The Carson Springs Trilogy: Stranger in Paradise, Taste of Honey, and Wish Come True (15 page)

But for Alice, who could barely breathe, food was unthinkable. “No thanks.” She spoke coldly, shooting a meaningful glance at Laura, who rose reluctantly. “I’m sure you have other plans. I wouldn’t dream of interfering.”

S
AM STOOD MOTIONLESS
until the sound of the car engine had faded to a distant mutter, then sank onto the sofa. She’d known this was coming; she’d thought she was prepared. Why had it been so awful?

She’d expected Alice, of all people, to understand. But her daughter’s face had told her everything she needed to know: Alice would never understand. It wasn’t just that Ian was younger, or that he was Wes’s son. Somehow, it had gotten tangled up in her feelings about her father.
I should have predicted it,
she thought. Alice had idolized Martin, her every achievement measured by the yardstick of his approval. There were times, Sam hated to admit, when she’d been jealous.

Yet wasn’t she partly to blame? Hadn’t she shielded the girls? They hadn’t been privy to the tense discussions behind closed doors. They’d be shocked to learn how many times Martin had come to her, hat in hand, begging forgiveness for yet another foolish scheme gone south. Ian, on the other hand, they probably saw as feckless and irresponsible, a ne’er-do-well artist with no intention of settling down. A small, ironic smile surfaced.

For the short time they’d been lovers, Ian seemed to know her in a way her husband never had. The night before last, out of the blue, he’d presented her with a first edition she’d secretly coveted—Virginia Woolf’s
A Room of One’s Own.
It was as if he could read not only her mind, but also her heart and soul. They never ran out of things to talk about, yet he seemed equally comfortable with silence, as if sensing that beneath her ready smile and easy patter she was, like him, an essentially solitary creature. Best of all, he’d brought back the girl who’d once galloped bareback through pastures and skinny-dipped in the creek under a summer moon, a girl who’d dreamed of a man who would touch her in ways no one ever had.

How could she expect her daughters to understand? Laura and Alice knew her only as the mother who’d packed their school lunches and bandaged their scraped knees, who’d sent them off to college with six warm sweaters and fifty dollars in emergency money tucked into the lining of their suitcases. How much simpler for them if she’d been content to stay home every evening, with only the occasional night out with a friend. They wouldn’t have to think of her having sex—or worry about some other man taking Martin’s place.

They’re not the only ones. The whole family will be up in arms.
Elderly Uncle Pernell and Aunt Florine, both staunchly religious as well as set in their ways. Martin’s mother, in a nursing home but still lighting candles at her son’s makeshift shrine. And Audrey, most of all. Sam winced at the memory of her sister storming into Delarosa’s like a Christian temperance zealot into a saloon.

“Sam, have you lost your
mind
?” Audrey cornered her in the storeroom as she was unpacking a crate of candlesticks. “Please tell me your daughter is imagining things, that there’s nothing going on between you and that…that
boy.
”

Sam was too stunned at first to reply. The day before, when Laura had walked in on her and Ian, she’d been mortified, as if caught committing a crime. But now, faced with the furnace blast of her sister’s outrage, she dug her heels in.

“I take it you’re referring to Ian,” she said. “Don’t worry, he’s legal. I checked his driver’s license.”

“Joke about it all you want,” her sister snapped. “You won’t be laughing when this gets out.”

Which will be sooner rather than later if you have anything to do with it.
Sam straightened, brushing bits of straw from her slacks. She’d be damned if she’d let her sister see how rattled she was. “Aren’t you making too big a deal of this?”

“You’ll see.” Audrey’s mouth stretched in a humorless smile. “Then maybe you’ll appreciate what I’m trying to do for you.”

“Which is
what,
exactly?” Sam leveled a cool gaze at her sister. “Other than to make me feel ridiculous and over the hill.”

“I’m only looking out for you.” Audrey’s voice became wheedling.

“Thanks, but I’m perfectly capable of looking out for myself.”

“So I see.”

“What exactly are you insinuating?”

“Oh, come on, we’re both adults.” Audrey gave a snort of laughter, reminding Sam of their high school days, when her sister used to grill her at the end of every date. Audrey, who’d spent most of
her
Saturday nights at home, had seemed to relish every detail. “It’s obvious what this is all about.”

“Since you know so much, why don’t you tell me?”

“Sex.” Audrey said it as if it were something nasty she was spitting out.

Looking into her sister’s flushed, self-righteous face Sam realized she could either retreat, and spend the rest of her life bowing to small minds like Audrey’s, or throw all caution to the winds. There was no in-between.

The decision came with surprising ease. “I’m not only sleeping with him,” she said, “I’m enjoying every minute of it.”

It was like a kite soaring up, up into the blue, bringing a heady sense of release. Then the kite came crashing back to earth. Oh Lord, had she really said that? Knowing Audrey, it would be all over town by the end of the day.

In the weeks since, Sam had become aware of eyes following her down the sidewalk, and of customers inquiring a bit too curiously about her summer plans. Just the other day Althea Wormley, blue-haired president of St. Xavier’s altar guild, had accosted her in line at the grocery store.

“Sam, I was just on my way over to see you. I want to officially invite you to our new-members’ meeting. It’s this Thursday, and we’re so hoping you’ll join us.” Althea, who’d never paid much attention to her before, was clearly on a mission to save her tarnished soul. There was no mistaking her superior expression, or the way her hyperthyroidal eyes (she reminded Sam of an oversize pug) had darted over her grocery basket as if expecting to see something out of the ordinary—a bottle of champagne, perhaps? Or, God forbid, a spare toothbrush.

Sam had politely declined, reminding her that she was chairing the music festival committee this year. When would she find the time? Oh yes, she could handle the Althea Wormleys of the world. She would survive even Audrey. What was harder to take was her daughters’ reactions. Laura would come around in time, she thought. She wasn’t so sure about Alice.

From outside came the sound of Lupe hosing down the courtyard. Sam shook her head in exasperation. The woman would collapse from heat stroke before giving an inch. Sam was getting up to scold her one more time when a voice mocked:
Look who’s being willful.

Was it true? Was she risking everything? The respect of family and friends, a business that had been in the family for generations? She didn’t even know if she was in love with Ian…and she didn’t
want
to know. The prospect was too terrifying.

She reached for the phone. They’d made plans for a picnic on the beach, but though the day promised to be warm and sunny her heart was no longer in it. Before she could change her mind, she quickly punched in Ian’s number.

“Hi. It’s me.”

“Hey, you.”

“You sound out of breath.”

“I was out jogging. I just walked in.”

Sam pictured him in shorts and a tank top, slick with sweat. A familiar warmth spread through her…as unwelcome at this moment as a heat rash. She took a deep breath. “Listen, I’m going to have to take a rain check on that picnic. Something’s come up.”

“Anything I should know about?”

“Alice is back.”

There was a brief silence at the other end. “I guess this means the honeymoon is over.” His tone made it clear he wasn’t referring to just Wes and Alice’s. “Did you tell her?”

“I didn’t have to.”

“I gather she wasn’t too thrilled.” Ian clearly didn’t need to have it spelled out.

“Something along those lines.”

“What about my dad…did he weigh in?”

Sam had assumed Wes felt the same as Alice, but now she wondered. “He wasn’t with her, that’s all I know.”

“Typical.”

The note of bitterness in his voice made her wince. It had sounded so
…
adolescent. Like Alice’s a minute ago. “I should go,” she said. “I have something in the oven.” A small lie, significant only in the fact that it was the first she’d told him.

“When will I see you again?”

She closed her eyes. “I need a few days. Just to let the dust settle. I’ll let you know.”

She could sense him wanting to object, but he said casually, “No sweat. I’ll be around till Thursday.”

Of course. She’d forgotten—the mural he was installing. Some office building in New York. He’d only be gone a few weeks, but she felt a sudden keen sense of loss that was entirely out of proportion.

On impulse, she offered, “Why don’t I drive you to the airport? We’d get to say goodbye at least.”

“I’m a sucker for goodbyes.”

“What time’s your flight?”

“Around five. How about I meet you at the shop around noon? We can stop for lunch along the way.”

“Great.” Her timing couldn’t be worse she thought. Laura wouldn’t exactly be thrilled that she’d be taking the afternoon off to be with Ian.

She felt a little better after hanging up. It was like that with Ian; just talking to him on the phone, her second thoughts seemed to vanish into thin air. He made her forget all the reasons their being together made no sense, all that she stood to lose.

Sam glanced at her watch with a sigh. It wasn’t even half over and already the day that had seemed so rich with promise was settling into something pedestrian. There would be chores and errands, letters to catch up on, maybe later on an old movie on AMC. She felt unreasonably denied, though hadn’t
she
been the one to cancel?

It seemed monumentally unfair all of a sudden. That she should have to go on protecting Martin’s image beyond the grave, that she had to spare her daughters’ feelings by once more putting her own on hold.

She recalled the one and only time she’d come close to leaving Martin. Eight years ago, yet all at once the memory was as fresh as if she were standing on the threshold now, suitcase in hand. Not because of an affair—oddly, that would have been easier to forgive—but because Martin had betrayed her in a way that was, to her, even more profound. That morning she’d intercepted a call from their accountant. Martin, she’d learned quite by accident, had withdrawn a portion of their savings by forging her name on a check.

Like always, he had an explanation. A deal for which he’d needed cash in a hurry. Since he’d planned on replacing it before she’d noticed, what would have been the point of worrying her? It wasn’t as if he’d stolen anything.

But he
had
stolen something: her trust.

In the end, though, what kept her from leaving wasn’t Martin. It wasn’t even the girls, both away in college then. It was this house: the almost certain knowledge that she’d have had to sell it.

She was glad now that she hadn’t left. A few years later, Martin had been diagnosed with cancer—ironically, his finest hour. His illness had been the one obstacle he couldn’t charm or hoodwink his way out of; he’d battled it with a strength and dignity Sam hadn’t known he possessed. When the end came, her tears had been genuine; she’d truly mourned him.

No, she’d made the right decision then.
The question is, am I making the right decision now?

The following Thursday, when Ian arrived at the store, she was no closer to an answer. Watching him breeze through the door, his suede jacket slung casually over one shoulder, she was struck by how perfectly he fit the role of footloose young lover: a man with no real overhead and no family to support. Even the green canvas duffel he was carrying seemed absurdly small for the length of time he’d be away.

Laura looked up from the display she was arranging in the window. It had come in yesterday, a shipment of art glass from a studio up the coast. One item in particular, a deep blue vase patterned in stars, Sam had been tempted to keep for herself.

“So, you’re off to New York.” Laura’s overly hearty greeting fell painfully flat. “I hear it’s pretty muggy this time of year.”

“I’ll be indoors most of the time,” he said.

“Well, have a safe trip.”

“Thanks.” He smiled as if he hadn’t noticed her discomfort.

Sam finished with her customer, a henna-haired woman dithering over a Nantucket lighthouse basket she’d claimed was beyond her budget… never mind the expensive-looking outfit she had on. She couldn’t wait to get away, even if it meant abandoning poor Laura. The prospect of a few hours alone with Ian was simply too alluring.

Then they were outside, strolling across the plaza, elbows bumping in a conscious effort not to reach for each other’s hand. She waved to Olive Miller, clearing a table in front of the Blue Moon Cafe. Olive and her identical twin, Rose, who resembled a pair of chunky bookends, had inherited the cafe from their father. Now widowed and in their eighties, they managed it on their own with the help of Olive’s teenage granddaughters, identical twins as well.

One of them—Dawn?—waved to Sam. “Hey, Mrs. Kiley! Who’s your boyfriend? He’s cute!”

She was only teasing—to a teenager someone Sam’s age was practically ancient; she probably joked with her grandmother the same way. Even so Sam blushed, which she disguised with a laugh, calling back, “I ordered you that necklace. It should be in sometime next week.”

Dawn strolled over, tucking her order pad in the pocket of her apron. She was slender and fair, with a sprinkling of freckles, her flaxen hair pulled back in a ponytail that did nothing to hide ears that stuck out like handles on a jug. “With the ladybug?” Her twin sister had bought the last one in stock, and she’d been coveting it ever since. “Great! You know where to find me.”

As they continued on, Sam gave Ian the fill. “One is Eve, the other Dawn. Their parents are old hippies from way back when. I think they grow a little pot on the side. It’s a miracle their girls turned out so straight-arrow.”