Designer Genes (10 page)

“Did I hear
someone mention clothes?” A door opened from the bank office and Finella
emerged, carrying a plate of pastries. “Oh, hi, Buffy! Want to try one of my
spring rolls? My husband George loves them.”

Cissy shot her
a warning look that Finella didn’t see.

“I’m on a
diet,” Buffy said. “What’s in them, anyway?”

“Sardines.”
Finella nibbled on one. “And raspberry jam. The ingredients were on sale at
Gigi’s last month.”

“Very
inventive.” That explained Cissy’s warning glance.

“What brings
you here?” Finella asked.

Buffy seized
happily on the topic. “I’m planning to open a dress store.”

“That’s a good
idea, although you’ll have to secure capital. It’s too bad your ex-husband is
giving you such a hard time.” Where Finella had heard that, Buffy wasn’t sure.
She suspected the woman had done a little snooping in Carter’s office.

Buffy valued
her privacy. On the other hand, these days the federal government read her
email before she did and could probably tally the cost of her wardrobe down to
the penny. She might as well spill the rest.

“I can’t pay
rent up front, so I’m hoping to find a landlord who’s eager for a tenant,” she
said. “Also, I need some ladies who’ll sew on consignment, to my design
specifications.”

“We could sure
use a dress shop around here.” Finella nodded vigorously. “At the last PTA
meeting, Minnie Finkins was wearing a dress she’d made by mistake from one of
her husband’s woodworking patterns. It fit badly, to say the least.”

“I sew!”
Popping out from behind her counter, Cissy pirouetted to show off a flowered
skirt that matched her blouse. “Sewing for you sounds like fun.”

“May I?” Buffy
lifted the edge of the skirt to examine the workmanship. The seams were
straight and the edges of fabric neatly finished. “Very nice.”

“I got an A in
home ec in high school,” Cissy said. “It was the best grade I ever earned.”

“Mrs. Parker
gave you an A?” Finella frowned. “The best she ever gave me was a B plus.”

“Did home ec
include cooking?” Buffy asked.

“Of course!
She said I was the most creative student she ever saw. I was so advanced, she
wasn’t sure she actually taught me anything.”

Buffy didn’t
doubt that for a minute.

“You know,”
Cissy said. “I have an idea where you could sell your clothes. It’s on a major
thoroughfare and there’s plenty of display space.”

“What would it
cost?”

“Nothing!
Let’s discuss it at lunch, and then we three can go to Popsworthy’s and pick
out patterns and fabric. I can’t wait to get started.”

“It does sound
like fun,” Finella agreed. “I’ll call the rest of the PTA. We can whip up a few
things tonight, and donate whatever we earn to the school building fund. Of
course, I was going to experiment with using mashed potatoes and chocolate
chips for fritters—have you seen the new special at Gigi’s, Cissy?—but I
suppose that can wait.”

Buffy could
have sworn that, from deep within the bank office, she heard a male voice say,
“Yes, please, Lord!” No one else seemed to notice.

The prospect
of securing a shop at no cost buoyed her spirits. She just hoped Finella
wouldn’t get inspired to hold a bake sale there as well. Customers with sticky
fingers would soil the merchandise.

*

When Carter
came indoors on Thursday evening, the house smelled of roasting chicken. His
mouth watered.

Hungry though
he was, he knew better than to enter a woman’s kitchen without taking a shower,
not to mention his distaste for being seen with oil and transmission fluid
smeared on his clothes. Stepping over the sleeping dog, he went to his bedroom.

It was strange
but pleasant to hear Buffy and Mazeppa chattering away at the other side of the
house. And the phone ringing, and being answered. Most of the calls he’d
received today at the shop had been for them. Finally, he’d quit picking up and
let them go through on the extension.

What were
those women up to, anyway? If it involved roasting chickens for dinner, he was
in favor.

A short while
later, his hair slicked back and lotion stinging his freshly shaved cheeks,
Carter found Buffy alone in the kitchen. In the heat of cooking, her blonde
hair had gone softly frizzy around her face.

He liked
seeing her nose shiny and her lipstick faded. The jeans and soft top she’d
changed into after her trip to town highlighted a healthy feminine body. Best
of all, she was smiling.

“I hope you
like chicken,” she said, lifting a baking dish out of the oven with oversize
pot holders.

“Smells
fantastic. It isn’t one of Finella’s recipes, I hope.”

She glanced
around, as if afraid that lady might appear from midair. “She carries
creativity to extremes, in my opinion.”

“Mine, too.”
The table was only set for two, he noticed. “Mazeppa isn’t joining us?”

“No. She
filled up on that lemon-corned beef thing.” With tongs, Buffy removed two large
baked potatoes. “She begged and pleaded till I agreed to let Allie spend the
evening with her, so I imagine they’re cuddled up together in the tornado
shelter.” They’d finished fancying it up, and Zeppa swore she enjoyed the
cavelike ambiance.

“I guess it
makes her less lonely.” Carter hadn’t been looking forward to dinner for three,
especially given the sharpness of Mazeppa’s tongue.

“She’s very
nice,” Buffy chattered on. “Everybody in this town is amazingly friendly. We
figured out a way I can earn a down payment on my car repairs, and raise money
for the school at the same time. Isn’t that great? Do you want to hear the
details?”

“It’s not
necessary.” Carter didn’t care to put his mind to whatever fund-raising project
the women were fluttering about. After his experience in L.A., he’d decided
that the less involvement he had with such matters, the better.

Buffy set a
green salad and two glasses of ice water on the table. “Care for wine or beer?
I mean, assuming there’s some around.”

“There isn’t.”
He pulled out her chair and held it for her. “I don’t drink.”

She managed to
scoot forward without scraping the chair against the floor. The woman possessed
a natural lightness, like a hummingbird among the town’s sparrows.

Carter’s legs
felt too long under the table, and he angled them so as not to bump her. He
hoped his cowlick wasn’t springing to attention, and wished he could remember
how to cut food properly. Or swallow. Or breathe.

Hell, Buffy
was one beautiful woman, all rainbows and sunflash. He could sit here for
hours, luxuriating in her presence.

“This thing
about alcohol,” she said. “Is it because of what happened in L.A.? As I
understand it, the hotel accidentally spiked the punch. You certainly aren’t to
blame.”

“Yes, but that
wasn’t the first time. Also, alcohol affects me oddly.” Since she appeared to
be awaiting clarification, he said, “I act impulsive.”

“We all do
that.”

“With me, it
gets downright ridiculous.”

She nibbled
her food before inquiring, “What was the other incident?”

He was too
caught up in watching her movements to catch her drift. “What other incident?”

“You said L.A.
wasn’t the first time.”

Carter had
never told anyone the story, but then, in a town this small, he hadn’t needed
to. Word got around as if by magic. “I used to date a girl named Amy in high
school,” he told his attentive dinner companion. “Her family lived in Groundhog
Station. My parents disapproved of her.”

“Because she
lived in that other town?”

“No, because
she cut classes and drank beer and had a car,” he said. “I found her
fascinating.” Also, magnetic and irresistible to a socially backward kid like
him.

“She sounds
like me in high school, except I only cut classes a couple of times and I
preferred energy drinks. Also, I didn’t have a car,” Buffy said.

“So how was
she like you in high school?”

“Fascinating,”
she teased.

“You’ll hear
no disagreement from me.”

The compliment
simmered between them for a moment, Then Buffy asked, “Were you in love with
her?”

“I thought
so.” He realized he couldn’t summon an image of Amy’s face anymore. When had
that happened?

“Where did the
drinking come in?” she persisted.

He might as
well finish the tale, now that he’d begun it. “One Friday night, she showed up
with a six-pack of beer. Halfway through it, she talked me into running away
with her to Houston.” In all honesty, he added, “I don’t believe I gave her
much of an argument.”

“Did you have
a plan?” Buffy rested her chin on her hand.

“For what?”

“What you were
going to do after you got there.”

“Maybe
she
did. I couldn’t think that far ahead,” Carter admitted. “I woke up the next
morning in a motel, scared, with an awful headache. I tried to persuade her to
go back, but she wouldn’t, so I hitchhiked home.”

“Did you get
into trouble?”

The memory
still filled him with shuddering. “Her stepfather threatened to beat Amy and
me, too.” Carter shook his head. “He was a mean one.”

“Did he hit
you?” she asked worriedly, as if anything could change what had happened years
ago.

“Naw. His
threats ticked off his wife. She accused him of being abusive, and they had a
big fight,” he said. “That seemed to distract him.”

“If Amy’s
stepfather used to beat her, no wonder she ran away.”

He agreed. “If
she’d told me about that, I’d have— Well, I don’t know what I’d have done to
that man,” he said. “In some ways, though, I’d have preferred a beating to what
my parents did.”

She watched
him intently. “What was that?”

“My mom
started crying.” His throat clenched at the memory. “Dad said that he’d never
expected to be ashamed of his own son. I vowed right then that I’d spend the
rest of my life making it up to them. And I have, mostly.”

He’d helped
them every chance. Also, he’d worked hard, and served on the school board even
though he had no kids. Still, sometimes his dad acted a little disappointed in
him, but never said why. Might be the lack of grandchildren, Carter mused, but
what was he supposed to do about that?

“What happened
to Amy?” Buffy’s question provided a welcome interruption to this thoughts.

“The police
brought her home. A few days later, she ran away again,” he said. “She
disappeared for a while, then turned up in New York. I emailed to ask if she
needed anything, but she never answered.”

“What about
finding her on the Internet?”

“She must have
changed her name.” He’d put in a half-hearted search, without success. “I
figure that means she’d rather not be found.”

That was the
end of the story, and Buffy took a while reflecting on it. Carter got down to
some serious eating until she said, “You know, Carter, that must have been
fifteen years ago.”

“Yep,” he
muttered around a mouthful of food.

“Excuse me for
prying, but I’d think a good-looking man like you would have found another
girlfriend fast,” she said. “And married her.”

He shrugged.
“After high school, I went to college in San Antonio for two years. Then I
joined the army as a mechanic before coming home.”

“Even so...”

“I haven’t met
the right woman. She’ll turn up eventually.”

The problem
was, he knew, that she
had
turned up. She wore tight-fitting clothes and
drove a ridiculously impractical car. She breezed through life as if the
ordinary rules didn’t apply to her, and if he wasn’t careful she would turn his
life wrong side out and leave it that way. He’d spend the rest of his days on
his head, trying to figure out which end was up.

“I guess it’s
none of my business.” Buffy stretched in a sensual way that emphasized her
curves, along with those tempting bumps on her breasts that he shouldn’t be
staring at. “Aside from drinking or not drinking, what do people in Nowhere
Junction do at night, anyway?”

“Sleep,”
Carter said.

She waited a
beat.

“Oh, you mean
before bedtime?” he asked.

“Yes, for
entertainment. Like, dancing?”

“We
square-dance occasionally. There’s a country club that everybody belongs to,
with a swimming pool and a clubhouse. We have dances every other weekend,” he
said.

That didn’t
appear to satisfy her. “How about movies?”

“Used to be a
drive-in, and then in the winter we’d set up a screen at the club,” he said.
“Now everybody’s got videogames and satellite dishes.”

“Videogames
and satellite dishes?” She laughed. “I’m surprised you people get any work done
with all the wild living.”

Carter decided
not to mention another popular activity, emptying a few six-packs of beer,
lining up the cans and shooting them off a fence. It entertained the young men,
but ladies tended not to understand the thrill. Besides, he’d quit participating
because he disliked being ribbed for drinking soda pop.

“What would
you like to do, given your druthers?” he asked.

“My druthers?”

“As in, you’d
druther do this or you’d druther to that.”

Her mouth
quirked. “You mentioned a swimming pool.”

So he had. “It’s
not heated.”

“I’ll bet it’s
warm from the sun,” she said.

Carter shook
his head. “I know it sounds small-town, Buffy, but the club pool closes at six
o’clock. It’s locked and for good reason. The town doesn’t want kids sneaking
out there and drowning.”

“We’re not
kids.” She whisked their plates to the sink. “Come on, Carter, let’s go!”

“We can’t.”
Hadn’t she heard the part about the lock? “I don’t have a key.”

“A man who ran
off to Houston wouldn’t let that stop him.” She grabbed his hand and tugged him
to his feet. “I’m hot. Aren’t you?”