Heart's Desire (16 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I
N
I
NDIAN
L
AKE
, the second Sunday in May was undoubtedly like most towns and cities across America. Churches were filled with mothers and grandmothers dressed in their finery, gathered together to be with their families for the holiday. Every restaurant in and around Indian Lake served its own version of a special champagne brunch. Live bands, trios and string quartets played at private homes, hotels and beach cafés.

What made Mother’s Day in Indian Lake unique was the riotous affair that took place up and down Maple Avenue in the gardens of the majestic Victorian mansions. From the moment Pastor Joe Blake from Bethany Lutheran and Father Michael from St. Mark’s Episcopal Church released their congregations, the rush to the town nurseries was on.

In a matter of hours, salmon, pink, white and lavender impatiens; petunias of every color and ruffle; geraniums from scarlet red to bubblegum pink; begonias; black-eyed Susans; hydrangeas; marigolds; vincas; salvia; firecrackers; hibiscus; climbing roses; knockout roses; cane roses; and stunning rose trees would be whisked off the nursery shelves and the planting wars would begin.

By early evening, Maple Avenue would be transformed from natural spring gardens to haute couture spring and summer gardens. Not a brown leaf would be seen anywhere. Fresh mulch would cover and outline the flower beds so they looked as if they’d been scissored in by seamstresses. Hundreds of Boston ferns would be hung before sundown from the posts of expansive front porches. Wooden rocking chairs appeared from basements and cellars. Palmetto blades were attached to porch ceiling fans and yellow bug lightbulbs were screwed into garage and backdoor light fixtures.

Huge clay pots were filled with red geraniums, blue ageratum and spikes.

The fact that Ann Marie Jensen was almost singularly to blame for the current flower addiction along Maple Avenue had not escaped Sarah one bit.

As much as she loved her fellow townsfolk, this was one time when they really were comparing her to her talented mother.

Sarah had worked out a detailed planting diagram for her garden, just the way her mother had instructed. She ordered the flats of color-coordinated annuals, bags of potting soil and red bark mulch from the Indian Lake Nursery well in advance of the rush. She had been as organized and prepared for this day as she was about her work and her wedding. Everything was in place.

But this year was different. Very different.

Maddie stood in Sarah’s kitchen after Sunday services at St. Mark’s making a pot of espresso for Sarah and Luke. She had just retrieved a pitcher of heavy cream from the refrigerator, when Sarah hit her with her news.

Maddie whirled to face her best friend. “What do you mean Luke’s parents are coming today?”

“Just what I said,” Sarah replied, brandishing a knife over the head of a fresh pineapple.

“But you’ve never met them.”

“Obviously,” she growled.

“Did you know this was happening? Or did Luke just spring it on you? Which, by the way, doesn’t sound like him at all.”

“No, we talked about it. But last week we said we’d go see them up in Oak Park. Then Timmy got the flu. It was just a twenty-four-hour thing, but we canceled the trip. That was the second time we had to cancel, so finally we told them to come here. It’s also Mother’s Day. Luke wanted to do something for his mom, and we were dying to meet each other.”

Maddie put her hand on her hip. “So here we are. With a meal to prepare. A yard of the century to plant. The Indian Lake Garden Club breathing down our necks. Oh, the pressure!” Maddie threw the back of her hand against her forehead.

“Shut up,” Sarah retorted.

“Okay. I get it. You’re nervous,” Maddie said nonchalantly, and then she turned to Sarah. “Oh my gosh. You
are
nervous.”

“What if...” Sarah began.

“Don’t...” Maddie shook her finger at her. “Don’t! It’s not possible.”

“They’re the kids’ grandparents. And I’ve only been a career woman. Not a mother.” Sarah stared at Maddie with doubt in her eyes.

“Listen, those kids adore you. And if you need any help being a mother to them, they’re the kind of kids who will tell you you’re messing up, so you can fix it right away. Besides, no parent actually knows what they’re doing. They just do it.”

Sarah stayed silent.

Maddie took a deep breath. “Okay. Look at it this way. No matter what you do, you always know you’ll do a better job than Babs did.”

Sarah nodded slowly. “I’ll take that one. Let’s fix the sausage-and-cheese soufflé. While it’s in the oven, we can get an hour of work done on the yard.”

“Fine with me. I brought my gardening dungarees. Put me to work.”

“Don’t laugh. I will,” Sarah replied.

Just then Miss Milse tromped into the kitchen. She wore a pale blue cotton uniform dress that Maddie remembered the woman wearing at least fifteen years ago. Maddie was amazed that the dress looked brand-new. Miss Milse’s steely-gray hair was tied up, as usual, in the tightest bun any human could possibly twist on top of her head without drawing blood.

“I set the table in the dining room. It’s done. I fix the fruit. And the sausage.” She shoved Sarah away from the sink.

“I was going to make the soufflé,” Sarah retorted.

“Your mother’s recipe?” she asked.

“Yes. It’s tradition.”

“It’s good. I make.” She picked up the paring knife and pointed to the garden. “You go to work. In the garden. You make it nice, like your mother.”

Sarah nodded and turned to Maddie. “Come on, we have about an hour or so before Luke and the kids get here with his parents.”

“Can I change in your room?”

“Sure. Meet you outside. I have some gardening gloves for you.”

“Peachy.”

* * *

M
RS
. B
EABOTS
wore her wide-brimmed straw gardening hat, new pink gardening gloves and a long apron over a buttercup-yellow dress. In the pockets of the apron, she carried all manner of tools. She’d had the Indian Lake Nursery deliver her flats of annuals the day before, and this year she’d told the nursery to put her pots of geraniums, spikes and blue forget-me-nots together for her. Lifting the bags of potting soil was getting to be more of a bother to her with each passing year. There were just some things she’d decided to ask others to do for her. Each year she’d planted more and more perennials and bulbs and fewer annuals. By this point in her life, she’d participated in the grab for the Indian Lake Yard of the Year Award often enough. And besides, if she put her full court press effort into what she knew she could do well, she might steal the prize from Sarah. This year, she truly did think Sarah should win.

Sarah had worked very hard last fall to put in new beds and to plant her bulbs early-flowering forsythia and French lilacs. Mrs. Beabots had seen Sarah’s diagram for this year’s garden. The stunning design included two weeping cherry trees, which were among Mrs. Beabots’s favorite plants. Yes, it was time for Mrs. Beabots to take the downshift. She’d save up for next year. Or perhaps the next.

Mrs. Beabots heard the chatter coming from Sarah’s yard. Although she was invited for Mother’s Day dinner at Sarah’s later that evening, she knew her neighbor wouldn’t mind an early visit. Putting her gloves in her apron pocket, she walked down her drivewayand onto the sidewalk, nearly bumping into Father Michael and three of his feisty housekeeper’s children.

“Happy Mother’s Day, Father Michael,” Mrs. Beabots greeted him with a sly smile while staring at Colleen Kelly’s brood. The girl and two boys were dressed in their Sunday clothes.

“I’m taking them for a walk. It’s my Mother’s Day present for Colleen,” he explained. “It seemed the least I could do, considering she has three more at home besides these to deal with.”

“Children are a blessing, Father,” Mrs. Beabots reminded him.

“Yes, but not in groups,” he grumbled.

“Still, it’s a kindness you’re doing her.”

“I told her to take the day off, it being Mother’s Day, and all, and she’s over at the rectory making me a chicken salad.”

“She wants you to be healthy.”

“I’d rather have her potpies and she knows it.”

Mrs. Beabots smiled. “Well, I have a recipe that is lower in fat and cholesterol and just delicious.”

“How can you do that? Potpies are butter, cream and piecrust. Colleen says they’re the worst thing for me.”

Mrs. Beabots winked. “I use olive oil and triple the sherry. I’ll whip one up for you sometime.”

“That’s delightful, Mrs. Beabots. Just delightful.” Father Michael beamed at her. Then he looked down at the children, who were staring up at him patiently. “Okay, I think I hear your mother calling you,” he joked.

“Good day, Father,” Mrs. Beabots said.

“Good planting,” he replied, and shuffled off with the youngest Kelly toddler hanging on to his pants’ bottoms, still sucking his thumb.

Mrs. Beabots walked around the hedges that separated her yard from Sarah’s. “Yoo-hoo! Sarah,” Mrs. Beabots called.

Maddie was planting salmon-colored impatiens and blue salvia under one of the weeping cherry trees. Sarah had just finished piling peat moss around the sides of a new Princess Diana rosebush. “Mrs. Beabots, hi!” Sarah yelled back.

Maddie smiled. “Thank heaven. The cavalry.” She rose from her knees and dusted off her gloves. “Please tell me you made lemonade.”

“Goodness, no, dearie. I don’t even have the begonias in yet.” She leaned over to Sarah and whispered, “Lester is coming over to help me.”

“That’s great to hear, Mrs. Beabots. I should invite him for dinner tonight.”

Mrs. Beabots shook her head. “He won’t come. Not with Luke’s family here and all. But we should make him a plate.”

“Good idea,” Maddie said, bounding up and placing her hand on Mrs. Beabots’s shoulder and planting an impromptu kiss on her cheek. “After I help Sarah, I’ll be over to plant your marigolds and black-eyed Susans in the backyard.”

“No rush, dear,” Mrs. Beabots said.

Maddie’s mouth fell open. “Are you kidding? The garden police will be roaming the boulevard by six this evening. We’re on a tight schedule here.”

“It’s just fine,” Mrs. Beabots assured her.

Maddie eyed the elderly woman suspiciously. “What’s gotten in to you? This is opening Sunday of the garden wars. Half this town is checking your progress. Okay,” she acquiesced. “Yours and Sarah’s.”

Sarah checked her watch. “I better get back to it. Luke will be here before I know it and I’ll need to shower before I meet his parents. I wonder if I should wash my hair again?” Sarah looked at Maddie for reassurance.

Mrs. Beabots narrowed her eyes. “Are you all right?”

“She’s fine,” Maddie said before Sarah could get in a word. “Just nervous about meeting the parents.”

“Oh, good Lord. I thought it was something important. Like forgetting another flat of impatiens, which is what that bed is going to need to win the trophy,” she said, pointing at Maddie’s handiwork.

Sarah and Maddie surveyed the flower bed.

Mrs. Beabots started walking back to her own yard.

“Do you think so? Is that what it really needs?” Sarah asked, digging her cell phone out of her jeans pocket and dialing the nursery. “I hope they have some left,” she said to Maddie.

Maddie swatted the air between them dismissively as she returned to her flower bed.

Just then, she heard the roar of a very familiar car engine.

Maddie whirled. “It can’t be...”

Nate parked his Hummer close to the curb and got out. “Maddie, can I talk to you?”

He was wearing a dark blue sport jacket, white shirt and navy slacks. His stride was confident as he approached her.

“Sure, Nate,” Maddie said, projecting an ease she didn’t feel. The truth was, her heart was in her throat and her knees were definitely on the wobbly side.

She hadn’t heard from him since their encounter two days ago at the café. She hadn’t called him because she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to lose him, but at the same time, she couldn’t make any promises. And he hadn’t told her that he loved her. He’d implied a great deal, but he hadn’t come right out and said it.

Maddie’s guess was that they both needed time to get to know each other all over again.

“How did you know I would be here?” she asked.

“When we were in high school, you always spent Mother’s Day here with Sarah and Mrs. Jensen. You said you liked planting the flowers, and because your mother beat it out of town to some bar in Michigan, this was your home for the day.”

“You remember that?”

“I remember a lot of things, Maddie,” he said, brushing a lock of hair off her forehead.

Impossible as it was, Maddie couldn’t tear her eyes from his. A long time ago, she’d told him she could spend her life just gazing into his eyes. She’d been young and naive. But now she had no excuse, and she still felt the same way.

“I remember that your mother has a huge family dinner on Mother’s Day, and if I’m not mistaken, you’ll get a tongue-lashing if you aren’t there.”

“That’s why I need your help, Maddie. It’s for my mom.”

“What is it?”

He looked over her shoulder at Sarah. “Can I steal you for about an hour? I need you to help me pick out flowers for my mother’s gift.”

She stared at him for a long moment. “You don’t need my help for that.”

“I don’t,” he confessed. “I just wanted to see you.”

A soft smile creased her mouth. “I thought so. I wanted to see you, too. But I can’t leave. I promised Sarah I’d help her with the planting. Once I’ve got these flats in the ground, I can break away for a bit, if you really want me to.”

He grinned. “I do. Tell you what. I’ll help you out here. We can finish up twice as fast.”

She beamed at him. “Thanks, Nate.”

“I’m glad you’re not mad at me. For the other day, I mean,” he said.

“If I was really mad at you, Nate, you’d know it. Besides, I missed you.”

Relief flooded Nate’s face. “I missed you so much. I—” Without another word, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.