The Good Wife (18 page)

“But, Boone—”

“It’s fine, babe. It is. Arnie has said there are some teams interested in me. He’s hoping to get me picked up somewhere soon.”

“And if not?”

“Then I guess we pack our things and move to New Orleans.”

Eleven

L
auren was at work on Friday when she got the call that Lisa had gone into labor. She had prepared her staff for the news, warning them that when the contractions began, she would be jumping into her car and racing to Napa join her.

So when Matthieu called, Lauren practically ran from the restaurant, an overnight bag already packed and waiting in the trunk of the car, and drove north fast, arriving at Queen of the Valley Medical Center in sixty-five minutes. She parked and rushed up to the maternity ward only to discover that her sister was in the process of being sent home.

“False labor,” Lisa said, looking miserable and disappointed in the wheelchair she’d been provided. Her hands and ankles were swollen, her face puffy, her belly huge. “But it didn’t feel false.”

Lauren bent down to give her a swift hug. “It’s okay. It happens. And watch, you’ll get home, get comfortable, get all engrossed in a show, and then wham, the real contractions will begin.”

“I’m ready,” Lisa groaned. “I feel like I’m about to pop. I don’t even walk anymore. I just waddle.” She caught Lauren’s hand. “So sorry I dragged you all this way for nothing. Will you still come up for the real thing?”

“I’m staying the night,” Lauren answered, squeezing her sister’s fingers.

“You are?”

“Because I think you’re having that baby tonight.”

Lisa brightened. “You do?”

“Yep. Just call it a woman’s intuition, but I believe your little one is coming sooner than you think.”

* * *

L
auren stopped by the Bakery & Café after leaving the hospital and greeted the staff she’d known forever, smiling politely at the new faces that had been hired since she’d left.

It was a beautiful day, warm and sunny, and even though it was almost two, the restaurant was packed with a late lunch crowd.

Nice, she thought, walking among the tables and checking on meals and the service and saying hello to the Napa residents she recognized, many of them people who’d been customers in the original location.

Lauren ended up lingering for nearly two hours, even filling in at the hostess stand so the young hostess, who was attending college part-time, could leave early in order to write a paper that was due the next day.

Lauren had never spent a lot of time out front in this new spot. She’d always been more comfortable in the back, in the kitchen, baking or handling things behind the scenes, so it was interesting to be working in the sun-drenched restaurant with the marble floor, its black, white, and red color scheme softened by an abundance of topiaries and potted citrus trees.

It was pretty. Inviting. With a distinctive European flair.

It suited Napa, with its focus on good food and wine.

She understood why the business was flourishing. It wasn’t just that the location—the lobby of a historic bank building—was unique, or the food superb, or the service personal and first rate. Although it was all of that, too, there was more to the restaurant’s success. Summer Bakery & Café was succeeding because Lisa had been pouring her heart and soul into it.

She hadn’t just been showing up, putting in the hours. She’d been vigilant about maintaining high standards, and you could feel her love and devotion in all of the details.

The restaurant’s interior and exterior were spotless. There was a lightness and freshness to the halls, the bathrooms, even the back entrance. The restaurant, now a year old, still gleamed and sparkled as if brand-new.

No wonder Lisa was tired. This was a big restaurant. They had three times as many tables here as they did at Grandma’s house, and now they were expanding, adding a patio service for summer.

Amazing.

Lauren stayed until four when Kip, the evening manager arrived; she talked to him for a bit, getting his point of view, very happy to hear that he was so happy with how everything was going, and then said good-bye and headed home.

She drove past Grandma’s house, slowing down to get a look at the charming yellow Victorian with glossy white trim. All the bakery signs were gone now, the big front porch just a porch again. The house was back to being a home.

Her home. Her and Blake’s home. They’d lived there for a little over twelve years, from the time he was three and a half until he was seventeen. But she hadn’t been inside the house for months. Not since September when she moved to Alameda.

One day she’d go inside again. She’d walk around, maybe sit on her couch or sleep in her bed. But that time wasn’t now. Better to avoid the house than see Blake’s room, still full of all his things. Things he’d never want or need again.

Lauren didn’t go into her house, but she did stop at one of the little gift stores farther down on First, running in to see if there was anything pretty for her mom for Mother’s Day, and fell in love with a hand-blown vase made by a local glassblower. The vase was tall and narrow with yellow, orange, and pink starbursts inside the thick, bubbled glass. It would look beautiful holding Mom’s roses and dahlias.

As the girl behind the counter wrapped it for her, Lauren picked out a card and wrote a note for her mom.
Thank you for always being there for me, Mom. I have always appreciated everything you’ve done for me. I know I wouldn’t have been able to do anything if it hadn’t been for you. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. Love you always, Lauren.

With the gift inside a shopping bag, Lauren stepped back outside and was walking to her car when an older woman walking her dog stopped her. “Lauren! My goodness, dear, it’s good to see you. How are you?”

It was Diane Dieter, a woman who’d been her neighbor when Lauren had lived here on First Street in Grandma’s house. Lauren shifted the shopping bag to her other hand to hug her old neighbor. “Mrs. Dieter! How are you?”

“I’m so glad to see you. I think about you all the time.” Her expression changed, delight giving away to concern. “Are you okay?”

Lauren forced a smile, knowing exactly what Diane was asking. “Yes.”

“It’s almost a year, isn’t it?”

For a moment Lauren couldn’t breathe, the air trapped in her throat. Her eyes stung, prickling, and then she nodded once. “It’ll be eleven months tomorrow.”

“Such a shame. We miss him. And you. Neighborhood’s too quiet without you two.”

“Everything looks good around here, though,” Lauren said, determined to shift the conversation away from Blake. “Nothing’s for sale either.”

“Neighborhood’s holding its value,” Diane agreed. “Although I heard talk that you’ll soon be selling.”

“Selling Grandma’s house? No. Not even considering it. Who told you that?”

Diane gestured vaguely behind her. “Someone . . . somewhere.”

“Well, it’s not true. I couldn’t sell Grandma’s. That’s home.” And suddenly her eyes stung and burned, and she thought she would cry right then and there on the sidewalk in front of the boutique. She lifted her shopping bag. “I better go. Mom’s waiting for me.”

“Okay. You go. Give your mom by best. And Happy Mother’s Day, Lauren.”

It was still light when Lauren reached her parents’ house and her dad was out on the tractor, working. She set the present and card on the kitchen counter. “For you, Mom, for Mother’s Day.”

“Thank you. How sweet of you,” her mom said, pouring two glasses of iced tea. “Are you going to be here Sunday for Mother’s Day?”

“I guess that depends on Lisa,” Lauren answered, following her mom back outside.

“Could be days before she has that baby,” Candy warned, taking a rocker and sighing with pleasure that she was finally off her feet. “This is nice.”

“I don’t think it’ll be days,” Lauren answered, trying to sit but unable to get comfortable, and so she got up again and walked the length of the rustic wooden porch. Their house was simple, but her dad liked his Western touches—big porch, rock-lined driveway, the old fire pit replaced by an outdoor rock fireplace. “I think it’s going to be soon.”

“First babies can take days.” Candy sipped her iced tea and watched Lauren pace. “But I can’t watch you do this. You’re exhausting me. Stop pacing this porch like a caged tiger.”

Lauren glanced at her mom, smiled ruefully. “Sorry. I feel a bit like one. I just keep thinking that the phone will ring any minute and it’ll be Lisa, and I just want to be ready.”

“You’ll be ready. You’ll jump into the car and fly down the mountain, and knowing the way you drive, you’ll be there before she even gets to the hospital. And they just live a mile away.”

“I don’t drive that fast.”

“You drive really fast. I’ve had to follow you before, remember?” She patted the chair next to her. “Now come, sit. Tell me about the café. You’ve made a lot of changes lately. How’s it going? Are you getting the results you wanted?”

“Is this a ploy to distract me, or do you really want to know?”

“Both. But I am interested in what you’re doing. I think it’s intriguing.”

“Intriguing?”

“And brave.” Candy was still smiling but her expression had grown more guarded. “Sinking so much of your own money into someone else’s business.”

Lauren leaned against the porch’s wooden railing. “Lisa told you.”

“She misses you at the bakery and café.”

“I didn’t want to move. I liked Grandma’s house. I liked being on First Street.”

“You’d outgrown your location.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“The new location seems to be making quite a bit more money for you.”

Lauren’s shoulders lifted, fell. “It
is
beautiful. I spent some time there this afternoon and I was impressed. Lisa is doing a great job, but I’ve got to be honest, Mom. It doesn’t feel like our place. It’s not me. It in no way reflects me. It feels like Lisa and Matthieu.”

Her mother folded her hands in her lap. “You’re jealous of their relationship.”

“What?”

“You’ve never approved of him.”

“That’s not true. I like him. I was just skeptical in the beginning. You have to admit he’s excessively charming.”

“He’s a sweetheart.”

“Oui, oui, madame,”
she said, imitating her brother-in-law, but it wasn’t meant to sound mean-spirited. She liked Matthieu a lot. In fact, she had a huge soft spot for him, but he was French and affluent and sophisticated and she wasn’t any of those things. Nor did she want to be any of those things. She was really a beef-brisket-and-apple-pie kind of girl. And she was proud of it. “But no, seriously, Mom, I’m not jealous. I’m thrilled Lisa is happy. She deserves to be happy, and she and Matthieu have done a fantastic job with the restaurant. But I don’t belong there. The restaurant has become Lisa and Matthieu’s.”

“Because you left Lisa with it.”

Lauren shot her mom a quick look. “Because you know why.”

“So what are you going to do? Dump the restaurant on Lisa, even though she’s going to be home with a new baby?”

“Maybe it’s time we sold, then.”

“Maybe,” her mom agreed calmly. “So when are you going to tell her?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’d be kinder if you told her sooner rather than later.”

“What if I don’t know what I want, though? What if I have no idea what’s right? What if I haven’t a clue what I need?” Lauren shook her head, angry and frustrated. It wasn’t as if she’d asked for all this change. It wasn’t as if she’d wanted it either. Change had been forced upon her and she was just doing her best to survive. “Blake hasn’t even been gone for a year. It’s just eleven months since he died. And yet everyone wants me to act like nothing’s happened—”

“That’s not true, Lauren. We understand you’re grieving. We’re grieving. Your dad and I miss him every single day.”

“Then you understand why I can’t make a decision about the restaurant. I can’t make a decision to save my life—”

“You said it, honey, I didn’t.”

Lauren glared at her. “What does that mean?”

“You just admitted that you can’t make a decision to save your life, and yet here you are, investing your own money into this other woman’s restaurant. I don’t think it’s wise, and your dad’s gotten himself worked up over it. He says this Mimi woman is taking advantage of you.”

“No one is taking advantage of me.”

“Does this Mimi know you just lost your son? Does she understand you’re not yourself?”

“Mom!”

“We’re worried about you, Lauren.”

“Well, don’t be. I’m sad, not crazy.”

“You’d be less sad here, with us—”

“That’s not true. Alameda’s good for me. I’m enjoying doing new things, meeting new people.”

Her mom gave her a long, speculative look. “Will you tell me the truth, if I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Do you have . . . feelings . . . for this woman?”

Lauren blinked, stunned. “Uh . . .
what
?”

“It’s all right if you’re gay—”

“Mom!” Lauren didn’t know whether she should laugh or cry. “I’m not gay. I have gay friends, yes, but I’m not gay.”

“You haven’t dated . . . ever.”

“That’s not true. I had a boyfriend in high school, we made a baby, and I . . . chose not to date as a single mother.”

“It’s okay if you are gay, Lauren.”

Lauren choked on a gurgle of laughter. “I know it’s okay. I think gay women are beautiful. I think they’re wonderful. But I’m not interested in having sex with a woman.”

“Are you interested in having sex with a man?”

Shaking her head in disbelief, Lauren looked away, gazing out past the gravel driveway to the front paddock and the pasture with the gnarled oak tree in the center, to the rolling hills beyond. “Where is Dad? Did he put you up to this?”

Her mom’s silence was telling and Lauren made a soft exasperated sound. “Tell Dad that I’m sorry to disappoint him, but I am heterosexual.”

“You like men.”

“Is that a statement or a question, Mom?”

Candy sighed and gripped the arms of her chair. “Lisa just thought that maybe . . .”

“Yes?” Lauren prompted, turning around.

Her mom sighed again. “Lisa thought that perhaps that . . . John . . . turned you off men.”

Lauren laughed, blushed, shook her head. “No, Mom,” she said, her voice dropping, deepening with amusement. “You can sleep at night. He didn’t.”