favorite. It sat on a cut-glass pedestal plate and was decorated with delicate orange slices. Next to it sat two trays of cookies with dabs of chocolate frosting or dusted with powdered sugar.

  Bailey had really outdone herself, and even though she was still on Cecily’s most unwanted list, Cecily couldn’t help being impressed.

  “Are you still mad at me?” Bailey asked in a small voice.

  Their mother’s birthday party was hardly the arena for a catfight. “Let’s not talk about it now,” Cecily said.

  She picked up a couple of platters and left for the dining room, where her mother and Samantha were talking in low voices. They fell silent at the sight of her, and Mom asked Samantha, “Which plates do you want to use, dear?”

  Great. They’d been talking about her. “Setting up for your own birthday party?” Cecily teased, pretending she hadn’t noticed.

  “There’s no stopping her,” Samantha said.

  “As if there’s anything left to do,” Mom said. “You girls are far too efficient.”

  “We learned from the best,” Cecily said and kissed her on the cheek.

  Bailey came out with two more platters and placed them on the table, then scurried back into the kitchen.

  Their little sister was normally the chattiest of them all. Anyone, especially a mother, could tell that something was wrong, so it was hardly surprising to see a thoughtful frown appear on Mom’s face.

  Cecily returned to the kitchen, where Bailey was making their mother’s favorite punch, a sweet concoction of lemonade, orange sherbet and l
ime soda. “I’d appreciate it if you’d drop the martyr act,” Cecily said in a low voice.

  “I’m not acting like a martyr,” Bailey protested, scowling as she scooped the last of the sherbet into the punch bowl.

  “Yes, you are, and you’ve got no reason to. You’re the one who...” Caused all this trouble. She bit her lip. She was not going there, not on their mother’s birthday.

  Bailey set aside the scoop and the empty sherbet container. “I’m the one who what?” she demanded.

  The doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of the first guests. It was time to act like grown-ups. “Never mind.” Cecily picked up the punch bowl to take it out.

  “I can do it,” Bailey said in a huffy voice and grabbed it back.

  That was a mistake. The sea of calories inside the big glass bowl sloshed up over the edge, spilling onto her.

  She let out a yelp as the wave of punch drenched the front of her dress. This was followed by a hybrid sound of disgust that came out as “Eeewk.” She set down the punch bowl and looked forlornly at her sopping bodice. Then she glared at Cecily. “You did that on purpose.”

  “Who grabbed the punch bowl?” Cecily retorted.

  Now their mother and sister entered the kitchen, followed by Mom’s friend Dot Morrison.

  “Is everything all right?” Mom asked.

  “My dress,” Bailey wailed as if the copycat garment had been ruined for life.

  “It wasn’t your color anyway, kiddo,” Dot said.

  “I’ll go change,” Bailey muttered, making an attempt at dignity, and flounced out of the kitchen.

  “That kid always was a klutz,” Dot said after she was gone.

  Cecily decided not to enlighten Dot as to the real reason for the spill. She tried to wipe the bitchy smile off her face as she deposited the punch on the dining room table, but it kept sneaking back.

  Fortunately, more guests were arriving, so bitchy was easily mistaken for friendly. After bringing out the coffee, Cecily helped Samantha collect sweaters and purses and piled presents on the coffee table. As the guests settled in, she delivered punch and fetched coffee and generally made herself useful.

  Bailey came back downstairs wearing white capris and a green blouse that accented her chestnut hair. As Dot had implied, it was a much more flattering color for her than what she’d been wearing. If they’d been on better terms, Cecily would have pointed that out. Of course, if they’d been on better terms, Bailey would never have wound up wearing orange sherbet punch in the first place.

  She, too, started mingling, taking presents, offering punch and coffee, but keeping as far from Cecily as possible.

  Meanwhile, their mother chatted with her friends, accepted a birthday kiss on the cheek from Arnie Amundsen, her longtime admirer, and watched her two feuding daughters. Gracious as always, she opened presents and gushed over each one. She raved over Bailey’s carrot orange cake and bragged about Cecily’s creativity after the “This is your life” DVD Cecily had put together from old pictures and home movies. Finally, she smiled and hugged each departing guest.

  But when Cecily tried to escape, Mom said, “Stay another minute, darling. I want to talk to you.”

  Uh-oh, Cecily thought.

  “Samantha, would you ask Bailey if she could join us?”

  There was no hiding from a motherly lecture, not even in the kitchen.

  “Okay,” Samantha said. “Then I think baby and I will go have another piece of cake.” She sent Cecily a look that said good luck, then disappeared into the kitchen, and Cecily sat down on the couch, bracing herself for what was to come.

  A moment later Bailey entered the living room, clearly chagrined. She, too, knew what was coming. She sat down on the far end of the couch from Cecily. “Did you enjoy your party?” she asked Mom.

  Ah, the old distraction technique. It wouldn’t work, but Cecily admired the effort.

  Now their mother looked at them with the I’m so disappointed expression that had worked so well ever since they were small. “This is not like my girls.”

  There was no point in pretending they didn’t know what she was talking about. Cecily found it difficult to look her mother in the eye and wound up staring at her lap instead. The view of her pink floral dress wasn’t any better. It only served to remind her of her earlier childish reaction to Bailey’s dress.

  “Would you like to tell me what’s going on?” Mom asked quietly.

  Actually, no. It was all so painful and humiliating. Cecily glanced over at Bailey, who was gnawing her lip and obviously not planning to volunteer any information.

  How to explain this to their mother without sounding as if she were thirteen?

  “This has something to do with a man,” Muriel said. It wasn’t a question.

  “Mama, how did you know?” Bailey asked in astonishment.

  The frosty incident at the front door had to be a big tip-off.

  “I asked your sister, and she told me you two were having a misunderstanding.”

  There was an epic understatement.

  “It wasn’t too difficult to figure out what kind of misunderstanding. There’s nothing else that could come between sisters,” their mother said. “Love is a strong emotion. It pulls out the best in us and the worst.”

  Cecily knew what it had pulled out in her. Bailey squirmed down on her end of the couch.

  “You’re not the first women to fight over a man,” Mom said gently. “You know, Pat Wilder and I nearly lost our friendship over one.”

  “You, Mama?” Bailey asked, sounding as shocked as Cecily felt.

  It was hard to imagine their mother, sweet-tempered and kind, fighting with anyone.

  “It was over your father. We both wanted him.”

  “How did you resolve that?” Cecily asked. When it came right down to it, she didn’t want to lose her sister. But she didn’t want to lose her man, either.

  “It resolved itself,” Mom said simply. “And it will with you girls, too. One of you will get the man and one of you won’t. But whichever one of you doesn’t, you’re going to have to trust that the right one for you is still making his way to you. You’re both lovely girls, and I know you’ll both find someone who’s right for you, so there’s no need to break a lifetime bond over this person.”

  But what about that feeling of betrayal? “What if it’s more than that?” Cecily asked.

  “You need to work it out,” her mother said firmly. “Don’t let your love life ruin your family life. Men will come and go, but sisters are forever. Now I’m going to visit with Samantha so you two can have some privacy.”

  Yes, they were back full circle to childhood. You girls go to your room, and don’t come down until you’re friends again.

  Their mother left, and an uncomfortable silence settled on the room.

  Bailey was the first to break it. “What are we going to do?”

  “Arm wrestle for him,” Cecily said with a faint smile. Except this wasn’t funny. “You know, it’s not just about who gets Todd. It’s about the way you set out to undermine my relationship with him from the start.”

  “No,” Bailey corrected her. “It’s about the way you accused me of doing that.”

  Okay, they were going to talk in circles. The old go to your room method of conflict resolution wasn’t going to work this time. “Fine,” Cecily said stiffly, getting up from the couch.

  “Where are you going?” Bailey demanded.

  “Home.”

  “Mom wants us to work this out.”

  “Mom isn’t the one who has to deal with you,” Cecily retorted. She collected her purse from the kitchen, then went to where her mother and Samantha sat in the family room and said goodbye.

  “Are you girls okay?” Mom asked after Cecily had kissed her.

 
“We will be,” Cecily assured her. But it was going to take more than a conversation on the couch. “Happy birthday.”

  “It is, now that you girls have made up,” Mom said.

  Cecily left her mother in happy ignorance. As she passed the living room on her way out the door, she saw that Bailey had abandoned the couch. She was probably upstairs, pouting in the future nursery, where she’d been sleeping. How appropriate: the baby of the family was in the nursery, acting like a baby.

  Cecily remembered what a spoiled brat her sister had been as a preschooler, always carrying on until she got her way. Well, not this time, baby sister. Not this time.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cecily had a lot to think about. Such serious thinking required the aid of mint chocolate chip ice cream, so she stopped by Safeway on her way home.

  She was standing in front of the freezer, trying to decide if Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia would be a better choice, when a little girl called her name from the end of the aisle. She turned to see Serena Goodman, dolled up in pink shorts and a Hello Kitty top, skipping toward her, Luke walking behind carrying a produce container of strawberries and a head of lettuce.

  “Hi, Miss Cecily,” Serena greeted her. “I learned how to skip. See?” She skipped in a circle to demonstrate, her blond curls bobbing.

  “That’s impressive,” Cecily said. “Who taught you that?”

  “My daddy,” Serena said as Luke joined them.

  Cecily couldn’t help smiling at the image of Luke Goodman, gentle giant, skipping down the sidewalk next to his daughter.

  “I’m a man of many talents,” he said. “How was your mom’s birthday party?” he asked as Serena practiced her new skill.

  “I think she had a good time,” Cecily said. “The entire older generation of Icicle Falls showed up.”

  “No surprise. Everyone loves Muriel.” He studied her. “You’ve been planning this for two weeks. Shouldn’t you be looking more pleased with yourself?”

  How had he seen past the pleasant face she’d put on? “I am pleased with myself,” she lied.