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I’ll be at the farm if you have an emergency and need me. I’ll stay there until you move out. Please let me know when that will happen. Or, if you want the apartment, you can have it and I will live at the farm. It’s over.
Two (#ulink_c7323261-5f27-5da9-b0c0-39508c43966b)
The flower shop was a safe haven for Ginger. She couldn’t possibly have handpicked a better place to rejoin the human race even though she found herself surrounded by pregnant women. She would have expected to be envious or frightened for them or thrown into worse depression over losing her own precious son. But strangely, it felt like exactly the right place for her, among this group of women. It allowed her to finally talk about her own pregnancy and childbirth, both of which were wonderful experiences. In fact, she had been so healthy and energetic, her son so perfect, he should be toddling around now, not gone.
Truthfully, she was a little envious. The caveat was she probably would never have the courage to try for another baby, even if she had the chance.
Talking with Peyton was particularly encouraging, however. Her medical training emphasized what Ginger had learned from the doctors and in her own reading—she had done nothing wrong. SIDS was extremely rare, one of those unpredictable flukes that was not likely to ever happen again in her family.
“As if I’d ever be brave enough to risk it by having another child,” Ginger said.
“I can’t imagine how fearful that concept must be,” Peyton said. “But the next time you’re blessed, your circumstances will be very different. You’ll have a lot more support. Not to mention close medical supervision. Just getting over this one is a big enough job for right now.”
And that’s what she was finally doing, one day at a time. And in the best possible place—in a quiet shop that did brisk business but was not crowded with people all day. She was becoming skilled at building and even creating the arrangements that Grace sold and those hours she spent by herself in the back room with the flowers were important to her healing. She was productive and she could think, but she didn’t think too much because Thunder Point was a town bristling with friendly people. Had she come here on her own, she might’ve remained a stranger for a long time, but she was living with Ray Anne. Everyone knew Ray Anne. And since Ray Anne had told her friends about Ginger’s circumstances, she had frequent company. People would drop by the shop to chat, stop her on the street or in the diner to visit a little; they’d include her in plans, or sometimes Ray Anne would invite a small group of women over to the house. Rather than feeling self-conscious and marked as the one whose husband left and baby died, she had an almost instant sense of belonging. There was abundant nurturing.
And she was needed. Boy, was she needed! Grace spent every morning in the shop, usually starting early. But in the afternoons she had other tasks. She was trying to get the house out on the beach ready for her mother. She’d bought the house from Cooper—it was one of three spec houses he’d built and it was perfect for her needs. Grace’s mother had ALS and was using a wheelchair most of the time now. Grace wanted her nearby—it was uncertain how much time the incurable condition would give her.
Grace made daily runs to the house to prod the workers and spent the rest of the time rounding up furnishings. Almost every day after school and on weekends, her fiancé, Troy, was pitching in at the house, trying to finish up. In what Ginger learned was typical of Thunder Point, Troy’s friends were always lending a hand. Together the newly engaged couple put up drywall, textured, sanded, installed molding and painted, trying to get the entire house done before Winnie arrived, or at least to leave just a few decorating details on the upper and lower floors. Troy and Grace planned to move into the lower level because between the two of them and their tiny apartments, there was no space for a baby. The lower floor with two bedrooms, a large bathroom and a game room was perfect for them.
“Yes, it seems like half the town is pregnant, though it’s only the three of them—Grace, Peyton and Iris,” Ginger told her mother during one of their phone calls. “In fact, their due dates are so close together it makes one wonder if there was a blackout or bad storm during one particular week in early April.”
“Maybe it was just spring,” Sue said.
It was a beautiful spring. There was something about the feeling of rebirth that lent itself to Ginger’s desire for a fresh start, a new beginning. And one thing she now knew for certain, she couldn’t make it in that bedroom in her parents’ house where she had lived when her baby died. Just that brief visit when she went with Grace to attend Peyton’s wedding had made it glaringly obvious. It was time for her to move on.
She hoped Ray Anne wasn’t feeling crowded in her small house. Given a little more time to get her finances in order she’d look around for an apartment or something. The woman never complained and seemed to genuinely enjoy Ginger’s company, but Ray Anne had Al, her boyfriend, and Al had three foster sons at home. She was aware that time alone for the two of them was hard to find since Ginger had come to town.
Late afternoon was Ginger’s favorite time, now that the days were longer and the weather milder. The middle of May was kind to the oceanside residents. Storms blew up at night sometimes but the afternoons were generally warm and sunny. Wildflowers bloomed on the hillsides that framed the town and bay. When Ginger was pulling in the shop’s sidewalk displays, people would stop to talk. Sometimes someone would insist on lending a hand. Waylan, a grizzly old coot who owned the bar across the street, had taken to her and she believed he watched for her to start her closing-time ritual so he could at least come pass the time. Al seemed to be mysteriously available as well, right when a strong arm would come in handy. Lou Metcalf often stopped by before heading out of town after her day teaching at the middle school. Lou was a close friend of Ray Anne’s and had twice invited Ginger for a cup of coffee at the diner. And it was usually right about the time Ray Anne was quitting for the day and would drive that little BMW of hers to the flower shop to talk about dinner. Would they stay in, just the two of them? Go out? Get something from Carrie? Cook? Have Al to dinner? Should it be every man for himself tonight?
But as she pulled in the big wooden Mother’s Day tulip, she saw a man walking down the street who looked vaguely familiar. Her brow wrinkled as she studied him. Where had she seen him? He was tall and handsome, she could see that much from a block away. Black hair, broad shoulders, jeans and boots, the common wardrobe around town, but a crisply pressed cotton shirt, sleeves rolled up to expose strong forearms and big hands. As he got closer she could see the jeans were in very well-preserved condition—this guy had not just stepped off a fishing boat. His hair, brows and eyes were black and he sported a slight, whiskery beard, a day or two’s worth. The moment she found herself thinking he was heart-stoppingly sexy in a very exotic way she also realized who he was. Oh, my God, it’s Peyton’s brother! By then he was upon her and gave her a slightly shy but brilliant smile. Complete with dimples.
He nodded his head, almost a bow. “Miss Dysart...Ginger...I came to apologize.”
She actually took a step back. “Um. Okay,” she said a little nervously. “You came all the way from Portland?”
“I came to see my sister,” he said. “And to apologize to you. To explain. I can explain.”
“Water over the dam,” she said. “You don’t have to explain...”
“I was drunk,” he said, as if he hadn’t heard her. “Stinko. I don’t get drunk and I don’t like drunks. I got married in that same orchard a while ago and the marriage didn’t take. I’ve been divorced over a year and it was bitter. I’m either going to stop going to those weddings or stop drinking. But I guess all the Lacoumettes are married now. If they have better luck than I did, we should be all right.”
“I’m sure Peyton understood,” she said.
He gave a bark of laughter. “She’s my sister. She’s going to make me pay for a long time. I didn’t hurt you or anything, did I? Because I remember reaching for you. I think I was going to drag you onto the dance floor. I’m a clod.”
“You groped me,” she said. “You said your intentions were to drag me to the hayloft but you missed my arm and got my...” She stopped. But he understood.
“Oh, Jesus,” he said, hanging his head slightly. “What an ass.”
“No damage done,” she said. “Apology accepted.”
“Listen, can I take you to dinner? To make amends?” he asked.
“Not necessary, Matt. It is Matt, right?”
“Matt Lacoumette,” he said, sticking out a hand. “I know it’s not necessary, but it would make me feel better if I could do something for you. Peyton says you’re one of the nicest women in town.”
Ginger tilted her head and her eyes rounded in surprise. And right then she heard the beep of Ray Anne’s horn as she pulled up in front of the shop.
Ginger still wore her green work apron. Ray Anne stood just outside her closed car door, the motor still running. “Quitting time?” she asked.
“Almost,” Ginger said. “Ray Anne, this is Peyton’s brother Matt. Matt, this is my dad’s cousin Ray Anne. I’ve been staying with her in Thunder Point.”
“It’s a pleasure,” he said. “I just invited Ginger to dinner and I’d be happy if you joined us.”
“Oh, you sweet boy,” Ray Anne said. “I just stopped by to tell Ginger I have plans for the evening, so you two go ahead. Ginger, I’ll see you a little later, honey.” She slipped back into her BMW and disappeared down the street.
Ginger looked back at Matt. “As it happens, it’s been a really long day,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about a quiet evening at home tonight.”
“I promise not to keep you out late. We can walk down to Cliffhanger’s or I can drive. I’ve only eaten there once before, but it was excellent. And probably the best way to get rid of me is to accept, let me make my amends, and then I’ll go back to the farm and leave you alone.”
“Matt...”
“I’ll behave very well.”
“Of course you will, but...”
“I’m kind of a pest until I’ve had a chance to apologize properly. Because, really—”
“That damn Ray Anne—she doesn’t have plans,” Ginger blurted. “At least she didn’t until you invited her to dinner and then she got an idea that she could be sure I went and I’m really not keen on the idea. And I don’t buy that you have to make amends over dinner or you won’t sleep at night.”
“Okay, you’re right. It’s not just amends. I really want to convince you I’m not a total asshole. I know how to treat women and I don’t do...” He shook his head. “I don’t do the things I did. Paco had his ways of training us in manners. In respect. Respect is very important in our family. I was disrespectful to you, to the bride and groom, to everyone. Paco has been reminding me daily.”
That made her smile in spite of herself. She raised one brow. “Ice water?”
He grinned. And really, it was a convincing grin. As handsome as he was, it was boyish. “Whatever is at hand,” Matt said. “Can I pick you up or would you like to walk down to Cliff’s with me?”
“I think I’d like to go home and change. I’m just closing now. Give me an hour? I’ll meet you there.”
“Can I help you move this stuff inside?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, you can.”
* * *
Matt had pulled that off perfectly while giving the impression dinner had been part of his plan from the start. It hadn’t been. The truth was he didn’t remember Ginger very well. Big surprise, since he had been completely toasted. All he really remembered was a blonde in a purple dress. In fact, he remembered the dress better than the blonde in it. Then when he saw her in jeans, green florist’s apron, simple knit shirt, so pretty, freckled, looking fresh as a schoolgirl, he was stung. He saw that she wasn’t really blonde-blonde. There was a little red in that hair streaked with gold and it looked so soft. And those green eyes sparkled in the afternoon sun. She didn’t wear much makeup—her cheeks were a peachy pink and her lips shiny. She had a fine arch to her light brows. And green stains on her fingers. At dinner, he would ask what it was like working with flowers.
When he got back to Peyton and Scott’s house, Peyton was spreading butter on a French baguette for garlic bread. There was red sauce bubbling on the stove and two empty Ragu jars on the counter. Peyton was not the cook his mother was.
“I’m going out for dinner,” he told his sister. “Sorry it’s so last-minute—I hope that doesn’t spoil everything you have planned.”
“Out?” she asked.
“I went to see Ginger. I apologized and I asked her to dinner to make amends. Just here in town. That restaurant at the marina.”
“Dinner?” she said.
“I thought it was the polite thing to do.”
“Listen, Matt,” she said, putting down the spreader. “Go easy on her, okay? She’s a sweet girl but she’s coming off some hard times. I’m sure she can take care of herself, but I don’t think she’s ready for a wolf.”
“Wolf? Me?”
“Yeah, you,” she said. “I know what you’ve been doing the last year and change. Chasing women, running through them fast, moving at warp speed...”
“That’s ridiculous,” he said. “I’ve been getting up at four and having dinner at the farm most nights. Dating hasn’t been a priority at all. In fact, I mostly avoid women.”
“Whatever,” she said, picking up the spreader.
But she was right. That’s why he kept the apartment he hated, to have a little privacy. He’d been whoring around since the day his divorce was final and he wasn’t sure why. Oh, he had a healthy libido, he knew that. He came by it honestly—his people were like that. But it was possible he was trying to change the taste Natalie left in his mouth. He might also get a little satisfaction from thinking it would make her unhappy if she knew, but then he never prowled around in her territory. Or maybe he just wanted to prove to himself that he could get along fine without a steady relationship because taking a chance on another marriage was out of the question. And sometimes when he had a woman under him, he forgot. After what he’d been through with Natalie, he didn’t even feel guilty. He did have the courtesy to warn them, however. He was temporary at best. It was amazing how many women were of a like mind.
“Come on, my hours are too long and dirty for women,” he told his sister.
“Right,” she said. “Be nice to Ginger or you’ll be answering to me.”
“You don’t want to be answering to her,” Scott said from somewhere. “She’s relentless. She forgets nothing!”
Matt looked around. “Where is he?”
“Under the table,” she said. “In the fort.”
He heard giggling, and Matt went to the dining room table, which was covered with blankets. He pulled aside the flap and there were Scott and his kids, Will and Jenny. “You are a strange, strange man. Aren’t you a little big for this?”
“We’re all getting a little big for this,” Scott said.
“Come on, you guys,” Peyton said. “I told you to put the fort away so we can eat at the table.”
“I’m not leaving for a little while. Want me to make you some bruschetta?” Matt asked.
She smiled. “That would be nice. You can have half of this baguette.”
It was his peace offering to Peyton, his favorite sister, and he had four to choose from. Matt didn’t need to be reminded that no one got away with anything with Peyton, nor that she was relentless and had the memory of an elephant. He grew up in that house, after all. Ginny was too bossy, Ellie was too critical and Adele was too much like him. But Peyton, several years older than Matt, had always seemed wise and he loved her independence, her strength. But she happened to be closest to George and Adele. And young Mike, who was getting his postgrad degree, worshipped Matt. Ginny, who got on Matt’s last nerve, adored and pampered him and called him Mattie. And so it went in big families. Feuds, alliances, shared failures, victories, spats, celebrations and reconciliations. But they were family and Matt would go balls to the wall for any one of them.
After supplying the bruschetta, he chose to walk down to the marina. Though it was Friday night, crowded and the closest thing to fine dining Thunder Point had to offer, at least half the people present were dressed as casually as he was. He took a seat at the bar, ordered a beer and asked if he could get a table for two in about fifteen minutes. The man behind the bar said it was no problem.
It was only five minutes later that Ginger walked in, also early. And if possible, prettier than before. She looked a little fresher, like she’d fluffed her hair and wet her lips. She’d changed clothes. Still jeans, but this time with a jacket and boots with heels instead of clogs. He stood and smiled at her and checked her hands. They weren’t green. He waved her over. “We’re ready whenever you are,” Matt said to the guy behind the bar.
“Hey, Ginger,” the man said.
“Hey, Cliff. How’s life?”
“Always good. Always. This a friend of yours?”
“This is Peyton Grant’s brother Matt. Matt, this is Cliff. This is his restaurant.”
After a little chat, mostly from Cliff about how grateful they all were that Peyton worked with Scott and that Scott had had the wisdom to marry her, though probably not for the sake of the town, he took them to a table in the dining room. He bragged a little about the lobster bisque, said anything on the menu with crab was outstanding and that there was mahimahi on the specials tonight. Ram—presumably the chef—didn’t fry too much, he recommended the blackened salmon or Cajun ahi.
Then they were alone.
“I see you got the green stains off your hands,” Matt said, smiling, making her laugh.
“Flowers are dirty work,” she said.
“Tell me about dirty. I’m in fruit. And potatoes. And sometimes sheep.”
“Sometimes?”
“I work with Paco on the farm and George, my oldest brother, he has the sheep end of the business. When it’s time to shear or breed or anything real busy, I help. Everyone helps. And Uncle Sal has the vineyard—we go to the wine harvest on and off between August and the end of September, the same time we’re bringing in the pears. The whole extended family is running around the state—grapes here, sheep there, pears and potatoes.”
“That orchard,” she said. “One of the most beautiful places on earth.”
Cliff brought a glass of wine for Ginger, and they both ordered the same thing—Cajun ahi. “There’s a small butcher shop in Portland where you can get ahi steaks. They cost the moon but you can eat them with a spoon, they’re that fresh and good.”
“Portland? You live in Portland?” he asked.
“It’s where I’m from. I live here now. I really hope it works out and that I can stay. At least for a long time. I love the town, the shop.”
“Tell me about flowers,” he said.
“What can I tell you? I work for Grace, who owns the shop. I’ve only been there a short time but I’m learning to make very nice displays—bouquets, centerpieces, wreaths, wall hangings. I love it when she gets an order from a big hotel or resort and we do something huge, like an underwater obsidian stem in a tall cylinder glass vase. It’s more of a sculpture than an arrangement.”
“How’d you know you wanted to do that?” he asked.
“I didn’t,” Ginger said. “I was visiting with Ray Anne, just sitting around completely unmotivated while she went to work, and she told me I had to do something, no matter how small it was. That very day Grace asked me if I’d consider her shop. She was in desperate need of help and I had absolutely no experience. Honestly, I took it because it was there. I had no idea I’d like it. I shouldn’t be surprised—I like all those sorts of things.”
“What sorts of things?” he asked.
She laughed a little uncomfortably and looked down at her hands. “For lack of a better description, girl things. I’ve worked in retail, in clothing, in housewares, in domestics. I’m the youngest of three with two older brothers and am the only member of the family who doesn’t work in the family business, my dad’s trucking company. Small but pretty successful. My dad runs it, my oldest brother is the comptroller, my other brother is operations VP and my mother has been the dispatcher and scheduler since he had one truck. And I, the baby of the family and a girl, never found my niche. I’ve taken some college courses, never found a degree program. But boy, can I organize the house! And I know how to change the oil in the car, landscape the yard, bake a soufflé, hang wallpaper. The joke around the family is that since my mother has always been at the company, working with Dad, I am the only housewife in the family.”
“Landscape? Ever have a garden?”
“I rented a small house and planted flowers around the border.”
“You’d like my mother’s garden,” he said.
“I saw your mother’s garden. A small farm! Looking at it made me hungry!”
“We grow things for a living,” he said with a smile. “What was your last job before coming here?” he asked.
