The All You Can Dream Buffet (25 page)

Before she opened the third email, delaying it like a special dessert, Ginny wrote back to Ruby.

Finally, she took a breath, gooseflesh rippling over the back of her arms, and opened the last email.

She closed her eyes and let herself travel back to this morning, to the taste of his mouth, the violent hunger sparked by his tongue sweeping into her mouth, the feel of his hands on her body.

Today was Friday. On Sunday he would be in McMinnville.

No. She swallowed and closed the email, as if not looking at it would make it go away.

She was not leaving her husband for the attentions of another guy. There would be no purpose to that. She had to find her own place, her own way, figure out who she was and what she wanted.

So just have sex,
said a traitorous little voice that came from somewhere low in her gut
. That’s all he wants, you know. He’s not falling in love—get real. He’s a trucker on the road. He probably does this all the time.

Aching, she stepped outside into the gloaming and sat down next to Willow, who watched with alert purpose for invading squirrels. Purple shadows eased in over the opalescent ripples of the river, darkened the ravines. On a bluff overlooking the water, she saw the tiny figures of people, and she imagined the
view from that high spot, wonder pushing away the dark knot in her chest. It was as if the landscape was a character in itself, as if the land had magical powers, the ability to heal. The air was cool and damp, rising off the water, and it touched her face with moist kisses.

The urgent need to act left her. She didn’t have to send that email to Matthew today. There was time. A part of her felt the urgent need to put it in writing to her friends, and maybe she would do that later, but for the moment what was in front of her was enough. The landscape, her dog, her chrysalis home allowing her the freedom to become … whatever might be next. For now she had no idea, but this was good, just as it was.

Now, with her dog.

Now, with the night.

Now, alone and free.

Ginny awakened at six and got on the road in a half hour, anxious to get to the farm. The day was clear and bright, and she made good time through Portland since it was Saturday morning and traffic was mild.

It was barely ten
A.M.
when she drove through Yamhill County, down Highway 47. The sun was a tender glaze over the hills and soft green landscape, the air still moist with last night’s rain. She’d gone to sleep listening to it.

Not that she’d really slept. The rain had begun not long after she went to bed, a steady patter on the roof of the Airstream, and Willow was a warm, softly snoring body next to her. But Ginny had stared out through the window at the sky, her mind tumbling with the journey she’d nearly completed, with the food poisoning and the kind strangers on her path and the conversation with Matthew and the fact that she’d missed a blog for the first time ever.

Maybe that was what happened when you had a life.

And of course she thought of Jack, of the little blips from Thursday night that filtered through the feverish mask over her memory, the way he had turned her away to preserve her modesty, the way he washed her neck and back. His hands on her arms as he pulled the shirt over her head.

Tossing and turning, tossing and turning.

So it was a relief to get up and on the road early, while everyone else slept. It was a relief to get off the main roads and follow the directions through the rolling landscape west of Portland, to follow the directions to the farm.

And it was an absolute delight to see the sign and the two-story white house she recognized from Lavender’s blog. She pulled in, an expert at tight turns now, and bounced a little down the gravel road. She spied a camper and an Airstream painted with Frida Kahlo–style foods—it had to be Ruby’s. She also spied another, longer Airstream, a twenty-six footer she recognized from the pictures she’d seen of it.

Valerie!

She pulled over and leapt from the car, letting Willow out without her leash. The dog trotted behind as Ginny jogged over to the door of the trailer and knocked. “Val! You scamp! Get out here!”

A teenage girl hauled open the door, her loose hair a frizzy tumble. She scowled. “My mom’s over at the house.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Hannah—obviously this was Hannah—shrugged and closed the door.

Ginny looked over her shoulder, trying to decide which one was the house—the two-story? Or the cottage at the edge of a field of vegetables?

She didn’t think it was the two-story, which she knew housed the distillery and the shop. Two cars were parked there.

Whistling for Willow, she headed for the cottage and then spied a chicken. Would Willow chase them? She hadn’t shown signs of it, but some dogs did. Some dogs killed chickens.

But Willow stuck close, heeling as she always did, and Ginny rounded the cottage to find three women sitting at a table covered
with a cloth and cups and the remains of breakfast. They had moved their chairs into the sunlight to offset the chill. Ginny paused, wondering if she should just dive in or—

“Ginny!” A blond woman wearing a scarf over her hair leapt up and ran full throttle toward her. Ginny barely had time to brace herself before the young woman flung her arms around her, engulfing her in a powerful hug—strong arms and soft curves and ferocity. “Oh, I am so glad to see you! We worried a lot!”

“Ruby!” Ginny hugged her back, then pushed away to take a good look at her. China-doll eyes in a porcelain face, that thick blond hair, a smile like a starlet. “You are even more amazingly beautiful in person than you are in your pictures.”

“So are you!”

“Let me in on this,” said a strong voice, and there was Lavender, rangy and tall, her face powerful and old. “Give me a hug, child.”

Ginny laughed and hugged her friend and mentor. Hard. Lavender’s arms clutched her just as fiercely in return. “I have had such an adventure so far! Thank you.”

“I’m so proud of you, Ginny-gal.” Lavender patted her back robustly.

“My turn.”

The other two stepped aside, and there was Valerie, with her obsidian eyes and slender figure and impossibly straight shoulders. “I can’t believe you’re here,” Ginny said, and tears sprang to her eyes.

She leapt forward and gave Val the hug she’d held on to for two years. They rocked back and forth, transmitting the thousands of unsaids they needed to offer. Happiness, comfort, relief.

“I couldn’t miss this,” she said, and kissed Ginny’s cheek. “You are so much prettier than your pictures!”

“Thanks,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes, “but it’s probably just the journey.” She spread her hands. “I escaped!” she told all of them, and laughed. “I’m outta Kansas, ladies. Can you believe it?”

Ruby gave a hoot, and Valerie did a little dance, and Lavender put two fingers in her mouth and whistled so loud it would bring down a 747.

For the first time in her life, Ginny was home.

Someone fetched her a mug and someone else filled her cup from the pot on the table, and Ginny dropped a sugar cube into it. “So tell us all about it,” Lavender invited. “Did you meet anyone on the road? What happened to your phone?”

Ginny laughed and began to give the highlights—the hailstorm the first night, the phone in the dishwater, the fire and the antelopes, the heart-stopping beauty of the Rockies, the food poisoning.

And that was where she stopped. She still wasn’t sure what had happened to send a mysterious text to Jack, and she didn’t exactly want to talk about him, either. Not yet. Maybe not ever. She knew they wouldn’t judge her, but it all seemed like something from a dream.

She did ask, “How far is McMinnville from here?”

“Twenty minutes. Maybe a half hour,” Lavender said. “We go there for shopping all the time. But if you need only a few supplies, we can go to the village up the road. Why?”

Ginny found herself picking at a hangnail. “Just wondering.”

“Hmm.” Ruby poked her with a toe. “That’s a funny expression.”

“Don’t be silly. What I do need to do is get a new phone, like … pronto. Where would be the best place?”

“We’re going into Portland to try on tutus for the party,” Valerie said. “I’m sure we can find somewhere to shop there.”

“Tutus?”

Ruby said, “Valerie has a connection at a theater in Portland. They’re going to lend us tutus so we can all be barefoot goddesses at the party. Won’t that be a blast?”

There was almost a halo of light around Ruby, an aura so bright and cheerful that it made her skin shine.

“I don’t know. What kind of a goddess? What kind of a tutu?”

Valerie winked. “We’ll make sure we’re in something flattering, I promise.”

“I’m not going,” Lavender said, standing up. “The farm won’t run itself, and I’ve got a mountain of work to do before the party.”

“Do you need help?” Ginny asked.

Ruby inclined her head, studying Lavender. “You need to come with us. The farm will look after itself for a day, and, besides, you’re the one who knows how to navigate Portland.”

“No, ma’am. I’ve got Noah to help. You girls all go have fun. We’ll cook dinner when you get back.”

“I’m taking us
out
to dinner,” Valerie said. “There are a dozen places in Yamhill County alone that are famous for their chefs and wine, and I want to try them. We can cook on Monday.”

“Fair enough.” Lavender picked up a dish and a clutch of flatware. For a moment she paused, frowning, then put a fist to her chest.

“Are you all right?” Ruby said, jumping up.

Lavender let go of an enormous burp, and all of them
laughed. “Fine, child. Get out from underfoot, now, and find me a goddess outfit.”

Ruby flung her hands up. “Yay!” She looked at Valerie. “Can you eye her size all right?”

“Got it.” Valerie stood, too. “I’d better go roust my girl. She’s got to get herself ready.”

Ginny rose to her feet, as well. “Do I have time to take a quick look around? Maybe Ruby can show me?”

“Oh, yeah.” Valerie waved a slim hand. “She’ll be a half hour or better.”

“I remember that stage,” Ginny said. “My daughter could spend six hours in the bathroom.”

Ruby cleared some of the dishes, Ginny grabbed the rest off the table, and they carried them inside. Then, with a little leap of happiness, Ruby said, “Let’s go! You won’t believe how beautiful the lavender is. And the chickens are so cute!”

“Cute chickens?” Ginny rolled her eyes. “You aren’t naming them, are you?”

“These are laying hens, silly. They aren’t going in the pot.”

Ginny met Lavender’s eyes. The older woman winked. “Okay, show me,” Ginny said, allowing herself to be tugged along.

The lemony glaze still clung to the sky and intensified all the hues of the morning. Ginny wished she had her camera, but sometimes shooting meant she wasn’t really looking, so she and Willow allowed the exuberant Ruby to lead them around the barn and up the hill, past the chickens, where they gathered a couple of tagalongs. Willow seemed completely uninterested in them—a relief.

“Ooh, here’s Noah now,” Ruby said. “See what I mean?”

Ginny smiled. The man coming down the hill with a pitchfork in his hand had a headful of black curls, too long, that fell
around an extravagant face—full lips and cheekbones like bird wings. Not her type at all, but definitely beautiful.

“Good morning!” he called out.

“Good morning.” Ruby tossed her head ever so slightly. “Our Ginny has finally arrived!”