Flowers on Main

by Sherryl Woods

  “Well, I’d stay and show you around,” Bree said, “but as you can tell, there’s not much to see and I have to drive over to Myrtle Creek.”

  She was almost out the door, when she realized Megan was on her heels.

  “Why don’t I ride along with you,” Megan said, her expression suggesting she wasn’t about to take no for an answer.

  Bree gritted her teeth. “Up to you,” she said and went to her car. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather get settled after your trip down from New York? You’ll be staying at the inn again, right?”

  “I’m thinking about staying at the house, but I need to discuss that with your father first,” her mother replied. “You don’t have any objections, do you?”

  Bree shrugged. “It’s not my house.”

  “It is your home,” her mother corrected. “And your opinion does count with me.”

  “Then I think you should stay at the inn, assuming Jess has a room available. It’s been very busy. I’ll call her and check.” She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, flipped it open and dialed.

  She ignored the hurt in her mother’s eyes as she waited for her sister to pick up. “Hey, Jess, this is Bree. You’ll never guess who’s here.”

  “Mom,” Jess said. “Abby called me about an hour ago and told me she was coming.”

  “Do you have a room available at the inn? I can bring her by right now.”

  “Sorry. We’re fully booked. I told Abby the same thing. She said Mom could stay with her and the girls.”

  “Perfect,” Bree said eagerly. “I’ll tell her. I can run her over there.”

  “Not now. Trace is in New York for a few days, so Mom won’t be able to get in until Abby gets home from work.”

  Which meant Bree would be stuck with her for the rest of the afternoon. “Wait, doesn’t Gram have a spare key to Abby’s?”

  “Of course,” Jess said. “I don’t know why Abby didn’t think of that.”

  “I’ll run by the house and pick it up. Bye, Jess.”

  When she disconnected the call, she saw her mother regarding her with a bland expression.

  “Have you palmed me off on Abby now?” she inquired lightly as Bree whipped her car out of the parking space.

  “It’s not like that,” Bree said, but of course it was exactly like that and they both knew it. “I’m sorry if it sounded that way, Mom. It just seemed to make sense for you to stay there.”

  Because she felt guilty, she turned toward Myrtle Creek rather than going straight to Gram’s. It wouldn’t kill her to be polite to her mother for an hour or so.

  “Since Abby’s made peace with me and the rest of you haven’t, that’s what you mean, isn’t it?” Megan said. She met Bree’s gaze. “Did you know your father came to see me in New York a couple weeks ago?”

  Bree swallowed hard and shook her head. “I had no idea.”

  “He wanted me to come back with him then.”

  “Why?” Bree blurted. Was Gram right? Were the two of them getting back together? Bree didn’t even want to consider the possibility. Unlike her younger siblings, she’d never longed for a reconciliation.

  “He wanted me to come here because of you,” her mother said.

  “Me, but I didn’t…” Her voice trailed off.

  “You didn’t want me here,” Megan finished for her. “I can see that. Your father seemed to think you might need me, whether you want me around or not. After we spoke the other day, I sensed the same thing.”

  “Mom, it’s a little late for you to pop up and want to have heart-to-heart chats with your daughters. We all grew up without you. Gram did a good job filling in for you.”

  “I know that. Believe me, no one is more grateful than I am that she was here. And I don’t expect any of you to bare your souls to me, but I am older and perhaps a bit wiser. I’m also a good listener, if you need to talk. Most important of all, I love you and I’d never judge you. You can tell me anything.”

  Bree gave her a bewildered look. “What do you think there is to tell?”

  “Was there a man who sent you fleeing from Chicago?” Megan asked, her tone gentle. “Someone who broke your heart?”

  “There was a man in my life there, but he’s not the reason I left.”

  Her mother regarded her calmly, her expression patient.

  “At least not the whole reason,” Bree amended. “And I really do not want to talk about Marty or Chicago. I have a whole new life stretched out in front of me. That’s what I’m focusing on.”

  “And I applaud you for that. Sometimes, though, the past has a way of catching up to you.”

  “Tell me about it,” Bree murmured, thinking not of Martin Demming, but of Jake.

  A light sparked in Megan’s eyes. “Now, there’s definitely a story behind those words.”

  “Mom, let it go, please. I don’t need or want your motherly concern. I don’t need advice. I’m handling everything.”

  “If you say so,” Megan said quietly. “But I have to wonder.”

  “Why? Why can’t you just believe me and drop this?”

  “Because we’re halfway to Baltimore when I was almost a hundred percent certain you said your appointment was in Myrtle Creek.”

  Bree glanced at the signs as she whizzed past and realized her mother was exactly right. She’d missed her exit twenty miles back.

  “You could have mentioned that sooner,” she grumbled as she turned the car around at the next opportunity.

  “I thought perhaps you’d decided to take me straight to Abby’s office so you could dump me on her doorstep.”

  “That’s not amusing, Mother.”

  Megan grinned at her. “I wasn’t trying to be amusing, just to prove that I know you better than you think I do. Don’t tell me that thought didn’t cross your mind.”

  “So you think driving halfway to Baltimore was some sort of Freudian slip?”

  “Or perhaps an unwitting admission that you were more interested in what I had to say than you wanted to admit.”

  “That’s pretty convoluted reasoning,” Bree accused, then grinned back at her mother. “It sounds like the kind of logic one of my characters would love.”

  “Then you are still writing?” Megan asked.

  Bree’s smile faltered. “Not at the moment, but I’ll get back to it.”

  “It would be a real shame if you didn’t. You’re very good.”

  “How do you know? Did Abby send the reviews?”

  “She did, but that’s not how I know. I was there.”

  Bree blinked at that. “There? As in the theater?”

  “For every play,” her mother confirmed.

  “Even the bomb?”

  “Don’t you dare call it that,” Megan said indignantly. “The characters and theme in that play were right on the money. Since being in New York, I’ve seen a lot of good theater productions, so I think I know one when I see it.”

  Stunned by her mother’s assessment and suddenly anxious to hear more, Bree pulled into the parking lot of a strip mall that had a coffee shop at one end. “I’d like a soda. How about you?”

  “I’d love a cup of coffee,” Megan said.

  “And peach pie?” Bree asked, suddenly remembering it was her mother’s favorite.

  Megan’s expression brightened. “You remembered that?”

  “How could I forget? It was the one thing Gram baked that we had to fight you to get our share. You were always trying to come up with excuses to send us away from the table without dessert.”

  Her mother immediately looked guilty. “You knew what I was doing?”

  “Of course. We all did. Sometimes we deliberately misbehaved to help you out.”

  Inside the coffee shop, when they had their drinks and their pie, Bree lifted her gaze. “Tell me why you thought the problems with the last play weren’t my fault.”

  Her mother’s expression turned thoughtful. “For me, what makes a good play—a good drama, that is—are the characters. Are they people
an audience can relate to? Is the story solid? I liked the people you wrote about. I cared what happened to them.”

  “Then what went wrong? Why did the critics hate it?”

  “Okay, maybe I’m being completely biased here, but I think it had to do with the performances, and since I’d seen many of those same actors in your other plays and they were good, then it seems to me it must have been the director who steered them wrong.”

  Bree sat back in astonishment at her mother’s insight. Marty didn’t always direct. He’d filled in at the eleventh hour on her third play because the director they’d hired had a last-minute conflict. At the time she’d wondered if his directing style wasn’t a little heavy-handed, but she’d still been too much of a novice and too much in awe of him to question his decisions. When he’d reworked dialogue, removing every last speck of subtlety, she’d argued, but eventually given in to his expertise. If the seasoned actors in the cast weren’t balking, how could she?

  Listening to her mother pick apart the production with the eye of someone who understood drama, who could somehow separate the words spoken from the actor’s performance and the director’s staging, was an eye-opener.

  “You really saw what I wrote, despite what happened on that stage,” Bree said, amazed. “Why couldn’t anyone else see that?”

  “For one thing, it’s the critic’s job to assess what’s actually on the stage, not what it could have been if things had been done differently. For another, I know your heart. And it’s in everything you write. I’d love to see that play done again by someone who truly understands the characters.”

  “What about the second play?” Bree asked, genuinely wanting to know.

  Megan’s brow wrinkled. “My least favorite, actually.”

  Rather than being upset, Bree merely wanted an explanation. “Why?”

  “I felt as if you were rushed writing it. The characters never felt completely real to me.”

  “You’re right. I was blocked at first, and then, with a deadline staring me in the face, I did rush. Marty said it was fine, but I never believed that. I was surprised it did as well as it did.”

  She lifted her gaze to her mother’s. “I wish I’d known you were there. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t want to make you nervous or upset you. Those were your nights. It was enough just to share in them. I was so proud of you I could hardly stand it, though. I wanted to leap up and shout that you were my daughter, especially during the encores on that first play when they brought you up onstage.”

  “My knees were knocking,” Bree admitted.

  Megan squeezed her hand. “I could tell, but you looked amazing. I’d never seen you look so confident and happy.” Her expression turned somber. “How did you lose that confidence, Bree? What happened?”

  She was about to blame it on the reception given to the last two plays, but she knew better. For reasons she didn’t entirely understand, Marty had started to undermine her at every turn, but she didn’t want to dwell on that right now.

  Changing the subject, she asked, “Did the family know you were there at the first play? That’s the only one they were all able to get to.”

  “No. As I said, it was your night. I didn’t want to be a distraction. I flew back to New York right after the play ended.”

  “I wish I’d known,” Bree said.

  “You wish that now,” Megan said insightfully. “You wouldn’t have felt that way then or even a couple of hours ago. And that’s okay. We’re making progress, you and me. At least I hope we are.”

  “Maybe we are,” Bree conceded.

  Megan met her gaze. “This reconciliation business won’t be easy or smooth. We may fight. We may fall down. The important thing is that we both keep trying. Can you do that?”

  Bree gave the question the thought it deserved, then nodded. “I want to.”

  “Then we will, because I want that more than anything, too.”

  “Maybe you should stay at the house after all.”

  To her surprise, Megan shook her head. “No, I think going to Abby’s will be for the best. We’re going to need some space at first. So will your father and I.”

  “Do you think the two of you will…”

  “Reconcile?” Megan supplied. “It’s much too soon to tell. To be honest, that will be a whole lot trickier than mending fences with you and your brothers and sisters. I don’t want to push it by staying at the house.”

  “Are you just trying to prove to me how wise you are?”

  “Either that or I’m admitting that I’ve missed Carrie and Caitlyn like crazy and can’t wait to spend some time with them.”

  “I think I’ll go with the whole wisdom thing,” Bree said. “Otherwise, I’d have to admit that I’m halfway jealous of a couple of five-year-olds.”

  Megan reached for her hand. “You don’t have to be. There’s always been room in my heart for all of you.”

  For the first time in fifteen long years, Bree actually believed that.

  7

  W ith a spring in his step, Mick walked into the kitchen at home at the end of the day and looked around for some sign of his ex-wife. He’d been anticipating this moment ever since she’d appeared at Bree’s shop, wondering how it would feel to find her waiting here the way she’d always been before he’d gone and ruined their marriage. Unfortunately, she was nowhere in sight. There was only his mother wearing a scowl on her face.

  “Where’s Megan?” he asked Nell.

  “Haven’t seen her,” his mother said as she set dishes on the table with a vaguely disgruntled thump. “Though I did hear through the grapevine that she’s in town.”

  Mick nodded, ignoring the testy tone in her voice. “She turned up at the shop earlier, then she and Bree went off together. Given the way Bree greeted her, I figured Megan would be back here long before now, most likely alone.”

  “Well, I haven’t seen them. Maybe they’re over at the inn. Will she be staying there the way she did last time?”

  Mick shrugged. “Beats me. As soon as I’ve had a shower, I’ll take a walk over there and check things out. Is there time before dinner?”

  “Since nobody’s bothered checking in with me, I suppose we’ll have dinner whenever anyone turns up,” Nell said, clearly miffed. “You might as well take your time.”

  Mick realized that ignoring his mother’s mood wasn’t accomplishing anything. She evidently had something on her mind. He studied her intently for a moment, then asked, “Is there a problem, Ma?”

  “Problem? No problem other than the way people come and go around here without the slightest bit of consideration.”

  He frowned. “Is this about Megan showing up unexpectedly?”

  “No, it’s about all of you. I spend my afternoons these days trying to decide what to cook and once I’ve decided that, then I have to take a guess about how many people I might be feeding. I thought I raised the whole lot of you better than that.”

  Mick finally grasped the problem. She was feeling unappreciated and taken for granted. He couldn’t say he blamed her.

  “You did raise us to be more considerate,” he assured her. “And you’re right, we’ve all been taking you for granted. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I’ll see to it.”

  “You?” she said incredulously. “You’re no better than your children.”

  “Again, sorry,” he said. It still amazed him how this diminutive woman could reduce him to feeling like a six-year-old with a few scolding words.

  Just then the screen door burst open and was allowed to slam closed as Carrie and Caitlyn came running into the kitchen. “Where’s Grandma Megan?” Carrie demanded.

  “That seems to be the question of the hour,” Nell replied tartly as Abby followed her daughters into the kitchen. “Are the three of you staying for dinner? Was I supposed to know that?”

  Mick grinned as Abby tried to decide how to respond to Gram’s obviously sour mood.

  Eventually Abby put her arms around Gr
am and gave her a hug. “You don’t have to feed us. We just came by to pick Mom up and take her over to our place.”

  “Well, you wasted a trip,” Gram told her. “She’s not here and I haven’t seen her, so you might as well take a seat. We’re having potato soup and pot roast.”

  Abby gave Mick a quizzical look. He shrugged.

  “Gram, why don’t you pour yourself a cup of tea and relax,” Abby suggested. “I can take over in here. Just tell me what’s left to do.”

  “The soup’s on the stove and the pot roast is in the oven,” Nell replied. “There’s nothing left to do except wait to see who shows up.”

  Mick saw the moment when understanding dawned for Abby. She sent the twins outside to play, then made sure her grandmother sat down with her tea.

  “Gram, I’m sorry if we’ve been treating your kitchen like a restaurant where we think we can pop in anytime,” she apologized.

  “I told her we were all going to start being more considerate,” Mick said.

  “Absolutely,” Abby replied.

  Nell’s cheeks turned an embarrassed shade of pink. “I’m sorry for making such a fuss.” She put her hand atop Abby’s. “You know you’re welcome here anytime, all of you. I love having those girls of yours underfoot. I’ve missed them since you moved into the new house with Trace.”

  “I’ll make sure you see them more often,” Abby promised. “But I’ll schedule the visits ahead of time.”

  Mick hadn’t thought it possible, but his mother looked even guiltier and more embarrassed.

  “Ma, is something else the matter?”

  “To tell you the truth, I feel like an old fool, complaining about everyone popping in here. This is your home. You have every right to come here whenever you please.”

  Suddenly, in a rare moment of insight, it dawned on Mick what was really upsetting her and it had little to do with tonight’s dinner or who might unexpectedly pop in for the meal. “You’re worrying about Megan coming back here and taking over, aren’t you?”

  She didn’t deny it. “No home can withstand having two women thinking they’re in charge,” she said. “If you and Megan reconcile, then she has every right to expect to run things around here her way. And I still have my cottage. I can go back there.”