Reap What You Sew (5 page)

“I doubt that considerin’ she’s right over there”—Margaret Louise pulled her hand from Annabelle’s stooped shoulder and pointed to four familiar faces on the other side of the Green—“with Colby and the kids.”

A warm feeling settled in her chest at the sight of the Calhoun family. It was inevitable, really. They had it all—success for her as a business owner and for him as an author, a tight bond as husband and wife, and two children who were happy, healthy, and kind.

“Oh, well then I guess Emma is running the show at the bakery this morning,” Tori mused of the now college-aged girl who had become Debbie’s right hand.

“Nah, Emma is over there”—Margaret Louise’s index finger moved right, Tori’s gaze following suit—“’bout ten people down from Debbie.”

Sure enough, Margaret Louise was right. The strawberry blonde was using a nearby tree for support as she stretched her legs. “I don’t think the bakery has been closed since I moved here. Except, of course, for Christmas.”

Margaret Louise lifted her polyester-clad arms out to the side. “It’s not like she’d have any customers today, Victoria.”

Tori peered around at the crowd, the truth behind her friend’s statement not hard to validate. In fact, the more she studied the crowd, the more she had to wonder who
wasn’t
there.

“Hey sunshine, you’re a tough woman to find.” Milo Wentworth smiled his way into the line that bordered the eastern edge of the Green and bent down to kiss Tori. “Can you believe all of this? It’s nuts.”

The butterfly brigade that always took flight in her stomach at the sight of the handsome third grade teacher sprung into action. “Milo, hi!” Rising up on the balls of her feet, she met and raised her fiancé’s kiss with one of her own. “I was wondering if you’d make it this morning.” She glanced down at the silver link watch that graced her left wrist. “Don’t you have to be at the school?”

Milo shook his head as he released Tori and offered a hug to Margaret Louise, who was beaming off to their right. “The kids have a two-hour delay today.”

She stared at him. “Why?”

He raised his arms in a near-perfect replica of the same motion Margaret Louise had made just moments before his arrival. “Because the kids are all here with their parents.”

“But it’s a school day…” The protest died on her lips as she looked around once again, the excitement on everyone’s face all the counterpoint she needed.

“I’m here! I’m here!” Leona fairly pranced into the line behind her sister, stopping briefly to kiss Annabelle. Then, craning her neck over the waist-high picket fence, she looked left, then right, her artfully enhanced brown eyes widening. “Have you seen him? Is he here?”

“I’m right here.” Milo winked at Tori.

Leona paused then rolled her eyes. “Not you, dear. You’re already spoken for.” Slowly, and with more than a hint of dramatics, the sixty-something single smoothed her freshly manicured hands down the sides of her cinnamon-colored suit. “Though”—Leona’s gaze traveled the full length of Tori’s body before looking up at the sky in frustration—“why she dresses the way she does for you is beyond me.”

She felt Milo’s arms pulling her close, then releasing her just long enough to study her in a way that made her wish she had spent a little more time in front of the mirror that morning. But, at the time, the khaki-colored trousers and cream-colored blouse seemed a fine choice. She’d even braided a small section of her light brown hair and secured it with a clip… .

“I love the way Tori looks. It’s one of the many reasons I asked her to marry me.” He lifted her left hand to his mouth and gave it a gentle kiss. “But you look lovely as well, Leona.”

She stifled the urge to laugh even as Margaret Louise gave in to it.

“Good heavens, Milo, don’t encourage my sister. Please—”

A loud, panicked voice stopped Margaret Louise mid-sentence. “Hey! My cell phone is missing.”

Tori turned, the look of confusion on the face of the teenage boy beside her suddenly mirrored by an elderly gentleman to Milo’s left. “So is my camera!”

“And my knitting needles and yarn!”

Milo placed a calming hand on the elderly gentleman’s companion. “Everyone check their bags one more time. Just in case, okay?”

The teenager reached into his pocket and felt around. “Nope. No cell phone.”

The elderly man pointed at the spot on the bench where he’d apparently set his camera. “It’s not here.”

His female friend leaned down, opened her knitting bag wide, and gestured inside. “My needles and yarn were just here a minute ago.”

“I’ll go find Chief Dallas, let him know what’s going on,” Milo offered, his progress toward the sidewalk thwarted by a familiar hand.

“There’s no need,” Margaret Louise whispered. “Just give me a moment, will you?”

In a manner that was both tentative and sure, Margaret Louise closed the unnoticed gap that had grown between herself and Annabelle, whispering something in the elderly woman’s ear as she did.

“What’s going on?” Milo’s breath against Tori’s ear did little to eradicate the intense sadness she suddenly felt—for both Margaret Louise and Annabelle.

Before she could answer, Margaret Louise returned, carrying the missing items. With a practiced hand, she handed each thing to its correct owner. “My mother meant no harm.”

“Geez, lady, is your mom some sort of klepto or something?” the teenager asked before being shooed from his spot by the elderly man with the camera.

“No harm done.” The man pointed to the woman at his elbow. “This is my wife, Mira, and I’m David—David McAllister. I’m the assistant director out at Three Winds.”

She looked a question at Milo as the threesome spoke—her fiancé’s warm voice quickly filling in the holes in her Sweet Briar knowledge. “Three Winds is a small group home for people with various challenges. They do good work out there.” And then, “That’s Leona and Margaret Louise’s mom?”

Leona…

Tori leaned forward, tried to gage a reaction on Leona’s face, yet there was none. Instead, Margaret Louise’s twin was doing exactly what she’d been doing since she arrived—hanging over the fence looking for any sign of Warren Shoemaker, completely oblivious to Annabelle’s latest transgression or the fact that her sister was, once again, left to clean it up all on her own.

“Yes, that’s their mom. Her name is Annabelle.” Tori squeezed Milo’s hand. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

She sidestepped the ever-growing army of people in front of her and sidled up beside Leona. “Your sister could probably use a little help right now.”

Without taking her focus off the Green, Leona shook her head. “Margaret Louise has it covered.”

“Do you even know what it is she’s covering right now?” she asked through teeth that were suddenly clenched. “Because from what I can see, you’re a little too wrapped up in
this
nonsense.”

Leona turned, dipped her chin, and stared at Tori through narrowed eyes. “It’s the same thing that always has to be covered whenever Mamma is around, regardless of where we are or what we’re doing.”

Before she could reply, Leona continued. “What did she take this time? A haircomb? A button? Some poor child’s neglected yo-yo?”

The slightest hint of a tremble in Leona’s voice caught Tori by surprise and she found herself backpedaling. “Look, I can’t even begin to imagine how hard it is to deal with something like—”

“You’re right. You
can’t
imagine. So don’t.” Leona waved her bejeweled hand in the direction of the Green, a determined set to her jaw nipping their current conversation in the bud. “So many people hoping to be stars when only a handful will even get a chance. It’s fascinating, really.”

She swallowed.

In the two years she’d known Leona Elkin, she’d been treated to a host of interesting revelations and Leona-declared rules… .

She’d learned that a woman should always wear lipstick. Even at bedtime (a rule she didn’t follow).

She’d learned that Florida was an imposter in the category of southern states.

She’d learned that sweet tea—never lemonade—will always have a place at a party.

She’d learned that even thirty-year-old men could be charmed by a woman like Leona.

She’d learned to always have at least two chairs on her front porch—to have less would be rude.

And she’d learned more than she ever cared to know about cellulite-birthing foods (yet ate what she wanted, anyway).

Indeed, some of what she’d learned from Leona was silly, even trivial, but there had been important lessons along the way, too. Lessons that had come about unexpectedly yet left a lasting impression on Tori’s heart.

Like the one that had her backing off and giving Leona the space she seemed to need when times got tough. “So, did you bring a headshot?”

“Of course.” Leona reached into her clutch and retrieved a picture that was a good twenty years old. “What do you think?”

She swallowed. “Um, uh… it’s very nice. But don’t you think they might like a more… um…
recent
picture?”

Leona glanced down at the photograph in her hand and sighed. “The female protagonist in the book was in her forties, right?”

Tori nodded.

“Well, I need the casting folks to see the kind of age range I can play.”

“But you’re not forty anymore, Leona.” The second the words were out of her mouth she wished she could recall them. Instead, she rushed to soften a sentiment she hadn’t meant to sound so harsh. “And while I have no doubt you could play the part, you have to realize that role has been cast. By Anita Belise, remember?”

“Roles can be recast, dear.”

She made a face. “I’m sure that’s true, Leona, but—”

Her words were cut short by a squeal from the other side of the Green… and another to their left… and their right.

Tori shielded the morning sun from her eyes, strained to see what the commotion was all about. But it was no use. She simply couldn’t see a thing.

“Excuse me, miss? Are you here to play a background?”

She swung her head left, her gaze coming to rest on a man about her age, his impossibly tall stature making him difficult to miss in a crowd. Yet she had. Until he was at her side, studying her from all angles.

“A background?” she repeated.

“An extra.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t help but laugh at herself. “Um, yeah, I guess.”

“Did you bring a picture?” He pulled his left hand from the clipboard in his right and raked it through his already messy blond hair.

“I think so….” Her words trailed off as she tugged her backpack purse down her arm and unzipped it, her focus thwarted only by the desire to read the teeny tiny name written on the lanyard around the man’s neck.

Todd.

“
I
have one.” With the ease and speed of a now-you-see-it/now-you-don’t magic trick, Leona pulled her twenty-year-old snapshot from her clutch and plopped it on top of the man’s clipboard. “I have amazing range. I can play a variety of ages. Including a forty-eight-year-old female who falls for a dying man.”

The man lifted the photograph off his clipboard and held it out to Leona. “This is very nice, thank you.”

Leona beamed. “You can keep it. I’ve got dozens more just like it.”

“Yeah. Oooo-kay… thanks.” A slow eye roll was followed by Leona’s photograph finding a home at the bottom of the man’s stack of papers. When he was done, he looked at Tori once again. Waiting.

“Oh. Right.” She pulled a snapshot from her purse and held it outward, her silly pose on the picnic blanket, and the memories of Milo it evoked, bringing a smile to her lips. “Is something like this all right?”

He glanced down at the picture and then back up at her, giving an approving nod as he did. “Come with me.”

“Me?”

“Uh-huh.” With a quick hook of his finger, he beckoned Tori to follow as he turned and began winding his way through the crowd of people.

She, in turn, looked at Leona and shrugged. “Well, that was weird.”

“It was.” Leona’s chin jutted into the air before she fell into step behind Tori. “Then again, I imagine he doesn’t want to call attention to the fact I’m being considered.”

She stopped short, wincing as Leona ran into her. “
You’re
being considered?”

Leona sniffed. “Of course, dear. Why else would he have kept my picture and summoned me to follow?” Elbowing her way past Tori, Leona led the way, her pace closing in on Todd in short order despite the stylish heels she wore.

As they approached a heavily guarded opening in the fence, Todd raised his name tag to the security man posted behind a table at the entrance and turned around, pointing past Leona to Tori. “That one’s with me.”

And then, just like that, he disappeared into a sea of people with name tags just like his.

Leona slowed by the entrance just long enough to smile and bat her eyelashes at the guard. “Good morning, handsome.”

The stocky gentleman, clad in black pants and a black T-shirt despite a day that already showed signs of unseasonably warm temperatures, held his hand out, effectively stymieing Leona’s progress. “Not you, ma’am.
Her.
” He pointed over Leona’s head at Tori. “The young one.”

Uh-oh.

In an instant, the batting was over. “The young one?” Leona repeated, dipping her head to peer at the man’s name tag. “Mr. Kelly, does that headset around your neck work?”

The man glanced down. “Of course it does.”

Leona folded her arms ever so gracefully across her chest. “Then I suggest you use it to summon Warren.”

Tori’s mouth gaped open, her feet virtually glued to the ground.

“Warren?” Mr. Kelly echoed.

Leona merely nodded, filling in the last name in drawn-out syllables as one might do for a foreigner in a strange land. “Shoe-mak-er.”

The guard released a nervous laugh. “I can’t do that, ma’am.”

Tori watched as Leona waved aside the man’s refusal. “Tell him that Pooky is here.”

“
Pooky
?” she mouthed along with the guard’s question.

Leona drummed her coordinating cinnamon-tipped fingers on the edge of the table. “We met in Paris last year.”

The slightest hint of crimson appeared in the guard’s face as he lifted a small rope-mounted mic to his lips and spoke into it quietly, his gaze never leaving Leona’s face.