Iris Catterton was not looking as well as she had at the wedding. That was Suzanne's first thought when she down on the sofa across from her mother-in-law. She looked tired, with deep dark circles beneath her eyes, and her skin so papery, it looked as though it could just crinkle into dust.
Anna brought in tea and scones, just as Daryle was leaving. "I'll be in my office."
"Help yourself, dear. I just had lunch." Mrs. Catterton said, waving a hand at the tray Anna had set on the coffee table.
So had Suzanne but she poured herself a cup of tea anyway, to be polite, and put a scone on a plate.
"How did you like Alanna's reception?" Mrs. Catterton asked. "I heard that your cupcakes were a big hit."
"Yes, they did go quickly. A big relief to me."
Suzanne and Mrs. Catterton chatted about Alanna's art for several minutes. Mrs. Catterton was clearly the proud mother. Then she changed the subject.
"So that awful Noelle girl showed up."
Suzanne nearly choked on her tea. It hadn't occurred to her that Daryle and his mother might talk about such things. She had never thought of Daryle as being particularly close to his mother, but maybe she had been wrong? They haven't even spoken much about his mother's illness—well of course not, she thinks. I've been avoiding him. She wondered how he felt about it. She remembered how she felt when she had learned that her mother was not going to recover. Like a giant sinkhole had opened up beneath her feet and swallowed her whole.
"Well, she won't be in Chicago, now will she?"
Suzanne looked blankly at Mrs. Catterton. Why would Noelle be in Chicago?
"At the wine conference," Mrs. Catterton prompted her. Suzanne shook her head.
"Oh, don't tell me Daryle hasn't told you. The conference is in two weeks. How could he not have told you?"
"Am I expected to go?"
"Of course, you must go. Harold and I always went together. We even took Daryle and Alanna when they were children."
"But I can't," Suzanne protested. "There's so much to be done to get the new shop ready to open. And I don't really know the first thing about wine. I'd be useless at a conference."
Mrs. Catterton looked at her sternly. "That doesn't matter. What matters is that you and Daryle represent Iris Vineyards as a family. This is a family business."
Suzanne rubbed her temples as she walked down the long corridor to Daryle's office. How could someone from such a tight-knit family have grown up to be such a world-class commitment-phobe? And when, exactly, was he going to tell her about this conference that was apparently an ironclad part of their marriage contract? She hadn't pressed the matter with Mrs. Catterton, but she really was not going to Chicago. She didn't have the time. The kitchen in Napa needed to be set up. She needed to start interviewing for staff. A designer friend of hers was working on some decor ideas for the sitting areas, both inside and out. She didn't have time to jet off to Chicago for a week. She hadn't taken a vacation in years—she didn't "do" vacation.
She lifted her hand to rap on Daryle's office door, when the door suddenly opened.
"There you are," he said. "I was just about to come looking for you. Come with me. I have something I want to show you."
Suzanne glanced discreetly at her watch. "Like what?"
"Our new fermentation tanks. They were installed last week."
He sounded like a kid with a new toy, she thought. They walked down corridor after windowless corridor. Suzanne was beginning to think they were going to some secret underground lair.
"I had no idea this place was so big," she said.
"We're almost there."
At last, he ushered her into a large warehouse-sized room filled with tall stainless steel tanks sitting on squat metal legs. She instantly identified the new tanks—they were almost blindingly clean and shiny. Gauges and tubing were everywhere. A catwalk went around the perimeter of the room. Daryle gazed so lovingly at the sight, it was all Suzanne could do not to giggle.
"Hope you don't need this room painted," she cracked.
Daryle emerged from his reverie with a smile for her and laid an arm across her shoulder. "I've got staff for that."
"Do you have staff to go to Chicago with you? Someone who can pretend to be your wife?"
Daryle slapped his forehead. "I forgot about that. Damn. I'm sorry. Have you been to Chicago before?"
"Not since I was a kid. And I expect it will be awhile before I go again. I can't go with you, Daryle. There's too much to be done to get the new shop ready."
He sighed. "You have to go. Obviously, my mother has already spoken to you about this. We have to present the family front."
"I really can't afford to take an entire week off. I've never been away from The Cupcakery that long."
"Well, it might be good for you then. I'm sure your staff won't destroy the Marina shop in one week, will they?"
"Actually, I don't know ..."
He laughed. "Come on, Suzanne. If I know you, you probably put people through a million tests before hiring them. I'm sure they're competent enough to run a cupcake shop for a week without supervision."
"But what about the Napa store? A business doesn't make money unless it's open."
"What needs to be done? I can send people over to work on it."
Suzanne opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She couldn't find the right words to express her frustration with the situation. Why should his business take precedence over hers? But of course, the answer to that question was obvious. He had the money.
"You'll enjoy it, Suzanne. Chicago's a great town. And you don't have to spend the entire time with me cooped up in the conference. You can go shopping, hit the museums, take a vacation."
Chapter 8
Suzanne had never liked takeoffs. As the nose of the plane lifted up into the air, she closed her eyes and white-knuckled the armrests. She felt a masculine hand cover hers. The warmth of Daryle's skin—and the warmth of the gesture—went straight to her heart.
"Still don't like flying?" he said.
She shook her head, eyes still closed.
"Safer than driving, you know."
"That's what they say, isn't it?" she replied. "Statistics never lie."
"I'll concede your point there."
When the plane began to level off, Daryle gave her hand a light squeeze. "You can probably open your eyes now."
"Sorry," Suzanne said, looking at Daryle but trying not to look out the window next to him. "I always thought that, the more I flew, the more comfortable I would get. Not happening, though."
"No need to apologize. And I don't need much of an excuse to hold a beautiful woman's hand ... anywhere."
Suzanne was surprised to find herself blushing. Fortunately, Daryle had turned his attention to retrieving his laptop from the bag beneath the seat and lowering his laptop tray.
"What are you working on?" she asked as he clicked and opened a spreadsheet. Row after row of numbers filled the screen.
"I'm trying to figure out how many bottles we can reasonably produce. I'm thinking of adding a mail order operation next year. Lots of out-of-state visitors ask whether we have a wine club or not, where every month they get a few bottles of wine shipped to them."
"Sounds like a lot of work," Suzanne said.
"Well, I'd have to hire some people to handle it. That's another thing I'm trying to figure out, what it would take to make it profitable. How many people would have to sign up for the wine club to make it worthwhile."
"What does your mother think of the idea?"
"She's not opposed to it. A lot of wineries do it. But she never wanted to deal with all the state shipping laws for wine. Some states won't let you ship wine to customers in their states, or they limit how much you can ship, or only wineries below a certain size can ship. It's a nightmare maze of laws."
A yawn escaped Suzanne. "Sorry!" she said quickly. "It's not boring. I'm just tired."
"Why don't you take a nap? I'll wake you when we get close to Ch
icago."
Suzanne tried to stretch her legs out as best she could and willed herself to fall asleep. She slept fitfully, every bounce and jostle of the plane waking her up. Flying makes me feel like such a wimp. She tried to dream about a comfortable hotel bed.
While Daryle checked them in, Suzanne took in the gorgeous hotel lobby. It was huge, to begin with. Airy and light-filled, as modern as you could get. It's just one big glass box, she thought. Windows went from the floor all the way up to the ceiling, three stories above. There were multiple sunken seating areas with sectionals and deep armchairs, all upholstered in brightly-colored velveteen. Fuchsia, lime green, canary yellow, cobalt blue—the riot of color coupled with the sight of people on the street outside rushing by—gave off a busy, energetic vibe. Suzanne imagined herself coming down here later for some serious people-watching. It was the perfect place for it.
After a light supper in the hotel's café, they went up to the room. Daryle had booked a suite with two bedrooms. Suzanne had insisted on that. She did not want a repeat of the morning after Alanna's reception. Fortunately, Daryle seemed as tired as she was. They fell into bed in their separate rooms.
The next morning, Suzanne heard Daryle slip out of the room bright and early. He had an appointment with the hotel restaurant's sommelier. The hotel did not serve Iris Vineyards wines and Daryle wanted to see what he could do about that. Suzanne brewed a pot of coffee in the room, then took a leisurely shower in the spacious marble-walled bathroom. The conference didn't begin until the next day. Daryle had booked them a free day today.
He was serious about her taking a vacation, she thought. She had to admit, as she stood beneath the giant showerhead, tuned to the massage setting, it was nice to wake up and not have to rush off to a hot kitchen to bake and bake and bake ...
In the lobby, she asked the female concierge for some shopping recommendations, then hit the street outside. She needed a few outfits to wear at the conference. She had tried the "but I don't have that kind of wardrobe" argument as a way of getting out of the trip.
"Can't you acquire that kind of wardrobe?" Daryle had coolly responded. "What woman doesn't like to shop?"
Truth be told, Suzanne couldn't remember the last time she simply went shopping. Her "business attire" consisted of jeans, a shirt and an apron. So here she was, strolling down a busy Chicago street, following the directions to a local boutique that the concierge had printed out for her. She walked for several blocks before she came upon the shop, tucked away in the ground floor of an older office building.
Inside, the air conditioning was a welcome relief from the summer heat outside.
"May I help you?" An older lady approached Suzanne. She was exquisitely dressed in an obviously expensive green suit. It looked like Chanel. I'm out of my element here, Suzanne thought.
"I need some suits. Two, to be exact."
She looked Suzanne up and down. "You're a size eight, yes?"
Suzanne nodded. "Normally, yes, an eight."
The woman began walking toward the rear of the store. Suzanne assumed she was to follow. "And where will you be wearing these suits? A job interview?" the woman asked over her shoulder.
"I need them to wear at a conference. I'm helping my husband at a wine conference."
"Ah, the big wine show."
"My husband's family has owned a vineyard for decades."
The woman slowed down and her demeanor toward Suzanne changed markedly.
"Where is your husband's vineyard?"
"California. In the Napa Valley," Suzanne replied.
"Ah," the woman sighed. "My first husband and I honeymooned in Napa. Beautiful. Better weather than Chicago, too." She stopped at a rack of suits. "For a conference, you'll want something a little dressier, a bit more feminine. You don't need a power suit." She pushed several sleek black and navy suits to the side.
Suzanne surveyed the wall of suits. A lighter color jumped out at her. She stepped forward to pull the suit out. "What about this one?" She held it up for the woman's opinion.
"That would not work with many women, but it is perfect for your hair."
The suit was a rich caramel color, cut in a style reminiscent of the forties. The skirt was straight and knee-length. The jacket was shaped, nipped in at the waist, and with wide, curved lapels. The sleeves stopped halfway between her elbow and wrist.
In the dressing room, Suzanne turned round and round in the suit, trying to find something wrong with it. But it was perfect. It fit her exactly. She wondered whether Daryle would like it. It was being bought for his event so really, she reasoned, his opinion did count here. She knew she'd probably never again have an occasion to wear the suit.
The woman rapped on the dressing room door. "I've found something else similar." She handed in a suit that was a pale silvery green.
Suzanne bought both suits and a pair of two-tone t-strap shoes with a three-inch heel.
She was strolling back to the hotel, when a neon cupcake hanging in a shop window caught her eye and she pulled up short. How did I miss that earlier? She must have been too focused on the concierge's directions. Normally, she had an internal radar for cupcakes.
Inside, she found a sleek and chic little cupcake shop. Very big city, she thought. Large black and white photos of skyscrapers—some of Chicago's, she was guessing—adorned the walls. Bluesy jazz wafted down from discreet stereo speakers. No seating, just a grab and go.
She surveyed the flavors. Just a little innocent corporate espionage, she told herself. Mostly Mojito, Aye Carumba Caramel, Strawberry Sensation, Lake Shore Lime. They all looked delish with their fluffy poufs of icing. She bought four, to share with Daryle. Maybe, she smiled as she carried the small white bakery box back onto the street. If they lasted that long.
After lunch, Suzanne found herself staring up at a rather fearsome set of white teeth.
"This is Sue," Daryle said.
"Sue? It has a name?"
Daryle turned to her and mussed her hair, casually, almost absentmindedly. Her scalp tingled at his touch. It was just a friendly gesture, she told herself. How many times had she done that to Brent? There had been no sign so far on this trip that Daryle wanted any amorous encores. That was a relief. They needed to keep their separate boundaries, their own personal space.
"Sue is the most complete T. Rex skeleton ever discovered," Daryle explained. "She's quite the celebrity among paleontologists."
"I didn't realize you hung out with paleontologists."
Daryle had suggested a post-lunch excursion to the Field Museum on Chicago's famed Lake Shore Drive. Suzanne had no particular interest in natural history—she preferred art museums, herself—but neither did she have any particular reason to simply sit inside the hotel all afternoon. They were going to be cooped up in the hotel for the rest of the week, starting bright and early tomorrow morning. No reason to spend today there, too.
The museum was crowded, groups of children clustered everywhere in their matching summer camp shirts. Red group here, blue group over there. Their harried chaperones struggled to keep them all together, an impossible mission, Suzanne thought. There were so many big and wondrous things in a museum to distract a child and pull their attention away.
Suzanne was having a hard time pulling her own eyes away from those big dinosaur teeth, herself.
"I'm trying to think if I've ever seen a dinosaur skeleton before," she said.
"Really? Not in a museum?" Daryle asked.
She shook her head. "I don't think I've ever been to a natural history museum before. My school field trips were always to farms or Civil War battlefields. And my mother never had time to take me. I take it you've been to lots of museums?"
Daryle smiled sheepishly. "Whenever we traveled to these wine shows, Alanna and I always got to choose one fun thing to do on the off day. She always chose shopping with mother. I always made my father take me to a museum."
Suzanne tried to picture a young Daryle, tugging at his father's hand, urging him on
to the next fossil, the next display case. She didn't really know much about Daryle's childhood, she realized with a bit of surprise. They had never talked much about their pasts when they had been a couple before. Hadn't talked much about their futures either. Daryle had been all action. Now here they were, their futures both entwined and separate at the same time.
Their childhoods had been polar opposites. Their families, too. The Cattertons had been wealthy, yes, but they were also a close-knit family. Daryle was close to Iris and his sister. Suzanne got the impression he'd been close to his father when he was alive, as well. Daryle was going to be devastated when Iris was gone. He hadn't spoken to Suzanne about it much; Daryle played his emotions close to the vest. It was curious, she thought, that such a close family had produced two avowedly single children. Alanna had never married either. She struck Suzanne as someone who was as dedicated to her art career as Daryle was to his playboy lifestyle.
Suzanne's childhood, on the other hand, could not have been more different. Her father had disappeared when she was a toddler. She had no memories of him, couldn't even begin to describe what he looked like. Her mother had worked multiple jobs to support the two of them. Suzanne and her mother had been close, but there had been neither the time nor the money to take vacations or travel. Pleasure had not been a factor in her formative years. Sometimes even Suzanne wondered whether she was simply incapable of having fun. She worked. Working made her feel secure. She knew that inability to let go and enjoy herself had contributed to the demise of her relationship with Daryle. He had been her experiment in pleasure. The experiment had failed, miserably. She was all work, he was all play. Sometimes two people just don't line up. She and Daryle did not line up.
Daryle touched her arm. "There are more dinosaurs upstairs."
Suzanne struggled to keep up with him as he deftly threaded his way through the crowds. In another, different, circumstance, she might have reached out and grabbed his hand, let him pull her along. If it were a different man she were trying not to lose in the crowd. By the time they got to the dinosaur exhibit hall, she was out of breath. She stopped a few yards outside the main exhibit area, to let her breathing return to normal. Daryle was already standing in front of two giant skeletons, looking more than a little like a paleontologist in his brown cargo shorts and loose, white linen shirt. Below his shorts, his long calves were tanned from hours spent outside in the vineyards, the light smattering of hair bleached to a shimmering golden blonde. Admiring Daryle's legs was not slowing Suzanne's breathing.
Cupcakes & Chardonnay Page 9
