The Stone Flowers

by Nora O'Keeffe

  By the time Maggie arrived at The Hawk’s Nest, she’d mentally rerun the encounter with Gibson at least ten times. In each new version, she thought of something clever and witty to say when he asked if she’d been drinking. Not that it matters now, she told herself with an inward cringe. After the clumsy way she’d acted, he either thought of her as an idiot or not at all.

  The lane behind the cafe was deserted when Maggie pulled in and turned off the car. She took out her phone and sent Doug a message asking him if he could stop by the house the next day and take a look at the back yard. The damage wasn’t that severe or urgent. The simple truth was that she considered Doug a friend, and after the incident the night before, she was glad of an excuse to have him around.

  Maggie got out of the car and entered the café through the back door. She enjoyed the early morning quiet. It gave her time to prepare for the day’s onslaught – at least, it felt like an onslaught when the place was buzzing. Business would slow this week as the summer vacation crowd made their final exodus. Though Maggie would be sorry to lose the extra income, she looked forward to the calm, regular trade that the locals provided during autumn and winter.

  She turned on the lights and put the float in the till. Setting up was always the same: lights, chairs, float and food prep. It was a comforting routine because no matter what else happened, people always wanted to eat, and Maggie was more than happy to provide the food.

  The kitchen was a large square with a small cold room in the far-right corner. Along the back wall sat two sinks and the oversized stove as well as an industrial dishwasher which Maggie regarded with almost tender adoration. She pulled down two large saucepans from the four rows of shelves over the steel bench-tops and placed them next to the stove. Then she yanked open the cold-room door and went inside. Surveying the shelves, she checked that they had the necessary supplies for a busy day’s service. Noticing they were down to their last four litres of milk, she made a mental note to send Cilla out for more. Grabbing two cartons of eggs, she headed back to the kitchen.

  As she filled the pots with water, the back door slammed open with enough force to shake the walls. Maggie jumped, sloshing water over her shoes.

  “Jesus! Take it easy.” There was a tremor in her voice. She realised the storm and the dead cat really had rattled her. “Sorry, Jackson.” She forced herself to calm down. “I’m a bit jumpy after the storm.”

  Jackson gave her a sheepish look and ducked under the doorframe, careful to avoid hitting his head. He carried a box of vegetables from his father’s market garden which he dumped on the workbench. Jackson Palmer had worked for Maggie as a kitchen hand for about a year, choosing the café over toiling on his parents’ farm.

  “I’ve got some lettuce, cucumbers, tomatoes, zucchini and beans for you. Dad picked them this morning. He’s so pissed about the storm last night; it blew away half his cherry tomatoes. I saw Doug out at Mr Tolman’s house. Looks like a tree limb went through his front window. Doug had a chain around it and was towing it out when I drove past. They must have been on the phone to him at the crack of dawn.”

  “How much do I owe your dad?” Maggie asked, trying to keep up with Jackson’s story.

  “He didn’t say, but fifty dollars should cover it.” He paused. “When’s Tess coming in?”

  “Eddie’s sick,” she answered, handing him the money.

  “Huh, there must be something going around.” He picked up a tomato and tossed it in the air, catching the piece of fruit with ease. “My little sister didn’t feel too good when she got up this morning. Said she felt hot and had weird dreams.”

  “Summer cold?” Maggie offered.

  “Yeah, that’s what Mum said, but my Gran swears it’s something else. ‘A cruel wind blew in something bad last night,’ she reckons.”

  Maggie had only been half listening up to this point but was suddenly interested. “What did she mean by something bad?”

  “I don’t know. Mum told her to stop frightening Asha with her crazy Indian stories.” He chuckled and started unloading the vegetables.

  Maggie knew it was silly, but she wanted to know what Jackson’s grandmother was talking about. She thought of the earthy odour wafting through the trees during the storm and wondered what the old woman meant by something bad. Her mind turned to Eddie and the way he’d howled with pain. He was such a bright little baby. She thought about the silky feel of his soft, downy, blond hair as she’d cradled his head two nights ago. She couldn’t help smiling. When Tess had finished feeding him, she gave him to Maggie so she could burp him. It was one of the few times in her thirty-four years that she’d held a baby, cradling him against her shoulder and patting his little back until he gave an almighty belch. Maggie remembered the dreamy look in his dark blue eyes. She flicked on the gas under the pots, deciding to drop by Tess’s after work and say hello to the little fella. She might be able to give Tess a half hour break and still have time to dash home and change for the party. The thought of seeing the baby lifted her spirits enough to allow her to focus on chopping vegetables and setting up the salads.

  ****

  By four thirty in the afternoon the Hawk’s Nest Café was empty. Cilla swept the floors and wiped down the tables while Maggie and Jackson worked in the kitchen. Jackson moved in and out of the cold room, covering trays and putting food away while Maggie stacked the dishwasher.

  “Any plans for tonight?” She slammed the washer shut and pressed the button to start the cycle.

  “I might go to the pub with some friends. Nothing very exciting.” Jackson closed the cold-room door. He walked over and stood on the other side of the dishwasher facing Maggie. “Why?”

  “I’ve got to go to Agnes’s party tonight and I’m dreading it. I guess just wanted to torture myself by hearing about how much more fun you’d be having.” Maggie laughed, waiting for Jackson to join, but instead he frowned and looked down at the floor.

  “You can come with us to the pub if you want, or I can take you to the party so you won’t have to go on your own.”

  Maggie watched him as he studied the floor. His ink-black hair and ever-present tan hinted at his one-quarter Indian heritage. If he were ten years older, she’d probably let him break her heart.

  “That’s nice of you, but I wouldn’t dream of spoiling your plans or subjecting you to an evening with Agnes. She’d probably be all aflutter over a young guy like you and I don’t think I could stomach it.” Maggie couldn’t help chuckling as she pictured Agnes flirting with Jackson.

  Jackson nodded and swiped at the workbench with a damp cloth. Still smiling, Maggie grabbed her phone, deciding now would be the best time to ring Tess and tell her she’d pop over in half an hour. She dialled her friend’s number and waited. When the phone rang out, she tried Tess’s mobile. Nothing but static.

  “Strange.”

  “What’s that?” Jackson asked.

  “Oh, it’s nothing. I just can’t get hold of Tess and I want to find out how the baby’s doing.”

  “Well, if they were up all night, they’ve probably turned off their phones and gone to bed.”

  Maggie turned, surprised by Jackson’s common sense. That’s the smartest thing to ever come out of his mouth. She immediately chastised herself for thinking such a thing. He had a kind heart.

  “You're right, Jackson. Thanks.”

  The boy blushed and looked pleased with himself. Maggie went through to the café and found Cilla refilling the sugar holders. Maggie flipped the sign on the door to Closed and locked up.

  “Why don’t you leave that for Monday and get going?”

  “Okay, thanks.” Cilla gave her a tired smile. “After last night, I’m beat.”

  Maggie gave the door a shake, then standing on tiptoes, she slid the bolt at the top in place. “Why’s that?” she asked, only half listening.

  “Robert was up half the night with his asthma.”

  Maggie stopped moving and watched the woman stow a tray of sugar packets under the
counter. “Do you think he’s coming down with something? “She tried to keep her tone casual while her stomach did an uncomfortable flip.

  “I hope not.” Cilla reached around and untied her apron. “If he gets any worse, I’ll take him to Dr Cole.”

  Maggie nodded and followed Cilla into the kitchen. She had to stop worrying. Kids got sick, no big mystery. There are always bugs going around. But still, three children all feeling unwell at the same time seemed a little out of the ordinary. Maggie picked up her bag and keys and headed for the door. She waited while Jackson and Cilla exited then turned off the lights.

  “See you,” Cilla called over her shoulder as she trotted down the lane towards her car.

  Jackson lingered, watching as Maggie made sure the door was locked.

  “Okay, well, have a good night.” Maggie turned to leave.

  “Um…you too. Don’t worry about Tess. If there was a problem, she’d have called you by now.”

  “You’re right. She would have called. I guess I’ll just give her and Ollie some space. If Eddie has settled down, they won’t want a ringing phone waking him.” Jackson stared at her and bit his bottom lip. She had the feeling he wanted to say something, so she waited.

  “Enjoy the party.” He turned and headed for his car, walking with his head down and his hands in his pockets.

  She watched him for a second then shook her head and unlocked her car.

  Chapter Two

  Maggie pulled up in front of Agnes’s house behind a row of cars. Trust Agnes to go over the top and have valet parking in a town full of open spaces and quiet streets. As Mayor of Thorn Tree, Agnes Wells got an itch for the spotlight at least three times a year. Tonight was her annual summer’s end party where she’d pull in the last of the important tourists staying in town as well as city council members and local business owners for one last hurrah. Maggie had learned it was wise to attend these gatherings or risk the consequences. She’d missed a party two years ago only to receive a curt letter from the local council informing her that her bins were blocking the lane and needed to be moved or she’d face a fine. Maggie learned her lesson the hard way and attended every party since. Tonight would be no exception.

  Why do these parties always make me nervous, like an awkward teenager? She took her hands off the steering wheel and rubbed them on the front of her pants. She’d considered dropping by Tess’s on her way to the party, even making the turn at Prosperity Street that would take her out the other side of town, but at the last minute changed her mind and made a U-turn. Jackson was probably right, Tess and Ollie were new parents, probably exhausted. Instead Maggie checked her phone to see if Tess had sent a text. Nothing. Maybe she’d been right to leave them alone.

  The valet climbed in the car ahead and drove it around the corner and out of sight. Maggie sighed and checked the clock on the dash: eight forty-five. It would have been easier to just park one or two streets away and walk over. She pulled down the visor and checked her reflection in the vanity mirror.

  It took her less than twenty minutes to get ready, doing little more than showering, putting on mascara and combing her hair so it fell around her shoulders. The red silk blouse and black pants were an attempt at casual sophistication, but she’d most likely be woefully underdressed. Not that it mattered what she looked like, it would be the same people she saw almost every day with a few elderly tourists thrown into the mix. It wouldn’t make much difference if she had a bucket on her head. With that thought, she almost put her hair in a ponytail but stopped. This wasn’t work, even if it felt like it.

  She stepped out of her car and handed her keys to the valet. At the side gate, a young woman dressed in a black T-shirt and pants welcomed her. She could hear soft music and conversation wafting from the rear of the house.

  “Enjoy the party.”

  “Thank you.” Maggie gave the girl a polite smile. She had a thick accent, most likely a backpacker in town for the fruit-picking season. Agnes probably paid these kids a pittance to spend all night serving and then cleaning up into the early hours.

  The house screamed money with its modern finishes, crisp with lots of sharp stone edges and huge windows. Maggie rounded the path to the back of the property and as always, she was struck by the impressive entertaining area. Surprisingly, the property showed no evidence of the storm. Maybe the wind doesn’t blow on Agnes’s house.

  Floodlights bathed the pool area in a golden glow. Soft fairy lights winked in the trees, giving the garden a magical feel. Tables draped in black cloth and decorated with gold centre pieces were set up on one side of the pool. Waiters wearing identical black outfits circled the crowd offering drinks and finger foods. Maggie noticed that everything was set out just as it had been at the last party, only this time with gold accents instead of purple.

  Looking around, she spotted some familiar faces and more than a few new ones. A tall, glamorous woman wearing a form-fitting blue cocktail dress leaned one tanned elbow on the back of her chair, engaged in what looked like a very animated conversation with a grey-haired man in his late fifties. His square-jawed face and horn-rimmed glasses were familiar, but Maggie couldn’t quite place him. A quick burst of laughter came from the buffet table where a young woman with suspiciously thick long tresses and a short lace dress whispered something into the ear of one of the waiters. With the valet parking and the dressy crowd, she was suddenly glad she’d at least made the effort with her hair and makeup.

  “Maggie, you look lovely. I almost didn’t recognise you. I mean, you look so different out of your apron.” Agnes smiled and slipped her arm through Maggie’s so she could steer her around the party.

  Maggie frowned at the backhanded compliment and wondered when, if ever, Agnes had seen her in an apron. It definitely wasn’t in the café. In the entire time Maggie had been in Thorn Tree, Agnes had never once set foot in the Hawk’s Nest. Probably because we don’t create little works of art in the cappuccino foam.

  Still puzzled over Agnes’s apron comment, Maggie allowed herself to be guided around the pool. Agnes’s grip on her arm was strong for a small, elderly woman. Even in heels, her perfectly coiffed iron-grey head barely reached Maggie’s shoulder.

  “Have you met our newest resident? She’s a writer. “Agnes spoke with astonishment as though she was announcing the existence of aliens.

  “A travel writer. Not very exciting, I’m afraid. I’m Prapti, Prapti Gautam.”

  “Prapti, this is Maggie Hawkbetter. She owns the Hawk’s Nest Café on Guild Street.”

  Prapti turned her head, but the rest of her body remained motionless. There was something snakelike in the way the woman moved. She was striking in a dark statuesque way, yet Maggie’s neck tingled with aversion.

  “I’m very happy to meet you, Maggie.” Prapti spoke through a wide smile.

  “Yes. Welcome to Thorn Tree.” It was all Maggie could think of to say. She was glad the party was crowded because she had no desire to be alone with the woman.

  Prapti’s long neck swooped forward. “Hawkbetter, what an unusual name. Is it English?”

  “No.” Maggie looked over Prapti’s shoulder, hoping to catch someone’s eye so she’d have an excuse to end the conversation. But everywhere she looked, guests were engaged in conversation. “My great-grandfather was half Cherokee.” Maggie forced herself to focus on answering Prapti’s question. “His name was Blue Hawk, but he changed it to Hawkbetter when he married my great-grandmother and they immigrated to Australia.”

  “Well, what an interesting surprise. A Cherokee businesswoman in this little corner of Southwestern Australia. Prapti’s smile stretched, but there was an edge to her words, and Maggie found herself bristling.

  “I would hardly call myself a Cherokee. I was born in Perth.”

  “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to offend you. I didn’t realise you felt defensive about your heritage.” Prapti chuckled, a deep guttural sound that set Maggie’s teeth on edge. Judging by the wide grin on the woman’s face, she
was enjoying being offensive.

  Agnes joined in the laughter, her bulging eyes darting between Prapti and Maggie. In that moment, it was as if Prapti had reached into Maggie’s brain and found the insecure schoolgirl who’d been teased unmercifully for revealing her Native American heritage. Suddenly the surrounding chatter and laughter seemed cruel and mocking. A sheen of sweat broke out on Maggie’s forehead. She wanted to say something, put Prapti in her place. But most of all she wanted to prove to herself that she wasn’t that self-conscious little girl who couldn’t stand up to the bullies. She needed to prove it to herself and Richard.

  Her mouth opened, but the only retort that came to mind was, go fuck yourself. Instead, she smiled. “Enjoy your time in our town, Prapti.” Maggie thought she caught a flash of disappointment on the woman’s face before turning and walking away.

  Struggling to hold back tears, Maggie made her way through a trio of guests and found herself at the buffet table. Her stomach soured at the thought of food, but she forced herself to feign interest in the assortment of tiny portions of jellied salmon and arancini. Her first instinct had been to head for the gate and make her escape, but running from a party in tears was something she would have done when she was still married to Richard. Living alone, opening her own business were all things she’d never thought herself capable of, and she’d be damned if a few snide comments would send her backsliding into an insecure mess. Not when she’d worked so long and hard to pull herself into a new life.

  “I thought you handled that very well. I would’ve told her to go fuck herself.” The voice was deep and instantly familiar. Maggie turned and looked into the unsmiling face of Harness Gibson. Seeing her surprise, Harness smiled and suddenly they were both laughing.

  “Why have I never seen you at one of Agnes’s parties?” Maggie asked, still smiling.

  “Why don’t I get you a glass of wine and tell you all about it? Red or white?”

  “White, thanks.”

  Five minutes later they were seated on a bench in Agnes’s front yard with the sounds of the party a forgotten background noise. Maggie sipped her wine, unsure of what to say now that they were alone.