Love Letters from Ladybug Farm Page 20

  “Death denial,” Lori said sagely, and when everyone looked at her she explained, “We studied it in social psychology. It’s a thing with Western culture, especially Americans, where you think you’re going to live forever—as long as you use the right mouthwash, go to the right gym, eat the latest fad diet, stop smoking, color your hair ... Seriously” she insisted. “It’s a whole thing.”

  Paul tasted his tea again, held the glass out, and stared at it. “Okay” he said. “Does anyone but me think this tea tastes funny?”

  Bridget reached for his glass. “Let me taste it.” Bridget sipped the tea, frowned, and then looked into the glass. She plucked out the decorative green sprig and declared, “Oregano.”

  Paul lifted an eyebrow. “Interesting.”

  “We’ve been having some problems with Ida Mae,” Lindsay confided in a half whisper as Bridget got up and tossed the contents of Paul’s glass over the railing.

  Bridget refilled Paul’s glass from the pitcher on the table. “We understand what you’ve been going through,” she told him sympathetically as she handed him the glass.

  Paul gave a small shake of his head, even as he smiled his thanks to Bridget. “Bottom line, things haven’t been exactly loaded with spalike serenity at home. He won’t take time off, he won’t take care of himself, he won’t take his medicine half the time, and he won’t listen to me. I’ve done everything I know to do, but I just couldn’t stand by and watch him destroy himself any longer. So .. He smiled bleakly and lifted his glass to them. ”Here I am.”

  “Oh, Paul,” Cici said sincerely. “I’m so sorry.”

  Lindsay’s expression was one of abject sorrow. “You’ve been together longer than most married people I know. I don’t know how to think of you apart.”

  “You should have stayed,” Noah said shortly, abruptly. “You don’t just run out on people when they’re in trouble.”

  Bridget said gently, “Noah, it’s more complicated than that.”

  But Paul lifted a finger to Bridget and met Noah’s eyes. “You’re right. But sometimes people need some time apart to figure things out.”

  Noah pushed to his feet, scowling. “I’ve got stuff to do.”

  Lindsay opened her mouth to say something, but Cici stopped her with a small shake of her head.

  Lori said philosophically “Kids. They see everything in black and white.” Then she turned to Paul, with only the faintest trace of anxiety. “But it’s just temporary right? I mean, you’re working on things?”

  Paul returned a small smile, sipped his tea, and told Bridget, “Much better.”

  Then he said, with forced enthusiasm, “What I’m working on now is getting you ladies through the wedding from hell. No, no .. he insisted when they started to protest, ”I got you into this, and I’ll get you out. I knew you were in trouble,” he confided, ”when I heard they’d fired their fourth wedding planner. I mean, excuse me, but Angela Gabriel is only the premier event coordinator in the tri-state area. You have to book her years in advance, and these people obviously pulled a hundred strings to even get on the list. Then to fire her? Clearly, they’re out of control. So I,” he declared magnanimously, ”am taking over.”

  They all spoke at once. “Oh, Paul, really, you don’t have to—”

  “You’re the best friend ever! But really—”

  “We’ll take it!” Lori declared loudly, both hands raised over the din. And when the other three looked at her, shocked, she returned a stern gaze. “We are in no position to turn down professional help,” she informed them.

  After a moment, Lindsay chuckled, and even Cici smiled. “Can’t argue with that,” she admitted.

  Bridget gave Paul a one-armed hug. “Thank you,” she said. “And may God bless you and yours,” she added fervently, “forever.”

  There was a strange, rhythmic clip-clopping sound, and they turned to see Noah leading the goat around the corner of the porch. The goat was chewing a piece of cardboard, and Noah had a strange look on his face.

  “Noah!” Cici cried. “What are you doing? Get that goat off the porch!”

  And Lindsay added, “How did she get out of her pen?”

  Noah said with an uncomfortable shrug, “Sometimes she chews through the latch. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. She needs a house. Uh...” He looked from one to the other of them. “Did somebody leave a box on the back stoop?”

  It took them a moment to understand the significance of the dark gooey substance that was smeared around the goat’s whiskers and chest hair and the gold-edged cardboard she was slowly masticating as they watched. Bridget rose slowly, her hand over her heart.

  “No,” she gasped, swallowing hard. “Not the chocolates. Please say it’s not the chocolates.”

  Lindsay’s expression was grim. “UPS must have delivered them this morning while we were busy in the back of the house. The driver always leaves packages on the back stoop.”

  Bridget’s voice sounded a little choked, even as her hand traveled to her throat. “That goat,” she managed, “did not just eat a hundred individually boxed monogrammed chocolates.”

  “No,” Noah assured her. “Not all of them.”

  Bridget sank back against the wall and closed her eyes.

  Cici looked at Paul and managed a small smile. “Welcome home,” she said.

  “And,” he murmured, dusting off his hands as he rose, “not a moment too soon.”

  January 12, 2009

  Sweetheart,

  I wish I could make you understand what it felt like for me to be apart from you all these years, to know you were out there in the world, making your way, making your mark, living your life—all without me. I want you to know how much I wanted to be with you and how hard I tried to find you and, in the end, why I couldn’t tell you the truth. I want you to forgive me. I want you to have a good life. I want you to think of me sometimes and smile. It’s selfish, I know. But that’s what I want.

  Because I’ve always, always loved you.

  13

  Problems of Their Own

  TO: Cici@LadybugFarmLadies.net

  FROM: SMarcello319@mico.net

  SUBJECT: Lori

  Dear Signora Gregory (Lori’s mother):

  am Sergio, Lori’s friend in Italy who she has told you about I am hoping. I am hoping also you will forgive me that I am e-mailing you in person from the address that is on your website, and that you will not think too badly of my English, which is better when speak it than when I write it. Please believe that I am not, as my American friends tell me is said, stalking Lori. I am very vvorried. I know she is hurt with her leg & in hospital. I e-mail but she does not reply. If she is mad with me, that is OK. But I am so worried. Please tell me she is fine.

  With all warmest regards,

  Sergio Antonio Marcello

  “Good heavens,” Cici murmured. “I think I just might marry him.”

  “If you don’t, I will,” said Lindsay, reading over her shoulder.

  “Scoot, both of you.” Paul waved them away from the desk with a sheet of paper he had just taken from the printer tray. “We need a bigger office.”

  “You need to call Derrick,” Cici said.

  He placed the printout in the fax machine and tapped out a number, then took Cici’s place in the desk chair as the machine began to grind. “And you,” he ordered, “need to find me the telephone number of the biggest funeral home in the county.”

  Lindsay repeated, alarmed, “Funeral home?”

  “Where else are we going to get a hundred chairs on such short notice? Not to mention tents.”

  Cici laughed out loud as the telephone began to ring. “You are a genius!”

  Paul glanced at his watch, picked up the telephone, and declared, “Catherine, darling! You got the copy of the rehearsal dinner menu! Yes, it’s true, it’s me ... don’t be absurd, it’s my pleasure, my pleasure entirely.”

  Lindsay flung her arms around his neck. “I love you!”

  Paul
held up his finger for silence, smiling. “No, I don’t think twenty individual filets would be more appropriate for the rehearsal dinner. I think we are fortunate to have one of the most gifted chefs in Virginia catering this event, and since the groom’s parents are hosting the rehearsal dinner, and since they are paying for roast turkey with fingerling potatoes, that is exactly what we should have.”

  Lindsay, holding both thumbs up in the air, did a little dance. Cici sat on the floor with the wafer-sized telephone book and looked under “funeral homes.”

  “Now,” Paul was saying, “about the monogrammed chocolates ... I know, I know, but a little passé, don’t you think? I had something a bit more unique in mind. After all, you’ve always been such a trendsetter.” He rolled his eyes to Lindsay. “I know you don’t want ordinary party favors at Traci’s wedding ... Well, as it happens, I did have an idea. Cookies. Yes! Shaped like ladybugs! Yes, exactly—just like Ladybug Farm. No, I don’t think it’s too late to put in an order ...”

  He covered the phone with his hand and whispered, “Can Bridget make a hundred ladybug cookies by the wedding?”

  Lindsay and Cici chorused, “Yes!”

  “No, not a problem,” Paul was saying to Catherine, “we’ll just swap out the chocolates for the cookies, and if there’s any difference in price we’ll bill you.”

  Cici and Lindsay clapped their hands over their mouths to smother shrieks of delighted laughter.

  “Yes, sweetie, kisses to you, too, and the blushing bride. Umm-hmm. Bye.”

  “You are worth twice what we’re paying you!” Lindsay declared, kissing him again.

  “Easily” he agreed, absently scrolling down the e-mail screen on the computer. “Lori is in Supply, right? Tell her to order a hundred—no, better make it a hundred and fifty—three-by-five cellophane bags for the cookies, and have them overnighted. Who is this darling young man? And is she insane for not answering him?”

  Cici scribbled a number on a Post-it note and stood. “Call Derrick,” she advised sternly, and handed the note to him. “But first, call the funeral home. And”—she reached around him to click the computer mouse and exit the program—“stop reading other people’s e-mails. You’ve got enough problems of your own.”

  The phone rang again and he lifted the receiver with two fingers. “Ladybug Farm,” he said cheerily. “Fine foods, gifts, and mega-events.”

  Cici said, “I guess we’d better tell Bridget about the cookies.”

  “I’ll tell Bridget,” Lindsay said. “You get Lori on the cellophane bags.”

  “Oh, Jezebel,” Paul sang out, and held the telephone out to Cici as she started to leave, his eyes twinkling. “One of your victims is calling.”

  Cici took the phone from him, puzzled, but confusion turned to dismay as she heard Richard’s voice. “Who was that?” he demanded.

  “Oh, hi, Richard.” There was no disguising the lack of enthusiasm in her voice as she turned away from Lindsay who was trying hard to look disinterested, and Paul, who pretended to be browsing the Internet. “That was Paul. He’s helping us with the wedding, remember I told you about that? And I really can’t keep this line tied up ...”

  “I know we agreed to keep our distance for a while,” he said, his voice low and tender, “but I wanted to check on Lori. And I missed you.”

  “Lori’s fine. Lori’s great. I’ll tell her you’re on the phone.”

  “And I have some news.”

  “Really Richard. Awfully busy, here.”

  “My broker found a piece of property that sounds like just what I’ve been looking for. I was thinking I’d come look at it next weekend. Maybe we could get together.”

  “Richard,” Cici warned urgently, “don’t you dare say a word to Lori about this.”

  “I won’t. I told you, this is just in the speculation stage.”

  “Because she’s dealing with a lot right now. We all are.”

  Paul murmured, tapping his watch, “Tick tock.”

  “I’ll get Lori on the phone,” Cici said hurriedly. “Thanks for calling, Richard. Hold on.”

  Lindsay stepped outside the office and called around the corner, “Lori! Your dad’s on the phone!”

  Cici waited until she heard a click and Lori’s cheerful “Hi, Daddy!” and then she returned the phone to its cradle, feeling a little awkward in the silence that followed.

  “Don’t feel bad,” Paul said sympathetically. “It’s not like we haven’t all done something we’re ashamed of.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Cici muttered. “And I certainly hope you’re not thinking of giving me relationship advice.”

  “Relationship?” Paul’s brows shot skyward. “This is worse than I thought.”

  Lindsay looked concerned. “Honey, you never said ... how did you leave things with Richard?”

  “That’s the problem,” Cici admitted unhappily. “I’m starting to think that how I left them, and how he left them are two different things.”

  Paul tapped a few keys on the computer. “Never mind about the cellophane bags. I just sent Lori an e-mail.”

  “She’s in the next room!”

  “And”—another click—“told Bridget about the cookies. The next sound you hear will be ...”

  But they waited, and listened, and didn’t hear anything from Bridget at all.

  Bridget@LadybugFarmLadies: Don’t you know that we love you? And it hurts our feelings when you don’t tell us these things.

  Derrick@artsolo: How is he? I could wring his neck.

  Bridget@LadybugFarmLadies: How do you think he is? He loves you, too.

  Derrick@artsolo: This is so childish.

  Bridget@LadybugFarmladies: I couldn’t agree more!

  Derrick@artsolo: I meant Paul. This isjust like him. Such a drama queen.

  Bridget@LadybugFarmLadies: Excuse me? I don’t see how you can overdramatize heart problems.

  Derrick@artsolo: I don’t have a heart problem! I had an episode.

  Bridget@LadybugFarmLadies: That, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, is the stupidest reason I’ve ever heard for having a fight with someone who cares about you.

  Derrick@artsolo: It’s more complicated than that.

  Bridget@LadybugFarmLadies: I’m listening.

  Lindsay poked her head into the kitchen. Every available surface was filled with clear glass jars, apricot and green ribbons, champagne glasses, tiny white silk roses, and rolls of cellophane. There were three cake layers cooling on the center island, four racks of scones cooling on the shelves that once had held recipe books, and something was scorching on the stove.

  Lindsay said, “Can you make one hundred ladybug cook ies before the wedding?”

  Bridget replied, without looking up from her typing, “Sure.”

  Cici was behind her. “Where is Ida Mae?”

  “I sent her to the barn to bring more jars.”

  “Because whatever is on the stove is burning.”

  “Oh, cripes!” Bridget started up from the table. “It’s the lemon filling for the wedding cake!”

  “I’ve got it.” Lindsay hurried to remove the smoking pot. “You’re making the cake now?”

  “I’ve never made a wedding cake before. I have to practice.” Bridget glanced distractedly at the steaming pot Lindsay transferred to the sink, then back to the keyboard.

  “What is all this stuff?” Cici asked, indicating the champagne glasses, ribbons, and flowers.

  “Paul brought it, for the rehearsal dinner. Each place setting will get a champagne glass decorated with flowers and ribbons and an apricot floating candle. That way we don’t even need a centerpiece.”

  “Perfect. Do you want us to put flowers and ribbons on champagne glasses, or slice strawberries?”

  “Strawberries,” ordered Bridget, typing. “I’m IMing with Derrick.”

  “Tell him to get his sorry ass out here this minute,” said Lindsay “and make up with Paul.”

  “Tell him I could strangle him for not telling us
he was in trouble,” Cici added. “And I’ll never forgive him if he breaks Paul’s heart. Or mine.”

  Bridget@LadybugFarmLadies: Lindsay and Cici send their love.

  Derrick@artsolo: This is not my fault you know. He wants me to sell the gallery. He wants to move to the country!

  Bridget looked up from the keyboard. “Paul wants to move to the country.”

  Lindsay slid into a chair at the table beside her. “Wow.”

  Cici said, “I didn’t think he was serious.”

  Bridget@LadybugFarmLadies: So what’s wrong with that? We’re in the country!

  Derrick@artsolo: I have to go. Customers.

  Bridget logged off, closed the laptop, and went to the sink to scrape the burned lemon goo out of the pan.

  “You know,” Cici said, “we can’t get involved in this.” She removed a big yellow bowl filled with strawberries from the refrigerator. “They’re grown-up people, and we have problems of our own. And I hope these are not all of the strawberries.”

  “It’s okay. I just need them hulled and sliced. I think that will give me enough for about a gallon of jam, and I can use the ones in the freezer for the scones and the balsamic-strawberry salad dressing. As soon as Noah gets home from school I’ll put him to work picking cherries for the cherry wine jam and the cherry conserve for the turkey.”

  Cici put an empty bowl and a knife on the table and sat down beside Lindsay. As Cici pulled off the leaves and stems, Lindsay sliced the berries into a bowl.