Summer Breeze (12 page)

A particularly stubborn head of dark brown curls made Patsy late to the meeting of the Tea Lovers’ Club that Wednesday afternoon. The client, a woman from Iowa who had recently bought a house near Camdenton, wanted highlights. Not merely a few gently glowing streaks, either. She insisted on bright gold stripes that Patsy had worried would make her look like she had on a tiger-skin cap.

Not only did the woman’s curls have a mind of their own, but that brown color did not want to bleach out. Patsy’s first effort wound up auburn, which she thought looked downright pretty. But the new client was newly divorced, and she was out to make a statement. She had on a V-neck top down to here and a miniskirt up to there, and she looked like she was about to spill out everywhere. No matter how much Patsy tried to talk her into a more sensible color combination, the woman was determined that her hair be brown and gold.

By the time Patsy made it to the table with her cup of tea and a buttermilk scone, she was about fried. Tiger Lady had left the salon, pleased at last, but then Patsy’d had to rush through Steve Hansen’s trim and Opal Jones’s toenails in order to get to the meeting before everyone left. Opal wasn’t pleased to be kept waiting either, but she had an appointment that she intended to keep. At ninety-four, she was too stiff to reach her feet and needed Patsy to work on them every once in a while.

“What color did you paint my nails?” Opal asked loudly as she sat down beside Patsy.

“Red!” Patsy shouted into her left ear, which worked better than the right one. “Same as always!”

Opal smiled and took a sip of tea. Patsy knew that no matter how old the widow got, she took great pride in her appearance. She enjoyed wearing high heels to church, and she regularly drove herself to the outlet mall in Osage Beach to shop the sales. Today Opal had on a yellow knit top sprinkled with butterflies and a pair of matching slacks along with her pretty open-toed sandals.

Letting out a deep breath and trying to relax the muscles in her calves and back, Patsy lifted her cup to her lips. Evidently Esther Moore was putting forth her usual effort to impose an agenda on the club. She was jotting down “new business” in her little notebook. This new business included a plan for a Fourth of July decorating spree in which every home in Deepwater Cove and every shop and restaurant in Tranquility would be transformed by members of the TLC.

“The dollar store has red, white, and blue bunting for sale,” Esther was saying as Patsy nibbled on her scone. “I think we ought to drape some on the front of each golf cart in the neighborhood. Does anyone know where we can find affordable flags?”

“Our restaurant manager at the country club accidentally ordered too many flags for the tables,” Ashley Hanes spoke up. “They’re fairly small, but I bet he’d let us have the extras for free. We could put one in every yard.”

Patsy noted that the redhead’s neck was encircled five-deep in strands of handmade beads, which she fiddled with when she talked. Her skinny tank top and tight shorts bore evidence that the young woman wasn’t the least bit pregnant, though Ashley had secretly confided in almost everyone that she and Brad were trying to have a baby. Still starry-eyed about her handsome husband, Ashley took great joy in showing off her engagement ring with its large diamond. It was as though she couldn’t quite believe she had actually married the high school’s most popular athlete.

Ashley hadn’t had her hair trimmed for a while, Patsy realized. The redhead had never been one to sit quietly in the salon chair, and Patsy knew she would always get a full update on how things were going between the newlyweds. Maybe after the club meeting Patsy could schedule Ashley an appointment for a trim. Her ends were getting a bit straggly.

“That is a wonderful idea, Ashley,” Esther said, beaming. “If you’ll get us those flags, we’ll be just about set. Does anyone else have an idea for what we might do to celebrate the independence of our great country?”

“We could put on a fireworks show down at the commons area by the water,” Ashley suggested. “Brad loves fireworks. He’d be happy to organize it if people would chip in a little money.”

At this, Esther’s lips pinched shut. Everyone knew that shooting off fireworks on the commons was against the Deepwater Cove bylaws, and everyone but Brad Hanes was glad. The young man turned into a kid nearly every holiday, blowing up who knew how much money on bottle rockets, Roman candles, and other pyrotechnics. Patsy herself didn’t mind fireworks, but she felt sure Ashley’s suggestion would be voted down.

“I appreciate the thought,” Esther said, “but you know my dog is terrified by fireworks or thunder, or any loud noises. Poor Boofer tries to get behind the sofa, but these days he’s too fat. He wedges in as far as he can go, and then he gets stuck. It’s all Charlie and I can do to pull him out.”

“I’ll have to agree with Esther about fireworks,” Brenda Hansen spoke up. “My cat feels the same way Boofer does about loud noises. I’ll never forget the night lightning struck an electric pole near the house and Ozzie jumped into a pan of pink paint. I thought I’d never get him clean.”

Ashley shrugged, her face suddenly forlorn. “Well, if that’s how you feel. Most people enjoy watching fireworks on the Fourth. It’s traditional, you know.”

“How about barbecuing pork steaks on the commons instead?” Patsy put in brightly.

Pork steaks might as well be added to Missouri’s official seal. As far as Patsy knew, there had never been a gathering of people in the Show-Me State without someone serving pork steaks.

“Folks could bring their portable grills,” she went on, “and we could have a potluck supper with the steaks, casseroles, and different salads.”

“Steve will be happy to churn homemade ice cream,” Brenda offered. Her husband had kissed her cheek before departing the salon a few minutes ago when Patsy finished his trim.

“I have a great seven-layer dip if people want to contribute bags of chips.” Kim Finley hadn’t said much till now. As a rule, she was fairly quiet, but when she did have something on her mind, she expressed it well. “And I’ll bring the fixings for sundaes, too. There’s nothing like hot fudge, pecans, maraschino cherries, and whipped cream on a sundae.”

“What’s happening on Sunday?” Opal asked, elbowing Patsy.

“We’re talking about the Fourth of July!” Patsy disliked yelling, but she didn’t have much choice since Opal had left her hearing aids at home. “We plan to barbecue pork steaks on the commons!”

“I didn’t realize the Fourth was on a Sunday this year,” Opal declared. “I guess I’ll bring a couple of my apple pies.”

No one could deny that Opal Jones made the best apple pie in the county. As everyone clapped, Esther called the meeting to a close, and the women resumed their chatter. Several rose to refill their cups, while others prepared to leave.

Patsy took delight in the comfortable crowd gathered in her tea area. Since the founding of the TLC, she had come to think of it as a garden—a safe, quiet place set aside for nourishment, growth, and support. As the music of her favorite trio, Color of Mercy, drifted in the air, Patsy studied her patch of blossoms, birds, and butterflies.

Ashley Hanes, still in the springtime blush of marriage, seemed to be settling down a little now, just as flowers sank their roots into the soil in preparation for summer. Orange-red canna lilies blossomed in Patsy’s mind when she looked at Ashley. With her flame of long hair and her stacks of beaded necklaces, Ashley came across as tropical and exotic.

Patsy loved canna lilies, and she planted a cluster of them near her mailbox every year. They were tall, showy, and bright all summer, but they didn’t last long once the first frost hit. And that was the trouble with cannas—in winter, their raggedy blooms fell off, and their leaves faded from green to brown to black. In Missouri, cannas died out altogether unless you dug them from the ground and hid them in a warm place until the following spring.

Chatting with Esther Moore, Ashley projected a confidence and strength as hardy as a canna’s with its thick stem and broad leaves. But Patsy wondered what would happen if winter ever struck the Hanes marriage the way it had Brenda and Steve Hansen’s.

Thank goodness, these days Brenda was perking right up. She made Patsy think of another lily that was common all over Missouri. Unlike cannas, surprise lilies could survive the harshest freezes and ice storms. As soon as spring arrived, they sent up long green leaves as a sign that they were still alive. But it wasn’t until summer, after the leaves had long since vanished, that these bulbs surprised everyone by bursting out of the ground to show off their prettiest pink ruffles. Leafless, the blossoms danced in the breeze on long stems, nodding as if to welcome everything else in the garden.

Not only was Brenda showing signs of a lovely summertime outlook, but Esther Moore continued to reflect that season too. Calm, comfortable, and satisfied in her long marriage to Charlie, she was a honeysuckle vine. Hardy green foliage and a sweet perfume announced that the honeysuckle, like Esther, was perfectly happy and showing no signs of fading.

“What do you think about bananas?” Brenda asked Kim Finley.

For a second, Patsy feared the others at the table had been reading her mind. Then Brenda finished her thought.

“Steve is crazy about banana splits. He’d rather eat a banana split than a steak dinner. In fact, that’s why we bought the ice cream maker.”

“I’ll bring plenty of bananas,” Kim assured her. “Derek likes them too. Lydia won’t touch a banana, but Luke might as well be half monkey.”

Both Kim and Brenda were seated at the table with Patsy and Opal. While Opal serenely sipped her tea and studied the scene outside the salon, Patsy continued to take account of her tea garden. For some reason Cody hadn’t shown up for the TLC meeting, which wasn’t like him at all. Some of the women were beginning to leave, and Patsy regretted missing most of the fellowship. She hoped Kim and Brenda would linger awhile, even though she knew they had such busy lives.

“He’s doing better each day,” Kim was telling her friend when Patsy began listening to them again. “Luke is much more conscientious than I had expected. He’s actually pretty good at keeping track of his blood sugar and figuring out his insulin doses.”

“That’s wonderful. My Justin wouldn’t be that responsible. He’s still in college, but he barely passes each semester. So unlike Jennifer and Jessica.”

Patsy thought Kim looked a little weary today. In the garden of women Patsy nurtured, Kim had never been a summer girl. Life had taken a toll on her, and these days she seemed a bit faded—beautiful but worn, like a cluster of chrysanthemums at the end of the season. Maybe once they had been golden or purple, but now the flowers were losing their color and the leaves were starting to wilt.

“Kim, could we talk about your curtains?” Brenda spoke up all of a sudden.

The way she leaned forward and laid her hand on Kim’s arm startled Patsy from her gardening reverie.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kim said, her lips forming a halfhearted smile. “You’re probably right about the lace. I’ve been thinking about taking them—”

“No!” Brenda’s grip tightened on Kim’s arm. “Please don’t take down those curtains. I mean that seriously. I’ve done some thinking, and I’ve looked through my home-decor magazines since I was at our house, and now I realize that lace goes quite well with more masculine furnishings. It provides a balance. Harmony of texture and sensibility. The truth is, those curtains are gorgeous, Kim. Once I got a closer look, I could see they were delicate and unusual—maybe even handmade. I think they should stay exactly where you hung them.”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said, and I wish I’d had more time to think it all through before I spoke a single word. The way your mother-in-law was going on about the leather chairs and the twill sofa, I felt overwhelmed. Somehow I thought maybe
you
wanted to replace the curtains. But then as I was leaving, I saw your face, and I realized how much you love them. I think they go perfectly in your living room, Kim. I mean that.”

“But lace is a very different texture than leather and twill.”

“Exactly. They complement each other. Listen, Kim, I enjoy decorating, and I’m learning more all the time. But I’m no expert. I do what feels natural to me, and that’s not always right for everyone else. You’ve seen my house. Yours is very different, but that doesn’t make it wrong. In fact, I’ve always loved your home and felt totally comfortable there.”

“If you think I should leave the curtains, I will. But Miranda won’t be happy.”

“Well, whose house is it, anyway?” Brenda shot back.

At that, Kim fell silent. She folded her paper napkin into a tiny square. Then she set it on the table and pushed it up against her plate. “I’m not sure,” she said finally, glancing at Brenda and then at Patsy with a look of apology in her eyes.

“That house belongs to you and Derek, of course,” Patsy blurted out. She had no idea what the big deal was about lace curtains, but she had sat on the Deepwater Cove Association’s board of directors long enough to know what belonged to whom. “You own a house, a slip in the community dock, two cars, and a boat.”