The Carson Springs Trilogy: Stranger in Paradise, Taste of Honey, and Wish Come True (35 page)

Sam made the turn onto Agua Caliente, and the Asana Spa panned into view: a low cedar structure built in levels, like steps down a wooded rise. Below, wisps of steam rose from rock pools, fed by underground springs, that were shielded from view by thick clumps of bamboo. Heaven right now, she thought, would be a long soak in one of those pools.

A mile or so down the road she turned up another hill. Corral Estates, as it was grandly known, had once been vast tracts of ranch land where cattle grazed. It had since given rise to one of Carson Springs’s few subdivisions. These days, cookie-cutter houses lined roads and culs-de-sac with horsey names like Roan Circle, Pinto Drive, and Bridle Path Lane. Her sister and brother-in-law’s house, a modest split-level with a mailbox mounted on a wrought-iron lasso, was at 25 Mustang Place.

Audrey greeted her at the door wearing a purple dress, which flattered her for a change, and sporting the diamond tennis bracelet Grant had given her last year on their silver anniversary. She was wearing her hair differently, too, in a modified chip cut.

“I like your hair,” Sam said.

Audrey fingered the ends self-consciously. “Norma talked me into it. I wasn’t sure.”

Norma Devane, proprietress of Shear Delight, had been one of Audrey’s closest friends since high school. Every spring, Audrey raised money for Norma’s annual wig drive for patients in chemotherapy. Last year alone she’d single-handedly brought in over two thousand dollars, a fact that helped Sam feel more charitable toward her now. She wondered if Norma, who’d sided with Gerry on her behalf, had had anything to do with the softening of Audrey’s stance.

“It makes you look years younger,” Sam said.

Audrey’s eyes narrowed a bit, as if she weren’t quite sure whether to take it as a compliment. Then, as if deciding to give Sam the benefit of the doubt, she smiled. “Dinner’s almost ready. You can keep me company in the kitchen.”

As Sam was walking past the living room, like a Macy’s display with its flocked sofa and smoked-glass coffee table, she poked her head in to say hello to Grant. It was with an obvious effort that her brother-in-law, ensconced in his Naugahyde recliner in front of the TV, tore his gaze from the baseball game in progress.

“Sam. Hey, nice to see you.”

“How have you been, Grant?”

“Can’t complain. And you?”

No mention of the baby. Had he forgotten?

“Never better,” she said.

Grant was the only member of the family who never seemed to change. He’d lost most of his hair in college, and what remained was combed over his bald pate exactly as it had been on his wedding day. He was even the same weight, give or take a few pounds, though she couldn’t help noticing the roll of pudge creeping over his belt. Too many of those Snickers pies for which her sister was famous. Sam hoped it wasn’t on the menu for tonight; her stomach wouldn’t be able to take it.

“Glad to hear it.” Her brother-in-law’s gaze strayed back to the TV.

Sam tried not to take it personally. It wasn’t so much rudeness, she thought, as years of tuning out Audrey.

She caught up with her sister in the kitchen, a gleaming shrine to Martha Stewart with its pickled pine and country checks, its hand-painted watering can stuffed with dried flowers. Saran-wrapped bowls lined the counter, ready to be reheated in the microwave. Roast chicken, brussels sprouts, creamed onions. In short, a menu more suited to a New England winter than Indian summer in Carson Springs.

She must feel guilty for the way she acted,
Sam thought. Or maybe her sister had finally realized blood truly is thicker than water. Audrey wasn’t a bad person, she thought, just terminally resentful.

“There’s white wine and soda in the fridge. Help yourself.” Audrey raised her voice to be heard above the whirring of the electric mixer.

Sam found an open bottle of Chardonnay and poured her sister a glass before helping herself to some milk. “Cheers,” she said.

Audrey switched off the mixer, eyeing the tumbler in Sam’s hand. “When I was pregnant, I mixed mine with Ovaltine. Grant says that’s why both boys turned out so dark.” She gave a wry, remembering smile. “Any cravings yet?”

“Pomegranates. Just like with the girls.”

“Figures. You always were a little strange.”

“I’m not the one who colored Grandma Delarosa’s Easter lilies with my paint set,” Sam was quick to remind her.

“I was five!”

“Well, I see you haven’t lost your artistic touch. Did you make those?” She pointed to the stenciled linen tea towels hanging stiff as cardboard on the wooden rack over the sink.

“Last Christmas. Don’t you remember? I gave you a set.” Audrey popped the beaters with a practiced snap of her wrist. “By the way, how are you settling in over at the new house?”

When Sam had announced she was moving—and that their childhood home was being rented out—she’d expected Audrey to be up in arms. Instead, she’d seemed to take it in stride.

“It’s different,” Sam said cautiously. “But in some ways, nothing’s changed. Lupe and Guillermo drop by at least once a day to see if I need anything.”

“She still cooking for you?”

“Believe it or not, I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself.” Sam reached for the sponge and wiped a smear of potatoes from the counter. Smiling, she added, “But you know Lupe. It’s among her personal Ten Commandments never to show up empty-handed.”

Audrey smiled knowingly in return.

“I even lugged Mami’s old sewing machine down from the attic. I’m making curtains for the bedroom and for…” Sam hesitated before adding, “the nursery.”

“Somehow I can’t picture you sewing curtains.” Audrey sounded vaguely disappointed for some reason. Peeling Saran Wrap from the chicken, she extracted a carving knife from the wooden holder by the range.

“It’s a nice break from minding the store.”

“You don’t miss it?”

“Not in the least.” The realization had come as a pleasant surprise. “Lately, between the house and the festival…” She shrugged. “In a few months, who knows?”

“You’ll certainly have your hands full when the baby comes.”

“In a nice way.” Sam smiled dreamily and brought a hand to her belly, where only yesterday she’d felt the first flutter. “You know, Aud, I never would have believed it, but I’m really looking forward to this baby.”

“You must have forgotten how much work it is.”

“I won’t mind.”

“You say that now…”

Audrey’s back was rigid, her shoulder blades pinched into sharp little wings as she tugged apart the chicken. With sudden clarity, Sam understood what all this was about: Her sister
wanted
her to be miserable. That’s why she hadn’t minded about Isla Verde, and why she’d stopped treating her like Hester Prynne. Audrey was prepared to be forgiving, even magnanimous. But Sam, instead of being crouched in a corner with her head hung in shame, was making lemonade out of lemons and enjoying every drop.

“I know what’s involved.” She spoke evenly. “I raised two, after all.”

“Exactly my point.” Audrey turned to face her. “How long since you changed a diaper or wiped up spit up?”

“If that was all there was to having kids,” Sam said, “there’d be a lot more only children in this world.” She was determined not to let this spin out of control like so many other conversations, which invariably ended with Audrey taking potshots and good old Sam being left to stew. “Anyway, I won’t exactly be fending for myself. I’ll have help.”

“Ian?” Audrey’s mouth curled in disdain.

“I was referring to Lupe.” Sam felt her face grow warm. “But since you mentioned it, yes. Ian has every intention of being a father to this child.”

“When he can fit it into his busy schedule, you mean.”

“He’ll make the time.”

Audrey snorted. “He says that now, but just wait.”

Sam’s face was burning now. She walked over to the sink and rinsed her milk glass under the tap. “If there’s a point to all this,” she said coldly, “I wish you’d get to it.”

“Aren’t I allowed to be concerned about my own sister?” Audrey smiled ingratiatingly, but the glint in her eyes told a different story. “With the girls, at least you had Martin.”

“Martin.” As far as her sister knew her marriage had been ideal. Why give her a reason to gloat? But now Sam found herself saying, “If you’d asked who their pediatrician was, he wouldn’t have been able to tell you. Or what sizes they wore, or that Laura is allergic to penicillin. I doubt he’d have remembered their birthdays if I hadn’t been there to remind him.”

Audrey looked stunned. “But I thought…”

“You thought wrong.”

“Well, you certainly had
me
fooled.”

Sam longed to put Audrey in her place, but something stopped her. Maybe it was hormones, or maybe now that she was finally living the life
she
wanted, lumps and all, she could allow herself to feel genuinely sorry for her sister. Poor Audrey, so blinded by resentment she couldn’t see past her own nose—resentment that had its roots in childhood, with Audrey’s belief that she’d been denied all the love and attention showered on her siblings.

She smiled, upending the dripping glass in the drainer. “You want to know the truth? I was always a little envious of you and Grant.” That might’ve been a bit of a stretch—okay,
more
than a bit—but she was instantly rewarded by the color that bloomed in Audrey’s cheeks.

“You were?” Her sister’s voice rose on a note of incredulity.

“Grant was always so good with the boys. Always out in the yard, tossing a football or helping them build something.”

“The girls adored Martin.”

“He adored them.”

“But—”

Sam shook her head. “They were more like dolls to him. Something to play with, then put back on the shelf. Cute and fun as long as I was the one shouldering all the responsibility. Maybe that’s why they idolized him. When you’re busy polishing someone’s armor you don’t always notice the flaws underneath.”

Audrey surprised her by confiding, “Funny, ours are always complaining. Always a bone to pick.”

“If they complain, it’s because they can.” Sam thought of her daughters and felt sad all of a sudden.

“Well, for heaven’s sake, why didn’t you say something?” Audrey cast her a faintly injured look as she arranged the chicken on its platter. “I’m your sister, for goodness’ sake.”

Sam sighed. “It’s complicated.”

Audrey nodded in understanding. No one knew better just
how
complicated it was with sisters. But instead of offering some self-righteous comment as she might have in the past, Audrey merely dipped a spoon into a saucepan on the range, and held it out for Sam to taste. “What do you think? More salt?”

“Perfect. I wouldn’t add a thing.”

Dinner went smoothly. Audrey brought her up to date on the boys, both away in college. Grant went on and on about his plumbing supply business, which to hear him tell was growing in leaps and bounds. It was all Sam could do to keep a straight face. Her brother-in-law had been saying that for the past twenty years, yet nothing ever changed. Audrey was still driving the same old Chevy station wagon with which she’d ferried the boys to school.

The only difference was that it no longer bothered Sam: her sister’s little pretensions, her veiled references to the life they could’ve had. Like everyone, Audrey and Grant were merely getting by as best they could. If a little extra grease was needed now and then to keep the wheels turning, what real harm was there in that?

When the table had been cleared and the dishwasher loaded, she glanced discreetly at her watch. She wanted nothing more than to be home with a cup of tea, poring over her new gardening book—a housewarming gift from Miranda McBride. But when Audrey suggested a game of honeymoon bridge, she didn’t rush to make an excuse. It wouldn’t kill her to stay an extra hour, she thought.

They played two hands, both of which Audrey won. She was glowing with triumph as she walked Sam to the door. “It’s only fair,” she said. “You always beat me when we were kids.”

Sam sensed her sister wanting to be reassured that she hadn’t
let
her win. “Don’t rub it in,” she groaned.

But for once, Audrey was in a mood to be generous. “You’re just out of practice, that’s all. We ought to play more often.”

They lingered in the foyer. In the dim light, her sister’s face was soft, reminding Sam of when they’d been teenagers and would style each other’s hair. Audrey stood with her hand on the knob, twisting it absently. “Well, if you need anything you know who to call.” Moths flickered about the porch light, touching down then away with frantic little ticking sounds. “I haven’t forgotten what I know about babies, either.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Sam touched her arm. “Thanks for dinner, Aud. It was delicious.”

“Drive safely,” her sister called after her.

Sam was halfway down the drive when she remembered the gift-wrapped box in her car: their grandmother’s sterling bud vase. She’d found it while cleaning out the china closet and had meant to give it to Audrey. Retrieving it from the front seat, she hesitated only a moment before popping it into the mailbox. Her sister would find it tomorrow, when she could enjoy it without having to give grudging thanks.

The rest of the week flew by. Sam spent most of Wednesday pulling weeds and preparing the soil in the garden. On Thursday a trip to the nursery for fertilizer and flats of seedlings was followed by an emergency meeting of the festival committee. Their star violinist had broken her wrist, and they needed to find a replacement. A feat, with the festival just three weeks away, akin to a miracle. Marguerite Moore suggested tapping her dear old friend Isaac Stern which provoked a smile or two. Marguerite’s brief one-on-one with the legendary violinist had to have taken place a good fifteen years ago. It was doubtful he’d even remember her.

On Friday she treated Tom to lunch at La Serenisa. It was the least she could offer after all he’d done. And if she felt a bit awkward around him still, he made it easier by keeping his feelings to himself. At their table by the window overlooking the stream, over chilled lobster salads and seared foie gras, they chatted like old friends.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” she told him as they were strolling back to their cars. “Lunch hardly seems enough.”