A Spicy Secret (8 page)

“Just this once,” she answered. She pulled the car into the garage, and they got out and began ferrying the food and all their bags into the kitchen. The phone rang as Vanessa set the last item on the counter. Kate grabbed the handset and managed a nearly-out-of-breath “Hello?”

“Kate. You haven’t gotten back to me. So—can I have Scooter tomorrow or what?”

She stifled a groan. Harry. She had actually called him a few times during the week, but had deliberately done so when she felt pretty sure he wouldn’t be at home.

She took a deep breath and then said, “I actually tried to call you a few times, but I guess your answering machine isn’t working.”

“Oh, yeah. It isn’t. I need to replace that thing. But … whatever. Is Scooter available?”

“I just walked in the door. Can you give me a minute? I’ll call you right back.”

“Sure. But if you don’t, I’ll call
you
right back,” he said, hanging up the phone.

She put down the handset, gripped the side of the counter, and took another fortifying breath.

“Dad?” Vanessa asked.

“Yup.”

“Wanting to see me?”

“Yup.”

Vanessa sighed as loud as her mother had, her pretty face clouded.

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

Vanessa’s face brightened. “Oh well, I can’t go then. Mackenzie, Lily, and I are going to meet tomorrow at the store to prepare for our first Teen Hook and Needle Club meeting. You know, pick out a few patterns and the right hooks and stuff, so the girls can just get started without trying to figure all that out.”

Kate blinked, once again surprised by her daughter’s foresight.

“I didn’t know you three planned to do that!”

“Yup, we worked it out today after Mary Beth gave us permission. Didn’t you hear me talking on the phone?”

“Well, yeah, but I didn’t pay any attention,” Kate replied. “Plus, you girls talk so fast I probably would have only understood one word out of three.”

“Like Mackenzie says, you obviously understand more than you pretend you do. Anyway, call Dad back before he gets irritated and tell him I already have plans. You can tell him I’m free, oh, two weekends from now.” She grinned slyly and added, “And if he remembers, I’ll have something else planned then too.”

“You are a bad, bad girl, Vanessa Rebecca Stevens,” Kate said, picking up the phone and dialing. “But you’re a girl after my very own heart.”

****

Midnight. Kate knew she should be asleep, not reading a back issue of
Entertainment Weekly.
But for some reason she couldn’t settle. It probably had to do with her conversation with Harry, along with the thought of her daughter growing up. She was already a strong woman, certainly stronger and smarter than Kate had been at seventeen. Soon her baby girl—who not that long ago had depended on her for absolutely
everything—
would be finishing high school and going to college, where she’d have to find or fix her own food, wash her own clothes, and get herself to class on time.

I’m not ready for that
, Kate thought.
I want her to live with me forever and ever.

The call with Harry had gone better than she expected; instead of ranting and raving about “Scooter” not being available, he’d simply said, “Cool. See her in two weeks.”

She had thoroughly enjoyed dinner with her daughter. They’d laughed and talked and recited lines along with the movie. Then together they had cleaned the dishes and put the leftovers away. It was the best night they’d had together in a while.

Even the snowstorm that had started while they’d been eating hadn’t dampened their spirits. As Kate flipped through the pages of her magazine, her eyes finally got heavy, so she set the magazine aside, sent up a prayer for the continued health and well-being of her only child, and then fell into dreamless sleep.

8

Annie could not stay still for
anything
on Saturday. She tried sitting in the library to work on her blanket squares—she only had four blue ones left to make, and then she needed to sew the whole thing together—but she kept worrying about what to wear on her date with Ian. Her current garb, a grubby pair of jeans and her “World’s Greatest Grandma” sweatshirt, was decidedly too casual.

The last time Ian had taken her to Sweet Nell’s she’d been severely overdressed—not that it had been her fault. Ian had hardly given her a clue about the place; he’d just told her the name. This time, she wanted to look perfect.

She also fretted about teaching him how to crochet. What size needle would be best for him to use? What color yarn would he like? What type of yarn? Maybe Ian had a wool allergy. Or an allergy to synthetic fibers. Or an allergy to the metal used to make crochet hooks.
But that’s silly,
she told herself.
He already knows how to knit. Surely he’s not allergic to anything that has to do with yarn and crafting.

Then she wondered if she could she find a crochet pattern simple enough for him to learn. She kept jumping up, running upstairs and looking through her yarn stash, trying to pick out some for Ian to use. She worried: What if she was downright awful as a teacher? What if this was the worst idea ever?

When not looking at yarn, she’d put various combinations of outfits on her bed. Dark blue jeans and a cream sweater. Light gray slacks and the same cream sweater. How about a black turtleneck under the sweater? Or maybe the jeans and a red-and-green flannel shirt over a yellow turtleneck? What about light blue jeans and a heavy wool sweater in various shades of green? Or …?

She finally settled on a pair of jeans in a medium blue color and a green wool cardigan to wear over the red-and-green flannel shirt. She went back to her comfy chair in the library, pleased with her choice, and then she realized she hadn’t picked out shoes or jewelry.

“Drat it all!” she said aloud, setting her yarn and hook back on the table once again. Boots managed the herculean effort of opening one eye, and then closed it and started snoring again. “Fine help you are, cat! I don’t know why I keep you around.”

As cats are wont to do, Boots didn’t even stir, much less respond.

The phone rang as Annie passed by the table in the hallway.

“Saved by the bell,” she muttered, picking it up and answering with a short “Hello?”

“Well, hello to you too,” Alice said. “Whatcha doing?”

“I’m trying to figure out what to wear tonight!” Annie couldn’t keep the exasperation out of her voice.

“Oh, right, your date with Ian,” Alice said. She paused and then asked. “When is he picking you up again?”

“Six.”

“Right. Six o’clock. So, if my math lessons from first grade still serve me, that means you have
seven
hours until he arrives. Stop fretting!”

Annie started laughing—Alice always knew how to knock her out of a sour mood. “You’re right. It’s just, I haven’t been on a date with Ian since ….”

“Since the last time?”

“Yes! Whenever that was. Seems like ages ago, even though I know it’s not. And not that I have any reason to be worried—we’re truly just friends.”

“Just friends,” Alice snorted. “You two are ‘just friends’ like Michelangelo is just a painter and Wally’s just a handyman.”

“Well—”

“Well, nothing,” Alice interrupted. “I humbly apologize for asking this when your schedule today is clearly so—what’s the word?—
grueling
, but would you mind coming over and helping me? I’m trying to go through some of the clothes I had in storage. I have no idea why I kept them, but since I did, I thought it would be fun to take you on a tour of ‘Alice’s date disasters’ via my clothes.”

“How can I resist such an offer? You are truly one of the world’s best friends,” Annie said. “Give me a half hour and I’ll be there.”

Alice snorted again. “Half an hour? You better be here in ten minutes. No more dithering around for you.”

Annie could hear her giggling as she hung up.

Eight minutes later—Annie timed it—she had climbed the carriage house stairs and now stood on the edge of Alice’s sitting room floor. That edge held literally the only clear space in the room; the rest of it, and the hallway, were completely covered.

“If I help you, you have to help me pick out something to wear tonight,” Annie said, surveying the mess.

“Done!” Alice replied, not looking up from her spot on the floor. “Wally stopped by to give me an estimate. He said the only way he’d start to work up here is if I cleared out everything, and the downstairs does
not
have enough room, nor do I want to move everything yet again.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yeah, and he also suggested we do the walls first in case paint or dust or whatever gets on the floor. He said it would be easier on him and cheaper for me in the long run if we try to do all the painting at once, and then the floors, and so on. We’re going to try to redo the entire upstairs, all at the same time, which means I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“Do you really think you can go through all this?” Annie asked, flinging out her arms to encompass the piles.

“Sure, why not?” Alice replied, finally looking up from a pile of magazines she was sorting. “Winter’s always my slowest time for booking parties. Luckily, Wally can’t start working for a couple weeks—he’s got a job in Bath or Bar Harbor or Brockton, or one of those that starts with a B. Anyway, I’ve got a little time. And I will be so glad to have this mess out of here. I haven’t even looked at most of this since I moved in. I haven’t used a lot of the stuff in my closets, and definitely haven’t missed the stuff I put in storage, so why hang onto all of it? It will be nice to have a fresh start. Will you help me sort and carry boxes to the dump or the thrift store?”

“Sure, why not,” Annie echoed, moving aside some junk and sitting down gingerly on the floor. “What about having a yard sale when the weather warms up a bit?”

“Eeew. Yuck—no! I hate yard sales. You probably don’t remember that Mom was a yard-sale fanatic—holding them
and
going to them.”

“No,” Annie said, puzzled. “I don’t remember that at all. Where was I?”

“Oh, probably doing chores for Betsy, or sleeping. Yard sales are always super-early, which meant I didn’t get to sleep in, and I hated it. But the best part? My mother would often buy things at someone’s yard sale that she’d already
sold
at one of her yard sales, only to turn around and sell them
again
at—you guessed it—yet another of her yard sales. My sister, Angela, and I had to help customers. We lived in a constant state of mortification; people of course noticed—and talked about it. They probably had a pool on how many times she’d buy and sell the same item.”

“Wow. I had no idea your mom was so … quirky. OK, we won’t hold a yard sale. I’ll cart your junk off instead, though I don’t know that much will fit in my car.”

“That might be a problem,” Alice agreed. “We may have to get some assistance. Doesn’t our fine mayor drive a pickup?”

Annie felt herself start to blush, so she ignored the question. “What happened to all of your mother’s yard sale finds and inventory? Did she take them to your sister’s house in Florida?”

“Ha ha. No. Angela and I went through everything, which believe me was quite the task and not a bit of fun. It took weeks and weeks,” Alice said. “We each kept what we wanted and packed boxes for Mom to take with her. Then we had the absolute largest yard sale
ever
, only we called it an estate sale, which meant we could charge more money. Then we took what didn’t sell to Goodwill.”

“I think I’m beginning to understand your hatred of yard sales, and why your house is usually quite spotless,” Annie said. “Anyway, I do believe you promised me a tour of your dating disasters.”

“Indeed I did, and you let me know if there’s something you’d like to keep for your very own. I won’t even charge you. You never know what might strike your fancy. Like this outfit, the first on my dating disasters world tour.” Alice held up a multicolored pantsuit. She proceeded to gesture at it as if she were channeling Vanna White. “I wore this lovely ensemble on a date with Malcolm Westley, circa 1985. Note the swirls of burgundy, purple, gold, and sage, and how well they complement the black. And we must not forget the bat-wing sleeves and of course, the monster shoulder pads.”

“It’s fantastic. Stunning even. Besides the outfit itself, what was disastrous about the date?” Annie asked.

“Ah, yes, the best part of the story. Malcolm took me to a club to go dancing. There he proceeded to spill my very fruity, non-alcoholic drink all over me, after which he left me at the bar, sticky, dripping, and mad, to dance with other girls.”

“And why did you keep this outfit?”

“As a reminder of the date, of course.” Alice said. “So, what do you think? Garbage? Goodwill?”

“Did you have it cleaned?”

“But of course! And I actually wore it on a few non-horrible dates too.”

“That’s good, I guess,” Annie said. “How about Goodwill? I’m sure they have a section for costumes and what not.”

“Throw it in the appropriate box, will you? They’re the ones in the hallway.” Alice said as she handed it over. Annie managed to chuck the outfit into a box labeled “Goodwill.”

“Wow, I’m impressed,” her friend said. “I had no idea you had that skill.”

“Me either. I’m fairly certain I’ll be getting up approximately sixteen thousand times this afternoon to put things in the right box, after I’ve hurled them into the wrong one. So, what’s next?”

Alice shared the details of her date with “some dude named Romero,” to which she wore a short, tight, white spandex skirt (Goodwill), which also got a fruity drink spilled on it; her date with preppy Knox Kingsley, which did not go well because she wore all black, including her eye makeup and scrunchy (shirt and pants: Goodwill; scrunchy: trash); and her date with Emmett Sadler, to which she wore brown cowboy boots and a long, multicolored prairie skirt with a white peasant top (kept the boots, the rest to Goodwill).

“You are a great tour guide,” Annie said, wiping tears from her eyes after several hours of more dating stories. “I’ve laughed so hard, I’m crying and my abs hurt! And really? A guy named Emmett Sadler? Besides the old-man name, why didn’t that work out?”

“Uh, well, because he
was
an old man—a friend of one of my college professors. I have no idea why I agreed to go on a date with him.”

Alice yawned, and then looked at her watch.

“OK, don’t panic, but it’s four o’clock.”

“Yikes! Time for me to get dressed!” Annie said.

****

Annie wore—at her friend’s insistence, not to mention Alice’s vehement rejection of all of her clothing choices—a pair of blue jeans embroidered with gold flowers down the left leg, and a cream turtleneck under a green knit cardigan with matching gold embroidered flowers. Gold hoops dangled from her ears, a gold scarab bracelet hung from one wrist, and she wore a pair of clunky brown boots with gold buckles.

Now Annie sat in front of her dresser while Alice fussed with her hair.

“Are you sure this isn’t too much gold?” Annie asked.

“Gold is money, baby. And you look smashing.”

“Even though literally none of this is
mine?
”

“Even so, even so. And you forget. The turtleneck is actually yours.”

“Oh, gee, thanks. That makes it all so much better.”

Alice stepped back to survey her handiwork.

“You look gorgeous, darling, if I do say so myself.”

“Well, I’d hope
you’d
say so,” Annie retorted. “These are your clothes and jewelry from Princessa, and you did my hair and makeup.”

“Yup!” Alice replied, smiling and brandishing her flat iron. “Well, I’m off. You have a good date, you hear?”

“Yes, I promise!”

Annie surveyed herself in the full-length mirror, and then curled up in the library with her crochet work to wait. She’d finally decided on a size G crochet hook for Ian—not too big and not too small—and some 100 percent acrylic yarn in a deep forest green.

The doorbell rang right at six o’clock.

“That must be Ian,” Annie said to Boots, who yawned noncommittally. Annie gave herself one last look in the hall mirror, and then opened the door with a bright smile.

“Hello, beautiful!” Ian said, the big smile on his face mirroring her own. “These are for you.” He handed her a bouquet of white lilies, lavender, and ivy, wrapped with a cream ribbon.

“Thank you, Ian,” Annie said. “You are so thoughtful. Come in. Have a seat in the library while I put these in water.”

“I wanted to get you your favorite flower, but then I realized I have no idea what that would be,” he said, following her into the house and taking off his big winter coat. He wore a pair of crisply ironed jeans and a cream sweater.

Annie almost breathed a sigh of relief at her outfit. But then she worried that maybe they looked too matching. She’d have to ask Alice later. Or not. Her best friend would probably just laugh at her.

“Oh, I love all flowers,” she replied as he went into the library and she continued to the kitchen.

Ian had settled himself in her grandfather’s chair by the time she returned, bearing the flowers in a cut-glass vase. She put the vase on a corner of Grandpa’s desk.

“Those really are lovely,” she said, admiring them. “A girl always loves flowers, and they definitely brighten up the room, especially now when it’s already dark out.” She walked to her chair and sat down. “Are you ready for your first crochet lesson?”

“I’m not sure I’m up to the task,” Ian replied, splaying out his fingers and examining his hands. “Other than knitting every once in a while—and I haven’t even done
that
in quite some time—my hands are more used to manual labor and paperwork than yarn and—”

“A crochet hook?”

“Yes, a crochet hook.”

“Oh, you’ll catch on just fine, I’m sure,” Annie replied.

For the next hour, Annie patiently showed Ian how to crochet. She began with the most basic crochet stitch of all, a chain. When he could do that well, she moved on to single crochet stitch. As Ian practiced, they also talked about the mysterious recipes. Ian told her he’d looked through some old records at the sawmill.