We moved away from the main road and deep into the heart of the island.
“The Wentworths don’t own a waterfront home, but they still have the cachet of saying they live on Jupiter Island.” Honora gestured toward a pinkish-peach stucco house. “Jenny Beth’s family started with nothing. In her preteen years, phosphate was discovered on their farm. Florida supplies a quarter of the world’s phosphate needs. By the time Jenny Beth met Josiah in college, she was a wealthy young woman. Unfortunately cash can’t buy good taste. Or a pedigree. The Senator can trace his roots back to the Founding Fathers. The marriage was a good match for both of them. Her family money helped the Senator get his start in politics. Once he had a foothold, he found other ways to fund his campaigns.”
“It wasn’t a love match?” I asked, thinking out loud.
Honora shrugged and rang the doorbell. I stood a few steps behind her, with the flowers in my arms. We were greeted by a tall, dark-skinned woman who smelled of gardenias.
“Girl, I’ve been missing you!” said LaTisha, as she threw her arms around Honora’s neck. “What have you been doing with yourself?”
Honora introduced us and LaTisha offered me her hand. I nearly recoiled in shock at how rough her skin was. It felt as if I was shaking the wrong end of a pin cushion. Seeing my surprised expression, LaTisha sighed. “I mop all these tile floors by hand. Mrs. Wentworth insists I use strong chemicals. I’ve tried rubber gloves, but they cramp my style. My poor skin splits and cracks, but there's no help for it."
“Next time I visit, I’ll bring you a jar of skin lotion that we sell at my shop. Maybe it will help,” I said.
“I’ve tried everything,” said LaTisha, ushering us inside, “but I’m happy to give another product a chance. Just warning you, ladies. The missus is in one of her moods.”
“Problems with the Senator?” asked Honora.
“He’s the same as usual. Maybe a little worse. Lately I’d noticed his mind slipping. He’s confused a lot. Loses his balance. Talks like he’s been drinking, even though Ms. Wentworth won’t let him have a drop of alcohol. She cleared out all his Jim Beam a couple weeks ago.”
“Is she able to care for him by herself? You can’t possibly be here every minute of the day,” said Honora. “I know that you help out with your grandson.”
“Mrs. Wentworth has been kicking up a fuss when I take any time off. I’m only supposed to be working forty hours a week, but I’m here nearly twice that. She doesn’t pay me overtime, either. I’m on salary. If there's any heavy lifting, we go get Phil. He used to just walk the dogs, but now he does almost everything for them.”
“The Wentworths have owned Dalmations forever,” said Honora, speaking to me. “They tend to get nippy, particularly if they don’t get enough exercise. How many dogs do they have, LaTisha?”
“Right now, only one, Dotty. Phil shows up every morning at seven and takes Dotty for a long walk. Then he does odd jobs."
"It’s good that you have him to help," I said.
"Huh," said LaTisha. "He thinks he's something special, and so does the missus. She calls him her adopted son. Mainly he struts around like he owns this place. Around three, he takes Dotty for a second walk. Buys the groceries or runs to the post office. When the Wentworths want to go anywhere, Phil drives them.”
“Is that all the help they have?” asked Honora. “No nurses?”
“She says he doesn’t need one. Mrs. Wentworth worked as a nurse’s aide when they were first married. She says that she married the Senator ‘for better or worse,’ and this is worse."
"I never thought of Jenny Beth as such a loving wife,” said Honora. “She didn’t use to be, did she?”
LaTisha hesitated, giving me a sidewise glance.
“You can trust Cara,” said Honora.
“Girl, you are so right. The missus never did seem so fussy about him. Especially after she caught him looking at things he had no business looking at on his computer. Dirty pictures, if you get my drift. My, my, but there was a lot of shouting and carrying on. But then she came back from New York City and suddenly, don’t you know, that man is the love of her life. La-di-dah, la-di-dah.”
“That’s interesting,” said Honora. “I wonder why she had such a change of heart.”
“Beats me. She came back all fired up to get him to talk about his memories and his career. Dragged out all his old photos and papers.”
“LaTisha? Who you talking to?” called a quavering voice.
“Just answering the door. You’ve got company, Mrs. Wentworth.”
Honora followed LaTisha and I brought up the rear, walking through a dark house with shades pulled. Suddenly we found ourselves in a bright lanai. Everywhere my eye went, I saw clutter. Surface were crammed with gewgaws crowding each other for space. What a hodgepodge! Red globs floated through a lava lamp filled with turquoise water, sitting next to a carving of a turtle, and shadowed by a tired silk flower arrangement in dusty glass vase. A plastic palomino with saddle and bridle stood beside a fake clamshell with fake pearls. A wooden seahorse on a stand teetered next to a nautical candy dish. One wall was entirely taken up by a jaguar painted on black velvet.
Ugly pillows, several with fake fur, had been piled high on wicker furniture. The rug was a thick turquoise pile. A red and orange afghan covered a brown leather ottoman. The ocean could be heard, but not seen, because overgrown sea grapes, stringy and crowded, blocked the view. Right off the lanai was a small swimming pool with green scum growing around the water line.
The Senator was dressed neatly in a pair of khaki slacks and a golf shirt. An open book rested in his lap. He stared at it, but his eyes weren’t focused. Nor did he look up when we entered the room.
However, his wife did. Jenny Beth glanced up from a pile of typewritten papers to glare at us. “What are you doing here?”
I took this as my cue.
Time to grovel.
Groveling is a fine art that should be taught in school. After all, none of us make it through life without committing a faux pas that requires a serious, heartfelt, breast-beating apology. By rights, Poppy should have been the one to arrive with his hat in his hand. Instead, I stared into Jenny Beth’s cold eyes.
How could I get back into her good graces? I didn’t need a prominent local family angry with me. The thought of her running around Jupiter Island and telling people how rudely Poppy had treated them at my store event sickened me. I also didn’t want to be disloyal to my grandfather. And I wasn’t sure that the Senator didn’t deserve his dressing down—I only wished it hadn’t happened in my place of business.
This was rather like taking a fresh razor blade from the paper wrapper. The chance of getting cut was great. Greater than handling the sharp edge and not bleeding.
Still, I had come to apologize, so I had better get started.
“Senator and Mrs. Wentworth? I am sorry about how my grandfather acted toward you last night in my store. He was way out of line. I hope you’ll accept these flowers and my sincere regret for any discomfort that he caused you.”
The Senator didn’t look up from his book. His wife glared at me.
“Jenny Beth,” said Honora, “Cara was understandably nervous about visiting you today. I reminded the child that good Christians always turn the other cheek. Especially since this wasn’t Cara’s fault. She still feels awful about what happened. I know you won’t hold her grandfather’s words against her.”
Honora’s words dampened the fire in Mrs. Wentworth’s eyes. Our hostess said, “Of course I don’t blame her for what Dick Potter said. Everyone knows he’s ten times a fool.”
I thought about standing up for my grandfather, but I decided she had a point. Poppy certainly could act like a fool. I’d made the same observation myself.
“How about something cold to drink?” LaTisha asked. “Mrs. Wentworth just brewed some iced tea. The Senator loves his sweet tea.”
“That would be lovely,” said Honora, as she took the chair next to Jenny Beth.
That left me with the empty seat closest to the Senator. Their old Dalmatian snoozed in the sun, not even opening his eyes. That reminded me of Sven, my Golden Retriever. When he was old, he’d sleep right through the doorbell.
Perching awkwardly on a rickety wicker chair, I let Honora involve Jenny Beth in conversation while I took in my surroundings. It was as if an entire flea market had rolled up, dumped its wares in this room, and left the scene of the crime.
LaTisha returned to serve all of us tea from a large plastic pitcher. I took my glass gratefully so I’d have something to do. The Senator ignored me. Despite her absolution, Jenny Beth gave me the stink eye. All Honora’s attempts to involve me in the conversation fell flat. I settled back in the chair and turned my attention to the coffee table in front of me. Photos littered the surface. Most were black and white. A few were of the Senator and Jenny Beth together at official events. She kept one hand on his arm, clearly signaling her possessiveness, but she also kept a distance between her and her husband.
Kiki once told me about using photos to help dementia patients reconnect with their past. Perhaps that’s why these were scattered in front of the Senator.
“I see a lot of pictures of you” I directed this to the Senator, but he didn’t respond.
After LaTisha took her leave of us, I moved a few photos around to see them better. As a young man, the Senator looked a bit like Howdy-Doody, with hair that stuck straight up, a gap-tooth grin, and a sprinkling of freckles over his nose. He wore pants cinched with a wide belt. I picked up a picture of him with a group of young boys.
“What are you doing?” Jenny Beth asked me. “How dare you!”
I withdrew my hand like a child caught snatching cookies. “You’d mentioned that I should look at your family pictures and—”
She jumped out of her wicker chair with enough force that it nearly toppled over. With one deft sweep of her hand, she gathered all the photos and took them away. “These are private.”
Then why did she have them out where anyone could see them? I wondered, but I bit my tongue.
“My boys!” said the Senator. “I want—”
“That’s enough,” snapped Jenny Beth.
Honora looked at me, her eyebrows raised. She gave me a “who knows?” sort of gesture with her hands.
“The Senator has been working on his memoirs,” Mrs. Wentworth said, once she had all of the photos tucked away in a large Bergdorf’s box. “Seeing you paw through pictures that are precious to him is upsetting.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling thoroughly sick of having to apologize to this woman. “You had invited me to look at photos when you are in my store, and so I assumed—”
“You took liberties,” she cut me off.
As if on cue, LaTisha reappeared with a tray of muffins. The fragrance of blueberries, sugar, and butter filled the room. “These are hot, right out of the oven.”
The food provided a badly needed distraction. LaTisha peeled away the cupcake paper and sliced a muffin into small chunks for the Senator, who paid no attention to her efforts.
“For pity’s sake, LaTisha, don’t baby him. You,” said Mrs. Wentworth, pointing at me. Hand me the Senator’s tea.” She pointed to the drinking glass on the TV tray table between the Senator and me. I passed it to her, as she continued her harangue with, “LaTisha, we don’t need to go putting out a spread for everyone who barges in here. Unannounced and unwelcome.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said, backing out of the room.
I’d had enough of Jenny Beth Wentworth. I rarely wear a watch, so I stood up and glanced at my naked wrist. “Gee, look at the time. Honora? We need to get back to the store.”
CHAPTER 44
“Is it too early to have a stiff drink?” I asked Honora, as we pulled out of the Wentworths’ driveway. “Although I still have a headache from the wine last night, I could use one or two more bottles right this minute!"
“You should switch to bourbon,” she said. “Works faster than wine. I’ll share some with you. First we have to pick up more soft goods from my house. Let me look in my purse. I might have some aspirin.”
“What was that woman’s problem?” I asked.
She dug around inside her handbag. I caught a glimpse of a small glass vial. “I have no idea. Believe me, dear, if I’d known she was going to be so horrid, I wouldn’t have suggested a visit. Turn right when you get to the light at Gomez.”
“What’s with all that fussing at me about those photos? After telling me I should drop by to see their old pictures? Geez, Louise.”
“I know,” said Honora wearily. “Poor LaTisha. Can you imagine being trapped in the same house with those two, day after day?”
“I’d find another job.”
“She can’t.”
“Why not?”
“She got pregnant young. Was a struggling single mother. Then she met this fancy man. Thought she'd died and gone to heaven. Loved that guy to pieces. Especially when he married her. Then her husband involved her in a check-kiting scheme. She refused to tattle on him, but he pointed the finger at her. LaTisha was locked up for many years. Lost her kids. It’s tough enough to find good jobs when you’re black, but when you’re black, female, and you have a record, it’s nearly impossible.”
“Wow.”
Honora pointed to a wooded lot. “At least I saved a nice surprise for you. There’s a driveway there. Please turn in. It’s almost ten, isn’t it?”
“Five till.”
“Good, we’ll be right on time.”
“A carnation farm?” The faded sign was barely readable.
“No. You’ll see soon enough.”
I steered Black Beauty onto a rut riddled driveway blocked by a rusting privacy fence. A padlock on the metal gate kept us at bay. I put the car in park. “Now what?”
“Patience, dear.”
At noon, a man wearing a faded baseball cap appeared out of nowhere. Pulling a bunch of keys from his pocket, he unlocked the metal gate and swung it open. That allowed us entrance to a deeply rutted dirt road. I followed it to a dirt parking lot. Because there were no lines or markers, I chose a make-believe space and turned off the engine.
I had no idea why Honora wanted to visit this place.
As far as the eye could see, there were plastic canopies stretching out like bike spokes. These covered worn wooden tables, thick with plastic trays of plants. In the center of the hub sat a building, a rickety frame with a corrugated metal roof. It was hemmed in by green corduroy stripes, made by row after row of plants.
Honora hopped out of my car and strode purposefully along a cracked and buckled sidewalk. I followed her, until she disappeared inside the building. Once inside, I was glad for the shade, although it took a minute for my eyes to adjust. To our left were more makeshift tables. To the right was a thick metal door.
My companion turned and smiled at me. We were the only people around. The place was empty.
Almost though on cue, voices drifted our way. Workers in sweat-soaked tee shirts streamed into the building, like an endless army of ants. Their arms were laden with bunches of flowers. Silver coins of dew nestled in the blossoms and leaves. Lusty floral fragrances filled the air, sweet, spicy, and verdant.
“Wholesale flowers,” said Honora, as I stared at the bunches of vibrant orange Gerber daisies, whisper pink snapdragons, sky blue larkspur, cobalt delphiniums, peach-blushed freesia, innocently white baby’s breath, and others I couldn’t name. The workers loaded them into huge long cones of silver metal.
“Cara meet Lilia Watson,” said Honora, after she waved over a grave looking woman with nut-brown skin. “Lilia runs the place.”
After I shook Lilia’s hand, I asked the price of a bouquet. The low cost surprised me; I’d paid twice as much for Mrs. Wentworth’s bouquet—and Honora knew it.
“As you no doubt noticed, this place doesn’t open until ten. So we couldn’t stop by earlier. But, seeing as it’s right on the way to my house, I thought I’d sha
re this local secret with you, Cara. Flowers are so cheery, aren’t they? Scientifically, their color and scent evolved to attract pollinators. However, I can’t help but think that God knew these attributes would lighten the burden on our weary hearts. When I imagine Paradise, it looks like this,” and she gestured to the rows and rows of freshly picked blossoms.
I chose one bouquet for the store, and one for my apartment. Honora picked blossoms for herself and EveLynn. Then I bought two more bouquets so I could share the joy with Skye and MJ. As we climbed back into the car, I felt lighter. Happier than I had in days.
Skye had been right: I needed to feed my soul. I made a vow. From now on, I would do at least one thing each day to make myself happy. Not necessarily something costly or time-consuming. It could be as tiny as adding an extra spoonful of sugar to my morning coffee. Or taking the time to do a Zentangle tile. Whatever I chose, it had to be purposeful, my gift to me.
CHAPTER 45
“See the sign with the turtle? Reminding you to slow down?” asked Honora, as she pointed to a street up ahead. “My driveway is right next to it.”
I pulled up beside a one-story stucco house, pale green with white trim. A dozen wind chimes played songs in various keys. A tree with graceful orange-red blossoms framed a cardinal red front door.
Once we were inside the tiny bungalow, Honora sang out, “EveLynn? I’m home!" Then the older woman bent close to me. “Cara, this will be hard for her. You might want to hang back. She doesn’t deal well with surprises.”
“Should I wait in the car?”
“No, dear. Just because she doesn’t like something, doesn’t mean that the world should bend to her will.”
“Gosh, you sure are tidy,” I said, as I looked around. The place smelled of bleach and pine-scented cleaner. There were no extraneous objects on any surface. Every piece of furniture had been placed at exactly equal distances from the wall and each other, forming a symmetrical setting. Three of the same plants marched in a line in a windowsill. They’d been potted in the same pot, same color, and trimmed to the same height.
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