Three coffees later, he left in disappointment. The conversation was easy to work around to Sylvie and her incredible talent with needle and thread. An iron-haired waitress, the most talkative, said flatly, “If anybody knows how Sylvie came to have one dress left from an entire collection we all know she spent years dreaming up, I don’t know who it’d be. No one in her family. Or if they do, they haven’t spilled the beans in five years.”
“Are you saying she’s worked on one dress that long?” Joel assumed he looked as stunned as he felt.
The woman scowled and scrubbed the counter until it shone. “You seem like a smart fella to me. Ask yourself why a sweet girl with Sylvie’s talent would suddenly up and leave the hub of her industry, and come back to bury her light under a bushel in her hometown?”
“A man, I suppose,” he said, hoping to coax out more details.
“Yes, we all think she got her heart broke.”
“Personally or professionally?” Joel murmured, then experienced a jab of guilt for prying.
“If you knew our Sylvie, it’s pretty much one and the same thing.” The waitress clammed up then as the lunch crowd began to file in.
Joel dropped his money on the counter and went to buy party invitations and paint. Then he ordered Rianne’s cake. All the way home, he considered other possible reasons for Sylvie’s actions. He had a good imagination, so he decided it’d probably be better if he didn’t know the truth; his own version might well be more interesting. Not that there was a snowball’s chance in hell anyone in Briarwood would ever see his comic strip. And if they did, he doubted they could connect him to the scrawled J. Mercer near the bottom of the last frame. He’d worried about being found out when he’d first begun collecting data in Atlanta’s nightspots. He’d been afraid that people who saw him hanging around singles bars might accuse him of exploiting them. No one ever did. Readers never seemed to link cartoons to real-life situations.
He swung into his lane and stopped behind a green pickup truck. To say he was surprised to see Rob Shea crawl out from behind the wheel was an understatement.
“There you are, young fella.” Rob tugged on an earlobe. “I was fixin’ to leave. Earlier I got to thinking maybe you’d be at loose ends with your little girl off to the city with my daughters. Wondered if you had time for a little fishing. Tell you the truth, after we talked at the wedding, I’ve had a hankering for it. I guess I mentioned I haven’t done much fishing since my dad died.”
“Just let me grab a pole. I bought some paint for a couple of bedrooms after I shopped for Rianne’s birthday gifts. Fishing sounds a whole lot more enjoyable than moving furniture and getting out a paint roller.”
“I knew you were a man after my own heart. Here, let me give you a hand hauling that stuff into the house.”
Joel handed Rob a light sack of presents. He picked up all four gallons of paint. A courier’s envelope was stuck inside his screen, and he set it on the hall credenza, knowing it was his contract. “Do you have a pole?” he asked the older man after he’d run upstairs to hide the gifts.
“Sure do. In my truck. Hand-tied flies, too. And soda. I’ll get my stuff and meet you on the trail.”
Joel dug out his pole and grabbed an ice chest for storing fish. They met at the fork in the path. Talk ceased as they strode side by side through dappled sunlight. Both men chose spots to sit on the dock. Their hooks were baited, and each had an open can at his side when Rob cleared his throat. “Got a call this morning from Orville Thatcher. He’s our baseball team’s third baseman. Orville’s arthritis is acting up bad. Claims he can’t play in our Labor Day game. My son-in-law Grant mentioned you might have a friend from down South, willing to fill in.”
Waiting for Rob to ask more about his friend, Joel was surprised when that seemed to be the extent of the older man’s speech. “Uh, sure. I’ll give my buddy a call when I get home. Can I let you know at the meeting tonight if he’s free to drive up here? Did Grant tell you—”
“Don’t wanna know any particulars, Joel. Any friend of yours is okay with me. I’m taking your word, understand, that he knows which end of a bat is which.”
“I’ll vouch for that,” Joel said, stifling a grin. The subject was dropped.
Joel asked about Rob’s work. His handmade furniture and fishing were all they talked about for the better part of two hours, until they put their catch in the cooler and headed up the path. “That was pure relaxation,” Rob said, sliding the parts of his pole into a bamboo container he’d left in his truck.
“You take this string of fish, Rob. I’m sure someone in your family’s better at cooking them than me.”
“That’s right nice of you, son. Oh, and tonight at the meeting, I see no need to say anything about your friend to the group. If he shows up to visit you over the holiday, it’ll just be the neighborly thing to let him play on the team. Anything else stays in the family.”
Rob was long gone before his words fully sank in. Joel had to say Rob Shea was a sneaky fox who played hardball in more fields than a ball diamond. Calling him son, tacitly suggesting he was part of the Shea brood, referring to family...
He phoned Brett Lewis and delivered his request before he got busy filling out the invitations to Rianne’s party, all the while mentally shaking his head.
Joel arrived at the Shea home a few minutes after five, not knowing what to expect. A tightening in his gut loosened the instant he spotted Dory’s car parked in the wide drive—because it meant Rianne was back.
The house itself was probably fifty years old, but immaculately kept. Joel thought the four upper dormers with their slate-blue shutters added a homey effect. He wondered what effect colored shutters would have at his place, and made note to check into it.
Rianne launched herself at him seconds after Nan Shea answered his knock. “Daddy, Daddy! I got four pretty dresses, and socks to match. And...and new jeans and two shirts. And I picked out the cutest baby shirt and pants all by myself. Auntie Dory called it an outfit. Come see. Kendra’s grandma Nan’s been ’specting all our stuff. She said we’re some good bargain shoppers. Me and Kendra, she meant.” In a hushed tone, Rianne pulled Joel’s head down. “She said I can call her Grandma Nan. Is that okay, Daddy? Kendra said she’ll share, ’cause when the baby gets here, he’ll call her Grandma Nan, too.”
Doing his best to take everything in, Joel let Rianne waltz him around in a dizzying circle. “Whoa! Let’s start with looking at what you bought. We’ll work through the remainder of your list from there.”
He saw Sylvie across the room. The indulgent smile she wore had the tension drawing his stomach tight again.
In the center of a group of mostly older women, Sylvie stood out like a vibrant long-stemmed rose in a patch of fading blooms. She caught him watching her, excused herself and hurried over to his side.
“Hi. Glad you found us. Are you on your way to see Rianne’s purchases?”
“I’d better, otherwise I don’t think I’ll have a moment’s peace.”
Sylvie led him to a back bedroom, her mom’s guest room, where she said the clothes were laid. “While Rianne gives you the fashion show, I’ll go commandeer you a drink. What’ll you have?”
“A soft drink. Cola or root beer is fine. You seem none the worse for wear after a day of being dragged around the big city by this shopping machine.” He yanked Rianne’s braid, a single plait down her back now, different from the two she’d left with this morning.
“Hurry, Daddy! And let go of my hair. Sylvie French-braided my hair and Kendra’s ’xactly alike. Auntie Carline says we’re some kinda cool. Oops.” Rianne clapped a hand over her mouth. “Well, she said we could both call her Auntie.”
Sylvie laughed. “Oh, for their boundless energy. Show your dad the dresses before you burst with excitement, Rianne.”
Joel noticed that Sylvie slipped out, but returned to hand him a soda. Then she huddled anxiously near the door. “Come on in,” he said. “You remind me of somebody about to take
flight.”
“Do you like the clothes?” Digging through her jeans pockets, Sylvie eventually pulled out a wad of cash. “This is all that’s left of the money you gave me. I hope we didn’t overspend. They’re all really cute on her, and they’re well made.”
“Hey, you did great. I’m amazed you got all of this and had money left.” He took the bills and their fingers touched. Pleasantly, Joel thought. She had nice hands for someone who didn’t pamper them, but worked with a needle every day.
Sylvie apparently didn’t share his reaction, based on the speed with which she withdrew.
“So, you’re saying you think we did okay?”
“Sylvie, quit fretting. Rianne’s happy, aren’t you, kiddo?”
The girl nodded vigorously, holding up first one treasure, then doing the same with the next.
“Her happiness is all that matters to me,” Joel said, again tweaking the end of Rianne’s braid. She pulled free of his fingers and flung an arm around Sylvie and another around Joel.
“See, Sylvie? I knew Daddy would love everything.”
Nan Shea poked her head into the room. “Here’s where you all are. Grant’s finally here. Rob’s throwing hot dogs on the grill as we speak. Everybody’s breaking out into their committees, Sylvie. Oh, and Kendra’s looking for you, Rianne, honey. Kendra’s dad swung by their house. He brought Kendra’s doll case, and she wants to show you some of the dresses Auntie Sylvie sewed for her Barbie.”
Rianne squealed and tore out of the room, leaving Joel and Sylvie standing close together at one end of the big bed. “Should I make her come back and fold these dresses into their bags?” Joel asked.
“I’ll fold them,” Nan, said, shooing the couple out the door. “Sylvie, introduce Joel around. Be advised, Joel... Harv Jensen’s going to ask if you’ll judge floats at the parade. Be firm in telling him no if you’d rather not. Harv’s a high-powered salesman. He gets pushy, but we’re all used to him by now.”
“Judge floats?” Joel whispered to Sylvie as he followed her from the room. “What’s that about?”
“The parade. They’re home-built, anything from kids decorating their doll buggies to the school teams constructing elaborate floats they’ll use at the homecoming game. We have categories.” She covered her mouth and murmured near his ear. “Everybody ends up with a ribbon. The judging’s all in the spirit of fun, and I’m surprised the kids never seem to catch on. Fun’s the aim of the whole festival.”
As they stepped through the back door onto the Shea’s massive, extremely comfortable patio, a breeze whipped a loose lock of Sylvie’s hair across her cheek, where it caught on her upper lip. Joel slid a finger under the strand and made three attempts to dislodge the fine hair. She blushed, and then they both laughed at his effort.
A very pregnant Carline waddled out the door, and saw them with their heads together. “Okay, you two. Break it up,” she teased. Her voice carried loudly enough so that many of the people already seated at tables stopped talking to check out the commotion.
The interest they garnered did not please Sylvie.
Joel, who’d gone at once to get a cushioned chair for Carline, missed all the interest.
Carline’s husband, Jeff, walked over, and thanked Joel for helping his wife.
Sylvie used that opportunity to begin Joel’s introductions. She deftly maneuvered him around the whole patio, trying to keep a circumspect distance between them. Soon, Joel’s head spun as he struggled to keep all the names straight. “I hope there’s no test later in the evening,” he joked with an elderly man whose name tag said Jaime Blodgett—pronounced Hy-mee, Joel learned.
Sylvie moved on to the next committee chairman, but as Blodgett continued talking and seemed hard of hearing, to boot, Joel draped his arm casually over Sylvie’s shoulders. He drew her against him, and pinned her to his side.
She tried twice to escape. “What are you trying to do?” she demanded in an undertone when it became clear Joel wasn’t budging.
“I don’t want you cutting me adrift in this crowd. Your mom said I’m on your committee. I know if I keep you in sight, I’ll eventually find out what’s expected of me Labor Day weekend. Lose you, and who knows how many chores I’ll end up inadvertently agreeing to do.”
Rob Shea gave a piercing whistle, and a production line began as people passed around paper plates heaped with chips, baked beans and hot dogs. People not already seated bickered jovially over favorite tables and chairs. Joel searched for Rianne and found her at a small table filled with kids. Her laughter reached him, and for a moment, contentment stole over Joel. It struck him just how very long it’d been since he’d felt like this.
The next thing he knew, Sylvie’s warm, soft hand closed over his and pressed ever so slightly. “Is something wrong?” she asked. “Do you need a condiment for your hot dog? Another drink? Tell me what, and I’ll go nab it before we begin.”
“No. There’s nothing missing. As a matter of fact, I was sitting here thinking how very right everything is.” Giving her a satisfied smile, Joel flipped his hand over and clasped hers more tightly. In the fading daylight that had begun to cast shadows through the big old maple trees, he moved their joined hands off the tabletop, to his knee, hidden from the sight of others by a colorful tablecloth.
Sylvie attempted to discreetly dislodge her fingers from his grasp. Her eagle-eyed mother missed so little, Sylvie really didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that she and Joel Mercer were holding hands like a couple of teenagers. It seemed so juvenile in one way. But in another, she couldn’t remember when such a simple act had felt so...so comfortable.
That might be the wrong word. Old shoes were comfortable. Favorite bras were comfortable. Was comfortable a good way to describe stingingly alert nerve endings running from her fingertips to her palm, and out to every major pulse point in her body? How long, she worried, until some astute person in her family noticed her trying to eat with her left hand?
Oddly, no one seemed to. People ate, drank and discussed the festival. At last, when Joel figured out he was wolfing down his baked beans, but Sylvie couldn’t get hers to stay on her fork with her left hand, he untwined their fingers.
The meeting broke up too late for some, who complained about having to get up early for work the next day. And too soon for others, like Joel. He abandoned his seat reluctantly and sought his hosts.
“Rob, Nan. Thanks so much from Rianne and me for including us in a great evening. I have a clearer picture of what goes on during Labor Day weekend now. And you’ve treated Rianne to one of the best days of her life. This—” he waved an encompassing hand “—is everything I had in mind when I decided to move into my aunt’s house. I wasn’t sure I could recapture the sense of harmony I experienced when I came here as a lonely, confused kid. You’ve shown me tonight that it’s possible.”
“You may get bored with our slower pace.” Nan hugged his arm as they wove through the tables toward where Sylvie and Dory, with Kendra and Rianne’s help, were tossing paper plates into a huge garbage bag. “I’ve visited Atlanta. It’s frenetic.”
Joel heard more behind Nan Shea’s statement than the words themselves implied. But he wasn’t altogether sure what... “Get bored around vital, stimulating people like your family?” he teased. “Frankly, I don’t see that happening anytime soon.”
“Really?” Nan beamed.
Joel, who considered himself a past master at double-speak, waited for a punch line. None came. Instead, the girls dropped what they were doing and skipped up to hop around him. “Daddy, Kendra’s mama ’vited me for a sleepover with Kendra tonight.”
“Isn’t that splendid?” Nan slipped in oh-so-casually. “Girls, I have extra chocolate-chip cookies, potato chips and soft drinks you can take with you. For a midnight snack.”
Joel sputtered a bit, feeling things suddenly swirling out of his control. “Tonight? Snooks, I don’t know if that’s a good idea. You’ve already had a full day. You don’t have a nightgown, ev
en, and it’s quite a drive back home to get one.”
“Kendra has lots of nightgowns,” Rianne said. “Please, Daddy? Sylvie can pick me up in the morning. ’Cause she’s going next door to Kendra’s, where some woman’s dog is having puppies. If they get born tomorrow, like Mrs. Wiley thinks, me’n Kendra get to see the puppies.”
Sylvie and Dory both converged on Joel and began talking of one accord. Dory prevailed over her sister. “Joel, I said she had to get your permission to spend the night. And if the puppies are born, then they can go and see them maybe. If they’re good. That’s the deal.”
Sylvie denied knowing the plan included a sleepover tonight.
Dory tied the garbage bag and handed it to her husband, who’d just walked up. “There aren’t many days left until school starts. Sleepovers are more scarce after that. Really, Joel, the girls are getting along so well.”
Because they were displaying the kind of ties he’d envisioned Rianne forming here, Joel gave in. He gathered up his daughter’s purchases, shook hands with Grant and Rob, and in about a minute, found himself alone in his van with Sylvie.
She buckled up. “My family engineered this,” she said bluntly when they’d backed out of the Sheas’ driveway.
“Engineered the festival meeting tonight? Don’t worry. I enjoyed myself.”
She snapped forward. “This!” Sylvie gestured between them. “Us. You and me driving home together. Without Rianne.” Flinging herself against the seat, she crossed her arms in disgust. “Honestly, they are so transparent.”
“So,” he said slowly, as if he’d finally grasped her point. “What shall we do about it?”
“Do?”
Joel hesitated briefly, and flexed his hands nervously around the steering wheel. “Well...it seems a shame for two adults to waste a perfectly good, carefully engineered kid-free night.”
Sylvie gaped, but gnawed at her upper lip, saying nothing. She had to admit, however, that she had all sorts of thoughts running through her mind.
The Hope Dress Page 16
