Wildflowers (3 page)

“How did the interview go?” Leah came over and leaned against the table.

“It went,” Genevieve said flatly.

“Is that good or bad?”

“I don’t know. He said he’s coming back in a few months, after we have a chance to settle in more.”

“That’s good,” Leah said. “Have you read any of his books?”

“No.” Genevieve didn’t like the way he had mixed all her feelings into a swirl. Especially when she had so little energy left for emotions of any kind.

“He’s pretty well known,” Leah said. “I didn’t know who he was, but Brad was in here earlier, and he recognized him. Brad said that Richard Palmas has a line of books called
All the Best
. He writes a column with that same name for a newspaper in Seattle. His books have a rating system for the hotels and restaurants he evaluates. Brad said one of his
‘best’ ratings can make your business fly and one of his ‘worst’ ratings can break you.”

“Well.” Genevieve rose and pushed in her chair. “We don’t need his evaluation to make our business fly. Our customers are all local. They aren’t going to stop coming here just because someone from Seattle says our desserts are great but our chairs are uncomfortable, which they are, by the way.”

Leah said, “Hold that thought.” She slipped over to the register to help one of the customers.

Genevieve stepped over to the chair where Mr. Palmas had been sitting. She lowered herself with a Goldilocks sort of test in mind. Yes, the chair was too hard. It was just as uncomfortable as her chair had been.

Why didn’t I ever notice this before? I guess I never sat out here for very long. Why haven’t the customers complained?

Genevieve knew the answer. These were loyal locals who stopped in every day. Some of them would come for their morning coffee even if they had to stand in the corner because there were no chairs.

People don’t take their time here. They run in and run out. If we could get some cushions on these chairs, the customers might linger and order dessert. That would push up our profits
.

Purging her mind of Mr. Palmas and his supposedly powerful evaluation, Genevieve set her thoughts on improving the café. This was one area where her emotions were still free to soar.

I have to find a way to turn things around. I can only draw from the café bank account a few more months before I’ll have to
admit defeat. And if I admit defeat here, what will that mean about the rest of my life?

T
he next morning the alarm went off at five o’clock as scheduled. Steven rose and headed for the shower, scuffing his bare feet on the carpet as he always did.

Genevieve rolled over in bed and tried to remember what day it was. All she remembered was that Steven was flying to Singapore today, and ten days later he would be back in her everyday life. For the next ten days she would live the other life she lived when he was gone. She would make all the decisions and handle all the details the way she had all these years. She would revert to being a part-time single parent.

For more than two decades, Genevieve had lived with this routine, yet something inside her had failed to settle into quiet acquiescence to Steven’s schedule. A silent hurt and anger came over her, as it always did. She knew that she
could give him a home and children and even herself. But she couldn’t give Steven the world.

And he wanted the world. He wanted to travel. He loved his job.

Genevieve chased away her wounded feelings with a harsh rebuke. She had a good life and no real reason to complain.

Reaching for her yellow fleece robe and nuzzling her bare toes into a pair of fur-lined moccasins, Genevieve made herself get out of bed. She pulled her hair back in a clip and headed for the kitchen where she made coffee. The “recipe” for Steven’s coffee hadn’t changed in twenty-six years: half French roast, half decaf espresso with three shakes of cinnamon on top of the grounds before brewing.

Genevieve yawned and opened the kitchen window shade. The persistent spring rain flung itself against the glass as it had every morning for the past three days.

Genevieve thought of the riddle her youngest daughter, Mallory, had asked at the dinner table the night before. “If April showers bring May flowers, what do May flowers bring?”

Steven had grinned. “I know.” He turned to their middle daughter. “Do you know, Anna?”

Anna shook her shoulder-length, caramel-colored hair. At fourteen, she couldn’t be bothered with riddles.

“Pilgrims!” Steven declared. “Mayflowers bring pilgrims. Is that right, Mallory?”

“How did you know?” Mallory turned her large brown eyes toward Steven with undying affection.

Genevieve thought about how all three of their daughters idolized Steven. In the back of her mind echoed the reminder that she was the one who had been there through the teething, chicken pox, and soccer practices. She was the one who had balanced the checkbook, managed the carpools, mowed the lawn, and baked the birthday cakes. But Steven was the one they adored.

He appeared in the kitchen just then, breaking her thoughts. He looked handsome in his pilot’s uniform with his hat in one hand and pulling his wheeled suitcase with the other.

“Your coffee is ready.” Genevieve reached for his travel mug.

“You’re wonderful,” Steven said. “Thanks. I’ll call you in a few days.” He kissed her lips once then kissed her again with a lingering sweetness. “I love you,” he murmured. “I always have loved you, and I always will.”

“I know,” Genevieve answered routinely. “Be safe on the roads. It’s still raining.”

“I will.
Ciao, mon ami
.”

The door into the garage closed with a thud. All that remained of Steven was a whiff of his leather-scented aftershave and a hint of cinnamon rising from the coffeemaker. A familiar, sickening thought paraded itself through Genevieve’s mind.
What if he doesn’t come home this time? What if my unresponsiveness pushes him away for good?

With determination she shoved the thought aside. She had enough to worry about without imagining dramatic endings to her marriage. She knew she had closed up her
heart the way a summer cabin is closed for the winter. Deep down, she hoped that spring would come again. The ice would thaw, and she would thoroughly clean her heart’s dark corners.

But not today. Today the issue dominating her thoughts was how she could keep her fledgling business alive. The challenges in her marriage would have to wait until later. Today she had a café to run.

Snapping into her routine, Genevieve poured herself a large mug of cherry almond tea and trotted upstairs to take a hot shower. A brisk tidying up of the master bathroom became the antidote to this morning’s melancholy.

She woke Anna and Mallory, made oatmeal, signed the permission form for Mallory’s field trip, and then dropped the girls off at their schools.

Genevieve turned down Main Street and was about to pull around to the back of the Wildflower Café, as she always did, and park in the gravel lot behind the kitchen. But suddenly she had an idea. She pulled into one of the empty parking spots in front of the café and gazed at the front door with a critical eye.
What do customers see when they look at my café?

Specifically, she thought of Richard Palmas. What did a man like that see in this place?

Why did Richard think a tourist would want to stop here and come inside?

The café was located in an old, storefront-style building with large windows but not a single distinctive feature. She examined the front door and wondered why she hadn’t
noticed how desperately it needed to be painted.

“This is awful,” she mumbled to herself as she got out of the car and took in the first impression. Stepping inside the café and looking around, Genevieve became aware of how dark it was. The kitchen was nice and bright. She had seen to that by having new, brighter lightbulbs installed in the kitchen the first day she tried to cook in there. But the dining area still had a drab and dingy hue. Especially on a rainy day like today.

“We need some light in here,” Genevieve said, joining Leah at the register. “Light and color. And maybe an awning over the front door to allow customers a chance to step out of the rain. I had no idea how little changing the tables and chairs did to improve this place. All my attention has been in the kitchen and on the menu.”

“And on the bookkeeping and bills,” Leah added.

“There has to be something we can do that won’t cost a lot.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Pads for the chairs would be a good start. And brighter lightbulbs.” Genevieve tilted her head up to examine the overhead lighting fixtures. “Look at this ceiling. It’s dirty. Did you ever notice that before?”

“No, and neither has anyone else. This is a very old building.” Leah returned to the kitchen. “I grew up here, remember? What you’ve done in two months is a vast improvement. If you start looking for the negative, you’ll always find it, Gena. We have to focus on the positive.”

Genevieve excused herself and went into the tiny restroom
to wash her hands. She examined her reflection in the mirror. Dozens of fine lines gathered around her eyes and across her forehead, giving her a permanently worried look. She always had considered herself to be an average-looking woman. Pretty sometimes, when she took a little extra care, but certainly not beautiful. Her eyes were a clear, gray color and deeply set above high cheekbones. She thought her mouth was too wide and her lips too thick. When she complained once, Steven immediately disagreed. He said she had “beckoning lips,” and then he raved about how great a kisser she was.

I wonder what Richard Palmas saw when he looked at me?

Genevieve immediately rebuked herself.
Where did that come from? Don’t open that door, Gena. You know better
.

Turning on the water, she washed her hands thoroughly and hoped she had cleansed her thoughts as well.
Steven thinks I’m attractive. That’s what matters. Not a stranger’s opinion
.

Genevieve returned to the kitchen and asked Leah, “Do you have any breakfast orders you need me to start on right away?”

“Not yet. Kenton and Collin are just having coffee and bagels at table seven. It’s been real slow this morning.”

Genevieve pulled on a clean apron. “I hope I didn’t sound like I was worried or complaining a little while ago. I want this place to be something special, you know? I had higher hopes than we’ve accomplished these first two months.”

“It’ll come together,” Leah said gently. “Two months isn’t
very long. Especially when you have such high expectations.”

Genevieve knew Leah was right. She did have high expectations. She always had lived on a ladder of ascending expectations, but sometimes her hopes weren’t realistic.

As Genevieve pulled some eggs from the refrigerator, she thought about the way she had spent her life dreaming of an illusive happiness floating just outside her grasp. It was the same happiness she expected when they had moved to Glenbrooke. The same happiness she had once supposed children would bring to their marriage. The same happiness she believed would flood her life when, as an idealistic nineteen-year-old, she had married Steven and moved to the United States.

Genevieve suddenly realized that nothing in her life had gone the way she had imagined it would. Standing in the middle of the kitchen of her less than dream-come-true café, she felt a sense of panic rising.

Leah looked up from the sink where she was rinsing off a head of lettuce. “Are you okay?”

Genevieve turned. “I have to find a way to improve this place. This café means everything to me.”

“It means a lot to me, too,” Leah said. “Things will get better; you’ll see. It takes time. Seth and I sure learned that while we were building our cabin. We thought it would never be finished, but now that it’s done, my restless husband is looking for a new project to dive into.”

“You can send him over here anytime you want.”

Leah reached for the freshly brewed pot of coffee. “You
know what? That’s not a bad idea. I’m sure Seth would be glad to help out. What would you like him to do?”

Genevieve shrugged. “That’s the problem. We don’t have money for improvements. About the only thing I can afford would be new lightbulbs.”

“How many do you think we need?”

Genevieve stepped into the dining room to count the light fixtures and noticed that two men and a woman had just entered. She recognized the older man as the greeter who had so warmly welcomed Genevieve the first time she visited the community church. She hoped he didn’t notice her now.

During the months after they had moved to Glenbrooke, Genevieve faithfully attended church with Anna and Mallory because Steven was rarely home on Sundays. When he wasn’t flying all over the world, he was scouting out new fishing spots in the area or going to Eugene to buy parts for his restored Triumph sports car. No one asked where he was.

Genevieve was familiar with the routine because she and the girls had gone to church without Steven for years. That was because Steven didn’t go to church. Ever.