One Lavender Ribbon (5 page)

“We’ll go to a nice dinner, then maybe hit one of those discothèques,” Pops teased.

“A discothèque?” Will laughed, releasing the anger for Pops’s sake. He crossed the kitchen and hugged his grandfather’s shoulders. “I don’t think so. I’m not even sure they have discothèques anymore. But we’ll come up with something.”

Sun streamed in through the window, bathing them in its light. Pops turned to it, letting it warm him in the cool kitchen. “It’s a beautiful morning. I hope the fish are biting.”

“They’ve never let us down.”

Pops pivoted enough to look Will in the eye. “You’ve never let me down.”

“I hope I never do.”

“Couldn’t happen.” Pops grinned. “You come from good stock.”

The lump, again. The muscles in his jaw tightened.
Even if it did skip a generation
.

“I’ve got to water the garden before we go. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“After all the rain last night, you need to water?” Will held the cooler lid open and looked inside.

“Can’t be too careful,” Pops said. “I planted some new seeds. Thought it’d stay cloudy today, but the sun broke through.”

“And when you noticed it, you thought it would be a good idea to take the boat out alone?”

Pops brushed at the sides of his pants. “It was just a little trip down the canal.”

“Pops, next time I’ll go with you.” Will studied his grandfather’s face. “I’m just trying to protect—”

Pops’s sigh cut him off. “I know, protect me. A man who jumped from airplanes during a war, and I need to be protected from slippery grass.”

“You’d do the same for me. Now, go water that garden.”

Pops nodded. “Right after I change into shorts.” With a spring in his step, he headed out of the room, pausing in the doorway.

Will glanced over, wondering what stopped his grandfather’s momentum.

Without looking back, Pops said, “Love you, boy.”

Will squeezed his eyes shut. All that had gone unsaid over the years about Pops and his war filled the space around Will’s heart and filled the room around both men. Will closed the distance. He didn’t trust his voice to speak without shattering, so he placed a solid hand on each of Pops’s shoulders.

A gentle squeeze created the slightest of tremors through Pops. Pops knew Will was all he had.

Head held high, he stepped away from his grandson and was whistling a tune before he reached the stairs. Through the window, the sun kissed Will’s face.

W
ar was horrific, Adrienne decided, and tried to imagine what it would be like to have someone die right in front of her. Not once, but over and over again. William’s letters were changing her. Altering something deep within. And she was starting to wonder if it wasn’t a good thing. This—
this
was real life. This was the sacrifice men had made so she could sit around and complain about being lonely or hide in a dilapidated house where the only conversation came from her and the less-than-perfect plumbing. People should live the very best life possible. Too many had died so that others could.

But the letters weren’t all about the horrors of war. They were about Gracie and William’s undying love. All this she’d learned from reading only a few. He also spoke about Sara, Gracie’s younger sister. From all Adrienne gathered, the young girl found trouble around every corner. He talked about Sara getting lost in the dark and stumbling into the neighbor’s chicken coop, waking half the town. She’d escaped with her life, but not her dignity. He told the other soldiers about it, and they spent the evening sharing embarrassing stories and laughing harder than they’d thought possible in the middle of a war.
Tell Sara thank you,
he said,
I knew she wouldn’t mind me exposing her secret. If there’s anything I know about sweet Sara, it’s that if she can bring a much-needed smile to another soul, she will. No matter what the cost.

It was almost noon before Adrienne dressed. She tugged the heavy mahogany front door open and surveyed the world. Yep, another sunny day in paradise. She headed out the door, photo and one of the letters in hand. She could use the advice of a best friend right now. With the windows down, she drove to Sammie’s coffee shop, listening to an indie rock station.

The coffee shop was bustling with customers. She couldn’t have come at a worse time of day. Sammie was behind the counter, taking an order from a young man. Then she ladled up a bowl of soup. She glanced over her shoulder and threw Adrienne a quick smile.

The scent of espresso and homemade stew floated on the air. Chatter from table after table of people surrounded her. The guy took his food and turned directly to her, giving her a long appreciative stare. Adrienne stepped aside so he could get by. He brushed against her as he passed, going out of his way to make contact. Things like that happened to her sometimes, men trying to catch her attention. Since the divorce, she’d had to remind herself, it was
okay
for someone to find you attractive. She ordered a latte and stood aside while Sammie made it.

Sammie was a tall woman, nearly six feet, and towered over Adrienne’s five-foot-four frame. She wore the long, roomy dresses popular in the sixties. Her feet were always clad in flip-flops, her mop of wavy red hair pulled back in a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck. She was thirty-five years old and attractive, but wore little makeup to enhance her natural beauty. Adrienne had never seen her without dangly earrings that made tiny tinkling sounds as she floated around the coffee shop.

She handed the drink to Adrienne. “Here. Go have a seat. I can join you in about ten.”

Adrienne positioned herself so the guy who’d bumped her—the one who continued to stare while she waited for her drink—was out of her direct line of vision. “Looks like I caught you at a bad time,” Adrienne said when Sammie dropped into the seat across from her.

“I’m making money. As far as I’m concerned, this is a great time. Here, try this and tell me what you think.” Sammie held a napkin out, on which sat a small block of bread.

Adrienne crunched into the crouton. “Delicious. Homemade?”

“Of course.”

“Garlic, butter, sea salt, something else . . . ” She tapped her finger to her chin. She’d grown adept at detecting which spices were in the food she ate. Long, boring dinners with Eric and some hospital department head he was trying to impress had forced Adrienne to look inward for entertainment. With each entrée she ordered, Adrienne would see if she could guess each and every ingredient. If something stumped her, she’d ask the waiter, who then asked the chef. Chefs began to take an interest in the woman who was guessing their secrets. At first, Eric had enjoyed the attention when the chef would leave the kitchen and hover at their table. But he quickly tired of it. To them, Eric was invisible, and she received all the attention. Eric wasn’t good at playing wallflower, so Adrienne stopped guessing ingredients and sat quietly like a good little wife should.

“Parmesan,” Sammie filled in for her.

“Brilliant.”

“Your turn. Let’s see it.” Sammie rubbed her hands on her apron and reached.

Adrienne handed her the photo but left the letter in her pocket.

“Handsome. Who is he?” Sammie flipped the picture over.

“I’m not sure. It was in the box. I think it’s the man who wrote the letters. There’s more, but you don’t have time right now.” Adrienne gestured toward the line of people that was forming at the register.

“1942. Isn’t that around the beginning of World War II?” Sammie tapped the photo.

Adrienne nodded. “I think his girlfriend lived in my house at the time. Have any ideas how I can find out more about them?”

Sammie frowned in concentration. “You could go talk to Leo. He owns the diner across town. He’s a World War II veteran and has lived here forever. Maybe he knew them.” Her eyes fanned to the register, where a young girl was tying an apron around her waist. “My backup person is here. Could you stay for a few more minutes? I want to ask you about something.”

“Sure.”

Sammie smoothed her skirt. “Listen, Ryan was by earlier.”

Adrienne dropped her head to the table, a pool of hair blocking the light.

“Did I say something wrong?” Sammie said.

“No.” She peered out from under her hair. “Ryan and I aren’t dating anymore.”

“Why not? After a while, I never saw you together without a huge smile on your face.”

“Right? But let’s face it. He was the textbook rebound boyfriend.”

Sammie reached up to untangle her hair from her earring. “I don’t see how. You didn’t even like him at first.”

“You mean when his tanned, muscled body showed up at my door to move in my furniture?”

“Yeah, if memory serves, you told me his flirty, polished confidence made you want to throw up.” Finally free of the hair strand, Sammie shook her head gently, the tinkling sound of her earrings drifting across the table.

“He did.” Adrienne thought back and smiled. But he’d won her over with the genuine charm she’d mistaken for arrogance. That, coupled with a heavy dose of laughter—something her marriage to Eric had denied her—and Ryan became a quick remedy for her pain. But not a long-term remedy. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and bit down.

He was a lovely distraction, though, and wasn’t looking for a serious relationship; just in it to have a good time—something he’d made clear up front. She’d been relieved.

“And now, suddenly you don’t like him. Are you just not into good-looking young men?”

Adrienne sighed. “No, it’s not that.”

Sammie pushed her hair from her eyes. “Let me try again. Ryan is a terrific guy. But after being in a difficult—and as far as
I’m
concerned, abusive relationship—you need to get to know yourself before you get to know anyone else.”

Adrienne’s head snapped up from the table. “Exactly. It’s taken me weeks to figure it out, and you nailed it in—what—nine seconds?”

Sammie shrugged. “Easier to see from the outside. So, have you told him?”

Adrienne’s shoulder tipped up a little. “Sort of.”

“Sorry, Chicago. That’s a yes-or-no question.”

“I told him I needed time. So we agreed to be friends.” She leaned forward. “He seemed okay with that since he wasn’t looking for anything serious. Did he tell you differently?”

“No.” Sammie’s mouth tilted down at the corners. “When your little journey of discovery is over, you two can pick up where you left off. You deserve to have some fun.”

Adrienne shook her head. “No, we can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Being with Ryan is great.” She chuckled. “In fact, it’s a blast.”

“I never really heard the story about how you found him. I’ve been in Bonita for years and haven’t found my Mr. Fun.”

“Mary Lathrop, my real estate agent, roped him into being my mover. I kind of suspect she hoped we’d hit it off.” Mary had been the dream agent, handling every detail and understanding Adrienne’s desire to
for once in her life do something on her own.
“She never told me, but I think she’s been through a similar divorce situation.”

Sammie nodded. “So Ryan was her way of getting some cosmic justice. A stupid guy dumps you, and you end up with a beefed-up college man to keep you from getting lonely.”

Mary had been so attentive, so understanding. The kind of understanding shared only by women whose lives had crumbled because of infidelity. Intentional or not, it
was
payback to all the lousy husbands who had destroyed their marriages over an instant of cowardice. That’s what infidelity was, as far as Adrienne was concerned, a coward’s way out.

Her mind trailed to the sexy, flirty, smooth young man she’d shared several moonlit walks with. “But being with Ryan . . . it’s like I’m back in college.” Her words were sad, caught between the fun of youth and the seriousness of adulthood. “I’m twenty-eight years old. I was married for five, almost six years. The college scene just doesn’t appeal to me anymore.” She blinked several times, studying Sammie’s face for insight. “Do I sound like an old crone?”

“No, you sound like a woman. Ryan is—what—twenty-four? Maybe twenty-five? You’ve led a different life, moved past all that.” She closed one eye and pointed a finger at Adrienne. “Just keep in mind, Ryan won’t always be a college boy.”

A tiny, humorless laugh escaped Adrienne’s mouth. “He will to me.”

Hands on her hips, Sammie’s head tilted to the side. “So what kind of man would be on your list?”

Adrienne’s gaze left the coffee shop and watched the traffic out the window. Cars zoomed by, slowing for only a moment as they passed through the flashing yellow light that anchored the edge of the strip mall and the coffee shop.

It couldn’t hurt. Sometimes you have to dream. “Someone strong, but not overbearing. Fiercely devoted, but not crazed. Someone who could protect me, but gentle enough to reach into my soul without destroying my spirit.”

Sammie rested her chin on her palm. “Sweetheart, if you find Mr. Gentle Hero, let me know. In fact, sign me up for two.”

“ ‘Where have all the poets gone?’ ” Adrienne wondered aloud.

“What?”

“It’s from my favorite poem. ‘Where have all the poets gone? Rhyme with passion left unsung, Even now my heart it yearns, Until my poet prince returns.’ ”