The All You Can Dream Buffet (32 page)

“Leave me alone!” Hannah shook free. “I don’t care what you have to say.” She stormed toward the door.

Ruby called after her, “What if you were the one who died?”

“What do you mean?”

“Would you want us to never talk about you again? Pretend you didn’t exist?”

Hannah paused. Frowned. “I didn’t die.”

“Me, either,” Ruby said. “I thought I would, about five times. Chemo makes you feel like you’re going to die, and I was a little kid, only seven, the first time I started it.” She took a breath.
“Sometimes, Hannah, I was so afraid that I would die and disappear and no one would ever know I’d even lived.”

Hannah’s eyes filled with tears. “That’s terrible.”

“I’m alive. Some of the kids I was in the wards with didn’t make it, and I love to say their names out loud. I love to think about their faces and what they liked.”

Ginny had always loved Ruby, but right then she adored her even more.

Hannah eased back into the room and perched on a chair, right at the edge. “Like what?”

“My friend Mona loved comets. She had them all over the place, on her notebooks, and her pajamas, and they put some on the wall for her. She had a scruffy little dog named BeBe, all black, with hair in its eyes.”

“When did she die?”

“When I was eleven and she was ten. They thought she was going to make it, and right at the end of the five years she got sick again.”

Valerie said, “Why don’t you have some supper, Hannah? We’ll keep talking.”

“I don’t want to talk about my sisters, though, or my dad.” She gave her mother a challenging glance.

“You don’t have to. I might want to, though. So you can go if you like.”

As if summoned, right on cue, Noah came into the kitchen. “What are we talking about?” He ruffled Hannah’s hair and sat down beside her, looking across to Ruby, who sat straighter, even though she didn’t look at him.

Interesting,
Ginny thought.

Lavender said, “Sometimes I see ghosts around this place. Maybe when you’re as old as me, you’ll see ghosts, too, Hannah.”
She slapped her knee. “Anyway, let’s put on some music and get happy!”

She stood up with purpose, then doubled over, grabbing her belly with a moan. Staggering sideways, she grabbed for a chair and knocked it over. Ruby, closest to her, tried to catch her before she fell, but Lavender was already in motion and hit the floor.

Ruby and Noah sat side by side in the county medical center ER. Val and Hannah had stayed behind at the farm. Ginny had gone in with Lavender, easily slipping into the role of capable mother/nurse, and they’d let her, taking seats in the cold waiting room. Overhead, the lights buzzed faintly, and somewhere a child cried, but mostly there was only the hush of worry hanging in the air.

Ruby stuck her feet out in front of her, studying the shape of her pink high-tops. They were proving to be highly impractical shoes in this wet place, but she still liked them. Inside her, the baby moved every now and then, as if trying to find a more comfortable spot to sleep. Ruby shifted, thinking that maybe if she slumped, the baby was squished. Absently, she rubbed her hand in a circle over her belly, then remembered Noah rubbing his hands over her this afternoon and froze, flushing.

He sat beside her, utterly still. One jeaned leg was propped on the other, ankle to knee, so that his right knee jutted out toward her. Along the internal seam, the fabric fanned in small, even lines all the way down his thigh. His hand was on his knee, and his sleeve was rolled up on his forearm. The shirt was fresh, not the same one he’d worn this afternoon. That had been a work shirt, worn soft, with pockets in which he stuck random things, like an invoice or a packet of seeds. The tools—wrenches and screwdrivers—ended up in his back pocket.

The shirt he wore tonight was crisp white cotton with tiny,
wide-spaced red lines. The color pointed out how tanned his forearm was and how oddly hairless. His skin was very smooth, covering the cords of muscle with a buttery gloss. Again she wanted to touch him, just put her hand along that butter and feel the suppleness.

He said nothing.

Neither did she. Until she finally said, “Stop being so awkward, Noah. We were friends before this afternoon.”

“Were we?”

“Of course we were. You were teaching me about lavender and chickens and trying to cheer me up.”

He kept his eyes on the hallway. “Not sure friendship is exactly the right thing between us, Ruby.”

“Why?” She flicked her fingers over his arm. “Because I’m so hot you can’t stand to be around me?”

He glanced sideways at her. “I’m still thinking about kissing you today. You’re not?”

She flushed again, looking away. “No.” His tongue in her mouth, his hands on her sides. “Yes,” she admitted.

“Right. So ‘friends’ is not the right word.”

“You know, the thing is—”

He held up a hand, shaking his head. “I hate those conversations. We’re not even involved.”

Yet.
Ruby heard the word clearly in her head.

“Okay,” she said, and unconsciously nibbled a fingernail. “But I’m bored, and there is no one else here to talk to, so you might as well talk to me.”

“You can talk.”

“That’s not fun. I’m worried and I want to take my mind off Lavender. I’m scared she’s had a heart attack.”

His jaw clenched and he shifted in his seat, leaning forward almost prayerfully. “Yeah.”

Ruby took a long, cleansing breath and let it go. “So let’s talk. Twenty questions. I’ll start.”

He groaned but sat up.

“What’s your favorite color?” Ruby asked.

“Blue.”

“Your turn to ask a question.”

“Oh. Um …” He flung out his fingers. “What’s your favorite food?”

“Cherries. Yours?”

He gave her a faint grin. “Steak. Rare.”

Ruby shuddered for effect because she didn’t want to disappoint him. “What is your mom’s name?”

“Linda. Yours?”

Ruby flinched. It was unconscious and unstoppable. “Cammy,” she said, voice thick.

Noah met her eyes for the first time. “Sorry, I forgot.”

She nodded. “TV or books?”

“Books. I don’t even have to ask you.”

“Why, because I’d just naturally be a TV lover?”

“Uh, no. The opposite. Book fanatic.”

She beeped like in a game show. “Wrong. I like to read, but give me television and I’m one happy girl.”

“I don’t even have one.”

“Not surprised.” She shifted so that she was sitting with one leg up on the chair, facing him a little more. “All you brooding types give up television in your ennui.”

That kindled a half smile. “What do you watch?”

“God, everything! My dad hates it, but I like sitcoms and dramas and news shows and those house-hunting shows. Love HGTV, full stop. Decorating, landscaping, all of it. I love it when they buy an old house and make it over. I love it when a couple is
shopping for their first house. All of them.” She pointed a finger in the air. “Oh, and all the food shows, of course.”

He studied her for a moment. “You’re a little housewife at heart, aren’t you?”

Ruby couldn’t tell from the tone of his voice if that was meant to be an insult, so she went with the truth. “I prefer ‘homemaker,’ ” she said pertly. “I mean, somebody has to do it, right? Shake out the sheets, put some flowers around, make sure there are supplies—toilet paper and bread and whatever—cook a good meal, smooth everything for the day.”

“Yeah.” He swallowed, as if the litany hurt him. “Yeah,” he repeated gruffly. Then he sniffed. “So maybe that’s your work.”

Tears sprang to Ruby’s eyes. A life spread before her in possibility—a kitchen stocked with everything she could think of, all the special herbs and spices that took her fancy, star anise and lemon curry and tarragon, and special spoons and plates for every possible scenario. She would have sturdy pots for stock and very good knives. She could feed chickens and grow flowers and have a vegetable garden and hang pictures on the walls. “In New York, we lived in six hundred and ten square feet for six years. It was so crowded I couldn’t keep it tidy, and there was no room for anything beautiful.”

“Tidy?” His body language eased, too. “That’s a prim word.”

“I have a prim side, sir.”

He full on grinned, and Ruby felt she’d scored points for making him loosen up. “Why do I doubt that?” He lifted a finger. “Oh, I know! Because you have a camper that looks like a sultan’s den.”

Ruby conceded with a tilt of her head. “But, honestly, I do like things to be right, to be appealing to look at, and if things are messy, it’s not beautiful anymore.”

“I bet your apartment was beautiful anyway.”

“Really? That’s a nice thing to say. Thank you. I tried.”

He nudged her foot with the tip of his boot. “Lavender brought you guys out here so she could leave the farm to one of you.”

“She can’t! The nephews get it because of some weird deed thing.”

“It’s only money. That’s all they want—money.”

“Why not you?”

“I don’t have the resources to buy it, and that would have to be done to keep it out of the hands of Wade Markum. And, anyway, I like what I do, managing the animals, looking out for crops, all that. I don’t want to run a shop or do the marketing or anything like that.”

“The mead?”

“You have a thing for mead, don’t you? No, I don’t care about that part, though I like the bees and the honey.” He met her eyes simply, those long dark lashes making him look like an earnest three-year-old. “We’d be a good team, Ruby. A really good team.”

A waft of lavender blew over her face. She imagined suddenly what she would do with the kitchen to make it work better, clear out the old butcher block so she could cook more easily. Lavender was hearty, but Ruby could care for her as she grew older.

“I don’t have any money, either,” she said. “And I’ve already asked my dad for a lot. He won’t be pleased with this idea.” She widened her eyes, imagining. “At all.”

Noah nodded. “Well, I thought you should know.”

Under Ruby’s ribs, the baby punched upward, and Ruby scowled, rubbing the foot down. “I didn’t think babies were this active so early.”

“Almost six months, right?”

“Yeah. I guess it could be.” She stood up to walk it off.

“One more question,” Noah said.

Ruby turned.

“How much have you thought about your boyfriend tonight?”

She smiled. “Not once. Thank you.”

He fell back against the tan plastic chairs, looking insouciant and delicious with his black hair falling around that astonishing face. “You’re welcome.”

Two more hours passed before the ER doctor decided that Lavender had had a gall bladder attack, two hours during which Ruby and Noah played rummy and poker with a deck of cards they found on a table, using coffee stir sticks for points.

When Lavender and Ginny came out, Lavender looked waxy and tired. Ruby scowled, getting to her feet. “What did they say?”

Ginny shook her head, clearly not pleased, either. “They made an appointment for her to be checked out by her physician, first thing on Monday morning, and ordered her to avoid consuming much—if any—fat until then.”

Lavender snorted. “I’ll be damned. I’m eighty-five, and I’ll do what I please.” A charcoal bruise had bloomed on her left cheekbone, where she’d struck the ground when she fell. She settled on a plastic chair, hands on her thin thighs to prop her upright. She took a breath.

“Are you sure you feel okay to go home?” Ruby asked.

“I’m fine, I’m telling you. I’ve had these attacks before. Eventually it’ll sort itself out.”

“A good night’s sleep will help,” Ginny said. “And tomorrow is your birthday!”

“Lotta good it’ll do me, if I can’t celebrate properly. I want bacon for breakfast and cake for dinner.”

“And by damn you’ll have it,” Noah said, stepping up to offer Lavender his elbow. “The queen of the lavender fields!”

Lavender Cake: Sugar and Spice

and Silver Moons … oh my!

June 30, 20—

Shhh! I’m up much earlier than everyone else, to make this cake for Lavender, whose eighty-fifth birthday is today. It’s a lavender cake, of course, and I had to think long and hard about how to make this work. I think you will agree that it’s beautiful, and I can’t wait to show you the photos from tonight.