Tea and Primroses Page 11

  “Same color as the Van Gogh painting,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  He unlocked the door and held out his hand. For a moment I hesitated but then I put my small hand in his large one and let him help me into his truck. When the door slammed there was a rattling, like something was inside the space. There were no seatbelts. It smelled of gasoline.

  In the passenger side mirror, I watched him walk around the back of the truck. He stopped, resting his hand on the truck’s trailer door and tilting his head toward the sky, brushing his hair back from his forehead with his long fingers. His chest rose and fell. After a moment, he climbed into the cab of the truck, bringing the smell of the night and his leather jacket. He put both hands on the steering wheel, his eyes on the dashboard. “Listen here, I’m still married. We’ve got to remember that.”

  “I know.” My heart beat hard in my chest. I put my hand over my heart, as if he could see it.

  “Of course you know.” Still hunched over the steering wheel, he looked at me. “I don’t know why I said that.” Sitting up, he took keys from his jeans pocket and put them in the ignition. But instead of starting the truck, he turned toward me, one arm draped over the steering wheel, the other resting on the seat near his thigh. “It matters to me that I’m an honorable man. And I’m not feeling very honorable right now.”

  “Nothing’s happened. We just had dinner. That’s all.”

  He sighed and reached his hand across the seat, resting his fingers mere inches from my thigh. “Yeah, right. Just dinner.”

  I couldn’t breathe. Time stopped as he reached up and touched my hair, wrapping the section that fell over my cheek around his index finger. “You’re beyond lovely,” he said. He took his hand away, slowly, like we were suddenly stuck in mud, and turned on the truck.

  After we picked up my bicycle, I don’t remember much of the ride out to my place except we were silent for most of it but for my directions out to the Williams farm. My heart continued to pound and my thoughts turned and tossed like I would later do in bed until the early light of dawn filtered into my room.

  When we turned into the dirt driveway, I pointed to the barn with my studio. There were two barns on the property, one where the cows were cared for, the other held equipment and my studio. “I live there.”

  “In the barn?” He looked at me. The truck bounced in a pothole and I felt like I might fall into him, like the freefalling mess that I was.

  “It’s cozy.” The Williams farm was like something out of a book, red barns and white fences, rolling cow pastures. I never tired of looking at it.

  “Oregon, you can’t live in a barn.”

  “It’s not so bad.”

  The equipment barn was set far away from the Williams house near the cow field. I told Patrick where to park his truck, which he did, turning off the ignition. We both sat like that for a moment, neither of us moving, until Patrick cracked his window a few inches, bringing in the faint smell of cow manure. Finally, I shifted on the seat to look at him. “Do you want to come in? I mean, for the manuscript?”

  He glanced over at the Williams farmhouse. It was dark. I knew they were usually in bed before nine, both of them up at first light. “You better bring it out to the truck.” He gripped the steering wheel. “I’ll put your bicycle in the barn for you.”

  I don’t know if I was relieved or disappointed but I just nodded and slipped out of the truck, running inside. This barn always smelled slightly of diesel grease and steel. Just off the main doors were skinny stairs leading up to my studio. I held onto the rail; my legs were trembling.

  The studio was roughly twenty feet by twenty, plus a small bathroom with a narrow shower, small sink, and toilet. The floors were made of pine and so soft I’d made a mark in it when I dropped my teacup one day. The teacup came out unscathed, fortunately, since I possessed only two cups, one plate, a single set of silverware, a saucepan, and one frying pan. There were still bits of sawdust between the cracks in the floorboards that made it smell of freshly sawed wood. When I first arrived in town, I used most of my savings to buy a full-size mattress and frame and covered it with my childhood quilt, made by my mother before I was born, the patterns of flowers sewn from scraps of material from her treasure chest. She’d sent it out to Vermont after I told her I’d secured a place to live. It was a gesture of love that surprised me, given the angry words exchanged between us on the day I left.

  I’d lucked into finding a small, wooden desk and chair at the town’s thrift shop. On it were my manual typewriter and stacks of notebooks I kept around in case I got an idea I wanted to jot down or something of particular beauty caught my eye. Next to the typewriter was the blue rabbit’s foot. Sometimes I rubbed the less worn side with my thumb when I was stuck on a plot point. This soft blue muse never let me down.

  I’d placed the desk by the only window, a plain, square window with a screen, which I’d taken off so I could see out better now that it had turned cool. The view of the cow field and the ever-changing landscape was a source of great inspiration to me. Since I’d arrived last spring I had seen the green fields turn to yellow and back to green. I loved the cows, too. I’d written down all the different types of breeds from Mr. Williams’s explanation and it gave me a thrill to be in this strange land of cows and hay and Mrs. Williams’s vegetable garden. “Everything grows here,” I’d written to my father and Louise. “Big fat tomatoes and zucchini and beans.”

  Now, I went to the desk and opened the drawer. I stared down at the typed manuscript, the product of two years’ work. It was risky, I thought, giving this to Patrick. He was the real thing. He would know one way or the other if I had what it took and also if it was something the market would embrace. No risk, no reward. My father’s saying echoed in my head. I reached in and grabbed it.

  My bicycle was inside, leaning against the wall, and Patrick was sitting in his truck when I came down. He rolled down his window as I approached. “You’re brave, Oregon. I’ll give you that.”

  I smiled at him. “Fine line between brave and stupid.”

  “Indeed.”

  I handed it to him. He took it, putting it on the seat next to him. “I’ll take care of your baby, don’t worry.”

  “Thank you.” I stepped back from the truck.

  “I’ll wait for you to get upstairs before I go.”

  “Good night. Thank you for dinner.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  I sprinted upstairs and then watched from my window as he drove down the Williams’s dirt driveway to the country road. I watched his lights until they disappeared and the night was nothing but the inky sky and a sliver of moon low on the horizon.

  CHAPTER SIX

  SUTTON WAS RECLINED ON THE COUCH, her feet in Declan’s lap, when he read the last word of the chapter. She glanced at her watch. It was almost seven. Their friends would be here any minute for the reading of Constance’s letter. “We have to stop,” she said.

  “I know.” He put the read pages on the end table and then wrapped his hands around her bare feet, looking down at them and speaking quietly. “How the hell did we never know about Vermont? And about Patrick Waters?”

  She shook her head, fighting the urge to close her eyes and give in to the pleasure of Declan’s touch on her bare skin. “He told me today he’s loved her most of his life. Do you think they were lovers?”

  “It seems headed that way.”

  “But she loved my father. He was her one big love. At least that’s what I assumed she meant all these years.”

  The doorbell interrupted them. “That’ll be them.” Sutton swung her feet off Declan’s lap.

  Peter and Jack stood at the door. Jack hugged her quickly and without any body parts touching except for their arms. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you earlier at the memorial. It was a crazy amount of people and I don’t do well in crowds.” He was dressed in short sleeves.

  She averted her eyes from the angry scars on his wrists, exposed for all to see. �
�Don’t worry. I feel the same way. So did my mother.”

  “I remember,” said Jack, pushing his glasses farther up his nose. “She was really good to me when I came home, you know, after everything. It meant a lot to me.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Sutton, I know how you feel right now. Grief’s worse when you know they were murdered. I’m sorry.”

  “Jack, thank you. I’m sorry too.”

  They hugged again, only this time he held her tightly against his chest for a brief moment. He looked well, thought Sutton. He’d gained weight since she saw him last, like maybe he was working out. Jack and Peter looked like brothers even though Jack favored Louise, with subtle, delicate facial features, whereas Peter looked more like Tim, ruggedly handsome with those bee-stung lips.

  After Louise and Aggie arrived, they all went down to the basement where Gigi was already waiting. The large room was decorated in the same soft tones as the rest of the house but felt more casual given the pool table, the Foosball table, and the dartboard on one wall. The stereo speakers for the small wooden dance floor still hung in the corners. A door led out to the yard, where they’d all stepped out one night to try clove cigarettes. Except for Peter; he’d refused, saying he would never let smoke enter his body, especially during baseball season, and he most certainty did not approve anyway. But he needn’t have worried. They all choked after the first puff, all except Declan. He smoked the entire thing like he’d been doing it for years. He was always cooler than the rest of them.

  They all sat on the leather couch or the soft, fluffy chairs when Sutton asked them to. “My mother wanted me to read you all a letter. Then we’re supposed to hang out like we used to.”

  “Does that mean you kicking our asses at darts?” asked Peter.

  Sutton laughed. “Exactly.”

  “Watch your language, Peter,” said Louise.

  “Sorry, Mom.”

  “I’m going to try and read this without crying,” said Sutton.

  “Cry if you want to, dear,” said Louise. “We’re all here for you.”

  Sutton read.

  Dear Jack, Peter, Gigi, Aggie and Louise,

  If you’re reading this, I’m dead and you’re all half cocked by now after the memorial. Aggie and Peter, I hope Sutton showed you where I kept the good scotch. Gigi, I always had the house stocked for your visits with that chardonnay from Washington State you liked so much. There’s an extra case in the garage if you haven’t found it yet.

  But I don’t know why I’m talking about booze. I’m dead. This should be a serious moment. Louise, I’m sure you’re appalled. But, before I go on, there are two bottles of Quilceda Creek Cabernet I was saving in the cellar for a special occasion. It would be wonderful if you would open them and toast me after we’re done here. I know it sounds terribly vain but I loved you all very much and it gives me comfort to know I might be missed just a little by each of you. And I hate for that wine to go to waste.

  I should come to the point, so you kids can dance and play darts and get into trouble. By the way, I knew about the booze you used to sneak in when you were in high school and later when you came home from college. I also know about the night you decided to smoke cloves in the yard. Smoke rises. You kids always thought you were cleverer than Louise and I but you were mistaken.

  Talking about money is so tacky but I guess there’s no polite way to say it. I’ve left you all some money in the sum of five million dollars each. I hope it will prove useful. It gave me a lot of pleasure knowing I could leave it to you, especially given that I made it from all those awful movies. I would have given it to you when I was alive but I knew Louise wouldn’t let me. I was always afraid of her, as you all should be.

  Louise, now don’t be mad. I want you to have it. You were a better person than I in every way. Thank you for being my friend for most of our lives. You gave me some of my best moments. I’ll make sure to have a glass of wine ready for you when you join me wherever it is we’re all going.

  There I go, talking about booze again.

  Peter and Jack, I know things weren’t always easy for you growing up. Your father’s a first class jackass most of the time but I do know he loves you. I hope you’ll find peace at some point or at least acceptance. I understand, having had a difficult mother, how hard it can be. My wish is that this money lets you live the kind of lives you want without compromise. Thank you for always being so good to your mother and Aggie. It made me proud when you were little boys, and proud to see the men you grew into.

  Aggie, what can I say? You’re the smartest woman I ever met. Thank you for the encouragement you gave me when I needed it so desperately and didn’t get it from my mother. Enjoy this. And for Heaven’s sake, spend it foolishly. You can’t take it with you.

  Gigi, you’ve worked harder than any person I’ve ever known. I know you’ve had a lot to conquer and a lot to prove, given your circumstances. I understand, believe me. But I worry about you. Life is about more than work. Maybe let go of all that ambition for a short time and take a trip or go on one of those online dating sites and find a man to love. Regardless, now you don’t have to work quite so hard. And for God’s sake, don’t give any of it to your mother. Trust me, it’s not a good investment.

  Well, that’s it, I guess. I hate to say goodbye but we all have to go sometime. Thank you for being the loves of my life. Be well. Be happy.

  Constance

  They all sat, staring at Sutton. No one spoke for several seconds.

  Finally, Aggie shifted slightly, breaking the spell. “Good Lord, how much was Constance worth?”

  “A lot,” said Sutton. “She had it all invested. I had no idea.”

  “Well, she never spent any,” said Louise. “But this is too much. We can’t possibly accept it.”

  “You have to.” Sutton smiled. “Otherwise, she may come back to haunt us.”

  Gigi was crying, silently. “Louise is right. It’s too much.”

  “She wanted you to have it,” said Sutton. “Please, just be happy. Think of the freedom it gives you. Gigi, you can do anything you want now.” She looked at Jack. “Jack, if you don’t want to teach high school any longer, you don’t have to. Money is simply freedom. And she wanted you all to have that.”

  “She’s right,” said Jack. Sutton looked at him, surprised. Of all of them, she wouldn’t have expected Jack to agree. “Life is short and unpredictable. This is a blessing, an unexpected one for sure, but think of what we could do with it, even for others if we want.” He moved toward the stereo and flipped on the radio. He held his hand out to Gigi. “Come on, Gigi, dance with me.”

  Gigi’s eyebrows went up. “Me?” She pointed at her chest with her thumb.

  Jack smiled. “I’m not just some kid any longer.” He brought her to her feet. “When we were younger I always wanted to ask you to dance but I knew you thought I was just Peter’s little brother.”

  “No one wanted to dance with me back then,” said Gigi.

  “That’s a lie.” Jack smiled. “I did. But wow, you’ve grown up nicely.”

  “As have you,” said Gigi flirtatiously, following him to the dance floor.

  Declan, at the doorway, dimmed the lights. “I’ll find the wine.”

  “Thanks, Dec,” said Sutton.

  Peter stood and walked to the dartboard, pulling out the darts one by one. “Sutton, you think you can still kick my ass?”

  “With my eyes closed.” Grinning, she took the darts from him. She aimed one at the dartboard, hitting the bull’s-eye.

  “How do you do that?” asked Peter.

  “I don’t know. It’s just so easy.” Sutton threw another. It landed right next to the first. “One of my useless talents.”

  “You never know when it might come in handy,” said Peter. “Now where’s that good scotch your mother referred to?”

  “I’ll get it for you the first game you win.” Sutton threw another bull’s-eye.

  He groaned. “We could be here all
night.”

  “I’m just kidding. I’ll get it for you.” She turned to Aggie, who very uncharacteristically was still sitting on the couch, looking dazed. “Aggie, does this mean you’ll cook something besides bean soup?” Sutton had forgotten until she read it in her mother’s manuscript earlier that day how Aggie, Louise, and the boys had lived on bean soup. “No better deal at the grocery store than a bag of dried beans,” Aggie had said more than once.

  “I may never eat another bean as long as I live,” said Aggie. “Only problem now is I’m going to have to be extra diligent not to let a man try to worm his way into my life just to get my money.”

  Everyone laughed.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SUTTON WOKE AT MIDNIGHT, fully clothed and sleeping on top of the covers on one of the twin beds in the guest room. She lay there for a moment, disoriented. How had she arrived here? The last thing she remembered was doing a tequila shot with Gigi. Then it all came rushing back. Patrick Waters. Murder. Louise dropping a tray. Gigi and wine. Too much wine. Don’t marry Roger. Declan. One hundred million dollars. She felt her left hand with her right. No more ring.

  Her hand felt fine without it.

  When she’d been in Paris she’d taken it off and left it in her room the entire time. I’ll wear it when I get back, she thought at first. And then, when I get back I might end this.

  This will be my grandbabies’ room, her mother had said when she had Sutton’s old room redecorated. The combination of moonlight and the night-light near the door helped her make out most objects in the room: twin mattresses and metal frames, painted light green, the covers an old-fashioned white with one of the beds holding white pillows sprinkled with blue flowers; a small half-circle white table between the beds; and a wooden “Hotel” sign over one of the beds.

  She rolled over to the other side, staring at the white wooden shutter that covered the bottom half of the window. After a few moments, she got up and brushed her teeth, hoping to get the awful taste of grief and stale booze out of her mouth. Then she washed her face and ran a brush through her hair, examining herself. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy. There were dark circles under her eyes. Her mother would’ve cut some cucumber slices and placed them over her eyes.