“Mmm, you smell wonderful,” he said.
She pulled away and retrieved her wrap and clutch from the glass-topped table in the foyer. Most women would count their lucky stars to have Mark show interest in them, but all she could think was how much time a serious relationship would take and how she didn’t have it to give.
****
The evening was an unequivocal success, generating more money than any single event ever had for the hospital. Farrin’s appearance generated buzz throughout the crowd, and the auction of one of her gowns helped raise the final tally.
As she and Mark rode toward her place in the chauffeured limo, he poured two glasses of champagne. When she ended a call to Justine, he handed her a glass with an admiring look in his light green eyes. “To a successful evening, and to the most stunning woman there.”
She smiled and clinked her glass against his. She didn’t acknowledge his compliment and tried to ignore a strange pressure squeezing her from all sides. A heavy fatigue settled on her shoulders. How was she going to meet all her obligations?
It had been a very long time since she’d failed at anything she’d set out to accomplish, and she wasn’t about to start. She might be enjoying success now, but unless your name was one of the rarified few like Chanel or Wang, today’s hot designer could be tomorrow’s has-been.
Farrin took a sip of champagne and casually glanced at the clock. 11:07 p.m.
Mark wrapped his fingers around her free hand and lifted it to his lips. He placed a tender kiss on her skin, watching her face the entire time. “I want to ask you something.”
Something about his tone worried her. He looked so excited, his eyes bright and a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.“I want you to come away with me. I’ve rented a villa in Spain for a month while I check out a few opportunities there.”
Farrin sighed inwardly but forced a small smile. “Thank you for the invitation, but it’s impossible for me to leave right now.”
It wasn’t like a month in a Spanish villa didn’t sound marvelous, might even inspire her creativity, but she had to have access to materials, her seamstresses, the bride for fittings and consultations. Not to mention the trip seemed like too much, too fast. They’d only gone out a few times when their schedules meshed.
The light in Mark’s eyes faded as his driver pulled up in front of her building. “You’re sure you can’t manage it?”
“Positive.”
His relaxed pose stiffened and any hint of emotion disappeared from his face, giving her a glimpse of the tough businessman he was. “I hope everything goes well.”
Farrin sat her glass atop the minibar. “Thank you for a lovely evening.” She slipped out of the car, knowing she’d never be inside it again. The end of relationships often brought pain or sorrow. For her, it was normally relief. But this time, a twinge of regret pulled at her as she stepped inside her building and watched the car pull away.
****
CHAPTER TWO
Farrin jumped and blinked to clear her vision. Where was she? More seconds ticked by before she realized she’d fallen asleep at her dining room table with sketches spread across its surface. A new day had dawned outside the large wall of windows at the end of the room. The phone rang, and it sank in that the ringing must have woken her. She fumbled to hit the correct button to answer the call.
“Hello?” Her voice sounded dry and croaky with its first use of the day.
“Farrin?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know who this is?”
A few more of her brain cells woke up. She hadn’t heard Tammie’s mother’s voice in so long that she wondered for a moment if she was dreaming. “Faye?”
“Yes. Did I wake you? I thought I might catch you before you went to work.”
“Did Tammie ask you to call me?”
“No, dear. Why?”
“Because. . . Never mind. I’m not quite awake.”
“I’m sorry. I can call back.”
“No, it’s okay. It’s good to hear from you.” How had she managed to not only let contact with Tammie fade during the past few years, but also her relationship with the woman who’d been a second mother to her.
“You’re a difficult woman to catch.”
Farrin’s call waiting beeped, followed seconds later by her cell phone ringing. She checked the display. Justine. A punch of a button revealed she’d missed seventeen calls. Seventeen! She leapt from the couch and headed for her bedroom. The clock on her nightstand taunted her. One hour until her first meeting, then two consultations before a working lunch to discuss a possible Farrin Taylor line of wedding invitations.
Farrin forced her mind to focus on the conversation as she snatched a suit from the closet. “How have you been?”
“Can’t complain. I know you’re probably about to head out, so I’ll be quick. Tammie said she was going to ask you about being the speaker at the reunion, and I wondered if you’d consider tacking on another speaking engagement while you’re in town. I’m the president of the Homemakers Club, and everyone would love to hear about your work.” Faye chuckled. “It’s a little more fascinating than the sewing projects we work on for the county fair or the fire department raffle.”
Farrin opened her mouth to tell Faye she wasn’t coming to the reunion and she’d have to pass on speaking to the Homemakers Club as well. But as she hurried into the bathroom and caught sight of herself in the mirror, the most incredible piercing guilt stabbed her. Suddenly, the vision staring back at her was her teenage self.
The cell phone rang again. She ignored it.
How could she refuse such a simple request from the woman who’d fed her, counseled, even clothed her on a few special occasions when she didn’t have the money for a football homecoming or state academic team match? The woman who had taught her to sew and set her on the path toward her dream.
Maybe she could speak to Faye’s group and skip the reunion? No, that would shatter what friendship she and Tammie had left. And though they didn’t talk often, that would hurt more than she was prepared to face.
“I suppose I could squeeze it in.” Good Lord, what was she saying? She was committing herself to a return to Oak Valley. And to the scrutiny of women who knew her well before Bride magazine had dubbed her “The New Wedding Dress Diva”.
She took a deep breath. She was an adult, a successful one, and she would be fine. Those long-ago barbs couldn’t hurt her now.
“Great. And you can stay here at the house just like old times. It’s not the Ritz, but I’m fairly certain it’s better than the Cloverleaf Motel.”
That place was still in business? Nothing ever changed in Oak Valley. It was like it existed in a bubble that modern progress had passed by. Arby’s — the only chain restaurant in town — hadn’t opened until she’d gone away to college.
“I can’t stay. It’ll be a quick, one-day trip.”
“Oh, but our meeting isn’t until the morning after the reunion. Is that a problem?” Faye sounded like she would be crushed if Farrin acknowledged that, yes, it would be a problem.Again, the cell phone, this time sounding as if it was ticked off she wasn’t answering. She refrained from cursing it so she wouldn’t scorch Faye’s ears.
Farrin heard herself utter a “no”, which caused a heavy, sinking feeling in her chest. Okay, she could do this. She could do a quickie speech at the reunion, retreat immediately to Faye’s house and chat for a while and then focus on work, do the second speech the next morning and be back in New York by late afternoon or early evening. She wouldn’t have to mingle with the natives much if she planned it perfectly. It wasn’t as if she was going to allow herself time to face the painful parts of her years in Oak Valley. If she stuck to visiting Faye and Tammie, it might actually be nice. Her best childhood memories were made in their house, so she’d survive the trip and prove to herself she could do anything.
After ending the call, she punched the office number as she turned on the shower. When Justine answered, Far
rin said, “I’m on my way. Stop calling.” She hung up and dived into the stream of hot water.
****
The month between Faye’s call and the reunion sped by so quickly Farrin would have sworn fate was spinning the Earth faster. She’d finally settled on a design for Cara Hutton’s headpiece, a little pill cap with seed pearls and a slim, classic veil descending from the back, but the gown was continuing to give her fits. Even Justine, who never got her feathers ruffled, huffed and stalked away every time Farrin nixed another design.
Now, the miles of I-81 ticked by, each one forcing Farrin to remind herself to breathe deeply and stop worrying about what would greet her in Oak Valley. The Tennessee blacktop beneath the tires of her rental car made what she was doing even more real than the flights from New York to Knoxville. Surely something, no matter how small and inconsequential, would be different from the day fourteen years before when her mother had been buried in the Tandy Creek Baptist Church cemetery.
Tears sprang to her eyes, and a familiar sense of guilt tugged at her. She’d not been back since her mother’s death. She sent a check to the church every year to pay for the upkeep of her mother’s grave. She tried to lessen her guilt by telling herself her mother wasn’t there anymore. What good did it do to talk to a slab of marble with names and dates engraved into it? If she wanted to “talk” to her mother, she could do it anywhere — even driving up the highway toward her past.
When she reached the Blountville exit, she pulled off at a gas station to do what travelers do — refuel, go to the restroom, buy a bottled water and stretch out the kinks in her legs and back.
Avoid the inevitable a while longer.
She leaned against the top of the rental car and stared east. Beyond the haze caused by the exhaust from the interstate and idling eighteen-wheelers at the adjacent truck stop, she made out patches of color. The Appalachians had always been prettiest to her in the fall when the leaves turned the rolling green carpet of the mountains into a patchwork of gold, crimson and, her favorite, bright, bright orange. Even with the miles still separating her from those distant ridges, she could almost smell the woodsy scent of the forest floor covered with fallen leaves, hear the rustle and crunch as she walked through them sending puffs of dust into the air.
If she had to come back, she was glad it was during her favorite time of the year.
With a deep breath that unfortunately smelled more like gas fumes and window cleaner than an autumn forest, she slipped into the car and pulled to the edge of the parking lot. She stopped and stared at the two-lane highway leading toward Oak Valley. It was only a road. Why was it harder to travel than the miles she’d already covered that morning?
To the right lay the entrance ramp to the interstate that would take her back to the Knoxville airport, and it looked tempting despite all the hours she’d wasted getting to this point. To the left, the road stretched in a straight line toward the mountains. It gave those who didn’t know better a false sense that the drive ahead would be smooth and free of twists and turns. But Farrin knew that just beyond the first hill in the distance, the road changed character and began to follow a series of creeks and small rivers as it weaved its way through towns like Bitter Mountain, Hancock and Calvin Springs. It eventually ran beneath the two stoplights along Oak Valley’s Main Street and out the other side of town toward the North Carolina state line.
Farrin took a slow, deep breath and turned left.
She passed an odd combination of things she remembered and others she’d swear she’d never seen before. Pistol Pete’s Garage was still in business outside Bitter Mountain, though whoever Pete was had added a few more rows of junk cars to the rusty parking lot marring what would otherwise be a beautiful hillside. She wondered if the whites, blues and pinks of the native wildflowers still popped up next to all those old tires and rusted fenders each spring.
The bowling alley in Hancock had been converted to a flea market that appeared to be doing a brisk business. And she nearly drove off the road when she saw tiny Calvin Springs was now home to a full-fledged Dairy Queen. The combination of stunned disbelief that the town could support a restaurant of any sort, her desire to put off her arrival in Oak Valley a bit longer and her taste buds’ call for a chocolate dipped cone had her pulling into what looked like a new parking lot. The pavement was still a deep black and the parking stripes unmarred by tire tracks.
When she stepped inside the door, she paused. When was the last time she’d been inside a Dairy Queen? Ciao Bella Gelato, yes. Dairy Queen, no.
She ordered her treat and went to sit on one of the outdoor concrete picnic tables. The air was the perfect temperature, and it had that autumn smell tinged with the barest hint of the coming winter. October was the month when photographers working for tourist bureaus throughout the Tennessee mountains were shooting vivid color shots for the following year’s brochures, photos that showed the region at the peak of its beauty.
She enjoyed the first crunch of the hardened chocolate and then the frosty sweetness of the ice cream, and tried not to think how she might develop an ice cream cone-shaped fat roll on her stomach because of it. Every once in a while, though, it felt nice not to worry about every possibly fattening morsel she put in her mouth. But she also understood how those in the world’s spotlight might not want to buy their showpiece finery from someone who looked like the poster child for junk food.
A pickup truck raced into the parking lot, a dented sports car right behind it. The young people driving laughed and yelled profanities between the vehicles. A girl got out of the car and leaned into the truck to kiss the driver. Well, kiss wasn’t exactly the appropriate description. More like trying to swallow his tongue.
White trash, kids who probably did poorly in school, scoffed at authority and who more than likely would live here their entire lives and not make much of themselves. The ones who would someday grace the listings of offenders in the district court docket printed in the newspaper.
How easily that could have been me.
The scene spoiled her appetite. She tossed the remainder of the cone in the trash and headed for the car without looking over at the good old boys — and girls.
Her phone rang as she pulled from the parking lot. By the time she agreed to read a book on wedding planning to possibly give a cover quote, the road had narrowed and begun to wind even more. She’d forgotten how treacherous these back roads were with not an inch of shoulder at the edge of the pavement.
She answered another call as a farmer transporting a haybale on the back of his tractor finally pulled off the road and allowed her to drive a bit faster than fifteen miles per hour.
“Are you there yet?” Justine asked.
“No.”
“Where is this place, the back side of China?”
“The middle of nowhere, okay. I—” Farrin yelped and dropped the phone as the front right tire slipped off the edge of the road. She grabbed the steering wheel with both hands and slammed on the brakes, sending gravel flying.
A monstrous white SUV honked at her as the driver sped by, not even pausing to see if she was okay. And they said New Yorkers were rude. Shaking, Farrin pulled back onto the pavement and maneuvered around a few more curves. Justine’s voice screamed at her from the phone in the floor on the passenger side of the car.
“I’m okay! Hang on a minute!” Farrin felt like a fool yelling at the top of her lungs as she drove along by herself. When she reached a gravel access road into a pasture, she pulled off the road and retrieved the phone. “Stop yelling,” she said when she attempted to put it to her ear.
“What the hell just happened?”
“I almost went for a swim in Sycamore Creek.”
Though she was more careful and observant when she returned to the road, a sense of relief washed over her when the mountains finally interrupted the cell phone service.
Blessed silence.
More and more looked familiar, though in a distant, foggy memory sort of way. And intertwine
d with those memories were snippets of scenes from throughout her childhood. Trick-or-treating in the same costume year after year. The local churches bringing her mother food baskets at Christmas. The way she’d nearly died of embarrassment while paying for their groceries with food stamps when a classmate was behind her in line. Those experiences now seemed to belong to another person. At times, she felt as though she’d lived two different lives – one in Oak Valley and one during the years since she’d left.
Farrin took a deep breath when she passed the green sign that proclaimed she’d entered Hillman County. It was just an invisible line in the dirt, not the gates of hell yawning to accept her. She had to remind herself not to blow things out of proportion. This trip was a favor, perhaps even an opportunity to prove she’d worked herself into a frenzy of worry over nothing. It was a hit and run — get in, do the job, get out. Quick, simple, no big deal.
Then why did her stomach twist into knots when she rounded Crockett Curve and descended into the valley that gave her hometown its name?
Despite her nerves, Farrin pulled off to the side of the road to admire the beauty of the scene. The surrounding ridges ringed the valley and its smattering of round hay bales, barns and little white farmhouses with a blanket of fall color. The long line of oaks paralleling the roadway leading toward town displayed tinges of red like southern belles showing off their latest frocks.
It was a shame that rural communities were often a Catch-22 — beautiful and peaceful compared to large cities but narrow-minded and unforgiving if you weren’t born into the right section of the social hierarchy. It might look like Mayberry, but that’s as far as the resemblance went.
Farrin reached into her purse and retrieved two Pepto Bismol pills and then chided herself for having to take them. Why was she nervous? She was a big success. She had no popular cliques to avoid, no whispers to pretend she didn’t hear, no well of embarrassment to drown in. And yet those twistings of anxiety that she’d left behind when she’d driven her beat-up Escort away from Oak Valley bound for college reappeared as if they hung in a curtain around the community, ready to envelope her when she arrived.
Dress Me in Wildflowers Page 2
