“How can I ever thank you?” The thought of having to recreate the details of each design had weighed on her, but now her spirits soared.
As he stepped closer, he clucked his tongue, and then pinned her against the car. “You can let me make you dinner tomorrow.”
She slid her arms around his waist. Their lips met automatically as if they had shared kisses for years.
He tightened his embrace and then pulled away with a heavy breath. “Better stop now, before it’s suddenly three in the morning.”
“I guess you’re right.” She held to his jacket for just a moment longer and kissed him lightly.
“Tomorrow night.” He stepped backward.
“See you then.” She released his jacket.
Leaning in, he touched his lips to hers. When he eased away, she slid her arms around his neck, and his mouth pressed against hers with renewed urgency. By the time he put his hands on her waist and pulled away, half the cars in the parking had left.
“See you.” Those two simple words swirled through her like steam.
She watched him walk to his car, not caring if the grin on her face appeared too wide. She knew he felt the same.
Looking over a shoulder, he opened his door. “If you don’t get in your car, I’ll have to come back and kiss you.”
Warmth tingled through her. “Is that supposed to make me leave?”
He shrugged. “I’m merely warning you, I can’t be held responsible.”
Unable to contain her bliss, she smiled and waited.
Throwing his hands in the air, he strode toward her. “Now, see? I warned you.”
Giggling, her breath came out in a rush as he put his arms around her. “I heard.”
Tenderly, he stroked her cheek. “Tomorrow night, we throw away the clocks.”
Never had a conversation about clocks been so sexy.
“Mike,” she whispered, and pulled him close. Having him in her arms was so much better than any daydream.
All the way home, the world just looked prettier, the moonlight brighter, the stars more clear and brilliant. She parked and hurried up the walkway. Once inside, she was surprised light shone from her mom’s bedroom. Good, she stayed up to watch the late talk shows. She must be feeling better.
“Mom, I’m home.” Opening the fridge, she scanned the food choices. Mainly leftovers. She should have defrosted something this morning, but forgot. A trip to the grocery store was in order – one of her least favorite chores. “Are you hungry?”
A moan came from down the hall.
Becca ran to her bed. “Mom?”
Her mother lie with her eyes closed, her face ashen. “I’m so dizzy. I don’t know why.”
“Have you eaten today?” A half-eaten sandwich sat on the tray atop her nightstand. The cup beside it was empty, but the bottle of water was almost full.
“A little. I’m not hungry.” Her mom held a hand to her forehead.
“You should have called me.” Becca sat on the bed. “Here, have some water. Maybe you’re a little dehydrated. Has the nurse been by yet?”
Her mother attempted a wan smile. “I’m not going to disturb you at work to say I’m dizzy.” She brought the water bottle to her lips, but drank little. “Yes, the nurse was here this afternoon.”
But hadn’t stayed, or contacted Becca. “I’m going to call Dr. Maynard.”
In the kitchen, she dialed the doctor’s number but reached his service. He would return the call within an hour, the operator said.
Becca thanked her, then hung up. Her mother needed to eat something. She walked back to her room. “How about some soup? And maybe some crackers.”
Her mom winced. “I’ll try.”
Standing, Becca put the remote in her mom’s hand. “Good. You rest and I’ll be back in a minute.”
“All right, honey.” She clicked the channel, but then closed her eyes.
Carrying the tray to the kitchen, Becca checked the number on the fridge for the visiting nurse. Her voice mail picked up when she dialed, so Becca asked her to return the call.
She’d have to wait. So would everything else.
***
When Becca came downstairs in the morning, Charlotte Lyndon sat up in her bed. Clear-eyed, but her face still pale, it was an improvement over last night, at least.
She took her mom’s hand. “Hey, you. Are you feeling better today?”
“Much better. I’m not dizzy at all.”
Becca sat on the edge of the bed. “That’s great. Maybe you only needed something in your stomach after all.”
Dr. Maynard had agreed some nutrition might help rebalance her system, but cautioned other such episodes could occur.
After talking her mom into some eggs for breakfast, Becca went to the kitchen and breathed a sigh of relief. Today might be a normal day. She’d feed her mom, go to work…
Mike. Good gravy, she was supposed to meet him for dinner. I’ll have to call him later.
After making sure her mom had everything she needed, Becca stopped at Mrs. Hardwick’s next door and asked her neighbor to call if Becca’s mom worsened.
The day flew by in a whirl of deliveries and orders. At five, the familiar jingle of the bell over the door nudged Becca’s memory. Mike. She’d forgotten to call.
While the final customer browsed through aisles, Becca flipped the sign on the door to Closed. The man finally settled on a dozen roses, and she rang him up in record time, then hurried to the back room.
“Night, ladies,” she called on the way out, pressing Mike’s number on the contacts list. His voice mail picked up.
Damn. She left a hasty apology, promising to make it up to him, but didn’t say soon. She couldn’t make promises she might not be able to keep.
Chapter Six
At the Basket of Blooms work table, Becca jabbed a pick into the Styrofoam. “I think I’m giving up on the advertising design class.” Today, even the profusion of daisies, mums and pungent lilacs couldn’t cheer her.
“What? Why?” Emmie and Deb’s voices harmonized in sympathetic tones.
“I don’t have time to do the work the way it should be done. I might put it off until…” What? Until Mom was better? That wouldn’t happen.
Stepping beside her, Deb raised an eyebrow. “Would your mom approve of that?”
“Maybe not.” Relieved at being able to air her concerns, Becca's words rushed out. “But I can’t concentrate. And I’d rather be working at it than only learning about it.”
As she carried a vase from the closet, Emmie's sing-song tone sounded behind her . “Sure that’s the only reason?”
“No.” With a frustrated sigh, Becca poked the flower-wrapped wire into a basket's styrofoam core . “I have no time left to spend with Mike.”
Deb retrieved roses from the refrigerated case. “Have you talked to him about this?”
“No, I know he wouldn’t approve.” Becca snipped a wire. She hated to keep things from him, but had no energy for the argument she knew would follow. “But I’m getting too anxious. I’m tired of school. I want to spend my days doing what I love.”
After measuring a red rose against the black vase, Emmie trimmed the stem. “You have to do what’s right for you, but consider the long term before you make any decisions.”
The click of heels signaled Grace's entrance. She set an overnight package on the table and sliced the tape. “And talk with your mom. And with Mike.”
Pausing to critique her work, Becca rested the scissors on the table top. “I will. Tonight.” She couldn’t suppress her smile.
While adding baby's breath to her arrangement, Emmie gave a laugh. “You’re seeing him again tonight?”
With an expert touch, Becca primped the flowers in the basket. “He promised to make me dinner.” She couldn’t hide the happiness in her voice, though she had no idea when she could go, or even if his offer still held.
Leaning across the table, Grace cooed, “Ooh, I love a man that cooks! Just be careful you’r
e not the one to get burned.” She arched a brow.
In teasing, Becca tilted her head. “Have you been talking to my mom? You sound so much like her.” Or worse, reminded her of Andy’s relentless speech and hurtful innuendo.
Lifting an urn from the box, Deb dusted away the packing peanuts. “Because we’re wise and wonderful women, like your mom.”
Becca laughed. “I can’t argue with that.” She would make a point of remembering both warnings.
***
The television blared from the den when Becca arrived home.
She picked up the remote control from the floor and tapped the volume down. “Mom, I’m home. Are you hungry?”
Her mother’s face pinched, she groaned, her eyes closed.
Becca gasped. “Mom?”
“Becca.” Her name escaped soundlessly from her mom’s mouth.
Fear gripped her. “Oh my God.” She ran to the kitchen and dialed 911, then called Dr. Maynard’s service and asked for him to meet them at the hospital.
Becca followed the ambulance to Greensburg Hospital and squealed to a stop in the first parking spot she saw. She ran in behind the emergency crew wheeling the gurney carrying her mother.
Seconds were like hours as she waited. Dr. Maynard whooshed through the entrance and through the ER before Becca could speak to him. Better to let him get right to her.
She rubbed her arms as she paced endlessly.
When Dr. Maynard finally appeared in the doorway, his face told her everything she needed to know. And dreaded.
He shoved his hands in the pockets of his white coat. “Your mother’s organs are shutting down one by one.”
She searched his face, wanting to hear anything that might give her hope. “What does that mean?”
He held a breath. “It means she doesn’t have much time. I’m sorry.”
Becca blinked back tears. “Where is she?”
“I’ll take you.” He held the door while she picked up her purse.
The hospital hallways were a blur of white as she followed him to the elevator and to the end of another hall.
Dr. Maynard pushed open the door. “In here.”
Becca nodded and went in alone. Her mother lay beneath the thin white blanket, shaking so hard, she appeared to be convulsing. Tubes ran into her nose, were attached to her wrist, connected to a machine that beeped and flashed numbers.
Becca stood at her bedside, afraid to touch her. “Mom.”
Her mother’s eyes fluttered open, and her mouth opened in a half-smile. She held up a shaking hand.
When Becca grasped it, tears threatened. Her mom’s body shook with a force that threatened to shake the life from her.
“Can I get you anything?”
It took all her mother’s effort to respond, “No” in a ragged breath.
Becca bit her lip and nodded. She’d sit here, then, until she could do something else. Anything else.
***
By the dim light over the bed, a nurse turned off the machine that had beeped so insistently earlier. It sat quiet now. Too quiet.
Becca rubbed her eyes and sat up in the chair. “What’s going on?”
Somber-faced, the nurse turned to her. “I’m sorry.”
Becca pushed herself to stand. “Mom?”
Her mother’s eyes were closed, her body still.
Becca glanced at the nurse, who detached a needle from her mother’s wrist.
“Is she…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish. She already knew.
Her mother was gone.
***
Three days. That’s all it took to change a life forever.
In three days, Charlotte Lyndon was buried, and Becca was alone. More alone than she’d ever been before. The phone rang a few times, and she held her breath each time, hoping for Mike’s voice. And released her breath when another caller spoke.
Somehow, in all of the confusion, she’d lost her cell phone.
Going back to the Basket of Blooms was like going home. Deb, Emmie and Grace hugged her as she arrived.
“If you need to leave early, that’s fine.” Grace held her shoulders. “It should be slow today.”
Becca blinked back tears. “It’s good for me to keep busy. Keep my mind off things.”
“Is there anything we can do?” Emmie asked.
“You’ve done so much already. Thanks so much for the beautiful flowers. My mom would have loved them.”
Deb touched her wrist. “It’s the least we can do. If there’s anything else you need, let us know.”
“I appreciate it. But I think everything’s settled. Mom left me the house. And some money, although the attorney said taxes would claim a big chunk of that. But it’s enough to go back to school, if I want.”
Emmie folded her arms. “You have some time before the next semester to think about it.”
“Yes. I need to clear my head first. Then decide.”
One of many decisions awaiting her.
Chapter Seven
The mailbox held so much junk these days, Becca hated to sort through it all. One envelope’s return address caught her eye–its design as well as the name. She’d heard of Hughes and Hughes. The firm was a small but rising star among fashion houses.
After tearing open the letter, she scanned through the paragraphs thanking her for submitting her sketches to the firm. Inviting her to interview for an open internship.
“What?” She hadn’t sent any illustrations to anyone. Still, the possibility seemed worth exploring. Surely, they hadn’t sent the letter to her by mistake.
The next morning, she brought the letter to the Basket of Blooms. The three owners denied knowing anything about it.
“But it’s a great opportunity,” Emmie said, cradling her coffee.
With a huff, Deb set a box on the work table. “You have to call them. Today.”
Becca put the letter in her purse. “You’re right. I will.”
A determined look in her eye, Grace strode to the corner where Becca’s handbag lay on a chair beneath her sweater, and carried it to the counter. “Now.” She folded her arms across her chest, her expression anything but stern.
While the three women waited, Becca set down the floral tape. “All right, all right.” She rummaged in her bag, then remembered. “I lost my cell.”
“Oh no,” Grace said. “Not again.”
Deb directed her to the wall phone. “Use the shop’s.”
“No, it’s long distance.”
“Go on,” echoed Emmie and Grace.
Their kindness might have made her tear up, but their good-hearted bullying brought the first real smile in too long. She pinned the letter to the wall with one hand and dialed with the other.
The women tiptoed around her as she asked for Maureen Dunn. Unable to believe what she was hearing, Becca’s mouth fell open as Ms. Dunn spoke. She wrote on the envelope: Friday, ten a.m.
Emmie gave a thumbs-up sign. Wide-eyed, Grace pretend-clapped. Deb watched with raised eyebrows and a smile.
“Great. Thanks so much. I look forward to meeting you, too. Bye.” Becca hung up the phone and blew out a sharp breath. “They love my sketches.” The moment seemed surreal.
“The designs for the shop?” Grace prompted.
Becca still had trouble comprehending it. Her dream seemed within reach at last. “My wedding dresses.”
Her brows knit, Emmie moved closer. “How did they see them?”
“Mike Hunter sent them.” As she said it, amazement filled her. He’d been so wonderful to her, and she repaid him with mistrust. She had to make it up to him. Soon.
The women exchanged wide-eyed glances.
“The night I left my sketch book in the coffee shop, he went back for it.” Fiddling with her cell, she ached to call him right now. “That’s why it wasn’t in the lost and found.”
Nodding, Emmie smiled. “I’ve heard of Hughes and Hughes. Their designers are gaining a great reputation.”
“It’s a paid internshi
p. Full-time. I’d have to leave the Basket of Blooms.” Her stomach clenched as she looked at each woman in turn. Leaving here would feel like leaving home all over again.
Her voice softening, Deb laid a hand on her arm. “The experience would be invaluable. We love having you work for us, but this type of work won’t further your career.”
Emmie smiled. “You have to call Mike now to thank him.”
Becca stared at her phone. “I can’t. He must have changed his cell number. When I called, it never connected.”
Deb tapped her fingers on the table. “Can the college give you his number?”
“I asked. They won’t give it to anyone, not even students.”
The shop phone rang.
“I’ll grab that.” Grace hurried out to the front desk.
“Don’t give up hope,” Emmie said. “Hey, maybe the new place can give you his new number.”
Becca brightened. “Maybe.”
“This is so exciting. All your designs for your life are taking shape.” Emmie opened the refrigerated case and removed a basket.
Excitement filled Becca, causing her pulse to pound. Nervousness made her breath catch in her throat. Her life did seem to be heading in the direction she’d planned, but so many questions remained unanswered.
She would go for the interview. Things would work out. Steadying her breath, she forced all doubts aside. Time to focus on her current work. “That’s such a cute basket.”
Primping the flowers, Emmie grinned. “Can you deliver this? It’s for a baby shower late this morning at 325 Brighton Street.”
“Sure.” Becca took the basket of blue and white mums. “Mums—how appropriate! And these little shoes and bottles are adorable.”
Tying a shiny blue balloon to the handle, Emmie said, “You can take my car, if you need to.”
Becca shouldered her handbag. “No, I’ll use mine. But where’s the delivery truck?”
Sweeping some stray cuttings into her hand, Emmie dropped them in the waste can. “Oh, in the shop.”
Design for Life Page 7
