The All You Can Dream Buffet (40 page)

Afraid. Afraid to drive, in case she ran into a drunk driver and died a terrible, bloody death. Afraid to climb the water tower in case she fell off. Afraid to apply to anything but Kansas colleges in case she failed or there wasn’t enough money. Afraid to look stupid. Afraid to break up with her boyfriend, who bored her, because maybe nobody else would ever like her. Afraid of getting pregnant. Afraid of—

Afraid, afraid, afraid.

Afraid to stand up to her mother. Afraid to live somewhere else.

The same feeling swamped her now: fear that somehow she would get trapped here, losing letters, fading away until there was nothing left of her.

The only antidote was action. Rather than sit here and stew in the juice of fear, she would take her camera downtown and shoot whatever she saw. It would be a good blog, anyway.

She was only a few blocks from downtown Dead Gulch—what little there was of it—and even so early there were plenty of vehicles already parked in front of the Morning Glory Café. She stood across the street and shot the scene: The big pickup trucks that ranchers and farmers used to haul water and hay and whatever else they needed. The Morning Glory’s cheerful window, painted with vines and blue and pink and white flowers. Trees lined the street, giving deep shade during the hot summers, and they were fully leafed and glossy at this moment. A blue heeler, apparently free for the day, trotted with purpose down the sidewalk. Two men in cowboy hats and jeans stood
talking in front of the drugstore. Looking through her viewfinder, she saw it objectively. A country village street, peaceful, productive, even beautiful.

How had she never been able to see that before?

Leaving the lens cap in her pocket, she crossed the street and shot a long view of the sidewalk—sideways, with the shops on one side, the street on the other—then headed into the Morning Glory for some breakfast.

She sat at the counter, swiveling on the stool, camera in hand. “Hey there, Ginny,” Bill Miles said from three stools down. “Heard that husband of yours had a doozy of an accident. How’s he doing?”

“I think he’ll be all right,” she said. “My mom and I are driving back up to Wichita in a little while.”

“He’s been through a bad patch, with the company closing and all, I guess.”

Ginny blinked. She rubbed a finger over the rough surface on the barrel of the lens, letting the information sink in. She nodded, giving him space to talk.

“Well, look what the cat drug in,” the waitress drawled. Hattie had been working at the Morning Glory since high school, which was probably about the time Ginny had started grade school. A tiny, busy, hipless figure on stick legs, she wore swoops of black eyeliner on her bright blue eyes. Her hair was dyed black and hung down her back in a coy curl. “Want some coffee, hon?”

“Yes, please.”

Ginny shot the coffee cup as Hattie poured, the swoop of light along the counter, the light coming in from outside. People glanced at her curiously but didn’t seem to mind. “Can I have pancakes and bacon, please? And some tomato juice with lemon.”

“Coming right up. How’s that husband of yours? He’s been eating here sometimes twice a day while you were off traveling.”

“We were just talking about that,” Ginny said mildly, stirring cream and sugar into her cup. “He’s banged up, but I think he’ll be okay.”

“Shame about the company, but he’s a smart guy. He’ll land on his feet.”

“Not so easy,” Bill said, shaking his head, “when a man’s pushing fifty. And what’s left around here, anyway, I wonder? He’ll have to go to Wichita. Kansas City, even.”

Another block of cement grew around her ankles. Matthew had lost his job. Wrecked his car.

Did that mean she had to stay? What did you owe another person? What were the bounds of decency?

The questions dogged her as she choked down pancakes and bacon that was too salty. Behind her, the murmur of breakfast voices, the clank of silverware, the ordinary, pleasant sound of morning in a café, took her back to breakfast on the road, and she wished that she could turn around and see the Rockies through the window, or some of her fellow RV’ers. She wished Jack was sitting here next to her, talking about peach trees or
The Twilight Zone
or the book he was listening to on tape.

What was her obligation?

She paid for her breakfast and carried her camera outside, her feet so heavy she felt she might drown. Her shoulder blades itched again.

In her pocket, her phone rang. It was her mother, who said, “Where the hell are you, Ginny? I’ve been waiting for you for ten minutes, honking and ringing the doorbell.”

“I came downtown for breakfast at the Morning Glory,” she said.

“By yourself?”

“Yeah.” Ginny looked over her shoulder and realized that she had done exactly that, eaten alone in public in her hometown. It hadn’t been strange at all. “I was hungry.”

“Well, stay there and I’ll run by and pick you up.”

“I need a cake shot, so I’ll be in front of the bakery.”

“Can’t believe you’re thinking of your blog when your husband is in the hospital.”

“It’s my job. I can’t just let it go.”

“Whatever. I’ll be there in a second, so take your pictures fast.”

And it was the tone that made her linger, made her walk slowly down the block, shooting whatever interested her, as she’d done across the West—a trio of planters filled with geraniums, a pair of forgotten garden gloves beside them, the jewelry-shop window reflecting her face, and then the bakery. She went inside. “Hey, Renee,” she called. “Mind if I take some pictures of your lemon cake here? That’s so pretty.”

“For your blog? You go right ahead. I’m honored, honey. I’ve got the recipe, too, my own special one, if you want to run it.”

Ginny lowered the camera. “Really? I’ve wanted to make this cake for a dozen years, at least.”

“All you had to do was ask. I don’t mind some publicity for my little shop.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny spied her mother’s blue sedan creeping down the street. “I gotta go, but can I email you?”

“Call me and I’ll give it to you.”

Waving, Ginny dashed out into the street and flagged her mother down, feeling lighter. Lemon cake could do that to you.

“Mama,” she said, slamming the door, “when did Matthew lose his job?”

“Where’d you hear that?”

She clicked backward on her photos, trashing a couple that said nothing, pleased with a couple of others. “In the diner.”

“He didn’t want you to know. It was a few weeks ago that he found out. They’re closing the local office, and he’s got to go to Kansas City or be out of a job. He wanted you to have your trip before he told you.”

“Huh.” Ginny stared out the window. Digesting.

“He’s one hell of a good man, Ginny. Better than you deserve, with all your gallivanting.”

“I told you last night that I wouldn’t listen to this, and I mean it.”

“You just don’t appreciate—”

“Mom.”

“You can’t tell me to stop speaking my mind.”

From her pocket, Ginny pulled out a pair of white earphones. “Then you won’t mind if I listen to music.” She stuck the buds into her ears.

Her mother kept talking, and Ginny could make out some of the words, but mostly she didn’t. She hummed along with the music to help block the sound. Quite adolescent, she supposed.

Also not bad boundary-setting. She checked it in the plus column.

A phone call rang in, and Ginny pulled out her earbuds and answered without bothering to see who it was. It didn’t matter if it helped her block her mother out. “Hello?”

“Ginny, it’s Ruby. How are things going?”

“Um. Okay. How are you?”

“I …” She cleared her throat. “I have some news.”

Something cold moved over the sun. “Not the baby?”

“No. But it’s bad.” Ruby took a breath. “Lavender had a heart attack and died. We found her under the willow tree, just sitting there in her dress.”

“Oh, my God. She
died
?” Ginny’s mind raced through the weekend hours, the trip to the emergency room…“It wasn’t her gall bladder. It was her heart.”

“Yes.”

Ginny made a noise of pain, pressing her fingers to her mouth. A burning started in the middle of her throat and behind her eyes. Hot liquid tears spilled over her lower lids. “I’m so sad. I can’t believe it took me so long to get there and now I’ll never see her again.”

“I know. But we’re all saying the same thing—that it was the kind of death you want. She went fast. She must have gone out in the early morning, still wearing the tutu, and sat beneath the tree. Her dogs were with her.”

Blinking, unmindful of the tears, Ginny peered out the window, thinking of the beautiful party. “And at the end of a perfect day. I’m glad she ate a lot of cake.” Her composure broke, and a sob escaped from her lips. “When is the funeral?”

“She didn’t want a funeral, just a memorial. She’s being cremated, and of course she wants her ashes scattered around the farm. We can wait to do the memorial for a few days. As long as you need. We all agreed, even the nephews.”

Ginny nodded, tears streaming down her face. “I’ll call you later, okay? I’m in the car with my mom right now.”

“Do you need me to come and be with you?”

“Oh, honey. No. Thank you, but I’ll be fine.” She steadied her voice. “Thank you for offering. Take care of yourself and the baby. And my dog.”

Ruby laughed softly. “Yeah, I think Hannah might fight you for her when you get back. She’s really in love with her.”

“That’s good. A dog can heal a lot of wounds.”

“So can cats!”

Ginny was surprised to find she was smiling through her tears. “Of course.”

“Call me.”

“I will.” She hung up and held the phone in her hand. There was no need to put her earphones back in; her mother was quiet.

“Bad news?” she asked, signaling to change lanes.

Ginny nodded. “Lavender died. It was her birthday we celebrated. She was eighty-five, and had”—Ginny’s tears welled up again—“an amazing life.”

“I’m sorry, hon.” Ula patted her hand, then dug in her purse and pulled out a packet of tissues. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.” Ginny wiped her face, but the tears kept spilling out. All the way up the road, she stared out at the fields beneath a hot blue sky and thought about Lavender laughing. She thought about the Rockies, and the ocean, moving and moving and moving.

“She really meant a lot to me,” Ginny said to her mother. “She used to work as a stewardess in the sixties, and then, when she was almost sixty, she took over this farm and planted it with lavender.”

“That’s brave, at sixty.”

“Yeah,” Ginny said, and the tears choked her again. “I can’t believe I’m never going to see her again.”

Lavender.

Lavender and her life, her courage, her power, her absolute zero tolerance for bullshit. What would Lavender say right now? What would Lavender do?

She wouldn’t be whiny and weepy, that’s for sure. Taking a breath, Ginny dried her tears and sat up straight in her seat. She didn’t speak until they got out of the car. She flung her purse
and her camera case over her shoulder. Her mother closed and locked the doors and headed for the entrance.

“Mom, wait, before you go in.”

Ula turned warily. Her feet were bad from decades of hard work, her hair thin and too long for the texture. She had put on lipstick, but Ginny could not remember the last time she’d worn anything but that. No makeup, the same loose button-up shirts and baggy jeans and tennis shoes she’d worn every weekday of Ginny’s life.

But what Ginny could also see now were the chains around her ankles, the chains of circumstance and time and missed chances. “I love you,” she said. “I know that you mean well in all of this. But I am not staying here. I am not going back to Dead Gulch today. I’m going to the airport and I’m leaving.”

“You can’t leave a man who’s injured and out of a job! That’s not decent.”

Ginny raised a hand, maybe blocking the blow of the words. “I have been trying to be a good daughter and a good wife and a good mother my whole life.” She took a breath. “It didn’t get me anything, because it’s never been quite good enough. I had to find out what it was like to be loved for myself before I had the courage to stop being a good girl and just be me.”

“Oh, who do you think you are? Ever since you started writing that blog, taking all your pictures, you think you’re better than us.”

“I only wanted to—feel something else,” Ginny said. “See what
I
thought about the world, what
I
saw when I looked through the lens of a camera or talked to somebody who wasn’t always tearing me down.” A fresh spill of tears ran over her face. “I do love you, Mom. I hope you know that.”

She turned and started walking, a strong rope of Lavender-ness burning up her spine. She took a breath and blew it out.

“Ginny! You can’t just—”

But she didn’t listen. She went into the hospital and found her husband’s room.

Marnie was there, and when she spied Ginny, she hopped up. “Hey!” she cried. “How’re you doing, girl?”

Matthew’s best friend, Grange, was there, too, an overweight man with a little goatee that framed his full lips. He looked gray with worry, and circles under his eyes attested to the lack of sleep. “Hey, Gin,” he said in a raw voice. “He’s been hoping you’d come in this morning.”

Ginny eyed Grange and heard Ruby’s voice:
Is he gay, maybe?

But honestly, no, she didn’t think so. She thought Matthew simply didn’t like sex. Maybe it was low testosterone; maybe it was lack of interest in his wife; maybe he worked too hard; maybe his back gave him trouble. She didn’t know, and, really, she didn’t care anymore.

“You guys want to give me a minute here?” she said.

“Ginny,” Matthew said, “it was harmless. It didn’t mean anything.”

Marnie smacked his leg. “Shut up.”

Ginny held up a hand. “I don’t want to know.”

“Ginny, it’s—”

“Don’t talk!”

Ula came puffing into the room, face red and sweaty as she made a grab for Ginny’s arm. “My daughter has lost her mind.”

“Stop talking!” Ginny roared. “Listen!”

They were all so shocked to hear her shout that they did exactly what she said. They turned their faces to her and closed their mouths.