Sophie's Path (19 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

S
OPHIE
INTRODUCED
J
EREMY
to Mrs. Beabots, who stood ready for action with garden gloves, pruning shears and a pair of newly sharpened hedge clippers.

“Jeremy, my garden is a source of delight and aggravation to me,” Mrs. Beabots explained as they walked past the boxwood hedges.

“Why's that, ma'am?”

“Time was when both my husband and I kept these boxwoods and Japanese yews clipped in formal shapes. I've always loved the gardens in Paris. Have you ever been to Paris, Jeremy?” Mrs. Beabots asked as she bent over to yank a tall thistle weed away from her Princess Diana rosebush.

“No, ma'am. I never thought about it,” Jeremy answered.

“Well, you should, young man. You have all the world to see at your age,” Mrs. Beabots continued to ramble as they headed farther into the yard.

Jeremy pointed at the thistle. “We had a lot of these in Phoenix. Considering my painful encounters with cactus spines and thorny mesquite trees, I think cleaning out your gardens won't be such a chore.”

“That's good, Jeremy. I admire a person who jumps right into their job.”

“I'll need a tall ladder to trim that Mandeville. It looks like it's taking over your garage. It's bad for the siding, you know.”

“That's what Luke Bosworth told me,” she concurred. “But it's not a garage, Jeremy. It's a carriage house. This house, Jeremy, is one of the oldest on Maple Boulevard. It was built in the late 1800s and the carriage house originally served as a stable and housing for carriages.”

“Did your family live here?” he asked.

“No. My husband and I chose this town because we fell in love with the lake.”

“Yeah. It's nice.”

“Is your family native to Arizona?”

“No. They're originally from New York. They hated the winters and moved to Phoenix.”

“How interesting. I adore New York. When I was young, in the early sixties, it truly was the city that didn't sleep. Come, let me show you the rest of my rose garden that needs weeding and spraying. You know, Jeremy, when I was in New York, I used to walk in Central Park all the time. Did you ever go there?”

Sophie listened as Mrs. Beabots reminisced about her travels. This job, small as it was, could give Jeremy purpose. She hoped it would ease his depression and cut the number of phone calls he made to her. Mrs. Beabots continued talking, soliciting Jeremy's thoughts and opinions.

Sophie smiled to herself. The elderly woman was wily indeed. Sophie had voiced her concern about Jeremy's depression and his inability to stay straight. Mrs. Beabots didn't know much about counseling, but she clearly knew about giving hope and shoving life and all its joys under Jeremy's chin.

By the time they reached the gazebo, Mrs. Beabots had finished showing Jeremy what needed to be trimmed and weeded. They paused and went up the steps. There on an antique wicker table sat a pitcher of lemonade and three tall glasses with melting ice cubes.

“I thought we should stop for refreshments,” Mrs. Beabots said.

“But, ma'am. I haven't done any work for you yet,” Jeremy countered.

Mrs. Beabots chuckled and sat in a deeply cushioned wicker chair. “Of course you have, Jeremy. You and Sophie have kept me company.” She grinned as widely as a Cheshire cat and put a sprig of mint in each glass.

* * *

A
MID
S
OPHIE
'
S
GRANDMOTHER
'
S
acres of amber, rust and lemon yellow sunflowers, Sophie surgically clipped the best blossoms for Katia's wedding arrangements. Katia needed a large amount of flowers and ivy vines for the thick garlands she planned to tie up along the banisters of the massive circular staircase in the mansion. Olivia and Julia had given Sophie the final list that morning, and she was rather surprised to see that Katia had asked for twelve large crystal vase arrangements for the living room mantel, library tables and hunt boards and the dining room table. She needed flowers for four outdoor table centerpieces and smaller bouquets for the bar, bathrooms and lighted front hall art niches. The guest list was small, less than thirty people, so Sophie figured Katia was going luxe for her “day.”

The florist had already prepared all the bases in Austin's mother's antique crystal and silver vases. Sophie was more than a little interested to see what she believed would be a spectacular result.

“Nipotina,”
Sophia Mattuchi called to her granddaughter affectionately.

“La mia bella,”
Sophie answered, walking over to the full plant of low-growing sunflowers her grandmother was working on. “I planted this one myself years ago. It's done very well. These will be perfect for the mantel.”

Sophie started clipping the blooms, while her grandmother pointed out the dark burgundy Moulin Rouge and the shorter stemmed Early Russian for variety amongst all the golden, butter and sun-colored blooms. Sophie had filled six plastic buckets with water and put them in an old garden wagon for transport. She carefully arranged her chosen stems in the buckets according to size, the shorter stems in front and the taller stems in the back, while her nonna assessed the flowers, pointing to her choices with a sharp snap of her arm, like the unquestionable authoritarian she knew she was. At ninety, her brain was sharp and her attitude even sharper.

Sophie smiled to herself. There was so much about the Old World ways still embodied in her grandmother. Sophia, whom Sophie was named after, had never learned much English, though Sophie believed her grandmother understood a lot more than she let on. She walked a little slower these days, but she still did so without a cane. Once she was among her flowers, Sophia came to life. She titlted her face to the sun and hummed to the flowers as she caressed the petals and faces.

“Bambino.”
Sophia sighed heavily. Then she turned and touched Sophie's cheek.
“Io ti amo.”

“I love you, too, Nonna.” Sophie placed her hand over her grandmother's. “Thank you for sharing your precious ones with Katia. She's becoming a good friend.”

“Ah!
Bella sposa!
” Sophia nodded and then jammed a finger into Sophie's sternum. She narrowed her eyes and frowned in that accusatory way that Sophie used to call “Grandma's stink-eye.”
“Tu sei la bella sposa.”

Sophie grabbed her grandmother's hand and kissed it. “No. No. It's not my time to be a bride.”

Her grandmother shrugged and went back to her clipping, but the words had no sooner escaped Sophie's mouth when the sun slid out from behind a cloud, nearly blinding her. She blinked, the memory of Jack's lips pressed against hers completely erasing the present.

She'd seen Jack at Mrs. Beabots's two days ago, yet her surprise had not abated. She still didn't understand what he'd been doing there. It was as if he'd appeared out of nowhere. He'd said he'd seen Nate on his lunch break and figured she'd be off, too. Jack had come to see her. On purpose.

And then he'd kissed her on the cheek, which she could chalk up to impulse or a friendly gesture. But he'd lingered too long and she sensed that there was something more behind it.

She'd been quite purposeful when she'd kissed him.

Kissing Jack was not like kissing any other guy. And Sophie had kissed plenty. None of them had ever haunted her thoughts two days later. In fact, often she could barely remember what they looked like. She'd always had a serious case of disconnect when it came to men.

For a long time she thought she was noncommittal. Possibly scared of the whole relationship thing.

But the truth was, she simply wasn't interested. No one had lit that fire inside her that made her want to reach out. Touch and grab hold. With Jack, something was very, very different.

But what was this absorbing, consuming, magnetic attraction she was feeling for Jack?

Strangest of all, when she'd kissed Jack, it wasn't like any other kiss she'd given any other man. Instead, it was the sweetest, most endearing kiss she'd ever experienced, and it seared an indelible brand on her heart. She'd never forget it.

But why would this happen with Jack, of all men? Their viewpoints were not just diametrically opposed, but they also carried guilt and resentment about that one tragic night.

And there was another problem. Jack was a forever kind of guy. An insurance man would be all about calculating risks. He'd look long and hard before he leaped into love, but once he did, there'd be no going back.

And that was absolutely the wrong kind of man for Sophie.

Always had been.

Sophie turned away from her grandmother and placed the armful of lush flowers in one of the buckets. “Nonna, I'm finished,” she called, straightening up. Her grandmother turned toward her with a wide smile.

Sophie had spent her entire life surrounded by her parents and grandmother and immersed in her nursing work. She'd never explored the borders of her comfort zone, never broken down the gate and sprinted over to the other side of life. Never made many changes.

Until this year.

Now she was trudging through several uncharted territories simultaneously. She was astounded at how good she felt about her explorations...including these unfamiliar, somewhat frightening feelings for Jack.

She just hoped they didn't blow up in her face.

* * *

W
HEN
S
OPHIE
ENTERED
the McCreary mansion on the day of Katia and Austin's wedding, she was awestruck by the magic the florist had created with her grandmother's flowers. The sunflower, ivy and yellow rose garland on the bannister was massive and tied with wide ivory satin bows at the newel posts.

Sophie wore a cream lace sheath over a strapless crepe underdress she'd bought at Judee's Dress Shop, along with gold high-heeled sandals and a matching clutch purse. Though she'd fretted over how to wear her hair—up, down, half up, braided—she finally gave up and simply brushed out her long dark hair, swirling it over her shoulders and clipping it behind her right ear with one of her grandmother's antique rhinestone-studded combs. She wasn't sure she'd see Jack at the wedding, though she assumed that because he worked so closely with Katia, he'd be there. Just the thought of Jack caused her fingers to tremble as she fastened long gold-and-rhinestone bars into her pierced ears.

In an alcove in the front hall sat a man playing a Spanish guitar and a woman violinist. Sophie recognized Debussy's “Clair de Lune.”

Before Sophie had a chance to inspect the other florals, she was bombarded with greetings and hugs from Sarah, Maddie, Olivia and even Annie and Timmy.

“Isn't it gorgeous?” Maddie exclaimed, squeezing Sophie quickly and then backing away so Sarah could do the same. “Katia has such great taste.”

“Oh, like you don't.” Sarah grimaced affectionately, giving Maddie a slight hip bump.

“Look who's talking, design diva,” Liz said coming up from the hallway that led to the kitchen.

Liz wore a long, yellow-gold satin gown that tied under the bodice with a huge bow in back. The folds of the skirt billowed around her as she walked, and though she was eight months pregnant, she glowed with health. With her honey-blond hair streaming down her back and her matching antique Art Deco earrings and necklace, Liz was a vision of an elegant Madonna.

“Liz,” Sophie gushed, “you're absolutely radiant.”

“Thanks, Sophie.” Liz beamed at her then bent in closer. “Wait till you see the bride. She's stunning.”

“She always has been,” Sophie added, and the women smiled in agreement.

“I've got to go back upstairs to see Katia,” Liz said with obvious delight. “It won't be long now.”

Sophie glanced up the stairs.

No Jack.

Maddie took Sophie's hand. “C'mon. You sit with Nate and me. Since Rafe is the best man, Olivia will sit with us, too.”

Sophie looked at Maddie quizzically. “Olivia and Rafe?”

Maddie winked at her. “They've practically been inseparable since she moved back from Louisville after the Kentucky Derby.”

“I didn't know. He's really a nice guy.”

“I couldn't ask for a better brother-in-law. Except for Gabe and Mica, of course.”

“It's a big family, isn't it?” Sophie observed.

“And with Liz's baby, the first grandchild, it's getting bigger by the week!”

They reached the entrance to the living room and Sophie halted, amazed. The space had been transformed into a mini-chapel. The furniture had been removed, the drapes were tied back and silk trees decorated with tiny crystal lights lined the room. The mantel was overflowing with Sophie's grandmother's sunflowers and ivy. Five short rows of satin-covered chairs with gold netting tied in big bows in the back had been set up for the twenty-odd guests.

Sophie marveled at the attention to detail and the care Katia had taken to make her day memorable, not just for her and Austin, but for her guests, as well.

Nate was already seated in a chair and talking to his brothers, Gabe and Mica. In the row behind them was Gina, their mother, and Sam Crenshaw, Liz's father. Sam had his hand on the back of Gina's chair and Gina was hanging on to his every word. If Sophie didn't know better, she would swear she saw a twinkle in Gina's eyes as she gazed up at Sam. Then, as Gina laughed at something Sam said, Sam's hand easily and quite naturally cupped Gina's shoulder. He squeezed it affectionately.

Sophie had the oddest sensation that she'd stepped into a parallel universe, where love and affection drove every individual. It was as if an invisible elixir suffused the air and, once inhaled, humans were addicted.