On Lavender Lane (26 page)

“
Aura?
Since when did you get into that woo-woo stuff?”

“Oh, I’ve always been aware of spirits. Some of the places in the jungles Joe and I visited searching out our herbs are just alive with their presence. But I’ve definitely been more aware since Joe’s death, because he still shows up to be with me.”

“Really?” Madeline didn’t exactly disbelieve in ghosts and spirits and things that went bump in the night, but neither had she experienced them. Her parents certainly hadn’t shown up to help her through her grief over missing them.

“I never would have gone ahead with the restaurant idea without his encouragement,” Sofia confessed. “It was just like old days again, walking through the garden, turning over the soil for spring planting, chatting with him about plans and dreams.”

“That’s nice.” Even if her grandfather hadn’t actually somehow managed to come back from beyond wherever death was, Madeline was glad her grandmother had found a source of comfort.

“I realize a great many people might just write it off to hopeful thinking or an overly active imagination, but he’s as real as you or Winnie. Who, by the way, also seems to see him, because she wags her stubby little tail whenever he visits.”

Okay. That got to her. Madeline felt her eyes beginning to moisten.

“I’m really happy for you, Gram,” she said. “Oh, not that Grandpa died. But that he’s still with you.”

“To tell you the truth, darling,” Sofia confided, “I wasn’t
the least bit surprised, since we always had a wonderfully strong bond. Which is what I’ve always hoped for you.”

“Which you didn’t believe I’d found with Maxime. Which is why you asked me twice before the wedding if I was sure marrying him was what I wanted.”

There was a pause. Long enough that for a moment Madeline thought her phone might have dropped the call.

“I understood the man’s appeal,” Sofia finally said carefully, obviously wanting to choose her words wisely. “He was older, powerful, forceful. I’m sure he could be a very strong mentor.”

Another pause. “But, no, I didn’t envision him as husband material. At least not for you. But”—Madeline heard the shrug in her grandmother’s voice—“you were a grown woman, capable of making your own choices. And your own mistakes.”

“Well, that one turned out to be a whopper.”

“We all make mistakes, darling. Which is how we learn.”

“You didn’t make a mistake with Grandpa.”

Sofia laughed softly. “Perhaps because I didn’t have any time to think about all the pros and cons. The day I met Joe, he told me he was going to marry me. Oh, I was so sure I was going to spend the rest of my life being a culinary Margaret Mead. I had no need for a man. At least not on a permanent basis. Besides, I thought that was an obnoxiously brash way to treat a woman. Staking a claim on me, as if I were some Hereford he could brand.”

Madeline laughed at that image. “I’d like to see anyone try.”

Her grandmother had always been the most independent woman she’d ever met. Then again, she reconsidered, her grandfather had also been a force of nature, as that story she’d never heard demonstrated. Yet together somehow they’d worked out a balance that, at least from the outside, had always seemed perfect.

“So, obviously you said yes.”

“I didn’t have any choice.” Sofia sighed. But it was a happy sigh obviously replete with memories. “He just wouldn’t give up, and swept me off my feet. We were married less than a month after we met. Then I got pregnant on our honeymoon, and your mother was born early, eight months after our wedding, in a palm-wood house with a thatched roof in an Asurini do Tocantins village in the Brazilian jungle.

“Your poor grandfather was going crazy because he was forced to stay outside the house while I was giving birth, with the help of the other women and a midwife, because it was taboo for any male to come into any contact with the blood of a female giving birth. After your mother was born, the midwife painted her with genipap so she’d grow faster. And your grandfather was instructed to sing to her every day, for the same reason.”

“That’s a wonderful story.” And one Madeline had heard from her mother, but once again it brought home how much those two adventurous individuals had given up when they’d settled down to raise their orphaned granddaughter. “I love you, Gram.”

“I love you, too, darling. Now, don’t worry about getting home in time for supper. There’s always something we can warm up. You just enjoy your drive.”

Which she did. She drove along the winding coast road, stopping for a bag of taffy in the same store where Lucas had bought her that special one on a day she’d never forget. She ate it sitting on the same seawall where he’d kissed her and watched the kayakers and beachcombers down below. Wildflowers covered the hills and cliffs, brightly colored kites flew high above the water, and sea lions lounged on the rocks with their newborn pups, making a racket.

It had been a good day, and as she walked on the long expanse of beach, the sand glistening with sea foam and crushed shells, she could feel the knots in her shoulders, which had locked up in that Omaha department store, begin to loosen.

She was just congratulating herself on turning a corner when her cell rang again.

Recognizing the number on the caller ID screen, she was tempted to throw the phone into the waves. But instead, knowing that there were details to attend to that weren’t going to go away on their own, even as she damned the timing, she answered.

“Hello, Maxime.”

“Hello, Mad-eh-Leen,” he said in the heavy accent that had once had the power to melt her bones.

She so didn’t need this. “Cut the French crap Maxime, and just tell me what you want. And if it’s money, you’re flat out of luck. Because all of mine seems to be tied up in your overpriced restaurants, where you never met a cow that wasn’t corn-fed in a feedlot. Actually, I’ll bet you’ve never met a cow up close and personal in your life. Because you have people to do that for you.”

“I did not call to get into an argument about classic versus sustainable cooking,” he said.

“Trust me, both can be done. So, why are you calling?”

“I need a divorce.”

“Well, imagine that. We have something in common.”

“I mean soon.”

She could hear the stress in his tone.
Interesting.

“Soon as in…?”

“Yesterday.”

“Sorry. Yesterday’s already in my rearview mirror. Try again.”

“If you would sign the papers, you could be a free woman within a week’s time.”

“And where would I have to go to pull off this quickie-divorce feat?”

“That’s the beauty of the idea,” he said, a bit of his former convincing tone creeping back into his voice. Whenever he pulled that out, she was in trouble. “You don’t have to go anywhere. You can stay wherever you are. Which would be?”

“I’m in Oregon.”

“Ah. I suspected that you would go home to the farm. If you give me your address, my attorney can FedEx the papers to you in the morning. If you send them right back, prepaid, of course, I’ll handle the rest by flying down to the Dominican Republic.”

“And will Katrin be traveling with you?”

There was a pause. “Yes.”

“Well, then. You’ll be able to pull off a divorce and a honeymoon in one easy trip. Now, that’s frugality for you.”

“I understand why you’d be upset—”

“No, Maxime,” Madeline broke in. “You’re wrong about that.” As he’d been about so many things. Then again, hadn’t she? Understanding what people meant when they suggested the breakup of a marriage was never entirely one-sided, she said, “What I am, actually, is grateful that Katrin is taking you off my hands. Since her pockets are ever so much deeper than mine could ever be.”

Which, as he’d explained, was the point.

“But here’s the deal. I have terms.”

“Terms?”

“You know what you said about funding my restaurant?”

“Yes.” He sounded hesitant. Wary. Making Madeline wonder how much of that earlier offer had been a bluff. Which, if it had, only went to show that he’d known
her
better than she’d known
him.

“Well, I still don’t want it.”

“Ah.” His relief was more than a little evident.

“What I want, and insist on having, is being paid back every penny I invested in your various restaurants. Which I was led to believe was an investment in our marriage.”

There was a very long pause. Madeline thought she heard him cover the mouthpiece and speak to someone else.

“That sounds fair. But the problem is that I have no idea how much that would be.”

Of course not. He’d been like a damn sponge, soaking up her hard-earned funds like a haphazardly breaded eggplant soaking up olive oil.

“Well, fortunately for both of us, I do. I’ve kept records. Detailed records. Of every dime invested and where it went.”

Another pause. She could almost see the color blanching out of his face. “And how much would that be?”

She knew it to the penny, having studied the numbers she kept in an online file-storage site while stuck at the airport hotel.

“That much?” he asked, sounding honestly surprised when she told him.

“No one has ever accused you of not being high maintenance, Maxime.”

He covered—not well—the mouthpiece again. She could hear him relating the numbers to someone. Obviously Katrin. And possibly her lawyer. And accountant. And whatever other people she had taking care of her beer bucks.

“You can supply these numbers?”

“I can get you the spreadsheet right away. And copies of records. But, of course,” she added on her sweetest tone, “those might take several weeks to compile.”

“Done,” he said, apparently having been given the okay to accept that amount. “The papers will arrive tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry. Were you thinking that was my final offer?”

“Of course.” There were not many times she could remember Maxime Durand sounding anything but self-confident. This was one of the few times his veneer had slipped.

“Well, it’s not.” She took a breath. Then went for it. “I want double.”

“Double what?”

“Double what I’ve paid you. Because, in case it hasn’t occurred to you or your new wife-to-be, if I refuse to sign those papers you’re so eager to send me, and instead hire my own attorney to attach claims to each and every one of your restaurants, you could be tied up in court for a very long time. New York, after all, despite now allowing no-fault divorce, is not the easiest state to actually accomplish that.”

“The restaurants are teetering on bankruptcy, as you very well know.” A bit of bluster had returned. She imagined his complexion going from rice white to beet red. “You would end up with nothing but lawyer fees to pay.”

“Wrong again.” Oddly, she was beginning to almost enjoy this conversation. “I’d end up with the satisfaction of watching an empire fall. Sort of like Rome, after Nero spent too much time fiddling and not enough time tending to business.
Double
, Maxime. And all my things boxed up from the apartment and FedExed to me so they arrive before Katrin’s private jet clears New York airspace for the Caribbean.”

“
Un moment,
s’il vous plaît.”

Ha!
She had him flustered. The only times he switched totally to French were when he lost his temper, was in full-out seduction mode, or seriously distressed.

So she gave him his moment.

Bet he chooses door
number three.

She could hear the conversation in the background. The staccato female tones did not sound at all happy.

And then, finally, after she’d held for more than five minutes, he was back. “Madeline.” The cajoling French accent was gone. “You have a deal. My attorney will contact yours in the morning.”

“Make that afternoon.” She still had to find a lawyer. “I’ll e-mail you his name and phone number.”

His answering curse was French and crude. “Afternoon it will be.”

He did not bother with pleasantries, but merely cut off the call.

“Well. That’s that.”

And as she stood there at the edge of the continent, with the white-capped waves washing in and the sandpipers skittering along the edge of the surf and the gulls circling overhead, Madeline realized that it was, indeed, possible for a person to feel both relieved and sad at the same time.

31

Lucas was disappointed, but not surprised when Maddy canceled their afternoon meeting. Kara had already called to tell him that she thought their lunch had gone well. In fact, he’d been on the phone with her when Maddy’s call had come in, which is the only reason he’d missed it.

“Timing,” he told Scout, who was sprawled on the sofa, head on the arm, watching him pace the plank floor, “is everything.”

He could just go over to the farm. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have an excuse. He’d given a lot of thought to the farmhouse remodel during the drives back and forth from Portland. Everyone always complained about contractors not showing up.

“So how could anyone complain about one who actually did?” he asked the dog, who barked in what seemed to be full agreement.

Lucas had never considered himself an impatient man. He’d been known to lie on his belly for hours, even days, if it need be, scoping out a valley, waiting for a target to appear. Patience had been drilled into him from the first day at BUD/S training. In fact, from what he’d been able to tell from his class, more guys rang out of training due to impatience than lack of guts or strength.

You learned to choose not just your target, but your time. And although he wanted to go over to the farm and
drag her back here by her long black curls, like some Neanderthal cave guy, he’d gained enough knowledge of women to realize that would be the last thing she needed.

Then again, if he just sat back and bided his time, she could be back on a plane to New York before he’d gotten a fair chance.

Because he decided to give her this time to process whatever Kara had told her, he snagged an oyster po’boy Sax had sent home from Bon Temps and a bottle of beer from the fridge and went over to the window wall, where the telescope his father had bought him for his eighth birthday stood on a tripod.