Love in Bloom (6 page)

Oh, what did she care? She plopped down on her work stool and scowled at the row of ribbons hanging in front of her. Pinks, greens, and reds, fat ribbon, skinny ribbon, ribbon so delicate it looked like butterfly wings—so many colors, so many ways to add the perfect finishing touches to her floral arrangements.

She sighed. She was human ribbon, tying up her sister's love life with a pretty bow. Well, why not? Making things beautiful was what she did. She pulled on an end of pink ribbon and twisted it into a tight knot.

The bell over the shop door jangled and a moment later Bobbi was dancing into the workroom. “He loved the basket. And the card.” Bobbi hugged Hope. “You're a genius!”

“Yes, I am.”

Bobbi pulled away and began playing with one of the ribbons. “We've got a date. We're going out to lunch next week at the Family Inn.”

“Great,” Hope said encouragingly, concentrating on the corsage she was making.

Bobbi was suddenly quiet. That wasn't normal.

Hope looked up to see her sister gnawing on her lower lip. “Okay, what's wrong?”

“I didn't tell him why I couldn't go out for dinner.”

“He's going to find out what you do for a living eventually.”

“I know, but meanwhile . . . He, um, thinks I work here.”

“Well, you've sure been doing a lot of work the last couple of days. That qualifies.” Why was Bobbi looking so guilty?

“He thinks we own this shop together.” Bobbi looked at her like she was bracing for Hope to wrap one of the ribbons around her neck.

“What?”

“Please don't be mad. I couldn't tell him I'm a cocktail waitress. I mean, he runs a construction company.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” said Hope.

“He runs a company. I just serve booze. I know it was wrong, but I didn't want him to think I'm a nobody.”

“You're not a nobody,” Hope insisted. “You're gorgeous and creative.”

“But I'm not like you. You're smart. You own your own business.”

Hope shook her head. “If I had to pick between you and me, I'd pick you in a heartbeat.”

“Well, that's because you're nuts.”

“What's the point of dating someone if you don't let him know who you really are?” Hope argued.

“I will,” Bobbi said. “As soon as he gets to know me better. So, can we please, for a little while, let him think I'm somebody?”

The candy bar, the man, the shop—with sisters it was always about sharing. But this flower shop was Hope's baby. She wasn't sure she wanted to share her baby.

Hmmm. The drives to chemo, the concern, the help—yes, with
sisters it was all about sharing. There was nothing wrong with Hope's baby having more than one mommy. She'd already put words in her sister's mouth. Might as well put a feather in her cap, too.

“You are somebody,” she told Bobbi, “but if you need this shop to prove it, that's okay.”

“Oh, thank you,” Bobbi gushed, and hugged her again. “You're the best sister in the whole world.”

Not really, but she wanted to be.

And she kept reminding herself of that as she moved through the rest of her day, as she drove home, as she entered her apartment. She'd made it cozy, filling it with books, plants, souvenirs from trips to Ocean Shores, and framed photos she'd taken on hikes in the Cascades. But it was still lacking something. Testosterone.

Never mind that, she told herself and got busy with her juicer making a Hope Walker Cancer Shield Cocktail, something she'd have started taking a lot earlier if she'd known that a woman could get cancer in her twenties. Parsnips, beets, and wheatgrass—yum, yum.

Blech. She plopped down at her vintage yellow Formica table and opened up the night's issue of
The Heart Lake Herald.
She idly flipped through the pages and suddenly found herself staring at the pictures of newly engaged, smiling couples. How soon till Jason and Bobbi were there?

The features of one of the women on the page suddenly morphed into Bobbi's face. She stuck out her tongue at Hope and taunted, “Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah.”

Hope shook her head to clear it and quickly turned the page. “I'm a sick puppy,” she scolded herself, “the hogweed queen.” Maybe she needed therapy.

And then, like a gift from the flower gods, she found it. Garden therapy. She'd call first thing Monday and reserve a plot at the community garden.

 

 

 

 

 

 

T
HE HEART LAKE
Park and Recreation offices opened at nine
A.M.
, Monday through Friday. At exactly 8:50
A.M.
on Friday, Millie Baldwin climbed into her Buick LeSabre to go stake her claim on a garden plot.

She was pleased with her new car, a nice solid used model. “Preowned” was the term the car salesman had used. How silly! As if she didn't know what that meant. But it would do her just fine. It should certainly last for the rest of her life. Debra had worried that it was a gas-guzzler. And she didn't see the need for it. Not, she said, when she had a perfectly good car and could take her mother anywhere she needed to go.

“She actually said that?” Millie's friend Alice had asked when Millie repeated their conversation. “Does she think you're in your dotage?”

Apparently. But Millie had shown Debra otherwise. One of the
first things she'd done when she arrived in Heart Lake had been to insist her daughter drive her right to the nearest car lot so she could get some safe, dependable transportation.

“I think she was worried I couldn't afford it,” Millie had said.

As if Debra was the mother and Millie the child. Really, who was here in Heart Lake to help whom? Millie hadn't come out of Duncan's medical debacle with much, but she had something. And she had been managing money long before her daughter was born. She was going to have her own car and drive it, and she was going to have a life of her own, and a garden of her own, thank you very much.

She smiled as the park came into sight. This was a lovely park. She could easily picture herself spending mornings in a small corner of it among a cozy patch of flowers.

Grandview Park not only offered a peek aboo view of the lake, it came with a view of the Cascade Mountains. Forty acres of land, it had been put to good use, and now the community enjoyed a soccer field, a broad walking path that followed the circumference of the park, a play area for children, tennis courts, a sand volleyball court, and a section of small plots for would-be gardeners.

Just past the entrance sat two small houses, side by side, both painted blue and trimmed with yellow shutters and window boxes filled with plastic geraniums. One belonged to the groundskeeper; the other housed the offices of the Heart Lake Park and Recreational Department. Out front a few angled parking spaces had been reserved for visitors.

Every parking space was full except for one. She hoped all those cars didn't represent people wanting a garden plot.

She had already pulled into the space when she noticed the faded paint that proclaimed it a handicapped parking spot. No wonder there had been so much room. There was nothing for it but to back up and find another spot.

She put the car in reverse, turned the wheel, and started to back
up. And suddenly crashed into something unyielding. This couldn't be good.

She let down the window and peered out. Oh, dear, just as she suspected. She had just managed to back into another car.
Millie, you fool!

She put a hand to her chest to still her fluttering heart and took a deep breath. Calm down, she told herself. In the eternal scheme of things this was nothing.

But this nothing had certainly shaken her up. Well, it served her right. Haste makes waste, and she had been in a hurry to get in and sign up for her garden plot.

She turned off the engine with a shaky hand and got out of her car to inspect the damage. She had managed to effectively crunch both cars. Two for the price of one, as Duncan would have said. Oh, dear. This probably wouldn't be good for her insurance. She could almost hear her daughter pointing that out.

Well, there was nothing for it but to go and see whom she had hit. The sky was blue, but Millie walked into the Park and Recreation offices under a black cloud.

The office was cheery, paneled in pine and smelling of fresh air, thanks to the open windows. Colorful posters and fliers hung on a bulletin board on one wall announcing various community events. Three women sat at desks in a work area behind a long counter, each desk decorated with family pictures and flowers. The long counter held a pile of catalogs for spring classes and community activities, a little bowl of candy, and a pot full of silk flower–tipped pens for people to use. A burble of voices made for welcoming background noise as people waited to register for various classes. A couple of middle-aged women stood chatting over by the bulletin board. At the counter, a young woman wearing jeans and a sweatshirt was conducting business with one of the employees. At her side, a freckle-faced little boy who looked about four hung from the counter, regarding the room as if searching for something to interest him.

So many witnesses—oh, this was embarrassing. Millie cleared her throat. “Excuse me? Does anyone own a white car, rather small? It's parked outside in one of the parking spots.”

The two middle-aged women regarded her blankly. The clerk at the counter shook her head and looked sympathetically at Millie as if she somehow knew Millie had a problem.

The younger woman turned around. “A Honda?”

Millie experienced a sudden sinking feeling in her stomach. Not the young mother, please. She probably couldn't afford to be without transportation while her car was getting the dent ironed out.

“I'm not sure about the make,” Millie said, “but it's the only white car out there.

“It's mine then,” said the woman.

Millie took a deep breath. “I'm terribly sorry, but I'm afraid I've hit it.”

The young woman's questioning smile dissolved. She looked like she was experiencing the same sinking feeling Millie had felt out in the parking lot.

“I'm so sorry. Naturally I'll pay for all repairs. I do have insurance,” Millie assured her.

“Hey, it could happen to anyone,” the woman assured her back. “And the way my luck's been running, I'm not even remotely surprised it happened to me,” she muttered, which made Millie feel even worse.

“I think it would be best if we called the police,” Millie suggested. “I don't have a cell phone,” she told the clerk. She'd always been so proud of the fact that she didn't own one, but right now, not owning the gadget only added to Millie's humiliation.

The clerk smiled kindly at her. “Not a problem. Jean,” she said to one of the secretaries manning a desk, “can you ask Tom to send someone out here?”

The secretary nodded and got on the phone.

“Maybe I'd better look at it,” the young woman decided. She left the office for the parking lot, the little boy holding her hand and
skipping along beside her. Not knowing what else to do, Millie followed them out.

“What happened, Mommy?” the child asked when they reached the cars.

“Just a little boo-boo, Sethie,” she said. “It can be fixed,” she added, finding a smile for Millie.

“I feel just terrible,” Millie told her.

“Don't,” said the woman. “I can think of worse places to have an accident.”

“Well, thank you,” Millie said.

“Mommy, I'm hungry,” said the boy.

“I'd love to buy you something to eat as soon as we get this mess squared away,” Millie said.

“Oh, you don't need to do that,” she said, shaking her head. She was a pretty thing, with long brown hair and big brown eyes. “Like I said, it could happen to anyone.”

“Only if they were being careless,” Millie said, disgusted with herself all over again. “I was in a big hurry to come in and reserve a garden plot.”

“Are you a gardener?” The woman's look turned both speculative and hopeful.

“I am,” said Millie.

“I just reserved a plot. We're going to grow our own food, aren't we, Seth?”

The woman said it with such determination Millie had to smile. Ah, the dreams and anticipation that went into planning a garden.

The little boy broke into a grin and nodded. “We're gonna grow punkins for Halloween.”

His hair was a lighter brown than his mother's, almost blond. He reminded Millie of her son Duncan Jr. when he was little. “That sounds pretty special,” she said to the child.

“They still have several plots left,” the woman told her. “Would you like to sign up for one while you're waiting?”

“All right.” It was, after all, what she'd come here for. If only she hadn't had that stupid accident and taken the shine off the morning.

“Are you a good gardener?” the woman asked as they walked back to the office.