The Scent of Rain (29 page)

“None taken.” They passed a drive-through coffee shop. “Need some java for the road?”

“I don't drink it very often. Thanks, though.”

“That's actually why I came to your house last night. To talk to you about it. But when I saw Kensie there, I thought it could wait.”

“She seemed as though she'd been expecting you. What were you two discussing in the doorway?”

“Sure you don't want coffee?” he asked again.

“No thanks.”

They entered the freeway and she wondered, staring at Jesse's handsome profile, why he hadn't married again. Was his heart so broken that he couldn't imagine loving another? That's how she felt so far. She couldn't imagine giving her heart to another. Mark still owned it, even though he'd crushed it like a fresh tomato.

“So, no offense, but is being visited by Gibraltar employees a regular occurrence? Because I'll make sure I'm presentable at all times.”

“Look, I'm sorry about that. I came over because I had an idea about the loss of your sense of smell, and I didn't want to talk to you at work in case someone overheard. When I got there and saw Kensie, I scrambled. If Kensie found out, she'd go straight to Dave and you'd be out of a job.”

“Well, you just said you don't think I belong there.”

“You're misunderstanding me. I think you belong in perfume. I think that's why your sense of smell isn't working. You're not where you belong.”

She shook her head. “That's not it.” She paused before adding, “I called Paris this morning. There's still no job for me.”

He exhaled, as if annoyed with her. “When Hannah died, I was trying to hold it together with a baby, and I was working like a madman as a vice president of manufacturing in Cincinnati. I literally lost the ability to recall words when I needed them.”

“What did you do?”

“I got the message that I was in the wrong place, and if I wasn't going to go willingly, God was going to make it patently obvious. I moved up here. My sister moved in, and I took a lesser job that I could handle.”

“I don't see what that has to do with me.”

“Look, I missed the clues with my wife. I was so busy I didn't notice the postpartum depression. I was euphoric over having Ben. I knew that she couldn't sleep, but I thought that was par for the course.”

Daphne still wasn't following. She gave him a bewildered look.

“God gave me the message to stop working and pay attention, but I didn't listen. And now Ben has no mother.”

“You can't blame yourself for that.”

“I can and I do. She took a sleeping pill that night to sleep, and I thought I was the best husband in the world, tucking her in and kissing her good night so she could get the rest she needed.” He paused and focused straight ahead of him on the road. “She had an allergic reaction to the pill, and her throat constricted. People say it was a suicide attempt, but it wasn't. Doesn't make it less my fault. I should have checked on her. I should have been the one to give her the pill. Maybe then I would have known it was penicillin and not a sleeping pill like she was supposed to be prescribed.”

“I think it's impossible for you to see that clearly. God's will is God's will, and sometimes it really stinks.” She placed her hand on his wrist. “And that has to be the worst soothing statement in the history of mankind.” She laughed uncomfortably.

He turned toward her and grinned. “But it was still very sweet.”

“So what is it exactly that you couldn't say to me in front of Kensie?”

“She and Dave are up to something. I was hoping she'd let the cat out of the bag, but she didn't. I had this epiphany the other night when I was praying.”

She raised her brows. “An epiphany?”

“If I wasn't going to notice that I couldn't be a vice president and a single father, God was going to shut me down and make me unable to do the job. Now, I'm not saying that's what's happening to you, but what if your sense of smell is shut down because you're not doing what you're supposed to do?”

“Earning enough money to feed myself, you mean?” She stared out the window. “You've been through a serious tragedy. I got dumped at the altar. It's not the same. Mostly because God did me a favor.”

“Who is to say what's traumatic to an individual? We both lost someone. It was out of our control.”

“If you say to a roomful of people that your wife died, everyone understands it's a tragedy—whereas being left at the altar could be the punch line of a late-night monologue. I think that's what separates our two stories.”

“Regardless. My idea is that you start a perfume line for the home—but it's something you do on the side, not during the work hours when you're working with Willard. When cooler weather comes in the fall, you won't want to get out on an archery field after a long day at work. And I'm not sure you remember how to knit all that well.”

She laughed. “I suppose not, but making a perfume I can't smell sounds even more depressing than a hat that unravels.”

“You know the formulations, so all you have to do is find scents for the home. Things like lavender water for ironing and sheets. You find scents that would cover the fish smell in a kitchen, or freshen the sheets as if they were washed yesterday. You do this, and I think your sense of smell will return. You know, going about your business as if this never happened.”

“It might have merit. What made you think of this?”

“Because when I quit my VP job, everything started working again. I moved here. My sister moved in, and life got a whole lot simpler. A perfume line for a company like Gibraltar will enable you to go back into the industry without any trouble. You'll have proven results.”

“Why would you do this for me?” She narrowed her eyes. “Do you want me off of your budget that badly?”

“I couldn't help my wife, Daphne, but I can help you. I feel like that's why God wouldn't let the scent of gas die in my nostrils that night. He was giving me an opportunity to let go of what I couldn't do for Hannah.”

She didn't know how to respond . . . Maybe he was reading too much into their odd working relationship. But she recognized that the conclusion made her feel warm and enveloped—just as she'd felt when he kissed her in Paris in her dream.

Chapter 20

I
t took them less than an hour to get to the convention center, and Jesse enjoyed listening to Daphne's ideas for the household perfume line. It was the most animated he'd ever seen her, and he took pleasure in the fact that his “epiphany” may truly have been worthwhile. It helped him avoid dwelling on his guilt over leaving Ben at the preschool. Lots of families had no choice, and he understood that, but it felt like another betrayal of Hannah, who had planned to stay at home with him and any future children who might have come.

“He'll be fine,” Daphne said, as if she could read his mind.

He exited I-75 and proceeded along Fifth Street toward the convention center. When he saw the sign posted for the Winter Bridal and Floral Expo, he suddenly had another epiphany. He knew why Kensie hadn't wanted to attend the event. It wasn't about marketing trends or floral scents at all. It was about showing Daphne just who ruled at Gibraltar and how easily she got her way. He recalled that Kensie had arranged for him to do a baby expo when he'd arrived at Gibraltar so she could inform him of her power. The woman really was heartless, but Dave thought she could do no wrong, and therefore she was a force to be reckoned with.

He pulled into the parking garage. “You going to be all right in there?”

Daphne didn't answer. She blinked rapidly as she took in the lacy, balloon-infested entrance to the convention center. “I have developed an aversion to all things tulle.”

“We won't stay long.” He pulled into a parking slot, and the two of them exited the car. They each took their badges and slipped them over their necks.

They were met at the door by a woman wearing a bridal gown and passing out postcards. He unwittingly took one. Daphne took it from him and slid it into a canvas bag.

“Grab as much as you can,” she said. “All the stuff will remind us of things later.”

He nodded and swallowed hard. “This doesn't bother you?”

She surveyed the room. “Actually, it gives me relief that I'm not here as a bride.”

A woman with pink feathers somehow woven into her updo grabbed Daphne's arm and led her to a stylist's chair. “You're perfect,” she said. “Come sit down for a minute and let me give you a free styling.”

Daphne patted her hair. “Oh no, I'm here on business. I don't need—”

“Don't be silly. I'll make you look gorgeous.”

Daphne looked wary, and judging by the woman's hairstyle, she had just cause.

The woman pulled out Daphne's severe ponytail and loosened her hair so it fell upon her shoulders. Jesse looked away; it felt invasive to watch. He checked out the booths behind them, making a mental note of all he wanted to see in regard to colors and florals for the upcoming winter wedding season. When he turned around, Daphne's hair was piled high atop her head with baby's breath pressed into the hairstyle.

She jumped down from the chair and said thank you, but she came toward him with ire. “Let's go.”

“You look good. Do you like it?”

“I look like Marge Simpson.”

“Not true. Hers is blue.”

“Come on,” Daphne said, dragging him across the aisle.

A man in a black suit approached them. With his slicked-back hair, he looked more like an undertaker than a photographer, but he stood in front of a plethora of photographs.

“Are you the happy couple?”

“No,” Daphne said.

“Free photos today under the arch,” he said, waving toward a white, wooden arch riddled with fake flowers. “Come on, sir. Don't you want to help her remember how she wants her hair on her special day?”

“Marge?” Jesse said, holding his palm up to help her up the red carpeted step.

“Not alone, Homer,” she said, pulling him behind her. “Can you get us together?”

“Naturally,” the photographer said.

She turned to face Jesse and smiled up at him coyly. “You're enjoying this, aren't you?”

“Maybe.”

“Stand behind her and put your arms around her. Don't you want everyone to know how you love her?” the photographer asked.

“Oh, everyone,” Jesse said. He felt an elbow in his stomach, but she pulled his arms around her waist. He hadn't touched a woman since he'd lost Hannah, certainly not an employee, but their bond felt natural, the way they interacted, easy. Like they'd known each other forever.

“Perfect,” the photographer said. “You two are naturals.” He backed up. “All right, look at each another.”

They did, and promptly broke into laughter.

Daphne walked out of the arch. “All righty. We've got to get moving or all the cake samples will be gone.”

“Take my card. When's your wedding?”

“I'm not sure,” Daphne said. “He didn't show up the last time.” She winked and strode down the aisle.

Jesse just shrugged.

“Got an e-mail?” the photographer said. “I'll send you the pictures.”

Jesse pulled out his business card. “Thanks, that would be great.” He rushed to catch up with Daphne, who stood in front of a floral display.

“Honeysuckle. It's the color of 2012,” she said. “Smell.”

He leaned over and drew in the sweet scent.

“See this color on the flower? Not the yellow, the other color.”

He nodded.

“It's the color of the year. Beautiful, right?”

“What is that, red? Pink?”

“It's honeysuckle. A bright pink with a bit of mauve.”

“What color did you have?” he asked. “At your wedding?”

“Sapphire and gold.”

“Any regrets?” he asked, before he thought better of the question.

“None. Everything was perfect.” She shrugged. “Except the groom didn't show up. But other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you enjoy the show?”

He laughed and followed her out of the floral section.

“What color did you have?” she asked, glancing back at him.

“I—I can't remember. I wore black. She wore white.”

“Helpful.” She halted abruptly in front of him.

He turned and saw a display of wedding gowns to their right.

“That was my gown,” she said, pointing.

“You must have been beautiful in it.”

She exhaled. “Let's go find some cake.” She started collecting pamphlets and shoving them roughly into her canvas bag. He took it from her shoulder.