The Carson Springs Trilogy: Stranger in Paradise, Taste of Honey, and Wish Come True (104 page)

They arrived at the church to find it packed. Luckily, Sam and Ian had saved seats up front. Sliding into her pew, Anna said a silent little prayer of thanks that Edna hadn’t given her a hard time about putting in the extra hours. She wouldn’t have wanted to miss this, and much as she hated to admit it, her mother would have spoiled it for her.

The joyous pealing of the
campanario
bells gave way to the organ’s full-throated baritone. Anna rose for the opening hymn. Those used to seeing her at mass every Sunday might have been surprised to know she didn’t consider herself especially devout. Oh, she believed in God and found comfort in the Bible, but the main reason she kept on coming year after year was because it was here, at St. Xavier’s, that for a few hours each week she was lifted up to become a part of something larger than her tiny sphere.

Much of it had to do with the church itself. She looked about at the adobe walls as thick as a fortress’s and the high, stained-glass windows through which sunlight slanted to form jeweled mosaics on the scuffed oak floor. Carved devotional statues gazed serenely from the niches lining the nave, and the reredos over the altar, with its gilded carvings worthy of a cathedral, glowed honeylike in the soft light. When Anna was growing up, the mission on Calle de Navidad had been the one place she’d felt utterly and completely safe, and even now it seemed to embrace her as tenderly as the statue of Mary cradling the infant Jesus.

She glanced over at Finch. She wore a formfitting suit in a flattering shade of green that made her look more mature than her years, an effect offset by the half dozen earrings in each ear and the small butterfly tattoo above her right ankle. Finch caught her eye and smiled.

Laura’s younger sister, Alice, sat with her husband to Anna’s left, Wes looking every inch the proud grandfather. Anna was struck, as always, by the contrast in the two sisters. Laura, earthy and olive skinned, with arms brown and muscular from the outdoors and hair that wouldn’t stay put, and sleek, coolly blond Alice, who looked as though she’d stepped from the pages of
Vogue.
Yet no two sisters could have been more devoted. Anna wished she were as close to her own.

There were more hymns and prayers, then a reading from Timothy, followed by the sermon, which was mercifully brief. Before long Father Reardon was motioning to Sam and Ian. They rose in unison, baby Jack nestled asleep in his father’s arms, every eye on them as they made their way to the stone font in the baptistery off the nave. Sam and Ian shared a small, secret smile over their baby’s head, the amber light streaming down from overhead seeming to anoint the three of them. Anna felt a wave of longing sweep over her: Would she ever stand there with a baby of her own?

Watching Father Reardon perform the ritual, she was reminded of the crush she’d had on him in junior high. She hadn’t been alone—every other girl in her catechism class had been in love with him. Even now that he was a bit thicker about the waist and his curly black hair shot with silver, he was still the handsomest man around, with Irish eyes and a smile that could brighten a rainy Monday.

Jack woke with an outraged cry as Father Reardon poured water over his head. Sam looked pained, as if she couldn’t bear seeing him in any kind of discomfort. But Jack, in a pint-size sailor suit, quickly recovered and by the end was his usual sunny self. Anna couldn’t help noting, too, how slim Sam was; you’d never have guessed she’d recently given birth, much less that she was the mother of two grown daughters. She felt a pang of envy watching Ian slip an arm about her waist as they headed back to their pew.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Alice and Wes exchange a look. Clearly it wasn’t lost on them, the irony of Wes’s mother-in-law giving him his only grandchild. Anna recalled that Alice was on the fence about having kids of her own, and wondered if they would ever make the leap. Looking at Wes, as robust as his son, it wasn’t hard to imagine.

To the swelling chords of “Lord Dismiss Us with Thy Blessing,” the congregation rose and began making its way outside. Moments later Anna stood on the sun-washed steps, watching Sam and Ian hold court with the baby. It seemed everyone was stopping to coo at Jack, even that battle-ax Marguerite Moore, who’d been so hateful to Sam last year. By the time Anna had rejoined Laura and Hector, it was lunchtime and her stomach was grumbling. It didn’t help that they were on their way to Tea & Sympathy for the party in Jack’s honor. She knew she’d have to be extra vigilant.

It had been six months since her last diet—a grape juice fast that had lasted all of four days before she’d fainted from hunger. She’d made up her mind then and there: no more. Hadn’t she tried every diet known to mankind? There’d been Atkins, Scarsdale, Beverly Hills, and Pritikin; low carb, no carb, all the fat you can eat, macrobiotic, and more recently
The Zone
and
Eat Right for Your Type.
That didn’t include Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, Nutri/System, and Richard Simmons, or the gallons of Slim-Fast she’d downed through the years.

What was different this time? Nothing … and everything. For one thing, she refused to label it a diet, which would have been the kiss of death. Instead of denying herself, she ate what she liked, the only catch being that she limited herself to tiny portions of the fattening stuff. The French ate cheese, why couldn’t she? A cookie? Fine, but just one. Cake? As long as she could see through it to the plate underneath. Amazingly, she’d found that given the choice, she often preferred fruit over gooey desserts and chicken over cheeseburgers. As a result, the pounds were melting off.

She’d even taken up jogging. The first week she could barely make it to the end of her driveway without collapsing, but now she could easily jog the half mile to Laura’s and back. She knew it’d had a positive effect when, halfway to Tea & Sympathy, she wasn’t even out of breath.

It was such a beautiful Indian summer day, the sky so crisp and blue it seemed to crackle, that when Hector had suggested they leave the car where it was parked and go on foot, Anna had readily agreed. Finch had gone on ahead with Andie, and Maude had caught a ride with her friend

Mavis, so it was just the three of them. They took their time strolling along Old Mission. The shops were closed except for Lickety-Split, with its usual traffic jam of strollers stretching out onto the terra-cotta-roofed arcade. Anna’s mouth watered at the thought of a scoop of Brandy Alexander fudge.

A block from the arcade, they passed the bougainvillea-draped arch to Delarosa Plaza, with its tiered fountain and Spanish-style storefronts, the largest of which was Delarosa’s. A general store in the days of the Gold Rush, it had been in Laura’s family for generations and had recently passed into her hands when Sam’s pregnancy forced her to retire.

Across the street stood the Depression-era post office, with its Moorish bell tower that was featured on postcards and in guidebooks. Glancing up as she passed it, Anna wondered if the deep sense of connectedness she felt walking these streets was partly to blame for the rut she was in. What incentive was there to leave? Where could she go that would be better than Carson Springs? Never mind it was a gilded cage in some respects.

At the light, they turned the corner onto Orange Avenue and after several blocks Tea & Sympathy came into view: a quaint shingled cottage with pink fairy roses climbing up the front. Though only open six months, it was already a local institution. Anna’s stomach rumbled anew at the thought of all the mouth-watering treats inside.

A number of the guests had gathered on the porch. Through the open door she could see more milling about inside. “Mom had to book
months
in advance,” Laura told her as they started up the marigold-lined path. “It’s one of the reasons she put off the christening until now.”

Anna didn’t doubt it. From what she’d heard, booking Tea & Sympathy for an event was the toughest reservation in town, though she also knew that Claire would’ve found a way to accommodate her mother’s oldest friend even with a few weeks’ notice.

“I thought maybe it was because she wanted to get married first,” she said.

Laura paused to pluck a dead nasturtium from the trellis alongside the porch. “I thought so, too. God only knows when they’ll get around to it. Mom says things are great as they are, so why rock the boat? But I think it’s because she wasn’t all that happy with my dad.”

“Marriage,” Hector grumbled good-naturedly, “is Sunday afternoon in a tearoom with a bunch of ladies from church.” Left to his own devices he’d have been tinkering with his pickup or puttering about the ranch.

“I don’t see that it’s hurt
you
any” Laura grinned, poking him with her elbow.

Anna watched them with envy. She didn’t begrudge Laura her happiness, especially after what she’d been through all those years—first trying to get pregnant, then her husband leaving her. She only wished someone would look at
her
the way Hector was looking at Laura now—as if she were the sun, moon, and stars all wrapped up in one.

They stepped inside to find the sunny room crowded with friends and family, the air awash with heavenly scents. With the man of the hour down for his nap. Sam and Ian were busy greeting their guests, stopping to kiss a cheek here and squeeze a hand there. Sam enveloped Anna in a warm hug.

“I’m sorry your mother couldn’t join us,” she said, making it sound as if Betty had had a more pressing engagement.

It was the same sensitivity Anna had come to expect from Laura.
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,
she thought. She looked over at Jack, sound asleep in his carrier. “I can’t believe how big he’s gotten.”

“I’ll be ready for a hip replacement by the time he’s walking.” Sam gave a mock groan, though from the way she carried herself, Anna guessed it would be years before she’d have such worries. “I hope you’re hungry. Can you believe all this food?” She gestured toward the buffet table laden with plates of finger sandwiches and sweets.

“It all looks wonderful,” Anna said, her mouth watering.

“Help yourself, there’s plenty more where this came from.” Claire was making the rounds with a tray of sticky buns fresh from the oven. Willowy, with a cloud of pre-Raphaelite hair and cheekbones to die for, she didn’t look like someone who spent her days in the kitchen. With so much to tempt her, how did she stay so thin?

It took a supreme effort—however firm her resolve, Anna’s taste buds had a mind of their own—but she managed to resist. “Thanks, I think I’ll wait a bit,” she murmured, wandering over to the table, where she helped herself to a finger sandwich and single cookie instead.

She was looking for a place to sit down when Gerry Fitzgerald beckoned her over to the table she and her husband were sitting at. “You’re just in time,” she said, scooting over to make room. “We can’t decide which is better—the apple cake or raspberry-almond tart.” She pushed her plate toward Anna, who took a tiny taste of each to be polite.

“This one.” She pointed to the tart, though it was a close call.

“My sentiments exactly,” Aubrey pronounced.

Gerry looked as proud as if she’d baked it herself. “He’s only saying that because it’s my recipe. Well, not mine exactly.” She’d be the first to tell you she was the world’s worst cook. “I clipped it out of
Gourmet
.” She gave a mock sigh. “The extent of my culinary skills.” As if someone who looked like an Italian film star, with a sexy wardrobe to match, needed to add cooking to her credits.

Claire paused at their table, resting a hand on Gerry’s shoulder. “Don’t listen to her,” she said with a laugh. “She does more than two people around here.” Anna marveled anew at how much alike they were, mother and daughter. Not so much in terms of looks as in their sparkle, and the ready laugh that could fill a room. It seemed incredible that less than a year ago they’d been total strangers. If Gerry hadn’t decided to search for her, they’d never have met. Claire would still be a lawyer up north, engaged to the guy she’d been with before Matt. The thought brought renewed hope. If Claire could reinvent herself, why couldn’t she?

“She’s only saying that to be nice,” Gerry said, though Anna could see she was pleased. “Anyway, I only help out on weekends.” Her full-time job as lay manager of Blessed Bee, the local convent’s honey operation, kept her busy the rest of the time. “And with all the plates and cups I’ve chipped, I’m not sure if she’s coming out ahead.”

“I’ll take it out of your Christmas bonus,” Claire teased before moving on.

Gerry’s eyes followed her, filled with pride … and something more—incredulity perhaps. If Anna sometimes wondered whether there was such a thing as miracles, she need look no further than Gerry.

Her gaze fell on a small drab woman seated by herself at a table against the wall. Martha Elliston. Anna knew her from church. Wasn’t she on some committee with Sam? Though not much older than Anna, Martha had the look of an old lady in the making, the shapeless dress she wore doing nothing to alter that impression. As far as Anna knew, she’d never been married or even had a boyfriend. She lived with her elderly mother, who must be either widowed or divorced—Anna had never heard any mention of a husband. With a small shock, Anna realized the description would have fit
her.
She shuddered at the idea.

She turned to find Aubrey eyeing her. “You’re looking exceptionally well, my dear,” he said, his European accent matched by his cosmopolitan look. It was as though he’d read her mind and knew exactly what she’d needed to hear just then. “A good advertisement for country living.” As if Old Sorrento Road were the boonies, which to a man like Aubrey she supposed it was.

Anna felt her cheeks grow warm. “Thanks,” she mumbled. Coming from Gerry’s husband, who had once been Carson Springs’s most eligible bachelor in addition to being a world-renowned celebrity, it was a true compliment. It also hardened her resolve to resist the plates of mouthwatering treats making their way around the room.

“How’s your mom these days?” Gerry dropped her voice. People always asked after her mother as if Betty were at death’s door. Though Anna supposed that to many, a grave illness was preferable to missing most of your marbles.