Love in Bloom Page 10

  Millie beamed at her like she was a willing pupil. “Well, it’s quite simple really. The armor is your faith in him, your encouragement.”

  Amber yanked out another weed. Okay, maybe she didn’t want to hear what Millie had to say after all. “Why me? I’m tired of being strong. I’m doing everything.”

  “You are doing a lot,” Millie agreed. “And I know that seems awfully unfair right now. And, of course, I could be all wrong, but maybe you’re not doing what’s needed the most.”

  That wasn’t fun to digest. Amber spent the next ten minutes stabbing the dirt, pulling weeds, and brooding. Millie wisely kept quiet. “I don’t see why I have to be the one to make all the effort,” Amber said at last. “He needs to man up.”

  “It’s been my experience that men sometimes need a little help with that. Did you ever hear the story of Samson, from the Bible?”

  “The guy with long hair? Of course.”

  “Then you remember what happened to him when his hair got cut.”

  Amber chewed her lip. Where were they going with this? Probably no place she wanted to go.

  “He had no strength until his hair grew back.”

  This was dumb. “So, now we’re comparing Ty to Samson?”

  “They’re both men, aren’t they? What was your husband like before your restaurant failed?”

  Amber took in a deep breath of spring air. The groundskeeper was cutting shaggy lawn in one area of the park, and the fragrance of newly mowed grass drifted their way along with the hum of the mower. She could close her eyes and remember other smells—the smells in the kitchen of their little restaurant: garlic and seared beef and salmon. She could almost hear the hiss and crackle of the pots on the big stove, and Ty’s laughter.

  His grandfather had been a chef who’d owned his own restaurant. Ty had inherited the prized black and white photo of Grandpa Tyler posing next to John Wayne’s table, the Duke shaking hands with Grandpa, giving his compliments to the chef. He’d also inherited his grandfather’s flair for food. His dad had become a teacher, but he loved the idea of his son owning a restaurant. In fact, both families had been more than happy to support them, both emotionally and financially. In spite of all the hands willing to catch them, the fall from that lofty, hopeful high had been horrible, humiliating.

  Amber took in a deep breath. “He was a happy man. Lots of big dreams, you know. He wasn’t a football star or anything in high school, but he was fun to be around. Everybody hung out at his house after school. He made better nachos than Red Robin. Everybody liked him.”

  “Including you.”

  “Including me. I don’t like him much right now, though. In fact, I don’t even know if I love him anymore.”

  “Well, it seems to me that love is ninety-nine percent doing. If you keep doing love, the feeling might just grow back,” said Millie.

  Seth came over with a handful of what Amber hoped were weeds. “Look at all the weeds I got, Mommy.”

  “Good job, Sethie,” she told him. She regarded her little garden kingdom. Tiny green things had popped up everywhere, many of them uninvited. She’d be here forever. “I hate weeding,” she said with a sigh.

  “Weeds don’t go away instantly,” Millie said. “But don’t worry, you’ll get a handle on it. Gardening, like so many things, takes time and patience.”

  “That was subtle,” said Amber, giving her a reluctant smile.

  “I thought so.” Millie let out a tired sigh and pulled back a garden glove to check her watch. “Oh, look at the time. I need to get going.” She picked up her yellow kneeling pad. “Don’t forget about the coffee grounds.”

  “I won’t. And thanks. For everything.”

  Millie smiled down on her. “You’re going to be fine, my dear. I know it.”

  “I hope you know as much as you think you know,” she murmured as Millie climbed into her car.

  She stayed at the community garden a little longer, idly pulling weeds and thinking about the man she’d married. For better or for worse. Things couldn’t get much worse. Did she have enough energy to try just a little harder to make them better? She sure had nothing to lose.

  They returned home to find Ty brooding on the couch, scowling over an old issue of Bon Appétit.

  “Daddy, we saw a bunny today,” Seth announced as she pulled off his dirty shoes at the front door.

  Ty rubbed a hand across his thickly stubbled chin. “The Easter Bunny, huh? He’s probably got his Easter egg factory somewhere nearby.”

  “Easter eggs?” Seth asked eagerly.

  “You’ll never find them,” Amber told him. “Not until next Easter when he’s ready for you to. Now, go take off those dirty pants,” she added, giving him a pat on the bottom.

  “A rabbit, that’ll be good for your garden,” Ty said, turning back to his magazine.

  His negative words didn’t do much for her new determination to take Millie’s advice. She had to force herself to walk over to the couch. She pulled out the memory of their first night back from their honeymoon and in their new apartment, envisioned Ty and herself making chicken pesto pizza for their first dinner, then eating it while they unpacked boxes. And kissed. And kissed some more. They never ate much of that pizza, and they didn’t get very many boxes unpacked. Or so she’d thought. But after she went to bed, he stayed up half the night setting up her kitchen for her.

  Her husband had a good heart. She bent down and kissed him on the cheek.

  “What was that for?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Just a thank you for being a good man.”

  He looked at her with eyebrows raised. “Uh. Thanks.”

  She didn’t say anything more. She simply turned and went to the bedroom to change. She hadn’t exactly given her husband an entire emotional suit of armor, but it was a beginning.

  IT DAWNED ON Millie when her grandson came home that it wouldn’t hurt her to take some of her own advice. Did it matter whose fault it was that she was feeling a little left out here in her new home? What mattered was rolling up her sleeves and doing something about it.

  When he plopped down on the couch to play his video game, she plopped down right next to him. “You know, that looks like fun,” she lied.

  The expression on his face told her he thought she’d gone around the bend.

  “How about showing me how to play?”

  “Sure,” he agreed with a shrug that said, “Whatever,” but his smile said, “All right!” He plugged in a second set of controls and walked her through the intricate how-tos.

  And, of course, once they started playing, she couldn’t even begin to keep up. So many buttons to push, so much to remember! It seemed she barely got her man on the screen when Eric found him and killed him. “Eric the Punisher strikes again,” she moaned, making him laugh.

  The game was ridiculous and she didn’t have the fast reflexes for it, but she didn’t care. She was sitting beside her grandson, doing something together. That was priceless.

  Emily came in the door with her best friend, Sarah. “Gram, what are you doing?” She gawked at Millie as if she was running around the room in her underwear.

  “Just playing a game,” Millie said. She probably should have been lying down, resting. But she could rest anytime.

  “Okay,” Emily said dubiously. “Come on,” she said to Sarah, and they disappeared up the stairs.

  At five o’clock the phone rang. Millie knew before she answered it that it was Debra, calling to say she’d be home late.

  “Some of the women in my department are going out for dinner. Ben won’t be coming to get the kids until tomorrow. Do you mind feeding them and keeping an eye on things to night?”

  “Not at all. You need to get out.”

  Although Debra hadn’t been home much all week. The excuses came fast and furious. She had to work late. She had to run errands. She had to get her haircut. She had to go shopping. Home was not a place of refuge for her daughter. It was a reminder of failure and a yoke of responsibi
lity to be borne alone. Not totally true, since her ex-husband took the children every other weekend. But he wasn’t there in the trenches with her every day. Millie knew that hurt, and it wasn’t the kind of hurt a mother could heal.

  “Thanks,” said Debra. “Oh, and Emily had asked if Sarah could spend the night, but if it’s going to be a problem having an extra kid around till I get home, you can tell her no.”

  “That’s not a problem,” said Millie.

  “Thanks, Mom. I really need this.”

  “I know you do.”

  “Don’t wait up for me. Love you.”

  Millie could hear the gratitude in her daughter’s voice and it made her feel good that she could help. Still, she hung up with a sigh. She’d still hardly had any quality time with Debra. That was another garden that needed some serious tending.

  But for now she had children to feed. She’d thawed hamburger earlier and she made it into meatloaf. She half considered making baked potatoes to go with it, along with green beans from the freezer. She decided instead on substituting frozen French fries and making a green bean casserole. Everyone would eat that, she knew.

  And they did, along with ice cream for dessert.

  Millie remembered her daughter’s sleepovers and slumber parties. Even then girls wanted to look and act like supermodels, but they always reverted back to simply being young girls, eager for evening treats. Emily and her friend would be hungry for something more in an hour.

  So, Millie found the makings for chocolate chip cookies and got to work as soon as she’d loaded the dinner dishes. Fifteen minutes later, the house was filled with the fragrance of chocolate.

  Carrot cookies hadn’t been a hit, but chocolate chip were another matter altogether.

  Eric raided the first batch out of the oven while they were almost too hot to handle. “These are good,” he said, and snitched another. The phone rang and he snagged it. “Hey. Yeah? Cool,” he said to the mystery caller. Then to Millie, “Can I spend the night at Mike’s house? His mom will come get me.”

  “Are you tired of me beating you at that Halo game?” she teased.

  That made him guffaw.

  Mike was Eric’s best friend. Debra would have okayed it, so Millie said, “Of course.”

  Now it would be just her and the girls. Maybe she could lure them downstairs to play Steal the Pack.

  Eric was off in a flash to grab his coat . . . and a toothbrush and clean underwear with a little prompting from his grandmother. Ten minutes later, he was gone and she was taking cookies up to the girls.

  “Wow,” said Sarah. She stopped painting her toenails and grabbed for a cookie. “These look awesome.” At least that was what Millie thought she said. The music was turned up so high she couldn’t be positive.

  Emily smiled at her and called, “Thanks,” then went back to turning her toenails blue.

  Somehow, it didn’t seem like the right time to suggest a girl party. A girl party was already going on, one for young girls. And that is as it should be, Millie told herself. She was too tired to play Steal the Pack anyway.

  Emily and her friend came down twice, once for milk to go with the cookies, another to make micro wave popcorn. The first time they were too busy talking to even notice Millie sitting on the couch with her book. The second time Emily was on her phone, having some kind of important conversation while Sarah coached her through it as the micro wave popped. And then they vanished.

  The girls were having fun, Millie told herself, and that was the main thing. And they liked the cookies.

  And she was a long ways from Little Haven. She wondered what her friend Alice was doing. This would be the perfect time for a chat.

  Except back in Little Haven, it was now after ten at night and Alice would be in bed. So would all of her old gardening buddies. Well, maybe she’d just give the boys a call. But her sons weren’t home. Of course not. It was Friday night. People were out having fun. Having a life.

  With a sigh, Millie turned on the TV to the home and garden channel. Her daughter’s living room looked so big and empty when only one person was sitting in it. And there was nothing on the home and garden channel.

  “Bah,” she said in disgust, and started flipping channels in search of something more exciting.

  ELEVEN

  DEBRA WAS GRUMPY on Saturday morning, refusing the offer of pancakes and yelling at Emily, who was chasing her friend up and down the stairs in pursuit of the pink cell phone that held treasure—a boy on the other end of the line. Millie watched with concern as Debra poured herself a cup of coffee, then leaned against the kitchen counter gripping her cup like it held the elixir of life.

  “I know I’m a grump. I had too much to drink last night,” Debra confessed.

  It wasn’t a hangover that was responsible for her daughter’s mood. Debra’s ex-husband was due to pick up the children for the weekend. Millie made a wide berth around that subject. “Did one of your friends bring you home?” she asked as she put the frying pan in the sink.

  “Yeah. I’ll have to take the bus on Monday. I’m not sure last night was worth that.”

  Debra had been such a pretty girl. But this morning with the dark circles under her eyes and the deepening frown lines between her brows and around her mouth, the prettiness was slipping away. And she was letting herself get too thin. It made her look gaunt. Pancakes would have been good for both her soul and her hips. “But you had a good time?” Millie prompted.

  “It was okay,” Debra said. Rather a lackluster account of her big evening out. “Thanks for staying with the kids,” she added.

  Squeals and thumping penetrated through the ceiling. Debra moaned and took another sip of her coffee. “I know I was like this at that age. Poor you.”

  Millie shook her head. “I loved every minute of it.”

  “Then you were nuts.” Debra rubbed her forehead. She pushed away from the counter with a world-weary sigh. “I’m going to shower. Ben should be here soon.”

  “I’ll clean up,” Millie said, and started loading the breakfast plates into the dishwasher.

  “Thanks, Mom,” Debra said, and kissed her cheek.

  It was a small, daughterly gesture, but it warmed Millie’s heart like summer sunshine. She hummed as she cleaned up and rolled leftover pancakes into little jam sandwiches.

  She had just finished in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. It was Sarah’s mother coming to collect her. Since Debra was still showering and dressing, Millie did the farewell honors.

  “Thanks for making cookies,” Sarah told her. “They were great. Text me,” she said to Emily.

  Emily nodded, then, as soon as the door was shut, ran up the stairs to pack for her weekend with her dad.

  Next, Debra’s ex arrived. Eric still hadn’t returned from his sleepover, so there was nothing for it but to invite him in. “Emily, your father’s here,” Millie called up the stairs, and hoped Emily would come right down.

  But she didn’t. And Debra was still nowhere in sight. It looked like Millie was going to be left in charge of entertaining her former son-in-law.

  They stood there in the hallway, enveloped in awkward silence. “Would you like to sit down?” she offered.

  He looked up the stairway as if hoping his kids would instantly materialize so he could escape but said, “Sure. Thanks.”

  He followed her into the living room and they took up positions on opposite ends of the couch.

  Millie hadn’t seen her son-in-law without the buffer of other people since the divorce, and she found herself at a complete loss for words. What did one discuss with the man who had once been a son and was now an outcast?

  “I told Eric to be back by ten. I’ll just call and make sure he’s on his way,” she said. That took a whole minute. Yes, Eric was en route. She returned to the living room, wishing she could have hidden out in the kitchen. But that would have been rude. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “No, thanks. I’m fine.”

  And, from what Mi
llie knew, he was. According to the children, their father had acquired a new girlfriend since the divorce. Someone had stepped in and taken her daughter’s place. It didn’t seem right.

  He cleared his throat and gave the keys in his hand a flip. “Are you settling in out here okay?”

  So, they were going to keep things light. Of course, there was no point talking about disappointments and regrets. “Oh, yes.” And then, she couldn’t help herself. “Ben, I’m so sorry you and Debra couldn’t work things out.”

  “Maybe if she was more like you, we could have,” Ben said, his jaw tight.

  “Yeah, and maybe if you weren’t a bastard, I would be more like my mother,” came an angry voice from the stairs.

  Ben stood. Politely. Reluctantly. “I see you’re your normal happy self.”

  Debra walked into the room. She’d put on makeup and was wearing her tightest jeans, but the angry expression on her face ruined the effect. “You missed a whole night with your kids.”

  “I told you, it couldn’t be helped,” Ben snapped.

  Debra rolled her eyes. “Right.”

  Emily thumped down the stairs, dragging an overnight bag behind her. “Daddy!” she cried, and left the bag at the bottom of the stairs and ran to her father for a hug.

  “Hey, Princess,” he said. “Ready for some fun?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  She lit up like a firefly when she was around her dad. Watching her brought back happy memories of Debra hanging on Duncan’s arm when he stood visiting in the church narthex or running to greet him when he came home from a business trip. Little girls adored their daddies no matter what. Why did they have such a hard time feeling the same way about their husbands?

  Now Eric had blown in the door, and he was equally glad to see his dad, and ready to turn right around and head out the door. With no clean underwear.

  Debra sent him to his room to collect fresh clothes, and the three adults stood awkwardly together while Emily prattled on about her adventures at school.