The Carson Springs Trilogy: Stranger in Paradise, Taste of Honey, and Wish Come True (43 page)

Tents had been set up along the shady drive, where local craftsmen hawked wares, many with a musical theme: handmade thumb pianos, a seemingly endless variety of wind chimes, music boxes that tinkled every popular melody. There were custom printed T-shirts and mugs, and CDs of featured performers. Even jugglers and mimes, and a young woman painting henna tattoos. The grand prize in the raffle that had raised thousands of dollars for next year’s festival was a state-of-the-art stereo system.

The doctor on call was summoned only twice. Once for a little boy who’d broken his toe—the result of having tripped over a sprinkler head in one of the roped-off areas. And again for an elderly man thought to be having a heart attack who turned out to be suffering nothing more serious than a case of heartburn. No one fainted from heatstroke, like in previous years, and only one pregnant woman went into labor—though she refused to leave until the last note of Mozart’s Symphony in C Minor had been played.

The worst mishaps suffered by musicians were a few broken strings, a bent ego here and there, and the brief stir caused by a Stradivarius that went briefly missing. It was found under a table, a casualty of absentmindedness rather than larceny.

Marguerite Moore, bustling about like a cruise director aboard the
QE II,
was in charge of ticket taking. Each day she wore a seemingly identical pantsuit in a different sherbet shade that after hours of scurrying about in search of lost tickets, bundles of misplaced programs, and names mysteriously missing from her list, was reduced to something resembling a soggy cone. Sam, on the other hand, managed to look as cool as the ice tea and lemonade served in the booth she was overseeing—despite being nearly five months pregnant. Every so often she would glance up to find Marguerite glowering in her direction. For some reason, it didn’t bother her in the least.

Times had changed. Her worst fears hadn’t been realized, and she’d had her share of pleasant surprises, like former classmate Becky Spurlock, whom she’d bumped into the other day at the dry cleaners. Becky had confessed that Sam had given her the courage to divorce her husband, something she’d wanted to do for years.

“I know it’s not the same as having a baby,” she’d said, a blush creeping to the roots of her hennaed hair. “With Mac—well, let’s just say I just don’t want to wake up one day an old lady and realize I missed my chance.”

Then there was Delilah Sims. Last week, she’d approached Sam and Ian at the Tree House, saying she’d heard about lan’s work and was interested in seeing some of his paintings.

“I’m having a show,” he’d told her. “The opening’s a week from Thursday. Why don’t you come?”

“I’d love to,” she’d said, looking as if she meant it.

Ian handed her a flyer. “The Blue Iguana Gallery.”

Delilah’s face fell. “Oh, it’s in Santa Barbara.”

Sam didn’t know what the big deal was—Santa Barbara was only twenty minutes away. For a woman as sophisticated as Delilah—educated in the best private schools, with a trust fund rumored to be in the millions—it seemed more than a little odd.

“Why don’t you drive over with us?” she offered. There was something about raven-haired Delilah, who always looked a bit wan, that reminded her of Sleeping Beauty. Maybe all she needed was a little encouragement to awaken her to life’s possibilities.

“I’ll have to see. Can I let you know?”

Delilah’s gaze strayed in the direction of David Ryback. Sam had often come across them immersed in quiet conversation about a book that one or the other had just read, and wondered if maybe David was a little in love with Delilah, too.

“If you decide to come, just give us a call,” Ian said, scribbling their number on the back of the flyer. “We’ll swing by and pick you up.”

Then Sam, caught up in the wonder of something as simple—yet profound—as a shared phone number, had put it out of her head. She was surprised when Delilah phoned the day of the opening, apologizing for not letting them know sooner and asking if the offer was still open. She’d ended up buying two of Ian’s paintings.

That was a week ago, and now the festival was behind her, too. Sam had been looking forward to a quiet weekend alone with Ian when Laura called to invite them for supper on Sunday. She’d sounded happier than she had in years, but Sam had caught a tiny note of apprehension as well. It would be their first time together as a family, including Ian, since the wedding.

It seemed ages since then, yet in other ways it was as if no time had passed. Her daughters had fallen back into the habit of calling and dropping by. Laura, as funny and affectionate as ever, while Alice’s warmth seemed a tad bit forced. Sam’s youngest, for whom there was a place for everything and everything was in its place, didn’t quite know what to do with this new, unpredictable mother of hers who, these days, wasn’t so quick to put others first. Yes, she thought, mothers are supposed to protect their children, throw themselves in front a speeding car if need be…
when they’re little.
But her daughters were grown now. With or without her, they’d survive.

They were pulling into Laura’s drive when she turned to Ian. “Isn’t this the part where the credits start to roll?” she asked, feeling a fluttering in her belly that definitely wasn’t the baby.

“Movies end, families don’t.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. “Nervous?”

“It’s silly, I know. It’s just that this is the first time we’ve all been together since the wedding. One big, happy family,” she said with the appropriate dash of irony. “Think we can pull it off?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“Your expectations.” He turned his lazy smile on her, the smile that went through her like cool water through parched ground every time. “Rose-colored glasses can be dangerous.”

“Meaning I shouldn’t try too hard to make it fit the picture in my mind?”

“Something like that.” He braked to a stop behind Alice’s sporty red Carrera.

“What if reality isn’t so hot?”

“Don’t shoot the bear until you see it.”

“I’ve changed,” she said. “The
rules
have changed.”

He shrugged. “So make new ones.”

Ian was helping her see, on a daily basis, how that was possible. Not that they had it all figured out. They knew where some of the pieces fit; others were works in progress. For one thing, Sam had come to the realization that she didn’t necessarily want or need a nine-to-five husband, since she was no longer in that mode herself. When their child was a little older they’d be free to travel. Meanwhile, Ian spent his days at the studio he’d rented nearby, while Sam was perfectly content to stay at home puttering about the garden. If occasionally he worked straight through supper and well into the night she found she didn’t mind. She liked being alone, and besides, she always knew he’d make his way home eventually.

She unbuckled her seat belt and climbed out. Together they headed up the front path. The dogs charged out to greet them, tails wagging, Rocky stopping to pee with great flourish on a hydrangea. Laura stepped out onto the porch, followed by Hector. She wore a crisp yellow shirt and jeans that showed off her new slenderness, while Hector looked the same as always: solid as a fence post, as much a fixture as the ranch itself.

He clasped Sam’s hand. “Sam, nice to see you. You’re looking well.” His eyes didn’t automatically drop to her belly as most people’s did, and she was nearly as grateful for that as for the warmth with which he greeted Ian. “Hey, how’s it going? Nice piece in the paper. Nice picture, too.” He winked at Sam, who blushed a little at the reminder. When the photographer who’d covered the opening had asked for a shot of them together, she’d thought it was just a throwaway.

“Hi, Mom. Hi, Ian.” Laura kissed them both on their cheeks. “You’re just in time. Alice and I can’t agree on the corn bread. She says it’s one teaspoon of baking powder, I say it’s two.”

“Make that three,” Sam said.

Lupe’s jalapeño corn bread had been a carefully guarded secret for years, until she’d finally confessed she’d never taken the trouble to write it down. Only after careful observation and some experimenting on her own was Sam able to master it.

She followed Laura and Hector inside, where the smell of roast beef wafted toward her. A bouquet of daisies sat in a chipped brown jug on the coffee table made from an old wooden storm shutter. A man’s pair of cowboy boots was parked on the hearth beside Laura’s. Two pairs of yellow eyes and the end of a twitching tail peeked from under the sofa.

In the kitchen Alice was measuring out flour, and Wes was rummaging in the freezer for an ice cube tray. Maude was involved in the delicate business of un-molding a Jell-O salad, with Finch hovering at her elbow. The table was set: Blue Willow plates, many with chipped rims; flatware representing several different phases of Laura’s life; glasses, no two alike. The embroidered tablecloth, Sam was pleased to note, was the one she’d come across while packing up her things—a long-forgotten wedding present from Aunt Florine and Uncle Pernell. She’d given it to Laura, who didn’t fuss about spills and looked at stains the way she did at snapshots in photo albums, as fond memories of various occasions.

Sam walked over to kiss Alice, catching a whiff of some expensive scent. “Is that a new dress? It’s a good color on you.”

“I got it in Cabo.” She looked pleased that Sam had noticed.

“Did you have a nice trip?” Sam asked.

“Wonderful.” Alice shared a meaningful glance with Wes. “We even looked at a few condos.”

“You two retiring already?” Laura teased.

“Yeah, sure—in about a hundred years.” Another glance at Wes. “In the meantime, it’d be nice to get away now and then. I’ve always wanted a place on the beach. And when we’re not there, you and Hector could use it.” There was a slight beat before she added, “Mom and Ian, too.”

Sam wanted to shake it loose, this last bit of awkwardness, the way she’d once shaken pebbles from her daughter’s shoes. She found herself longing suddenly for the way it had been before, for the ease with which they used to banter. It hadn’t been perfect then, either, but they could laugh and joke with no hidden wires to trip over. They could sit at a table where everyone automatically knew their places, and the only thing to throw you off balance was the occasional wobbly chair leg.

“What can I get you two to drink?” Hector seemed at ease playing host. “Ian, there’s a beer in the fridge with your name on it.”

Ian grinned. “You read my mind, buddy.”

“Just water for me. I’ll get it.” Sam knew her way around Laura’s kitchen as well as her own. As she filled her glass, she watched Maude give the copper mold a final shake, and the ring of green Jell-O flecked with fruit plop quivering onto the plate.

Sam had no sooner settled in at the table when one of the cats leaped into her lap, purring. She smiled, remembering Mami telling her that cats always seemed to find you when you were pregnant. She wondered if it was true.

Maude stepped back to admire her mold. “Well now, isn’t that a sight? Almost too pretty to eat.”

“We’ll manage, I’m sure.” Laura peeked into the oven before sliding out a sizzling pan. “All yours,” she said to Alice, whose corn bread batter was all ready to go in. “Just watch for the hot spots.”

“You’ve been saying that for years. When are you going to get a new oven?” Alice grumbled good-naturedly.

Laura shrugged. “When I get around to it.”

Soon they were all gathered around the table. Laura had added the extra leaf, which meant plenty of elbow room as well as space underneath for the dogs and cats to roam. Wine was poured, platters and bowls passed around. Before long every plate was heaped full.

The roast was delicious. The jalapeño corn bread every bit as good as Lupe’s. Even Maude’s Jell-O mold got its share of praises, though privately Sam had always thought such things were mostly for show. By the time the second bottle of wine was uncorked, the mood was even more relaxed, and talk turned to the recent changes at Delarosa’s.

“You know that line from the movie, ‘Build it and they’ll come?’ Well, the same thing must apply to Web sites. The orders have been
pouring
in.” Laura shook her head in amazement.

“We can hardly keep up,” Finch said.

“And I owe it all to Alice.” Laura raised her glass to her sister. “If it hadn’t been for you, I don’t know when I would’ve gotten around to it.”

“You would have…in another hundred years,” Alice teased.

“I guess I’m the one with egg on my face.” Sam felt slightly abashed. “I shouldn’t have dragged my heels all these years.”

“It’s not your fault, Mom,” Laura was quick to defend her. “You’re the wrong generation, that’s all.”

There was an awkward pause in which the clinking of forks seemed louder than usual. It was Sam who broke the silence. “In that case,” she said lightly, “I should sign up for a computer class. It would beat bingo down at the senior citizens’ center.”

Everyone laughed, dissolving any last bit of tension.

Then Laura met Hector’s eyes across the table and she cleared her throat. “By the way, everybody, I have something to announce. Hector and I are getting married.”

A loud chorus of whoops went up. When the cries had subsided, Sam wiped her eyes with her napkin and said, “Goodness. That’s the best news I’ve heard in ages.”

“When’s the wedding?” Alice wanted to know.

“We were thinking of December. January at the latest.”

“A Christmas wedding. Oh, how wonderful!” Maude brought her hands together in a soundless little clap. “Can I be in charge of decorations?”

Even knowing how Maude went overboard at times, Sam wasn’t at all surprised to hear her good-hearted daughter reply, “Sure. We’ll all pitch in. It’ll be fun.”

“Laura asked me to be maid of honor.” Finch darted an uncertain glance at Alice. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all.” Alice smiled at Laura.

Wes’s chair scraped back and he rose to his feet. “I propose a toast.” He lifted his wineglass. “To Laura and Hector. May you be as happy as Alice and I have been.”

Glasses clinked. More wine was poured. Suddenly everyone was talking at once. Sam felt a wonderful sense of peace settle over her. It was just like the old days, only better. Precisely
because
they weren’t stuck in one place.
A family isn’t static,
she thought.
It’s a constantly flowing current that, like life itself can take you to some surprising places.