Taste of Honey (18 page)

When it was time to go, Claire was left with more questions than answers. Why hadn’t Mavis insisted Gerry keep her? Was it because she’d been on overload herself, or were there other reasons?

Mavis followed them out onto the front porch. “I feel as if you just got here. But I mustn’t be selfish—I’m sure Andie and Justin are dying to meet you.” She gave Claire a brisk hug smelling of strong soap and ginger. When she stepped back, her eyes—those remarkable eyes like chinks of blue sky—were fixed on Claire with shining intensity. “You’ll come again, won’t you?”

Claire murmured something polite, emotions tumbling inside her like water over rocks. She hadn’t been able to think past this weekend. But now looking into the magnificent wreck of her grandmother’s once-beautiful face, she had the feeling she
would
be back.

Andie eyed the young woman seated at the end of the table.
My sister.
However hard she tried, she couldn’t quite wrap her brain around it. It was like the fairy tales her mother used to read to her when she was little, about peasant girls who were really princesses under an evil spell. When the spell was broken, the princess went back to her real family and everyone lived happily ever after. But that was only in stories. What would it have been like in real life?

And just look how Mom was fawning over her. Justin, too. Right now he was hanging on every word of the story Claire was telling—something about the Miss America state pageant in her hometown.

“The feminists picket it every year,” she was saying. “At last year’s one of them wore a dress made out of bologna slices. It was fine until the dogs got wind of it. She was practically naked by the time they were called off.”

Justin let out a bray of laughter. “Was she wearing underwear?”

“She must have been. It made the front page of our local paper—ahead of the winner. They put her on page three.” Claire smiled, dabbing at her mouth with her napkin. “This is delicious, by the way.”

“I’m sorry it’s only takeout,” Gerry apologized. “Like I said, I’m not much of a cook.”

“That’s not true, Mom,” Andie piped. “You make a great meat loaf.”

Gerry rolled her eyes. “Anyone can make meat loaf.”

“She makes good waffles, too,” Justin told Claire. “Not just the freezer kind.”

Gerry beamed at Justin, looking relieved that they were all getting along so well—like she had a clue. “More dumplings, anyone?” She held out the carton.

Andie eyed it longingly, then shook her head. “Better not.”

“She’s afraid of getting fat.” Justin helped himself to two. “As if Simon would notice.”

Andie shot him a dirty look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Justin shrugged, pushing a dumpling around his plate with chopsticks before giving up and stabbing it with his fork. “I haven’t seen him around lately, that’s all.”

“We didn’t break up, if that’s what you’re implying.”

The main reason Simon hadn’t been over was because she hadn’t asked him. It would have felt too awkward. The whole time she’d be imagining it was stamped in red ink on her forehead: We Had Sex. Not that her mom was in a position to judge.

“Simon’s your boyfriend?” Claire asked, looking interested.

“Sort of.” Andie didn’t see what business it was of hers.

“I’ll bet he likes Monica Vincent better.” Justin smirked.

Andie shot him a dirty look. “Simon’s doing an article on her for the local paper,” she told Claire. “In fact, I was with him when he interviewed her.”

Claire looked impressed. “Really? What’s she like in person?”

“Around here she’s known as the Bitch on Wheels.”

Gerry shot her an admonishing look. “Andie! It’s not nice to make fun of people in wheelchairs.”

Andie burned as if she’d been slapped. “
I
didn’t say it.”

“I
have
heard she’s impossible.” Claire cast her a sympathetic look.

Andie didn’t respond.

There was a brief silence filled with the clinking of forks and clatter of Buster licking a plate under the table. As if it were just an ordinary dinner on any old night, as if this
complete stranger
hadn’t dropped out of the blue, her mother expecting them to welcome her with open arms. Just add hot water and mix.

On the other hand, was it fair to blame Claire? It wasn’t like she’d asked to be a part of this family.
If she could have chosen someone to be her sister, it wouldn’t have been me.

Andie choked down a bite of Hunan chicken. “Mom said you were a lawyer.”

“Guilty as charged.” Claire’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Like on TV?” Justin asked.

“Not exactly,” she told him. “In real life lawyers don’t spend nearly as much time in court. Especially not the kind of law I practice. I handle wills and estates.”

“Rich people’s?” Justin looked hopeful.

Claire laughed, and shook her head. “Sorry to disappoint you, but most of my clients are ordinary people like you and me. Though, believe me, in the end it’s all the same. I’ve seen relatives fight over sets of dishes as if they were the crown jewels.”

“I’m gonna be a pilot when I grow up,” Justin announced.

“Military or civilian?” Claire, to her credit, wasn’t being condescending. She seemed genuinely interested.

“A navy fighter pilot.” He straightened, looking as if he’d grown an inch.

“
Top Gun
is his all-time favorite movie,” Andie told her. “He knows every line by heart.”

“Have you seen
The Spirit of St. Louis?
” Claire asked. When Justin shook his head, she added, “It’s about the first solo flight across the Atlantic by a man named Charles Lindbergh. I have the video—I’ll send it to you. Which reminds me …” She got up from the table and went out into the hall, returning moments later with a couple of wrapped gifts. She handed the smallest to Andie, saying, “I hope you like it.”

It was a silver barrette with mother-of-pearl inlay, delicate and beautiful. Cupped in her palm it seemed to glow. Andie felt as if she were going to cry. “Thanks,” she said, darting a glance at Claire. “That was nice of you.”

Justin’s face lit up when he opened his gift—a Game Boy program. “Awesome. Hey, how’d you know? It’s practically the only one I didn’t have.” He looked at Claire as if she walked on water. “Wait till I tell Nesto!” He pushed away from the table.

“Aren’t you forgetting something, young man?” Gerry prompted.

“Huh?” He glanced sheepishly at Claire. “Oh yeah. Thanks.”

“All right, you’re excused.” His mother’s nod sent him bolting as if he’d been shot from a cannon.

Claire got up. “I’ll help with the dishes.”

“No.” Andie jumped to her feet. “You’re company.” She placed the faintest emphasis on company. “I’ll do them.”

The doorbell rang just then and her mother darted out of the room, leaving her alone with Claire. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Finally, Claire cleared her throat. “Look, I’m sure this is as weird for you as it is for me.” She looked straight at Andie. “I just want you to know I’m not looking for a mother. I have one already.”

Andie felt the food in her belly congeal into a heavy stone. Wasn’t that what Cindy had said?
I know you have a mother. I’m not trying to take her place.
But it wasn’t her mother’s place Cindy had taken; it was Andie’s. Suppose that happened here? Only with her mom instead.

Her mother breezed back into the kitchen before she could reply. “Just the UPS guy—the new cushions I ordered for the patio chairs.” She reached for the apron on the hook by the stove, casting Andie a distracted look. “Don’t you have homework?”

“Mom, it’s
Friday.
” Andie felt absurdly close to tears.

Gerry didn’t answer. The tap was on and she was rinsing plates, handing them to Claire to stack in the dishwasher. They looked nothing alike—Gerry was tall and dark and big busted and Claire willowy, with brown hair that fell in soft waves about her shoulders—yet they seemed oddly compatible, moving together like dancers. Andie watched for a moment—she had the oddest feeling she was standing outside looking in through the window—then turned and slipped soundlessly from the room.

“I should be going. I don’t want to miss my flight.”

Claire folded her napkin and tucked it beside her plate. Sunday breakfast at Lundquist’s Bakery Cafe—famous for their apple pancakes, of which she’d eaten far too many—had been the perfect end to the weekend, and she was eager to be on her way.

“I’ll walk you to your car.” Gerry gave her kids a look that let them know they were to stay put.

Justin pushed his plate aside, looking up at Claire. “Remember, just download it like I showed you. The rest is easy.” He was referring to AOL Instant Messenger. Yesterday, after lunch, he’d given her a brief tutorial.

Claire shook his hand solemnly. “See you in the chat room.”

“It was nice meeting you.” Andie spoke with formal politeness. She’d ordered French toast, but had hardly touched it. Now she sat perfectly upright in her chair. The barrette holding her dark curls anchored over one temple wasn’t the one Claire had given her.

Claire wished there were some way to make Andie see that she wasn’t a threat. But this wasn’t about her, not really. Andie had clearly been troubled long before she’d arrived on the scene.

She smiled warmly at her half sister. “I like that color on you. You should wear red more often.”

Andie blushed, and looked down at her sweater. “Thanks. It was a present from my dad.” It was the first genuine response Claire had gotten out of her all weekend.

“Well … good-bye.” Claire touched her shoulder.

“Bye,” Andie said, her eyes downcast.

The weekend, for the most part, had gone well. Which, by Claire’s standard, meant there had been no unpleasant scenes and only a minimum of awkward silences. On Saturday, Gerry had shown her more of the sights—including the abandoned schoolhouse where a key scene in
Stranger in Paradise
had been filmed—before stopping in for a visit with Gerry’s friend Sam and her live-in boyfriend, Ian.

Claire had hit it off with them right away. Both were down to earth and easy to talk to, and it was impossible to be around them for more than a few minutes without seeing how crazy they were about each other, and how excited about the baby due in a few months. Though they looked nothing alike, Sam reminded her a little of Kitty, and the little house she shared with Ian was so snug and cozy, Claire could have moved right in.

The deep affection between Sam and Gerry was evident as well. At times, Claire had found herself wishing that Gerry weren’t her mother, that she could know her simply as a friend. How much easier it would be if everything Gerry did and said didn’t feel like a case of too little, too late.

Now, as she wound her way through the thicket of tables draped with coats and armed with elbows, Claire felt a sharp tug of longing. She was somewhere in the middle: neither friend, nor child. Gerry might regret having given her up all those years ago, but was she ready for more than this? A long-distance relationship that wouldn’t rock her comfortable boat.

She watched Gerry stop and chat with several people along the way. She seemed to know everyone and was obviously well liked. One of the waitresses, a stout flaxen-haired woman in an apron as pink as her face, waved to her as she passed. Then they were sidling past the bakery case, blooming with fragrant steam, and squeezing through the line that stretched out onto the sidewalk.

Outside, the sun was shining and church bells tolling. Claire glanced up at the steeple rising above a sea of green across from the park. When she brought her gaze back to Gerry, she found Gerry studying her intently, almost as if to memorize her.

“I hope you know what you’re getting into,” she said. “A chat room full of twelve- and thirteen-year-olds can be quite an education.”

“Oh, I think I can handle it.”

“Justin really took to you,” Gerry said.

“He’s a great kid.”

“Andie will come around, too. She just needs a little more time.”

“I don’t take it personally.”

“She hasn’t been the same since the divorce.” A bitter note crept into Gerry’s voice. “Mike doesn’t make it any easier, either. Half the time it’s like he’s forgotten he even
has
children.”

You’re a fine one to talk,
Claire thought.

They were strolling in the direction of her car. She waited for Gerry to say how sorry she was that Claire was leaving, or how much it had meant that she’d come—half hoping she would and at the same time that she wouldn’t.

She spotted her rented blue Taurus. Turning to Gerry, she said, “Listen, I—” She broke off suddenly.

A cluster of women was hurrying toward them—two sets of identical twins, one elderly and the other teen-aged. The older twins were dressed exactly alike, in flowered dresses and matching straw hats, while the younger ones, who had to be granddaughters, seemed to have gone out of their way to set themselves apart. One wore a demure blouse and long skirt; the other, jeans and a funky denim vest.

“Gerry! What a coincidence. Olive was just saying that she hadn’t seen you in church,” chirped one of the older twins. She and her sister might have been a pair of birds with their inquisitive brown eyes and gray hair pulled back into buns. “Father Reardon’s sermon was—”

“—most rousing,” her twin finished for her.

“Olive, Rose. Dawn, Eve. I’d like you to meet …” Gerry hesitated. She wanted desperately to introduce Claire as her daughter, but something about the stiff set of Claire’s shoulders warned her not to. She might think it pushy or, worse, presumptuous. And the weekend had gone so well she didn’t dare rock the boat. Next time—and oh, how she hoped there’d be a next time—when Claire was more comfortable with the whole thing, she’d climb the post office tower and shout it for all to hear. She finished weakly. “Claire Brewster. She’s, ah, visiting from out of town.”

Claire felt her breath gather into a little knot in her chest. She’d been so expecting to hear the words
my daughter
that at first that’s what she thought Gerry had said. A split second later the jarring realization hit:
She’s ashamed of me.
It was one thing for Sam and Ian to know—Sam was her oldest friend—and quite another for it to be common knowledge.