by Molly Greene
Fleur did a one-eighty and held out an elbow to Mack’s dishy date. “Shall I show you my etchings, Caroline?”
The girl looked adoringly at Hackett. When he nodded, she moved forward and took Fleur’s arm. They proceeded into the gallery, leaving Mack standing beside Gen. The girl’s backless black velvet cocktail number was as slinky on the retreat as it was during her frontal assault.
Gen watched them leave, dumbstruck. She must have radiated crazy, because Mack took one look at her and said, “What’s wrong?”
“I didn’t know you were interested in art.”
He shrugged. “I’m interested in a lot of things.”
They contemplated one another in stony silence until Mack tore his eyes away and checked out the easel.
“Is this the painting?”
“That’s it.”
“It’s good,” he said. “This is the sister, then.”
“That’s her.”
“Any leads?”
“Not a one.”
Mack turned to face her. “Are you angry about something?”
Gen shook her head but didn’t look at him. “What do I have to be mad about?” She wanted to sneak a peek but denied herself the pleasure.
“Genny, I haven’t heard from you in months.”
She bit her lip and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
“I don’t either. But my gut and your face are telling me there’s a connection.”
“Look, Mack. It’s not easy for me to talk about certain things–”
“You need to have a chat with your parents about that,” he replied. “Nice to see you again. I’m sure we’ll be talking soon.”
Mackenzie Hackett smiled and nodded politely and went in to see the show, and, presumably, to find his date.
Chapter Ten
The gates at the mouth of the driveway that led to Madison and Cole’s house outside Healdsburg were no longer rusty. They’d been in shambles the first time Gen had driven through, but Cole had scraped and re-blacked them until they looked like what they were, elegant old ladies with a story to tell. That was true enough.
The entry road was still flanked by a jumble of plants, but after two years of steady work the mess had a method to it, and there probably wasn’t a better time to behold the show. Spring encouraged most of the perennials to burst into an alarming palette of color, and right now they were at their best.
The Matilija poppies were covered with huge white blooms. Swaths of bulbs in the front of the beds held up heavy spikes of flowers, and the grapevines were hung with tiny clusters that held the promise of sweet fruit later in the year.
She admired Coleman Welles. He was a good husband, an excellent gardener, and he had another gift: the man could look ahead and see what the future might hold while staying grounded in the present. He could set goals and work toward them without getting obsessed about having whatever it was right away. His now was his wife Madison, and the baby on the way, and the life they were building together.
Gen drew the BMW up tight against the edge of the gravel drive. Madison came out on the front porch with a huge grin on her face and a waistline to match. She was wearing maternity jeans and a fluttering tent of a t-shirt with a scoop neck and three-quarter sleeves.
A furry blur leaped off the porch and made a beeline for the open car door. When he reached her, the dog pumped up and down on his front paws and did a wild greeting dance. Gen planted her feet on the drive, then pet him and cooed, “Sweet Jackie boy, how are you?”
Madison put a flat palm against her brow, shielding her eyes like a sea captain gazing at the horizon. “Genevieve, is that you?” Her voice was loud, as if she was speaking to the hearing impaired. “It’s been so long I barely recognized your mug. Welcome back to the fold, my lost child.”
Gen angled out of the car and gave her an eye roll and a taste of her own medicine. “Madison Boone Welles, is that you? I hardly recognized you with that enormous belly. Have you been knocked up?”
Maddy laughed and circled a hand around her stomach. “Oh, come here quick, Aunt Genny, you can feel Cole’s son kicking.”
Gen was beside her in two beats. Madison pressed her hand over the movement, and the twitch of life within her friend made Gen’s eyes fill.
Madison placed her own palm on the side of Gen’s face. “I know,” she said. “It’s magic.”
“I’m missing out.” Gen looked at the ground and blinked hard. “On seeing you, and the baby, and everything. I’m missing everything.”
“Not everything,” Madison replied. “But I’ve needed a booster shot of Genevieve Delacourt for a while now, myself.”
They hugged, then draped their arms around each other’s shoulders and went in the house.
“I like your new hair,” Madison said.
“Thanks.” Gen brushed her bangs aside. “So do I. It took me long enough to do it.”
“It’s sleek. Makes you look like a sophisticated woman.”
Gen barked a laugh. “Uh-huh.”
The place hadn’t changed much since she’d visited earlier in the year. Warm and beckoning and cozy, with its golden walls and rich yellow wide-plank pine floors. A few pictures had been swapped, and now shots of her and Cole and their deaf neighbor, Taegan, and groups of friends peppered the bookcases. Madison was creating memories of her own, along with a meaningful life.
Gen felt a twinge of jealousy. Or was it regret?
“Something’s wrong,” Madison said.
“Nah.” Gen shot her a smile.
“Have you climbed back on the horse yet?”
Gen knew she was asking if she’d started dating again. The last time she’d driven up she broke the news about her split with Ryan. Madison and Cole were attached to her former live-in, and they’d been sad for her loss and theirs. They’d probably secretly hoped Gen and Ryan would produce playmates for their own future brood.
Gen didn’t want to go there. “What’s this about Cole’s son?”
“A joke. We decided not to find out if it’s a boy or girl before she’s born. So Cole calls the baby Madison’s daughter. And I see what you did there, Gen, changing the subject. Are you okay?”
“Yes. Just a little nostalgic about unfulfilled dreams.”
Madison hugged her again, but didn’t push for more. They knew each other well enough to know what was going on. “Not unfulfilled, just delayed.”
“I’ve also been pining for Cole’s cooking,” Gen said.
“I see.” Madison’s voice was ripe with innuendo. “Hence the trip all the way to Healdsburg.”
“Exactly.”
“We have a few very commendable meals planned. Stow your stuff in your bedroom and let’s have a look at the garden. I’m warning you, you will be amazed.”
Gen returned to the car and pulled her overnight case from the trunk. The unique little stone house always inspired hope, and feelings of kinship and loving relationships, and they resonated within her again. She should visit more often.
The downstairs guest room and bath were as familiar as her own bedroom. Madison had collected a few things Gen had left behind on a shelf in the bedside armoire. She stowed her clothes inside, then nudged out a plastic water pistol she’d bought for a prank long ago. She hefted the toy gun, thinking how much she’d changed. She wasn’t sure she wanted to leave that part of her behind.
She’d recuperated here from a broken leg. She’d met Ryan in this house. That two months had changed her life on many levels. It was the first time she’d taken a pause, the first time she’d taken a breath. The first time she’d frittered away a period of her life, just being.
It was also the first time she’d tackled thoughts about the difference between waiting for something to happen and looking forward to changes while grounded in the present. Heavy stuff.
What had it gained her?
She had no answer, so she changed into old jeans, tucked the pistol in the back of her waistb
and, and joined Madison in the kitchen.
“The new stove is grand,” Gen said.
“You like?”
“I love.”
“Cole picked it out. He wanted the fancy-schmancy high-end gourmet chef model.”
“I bet there was an argument, and I’m shocked he won. I’ve never known you to spend that kind of money on an appliance. You usually go utilitarian.”
“You know my husband, his arguments are always so practical. There’s two incomes now, and we’re staying here for a long time, if not forever. I moved around so much before, remodeling and flipping houses. This one’s just for us.”
“Good for you, Maddy. Where is Cole, anyway?”
“He ran into town to do errands. I think his plan was to give us time alone to catch up. Come on. You’ve got to see the garden.”
Gen followed her oldest friend to a square of field fencing set up in a flat area beyond the garage. The space it enclosed had grown by half since it was first erected.
Cole had built a cute wood storage shed with deep eaves that opened into the space. A matching chicken coop with its own fenced enclosure sat beside it. The entry gate was hung within an arbor encrusted with flowering vines, and the neat lines running across the plot burst with green.
They walked among the rows and Madison acted as docent, pointing out what was ripe. “Peas,” she said. “Five types of lettuce, and broccoli, and carrots, and all kinds of greens like early kale and cabbage and cilantro and spinach.”
Gen knelt in a row of strawberries and picked a fat red fruit, then popped it into her mouth. “Mmmmm.”
“There’s a patch of ripe raspberries over against the fence.” Madison produced a clean bucket from the shed and handed it to Gen. “I thought we’d have fresh berries and ice cream for dessert tonight. And I’ll add whatever’s left over to a batch of muffins for breakfast.”
“Food as therapy,” Gen said. “That’s what I think of when I think of your kitchen.”
“Only since I moved here.”
“So what’s for dinner?”
“A salad, for starters. We’re going to pick a little of everything that’s ready and toss it with homemade cilantro dressing. Cole’s planning the main course. I’m making an egg and vegetable casserole with gruyere cheese for breakfast tomorrow, along with the muffins.”
“I’ll need to take a long walk to work all that off.”
“It just so happens we’re surrounded by miles of hills and a beautiful lake. Perfect hiking country.”
“Too bad you’re not in walking shape.” Gen tried not to laugh but failed.
When Madison pitched a dirt clod at her back, Gen whipped out the water pistol and pumped the trigger. A jet of H2O blitzed out and tagged her target on the forehead, dead on. A trail of liquid spilled down Madison’s nose, and she laughed so hard she had to sit down among the carrots.
They collapsed in the mulch and giggled, holding their sides, until Madison leaned over her bulging stomach and said, “That’s your Aunt Genny who just did that. She’s going to teach you all kinds of foolishness. Pay attention, my boy.”
Gen scooted over and pressed her cheek against Madison’s belly. “I can’t wait to meet you, my sweet niece, and I promise I will always make you laugh,” she said.
“That’s the first time in forever I’ve heard that lilt in your voice. I miss the sound.” Madison rubbed Gen’s back. “So you better remember that promise, because I’m holding you to it.”
Gen sat up and held Madison’s hand. “No matter what happens.”
“No matter how hard life gets in patches.”
“No matter how old we are.”
“No matter what.”
Their hug was awkward, considering the tummy between them and the fact they were sprawled among the vegetables. But it was a while before they released each other, nonetheless.
Finally, Gen helped Madison up and dusted the soil off the back of her pants. They pulled carrots and gathered greens and picked handfuls of peas, then hauled it all into the kitchen to wash.
* * *
“I don’t think I’ve had peas right off the vine in my whole life.” Gen stopped shucking the pods and inspected the kitchen. When she wasn’t here, she forgot how much his place reminded her of things like great food and gardens and joy. It would be tough for Madison to be happy alone after living in this loving cocoon. During their time together here, she’d told Gen that was what she was afraid of.
Gen understood now.
“I hadn’t either, not before Cole.” Madison was at the sink, rinsing lettuce and stacking it in a colander to drain. “They’ve spoiled me now. It’s like having a ripe peach right off the tree. It’s hard to enjoy the ones you buy in the grocery store after tasting that.”
They heard a car drive up and pull into the garage. “My husband is home. He’s driving the new family minivan, by the way.”
“What? You made me promise to never let you buy one. Please don’t tell me he sold the Porsche.”
“I’m kidding. And no, he didn’t sell the Porsche. I wouldn’t let him, it’s too much a part of who he is. It’s under a car cover in one of the bays in the carriage house.”
“So what did you do?”
“Sold the 4Runner and bought a sensible new Ford Explorer.”
“Ah, the old married couple.”
Madison squeezed Gen’s shoulder and went to greet Cole at the back door. They returned arm-in-arm, Cole clutching a cloth sack of groceries. He went to Gen without a word and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then pulled her up so he could hug her.
“Hello, Genny. It’s so good to see you.”
“I brought wine for us,” Gen whispered. “We can sneak out on the back patio and drink from the bottle so your wife won’t see.”
“Don’t get me in trouble,” Cole whispered in reply.
“You know you can drink in front of me, people. I don’t mind.”
“It’s more fun to pretend it’s forbidden,” Gen replied. “Besides, I need to talk to Professor Welles.”
“All right, go ahead.” Madison held out the corkscrew. “Cole, what’s the main course?”
“Grilled salmon.” He transferred his purchases to the fridge and handed out a bottle of chilled pinot grigio.
Gen pulled the cork and poured two generous glasses. The pair retired to the back patio and watched the sun descend behind the hills.
“How’ve you been, Genny?”
“Good. Busy.”
“How’s your heart?”
She contemplated the question. “It’s okay, I guess. I’m not pining anymore.”
“Is that a good thing?”
She smiled. “You’re the psych professor, you tell me.”
“But my knowledge is only theory, not practice. I’m not a therapist. You don’t have to answer, though, it’s none of my business.”
“Yes, it is. What’s happening with me is always my friends’ business.”
Cole nodded, then drank some wine and waited.
“Ryan was the first relationship I’ve had that I thought would end in marriage.” Gen stopped to have some wine and think.
“But now I know that because I wanted that, it colored my perception of the quality of our connection. I saw what I wanted to see. He finally told me how it really was. I felt bad for a while, and now I don’t feel bad anymore, but the problem is I don’t feel much of anything. Except scared to death to do it again.”
Cole didn’t comment.
“That’s a police tactic,” she said. “The guilty party feels the need to fill up the silence with inane blabbing. See how well it works?”
“And changing the subject with humor is an avoidance tactic.”
She laughed. “Okay, so there’s another guy. And part of me feels like it’s too soon, that I’ll screw it up if I do what I always do and push it. I’m conflicted. Part of me wants to draw it out and really get to know him. Another part wants to rush in and grab the guy up. And another part wants
to run away and never see him again. That’s the part that’s the real problem.”
“Is he interested?”
Gen ducked her head. “I think so. He’s not put his life on hold while I decide what I want. I saw him with a date the other night. And she was gorge, by the way.”
“And that worried you, made you question your decision to hold back.”
“Exactly.”
“So you’d be happier if he lived like a monk and gave you sad puppy dog eyes every time you came within range.”
Gen chuckled at the visual. “No, you know I’d hate that. I hate needy.”
“Then I guess you have to trust.”
“Yeah, I guess so. I have to trust myself, trust fate. Trust him.”
“Any man would be lucky to be in love with you, Genevieve. To have you in their life.”
“Ryan didn’t think so.”
“We don’t know what Ryan really thought. He didn’t share much, did he?”
“No.”
“Follow your heart, Genny. Get back on the horse when you’re ready. Walk before you run. Enjoy the ride.”
She held up her glass and Cole clinked it with his.
“There’s something else. The real reason I wanted to talk with you out here. It’s not that I don’t want Madison to know, but I’m working on a case, and I wanted to ask you about it alone.”
“Shoot.”
“I have a client who’s looking for her sister, a girl who was accused of killing someone. She left a suicide note and disappeared twenty years ago. Her body wasn’t found, and no trace of her has surfaced in all this time. There’s been no indication she was still alive.
“Not until last week, anyway, when my client found a painting in a thrift shop. There’s a woman in the picture who’s the spitting image of the missing sister. The canvas is dated about eight years ago. I talked with the man who donated it, so I know it’s not a hoax. He’s had it all these years.”
“What are the chances your client would find that?”
“Actually, someone who works for her bought it and brought it to her. The sister and my client, Sophie, look a lot alike. The resemblance is obvious.”
“Okay. Still a wild fluke, but life is full of them. What’s your question?”
