Season of the Dragonflies (17 page)

It wasn't until her hands were deep inside the sticky dough that Lucia began to doubt. Dough should be smooth and elastic, or so dictated the overly confident recipe, but Lucia's dough felt wet. She added more flour and then it felt too stiff, so she added more water and then worried about needing more yeast, and she wanted to give up and abandon this idea. Ben would never know, nor would he care, and why did she feel such a pressing need to make something homemade for him?

Willow walked into the kitchen and stopped at the entrance, probably impressed by the copious white dust caking the island and the floor around it. She said, “Can I help with anything?”

Her mother looked a bit haggard. Lucia rubbed her forehead with the back of her wrist to avoid getting flour on her face. She wasn't sure she succeeded. “Can you make pizza dough?”

“You don't remember?”

“I've never made it before,” Lucia said.

“That's not what I mean,” Willow said, and poured herself a glass of water. “Every Valentine's Day I made pizza for you girls. How have you forgotten?”

Lucia stared down at the gobs of dough clinging to her fingers. “Were they heart-shaped or something?”

“I'm not that good,” Willow said. “You're too young to be forgetting those things. I, on the other hand, am old.”

“You're fine, aren't you?” This lie made her mother smile.

“That dough doesn't look right.” Willow plunged two fingers inside the overgrown ball on the counter.

“I know. What's wrong with it?”

“Everything.”

“Thanks.” Lucia stepped back to watch her mom sift the flour, remeasure all the ingredients, warm the yeast in water, and then knead it all together and roll it around the counter as effortlessly as she folded laundry. The joints of Willow's fingers looked swollen, and the sight of them jolted Lucia's memory of when her mother's fingers looked so slender and smooth as she prepared dough on the love holiday. “Because everyone needs comfort on this day,” she remembered her mother saying, and it had never occurred to her then how lonely Willow must have been. So much about her mother had always felt like a mystery. But now that Lucia was alone too she could understand her better.

“Put a pan of hot water in the oven and the dough will rise before Ben gets here,” Willow said. She placed the dough in a bowl and covered it with a damp dish towel.

Lucia followed her mother's directions, filling the teakettle with water and lighting the stovetop. Willow handed Lucia the bowl to place in the oven and then said, “I need your help.”

Lucia became suddenly terrified that her mother might tell her she had terminal cancer and wanted her to break the news to Mya. Lucia closed the oven door and tentatively said, “Okay?”

“I need you to call Jennifer Katz for me.”

Lucia laughed with relief. “What for?”

Willow braced herself with both arms on the island. “I should've followed up with her after my meeting in L.A. but I didn't, and I need to now. Something's going on with her and I'm worried, that's all.”

“So you call her,” Lucia said. “I wouldn't know the first thing to say. She'll think it's strange.”

Willow smoothed her white hair falling all around her shoulders. “I don't think she wants to hear from me.”

“Why would she want to hear from me then?”

“All you need to do is tell her the perfume is on the way and that it'll fix all of our problems.”

Lucia wiped her sticky hands with a towel and couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her mother handing off business? She didn't want any part of it. “I'm not sure it
will
fix any problems,” she said. “I didn't agree with any of this in the first place. I have no interest in managing the business; that hasn't changed. Have Mya call her.”

Willow plucked a basil leaf from the bunch Lucia had gathered in the herb garden and ate it. “Mya's busy.”

“Doesn't all of this seem like bad business?” Lucia said.

“Bad business is low customer confidence, and I can't afford for Jennifer to reject our product. And I think that's where she's headed. She needs our attention and I need you to try.”

“Maybe the business
should
fold,” Lucia said.

“You don't mean that,” Willow said. “It's like wishing death on a family member.”

“I've never liked the perfume,” Lucia said. The teakettle whistled; Lucia lifted it off the stove with her bare hand and it burned her palm. “Damn it!” she shouted, and dropped it back down on the stove.

Willow used her handkerchief to lift it from the heat.

Lucia ran her palm under cold water and shook her head. “I won't do it.”

“Why are you here then?” Willow said. “Shouldn't you be gone by now?”

With her hand wrapped in a towel, Lucia poured the steaming water into a pan and then placed it in the oven just as her mother had told her to do. She wanted to tell Willow that she'd leave tomorrow or the day after, but she wasn't confident she'd go. Her plans were so unstable: Would she return to New York and try acting again? Obviously, that was what she should do, but she had zero desire to try again.

“If you're here, you might as well help me,” Willow said. “Consider it your room and board. When you leave I won't ask anything of you again.”

Lucia placed the empty teakettle on the stove. “If it'll make you stop bugging me, just bring me the phone.”

Returning moments later with her cell phone, Willow tapped the screen a few times, then handed the phone to Lucia. “It's her direct line.”

Lucia placed the phone to her ear and said, “What if she screens?”

Willow said, “Leave a message.”

The line rang and rang and rang, and Lucia prepared herself to leave a message with a smile on her face, but then the ringing stopped and Lucia heard static. She waited for a voice on the other end but it didn't come. “Hello?” Lucia said softly.

“Who's this?” And it was the unmistakable voice of Jennifer Katz, a voice as charming as Marilyn Monroe's but not as meek.

Lucia's eyes grew wide because words had left her and she wasn't sure if they'd ever return. Across the island in the kitchen, Willow pushed her arms forward. She mouthed the word “talk,” and Lucia said, “Hi, Jennifer, this is Lucia Lenore, the youngest daughter of Willow Lenore, and I'm calling to give you an update about some business you discussed with my mother.”

“We didn't discuss anything,” Jennifer said, and now Lucia was completely confused.

“About an alteration,” Lucia said.

“She shot that down.”

“She's had a change of heart, and it's already taken care of.”

Jennifer said. “Zoe's right?”

“You spoke to her?”

“Briefly.”

“We should've called sooner, and I'm sorry,” Lucia explained. “No excuses.”

“She's spreading rumors that I'm done. I could give a shit about other actresses, but directors and producers? It's so wrong.”

This suddenly made Lucia furious, and with all the conviction she'd seen her mother use, she said, “I assure you that's not true. You're brilliant and America loves you. The new perfume will suit Zoe's strengths, but the original is, to be quite frank, tailored to a talent with integrity like yours. You're a very valuable client to us, and the perfume works best for a woman like you. Your career's a testament to that. You still have so much to accomplish.”

Willow smiled as she held her hands to her lips.

“Thank you,” Jennifer said, her voice rising like the full moon. “Your name's Lucia, is that right?”

“It is.”

“I didn't know Willow had another daughter,” Jennifer said.

This made Lucia go cold and she almost hung up the phone. “Well, I'm here now if you need anything. Please don't hesitate to call, and by all means continue to use our product. You have proven just how successful it can be.”

“Confirm when Zoe receives it,” Jennifer said. “I don't want to hear from her first.”

“Trust me, you'll hear from me first.” Then Lucia thought the line went dead. “Jennifer?”

“I'm here,” she said. “Thanks, Lucia.”

“You're welcome,” Lucia said, and hung up. She hadn't noticed how heavily her heart was pounding until she handed the phone back to her mother. Her palms pulsed. Lucia said, “I think she's okay now.”

Willow came around the island and hugged Lucia, and then she held her at arm's length and said, “I want to retire.”

How much more could her mother sling at her today? This didn't seem like the ideal time for Mya to take over. Lucia said, “Why right now?”

“Because I need to and I want to,” Willow said. “I know you know, don't pretend like you don't.”

Lucia rolled a cherry tomato between her fingers. “Have you seen a doctor?”

“In time,” Willow said.

Lucia said, “If you think Mya can handle it right now, then do it.” She popped the tomato in her mouth and its juices coated her tongue.

“That's not exactly what I was thinking.”

“Robert?” Lucia said immediately, though that didn't make any sense. No one outside the family had ever run the business. Willow looked directly at Lucia with a quizzical face, like Lucia was the one being foolish.

“Oh no,” Lucia said. “No way, that's not how it was supposed to be.”

“Things change,” Willow said. She combined a piece of mozzarella, a cherry tomato, and a leaf of basil, popped the small tower in her mouth, and stared at Lucia while she chewed.

“But, Mom . . .” was all Lucia could say, but she blanked on how to follow it.

“I'm worried about you, Lucia,” Willow said. “I don't want things to turn out for you like they did for my sister. I know you can do this. I always did.”

The story of how her aunt had died alone and unnoticed haunted Lucia. She had promised herself never to be like her. She understood why Iris left the business behind, but she had settled for a life of mediocrity, and that was far from what Lucia desired. Lucia wrung a dishrag in her hands and said, “You don't ever have to worry about me like you did about Iris.”

Mya's workshop door flung open and banged against the wall so hard that Lucia and Willow both jumped. Somehow Mya had overheard their conversation, Lucia was sure of it, and she braced herself for the yelling that would ensue. Her sister was the heir apparent and nothing could change that in her mind or Lucia's. What had Willow been thinking? Maybe she did need to retire if she was being so irrational. Mya came running into the kitchen with the black cloud above her like an obscene hat worn at a royal wedding. She said, “I'm leaving.”

Lucia said, “Don't be so emotional. She didn't mean it and I'm not interested.”

Willow and Mya both stared at Lucia with perplexed faces. Mya said, “Are you feeling okay?”

Willow motioned toward the perfume vial in Mya's hands. “You sure it's ready?” she asked. She took the small amber-colored bottle from Mya's hand and peered in as if she could see the new formula at work.

Mya nodded and looked as joyful as a child at the beach. Lucia didn't have the will to tell her that the cloud hadn't gone away just because she made the perfume. She couldn't continue looking at her, the way it sometimes made Lucia ache to see an amputee.

“I'm sending it out right now,” Mya said.

“Hold on,” Willow said.

“Smell it, if you must,” Mya said. Carefully she removed the top of the bottle. She held it underneath Willow's nose and her mother's entire body seemed to glow red like an ember. She fanned herself, pulled away, and said, “Goodness, that's strong, Mya.”

“I know,” Mya said proudly.

Her mother adjusted her dress and wiped the sweat from her hairline. “It's unbelievable,” Willow said, and she sounded out of breath, just like—well, just like she'd had passionate sex, as gross as that was for Lucia to think about. “Send it.”

“I already told you, I am.” Mya hurried toward the door and grabbed her purse off the entrance table.

Willow nodded, and they both watched Mya leave the cabin.

When Lucia turned around her mother was staring at her. She said, “Still above her, isn't it?”

Lucia nodded. “Still there.”

“I need a shower before dinner,” Willow said, and walked out of the kitchen, still fanning herself. “Think about what I said.”

Her mother didn't wait around long enough to hear a response, even if Lucia'd had one. Alone once again, Lucia chopped vegetables for Ben's pizza, and with each slice of the knife she imagined untethering the cloud from her sister.

M
YA BLASTED FLEETWOOD MAC
for the thirty-minute ride away from town and back up the curving lanes to her land. Bright orange and luminous, the sun would sink behind the wall of mountains in an hour and twenty-two minutes, and Mya would have the pleasure of watching it set after a long day of hard and productive work. The rhododendron thickened as Mya approached the turnoff for their gravel driveway, lined this time of year with pink phlox, black-eyed Susan, and yarrow. It was perfection, just like the new formula. She couldn't keep herself from thinking about it.

When Mya had finished blending the musk with the alcohol solution in her workshop and added the essences of patchouli, orange blossom, and Bulgarian rose, she had stopped a moment, waved the small glass bottle beneath her nose, and inhaled as deeply as she could. The word “ecstasy” normally languished in her vocabulary, but the experience of completing Zoe's perfume left her with that single word in mind.

The scent alone could become a top-tier perfume competing with the best of Parisian houses, but then Mya added the essence of
Gardenia potentiae,
and its notes of vanilla and cedar and salt water made the scent unstoppable. Mya could not keep the bottle beneath her nose for long. Just a few seconds of exposure and all she could imagine were naughty positions she'd ask Luke to try with her.