Love Letters from Ladybug Farm (19 page)

Lindsay gave her sandwich an unenthusiastic sniff. “I may have to go back upstairs and fight Lori for that hamburger.”

“I don’t know how anyone ever gets well here,” Cici said, as she resolutely took a bite of her sandwich. “Lori’s schedule isn’t this hectic at college. Bath, X-rays, meds, vital signs, draw blood, change dressing, eat this, drink that, take this, push this button, squeeze this rubber ball, follow my finger...”

“And that’s just the patient,” Lindsay said. “The caretakers have it much harder.”

“They should pay us for letting Lori stay here,” Bridget said, and tossed her sandwich down in disgust. “And I’ve a great mind to go back in that kitchen and introduce that cook to butter and cheese.”

“Both very useful ingredients in a grilled cheese sandwich,” Lindsay agreed. She tore her sandwich in half, regarded the stringy contents without enthusiasm, and returned both halves to her plate.

“We’re spoiled,” Cici said. She took another bite of her sandwich, chewed without tasting, and swallowed resolutely. “We are probably the only three people in this building right now who actually know what real food tastes like.”

“Tomatoes warm from the vine,” Bridget said, and her voice was filled with abject yearning.

“Strawberries that taste like strawberries smell,” said Lindsay.

“Bright yellow eggs.”

“Blueberry muffins.”

“Raspberries, when you pick them first thing in the morning.”

“Stop it,” Bridget warned. “I’m going to cry.”

Cici stared at them, the half-eaten sandwich poised a few inches from her lips, her expression grim. “Both of you stop it,” she said. “If I don’t eat, I’ll get grumpy. And if I get any grumpier, they’re going to kick me out of this place. So let me eat.”

“Raspberries,” Bridget remembered suddenly, sitting up straight. “Where am I going to get local raspberries for the brandy sauce in June? Our raspberries aren’t ready until the end of July!”

“There’s got to be some variety that ripens in June,” Lindsay suggested. “Check the Internet.”

“Local
is a relative term,” Cici said. She tore off another bite of her sandwich and choked it down. “What you need to do is define local. Ten miles? Twenty? Two hundred?”

“Well,” Bridget said uncertainly. “The crab comes from the Chesapeake Bay. How far away is that?”

Lindsay asked, “How are you getting crab from the Chesapeake Bay by this weekend?”

“Oh, no!” Bridget’s eyes flew wide and she extended her hand across the table. “Give me your phone!”

Lindsay fumbled her cell phone out of her purse while Cici chewed another bite of rubbery cheese. “She’s ordering it,” Cici explained as Bridget walked quickly away, punching numbers on the keypad.

Lindsay said, “For the love of God, Cici, put down that sandwich. We’re taking you out to dinner tonight for something greasy and salty, with chocolate mousse cake topped with fudge sauce served on a bed of dark chocolate puree for dessert. You can’t live like this.”

Cici shook her head and glanced at her watch. “You two need to get on the road. I’ll be fine.”

Bridget returned to the table, looking relieved. “Crisis averted. One pound of Chesapeake Bay crab will be delivered to Blue Valley Grocery by ten a.m. Friday morning.”

“I mean it,” Cici said. She gave up on the sandwich and placed the remains on her plate. Her blue eyes were faded, her hair mussed, and even her freckles seemed listless, but her expression was determined. “I can manage here. But we can’t leave Noah another night, and we can’t blow this wedding. We’ve already cashed the deposit check,” she reminded them.

“Don’t worry” Bridget assured her. “Don’t you worry about a thing. We’ve got it all under control.”

“Sure,” Lindsay said. “Like I said, we’ve already done the hard parts. We’ll be fine.”

“Have you checked your e-mail lately?” Cici inquired darkly.

Lindsay and Bridget shared an uneasy glance. Bridget said, “Maybe we should just scoot home and check in.”

Lindsay compressed her lips briefly, thinking. “We’ll make a run to the drugstore,” she decided, “and lay in a supply of candy for you and soft drinks for Lori. Promise me you’ll go to the hotel tonight and take a shower.”

“And wash your hair,” Bridget suggested.

Cici glanced sideways at the lank strands falling toward her face. “I can take a hint.”

“And for God’s sake, get some decent fast food,” Lindsay said. She gathered up their leavings on a tray as they stood.

Cici placed a hand lightly on each of their arms and smiled. “I’m going to be fine,” she said. “Really. And so is Lori.”

“Oh, we know that,” Lindsay assured her with a sigh. “All the two of you have to worry about is a broken leg and an extended hospital stay. We’re the ones who have to deal with the mother of the bride.”

Bridget and Lindsay made their final shopping trip while Cici returned to Lori’s room. The doctor was in there when Cici pushed open the door, and Lori’s expression was so stricken that Cici’s heart went to her throat. “What?” she demanded, hurrying forward. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, Mom,” Lori said, her eyes filling. “He says I’ll be here another week. How can I stay here a week?”

“I said,” the doctor corrected, scribbling on his clipboard, “that if you continue to do as well as you have done, you could be out of here by Wednesday. That’s six days.”

Cici pressed her hand to her thudding heart, weak with relief, and tried to find some words of comfort for her daughter. All she could manage was, “You’re lucky your leg is in a cast or I’d wring your neck. You scared me to death.”

“But I have an exam Monday! I can’t stay until Wednesday!” Lori turned pleading, tear-filled eyes on her mother. “Tell him!”

Now that Cici’s heartbeat was almost back to normal, she could take a breath. But before she could speak, the doctor shook his head. “Sorry, no chance. She’s doing well otherwise, though,” he told Cici, and Lori pressed her head back against the pillow, eyes closed in despair, as he briefed Cici on her progress.

“You don’t understand,” Lori insisted when he was gone. “I’ve got to take that exam. If I miss it I’ll get an incomplete for the entire semester, and if I have an incomplete I’ll be taken out of the running for the internship, and I can’t miss out on this, Mom, I just can’t!”

Cici nodded sympathetically and sat beside Lori, tucking a tissue into her hand. “I know how much you were looking forward to this.”

“I had a personal recommendation!” She pressed the tissue to her eyes. “I was going to live in a real Italian
castillo.
I was going to learn wine making from the experts. Sergio and I had plans. Now it’s all over. Everything I planned, everything I worked for...”

“I’m sure your friend will understand,” Cici said. It was easy to be generous now that she knew Lori was not spending the summer in Italy.

Lori leaned her head back helplessly against the pillow. A lone tear escaped from her closed lashes and trickled down her battered cheek. “How?” she said tiredly. “I can’t even contact him. I don’t have a phone, or a computer ... Anyway, it wouldn’t make any difference. It’s over. Just like everything else I try, I’ve totally screwed this up.”

Not even the return of Lindsay and Bridget could lift Lori’s spirits. “I can’t do anything right,” was her new anthem, and it was uttered in the most morose tone any of them had ever heard from the naturally ebullient Lori. “Every time I get a little bit ahead, something knocks me back down.” She gestured resignedly to the cast on her leg. “Why does everything always happen to
me
?”

Lindsay smiled. “We know that feeling, sweetie. It’s been the story of our lives since we moved here.”

“Every challenge we face is a chance for personal growth,” Bridget pronounced, and at the looks she received from the other three she quickly offered, “Look, honey. We brought chocolate.”

Bridget spread out the contents of their shopping bags across Lori’s bed—candy, hand lotion, a hairbrush, mirror, nail polish, paperback books. Cici gave her two friends a grateful look, but Lori barely noticed.

“I’ve worked so hard,” she said. “This whole year, everything I’ve done—up in smoke.”

“Not everything,” Cici said, trying to inject patience into her tone. “It’s just one course. You’ll make it up.”

“Maybe you could talk to the professor,” Lindsay suggested to Cici. “He might let her take the exam later.”

“I can do that,” Cici said, but Lori was already shaking her head.

“He’s going on sabbatical,” she said. “Even if he wanted to give me a break—which, I’m telling you, this guy does not—he couldn’t. It’s now or never.”

There was a timid knock on the half-open door. “Um, excuse me?”

A dark-haired young man with his arm in a sling hesitated in the doorway. “Lori Gregory?”

Cici stood with a questioning, welcoming smile. “Hi,” she said. “Lori would be the one in the hospital bed. I’m her mother.”

He hesitated, then came forward uncertainly, his right hand extended. “I’m Mark Clery,” he said, shaking Cici’s hand.

“Cici Burke,” she said.

Lori studied him with a puzzled expression on her face. “Do I know you?”

He glanced uncomfortably from Cici to Lori and took another step closer to the bed. “I’m the one who, uh...” He gestured at her leg with his good arm. “Hit you.”

Lori regarded him with absolutely no sympathy. “Thanks a lot,” she said, flatly.

“Lori!” That was from Bridget.

Cici admonished her daughter. “You’re the one who caused the accident, you know!”

And Lindsay apologized to Mark. “She’s on a lot of pain medication,” she explained. “She’s usually much nicer than this.”

“I know,” Mark said. And he tried to smile at Lori. “I’m in your poli-sci class.” He added earnestly, “I tried to miss you, I really did. I ran the scooter into a curb, but it was too late. I’m really sorry.”

Lori drew a breath, and released it in a long-suffering sigh. “Thanks,” she said, in a slightly more genuine tone than she had used before. And she added, “I guess it was my fault.” She glanced at her mother. “And I guess my life isn’t really over. It just feels like it is.”

“She’s upset because she’s missing a final,” Cici explained. She smiled at her daughter. “Her life is not over.”

Bridget indicated his sling with a quick and sympathetic smile. “Is your arm broken?”

He looked from Lori to Bridget, the discomfort in his face apparent. “Oh. No, ma’am. I just dislocated my shoulder.”

“Lucky you,” Lori sighed, then, quickly, “I mean, I’m sorry. I hope you feel better.”

Mark looked relieved. “You, too,” he said. “And I’m sorry. You know, about the exam.”

Lori sighed again. “Thanks.”

An awkward silence fell.

“Well,” Mark said. “I guess I better be going. I just wanted to make sure you were...” Once again he lifted an awkward hand toward the cast. “You know.”

“It was awfully nice of you to stop by” Bridget said.

“Wasn’t it, Lori?” Cici prompted.

Lori managed a quavering, pathetic smile. “Nice.”

Mark started toward the door, then turned around. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He reached into his pocket. “Your phone.”

Lori’s face lit up as though he had just presented her with a perfect score on her final
and
a winning lottery ticket. “My phone!” She sat up straighter against the pillows, extending both hands for it. “Does it work? Was it damaged?”

“It seems fine,” he said, presenting it to her. “I found it in the grass, but they had already taken you away.”

She didn’t even look up. She was already texting.

“Thank you, Mark,” Cici said, sincerely. “You may have just saved her life. Not to mention mine.”

The young man had a nice smile. “That’s okay” he said. His eyes lingered on Lori. “Tell her I hope she feels better.”

“He seemed nice,” Bridget said when he was gone.

Lindsay helped her gather up the candy and toiletries from Lori’s bed. “Very nice manners.”

“Unlike some people I could name,” Cici said.

Lori said, “Mom, please. Texting, here.”

Cici lunged for the phone, with a flash of impatience. Lindsay intercepted her, Bridget stepped between Cici and Lori, and Lori didn’t notice anything at all. Then a male voice boomed from the doorway.

“Where is my princess?”

Cici froze. She didn’t blink, she didn’t breathe. Bridget and Lindsay stared at her and then, slowly, all three gazes moved to the door.

The doorway was filled with pink roses—not just one dozen, nor even two, but three or four. Below the roses was a pair of legs clad in custom-tailored khaki slacks and Italian loafers. No socks. The roses moved away to reveal a face. Cici gasped.

“Richard,” she said, a little hoarsely. “What are you doing here?”