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Authors: Emilie Richards

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BOOK: A Lie for a Lie
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“I’m Lisa Lee,” she said. “And I think everybody here knows this song.”
She began to play in earnest. I recognized the introduction to Grady’s signature, “Sailing toward a Rainbow.” Then, right on cue, in strolled the star himself, in an Italian suit and a shirt that could only be silk, and he began to sing.
 
 
Sailing toward a rainbow
Stretching overhead
Colors flaming in the sky
Violet, gold, and red
Symbol of a better day
Vowing a new start
But I have lost the ones I loved
Empty arms and broken heart.
 
Grady stopped and grinned. The grin was puckish and endearing and somehow out of place on the face of a man in his forties. But the assembled crowd didn’t think so. He had them in the palm of his hand, and the applause began as a roar.
He waited, nodding graciously, smiling the little-boy smile. When the applause finally died, he lifted his hand and turned. Veronica was right there, surprisingly demure and clearly flattered, and he motioned her forward.
“I can’t believe I’m home,” Grady said. “And I wouldn’t be, if it weren’t for my old friend. Veronica, come and accept a round of applause yourself.”
Veronica shook her head and laughed, but Grady reached for her hand and drew her to stand next to him. Then he held her there and invited all who were present to join him in the chorus.
 
 
They say a brand-new world awaits
A promise has been made
But who’ll be here to greet us
When the rainbow starts to fade?
 
He continued alone, while Veronica blushed prettily beside him, and Lisa Lee swayed back and forth over the keys.
I’ll confess, right after I was conned into becoming Fred’s assistant, I borrowed the DVD of
Wayfarers of the Ark
from the library and corralled the girls to watch it with me. Until then I had forgotten how lovely this theme song was when sung by the teenaged Grady. Now I was happy to find that his voice was still sweet, clear, and effective, and the song that much more moving because of it.
Grady might be twenty-five years older than the teenaged Idan pining for the world before the flood, but his boyish good looks had held. He was a man now, with broader shoulders and a more substantial build. Silver threaded through the golden hair, artfully, of course, almost as if Mother Nature had gotten help scattering it in the right places. But the changes only added a hint of power to his stage presence. He looked warm, approachable, more Bing Crosby in
The Bells of St. Mary
than Anthony Hop-kins in
Silence of the Lambs
. If I hadn’t spent three weeks poring over a list of ridiculous demands, I might have fallen under his spell. At least I could still admire his acting ability.
He finished, and the crowd went wild again. He released Veronica, gave a short, humble bow, and held his hand out to Lisa Lee. “Where did you find such an extraordinary pianist?” he asked.
I happened to be looking at Lisa and wishing, not for the first time, that Junie hadn’t dumped her pianist lover until I’d had a few more lessons. Lisa was smiling, but I thought her eyes weren’t quite as friendly.
“Oh, I’ve just been hanging around Emerald Springs hoping you would come back so I could play for you,” she said sweetly.
Everybody applauded again, then people began to move forward to crowd around Grady for a chance to speak to him.
“Well, that went well,” a familiar voice said.
I turned and saw that Fred had come up behind me. I introduced him to Ed, who managed to be polite. “Glad our superstar made it,” I said. “And he really does have a wonderful voice.”
“He must have come in through the back. I’ll introduce you when the crowd thins.”
Since I’d have to meet Grady sooner or later, I nodded. By the time we finally got our wine, Fred came back to take us over to his boss. Ed, who by that point was deeply involved in a conversation with a councilman about parking near the church, declined. I figured that meeting Grady couldn’t be worse than broken meters and restricted zones.
We waited at the edge of the crowd for our turn, and finally Fred drew me forward. “Grady, I want you to meet Aggie Sloan-Wilcox, who’s taken care of so many of the arrangements to make you comfortable while you’re here.”
Grady turned a warm smile in my direction, and I held out my hand. “We’re honored to have you working with us,” I said.
“The pleasure is mine. And I realize how much you’re doing to make this easier. All my traveling is a real drain, so I appreciate every extra comfort.”
He had a lot to appreciate, then, but I didn’t say so. He turned to Fred, and the smile died. “Where in the hell were you, Fred? I got here and you weren’t anywhere to be found.”
Fred shot me a quick glance and gave a slight shake of his head, but Grady didn’t pay attention. The tone of his voice dropped fifteen degrees. “You know I want you within reach at all times.”
“Something came up, and I had to take care of it.”
“Take care of things on your own time, not when you’re supposed to be watching out for me.”
Fred touched his head, his glasses, and he swallowed hard. I bristled self-righteously for the pathetic wuss, but what could I say? I didn’t know where Fred had been or how much of a pattern this was. Maybe Grady had a right to be annoyed.
Grady turned on the charm once more and aimed it at me. “Fred’s so nearly perfect at what he does that any lapse is all too obvious. Fred, be a good boy and get me a drink, would you?” Fred shot off to the bar and left me alone with the great one.
I was trying to make sense of this split personality when the mood swung once more. One of the caterer’s staff arrived with a tray of gorgeously arranged appetizers. He held them in front of Grady, offering a napkin with his other hand.
Grady shook his head. The young man didn’t see the signal and moved a little closer.
“No,” Grady said sharply. Then, when the young man didn’t move back quickly enough, Grady shoved the tray, nearly upending it on Veronica’s priceless carpet. This was unnecessary rudeness, the action of a man who expected everything to happen exactly when he wanted it to. Unfortunately two cheese puffs made the dive and landed just in front of him.
I debated cleaning up the mess, but darned if I was going to kneel at this man’s feet after that misplaced display of temper. I needn’t have debated. Winona, who had been ushering in a new wave of guests, saw what had happened, strode over, grabbed a napkin from the server who was now a good four feet away, and squatted to remove the evidence.
She stood and gazed at Grady for a long moment, then she squared her shoulders, turned, and left.
Everything had happened so quickly, not a ripple swept the room. But I felt the entire episode right down to the marrow of my bones. I had more than a week ahead to deal with Grady Barber. I wondered if I knew anybody in a foreign country who would take me in for the duration.
4
Every time I walk into Junie’s quilt shop, I’m amazed at the way she’s transformed the space Lucy and I renovated for her. Feeling Quilty was once a run-down Stick Victorian, hidden by overgrown shrubs and pottery gnomes. Lucy and I had seen the potential for a quick flip. Brighter paint, a little plumbing, a few swipes of the old chain saw and voila, instant sale.
We’d expected to be in and out quickly, but Junie had seen the house and fallen in love. Suddenly the house on Bunting Street had become a long-term project. Now the Victorian is a mellow mauve, with accents of rose, spruce green, black, and cream. The oak floors glow; the walls are a variety of soft pastels that won’t detract from the vibrant bolts of fabric nestled floor to ceiling. Notions reside in baskets and vintage boxes in what was once a gentleman’s study. Books and patterns live happily where meals were once prepared. The walkout basement has been turned into two bright classrooms, and the second floor is Junie’s apartment, all sunshine, splashes of brilliance, and welcoming open spaces.
My mother defies description. Although she’s been married five times, she never took a husband’s name. Nor did she keep the one—Kowalski—that her parents bequeathed her. Sometime before I was old enough to know better, she became Junie Bluebird. And although she claims that at least one of the reasons she took the name was because she wanted to be the bluebird of happiness, I’m not sure she’s joking. Few people dislike Junie, and they are all suspect. She is some multigenerational amalgam of apple-cheeked grandma, all-knowing earth mother, and free-spirited nature child.
Junie is happy anywhere she goes. The craft show circuit was an endless source of pleasure, new people, new towns, new husbands. In a matter of hours she could take the dumpiest apartment and make it feel like home. But even though she genuinely loved traveling across the country, I think she’s thrilled to be settled at last in Emerald Springs where she can watch her granddaughters grow, share her love of quilting, and make friends who will still be here when she wakes up every morning.
And she seems to be making a lot of those.
“I do like those fabrics together, Sue,” my mother was saying from behind the island in the center of what was once a living room. A woman with springy gray curls had bolts of blue and green fabrics piled in front of her waiting to be cut, but she was clearly concerned about one of her choices.
“However, for your inside border I think you might consider this one.” Junie reached behind her and grabbed a bolt shuddering with wildly colored polka dots.
“Ooooh, yes!” Sue grabbed the new fabric, as if somebody might dive in and take off with it.
“I think you’re set,” Junie said. “It’s going to be magnificent. Miss Emma?”
Emma Beale, one of Junie’s two helpers, stopped straightening bolts surrounding the fireplace and toddled over to cut the fabric. Miss Emma is approximately a hundred years old, and she’s been quilting for ninety-nine of them. She moves as rapidly as a shallow creek during a deep freeze, but she can answer any question and nobody’s ever in a hurry to leave Feeling Quilty anyway. There’s a coffee urn, cookies from a bakery that just opened in another house down the street, and comfortable chairs on the porch to sit and chat about projects and classes in progress.
Junie greeted three other women by name before she made it to Teddy and me. She gave Teddy a big, grandmotherly hug and agreed that my orderly daughter could straighten the notions and make sure everything was in its proper place. This had become Teddy’s Saturday job, and she took it seriously.
Once Teddy had skipped off to the notions room, Junie slipped her arm around my shoulders and steered me toward the kitchen and freedom. We didn’t speak until we were sitting in deck chairs on a stretch of grass that will one day be a lovely patio. When the time comes, Junie won’t have to pay very much to have the grass removed. The blue-grass is now browngrass and looks as if it wants to be put out of its misery. The Japanese magnolias and forsythia we’d planted to screen out the parking lot are only just holding their own. I know for a fact Junie plugs up the bathtub when she takes her daily shower and hauls the water to her trees and shrubs at night when nobody is watching. There’s a strict watering schedule in effect, and Junie’s determined her trees are not going to die.
“I almost didn’t recognize you, precious. It seems like weeks since I’ve seen you.”
I’m told this is something mothers often say, but Junie wasn’t trying to shame me. This was simply fact.
I inched my chair to one side to take advantage of what shade the magnolias produced. “Every day I tell myself this nightmare will be behind me soon.”
“Do you ask yourself how you got so involved and whether you should set limits?”
Junie sounded genuinely curious. As a girl I was never reprimanded, only questioned like this. There were times a good whack on the fanny would have been kinder.
“Teddy’s little friend came this close to dying of meningitis . . .” I held my thumb and index finger just far enough apart for a hair to pass between them. “And at least partly because the pediatric wing at the hospital is so out-of-date, and there’s no pediatric ICU here. What if that had been one of my girls?”
“I know it’s an issue dear to your heart. And you feel better equipped to handle all these details than to ask others to help you.”
There was a question there, as well. I was raised on sub-text, so I know. “Everybody’s working hard. But as silly as it is, I like being good at something and doing it well.”
Junie was silent long enough to let me know I’d caught her by surprise. “What aren’t you good at?” she asked in a tone also appropriate for “You say you’re leaving the girls in Ed’s care and joining the Hare Krishnas?”
Believe it or not it’s a big responsibility to have somebody in your life who thinks you’re nearly perfect. Luckily Ed has no delusions, but he loves me anyway.
“Junie”—my sisters and I have always called our mother Junie, and none of us can remember why—“this self-esteem thing is a common problem among the mothers of school-age children and the wives of ministers. I know I’m darned good at the first and passing fair at the second—when I remember not to say everything I’m thinking. I’m pretty good at flipping houses, although the housing slump means we aren’t making much money doing it. And I seem to have a talent for finding murderers.”
Of course, I nearly died a couple of times practicing that particular skill. So that’s not great for my self-esteem, but I didn’t go into that. “I guess I just need something else. And right now the Idyll is it.”
“I’m looking for another assistant.”
I closed my eyes. “Come on, in a month this place would be history. Remember the costume I made for Deena’s third Halloween?” Deena’s Cinderella ball gown, my first real sewing project as an adult, had turned out so badly that Ed and I had smeared ashes on her cheeks and told everybody she was Cinderella before her fairy godmother showed up. We’d made certain no photos survived.
BOOK: A Lie for a Lie
6.97Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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