© 2009 Heather Horrocks.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher, Deseret Book Company, P.O. Box 30178, Salt Lake City Utah 30178. This work is not an official publication of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The views expressed herein are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily represent the position of the Church or of Deseret Book. Deseret Book is a registered trademark of Deseret Book Company.
All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
© 2009 Heather Horrocks
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher, Deseret Book Company, P.O. Box 30178, Salt Lake City, Utah 84130. This work is not an official publication of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The views expressed herein are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily represent the position of the Church or of Deseret Book Company.
All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Deseret Book is a registered trademark of Deseret Book Company.
Visit us at DeseretBook.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Horrocks, Heather.
How to stuff a wild zucchini / Heather Horrocks.
p. cm.
Summary: New York playwright Lori Scott feels like a failure when her
producer boyfriend calls it quits on both their relationship and her
first play. On a dare, she throws a dart at a map and ends up moving to
Brigham City, Utah, where she writes "The Garden Guru" column for the
local paper and ends up falling in love with local firefighter John
Wayne Walker.
ISBN 978-1-60641-094-3 (paperbound)
1. Dramatists—Fiction. 2. Journalists—Fiction. 3. Brigham City
(Utah)—Fiction. 4. American fiction—21st century. I. Title.
PS3608.O769H69 2009
813'.6—dc22 2009001344
Printed in the United States of America
Publishers Printing, Salt Lake City, UT
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To my wonderful, witty, warm-hearted, and winsome husband, Mark, who dislikes zucchini but loves and supports me in countless ways and has made it possible for me to achieve
both my dreams and my own happily-ever-after
THE GARDEN GURU
Dear Dr. Dobson: I’ve just moved to Utah and the soil at my new home in Taylorsville is clay that clumps horribly and doesn’t seem to drain. Can you give me any suggestions for preparing my garden?
(Matthew)
Dear Matthew: Oh, my dear, you are absolutely right. Clay soil does not drain at all and your plants will need a better foundation. Add some organic material to improve the texture and biological activity of the soil. Peat moss is also good, as it will loosen the clumps. I wish you all the best with your new garden—you can make it work. I, also, am moving, though only temporarily. I will be taking a long-awaited three-month sabbatical to China. Never fear, my friends, I shall not leave you without gardening advice. I will provide a knowledgeable substitute while I’m gone; I will be sure to introduce that person in my last column before they try their hand . . .
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter One
“I am not upset.” Lori Scott chucked the dart the length of her old bedroom where it thunked soundly into the center of the dartboard.
Greg whistled. “I have to tell you how impressed I am with your non-anger issues.”
A foot taller than her own five-foot-five, Lori’s older brother had maintained his track-star physique, looking lean and athletic in his official attorney’s suit. As one of her favorite people, Greg could get away with saying things to her that others couldn’t. Sometimes. “You’re just jealous because you’re not winning.”
“You’re absolutely right.” He squinted in concentration and tossed his own dart. It landed in the outer circle. “Darn.” Turning back to her with a flourish, he smiled. “So, Lori, tell me again how happy you are. Convince me.”
She sighed in resignation, leaned back against her old wooden desk, and folded her arms as he crossed the room to collect the darts. She knew he wouldn’t leave her alone until she told him the truth. “Let’s see. Where to begin? Oh, yes, I remember now. My life stinks.”
“Because your play closed?”
“If anyone could actually remember my name, I might have a chance at becoming a Jeopardy question.” She swept her hand through the air dramatically like a game show host.
Greg chuckled. “I’ll take ‘Playwrights’ for a thousand dollars, Alex.”
Lori grabbed the darts from Greg’s hand, turning them over in her fingers. “‘The length of time it took Lori Scott’s first play to flop.’” She threw a dart at the wall again. “That’s what will flash onto the screen, the buzzer will sound, and then a hopeful contestant will answer, ‘What is one week?’” Lori sighed. “One lousy week for one lousy play.” The second dart followed the first.
Greg shrugged. “So it didn’t last long. How many people can say they’ve even had a play on Broadway? Anyway, I still love ya.”
She huffed. She had written one of the shortest-running plays ever produced on Broadway. Still aching from the humiliation, she was presently not answering calls, and had come running home to Mommy’s house in Schenectady, New York, with her tail between her legs. But she couldn’t stay here. Already neighbors were beginning to realize she was back, and it would be harder to dodge calls and visits from people here than from her Manhattan acquaintances.
Besides, it was said you couldn’t go home again, and it was true. This place had too many memories that she’d been trying to outrun for too long. She missed the style of Manhattan—the Prada clothes and Manolo Blahnik shoes in elegant black, the nightclubs, the feeling of being where everything was fashionable. And she missed the energy and pace of a town where even the garbagemen ran to and from their trucks. But Manhattan was out of the question for now. She’d already sublet her apartment, and she didn’t want to run into her ex-boyfriend, either.
No, she had to find somewhere else to go. Somewhere she could just lie low for a while. Wh
ere she could find a job and get her finances—and her life—back in order. She just didn’t know where that place would be. She blinked back tears. She’d invested so much of herself into both her play and her relationship and now, just like that, they were both gone.
“I’m going to move someplace where people don’t know who I am and that I’m a loser.”
Greg smiled at her. “Shouldn’t you put your hand to your forehead or something? For maximum effect?”
“Leave me alone, you big bully.”
He pulled out the two darts and set them on the desk. Then, towering over her, he patted her head gently like she was a child. “Don’t worry. Your next play will have a longer run.”
“I hate when you do that.” Lori pushed his arm away. “Why do you have to be so freakishly tall?”
“I think the pertinent question is why do you have to be so freakishly short?”
“Dinner will be ready soon.”
Startled, they both turned toward the sound of their mother’s voice. A plumper, size-fourteen version of Lori stood in the doorway, dressed in black jeans and a pink T-shirt which was partially covered by a flour-dusted apron. She smiled at her two children.
“Besides,” Greg said, “can I help it if Mom wanted me around three years before she wanted you? I had a head start on the growth chart and you simply refused to catch up.” He grabbed his mother and twirled her around.
“Stop that, you silly thing.” Evelyn Scott laughed as she turned back to Lori. “Honey, don’t you worry. Lots of people have plays that don’t do so well at first. You can write another. Or maybe someone else will produce this one again.” As always, her voice had just the right amount of loving encouragement.
Usually Lori would have allowed herself to be mollified, but not now, while she was steeping in self-pity. “The word you’re searching for is flop, Mom. That’s different than plays that don’t do so well.”
“Well, didn’t you tell me Nicholas Adams, the big producer, wanted to see your next play when you finished it?”
“I don’t care about plays anymore. I don’t ever want to write plays again.” She watched the two of them exchange a glance. Lori picked up another dart, drew back, and threw. If she imagined Nicholas Adams’s face centered on the dartboard, then the dart hit him squarely on the nose. Big producer—ha! If her mother only knew.
She didn’t need any more of Nick’s patronizing attitude or, even worse, his attempts to convince her it wasn’t natural to wait for marriage before being intimate, and his insistence that her way to success was to sleep her way to the top. With him, of course. The pig.
Lori turned and forced a smile. “Nicholas and I are no longer dating.”
“Oh,” said her mother. “I didn’t know you were dating.”
Greg said, “Don’t worry, Lori. You know the old saying: There are lots more fish in the sea.”
“How very comforting. Thank you.” Lori rolled her eyes at him. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter anymore. I plan on moving somewhere far from Schenectady and Manhattan, both.”
“Like where?” Her mother looked worried.
Lori paused. “I’ll go anywhere as long as no one there knows about my stupid play.”
“Anywhere?” Greg’s dark eyes lit up. “Outer Mongolia?”
“Now, Greg, she’s just talking.” Evelyn touched Lori’s arm. “You know you’re welcome to stay here as long as you want. Your room is always here for you.”
It certainly was. Down to the shelf holding her stuffed animals and college textbooks and the desk she’d studied at for high school exams. The idea of moving back to her mother’s home after being on her own in Manhattan made Lori feel like an even bigger loser.
She looked at her mother, and her heart softened. Lori hugged her. “Thanks for the offer.”
“Lori can’t move in here.” Her brother shook his head. “You’d expect her to attend church, and she doesn’t do church.”
“Well, maybe if she did do church,” her mother said gently, “her life would fall into place.”
As if it were really that simple. “You mean like it did thirteen years ago?”
“Your father—”
“Mom, you know Lori doesn’t like talking about Dad.” Greg turned to his sister. “But Dad would like to see you.”
“I bet.” Lori eyed him, the old anger putting an edge on her voice. “Look, I’m glad you’ve maintained a relationship with him, Greg, but don’t expect me to. In fact, back off.”
“Okay, backing off the whole Dad subject.” He saluted smartly. “Back to the play subject. Quit whining. You’re only twenty-six and you’ve already had a play produced on Broadway. That’s got to count for something.”
“Not when it closes one week later.”
“Ah—back to the pity party. Okay, then, are you serious about moving away? Would you just pick up and go”—he snapped his fingers—“like that?”
She did want to get away. From her humiliating Broadway flop. From the looks and whispers. From the new screenplay she hadn’t been able to complete and a career that felt like it was totally the wrong choice. And especially from men like Nicholas Adams, who had proven himself to be far too much like her father.
If she really could escape her feelings of failure and discouragement with something as simple as a geographical move, she would do it in an instant. Smiling, knowing it really wasn’t an option, she said, “Yeah. I think I would.”
“Hang on.” Greg disappeared out the door, calling out, “I’ll be right back.”
“Turn the thermostat down while you’re out there.” Sitting on her bed, Lori pulled her bare feet into a yoga pose and glanced at her mother. “I thought older women were supposed to want their houses Arctic cold.”
“I guess I’m not as old as you think.” Her mother paused, as if wary of upsetting Lori. “Have you had a chance to finish your screenplay? At Christmas you said you were nearly done.”
Lori shook her head. “I can’t seem to finish that, either. Nothing’s going right for me.” She hated how whiny she sounded, but she had given herself a full week to feel the pain of her world shattering—her play flopping and her boyfriend cheating on her—and she planned to make full use of the remaining four days.
Greg returned, unfolded a map of the United States, and pinned it over the dartboard before stepping back, motioning grandly. “Okay, sis. Toss and let’s see where you’re moving.”
Evelyn frowned. “That’s your silliest idea yet.”
Lori laughed for perhaps the first time in the past three days. She knew Greg was teasing her, trying to cheer her up, and it had worked. The idea intrigued her.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Greg looked pensive. “I think sledding off the garage roof when I was ten might have been sillier.”
“You didn’t!” their mother protested. “You could have been maimed—or killed!”
He grinned at Lori. “What do you think? You wanna take a shot at a new place to live?”
“Sure.” Her heart actually lifted at the thought, and she rose from the bed. She smiled at Greg’s teasing, but it suddenly struck her that she could really do it. “I’ll play along.”
“You agree you’ll move wherever the dart lands?” She could tell he was trying to suppress a grin. “Because otherwise, this is just a game.”
More and more intrigued by the idea, Lori nodded. “I’ll move anywhere the dart lands. Unless I hit water, of course.”
“Promise? Because with you out of the way, all of Mom’s homemade cookies are mine.”
Greg might not have been serious, but suddenly Lori was. Her brother’s crazy idea could solve her problem entirely. She wouldn’t even have to choose where to go. She took a deep breath. She had nothing more to lose. She’d already lost her career, her boyfriend, and her pride. She’d wanted
a few months away to think things through. Why not go with the toss of a dart? Wasn’t the definition of insanity doing the same things and expecting different results? She was ready for different. “I promise. I’ll let fate make my decision for me.”
“I like the way you play.” Greg handed Lori a dart. As if he realized she was taking his teasing seriously, he added, “Just to make it more interesting, though, let’s say you can only move where you land if you also find a job online in one hour.”
“You two quit clowning around.” Frowning, her mother touched Lori’s arm. “This is no way to choose where you’re going to live. What if you end up someplace scary?”
“Mom, I’ve lived in Manhattan for two years. What could possibly scare me?” If Lori squinted, she could almost make out the East Coast and the area around New York state. Shifting her gaze to the left, she spotted what must be Hawaii.
Let fate decide? Well, maybe fate could use a hint.
Taking careful aim, she tossed the dart to the left—and immediately knew she’d gone off target. Still, the dart hit the board with a satisfying thwack. Well, living in California wouldn’t be so bad. And if she’d hit water, she’d get to try again.
Greg beat her to the map, his body obscuring her view. After a pause, he started to laugh.
“What?” she demanded.
Grinning widely, he stepped aside and pointed. “See for yourself; otherwise, you’ll never believe it.”
She moved forward. Stopped. And stared.
No way.
“What do you suppose the odds are for something like that?” asked Greg. “They’ve gotta be astronomical.”
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