Taste of Honey (46 page)

Tea & Sympathy wouldn’t go out of business, but the wind would go out of its sails. And Gerry wanted so much for it to be a success. They all had something invested, not just in this venture, but in this family patched together out of odds and ends. She paused to smile, as she was tugging on her jeans, at how little she’d understood when she was young. She’d imagined miracles to be visions of the Blessed Virgin, and signs from God on the order of the burning bush … but the miracles of everyday life were what she marveled at now: a lost daughter reclaimed, a new baby born to an old friend, unexpected love in the unlikeliest of places.

The thought of Aubrey surfaced once more. She brought a hand to her cheek, which felt warm. Yesterday after the game—which Justin’s team had won with a home run in the final inning—she’d spent the evening at Isla Verde, but something had been different about their lovemaking this time. Though Aubrey had always been considerate, there was a new tenderness in the way his hand lingered on her cheek and his mouth seemed to drink her in. He hadn’t told her he loved her, but the endearments whispered in her ear seemed to convey much more. At one point, for no reason whatsoever, she’d nearly burst into tears. Afterward, spooned up against him, she’d drifted to sleep thinking,
I could get used to this.

She frowned now as she zipped up her jeans. Why couldn’t they just go on like before? She remembered what her father used to say: If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. If she gave into what her heart was telling her, she could risk ruining a perfect thing.

She was on her way out the door when the rain abruptly ceased. She paused on the stoop, looking up at the blue sky peeking through the clouds, and mouthed the words
thank you.

Andie and Justin had caught a ride earlier with Finch. They’d all signed on as volunteers for the day. The girls would wait tables while Justin and Nesto bussed. Mavis would help out in the kitchen. The only thing left for Gerry to do was to pick up Sam and Ian. Sam was understandably nervous about driving and Ian was restricted to the passenger seat until his cast came off.

Pulling into their driveway, she spotted Ian on the porch with the baby. She smiled at the picture they made: little Jack in his pouch strapped like a baby kangaroo to his father’s chest, both equally content. Ian waved to her as she got out.

She stepped lightly up onto the porch, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek. “Just promise you won’t get his ear pierced,” she teased, giving the silver stud in Ian’s ear a little tug. She nodded toward his cast in its blue nylon brace, every inch of it covered in writing. “Looks like you’ve had company. Is there anyone who
hasn’t
been by?”

He kissed the fuzzy top of Jack’s head. “I’m just the warm-up act. This little guy’s the main attraction.”

Gerry, who never in a million years thought she’d envy her best friend, looked into the baby’s bright blue eyes and felt a rush of … what? Not longing, more like wistfulness for what was past. Oh, for the chance to do it over again, and this time get it right!

Sam was dressed and ready to go when she walked in. Gerry took one look at her in her formfitting silk dress and said, “I hate you. How can you fit into that so soon?”

“Easy. It’s a wraparound.” She twirled around to show Gerry the ties in back. “You want to grab that?” She gestured toward the diaper bag while she went in search of the car seat, calling over her shoulder, “I’d forgotten how much paraphernalia there is. Getting out the door with a baby is like a trip to Europe.” She didn’t sound the least bit perturbed that, at her age, she
could
have been vacationing in Europe instead.

They arrived at Tea & Sympathy to find everything in place … and everyone in a high state of tension. It was shortly after ten-thirty, with the opening scheduled for eleven. The room shone from the scrubbing Claire and Kitty had given it the night before, and the shelves of the display case were lined with jewel-like tarts, pillowy buns and muffins, cakes and cupcakes, fruit pies and tarts. A vase of yellow roses stood on the Victrola by the door, and on each table was a bud vase with a sprig of clematis.

Maude Wickersham, in a lilac silk gown more suitable for an Edwardian high tea, had positioned herself at the front door. “You missed all the excitement,” she said, her periwinkle eyes aglow.

“The smoke alarm went off, and the firemen were a little overeager in getting here,” Laura explained.

“I think they wanted first crack at the goodies.” Alice, in tapered slacks and sleek turquoise top, stepped up alongside her sister. “Claire sent them off with a sack full of sticky buns.”

“How’s my favorite grandson?” Wes tickled the baby, who stared in fascination at his big, bearded grandfather. He might be on the fence about having another child of his own, but he was clearly smitten with Jack. “Want me to take him?” he asked Ian.

“Just remember, if his diaper needs changing, he’s all yours.” Ian’s smile, as he gently lifted Jack from his carrier, was laced with irony. Wes hadn’t been the most attentive of fathers—too busy empire building—but now that Ian was a father himself, he’d gained a new perspective.

Gerry envied Ian. Why couldn’t she do the same—let go of the past and look to the future?
Face it, you’re a fake, a phony.
Forever encouraging her friends to take the leap while she herself held back. No wonder she and Aubrey were a perfect fit: They were both hobbled in some way.

Claire poked her head out of the kitchen to announce cheerfully that if one more thing went wrong, she’d shoot herself, while Kitty stood serenely at the counter piping last-minute rosettes onto a cake. Mavis was making the rounds, checking to see that every sugar bowl was filled and every napkin neatly tucked in its ring. She’d had her hair done yesterday at Shear Delight, a softly swirled upsweep that made her look years younger. Gerry couldn’t remember when she’d last seen her mother so vibrant.

Shortly before eleven, people began to trickle in. Rose and Olive Miller in flowered dresses and hats, accompanied by Rose’s flaxen-haired granddaughters. They presented Claire with a vintage relic from when the Blue Moon Cafe had been their father’s: a tabletop jukebox. Coming in on their heels were Reverend Grigsby and his petite wife, Edie, followed by Carrie Bramley, First Presbyterian’s pretty new organist.

Head librarian Vivienne Hicks arrived arm in arm with Tom Kemp. Gerry was pleasantly surprised; she hadn’t known Tom and Vivienne were dating. She saw now that they were a perfect match: both angular and bookish, with a tendency to redden easily—as they were doing now. When Sam drifted over to greet them as if Tom were no more than an old family friend, Vivienne looked relieved.

Tom peered at the baby nestled in Wes’s arms. “Will you look at all that hair!”

The downy fluff Jack had sported at birth had grown into a Kewpie-doll swirl. Wes looked as proud as if he’d been personally responsible. “He’s a Carpenter, all right.”

“I think I may have had something to do with it,” Sam said mildly.

“Congratulations, Sam. He’s beautiful.” Vivienne seemed to take a special interest, and Gerry was reminded of how she’d stood up for Sam last year when Marguerite Moore tried to have her ousted. Who knew? Maybe this time next year they’d be congratulating Vivienne.

Myrna McBride, from The Last Word, showed up with a cookbook for Claire. “From the looks of it, you won’t be needing this,” she said, surveying the display case with delight.

Claire thanked her anyway.

Myrna’s ex-husband arrived a few minutes later. Perry McBride, a slope-shouldered, slope-chinned man who brought to mind Ichabod Crane, had clearly been thinking along the same lines: He presented Claire with a handsomely photographed book on collectible teapots. Gerry saw him cast a smug look at Myrna as he handed over what he clearly thought the more fitting gift.

Lupe and Guillermo walked in next, hand in hand like teenagers—never mind they’d been married fifty years—accompanied by crusty veterinarian Doc Henry and portly, white-bearded Avery Lewellyn, who, even without his red suit, was a dead ringer for Santa Claus.

More than half the tables were filled by the time Fran O’Brien blew in the door with her strapping teenaged sons. Though dwarfed by them, the feisty redhead nevertheless wore the air of a lion tamer with the upper hand. Gerry recalled that it was Fran who’d first told her this place was for sale.

“Checking out the competition?” she teased as she escorted them to a table.

“I can already see I’m in trouble.” Fran, her frizzy red hair sprouting from her topknot like sparks from a Roman candle, glanced about at the trays sailing by.

David Ryback arrived solo, explaining that his wife was home taking care of their son. Gerry thought there was more to it than that: Rumor had it their marriage was on the rocks. Melodie Wycoff claimed he spent after hours with Delilah Sims, with whom he shared a passion for literature … and maybe something more.

But it was Monica Vincent who stole the show when she was wheeled in, swathed in layers of diaphanous red silk. It was a moment before Gerry recognized that what she had on was a sari. Since when had Monica gone native? In comparison, her sister Anna looked even dowdier than usual.

Matt ambled over to greet them. “Anna … Monica. Any trouble getting up that ramp?”

“Did you build it?” Anna was really quite pretty when she smiled.

“With my own two hands.” He held them up as if to remind Monica of the work for which she still owed him.

But if Monica remembered, she gave no sign of it. “I could use a pair of those around my house.” She hesitated just long enough for the double meaning to sink in.

Ignoring her, Matt turned to Anna, asking, “How’s that pipe holding up?”

“Fine … thanks.” She blushed, explaining to Monica, “The one under the kitchen sink was leaking. Matt was nice enough to fix it.” Anna was obviously referring to the house she shared with their mother.

“How sweet,” Monica said insincerely.

Gerry showed them to a table by the window, where Monica would be in the harshest light. Anna, beside her, unexpectedly glowed in comparison, her creamy complexion taking on a rosy hue.

When she finally got around to checking her watch, Gerry was surprised to see that it was almost noon. What was keeping Aubrey? Had something come up? It was a good thing Justin, ferrying plates back and forth, was too busy to notice. The last thing her son needed was another disappointment in his life. She, on the other hand, would be grateful if Aubrey didn’t show. Wouldn’t it solve everything if he were to jump on a plane, saving her from having to decide what to do?

The thought brought no comfort.

Moments later she forgot about Aubrey when Kevin and Darryl breezed in through the door. Gerry darted over and flung her arms around her brother. “Kevin! I was beginning to think you two weren’t going to make it.”

“Car trouble. Never trust a fairy with tune-ups.” Darryl winked, and she remembered that he and Kevin had decided to make a minivacation out of it by driving down the coast.

Kevin stepped back to give her the once-over. “You look good, Ger. New man in your life?”

“As if you didn’t know.”

“He still playing hard to get … or is it the other way around?”

“I refuse to answer on the grounds that it may incriminate me,” she said with a laugh. “What have we got here?” She peered into the shopping bag Kevin was holding.

“Spices from the Orient.” In his Armani sport coat, her brother stuck out like a sore thumb in the sea of denim. He glanced about the crowded room. “Where’s Claire?”

“In the kitchen. Where else?”

“I’ll see if she needs any help.” Kevin was already taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. “Darryl can entertain the ladies while I’m gone.” It was a private joke that his boyfriend, a young Al Pacino look-alike, hooked them every time—even the ones who knew he was gay.

Gerry was showing one of the new moms from Sam’s Lamaze class to a table when Father Reardon appeared. He gave Emma Pettigrew a hand with her two younger boys while she freed the baby from its carrier. Emma thanked him profusely, taking the opportunity to ask if she could stop by the rectory later on to discuss baptism dates.

Gerry took him aside. “I’m glad you could make it.” She felt honored, knowing he’d left today’s noon mass to his friend Father Hurley, visiting from Seattle.

“You know my weakness.” He glanced longingly at the display case.

“I saved you a piece of whiskey cake,” she confided in a low voice.

“As long as it’s our little secret.” With a twinkle in his eye, he glanced over at Althea Wormley, president of the Altar Guild, tucking into a strawberry tart lathered in whipped cream. “If Althea gets wind of it, she’ll have me following in Father Kinney’s footsteps.” He was referring to his predecessor, who’d gone into rehab.

“I’ll bring it in a brown paper bag,” she joked, though her heart was heavy. Where the hell was Aubrey?

She’d just about given up hope when as suddenly as the skies had cleared, he strolled in through the door. Heads turned, and people looked up. Aubrey might have been conjured from the steam rising genielike from the teapots. It wasn’t just that he was famous: The party didn’t start until he arrived.

“You’re out of luck,” she told him, her heart beating much too fast all of a sudden. “I just gave away the last table.”

She looked about in amazement: The opening was a success. Every muffin was gone from the case, and only a few tarts remained. When Kitty sailed in with a tray of apple turnovers fresh from the oven, they were snatched up at once. Gerry wondered if Claire, who popped in from the kitchen every now and then wearing a harried look, had had a chance to let it sink in. Probably not. Later, when the dishes were washed and stacked, she would savor it.

“I don’t mind sitting on the porch,” he said. “Will you join me?”

She hesitated, not wanting to abandon her post. It wasn’t until Sam, seated nearby with the baby on her lap, caught her eye and gave a nearly imperceptible jerk of her head that Gerry reluctantly gave in. “All right,” she said. “But only for a few minutes.”