“There was something I needed to ask you, to talk about,” he said. “I’ve been putting it off because it’s important, and I didn’t want to spring it on you over the phone.”
Or maybe he didn’t get the message. The next thing I knew his hand was in his jacket pocket fumbling with a bulge that looked suspiciously like a ring box.
“Wait,” I said. “Look, I’ve been wanting to talk with you, too. Sit down.” I’d have a lot of difficulty breaking up with him if he were kneeling on my floor trying to jam a ring on my finger.
I reached across the kitchen table and grasped his hand. His palms were sweaty and I could feel his pulse race. Poor boy. “We’ve been through a lot, together, you and I. Breaking up. Trying out a long-distance relationship. And we’ve made a lot of changes over the years, too. You’re getting out there, chasing that thing you want to do. And I think you have a great future ahead of you.”
“Audrey, I . . .” He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed a few times.
“But I don’t think that future is going to involve me, at least not as anything more than a friend. Being out in the world, working on reality shows and pilots and those exciting things, is making you happy. Well, maybe not this trip, because it must have been a waste for you. But in general, you seem so jazzed about the travel and your career. And I’m happy for you.
“But my life is here,” I continued, looking at our hands clasped against the old Formica-topped table. “I love this small town, the shop, working with Liv. Even this cottage. Being here makes me happy. And that means there’s really no future in us.”
When I gathered the courage to look up at him, his shoulders sagged, then he let out a sigh of . . . relief? “Oh, Audrey. You don’t know how glad I am to hear you say that. I knew we needed to have this talk, and I remember how badly it went last time.”
“Oh, don’t remind me. I think I called you a big-city show-biz tycoon.”
He chuckled and reached out to grasp my other hand. “What was I thinking? I shouldn’t have tried to break up with you at the Ashbury. Such a public place. Idiot move on my part. Nevena told me—”
“Nevena?”
He smiled, and perhaps blushed a little. Or was that a glow? “Yes, Nevena. She still does some work for me, and I see her from time to time. And more often lately, in fact. She made that outfit of mine by the way.”
“The Peter Pan one?”
“She was thinking Robin Hood, so don’t tell her. But she and I, we click somehow. And she likes the work and the travel. We’ve become quite close.”
At another time I would have felt betrayed, but now I only felt happy for Brad. “That’s so nice!” I said, realizing I meant every word. “She didn’t come with you this time?”
“Well, not to the camp. She knew that you and I were having this conversation. But she’s staying with my mom. I thought it was time for them to become acquainted.”
“How’s your mom taking it?” I asked. Brad’s mom had been a major cheerleader for our relationship. And if cheerleading didn’t work, I wouldn’t have put it past her to rely on force.
“Nevena is so sweet, I’m sure she’ll win Mom over in time. Mom will eventually get used to the idea. She’s going to have to.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the lump I’d seen earlier. I was right. It had been a ring box. He opened it to show me the diamond solitaire. “I’m going to ask her to marry me.”
* * *
Bixby arrived around lunchtime, also carrying in a box of scones.
“Mrs. June typed and spell-checked your witness statement,” he said. “I’d like you to sign it.”
I got a plate for Bixby and poured him a cup of black coffee before I sat down and started reading through the statement.
“Do you need to read it over?” he asked.
“Just checking. If I’m going to put my official signature to it.”
“I see.” He opened the box and put a scone on his plate.
“So any new developments?” I asked. When he looked shocked that I’d dared to ask him a question, I added, “You did promise to keep me apprised.”
“Which reminds me. I need to call Foley and get him to rescind that stupid appointment.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” For calling it a stupid appointment, he was going to pay. “I think I did a pretty good job as deputy. Catching the killer and all. Maybe I should stay on.”
He grunted. “Catching them is one thing. Gathering the evidence they need to convict is another.” He sat for a minute, arms folded guardedly across his chest, then he relaxed and took a bite of his scone, chewed, and said, “Still, you did all right. But don’t tell me you want to leave the flower business to become a cop. After the morning I had, I might even be willing to trade you.” Considering Bixby’s almost legendary allergies, he must have had a truly dreadful morning.
“Heavens no,” I said. “You’re welcome to it. I was just curious if Carol’s mother had been notified.”
He nodded. “Carol didn’t want to give the contact info up, but we found her through the college. She came to see me this morning. Mother’s worst nightmare, I can tell you that. She’s taking it hard.” And by the way Bixby tried to rub away a migraine, apparently it was one of a cop’s worst nightmares as well.
“She had no idea?”
Bixby shook his head, the heels of his hands still rubbing his temples.
I went to the cupboard by the sink, retrieved a bottle of painkillers, and tossed it to him.
He shook out more than were necessary into his palm and stared at them. “I’m tempted.” He picked up two and swallowed them down with his coffee. “They’re still trying to arrange a visit at the county jail. She’ll probably get in to see her daughter tomorrow. Meanwhile we’re sending Carol for a complete psychological exam.”
“Do you think they’ll say she’s mentally incompetent? Or temporarily insane or something?”
Bixby opened his mouth to answer, then exhaled. “I almost wish . . . but I expect she just hated his guts.”
I nodded, feeling suddenly heavy-hearted for Carol. “I know I shouldn’t have gone after her alone. I tried to call on my cell, but no battery. And I didn’t want her to get away.”
“There’s more than one way to try to escape. If you hadn’t followed her, she’d have been dead by now. I’m glad you saved her.”
“But her life will never be the same. She had so much potential.”
“That’s where the cop shows get it wrong, you know. Law enforcement isn’t dealing with criminal masterminds or complete sleazeballs. Ninety percent of the time it’s just people making bad choices. That’s the heartbreaking part of this job.”
“I think I’ll keep my bridezillas instead.” I scrawled my signature at the bottom of my written statement.
He took the pages from me and stuffed them back into the large office envelope. “By the way, we’ll be releasing Strickland into your father’s custody tomorrow.”
“I thought my father was leaving today.”
“No, he said he had some last-minute business to take care of. Something about seeing a man about a pig.” Bixby winked at me. “Said he was coming to see you today, too. Seems like an okay guy.”
I shrugged. “Better than Barry Brooks. But I still don’t know quite how to deal with him or what to expect.”
“Can I give you some advice?”
“Not killing him? Yeah, Chief, I think I got that much.”
“Well, since you have a habit of intruding on my investigations, I’m going to intrude on your personal life for a minute. All right?” And somehow he managed that Mr. Rogers look. I half expected him to belt out a chorus of, “It’s Such a Good Feeling.”
I nodded. “Sure. Why not?”
“Not all fathers are as bad as Barry Brooks, but none of us are perfect. You’re getting to kn
ow a man you barely remember. He’s a stranger to you. Treat him like a stranger.”
“Keep my distance?”
“I was thinking more of trying to avoid expectations. Don’t expect the best. Don’t expect the worst. Don’t expect anything. Let him show who he is to you, and then decide if that is something you want in your life. You’re a grown woman. If you don’t want him around, all you have to do is tell him. And if he doesn’t respect that, well, you’ve got my number.”
* * *
My father was due to arrive in ten minutes. I was thinking about changing out of my jeans and T-shirt and into a dress. Only I couldn’t figure out why. Was it some subliminal memory from childhood, of me spinning in a dress in my father’s arms? Or did I want to try to impress him? Or just mark an important occasion?
I couldn’t figure out the motive, but when the knock came ten minutes early, the choice was made for me. Jeans and tee it was going to be.
Only when I swung open the door . . .
“Mother?” I knew I should have returned those phone calls.
“No, Audrey,” she said. “But I’ll take that to mean you approve of my new hairstyle. Your mother was always so much better at that kind of thing than I was.”
“Aunt Ruth! What are you doing here?”
But I pulled the door open wider and she walked in. “I came to see the baby, of course. And she is simply too precious. I’m spending at least the week with Olivia, and your mother begged me to come check on you. She thought you must be on your deathbed or something, too sick to return a phone call.”
“Just tied up with other things. And then our power was out for quite some time.”
“It appears to be on now,” she said, looking around. She stepped on a particularly loud floorboard, and smiled pleasantly, as if nothing had happened, much like when you encounter the odor of flatulence at a social gathering. Don’t ask; don’t tell.
“You’re absolutely right,” I said. “I should have called her. I’ll do that this evening.”
“Best see that you do. We’ll both be in trouble if she doesn’t hear from you.” Aunt Ruth walked over and touched the cracked mortar in the old brick fireplace. Pieces of it fell to the floor. “Mom sure left you with a lot of work with this old place, didn’t she? We tried to help her with repairs, you know, while she was living here, but toward the end, I’m afraid she just got a bit stubborn about doing things herself. Still, it’s good the old place is back in the family. You are thinking about bringing the family reunions back, aren’t you?”
“Well, I . . .” I hadn’t given it much thought. A lot of yard work would be needed to turn the weed and briar-filled backyard into a court worthy to host one of those marathon volleyball tournaments the family was known for. And the only reason I found the old fire pit where we made s’mores by the dozens was because my old lawnmower ran over one of the bricks—which was why the backyard still contained all those weeds and briars. I needed a new mower. Or maybe a goat.
Before I could complete my thought or my answer, another figure walked into the still open door.
“Evelyn . . .” My father stopped in his tracks. He’d made the same mistake I did—not uncommon when your mother has an identical twin. While some twins take on more distinctive characteristics with age, my mother and Aunt Ruth were almost exact duplicates. Only if you look very carefully, Aunt Ruth has a tiny mole on her chin, with one dark black hair in it. But don’t tell her I told anybody that.
Aunt Ruth twirled around. “Jeffrey? No, it’s Ruth. Jeffrey, what on earth are you doing here?” She started wringing her hands. “This is bad.” She turned to me. “Your mother can’t know he’s here.”
“I’m not staying, Ruth,” he said. “I’m only here on business and just happened to run into Audrey. I go back to Texas tomorrow.”
Aunt Ruth put her hands over her ears. “No, please don’t tell me where you’re living. I don’t want to know. Oh, how am I not going to tell her I saw you?”
“Just tell her about the baby instead,” I suggested.
“Sounds like a plan,” Dad said.
Ruth walked halfway to the door, looking like she was ready to hightail it out of there, when she turned back to face him. “You’re not on the lam or anything, Jeffrey, are you?”
“No, Ruth.” He held up his hands, as if to show they were clean. “No trouble with the law.”
“Well, that’s a blessing, I suppose. Oh, what am I supposed to tell Evelyn?” Her face scrunched up in a near panic.
“Tell her nothing. Except that I’ll call her,” I said.
She sniffed once and nodded her head, and then skedaddled out the door without saying good-bye.
“I see my sudden reappearance is going to have ramifications,” my father said. “I didn’t mean for you to get caught in the middle of anything.”
“I know that. After all, you had no idea I’d be at that camp; otherwise I wouldn’t have seen you at all.” I ushered him toward to couch. “Or so you told me. But now that we have seen each other, it’s time to decide what we’re going to do about that.”
In the end, we decided to try corresponding and phone calls. And I promised to give my brother a call and warn him to expect contact by our long-missing father. When we got around to the topic of Mother, I said, “She’s married. I’m not sure if you knew.”
He nodded. “We do have Google in Texas. Every now and then I’d look you all up to see what was happening.”
“You did?”
“It’s like peeking in the windows, but yes. I wanted to know what you guys looked like as you grew up. If you were happy. If you were nice.” He seemed to study the floor for a minute. “I know I can’t claim any credit for it, but I’m proud of the woman you’ve become.”
We chatted for the remainder of the time. I took Bixby’s advice and reined in my expectations. In the end, I doubted I’d ever be completely satisfied by his reasons for leaving, nor would that make up for all the missing years. But I did want to keep contact with this man and get to know him better.
We were still talking when headlights swept the room as a vehicle turned in my driveway.
“Expecting someone?” he asked.
“That would be Nick.”
“Your young man. I had a nice conversation with him at the camp. It made me feel like a real father, checking up on the boys my daughter’s dating.”
“I hope you approve.”
“I do.”
As Nick made his way to the door, my father stood up. “I guess that’s my cue to go.”
“Don’t go on my account, sir,” Nick said as he stepped in, and then shook my father’s hand.
My father held Nick’s hand, for perhaps a little longer than necessary. “It was a pleasure to meet you.” Then Dad turned to me. “If it’s all right with you, I’d very much like to hug you good-bye.”
As he tentatively put his arms around me, I could smell that same combined scent of his deodorant and aftershave. I leaned against his shoulder, feeling as if a missing piece of me had been filled. Not that my father filled a void in my life, but my forgiveness of my father had. It was as if the only emptiness I had been feeling wasn’t caused by his absence, but rather by my own bitterness. I squeezed him tighter.
After we pulled apart, he said, “Thank you, Audrey.” He turned to shake Nick’s hand again and stepped out the door, but then he turned back. “I don’t suppose either of you has room for a pig, do you?”
“No, I . . . I did hear that Nathaniel Bacon University is looking for a new mascot.”
* * *
As my father drove off into the sunset—literally, well, not that he piloted a vehicle into a massive ball of hydrogen and helium, but the sun was sinking below the horizon and he was heading in that direction—in his rental car with a livestock trailer hitched to the back, I couldn’t help shedding a tear.
Nick pulled me into his arms and I rested against his chest. “You’ve had a hard day. We can postpone our little talk for another time, if you’d rather.”
“No. Let’s get it over with.” I led him over to the couch. Nick was a great guy, and I needed to face the music. Our relationship was in trouble. I’d pushed him away by focusing too much attention on Brad. What kind of girlfriend keeps up a constant communication with her ex and then shoves it in her boyfriend’s face? I’d been busy with work and the cottage and then the investigation, so much that I’d been ignoring him. He was kind to help me, but I’d taken his kindness too far and used the man. And now, albeit deservedly, he was going to break up with me.
I determined to accept it with grace. I’ve had enough bitterness tainting my life. No derogatory nicknames. No dartboards. We would be friends.
“I thought we might take a ride, but if you’re tired, I guess here works.”
He sat down next to me and took my hand.
“Look, Audrey. You know I’m a bit of a lunkhead. I’ve been saying that I couldn’t dream of advancing our relationship to the next level until I could take care of you. Support you.”
“It is a bit old-fashioned,” I said, “but . . .” I stopped when he shook his head.
“It’s never going to happen,” he said. “Every little bit I earn ends up going back into the business. It won’t be years; it will be decades before I’m earning enough to do the whole nice house and two-car American dream thing, if ever.”
“Starting a business is hard.”
“And then I see you struggling with this house. Don’t get me wrong, I think this little place has good bones and plenty of potential, but it’s a lot of work.”
There it was. I had been ignoring him.
“I can’t just stand by,” he said, “and watch you burn yourself out.”
Floral Depravity Page 26
