Flowers on Main (7 page)

For the first time since she’d fallen, awestruck, into his orbit, she actually felt a little sorry for him. She didn’t miss the irony that it was seeing Jake again, hearing the anger in his voice and seeing the heat in his eyes, that showed her just how deep real love was supposed to run.

And despite many good memories, just how shallow her relationship with Marty had truly been.

B
ree glanced around the kitchen table where her father, Gram, Jess and even Abby were seated. It was such a rarity to have them all here at the same time these days—especially Mick—that she regarded them with suspicion.

“This is a surprise,” she said carefully. “Jess, why aren’t you at the inn?”

“Gram wanted to have a family dinner,” Jess replied casually, though she didn’t meet Bree’s gaze, which pretty much contradicted her attempt at innocence.

Bree turned to her older sister. “If that’s so, where are the twins, Abby? Where’s Trace? He’s practically family now.”

“Busy,” Abby said tersely. Her cheeks turned a guilty shade of pink, which immediately told Bree she was right to be suspicious. Her family was up to no good, and it had something to do with her.

“Besides, the girls are always exhausted after a day on the beach,” Abby added a little too quickly. She had a telling habit of going on too long when she was nervous, which was exactly what she was doing now. “And you know how hard it is for the grown-ups to talk seriously when Carrie and Caitlyn are chattering nonstop.”

“And just why would the grown-ups need to talk about something serious?” Bree inquired, turning her attention to Gram.

Gram deliberately ignored the question and passed a bowl mounded high with mashed potatoes. “Mick, carve the chicken,” she ordered. “We’ll talk after we’ve eaten.”

“About what?” Bree persisted. “Does everyone at this table know what this is about except me?”

Mick reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. “It’s nothing for you to fret about, girl. Everyone here is family. We all care about you.”

Bree stared at him long enough for the words to really register, then shoved back her chair to stand. She was trembling so badly her knees wobbled, so she clung to the edge of the old oak table. Even if she hadn’t been a private person who kept her problems to herself, she would have been deeply offended by what was happening.

“Then this isn’t a pleasant family dinner at all, is it?” she said, scowling at everyone there. “It’s some kind of weird O’Brien intervention. Well, I don’t want any part of it. I don’t need your questions or your sympathy.”

She ran from the room and made it all the way out the front door before she allowed the tears gathering in her eyes to fall. She brushed at them impatiently so she could see well enough to make her way down the steps and across the lawn. She was at the edge of the grass and at the top of the steps down to the beach before Abby caught up with her.

“Bree, wait!” her big sister pleaded. “I’m so sorry we ambushed you. I think we all agreed to it for Gram as much as for you. You have her worried.”

“I’m old enough to figure things out for myself,” Bree said with a sniff, accepting a tissue that Abby handed her. Maybe
because Abby was the mother of twins, she always seemed to have some in her pockets, while Bree never did.

“Of course you are,” Abby said, accompanying her down to the beach.

There was still plenty of light to see clearly, though shadows were starting to fall. In an hour or so the sun would drop below the horizon behind them, setting the water on fire before it went. For now, though, the sky was mostly puffs of white and bits of mauve against the blue-gray of twilight.

Bree dug her feet into the cool sand at the water’s edge, allowing the gentle waves to wash over them. She sucked in a deep breath of sea air and waited for the calming effect to kick in. This wasn’t Abby’s fault. It wasn’t Gram’s, either. Or even Mick’s or Jess’s. If anyone’s, it was hers, for expecting to keep her turmoil to herself, to find her own way without anyone’s help or interference. She should have known that sooner or later it would come to this.

“Want to hear the biggest irony of all?” she asked Abby.

“What’s that?”

“I figured everything out today, made a decision about what I’m doing next. An hour ago I could hardly wait to share that news with everyone. I was so excited.” She sighed. “And then I walked into the kitchen and there you all were, ready to pounce.”

Abby nudged her in the ribs. “Don’t be so dramatic, Ms. Playwright. Nobody was going to pounce.”

“Ha,” Bree scoffed. She hesitated, then added, “You got the rest of that wrong, too. I’m not a playwright anymore.”

Abby’s step faltered, but she kept her expression neutral. Bree had to give her credit for that. She’d make a fine actress if she ever decided to change careers. Then, again, maybe that’s what made her an outstanding stockbroker, the ability
to maintain a calm facade when the market was falling apart around her.

“What happened?” Abby asked eventually.

“It wasn’t working for me anymore,” Bree said simply. “Not the work, not Chicago, not my relationship with Marty. I think when I came home for the opening at the inn, I already knew I wouldn’t be going back. It just took me a few weeks to sort through everything and figure out what was going to come next. I knew the only way to keep all of you from worrying would be to have a concrete plan.”

Abby stared at her, her expression stricken. “But Bree, writing plays is all you’ve ever wanted to do,” she protested. “You can’t give that up just because you’ve hit a rough patch or because your relationship with Marty isn’t working. Take some time, get your feet back under you if that’s what you need, but don’t give up your career just like that. You have money in the bank, thanks to the trust fund Dad set up for each of us. You can take all the time you need to write your next play. You don’t have to do that in Chicago or go back to Marty. Do it here, if you want.”

“I can’t. I don’t have any confidence in myself right now. Maybe I will in a few weeks or a few months. If so, then I’ll certainly start writing again. But in the meantime, I need to focus on something completely new. I need a challenge that will be fun at the same time.”

“Such as?” Abby asked, her skepticism plain that such an option existed or that Bree would be happy doing anything other than writing.

“Did Jess mention that I was at the inn earlier?” Bree asked.

Abby shook her head, looking confused by the apparent change in topic. “I got to dinner just before you did. I’d barely sat down when you showed up.”

“Well, I was there. She called me because the florist had sent flowers for a wedding, but no one to arrange them. She was in a real bind.”

Abby looked even more confused. “And she called you? Why?”

Bree frowned at the suggestion that working with flowers was somehow beyond her. “Who do you think worked side by side with Gram all these years to make the arrangements for our house? She taught me everything she knows. She used to say I was a natural.”

“All I remember is you yanking flowers and weeds indiscriminately out of her garden and getting yelled at a lot,” Abby said lightly.

“Which was why she decided to teach me the difference and to appreciate everything in her garden,” Bree explained patiently. “Anyway, apparently I saved the day for the bride and groom’s big ceremony and reception,” she said, then faced her sister. “And you know what? I loved every minute of it. Despite the stress and having almost no time to pull it off, it was the most fun I’d had in ages.”

“Okay,” Abby said, her tone still cautious. “So, now what?”

“I’ve rented a space downtown, and I’m opening up a flower shop, Flowers on Main,” Bree announced, then laughed. “Can you imagine? I’m going to have my own business, and I get to work with flowers all the time.”

“No, I can’t imagine,” Abby said, in a way that told Bree she disapproved. “Why would you make a decision like this without talking it over with any of us? Good grief, Bree, you can’t have thought about it for more than an hour or two.”

Bree scowled at her. “I thought about it long enough,” she said flatly. “And it was my decision to make. You said yourself, not five minutes ago, that I have the start-up money.”

“Bree, sweetie,” Abby began with exaggerated patience. “I know you love flowers, and you’re obviously looking to make a big change in your life, but this is retail. You can’t hide out in the backroom all day. You’re going to have to put yourself out there, be friendly to everyone who comes in, no matter how idiotic their request might be. Are you sure you can do that?”

It spoke volumes that Abby thought her social skills were wanting—in fact, it was downright insulting—but Bree could hardly deny it. “It will be good for me to learn to be more outgoing,” she insisted.

“And what about business? Do you know anything at all about running a business of any kind, much less a flower shop?”

Bree was getting annoyed with all the doubting questions. “I know as much as Jess did when she bought the inn,” she said heatedly. “And what I don’t know, I can learn. I’ll read books, visit other shops and ask questions. I’m not a complete moron.”

“Of course you’re not,” Abby said, backing off at once. “I’m just saying this will be a huge change for you. You’ve always valued your privacy.”

“After what happened tonight, can you blame me?” Bree snapped. “Put you, Gram, Mick and Jess in a room and it’s like a force of nature. I don’t stand a chance. I’m almost glad I didn’t tell everyone. If they’re all going to react like you, I don’t want to hear it. I won’t let any of you tear me down. I’ve had enough of that to last ten lifetimes.”

With that, she took off running along the edge of the bay. This time, though, Abby didn’t follow.

Mick looked up from his pie when Abby walked back into the kitchen alone. “Where’s your sister?”

“On the beach,” Abby said. “She’s mad at me, at all of us, for that matter.”

“Oh dear, this is my fault,” Gram said, looking stricken. “It’s exactly what I’d hoped to avoid. I should never have asked you all over here tonight. I should have been more persistent myself, gotten to the bottom of things.”

“You were only trying to be supportive,” Jess said, reaching for her grandmother’s frail hand.

“That’s right, Ma,” Mick told her. “Don’t blame yourself for caring.” He turned back to Abby. “Do you have any idea what’s going on with Bree?”

“I do, but I’m thinking it might be best if you convince her to tell you. If I blab, it’ll just be one more thing she can hold against me.”

Mick didn’t have the kind of patience it might take to wheedle the information out of Bree, but he knew Abby was right. She wouldn’t appreciate her big sister filling them all in. He pushed aside his plate, stood up, then leaned down to kiss Nell on the forehead. “Stop worrying, Ma. I’ll get to the bottom of this. I promise.” He glanced at his daughters. “Finish your dinner. I’ll sit outside until Bree gets back.”

On the porch, he settled back to wait, lighting the pipe that he only rarely smoked these days. The scent of the tobacco still carried him back to the days when his father would take him along to a pub on one of their trips to Ireland to visit distant relatives. In those noisy, crowded neighborhood pubs, before Ireland’s laws changed, thick smoke filled the air, which usually made him cough, but he could always pick out the slightly sweet scent of his father’s pipe. Tonight he found the aroma oddly comforting.

“Dad, you know perfectly well you shouldn’t be smoking, not even a pipe,” Bree said as she climbed the steps and settled
into the rocking chair next to his. “You only do it when you’re upset or trying to recapture old memories. Which is it tonight?”

He gave her a wry look. “Do you really need to ask?”

“If you’re waiting for me to apologize for running off, I won’t,” she said.

“I’m not expecting you to. I would like it, though, if you’d tell me what’s going on. I’m your father. I’d like to fix things, if I can.”

She laughed at that. “When have you ever been around to fix things?” she asked, then regarded him apologetically. “Sorry, that’s not fair. You were here when we were little, but this isn’t a scraped knee that needs a bandage and a kiss.”

Mick felt a sharp stab of guilt at the accuracy of her assessment. He felt awkward and out of his element, but he’d resolved not long ago to try to fix things not just with Megan but with his entire family. He’d made strides with Abby and Jess, though there was still a long way to go. Now was as good a time as any to start with Bree.

He puffed on his pipe, then met her gaze. “Fair enough,” he told her. “But I’d like to make up for all the times I wasn’t around, put the two of us on a new footing. At the very least I can listen. I’ll offer advice, if you want to hear it. You can always ignore it if you don’t like it. That would fit the family pattern. O’Briens seem to be genetically predisposed to carving out their own path in the world, regardless of the wisdom of those who’ve gone before. I respect that.”

He waited for a response. She seemed to be weighing his offer, perhaps trying to decide if she could trust his promise to respect her decision.

Maybe because he’d never been a patient man or maybe because he needed her to see that he had some insight that she might not be crediting him with, he finally cut into the silence.

“You’ve left Demming, haven’t you?”

Her eyes widened. “How did you know that? Did Abby tell you?”

“Abby refused to say a word after she came back from the beach. And it wasn’t so much that I knew anything. I suppose I was just hoping that was the case.”

She frowned at his statement. “You didn’t like him?”

“Hated him, as a matter of fact.”

She looked startled. “But you never said a word.”

“You’re a grown woman. Some mistakes are yours to make.”

“And you thought Marty was a mistake,” she said, still sounding just a little stunned. “Why?”

“He was condescending to you,” he said simply. “No man has a right to talk to anyone the way he spoke to you. The only thing I found more offensive was that you took it as long as you did.”