The making of lavender products for sale had seemed a natural transition, although she hadn’t anticipated such a big demand. And what a delightful surprise that her “little hobby” had grown into a thriving home-based business.
When she accidentally stumbled across her parents’ Merrill Lynch statement and saw that they had lost more than half of their retirement savings in bad stocks and wouldn’t have enough to see them through their golden years, she knew she would have to do something to help them get back their nest egg. She prayed for a solution that would give them the money they needed without hurting their pride.
“You want to help me with the lavender wands?” Her mother’s voice broke into her thoughts.
The woven lavender wands were her personal favorite. “Sure.” Though the most labor-intensive of all their products, the ribbon-laced wands were also their bestsellers. The week before, Andy had offered two different classes in making them, but more people were still on the waiting list, eager for her call. “Hey, Mom, you want to teach the next round of classes?”
Alice snorted loudly. “No! I’ll do whatever you need, except teach. You know that.”
“Never hurts to ask.” Andy shrugged and turned to the ringing phone. “Lavender Meadows. This is Andy. May I help you?” Picking up a pen, she poised it over a blank invoice. “I can ship that out FedEx tomorrow.” She jotted down the customers name, mailing address, and credit-card information. “May I ask how you heard about us?” She smiled when she heard the source. “Thank you for calling.” She hung up and put the invoice in the in-box, then turned to her mother. “Word of mouth. The best advertising ever. Thank You, Lord.” She glanced heavenward, as if adding an amen to her praise. “Is Dad at the house?”
In the midst of making a wand, Alice answered without taking her eyes off her work. “I think so. He was fixing the leak under the bathroom sink when I left.”
“Ow! That probably means he’s going to be in a bad mood all night.” Plumbing was not her father’s favorite thing.
“Probably. But once the blue smoke clears, he’ll be fine again.”
“I want to tell him our news and ask how soon he wants to start digging holes.” She picked up the phone again and dialed her parents’ number. She waited until the answering machine was ready to click on, then hung up. “He must be outside.”
“Or still under the sink.”
“I hope not.” Andy gave a shudder that made them both smile. “You should have hired a plumber.”
“He refused. He said there was no reason to pay fifty dollars for a plumber to do what he could do for free. Then he went out to the garage for his wrenches, and that was that.”
Andy laughed. “I guess I don’t have to wonder where I got my stubbornness, do I?”
That evening, after she and her mother had closed up shop, Andy went around the side of the barn to the lean-to that served as the chicken house and put the “girls” to bed. The evening ritual of counting hens and closing the door prevented marauding skunks and foxes from raiding the henhouse. Andy had raised chickens since she was in preschool. She had never eaten store-bought eggs, and she refused to start at her advanced age of fifty-two. Whistling for her dog, Comet, who was part Border collie and part traveling salesman, she gazed over at the pond. A stately white egret waited there for a last fish to swim near enough for a snack before flying to the trio of tall trees at the end of the lavender fields, where he roosted every night along with other egrets from miles around. Comet bounded over the lavender plants and wriggled her joy at being summoned. With her black ear flopped half forward and her white one standing erect, Comet doggy-grinned up at Andy.
“Good girl.” Andy leaned over and rubbed the dog’s ears. “Have you been helping Dad with the plumbing?”
More wriggles and a happy yip. The dog was watching the original farmhouse, which was shaded by a hundred-year-old maple. Comet patrolled the entire forty acres, taking care of both houses and those who lived in them. She and Chai Lai, the Siamese cat who ruled Andy’s house, had developed a truce over the years, growling at each other once in a while to lay to rest any thought that they might have become friends.
“I suppose you’re hungry too.”
Comet cocked her head up at Andy, her white muzzle and black nose bright in the fading light. If it weren’t for her animals and the lavender business that kept her at a dead run, Andy might have been lonesome like her best friend, Shari, who couldn’t seem to get out from under the empty-nest pangs and start enjoying herself and her freedom.
Andy headed toward the house, her joy making her steps light. With a few more customers like Nordstrom and steady orders coming in, one of these years Lavender Meadows might be so profitable that Martin would consider leaving his pressure-cooker job and helping her manage it.
A lovely thought, but not very realistic.
“You want us to what?”
“To move to San Francisco.”
Andy gasped. Move? Was this her husband talking, or an imposter? Physically, this man looked like Martin: six feet tall, dark hair silvered at the temples, and slender but packing a stubborn paunch that refused to submit to diet or the weight bench. It was Martin all right, but there was something very different about him—his eyes were full of anticipation. He leaned against the doorframe to her workshop; he tried to look nonchalant, but the knots of his hands in his pockets gave him away.
“Remember that I told you AES moved our headquarters there last year?” Martin, never Marty, smiled, a real smile that stretched his cheeks and brought out an oh-so-rare dimple.
Stunned by its appearance, Andy could only stare. How she loved that dimple. When had it gone into hiding? Worse, when had she failed to notice its absence?
“Andy?”
“Hmm? What?” She blinked and lifted her gaze up to his eyes. “Of course I remember. But you never said anything about having to move.”
Martin took in a deep breath and nodded. For a normally pokerfaced man, he was showing an amazing amount of enthusiasm. “It’s not just a move,” he added, excitement building with each word. “I’ve finally been offered the promotion I’ve always wanted—vice president of sales.”
Andy sat back, clear now as to the reason for his enthusiasm. For years he’d been hoping he would be offered the vice presidency, but getting it meant that somebody had to either step up or be let go. Andy decided not to ask which it was. “Oh, Martin. That’s wonderful.” The words tumbled out of her mouth. “It’s about time! I’m happy for you, honey. Really happy.” She got up, crossed the room, threw her arms around him, and hugged him. “You’ll do a wonderful job. I just know it.”
He squeezed her tight and brushed his lips across hers, reminding her of the romantic Martin she’d fallen in love with years ago. “I know it won’t be an easy move, honey, but we’ll figure it all out. We always do.”
Andy stiffened in his embrace. There was that word again—move. So she hadn’t imagined it. Her mouth went dry. She pulled out of his arms, turned to go to the fridge to get an iced tea, only to find her knees had turned to jelly. The tea could wait. What she needed was a chair.
She sat back down at her desk and tried to look as relaxed and interested as possible, despite the turmoil tumbling in her middle like laundry in the washing machine.
Martin followed her across the room, grabbed her mother’s desk chair, and turned it around so he could straddle it. The dimple was still there. Now she remembered the last time she’d seen it—when he’d told her they were going on a company cruise. Then, like now, he had thought she would be as excited as he was. She would have been, if she’d thought it would be a real vacation and not a test to see if she could play well with the other executives’ wives.
Fighting the sudden constriction in her chest, Andy kept her gaze from wandering over to the neat stacks of boxes her parents had packed for the Nordstrom order. UPS would be by on Monday to pick them up, and they would arrive at their destination by Wednesday, Thursday at the latest
.
“Just think,” Martin went on, seemingly oblivious to the effect his sudden news was having on her, “we’ll get to live in San Francisco.” His smile widened, deepening his dimple.
Unable to help herself, Andy grimaced. Get to live in San Francisco? He acted like living in San Francisco was a privilege only bestowed on a rare few.
She had to say something, do something, now, before things got out of hand. She swiveled her chair around and got the copy of the Nordstrom invoice out of its file folder. “Martin, did you get my e-mail about the Nordstrom order?”
“Yeah,” he said with a chuckle. “Funny how things always work out, isn’t it? That ought to just about wipe you out of inventory, which means you won’t have to have a big going-out-of-business sale.” His gaze swept the nearly empty shelves and the boxes. “Everything else, the equipment and office stuff, we can just put into storage.”
Andy’s first thought was whether to ask if he was really so oblivious to the significance of the order or whether to chalk his lack of an appropriate response up to his being clueless about the opportunity with Lavender Meadows. For safe measure, she clamped her teeth down on her tongue. Often throughout their married life, her tongue had suffered the wounds of self-control. Painful, yes, but peace was worth a few wounds.
Taking a deep breath, she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt a little longer while she gathered more information. Maybe he was just so excited that he wasn’t thinking about the ramifications of a move. “So why would we have to, er, get to live there?” Even swallowing took concentration.
“They’re taking me off the road and settling me into the home office. No more waiting in airports and eating restaurant food, honey. And better yet, I’ll be working a regular nine-to-five just like normal people.”
His smile reminded her of the cat who dreamed of the canary.
Right, Martin. “Officially, it’ll be nine to five, but I know you. You’ll bring your work home with you, because you can’t bear to leave anything undone. You have to dot every i and cross every t before you call it a day. The weekends will be the same as they’ve always been. You’ll be at home, but you’ll be in your office, up to your hairline in work for AES. And I’ll be alone. At least here, I have plenty to keep myself busy, and I’m surrounded by people I know and love. If we move to San Francisco, I won’t have anything to do except keep house, and I won’t know anyone.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Martin. I’m not understanding why we need to move. What’s the difference between you coming home on weekends here or in San Francisco?”
“Living in San Francisco is a requirement of the position.”
Andy felt herself pull back as if she’d been struck. A requirement of the position. It took her a moment to absorb the news. When she could think again, she asked, “Did they tell you that, or are you just assuming that’s what they want?”
“It’s part of the package, honey. That and a big raise, a key man insurance policy, a new company car, stock options, and semiannual bonuses. Big bonuses. We’ll finally have the financial freedom we’ve always dreamed about.”
“I see.” She nodded. “So the powers-that-be have spoken,” she said, her thoughts still focused on the news that living in San Francisco was a requirement of the position.
He leaned forward, his expression alive with fire. “I know the moving part is a big surprise. I couldn’t believe it at first either, but I can’t say I’m not happy about it. I’ve always wanted to live in a city. Especially San Francisco. There’s so much to see and do: art galleries, the theater, Fisherman’s Wharf with good—no, great restaurants, interesting people.” He clasped her hands between his, crushing the invoice. “The truth is, I’ve dreamed about it, lusted for it—for years.”
Her eyes narrowed. How could you have felt this way without my knowing? She glanced down at her hands, at the paper sticking out of the hole between her thumb and her index finger. “I understand that you’re happy about the raise, the bonuses, and all that—but moving? You’ve always told me you loved it here on the farm, with the animals and the wide open spaces. You never said anything about wanting to live in a city. And you hate the theater, Martin. At least that’s what you’ve said every time I’ve asked you to go with me.” She could feel her self-control start to founder. Had their life together, the life she’d thought to be near perfect, been a sham?
His expression softened, and he looked almost bashful. “I hate community theater, Andy. And you’re right. I never said anything about wanting to live in a city. First, because I felt that our children would benefit from smaller schools, away from crime, drugs, and all the stuff city kids have to face. And second, because I never thought I’d have the opportunity.”
Andy took her hands back and straightened her spine. “Martin, there’s something you’re forgetting here—Lavender Meadows.” She showed him the wrinkled invoice. “My parents and I are running a business—a business that is growing by leaps and bounds. I can’t just close the doors and say good-bye to all the hard work we’ve put in. And I can’t believe that you’re asking me to, either.” She watchfully awaited his reply. In the last five years, she’d gone from a woman who had planted two lavender plants on the berm of their water lily pond for personal use, to a well-known lavender grower who had acres of lavender beds that bloomed from early summer until late fall.
He scooted his chair back a few inches. “I don’t know what to say, Andy. I thought you would want this as much as I do.”
That was not the reply she’d hoped for. Andy looked heavenward and prayed she wouldn’t blow up before she said everything she needed to say. “Don’t make it sound like I’m against your promotion, Martin, because I’m not. I couldn’t be happier for you, and certainly no one deserves it more. But you should have asked me before you included me in the deal. Have you forgotten what Lavender Meadows means to my parents?” She saw his eyebrow arch. “You know as well as I do that without the income from Lavender Meadows they would have to sell the farm, because they wouldn’t be able to afford to live here.”
He sucked in a breath. “Well, what’s wrong with that? Most people, when they reach a certain age, start to downsize. This is a big place to take care of. I’ll bet your dad would be glad not to have so much to do.”
Lord, give me patience. “You’re wrong, Martin. If Dad didn’t have this place to take care of, he’d die. But that’s beside the point. This isn’t just a place. It’s the Coulter family farm. My grandparents are buried here along with Uncle Seamus and Aunt Millie. The kids’ pony is buried behind the wellhouse. Have you talked to the kids and asked them what they think about selling the farm? I can’t imagine that Morgan would want that. She loves it here.”
Martin appeared to give her little speech serious thought. But a moment later, she knew that appearances were deceiving.
“All right, so you don’t quit the business and sell the farm. But there’s nothing that says you can’t move to San Francisco. Your parents are perfectly capable of running things. How many times have I heard you say what a tireless worker your dad is and what a born businesswoman your mom is?”
Andy felt her face grow hot with anger. He was so bent on getting what he wanted that he was ignoring everything she had just said. “They are perfectly capable of running things for a few hours a day, but Mom turns seventy-five this year, and Dad will be seventy-seven. There is only so much physical labor people their age can do.” She shook the invoice to make her point. “If any more orders come in like this Nordstrom order—and they will, Martin, you can count on it—” She broke off, her anger getting the better of her. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”
Seemingly unruffled by her display of anger, Martin took the invoice from her hand and gave it a quick once-over. “Well, since you’re swimming in money, why not hire an employee or two?”
“At some point in time, I’m sure that can happen, but not yet. There isn’t enough cash flow to pay for all the things associat
ed with having an employee. Besides that—I don’t want to quit. I love this business, and I love this farm. I have no desire to move to San Francisco. I hate cities. Always have.” She almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation, but this was no laughing matter. This was a praying matter. Father, help me. Help Martin to see that there is more to consider than just what he wants.
Are you going to trust Me, Andy?
The inner nudge Andy knew to be her Father’s voice caught her by surprise. Did it mean that Martin’s eyes would be opened, or that she was supposed to move to San Francisco?
His excitement dimming, Martin shook his head. “I’m between a rock and a hard place, Andy. If I don’t move to San Francisco, I won’t lose my job, but I will lose the vice president position. I’ve worked too long and too hard to let that happen.” He leaned forward, arms wide, hands open as if pleading. Beseeching? “I want to be AES’s next vice president, Andy. Don’t ask me to give it up.”
Her stomach tied itself in a knot. When had she ever known Martin to beseech her for anything? Oh, God. Please, please, please help us find a resolution. “Do you think you can go back to them and tell them our situation here?”
“Sure, but that isn’t going to change anything.”
“How do you know when you haven’t tried?”
He got up and turned away from her. “It’s always about you, Andy,” he shot back over his shoulder, “you and Lavender Meadows.” At the door he stopped, reached up and pulled a bunch of lavender down from the drying rack, and threw it across the room. “I’m so sick of this stuff, I could choke.”
Andy was speechless. Who was this man stomping away from her? Where was the sensitive, caring, unselfish man she’d married?
Something told her there was more going on with him than she realized, maybe more than he realized. But what?
Lord, I feel like I’m on a bumper car, getting banged from all sides, with no way to get off. And I don’t like it!
Saturday Morning Page 2
