Season of the Dragonflies (24 page)

The phone rang. Lucia picked it up without letting it ring twice and without asking Willow if she should answer it in the first place. “Lenore Incorporated,” she said, and then her voice softened. “Oh, hey.”

“Is it Ben?”

Lucia nodded. “Sure,” she said. “See you then.” She hung up. “He wants us to come there.”

“How's he sound?” Willow asked.

Lucia stood up. “Like Ben.”

“What's that sound like?”

“I don't know. Like Ben.”

“Like a hurricane or a breezy day?” Willow persisted.

“Let's just go.”

“I should change.” Willow stood up.

“Why?”

“Look at me,” Willow said, and left the office. From behind her, she heard Lucia say, “But I'm driving.”

H
OW COULD LUCIA
explain that she hadn't premeditated accepting the title or offering Mya a new position as creative director? Her decision didn't arrive until she was placed in the spotlight of Mya's anger. Her older sister had always been the better of the two. She was free-spirited, arguably more attractive, more gifted, and better with the flowers and perfumery. The idea that Lucia could be president of Lenore Incorporated was like a little girl's dream of being a princess, a fantasy so false even a three-year-old knows deep down that it's impossible.

Lucia could point to her trip abroad to Grasse and Paris to study perfumery with Mya during their summer break. Lucia had been only a freshman in high school, and Mya far outperformed Lucia in every skill, from the fieldwork, to the extraction, to the creative expression of blending unusual oils together for a scent of paradise. Their mentor, Mr. Dubois, had a passion for talent, and he lavished his attention on Mya. And each time Willow called for a progress report, Mr. Dubois began with Mya, and Lucia could hear her mother's proud voice through the phone. Sometimes Lucia didn't even go to the shop and ended up at a café in town eating too many
pains au chocolat
and drinking her fill of café au lait. Each afternoon Mya returned to their apartment above the House of Dubois smelling like jasmine. She filled the one bedroom of the apartment with the joy of knowing just what she wanted to do for the rest of her life. The scent of her made it difficult for Lucia to sleep during her time in Paris.

Her only fond memory of that time was a weekend in London when she attended a play in a golden baroque theater on the Strand. Mya didn't have the patience for theater, so Lucia decided she could have her own focus. She returned home with the desire to make a life for herself outside of the perfumery. The business was Mya's to inherit. Sure, Lucia assumed the money would be there if she needed it, and it was a relief not to worry about her retirement, especially while she tried to break through as an actress. But maybe that security had hampered her. Often this thought crouched in the back of her mind: she needed to be on the verge of losing everything. The closest she'd come to having nothing was when she landed on the cabin's doorstep a few days ago.

At least, Lucia told herself, she strove for a life of love and passion, just like Great-Grandmother Serena. Even if her attempt was misguided. Even if she eventually failed. Maybe that path had led her directly to this moment. Maybe that was exactly why the business had chosen her.

Willow returned to the office in a belted cobalt-blue dress with a strand of pearls from Paris and a gold cuff bracelet on each wrist, her silver-white hair in a French twist. “You know Ben lives on a farm?” Lucia said, reminding her.

Her mother had outdressed her to go see Lucia's ex-boyfriend. Willow had never cared much for modern appliances or the newest luxury sedan model, but she did spend her money on clothes and accessories and travel. Her closet was a mix of vintage Chanel, Balenciaga, Cardin, and Saint Laurent. She never let Mya and Lucia borrow from her. If the girls had shown any interest in fashion, she would've invested in their wardrobes also, Lucia had no doubt, but they both disappointed her in that way. Neither of them had any sense of style.

“Doesn't hurt to look nice,” Willow said. “Makes me feel in control.”

Lucia, on the other hand, had changed into a pair of worn-out jeans from high school, one size too small, and a red T-shirt from the Gap. “Should I change back?”

“It's just Ben.”

Lucia removed her feet from the ottoman in her mother's office and stood. “You're right. It's a farm.”

Willow smiled and said, “Here,” and handed Lucia the keys.

They walked through the kitchen and then to the front door. The porch had been abandoned by the dragonflies, at least for the moment. Lucia closed the door behind them. An SUV drove up. Lucia didn't recognize it. Willow walked over to the driver's-side door and hugged the woman who stepped out, then gestured toward Lucia.

Brenda ran over and said, “Oh my goodness, it's been too long. The city girl. Come here, darling, you look so good.” Why Lucia had expected everyone to still look the same after all those years, she didn't know, but the wrinkles on Brenda's face, the whitening of her hair, and the pudginess at her waist shocked Lucia. She'd been only forty when Lucia moved away and was an avid hiker and caver. Beauty dwindled so effortlessly.

“I love it,” Brenda said, “seeing you two together.”

“You'll be seeing more of her,” Willow said.

“Best news all year.” Brenda shook Lucia's arm. No matter how old she was, Brenda's energy was as high as a teenager's, always had been. Would she become Lucia's assistant when Willow retired, this woman who had babysat Lucia and taught her to braid hair in the second grade? Delegating to her would feel so strange, but she couldn't train someone new. Lucia was the one who needed training, and Brenda could help her.

Brenda held a portfolio underneath her arm. “I can come back,” she said.

“Not necessary,” Willow said. “Can we do this out here?”

“Sure.” Brenda had a knack for making every idea of Willow's sound perfect. Willow walked to the gazebo next to the small lily pond, and Brenda and Lucia followed. They all sat together at a cast-iron table, and Brenda slid the portfolio across to Willow.

“She won't get bored?” Brenda nodded at Lucia.

“I don't think so, do you?” Willow asked.

“Not a bit.”

Willow opened the black folder and scanned a printed report. The sun shone through the paper and Lucia could see a lot of numbers spliced with intermittent notes. Not looking up from the paper, Willow said, “Brenda worked up two new contracts for a young model and a brilliant tech entrepreneur. My happy selection.” Willow licked her thumb and turned the page as if everything was secure and new clients were a boon. Lucia could tell that Brenda had absolutely no idea what was happening with the flowers, or with Willow's memory.

Brenda turned to Lucia. “Your mom's the best.”

“Oh, stop.” Willow cast down her eyes. Brenda was the closest thing to a spouse her mother had ever had. “The financing came through?”

“Grace has private cash sources, Texas oil money or something. That's how she started her first Web business, so she's all taken care of,” Brenda answered. “But Leya's not in quite the same position.”

“Will she accept a loan?” Willow asked.

Her mother's interest rates were significantly lower than the banks', whether she loaned to her community or to a young woman like Leya who didn't have the benefit of being born into wealth. For new clients who needed assistance, she offered an initial loan to begin using the first bottle of perfume, but thereafter most clients could pay biannually or in full. No woman had ever defaulted—no payment meant no more product, and before a client paid her mortgage, she paid Lenore Incorporated. This was a business lesson Willow had drilled into Mya and Lucia.

Brenda swatted at a yellow jacket darting in front of them. “I think so,” she said. “It's never a problem.”

“Can she handle it?” Willow said.

“Says she can. She's a grown girl, and we can't hold their hands or anything, right? They're lucky to get this opportunity.”

Willow was second-guessing in a way that Brenda clearly hadn't expected, and Lucia waited for Brenda to call her on it.

“You're right,” Willow said. “You're always right. They never go broke on the product.”

“Not a single bankruptcy, Willow, you remember that, okay? It's a good thing you give them.” Brenda sounded like a life coach. How many roles could one woman play? “I'm looking at one more contract coming up,” she reminded Willow, “but then it's quiet.”

Willow organized the papers and slid them back in the portfolio. She tried to hand it back to Brenda, who said, “That's your copy, like always.”

“Of course.” Willow picked the portfolio up again like she hadn't been confused, but Lucia knew better. “Let's wait though to send out that paperwork until you settle up that last contract, and make sure we have a sit-down before you send all three out.”

Lucia tried not to fidget on the wooden bench.

Brenda said, “If that's how you want to do it this time, but I already told the other two girls to expect them tomorrow.”

Willow tucked a loose layer of hair behind her ear. “Just tell them we need to review one more thing. They'll understand.”

“Sure, that's fine.” Brenda's brow furrowed; she clearly knew something was amiss.

“Anything else?” Willow stood to go.

Brenda cleared her throat. “There's one thing, if you have time.”

Willow waited.

“I said I'd check on the factory for you,” Brenda said, “and Robert pulled me aside before I left and said there's been a lot of talk, rumors and such, about the flowers. Workers want to know if something's wrong, if they'll be out of jobs. Now business owners downtown are starting to worry that your capital won't be there for them next year, and I didn't know what to say. I just felt like I was missing something.”

Willow looked at her daughter, and right then Lucia could see her mother's desperation to not be the only person with answers.

Willow said, “I should've told—”

“We should've told you,” Lucia said, and placed a hand on her mother's forearm. “But the crop's looking dehydrated and we've got a botanist testing the flowers—we're on the way there now, in fact. It's been really sudden, that's all, or we would've told you sooner.”

Brenda looked at Willow. “The whole crop?”

Willow nodded.

“Oh boy,” Brenda breathed. “What's in reserve?”

“Not enough,” Willow said.

Panic began to spread on Brenda's face, her forehead wrinkles creasing like small valleys. “Let's not go too far here,” Lucia said carefully. “The tests aren't back yet and we don't want to worry for nothing.”

“But it
is
something, you said it yourself, the crops don't look right,” Brenda said. “Willow?”

Lucia intercepted. “Could you ask Robert to make an announcement for us?”

Brenda nodded but looked over at Willow like she wasn't sure who was in charge anymore.

Lucia said, “Have him gather all the employees and announce what I just told you. The flowers are being tested; it seems like a temporary drought issue. There's not been enough rain; everyone will understand that. Assure them it's temporary.”

“Is it?” Brenda said.

Willow opened her mouth to speak, but Lucia pounced: “Of course it is, ninety-nine percent sure.”

With one hand caressing her neck, Willow looked to the sky. “Might rain today, and that'll help” was all she said.

Brenda said, “I'll head over there right now.”

“Great,” Lucia said. “And I'll make sure we update you as soon as we know something. Sorry about that.”

“That's fine,” Brenda said, “I understand how things go.” She gave Lucia a hug and then took Willow aside and said, “We should probably talk soon,” loud enough for Lucia to overhear.

“I know,” Willow said, and waved good-bye to Brenda.

Once they were safely inside the truck, Willow sighed. “Thank you, honey.”

Lucia wanted to respond, but she was too struck by the word “honey.”

AFTER BEN'S FATHER RETIRED FROM
his ob-gyn medical practice, he had become mayor of Quartz Hollow and purchased the two horse farms bordering their property on Highway 221. Lucia assumed Ben had inherited one of those two farms, and when they pulled into the long driveway, she knew she was right. They drove down a poplar-lined driveway and ended up at a large, newly built Craftsman-style house, two stories high, painted a light sage color, with intricate wood detailing on the outside and white eaves. Lucia didn't expect this—a one-room cabin, perhaps, or a tent even, but not such a studied and elegant home. And all just for Ben?

“How nice,” Willow said. “I do love bay windows.”

Lucia parked the car next to the red barn, and a pack of farm dogs greeted her when she opened the door. They sniffed out her hiking boots and wouldn't let her step down until she heard a sharp whistle. They scattered, and Lucia looked up to see Ben standing on his wraparound porch, one arm in the air, his other arm around the shoulders of a girl Lucia hadn't seen before. Willow waved back to him and said, “Who's that?” to Lucia, but Lucia was silent and Willow went ahead without her.

Ben trotted down the long stone staircase to meet them. The girl followed behind him and then stood at his side in a flowing broomstick skirt. She wore a bright paisley scarf wrapped around her head; her wavy espresso-brown hair flowed down her bare shoulders; and her delicate wrists supported chunky wooden bracelets. Lucia couldn't believe how much she looked like she'd just stepped out of a Grateful Dead song.