Rianne fell madly in love with the flocked pink dress. The other was a school jumper, but she could hardly stand still long enough for Sylvie to pin the hem on the pink party dress, which she’d put on first.
“If you were my mommy, Sylvie, you could make me new dresses all the time. Kendra said you sew her pretty clothes even when it’s not her birthday or Christmas.”
“I like to sew. Some people don’t. I’m sure your mom does other nice things for you, Rianne. Honey, can you stand? I don’t want to stick you with one of these pins.”
“Daddy doesn’t know I heard him talking to Mama this morning on the phone. He yelled, ’cause he said it’s the second time she forgot my birthday. I don’t ’member the other. Should I tell him it’s okay? Last year she sent a dorky coat and hat that’s still too big for me.”
A heaviness invaded Sylvie’s chest. How could a mother forget the day her child was born? Her phone rang, jarring Sylvie out of her sadness. “Stand there for a minute while I see who’s calling. Then I’ll take this off you, and we’ll fit the jumper.”
It was Joel. “Is Rianne still there bugging you? I told her to come straight home.”
“It’s my fault. I’m having her try on a couple of dresses I made, Joel. Do you need her now? She wants to wear one of them at her party, and I thought she could wait while I hemmed it. I already have that color thread on my blind stitcher.”
“You made her dresses? Sylvie, that’s... Well, I don’t know how to thank you.”
“It’s really nothing, Joel. I had the fabric left over from some wedding or other. She also mentioned trying on a dress that’s too short. If it fits her otherwise, maybe I can figure out a way to let down the hem and sew lace over the old hem mark.”
“We have a boxful that are too short. She seems to have shot up, but not out.”
Sylvie laughed. “Kids do that. Can you bring the box over? While she’s in the mood to try things on, we may as well fit those. Oh, I hear Fluffy’s under the weather. If you like, I’ll keep her until your paint odor dissipates. That’s weird about her being allergic. Although people have allergies, so why not pets?”
“I’ll take you up on both offers. Besides, I’ve missed seeing you this week.” His voice dropped and grew husky. “Every once in a while, I noticed you dashing in and out, but I was usually on a ladder with a paint roller in hand.”
“I’ve been busy, too. Sewing. I can’t wait to see the changes to Iva’s house,” she said, feeling the rise of a flush. “Oops, your house.”
“I still think of it as hers, too. If you have coffee made, I’ll be right over. Otherwise, I’ll fix some here first. I got hold of Hank Mullins, by the way. He’ll try to be here by noon. He didn’t give me much hope—said when these new freezers die, that’s it.”
“He’ll be reasonable if you have to buy a new one. A lot of people are going to Asheville to buy appliances, and his business is barely surviving. I wish people would support our local merchants.”
“Okay, I’m sold, Miss Briarwood Chamber of Commerce advocate.”
“I did sound preachy, didn’t I? About that coffee, Joel. I still have some.”
“See you in a few minutes,” he said, and hung up.
“Your dad’s bringing over the dresses that are too short for you. I’ll see if I can add some length so you don’t have to toss them out.”
Rianne impulsively flung her arms around Sylvie. And the unexpectedness of the gesture left Sylvie recalling Carline’s remark about motherhood passing her by. Would it? she wondered. She’d like a child of her own. The tight feeling in her chest came back.
Joel arrived with the dresses and Fluffy. Sylvie settled the cat before she poured Joel coffee, then set to work checking dresses. She discussed ways to fix them with Rianne while Joel wandered around the room, scrutinizing her family photos.
“You look a lot like your mom.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. I think Mom’s very pretty.”
“She is. I meant it as a compliment. These pictures are great. I should dig around and find some I have of Rianne and get them framed. Seeing yours, I realize I haven’t been good about keeping up with photos. I should take pictures at Rianne’s party today.”
“I don’t mind taking charge of photos and games. The games are easy, and you’re not having that many kids.”
“Let Sylvie take pictures, Daddy. You cut off people’s heads.”
Joel grinned sheepishly. “She’s right. You’re going to start thinking it’s a miracle Rianne’s managed to survive my parenting this long.”
“Not so.” Sylvie cut the threads and shook out the finished pink dress. “There, Rianne. Oh, hey, Hank’s pulling in your lane, Joel. He’s early. Take the mug with you. I promised Rianne I’d braid her hair for the party.”
“You can come earlier and provide moral support.” Joel surprised her by dropping a kiss on her lips before he headed for the door.
“What was that for?”
“It’s because I thought about kissing you all week. That reminds me—Dory phoned. She and the Martins are sharing a babysitter at Dory’s house Saturday night, for the street dance. She suggested Rianne come over for the night.”
Sylvie walked him to the door. Rianne again skipped on ahead, so Sylvie said, “Joel, Dory’s so obviously setting us up for another night together.”
“Yeah. If you want the truth, I’m counting the hours. Let’s not watch a movie this time.” Grinning cheekily, he loped off then, without giving her a chance to respond.
Sylvie thought she ought to tell him about her mom’s last phone call. She would’ve followed him out, but a shiver of anticipation shot through her at the prospect of kissing him again.
Party time came. Sylvie, who’d shown up an hour early, retreated to the kitchen when the doorbell announced the first guest. She intended to stay in the background, and would have managed fine had Nan Shea not bustled in with Dory and Kendra. Nan barged straight into the kitchen, catching Sylvie off guard as she misted a window ledge filled with sad-looking African violets. “Mother,” she gasped. “Why are you here?”
Nan popped a large dish of whipped Jell-O into Joel’s fridge. “I’ve come for the party. Where else would an adopted grandmother be today? Sylvie, you heard Rianne ask to call me Grandma Nan. A nincompoop can see that poor girl is starved for extended family. Here, let me take over kitchen duty. You go on out and help Joel run the party.”
“He doesn’t need my help.” Sylvie dumped the faded blooms she’d picked off into a garbage can under the sink.
“Quit pouting, and don’t forget your phone. He said to send you out, that you’re taking photos. Anyway, I can see how things are—how familiar you are with his kitchen.” Nan yanked the misting wand out of Sylvie’s hand and replaced it with the phone. She gave her daughter a push toward the door. “I hope you plan to have your hair cut before the festival.”
Rather than waste her breath saying she knew the house because of time spent with Iva Whitaker, Sylvie shouldered her way out the louvered doors. Later, she’d have to admit that Rianne and Joel, too, seemed to enjoy having her mother serve as faux-grandmother.
And Nan’s gift couldn’t be beat. Rob Shea had made Rianne a wooden kitchen set. Child-size, to fit a playhouse. Shortly after Rianne had flung her arms around Nan, exclaiming over and over how much she loved the sink and fridge and stove, Nan pulled Joel aside. “Last year Rob made Kendra a darling playhouse. He still has the plans. You’ve got loads of space in your backyard. All the kids love Kendra’s house.”
“I’ll talk to Rob next week. That sounds like a project I’d like. I love woodworking. Rob’s dad helped me build that old treehouse down by the lake one summer. I loved hiding out there to read or think about life. I noticed the floor’s rotting. Rianne’s not old enough to go there alone yet, but I’d like to restore it. Make it a place a growing girl might one day go to do her dreaming.”
“Our girls had a treehouse Gramps built, too. I sewed
curtains and pillows. Sylvie will remember. She could do something similar for Rianne. Make it homey.”
Joel had a sudden vivid picture of domestic bliss that included him, Rianne and Sylvie. At the successful conclusion of the party, after everyone had left, he wandered around feeling alone. But he supposed that image—of family life—was exactly what Nan Shea had intended to invoke. Even after he lay in bed, the image persisted.
Throughout the week, he puttered in the house, content to watch Rianne play with her birthday gifts. She’d been given quite a few, but had yet to receive the card or present Lynn had promised to mail. It frustrated Joel, although Rianne seemed to take it in stride.
Sylvie called him on two separate occasions to ask for his muscle in setting up the kiddie carnival booths; she’d wanted to get started early. Both times Rianne rode along, as did Kendra. The girls were fast becoming close friends. Joel was glad.
Late in the week, he got a package of the first tear sheets from his new strip. Lester had included a note saying initial reports indicated readers loved the changes he’d introduced. This was the first time he’d seen the strips in their proper format. Spreading them one above the other in the order readers would’ve seen them in the paper, he was shocked to see how closely he’d patterned Magnolia after Sylvie Shea. He drew back and rubbed his jaw, suffering more than a little guilt.
He knew Sylvie far better now. And also her family. Caricatures, which in the beginning had seemed amusing, now felt too much as if he was belittling a woman he’d come to admire. A woman he liked, maybe even loved.
Gathering the strips, Joel stuffed them out of sight in a drawer. He was probably so bothered because he knew Sylvie had unknowingly served as a model. If anyone in Briarwood read the comic strip, unlikely though that was, he doubted they’d pick up on the resemblance. He clattered down the stairs, glad that Atlanta was as far removed from Briarwood as it was.
“Rianne, what are you doing to that doll buggy?” Joel skidded to a halt outside his still-empty dining room. Nan had said Rob had a dining set in his shop that would go perfectly in this house. Joel needed to find time to go and see it. Just now, his daughter had the hardwood floor—which he’d waxed by hand—covered in crepe paper, glue and glitter.
“I’m making my buggy into a parade float, Daddy. Kendra’s fixing hers, and Nikki and Nola Martin, too. Sylvie gave me crepe paper and told me how. ’Cept, I can’t get the paper to stick around the inside of the buggy wheels.” Tears filled her eyes.
Joel saw the problem. She’d used so much glue it’d disintegrated the paper.
“Will you call Sylvie and see if she can teach me again?” Rianne wailed.
Joel’s inclination was to take over himself. But, on second thought, he hadn’t seen Sylvie all day, and his day always improved when he did. Pulling out his cell phone, he hit speed dial for her number.
She came without offering any excuses about being busy. Yet, Joel knew she was in the middle of preparing prizes for the festival and finishing two wedding dresses. He opened the door and, on this unseasonably warm fall day, watched her pick her way barefoot down a lane he’d recently had graveled. She wore denim shorts and a sleeveless tank. Her hair had been pulled into a floppy sprig atop her head. Escaping tendrils framed a face smeared almost as badly as Rianne’s, which was streaked with coloring leaked from wet crepe paper. Sylvie looked terrible, and at the same time more beautiful than he’d ever seen her.
She must have noticed the way he looked at her, because she shot a hand to the floppy topknot. “I should’ve warned you how awful I look. Mom was by an hour ago, and you should’ve heard her lecture me, because I didn’t book an appointment to have my hair done. Or my nails,” she said, hiding her hands behind her.
Joel cast a quick glance over his shoulder and ascertained that Rianne was in the dining room. He reached out and pulled Sylvie into a prolonged, satisfying kiss. When he let her go slowly, they were both breathing fast.
Sylvie studied him out of heavy-lidded eyes. “Now wouldn’t that greeting put my mother in a tizzy? She’s absolutely positive my lackadaisical attitude about my appearance is guaranteed to drive you straight into Melody Pritchard’s clutches at the street dance.”
Joel licked his lips and leaned in for a second kiss. “Who’s Melody Pritchard?”
“Briarwood’s permanent beauty queen. But I have it on good authority that her current 38-24-34 figure is surgically enhanced.” Pulling back, Sylvie lightly smacked her cheeks. “Meow! That was totally not nice. She’s gorgeous. And rich, because Lyman Pritchard passed on six months ago, leaving Melody loaded. Word is, she claims she married for money the last time. This time, she’s basing it on looks.”
“Phew, that lets me out.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Sylvie muttered, darting past him. “Rianne’s in the dining room?”
“Yes. Hey, you make an ego-inflating remark like that and walk away?”
He wore such a hit-by-a-brick expression, Sylvie laughed.
“You’re laughing at my buggy?” Rianne wailed. “It’s awful.” Her little chest rose and fell as she cried harder.
“No, honey. It’s fine, truly. I was laughing at your dad. Hey, you have the right idea. Your problem is too much glue. Maybe it’d be better to use tape.”
“Daddy has some upstairs in his office. My hands are sticky. Will you go up and get it, Sylvie?”
“Sure.” She hurried into the hall and started up the stairs.
Joel emerged from the kitchen carrying soft drinks. “Hey, where are you going? I’m just bringing everyone refreshments.”
“To your office. Rianne said you have tape up there. Is it in a dispenser on top of your desk, or do you stick it in a drawer?”
Joel did keep it in a drawer. He recalled seeing the tape this morning—in the drawer where he’d shoved the tear sheets. “Don’t...go to my messy office. Here, take the drinks, Sylvie, and stay with Rianne. Let me fetch the tape. I know exactly where it is.”
“Okay, sure.” Shrugging, she retraced her steps. “I don’t know why you’d get your shorts in a twist at the thought of me seeing a messy office. You’ve been in my workroom. It always looks like a cyclone hit it. Anyway, I like to see where people work. It helps define them, don’t you think?”
“In my case, no. Humor me in this.”
“I said okay.” She fumbled a bit as he handed her the three bottles. “People are always asking me what you do for a living, Joel. All I know is that Rianne said you work on a computer. Once she said you draw stuff. Are you some kind of architect? Or engineer?”
“Graphics,” he proclaimed from the first landing. Not precisely true, but he’d minored in graphic design at college. As he dashed into his office, Joel reflected that he didn’t like lying to her about his job. He didn’t even need to continue working. With the syndication of his early strips, his financial adviser had said he could afford to retire. So why had he jumped at expanding an already syndicated comic? Maybe because that last visit to Lynn at her TV studio had left him with a dissatisfied feeling—that she was somehow showing him up with her success. Maybe because he needed something to fill his time. Maybe because he liked his work.
His gaze fell on the latest strips when he retrieved the tape. Joel spared a few seconds to return the stack to its original envelope. Twenty-six weeks wasn’t that long, he told himself.
Recognizing his growing attachment to Sylvie, then and there Joel began thinking of finding a husband for Magnolia. He could wind down, and in his last frame he could draw a full-blown wedding party. He envisioned family and friends standing around, crying with joy as Magnolia and her groom—hey, he could have the guy resemble himself—dashed from the church in a hail of rice.
That would spell the end of country cousin Magnolia.
On the ground floor again, Joel took a seat on the floor in the dining room and continued to plot the end of his comic strip as Rianne’s buggy project slowly took shape. Perhaps he’d come up with another comi
c strip later on, six months or a year from now.
That night, he stayed up roughing out all the remaining frames. He went to bed pleased at having salvaged his integrity. He emailed the strips, and started thinking about all the time he’d have to work on the house. All the time to devote to being the kind of dad he’d never had himself.
* * *
FESTIVAL DAY BEGAN with a huge sense of relief, and also expectation. Joel practically had to tie Rianne down in all her excitement.
“She’s not looking forward to this or anything,” Sylvie said with a grin when the girl yammered nonstop on the drive to the park. “I stayed up till midnight baking three cakes for the cake-walk. From my kitchen window I saw a light in your corner office until quite late. You must enjoy working during the witching hours.”
Joel swung toward her with a frown. “Are you often up that late?”
“Oh, no. As a rule I’m snoring away.” Now she frowned. “Do you work in the nude or something, and you’re worried I might see you?”
“What’s work in the nude?” Rianne interjected.
Sylvie glanced into the backseat. “Nude is when a person doesn’t wear clothes.”
“Oh. The people Daddy draws all have clothes.”
“I thought you said you did graphics. You draw people?”
“Cartoon people, yes. Where shall I park? You should’ve said we needed to leave earlier.”
“Let me out here, Joel. That section is the food booths, so I won’t have to carry a box with three cakes too far. You may have to park in the field across from the baseball diamond. Remember, Dad showed you? And speaking of baseball, he’s anxious to meet your friend, Brett. Too bad he’s flying in this morning and out again right after the game. But you still could’ve met him at the airport instead of giving me a ride and making him rent a car.”
“He wanted to do it that way.” Joel squeezed Sylvie’s hand and murmured in a much lower voice, “I have plans for tonight. Driving Brett to Asheville after the game would have severely curtailed our...free night.”
Sylvie knew she turned flaming red. She should be getting used to Joel’s outrageous remarks. But maybe she never would because she was beginning to like him too much. She was starting to wish he wanted more than a rare night culminating in mind-blowing kisses. “I’ll meet you at the start of the parade route,” she said after he stopped and passed her the box of cakes. “Sure you can carry this?” he asked.
The Hope Dress Page 19
