Threading The Needle Part 28

The woman a.s.sured Tessa that she would, thanking her three more times as Tessa escorted her to the door before closing and locking it. The woman waved at Tessa through the display window and Tessa waved back until the woman disappeared around the corner, then froze for a moment, her hand still in the air with fingers splayed, before closing them into a fist and letting her arm drop heavily by her side.

I walked up and draped my arm across her shoulders. "If you're going to go out," I said, "that's the way to do it-with style."

Tessa looked at me and smiled, eyes glistening. "You think?"

"Yeah, I do."

"She seemed like a nice lady."

"She did," I agreed. "Just like you. You're a cla.s.s act, Tessa. What my dad would have called 'a stand-up broad.' When it came to women, that was his highest form of praise. Probably explains why he never married."

"Thanks, Madelyn. Thanks for coming."

She turned and hugged me. I hugged her back, holding on for a long time, not loosening my grip until she did.

"Now," I said, rubbing my hands together. "Let's open that picnic basket, uncork that bottle, and figure out what you're going to do with the rest of your life."

Tessa wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, then laughed. "Is that what's on tonight's agenda?"

"Among other things, my friend. Among other things."

44.

Tessa "Ilike it better this way," I said, twisting to take in the empty shelves and counters cleared of objects, the flickering shadows of flame projected onto naked walls warmed by the glow of fifteen candles.

We'd started with one lavender candle that Madelyn had pulled from the recesses of her basket and set in the center of an old, worn quilt she'd brought for us to sit on during our picnic on the shop floor. Halfway through the bottle of wine, and after cutting into the orange cake she'd baked and decorated with a birthday candle (only one, for which I was grateful), I decided we needed more light, so I got up and lit my remaining stock of vanilla candles. The effect was peaceful and softened the sharp edges of my mood.

"It's clean. Simple. Why did I crowd the place with so much stuff? If I'd just displayed a few items at a time, maybe people would have been able to see more. Maybe I would have . . ."

Madelyn shook her head insistently as she turned her fork backward to lick off a last glob of cream cheese frosting. "The shop was perfect. Your products were fabulous and your service was the best. You didn't do anything wrong, Tessa. It was just your timing that sucked. End of story."

I'd said the same thing to myself a dozen times, but in my heart, I didn't really believe it. Being a victim of the times seems so capricious. I believe things happen for a reason, that there are lessons to be learned even in hards.h.i.+p, and that even when we can't see it, there is always a divine plan at work. But I didn't say any of that to Madelyn.

"Anyway, the candles look nice."

"They do. The older I get, the more I appreciate dim light."

I clinked my gla.s.s against Madelyn's. "Can you believe we're about to celebrate another birthday? I thought I'd be smarter by now. Or that I'd at least know what I want to be when I grow up. Seems a little late to be reinventing myself again. And a little pathetic, don't you think?"

Madelyn rolled her eyes. "Will you quit feeling so sorry for yourself? If you insist on continuing to look at this as a failure, then it will be. But if you choose to look at it as an opportunity, then it will be. It's your choice."

"Did you read that somewhere? Or are you just making this up as you go along?"

Madelyn arched her left eyebrow, the way she does when she's pretending to be mad. "That's the second time I've been asked that today."

"I know. I was just teasing you," I said. "But, really, what are you going to do about Jake?"

"I already told you-nothing. I wasn't wrong and I was telling him the truth. He'll either decide to believe me or not. Quit trying to change the subject. We were talking about you. What do you want to be when you grow up? I mean, were you really happy working in the shop all day? Because, knowing you like I do, I can't quite see it."

"Why?" I asked, bristling a little. "I was pretty good at retail."

Madelyn lifted her hands. "I didn't mean it that way. I know you were good at it, but did you like it? Seems to me you're happiest when you're out in your garden, not cooped up inside a store."

She had a point.

Working in the shop had been fun at first, but as time wore on, and especially as the dreamed-of crush of customers failed to appear, I'd begun to resent the long, lonely hours spent dusting shelves and rearranging stock.

"I don't know. I think what I really wanted was the chance to grow the herbs and create the products. That's the fun part. But I also wanted to share them with people.

"Like this," I said, picking up the center candle. "When I've had a rotten day, walking into a room that smells of lavender, or treating myself to a hot shower with a bar of bergamot and lime soap, or rubbing on lemongra.s.s body lotion makes me feel like things aren't so bad. Peppermint hand cream can't cure a broken heart, but if I can make things that give ordinary people a little bit of luxury, a moment's pleasure . . . I wasn't looking to make a lot of money, just a living. And doing so while helping people enjoy life a little more."

I shrugged. "I know that probably sounds silly."

"No." Madelyn rocked forward so she could reach the wine bottle and refill my gla.s.s and then hers, tipping the bottle high to make sure none of it was wasted. "Just the opposite. I think that sounds very wise."

She grinned, reached out to break a crumbly piece of cake off with her fingers.

"And I say that because, believe it or not, I feel exactly the same. Ha! Wouldn't Gene Janders be surprised to hear that? Sterling too."

She looked up at the ceiling, as if Sterling's ghost might be found hovering above, and announced in a loud voice, "But it's true! I, Madelyn Beecher Baron, the gold digger's gold digger, the most mercenary of the mercenary, have come to a cliched but important realization: Money doesn't buy happiness."

She popped the piece of cake into her mouth and looked at me with a "how do you like that" expression.

"True, but it does come in handy now and then." I sighed. "Now that the shop is closed, I suppose I should look for a job."

"I thought you were going to help Lee on the farm?"

"Yes, but he doesn't need much help right now, not until the weather warms up. If I could bring in some money, even a little bit, it'd be a big help. Plus, I need something to do with myself. I've always worked."

Madelyn looked thoughtful as she licked frosting from her fingers.

"Well, why not come work for me part-time? I mean it," she insisted, reading the doubt on my face. "I can't call on Jake to help me anymore. I never should have in the first place. And with this wedding coming up, I could really use an extra pair of hands."

"You don't want me," I protested. "I don't know anything about innkeeping."

"That's a relief. On my budget I can't afford to hire someone with experience.

"Seriously, Tessa. I'm going to have to hire somebody, why not you? The hours could be flexible, so you could help Lee when he needed it. More importantly, it'd give you a chance to think out what you want to do with For the Love of Lavender."

"What do you mean, what I want to do with it?" I frowned. "That dream's over. It died at five o'clock, after I rang up my last sale and locked the front door."

She shook her head emphatically. "I don't think so. You were doing what you love, creating products you love, that other people could enjoy. You had the right idea. I just think you chose the wrong way to execute it. For the Love of Lavender isn't dead, just on hiatus. You just need to find another way to do what you love, Tessa. You need a Plan B."

"I see."

I appreciated Madelyn's attempts to buoy my spirits, but her newfound optimism and insistence on refusing to do what I'd done, acknowledge my failure and accept the consequences, was a little irritating.

"Where will I find this Plan B? How long will it take to find it? A month? A year? Ten years?"

"I don't know. But why not leave the door open to the possibility? Come work with me for a little bit and see what happens next. What do you say?"

I wasn't sure if it was a great idea to work for my friend. But I had to do something, and Madelyn's offer was tempting. Maybe she couldn't pay me much but, these days, who could? Especially for part-time work with flexible scheduling? And even if I could find a job, I really didn't want to start at the bottom in some new company filled with new people, not now.

"All right," I said and stuck out my hand. "I accept. Thanks, Madelyn."

"Yeah?" Madelyn's face lit up as she grabbed my outstretched hand to seal the bargain. "That's great! It's fun, you'll see. Most of the time, I don't even think of it as work." She lifted her hand, adding a caveat. "Except when I'm dealing with a clogged toilet or a demanding guest. That's definitely work. But most of the time it just feels like . . . life.... Like living a satisfying life, more satisfying than the life I lived in New York and much less tiring.

"Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to pretend to like people you don't, who are also pretending to like you? What a waste of time and energy. Since coming to New Bern, I've worked harder than I've ever worked in my life. But when I flop into bed at night, I feel like I've accomplished something."

Madelyn paused to take a sip of wine. "I had a sweet couple stay with me a couple of weekends ago. They were celebrating their anniversary, so, as a surprise, I decided to bake them a cake. They must have thanked me ten times."

"Well," I said, inclining my head toward the half-eaten birthday cake, summoning my willpower to keep from taking another slice, "if it was half as good as this one, I can understand their grat.i.tude. That was smart, Madelyn. I bet you made them customers for life."

Madelyn nodded. "You're probably right, but that wasn't why I did it. I was trying to make their visit special. And I did. And it felt great. Of course, I was happy to have that room occupied-I needed the money. But that money is already gone. However, the image of that couple sitting in my dining room, holding hands across the table as they blew out the candles on their cake, will stay with me for a long time. It made me happy to see them so happy.

"And I guess that's my point. I had everything backward. When I was only thinking about money and myself and how to get more money for myself, I couldn't buy happiness at any price. Now that my first focus is on making other people happy, happiness has fallen into my lap like a ripe apple."

"Speaking of happiness," I said, throwing willpower to the four winds as I reached for the knife, "how about another piece of cake?"

"Why not? I have a theory that calories consumed on your birthday don't count toward annual totals."

"My birthday isn't for two days yet and yours is two days after that."

She shrugged and held out her plate. "Birthday week. Close enough. Wait a minute!" she cried. "I almost forgot your present!"

Madelyn put down her plate and started rummaging around the bottom of the picnic basket before pulling out a small package wrapped with turquoise tissue paper and handing it to me.

"Open it!"

I tore through the layers of tissue and gasped as I spied a glint of silver and aquamarine gla.s.s.

"The bracelets! Our friends.h.i.+p bracelets! I can't believe you kept them all these years."

"I didn't," she said as she reached over to place one of the bracelets on my wrist. "I smashed those to smithereens years ago. I salvaged the beads from jewelry I found at tag sales and thrift shops while I was doing the remodeling, and restrung them, so these are new. Well, old-new. Like our friends.h.i.+p.

"And this time," she said as she put on her own bracelet, "I strung them on silver-plated beading wire instead of fis.h.i.+ng line, so it's virtually unbreakable-also like our friends.h.i.+p."

I held up my arm in the candlelight and twisted my wrist back and forth, making aquamarine shadows dance on the walls and ceiling. "I love it. I just love it. Happy birthday, Madelyn."

"Happy birthday, Tessa."

45.

Madelyn May Icame down the back stairs into the kitchen, carrying a laundry basket piled so high with sheets and towels that I didn't see Tessa was on the phone.

"Tessa? When I reorganized the supply closet, do you remember where I put the lightbulbs? A bulb burnt out in Room Four. At least, I think it's just a bulb," I mumbled to myself. "It better be. I'm tired of writing checks to the electrician."

I plunked the basket down on top of the dryer and turned to see Tessa with the phone to her ear, her eyes screwed shut, and her hand held out flat toward me, indicating that this was not a convenient time to talk.

"I'm sorry, but we're full that weekend. We've got vacancies every other weekend in June. I'd be happy to book you for any of those," Tessa said hopefully, then nodded in silent acquiescence as whoever was on the other end of the line spoke.

"I see. Well, I know the other inns are full too. It's a very popular weekend. You might try calling Barbara Jansen at the Goshen Chamber of Commerce. I think she's working on some sort of waiting list for vacancies. You're welcome. Hope you find something. And if you're ever back in the area, I hope you'll come stay with us."

Tessa hung up the phone and sighed.

"Let me guess," I said. "They wanted a room during the Dylan Tyler concert?"

"You got it."

Three weeks previously, it had been announced that Dylan Tyler, the legendary singer who rose to fame in 1968 with the release of his Starlight at Midnight alb.u.m and had been releasing hits ever since, proving that there were still many beautiful songs to be sung with nothing more than an acoustic guitar for accompaniment, would be giving an outdoor benefit concert in Goshen. The concert tickets sold out within three hours. Every hotel room in a fifty-mile radius sold out within six hours.

I growled and shoved the sheets into the washer while Tessa pulled towels out of the dryer and started folding. "Why did it have to be that weekend? The one weekend we're full? And why does the wedding have to be at the same time as the concert? We could have booked those rooms ten times over."

"Look on the bright side. We're at sixty percent occupancy for the last two weekends in June and we've got at least forty percent occupancy for every weekend in July. So you're going to break even for June and July. Not bad."

"Uh, not quite," I admitted. "I just hired Chico's brother-in-law to tear out the old walkway and put in a new brick one."

"And how much is that going to cost?" Tessa tucked a bath towel under her chin and folded it into thirds. "Four hundred?"

"Five," I admitted. "And fifteen hundred more for the arbor in the garden and to replace the picket fence and garden gate in front."

Tessa stopped folding. "I don't know why you decided to do all that right now. Couldn't it wait?"

"I want everything looking great for the wedding pictures," I said defensively. "It's an investment. If we could start doing a lot of wedding business, we'd be set. Wipe that look off your face. I was going to do it eventually anyway. You're such a worrywart."

"I know. It just seems like a lot of money."

Sometimes it felt like I'd hired a loving but scolding older sister rather than a part-time a.s.sistant, but it was all right. Tessa worried because she cared-and because she couldn't help it. Some people are born cautious just as others are born reckless. And if you have to think very hard to decide which of us is which, you haven't been paying attention.

Sometimes you just have to go with your instincts. And I had a feeling about this wedding. Something was going to happen, something big. It wasn't anything I could name, just a sense that the weekend was terribly important, that my future and the future of the inn hung in the balance. But I didn't say that to Tessa.

"It's not that much."