The First Gardener (22 page)

“No matter. We’re finished with the centerpieces.” Eugenia straightened the stone-colored cashmere hat she was wearing. Its large cream flower nestled on the side. “So Jeremiah can just can it.”

Berlyn shook her head. “I swear you’re going to go to your grave battling with that man. It’s the dead of winter, not a bloom in sight, and you just can’t give it up.”

Eugenia gave Berlyn the evil eye. “Did you check the china?”

Berlyn let out an exasperated groan. “Eugenia, you’re a control freak. I checked the china; I checked the silver. I checked the stemware for water spots, even though Eloise gets
paid
to do all that. I also sampled the fried-chicken tea sandwiches you made, just to make sure they were worth eating. My word. Next you’re going to have me tell the chef to bend over and cough.”

The water Sandra was sipping spewed from her mouth, and her ivory wool hat nearly flew off her head.

“Well, Sandra,” Berlyn announced, “you are human after all. That is the most ungraceful thing I’ve ever seen you do. There is now hope for the free world. Do that in front of the queen, won’t you?”

“Hush up.” Sandra dabbed at her mouth with a hankie that had been safely tucked inside the ruffled sleeve of her maroon dress.

Eugenia walked over to the dessert table while the three ladies followed. “Sandra, I do believe that is as close to cussing as you’re ever going to get. One day I wish you’d just cut loose and let ’er rip. And it’s not the queen, Berlyn; it’s one of her relatives. Get it right.”

“Oh, queenie-weenie—who cares?” Berlyn grabbed Dimples’s arm to keep her from running into a chair. “And why didn’t you ask me to taste the desserts too? I would’ve been glad to do that.”

Sandra stepped in front of her as if she felt a need to guard the cake. “You sample any more cake, and you’re going to need to get that stomach surgery that makes it where you can’t eat anymore.”

“Do I look like a woman who feels bad about the way she looks?” Berlyn stuck out her chest, the red flowers on her bodice looking as if they were holding on for dear life. She reached for a silver fork and twirled it in her fingers.

“Don’t you even think of taking that home with you.” Eugenia straightened the serving utensils. “You two act like children. Can we please pretend we’re the adults today?” She snatched the leaves from Dimples’s hands, and Dimples nearly tipped over. Sandra reached out quickly to steady her. “Go get the two vases off the welcome table,” Eugenia ordered. “I want to make some arrangements.”

The three of them flitted around as if Eugenia had hired them herself while the chef and mansion staff continued to tend to final details of what would be a glorious event. The centerpieces were beautiful moss-covered boxes with moss-colored silk ribbon, magnolia leaves, and bunches of fragrant paperwhite narcissus.

Eugenia cut the stems of forced forsythia as she arranged them in a vase with purple Dutch iris from the florist, her thoughts straying to a
Good Housekeeping
article she had read during yesterday’s visit to the beauty shop. The magazine talked about postpartum depression and how it often resulted from unresolved emotions accentuated by hormonal changes during and after pregnancy.

What if that happened to Mackenzie? Lord knew the poor girl had unresolved emotions. In fact, once she knew she was pregnant, it was like she’d put all her grieving on hold. Went from sitting in that chair all day to being a busy governor’s wife again.

She’d never even cleaned out Maddie’s room. She’d just closed the door. And that worried Eugenia. Because if there was anything she’d learned in her years of living, it was that you couldn’t just close a door on grief. It would end up seeping through the cracks.

“You gonna let us take home the leftovers?” Berlyn’s voice interrupted her thoughts as she put the last stalk in the vase.

Sandra lifted a vase of forsythia and irises and walked toward the dessert table. “You don’t need leftovers, Berlyn. You need a personal trainer.”

Berlyn’s eyes lit up as if that might actually be something she was interested in. Sandra must have noticed the look on her face. “They work you out, Berlyn. They’re not for your personal enjoyment.”

Dimples wasn’t paying attention to any of them. She dug an envelope from the cream leather purse that hung at her side. “I got lottery tickets for the queen.”

Eugenia turned and looked at her. Poor soul needed to be taken shopping. Her green wool suit hung on her as if she’d bought it for a woman two sizes larger, and the tiny green beret sitting atop her head made her look like some Army sergeant’s great-grandmother. “Are you afraid someone’s going to steal your purse, Dimples?”

Dimples clutched her bag tighter to her side as if afraid Eugenia would make her put it down. “You never know. It’s tough times around here. Paper said that Gray’s new budget that comes out tomorrow is going to make everyone have to shut off their electricity.”

Sandra ran her fingers through the high cream ruffles around her neck. “Your electricity isn’t going anywhere, Dimples. And why in the world would you buy a lottery ticket for someone who doesn’t even live in this nation?”

“It’s practical,” Dimples insisted. “She actually might win, and all the money for lotteries goes toward education. I am officially helping Mackenzie and the new baby.”

Eugenia shook her head. “Seriously, Dimples. You weren’t supposed to bring a present for the guest. Mackenzie already has something that is representative of all Tennesseans. It will be as if it is from you.”

Berlyn snatched a square of blackberry crumb cake. “Well, if she’s got my name on it, I want to see what it is.”

Sandra slapped her hand. “You should just be grateful it isn’t a gift you had to buy.”

“I can’t help it if I’m on Social Security.” Berlyn’s words came out muffled as she chewed, crumbs dropping in her ample cleavage. She saw Eugenia notice. “I’ll get that later,” she said.

“Why are you here?” Eugenia muttered as she moved around the dessert table to the other side of the room. “Honestly, why are any of you here?”

Dimples started teetering slightly on her feet. “Think I can take a nap before this shindig starts?”

Eugenia turned to survey her work. “Why not? And take the others with you. If there is a God in heaven, he will be merciful enough to us all that you sleep right through it.”

Chapter 26

Some of the faces staring back at Gray London had one desire—his blood. Others wanted simply to report the news. A newbie raised his hand. “Governor?”

Gray acknowledged the reporter from a local NBC affiliate. “Yes, Davis.”

The young man jumped up quickly and adjusted his wire-framed glasses. His pad shook slightly in his hands. “So why did you decide to deliver this budget via e-mail?”

Gray didn’t miss a beat. “Because I know some legislators around here who are afraid to check e-mail. I’m hoping they’ll simply pass it without ever reading it.”

The tension in the newbie’s face released with the governor’s relaxed response. “Honestly, Davis,” Gray went on, “getting rid of the paper version was just another way we could cut costs. And that is what my team and I have spent the last couple of months doing. We have gone through this budget like a hillbilly plucking a chicken. We haven’t left anything we thought we could get rid of. And I’ll be honest with you, some of the cuts are going to hurt. I wish we didn’t have to make them. But I made it clear when I ran for governor, and I’m making it clear again today: I am here to protect this state. That is my job. And if that means some people aren’t happy with me, then I’m sorry. But this is the job the voters elected me to do, and it is what I have done.”

When the reporters knew he was finished, hands shot up wildly in front of the sea of video cameras that were airing this broadcast live across the state and taping it for the noon and nightly broadcasts.

“Bonnie. Yes.”

The well-known journalist from the
Tennessean
stood, her presence immediately taking over the space around her.

“I seem to be graying quicker than you these days,” Gray added before Bonnie had time to ask her question.

The reporter nodded. “I think your job is tougher than mine, sir. I just report what you do. You have to do it. Speaking of that, what are your plans regarding the VRA lawsuit now that they’ve been given the go-ahead to actually take their case to court?”

“My plans haven’t changed from what they were at the beginning, Bonnie. We are focused on one thing: getting our state out of the red. If we can’t get a handle on this, there will be far worse things to deal with than some nonviolent prisoners going free. So we will go to court and face what we have to face.”

He leaned a little closer to the cameras, his eyes still focused on the reporter who had asked the question. “As governor, you try to weigh the possibilities of what can happen before you make the decisions that can cause them to happen. We knew going to court was a likelihood. But releasing prisoners wasn’t something we wanted to do. It was something we were forced to do. With this new budget, we are trying to prevent it from ever happening again. But that means our legislative body has to learn how to make tough decisions too—tough decisions that possibly won’t get them reelected. And I’m hoping the people of this state are more important to our senators and representatives than their own political futures.”

Gray reached for his water and took a long sip. The last forty-five minutes of presenting his new budget and fielding questions had left him parched. One of the reporters raised her hand.

“Vivian. Yes.”

“Governor—” the white-haired reporter’s twang revealed her east Tennessee roots—“Marcus Newman has just announced his official bid for governor. Elaine Wiggins and Matt Kubitza have been unofficially campaigning since spring. So are you running for reelection or aren’t you?”

“Well, first, Vivian, you look beautiful today,” Gray said with a smile.

“I didn’t vote for you the first time, Governor, so sweet-talking me won’t change a thing.”

The room erupted at the freedom her age afforded her. Gray laughed too. “One can always hope. But today is about the budget. I will make a decision in the next couple of weeks, and when I do, I will let you know. And whether Marcus Newman or anyone else has chosen to run will have no bearing on my decision. Okay, one last question.”

Hands darted up like they belonged to a pack of first graders.

“Yes, Jeremy?”

“Governor, how are you and Mrs. London coping these days—with the new baby, I mean, and the loss of your daughter?” The young reporter’s blue eyes were filled with sincerity.

Gray felt the sting of what he meant. He still felt it every morning. No matter how much their joy over the life in Mackenzie’s womb tried to edge it out, the pain was still there, gnawing and real. “It’s a painfully beautiful season, Jeremy.” The words were more transparent than he intended. He gathered himself. “Now, that’s all. The rest is up to your representatives. We’ll see what they do.”

Fletcher held the door open as Gray walked through it. Kurt followed on his heels. “Good job, Gray.”

Gray draped an arm around the shoulders of Fletcher’s brown suit coat. “I need a big lunch.” He looked at his watch. “It’s only noon, but I want steak. How about you fellas? Let me treat you to a big, juicy piece of red meat. And I won’t even charge the taxpayers. We’ll let Kurt pay for it.”

“There are already reports out about some legislators’ responses to the budget,” Kurt said, his pace almost pressing behind Gray. “We’ll want to respond quickly.”

Gray stopped in the middle of the carpet and turned to his friend. “Kurt, we have worked tirelessly for months on this budget. I just spent almost an hour going over it and fielding questions about issues I haven’t even made decisions about. So could we please, for an hour or two, do something we haven’t done in a long time?”

Silence rose quickly between the three of them. They each knew how long.

“I just want to go eat together and be normal guys having lunch.”

“You’re the governor,” Kurt responded quickly. “Nothing’s normal about that.”

Fletcher slapped Gray’s shoulder and glared at Kurt. “Yes, Gray, for two hours we can go be normal. I’ll call Fleming’s and see if their chef will let us have an early dinner.”

“It’s noon, Fletch,” Kurt reminded, even though the chef had done it for them numerous times before.

“He likes Gray. And he tolerates you. He’ll be glad to see us back.”

“I’ll call for the car,” Kurt said in a surrendered tone.

Gray threw his hands up. “Alas, he caves. He is a mere mortal. And we have had the privilege of finally discovering this truth.”

Kurt gave his shoulder a mock punch. “Shut up.”

“Hey, you’re talking to the governor.”

“No, I’m talking to Gray, the guy from college who for some unfathomable reason got himself elected as the governor of an entire state. Have you even learned all the counties yet?” Kurt’s sly smile darted across his face as he turned and headed to the garage. He pulled out his phone to call the driver.

“Anderson, Bedford, Benton, Bledsoe . . .” Though Fletcher repeatedly begged him to stop, Gray didn’t give up until he had gotten through the whole alphabetical list.

Chapter 27

Mackenzie closed the folder in front of her and let the routine that had once again engulfed her have its way. “I think that looks good, ladies. We have successfully charted out the next four months. Thank you for all your hard work.”

She stood and nodded gratefully to the staff. They were the ones responsible for making sure the causes Mackenzie believed in and wanted to promote were benefiting fully by her presence in the mansion.

“Thank you, Mrs. London,” Chandra said as she and Susan walked toward the door. “We’ll see you shortly at the tea.”

Jessica closed the door behind them.

“Will the tours be over by two thirty?” Mackenzie asked her.

“The last group comes in at two. We will have them out before the duchess’s car arrives. I’m going to run to the bathroom, then grab a cup of coffee. Do you need anything before we go over the tea events?”