by Webb, Peggy
“Fine.”
“There’s a thesaurus on my desk, Amy. Run in there and see if you can’t come up with something more descriptive. Fabulous. Extraordinary. Fantastic. Mind-boggling. Londerful.”
“Londerful?”
“A combination of love and wonderful.”
Amy poured herself a cup of tea and sat at the table. “Now, Aunt Syl, just because I was forced to attend that party, don’t think I’ve changed my mind about anything else.”
“Did I say anything?”
“No. But I know what you were thinking.”
“When did you take up mind reading?”
“About the same time you took up matchmaking. “
Aunt Syl laughed. “I enjoyed it. I may give up mystery writing and go into matchmaking full time. Sort of like Dolly Levi. What do you think, Amy?”
“I don’t think Broadway is ready for you.”
Aunt Syl turned back to her cooking. “Balderdash!” she said as she looked into her mixing bowl. “Have you ever seen pancake batter that turned purple and bubbled?”
Amy walked over to the counter and peered over Aunt Syl’s shoulder. The purple pancake batter was bubbling happily in the bowl. “What did you put in it?”
“You know those wonderful blueberry pancakes on the waterfront?” Amy nodded. “Well,” Aunt Syl continued, “I didn’t have blueberries so I put in grapes.”
“Is that all?”
“Well, let me see now ...” Aunt Syl scanned the littered countertops. “There’s flour and eggs and sugar and a pinch of soda ... maybe more than a pinch.” Her face brightened. “Oh, yes, I added a little wine for good measure.”
Amy picked up the empty bottle. “A little wine?”
“Maybe more than a little ... enough to taste.”
Amy laughed. “I think I’ll have cereal this morning.” As she got the milk from the refrigerator, she said over her shoulder, “Remind me not to let you make my wedding cake.”
She didn’t notice her slip of the tongue, but Aunt Syl did. Smiling brightly, she dipped a spoon Into the pancake batter and lifted it to her lips. “Ummm. Not bad, even if I do say so myself.”
Amy smiled about the purple pancake batter all day. At least she told herself that was why she was smiling. She felt so good she almost finished her perpetual popcorn popper.
Todd called that night.
“Seen any dragons lately, love?” he asked.
“Only Aunt Syl’s purple pancake batter.” She told him the story of their would-be breakfast.
Todd laughed, and they talked of inconsequential things—the weather, the movies, the next outdoor concert. They skirted around the real issues of love already declared and marriage denied and fears not faced.
After they hung, up, Amy was vaguely dissatisfied. She prowled around the apartment, selected and rejected three books, and finally ended up leaning on the windowsill looking out across the darkened Gulf. The fragrance coming from her multicolored petunias reminded her of orange blossoms.
Surely the so-called legend was nothing more than myth.
“Do you smell something, Aunt Syl?” she asked, hoping the answer would be no.
“Of course, dear. It’s orange blossoms.”
“It can’t be. These are petunias.”
“I don’t care if they are kittens on a stem. They still smell like orange blossoms.” Aunt Syl smiled at her. “True love is afoot.”
“Is that a line from your book?”
“No, but it ought to be. Maybe I’ll add it to chapter fourteen.”
Amy lowered her face to the petunia blossoms, determined to prove the legend false. But the scent of orange blossoms as so strong it was still with her when she went to bed.
That night she dreamed of reaching for Todd through the fog. She could almost feel the damp chill on her face as she stretched her hand through the cotton-wool blur that obscured him. Suddenly her hand closed around something solid. Todd’s hand. She caught it and held on. In her dream she clung to him. Although his face was lost in the fog, his hand was always there.
o0o
Thursday evening Todd sent roses and an invitation to dinner. Amy declined.
When Justin returned with her note, Todd questioned him,
“How did she look, Justin? Was she cheerful? Was she rested?”
Justin laughed. “A body would think you hadn’t seen her in three years. Why don’t you go upstairs and see for yourself?”
“I’ll wait. She’ll call to thank me for the flowers.”
He prowled his immaculate apartment, waiting for the phone to ring. He put a jazz tape on and flipped through the latest issue of U.S. News and World Report. From time to time he glanced toward the phone, but it remained silent.
He threw the magazine aside and stared out the window. How long would it take Amy to realize that life was full of risks? How long would it take her to see that some things were worth the risk? Maybe giving her so much time was a mistake. Maybe she was using the time to put him out of her mind rather than to resolve her fears. Maybe he should give fate another little push.
He reached for the phone, then withdrew his hand. What did he think he could do? Carry her to the altar kicking and screaming? There were some things Amy had to decide for herself.
He stalked into his pristine kitchen and poured himself a tall glass of lemonade. It was cool and slightly tart, with pulp from real lemons floating in the glass. But it was not refreshing. Todd sat glumly at his spotless table and decided nothing would ever refresh him again.
Taking his glass, he walked through his apartment, hoping to feel that familiar surge of pleasure the orderliness of his home always gave him. Instead, he imagined a bawdy-tongued parrot swinging from a chandelier and a woman with a China doll face standing in the midst of a cluttered workroom.
He slammed his glass so hard against a marble-topped table, the ice rattled.
“She could have at least called about the roses.”
When the phone rang, he nearly knocked over a chair getting to it. It turned out to be his brother Jeff.
“It’s you,” Todd said.
“What do you mean, it’s me? Were you expecting somebody else? Amy, maybe?” Jeff’s voice dripped good cheer, and, as usual, he got right to the point.
“Why would I be expecting Amy to call?” Todd asked testily. “She made her policy of no commitments perfectly clear in the beginning. Anybody would need to have his head examined for sending flowers to press a hopeless case.”
“Uh-oh. The woman’s playing hard to get.”
“She’s not playing. She’s running scared and I’m getting ridiculous for being a sentimental fool.” Todd scowled at his glass; it was sweating a puddle on his immaculate table. “My life was perfectly satisfactory before she came here. I don’t know why I would want somebody like her anyway.”
“Like what?”
“She doesn’t know the meaning of order. Her apartment looks like she’s getting ready for a rummage sale, and she never has anything in her refrigerator except wilted lettuce.”
“That’s just what you need, brother. Somebody to put a little zip in your life.”
“If I want zip, I’ll have Justin add Tabasco to my tomato juice.”
After he had hung up, Todd hugged his righteous anger to himself, thinking the remark about Tabasco proved he could handle anything, even losing Amy.
o0o
After she had sent Justin away, Amy put her roses in water and spent the next fifteen minutes moving them around her apartment. She wanted them to be in exactly the right spot, so she could see them no matter where she was. She thought of dividing the bouquet and putting each rose in a bud vase, one in every corner of the apartment. But then she wouldn’t be able to pass by and smell the delicious fragrance of the whole bouquet. She finally put them beside her favorite chair.
She sat down, letting their sweet smell wash over her. From time to time she glanced at the phone. He would surely call, she thought. Hadn’t he
vowed to break down her barriers? Hadn’t he promised to slay her dragons?
The silent phone mocked her. Maybe she should call him. Maybe she should let him know that she had found him in her fog dream. At least she should thank him for the roses. She reached for the phone, then withdrew her hand. Was the dream important? Did it mean she was willing to risk losing someone she loved again? Could she marry Todd and not be haunted by the fear that he would be taken from her?
She plucked a rose from the vase and held it to her face. Tomorrow would be soon enough to think about the future. She placed the rose on her pillow when she went to bed.
o0o
Late Friday afternoon Jeff stopped by to visit his brother.
“Bonnie and I thought we’d have the two of you over for dinner tomorrow night.” Jeff tried to make the invitation sound casual, as if he and his wife hadn’t been hatching an elaborate matchmaking scheme.
Todd didn’t have to ask who the other person was. Amy. Just thinking her name brought a hollow feeling to the pit of his stomach. Another whole day had gone by without hearing from her, and he felt as if the earth had been snatched from under his feet.
“Forget it. The lady’s surrounded herself by a wall of silence. What makes you think a dinner invitation will break it down?”
Jeff didn’t lose his good cheer. He plopped onto the sofa and stretched his long legs in front of him. “The rocky road to romance can sometime made you feel like you don’t know which end is up.”
“It’ll pass.”
“One thing you have to know about love, brother, is that you can’t sentence it like a criminal and expect it to disappear onto the top shelf of the closet.”
Todd’s grunt passed for laughter. “Your metaphors stink.”
“What do you expect from an engineer?” Jeff rose. “Dinner’s at eight.”
He was out the door before Todd could say he wouldn’t be there.
o0o
Amy was flabbergasted when Todd’s brother showed up at her apartment. She was even more aghast when he invited her to Saturday night dinner.
“Well, of course, I can’t go,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Because ...” She couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Don’t you eat?”
“Yes.”
“It’s settled then. Bonnie will pick you up at seven-thirty.”
He was gone before she could say no.
All day Saturday, Amy tried to put Todd out of her mind, but every time she looked at the roses she felt such weak-kneed desire, she had to sit down. “I really should throw them into the trash can,” she muttered on more than one occasion.
At least five times during the day she reached for the phone to call Bonnie and politely decline the dinner invitation. Visions of Todd always stopped her, though—the way he looked in the sailboat with the wind in his hair, the way his smile went crooked and dreamy when they made love, the way he squeezed her hand in response to her unspoken need.
By late afternoon she was exhausted from the effort of indecision and feelings of frustration. When the hands of the clock approached six, she showered and shampooed her hair. “I must be crazy,” she mumbled as she dried off.
Afterward she tried on and rejected three dresses. “Of course I’m not going,” she muttered. “I will not be manipulated this way.” She smoothed her slip over her slim hips and reached into her closet for a green silk dress. The full skirt billowed as she slipped it over her head. “This is another of Todd’s schemes to make me change my mind.” She struggled with the zipper as she talked. “If he thinks having dinner with his brother’s family will make me change my mind, he’s sadly mistaken.”
The green silk swirled around her legs as she paced the floor. What was she going to do? She should have called Jeff and Bonnie immediately to say she couldn’t come. What had stopped her? Was she so weak that she constantly let other people manipulate her, or was she so in love that she let her heart rule her head? She didn’t even want to think about that possibility. Nobody could be that much in love. She had to be practical. She had to remember that the pain of loving and losing was too great to risk again.
She glanced at the clock. Seven. Too late to call and cancel now. Bonnie would have made dinner preparations. Not going would be unthinkable. Amy sighed. What was she going to do about this dilemma?
She sat down at her dressing table and carefully applied her makeup. The only thing to do was make the best of a bad situation. Perhaps she could even use this opportunity to make it perfectly clear to Todd that she had no intention of changing her mind. At that thought, her loneliness almost overwhelmed her. She leaned her head on her hands and took a big, gulping breath. Why didn’t life come with guarantees?
Lifting her head, she finished her makeup, then walked carefully into the sitting room as if any unnecessary movement might shatter her resolve.
“Aunt Syl,” she called, “I’m going out to dinner.”
Aunt Syl emerged from her room, trailing a shocking pink feather boa and pushing at her topsy-turvy matching wig. “Wonderful, dear. With Todd, I hope. It’s time to quit this silly cat-and-mouse game.”
“This is not a game, Aunt Syl; it’s my life. Everybody seems to keep forgetting that.”
“I’ll admit to being brash and pushy about this romance. One of the perks of being my age is that you can do and say anything you like and nobody dares reprimand you for fear you’ll die and they’ll feel guilty.”
Amy chuckled. “Aunt Syl, you’re impossible.”
“But adorable, don’t you think?”
o0o
Bonnie and Jeff lived in a charming antebellum home that overlooked the Gulf. Huge cascades of summer flowers spilled over polished tabletops, and the delicious yeasty aroma of home-baked bread filled the air. Children’s laughter echoed down the stairway, and Jeff outdid himself in being gracious.
The cheerful, homey atmosphere caught Amy off guard. She found it impossible to remain cool and detached. By the time Todd arrived, she was engaged in a lively debate with Jeff about the impact of robots on industry.
When Todd entered the room, her sentence trailed into nothingness, and the subject of robots skittered completely out of her mind. He stood in the doorway, bronzed and handsome, filling her vision. He must have said something to Bonnie and Jeff, for his lips were moving, but Amy heard nothing except the symphony of her own heart.
He walked toward her, his lips curved into the merest suggestion of a smile, his eyes locked on hers. “Amy,” he said in that wonderful drums and cymbals voice. She wondered if her legs would continue to hold her up.
“Todd.” She hoped he wouldn’t try to touch her. If he touched her, she might make a fool of herself in front of his family. She might wrap herself in his arms and stay there forever.
Her sigh of relief was audible when he stopped inches away.
“How are you?” His question was polite, remote, as if they were nothing more than acquaintances.
“Fine,” she said aloud. Lonesome, she said to herself. Vulnerable. Scared. Uncertain.
They stood facing each other, both desperate to reach out and touch, both clinging to a fragile thread of self-control. The fragrance of orange blossoms drifted around them and the hall clock chimed eight.
Their forgotten hosts exchanged a significant look. “Why don’t we go into the dining room?” Jeff said. “Bonnie’s made her specialty.”
Todd shrugged his shoulders as if throwing off a magic spell and turned to his brother. “Corned beef?” he asked. He was grateful for this new topic of conversation—food. He was grateful for anything that kept him from forgetting that Amy was out of his reach, shut up behind her wall of fear.
“With cabbage and potatoes.” Jeff took Amy’s arm. “I have to watch my brother. If he didn’t have Justin, I’m afraid he’d take Bonnie away from me simply because of her cooking.”
“How did he get Justin?” Amy asked, but only half-listened as Jeff told h
er how Justin had answered Todd’s classified ad for a housekeeper. As they walked to the dining room she was vividly aware of Todd walking behind her, of his gaze on her. The back of her neck tingled. She felt breathless and flushed. This was no way to forget a man.
Conversation during dinner was strained. Amy and Todd went to elaborate lengths to avoid talking directly to each other, while Jeff and Bonnie made valiant efforts to bring them together. Over dessert Amy decided that it had been the longest meal in the history of eating.
Bonnie looked around the table and gave everybody a lovely smile. “Jeff is going to help me make coffee. Why don’t you show Amy the garden, Todd?”
“My pleasure,” he said.
Amy wanted to scream. Since when did it take two to make coffee? She looked down at her empty plate as if she found the cake crumbs fascinating.
Todd pulled back her chair and led her outside. The brick patio was softly lit by the moon and outdoor lanterns. An informal rose garden flanked its south side.
“Bonnie has thirty-five varieties of roses,” Todd said. “She started this rose garden right after she and Jeff moved here.” He ached to take Amy into his arms. He longed to kiss her until she forgot about death and pain and loss. But he wouldn’t barge across the barriers she had erected.
Amy walked away from him and knelt beside a bush that was ablaze with fiery red roses. She pressed her face into a flower and closed her eyes. Miraculously, it was not roses but the overwhelming fragrance of orange blossoms held her in its spell. She was so still she could almost hear the moon tracking across the sky.
After a while, Todd continued his spiel. “Bonnie knows more about aphids and black rose blight than anybody in Sunday Cove. She calls last summer the summer of the snail. Jeff says she spent more time out here battling the slimy things than she did with him.”
Abruptly, Amy stood up. “Thank you.” She almost reached for him, but she settled for a smile. It didn’t feel as good as touching him, but it felt safe.
“For what?” he asked.
“For being my best friend. For talking about roses and aphids instead of—” She hesitated, watching her lower lip between her teeth.
