Bittersweet Surrender (12 page)

“Settings, insight to people, life lessons, to name a few.”

“To each her own.” Magnolia dismissed the matter with a wave of her hand. “Do you have any pain reliever? I'm afraid I have a headache. The smell of chocolate always gets to me,” she said unabashedly.

Carly frowned. “I can't smell anything.”

“I suppose that's why you're able to run a chocolate spa.” Magnolia smiled sweetly, then rubbed her temples.

Carly rummaged until she found a bottle of pain relievers. “Here you go.”

“Thank you, dear.” Magnolia poured a couple into her palm. “I really need to find a good herb for my headaches,” she said good-naturedly.

“I suppose,” Carly said.

“But if that chocolate gives me headaches, it could possibly be bothering your customers, Carly, dear.” Magnolia seemed to have developed a cold during the conversation. Her voice sounded as though her nose was clipped with a clothespin.

“Magnolia?”

She turned to Carly. “Yes?”

“Mind if I play your drums?”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“You know, I was just thinking, you should offer the healthy kind of chocolate in your spa,” Magnolia said, dabbing at her nose with a red-and-white checkered handkerchief.

Carly wanted to ask if there was such a thing, but then she thought that might be admitting guilt. “Oh, and which one is that?”

Magnolia stopped dabbing her nose and looked at Carly pointblank, “Well, the dark chocolate, of course. It has antioxidants that are good for the heart.”

Carly liked dark chocolate, but she didn't know about the health benefits. If she dared let on that she didn't know, she would be here until Magnolia had offered every last morsel of her wisdom. If only Carly could suck it from her brain in one fell swoop and be done with it.

“Seems to me I heard that somewhere.” That was the truth. She had heard it. Just now. From Magnolia.

“Well, you should give it some serious thought. It might help you draw in the healthy crowd and most likely even an older group of ladies as well.”

By the time the day was spent and Carly
slipped into her bed later that night, the idea of dark chocolate in her spa had been rolling around in her mind for quite some time. Women liked the idea of being pampered in the spa, but they also liked to challenge their skin. Bittersweet chocolate could do both.

It was times like this she really missed Ivy. Her friend had always been the entrepreneur, excited about ways to grow the business, the next big thing.

“I think this just might be what we need to turn the spa around,” she said to Pinkie as the dog curled onto her bed, ignoring Carly completely.

seven

Carly's legs ached with every step as she
climbed to her home above the spa. She wasn't sure if it was the wooden boards or her legs that were creaking. Weekends seemed to fill women with stress and send them running to the spa come Monday. Today was no exception.

She had also done so much research on the benefits of dark chocolate she could write a book. The wheels were in motion, and she had ordered new product that would be there soon. Hopefully, it would bring in more business.

Right now, all Carly wanted to do was push a romantic comedy disk into the DVD player and soak her feet in the new foot therapy product she had purchased today. Though most days she resented Magnolia taking over her kitchen, she hoped tonight that her stepmother had prepared—and not burned—dinner, because Carly was just too tired to do so. If she hadn't prepared it, Carly decided she would crawl into the kitchen, grab a bag of chips, and call it a day. Diet or no diet.

“Oh, you look tired,” Magnolia said when Carly reached the top stair and practically spilled into the living room.

“I'm exhausted.” Carly sagged onto the sofa with extra drama in case Magnolia hadn't cooked dinner, hoping she'd get the hint.

“Well, you just rest. I have a big kettle of herb vegetable soup simmering on the stove. It will be ready in about a half hour.”

“You're wonderful, Magnolia,” Carly said, meaning it. As long as it wasn't tofu, she was good.

Magnolia headed back to the kitchen and it seemed Carly had barely closed her eyes before the tangy scent of herbs and cooked vegetables lifted from a savory broth and lured her into consciousness. Her eyes blinked open. Magnolia was inches from her face, the worry lines between her eyebrows begging for cold cream. She jumped back, knocking over a glass of water with lemon that she had put on the coffee table.

“Carly Westlake, you nearly scared me to death.”

Wrinkled, sagging skin mere inches from my face, and she said I scared her? I just refuse to go there.

Brows still furrowed, hands on her hips, she said, “I couldn't tell if you were breathing.”

“I was until you startled me.”

Magnolia cleaned up the ice cubes from the floor and dropped them back into the glass. “Well, better eat your soup before it gets cold.”

She got another glass, then rejoined Carly. After praying, she scooped up a spoonful of broth and vegetables. “I've had such a busy day,” she began.

The soup actually tasted pretty good. It wasn't burned, and it seemed to have all the appropriate ingredients. Either Carly was getting used to Magnolia's cooking, or she was too tired to care.

“Magnolia, I'm sorry to interrupt, but before I forget to say it, I just want you to know I really appreciate what you've been doing around here.” Carly kept her gaze averted from the clutter of furniture. “You don't have to fix dinner every night. In fact, I enjoy cooking once in a while—”

“I enjoy it,” Magnolia said with a wave of her hand.

Carly wondered if she'd ever see her kitchen again. She'd need to think on that. It might not be a bad thing.

“You work all day, so there's no reason why I can't have a decent dinner waiting on you.”

Decent
being the key word here.

“Besides, it's the least I can do. I'm really excited about the herb garden. Did I tell you about it? The landscapers—”

Just then the phone rang. “I'll get it,” Carly said before Magnolia could jump up. She didn't want to abuse her stepmother's kindness. Besides, it was her own phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Squirt.”

The herb vegetable soup shook loose from its comfortable mid-belly position and plunged rock bottom with a thud. Energy seeped through her tired self.

“Jake?” Well, of course it's Jake. Who else called her Squirt?

“That's me. Surprised?”

Was the fact her jaw had dropped to the floor any indication? “Yes.”

“Just as I was about to e-mail you, I thought, why don't I call her? I haven't heard her voice in years. It's nice, by the way.”

Carly felt herself blush all the way to her toes. “Thanks. You too.” Communication was obviously not her strong suit. But the truth was his voice did sound nice. Deep, confident, protective, and strong.

“Things are going pretty well here, so I think we'll get there in a couple of weeks.” Pause. “Squirt?”

A couple of weeks? To lose twenty-three pounds? With her mental calculations she figured she could do without all food and drink and still muster up no more than a ten-pound weight loss.

“Uh, yeah, I'm here.”

“You don't sound quite as happy as I'd hoped you would.”

“Oh, I'm happy. Just thinking through my schedule, wanting to make sure I'm there to help you if you need it.”

“Don't worry about that. C. J.'s getting some guys together to come over and help. All I want you to do is rest up so we can go out soon afterwards.”

Her stomach fluttered, reminding her of her childhood when her dad used to race the car over hilly dips in the road to give her and C. J. “tickle bellies.”

“Sounds good,” she said, white knuckling the phone against her as though it was the last bag at a Vera Bradley sale.
Deep breaths, Carly.

They talked a little about his move, packing, and all that.

“Listen, Squirt—”

“Would you mind calling me Carly?” she said, surprising herself.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sure. Didn't know it bothered you.”

Great. She'd probably turned him off for all time. He would never call her again. Their first date had just gone out the window. All because she didn't want to be called Squirt.

“No, it doesn't bother me, it's just—well, I'm not exactly a squirt anymore. You know, I'm older and all that.” She wasn't about to tell him her body could never qualify for the name.

“Anyway, what I wanted to tell you is I still haven't told C. J. about us,” he said.

“Oh, right.”

“It's going to be hard to keep it from him once we get there, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“What's the big deal about it?”

“No big deal. I just didn't want him to pressure us. But we can tell him when you get here. You'll be here so I won't have to take the teasing alone.”

“Not to worry, little lady. I can handle your brother,” he said in a sad imitation of John Wayne. Carly could picture him thumbing his nose, cocking his head to one side, and giving a manly sniff.

When she was nervous, she had the bad habit of pacing. It was a good thing, though. It cranked up the numbers on her pedometer. So while talking with Jake, she walked into the kitchen and paced back and forth, the numbers edging higher toward her ten-thousand-a-day step goal. He finally convinced her he could handle things, and they said good-bye.

After she clicked off, she grabbed a washcloth and wiped spilled soup off the counter. As she rinsed the cloth under warm water, she glanced out the window.

What in the world?

The heat from the water burned her hands and she jumped. Turning the faucet to cold, she rinsed the cloth once more, wrung it out, and then draped it across the sink. Then she dared another glance out the window to see if things had changed.

They hadn't. The mound of dirt and limestone was still there, piled in a heap of chaos in her backyard. Carly couldn't imagine who had been back there and why the dirt was tilled up that way. One thing for sure, someone was going to jail. Most likely her. For committing murder against whoever had done this to her yard.

She marched into the living room to find Magnolia still there.

“Oh, good. You're off the phone. Let me warm up your soup for you,” Magnolia said, rising.

“What happened to my backyard?”

“What happ—Oh, you mean the landscaping?” Her stepmother lifted a proud smile.

Carly nodded.

“I started to tell you more about the herb garden before the phone rang. I called the landscapers and had them come out today to cultivate the soil, lift it, and border it with limestone. Won't it be lovely? I figured since I cook with herbs, it will save us money in the long run. Splitting the costs doesn't put the burden all on one person.”

“How much, Magnolia?” Carly stepped dangerously close to Magnolia and she, no doubt sensing imminent danger, stepped back. Her fingers reached behind her on the stand and she lifted an invoice between them. “Here.”

Carly groaned. “I could buy a lot of spices with that money.”

“Like I said, we'll split the costs. Besides, you'll thank me when it's up and running. You'll see.” Magnolia smiled, turned on her heels, stumbled once, then headed for her room.

Carly's head started to throb. Magnolia had taken over the kitchen and now she was taking over the backyard. What was next?

Clenching her teeth, Carly went into the bathroom and pulled out her foot spa, along with her new products. A spa treatment was the best thing to keep her from evicting that woman.

Filling the tub with warm water and sea salts, she placed it in front of her chair and plugged it in. She walked over to her chair, dipped her feet in the bath, and flipped on the TV. With the liquid warmth, the soothing feel of sea salts, and the subtle gurgling of the water, she started to calm down. Just as she was getting lost in the television program, Magnolia returned.

“What's that smell?” she asked, face slicked up with olive oil, hankie peeking out the top of her pajamas, nose scrunched and snuffling the air.

“How can you smell anything with that on?” Carly asked, her timid self sparking to boldness on the personality meter.

“I'm afraid it's my nose. Nothing can escape it.” She leaned her head toward Carly's foot bath and sniffed like a bunny. “It's that, all right.” She pointed with sharp accusation at Carly's shriveled toes, which shrank back and hid beneath the bubbles.

“My feet can't get any cleaner than this,” she said in defense.

“It's not your feet. It's that perfumey stuff you put in there. I'm sorry. I know I sound so picky, but I just can't help these allergies.” Magnolia sneezed for effect.