The All You Can Dream Buffet (29 page)

And now Jack. “I’m touched,” she said. “And a little embarrassed.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said. “I love the way you look at the world. Upbeat. Beautiful. Even ugly things are beautiful when you look at them.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, closing her eyes, pressing the phone against her ear. She wanted to smell him again, to press her face into his neck and—

Stop.
Ginny focused on Willow, who’d followed her out of the Airstream. She sat on the trailer step and threaded the dog’s ear through her fingers. “I think you know me better than I know you now. You should start a blog.”

He laughed. “Not happening.”

“You can’t have liked everything,” she said.

“I do, actually. It’s for women, I get that, but I like it anyway.”

“That sounds fairly honest.”

“I don’t lie. It was a resolve I made when I got into that big mess with my ex.”

“Me, either,” she said, and realized that she was sort of lying. “Usually.”

“Am I causing problems for you?”

“No. It’s my life that’s been causing problems for me. But I don’t do things like kiss strangers when I’m married to somebody else. That’s not me.”

“I’m not a stranger, though, am I?” There was a smile in his voice.

She had no idea how to answer. She suddenly wanted to see his face so badly, to be looking into his eyes, as if she had a nutritional deficiency that would lead her to eat rocks or get rickets if she didn’t correct it immediately. “I saw the ocean today.”

“And what did you think?”

“It was—more than I can put into words. I’m not a word person, really. I had to close my eyes and let it wrap me up and fill me up, and then I could stand to look at how beautiful it was. I could look at it for a thousand years.”

“That’s a nice poem from somebody who isn’t a word person.”

“I guess.”

“Are you going to meet me tomorrow in McMinnville?”

She let go of a breath. “Are we going to be friends, Jack, or something else? This doesn’t feel like friends, and I’m kind of afraid you’re using me.”

“I don’t think we’re going to be friends, Ginny. I think we’re going to be lovers, and I think it’s going to be good. I might be worried a little, too, that you’re going to play with me and never leave that husband who makes you so miserable.”

“I never said he makes me miserable.” It bothered her that the phrase had come up twice today.

“You didn’t have to say it, exactly.”

She wanted to say,
This feels wrong.
She wanted to say she was married and didn’t cheat. But both of those would be lies. “I want to see you tomorrow. I’ll meet you at the Blue Moon.” She laughed. “One of my friends is a blogger with that name. ‘The Flavor of a Blue Moon.’ ”

“I’m glad, Ginny. I’m so glad. I won’t so much as hold your hand, I promise.”

She didn’t believe him exactly, but aloud she said, “That’s good. I’ll see you then.”

She hung up without waiting for his answer and pressed her face into Willow’s shoulder, the thick fur soft against her forehead. Willow groaned and settled one paw on Ginny’s arm, in case Ginny should care to scratch her belly. With her fingers aimlessly scratching the dog’s belly, Ginny let her heartbeat slow.

Adulterer,
said a voice, and this time it didn’t sound like her mother’s but like some version of her own. Her conscience, maybe.

Lavender Honey Farms

yamhill co., oregon

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We’ve started distilling the new season of oils this week. It is quite a process, so if you haven’t seen it, stop by the shop sometime soon and join one of our tours. We have two on Saturdays and Sundays, and you can usually talk one of our clerks into showing it to you during the week. (Please don’t ask for special tours during the Lavender Festival! You’ll have to join one in progress.)

In honor of the new pressing, all of our oils are 10 percent off on the website or 20 percent off at the shop. While you’re here, pick up some fresh organic eggs from our free-roaming chickens (you can see them wandering the farm anytime) and check out the organic produce available. This week we have a wide variety, including red and gold beets, spinach, green onions, and many others.

See you soon!

Lavender posted her blog, then stretched out on her bed, gobsmacked by an exhaustion that had plagued her all day. One of the dogs, Junior, padded into the room and settled down on the floor beside her, keeping guard and company, and Lavender let her hand fall over the side of the bed to the dog’s back.

She’d had indigestion all last night, so badly that she had to get up for Tums six or seven times, and it still bothered her now. Eating eased it a little, though the McDonald’s lunch they’d indulged in hadn’t helped. Foolish old woman.

A breeze came through the window, fluttering a curtain so threadbare and faded that it was hardly cloth anymore. She watched it sail up and fall back, the light pouring through it, tiny holes showing along the hem. It made her dizzy, almost faint, and she closed her eyes.

She was profoundly exhausted, as if she’d had the stomach flu for a week or hauled hay for three days straight. Back in the days when she was flying, there had been times when she crossed so many time zones over a week that she’d gone slightly batty with it and slept sometimes for twenty-four hours straight. It felt like that now, like she needed to sleep for two solid days and start over.

The breeze played on her nose and cheekbones. Those were the days. Ginger and Helen and Lavender, the flying three, wandering to Morocco or London or Buenos Aires. It was elegant
then, flying; people dressed up for it. Not like now, when people were packed in like anchovies, all wearing sweats and glitter on their butts. She didn’t have any desire to fly anywhere nowadays.

But it was the farm that had done that. The first half of her adult life had been spent wandering, playing, experimenting with the limits given to women in those days. She’d had the chance a couple of times to step out of the game, settle in with a man and have some babies, but each time the lure of the next destination held sway. She’d never regretted it.

The second part of her life had been this farm, building this business she was so very proud of. She’d worked sometimes eighteen, twenty hours a day at first, sleeping four hours, then shoving food down her throat and getting back to work for another fourteen or sixteen. There had been a host of disasters, large and small, and each one nearly brought her to her knees. If she had not had the basic organic methods and established chickens and sheep flocks, she would never have survived. God bless Glen. She hoped he’d be proud of her.

Ginny’s freckled nose floated over her imagination. Ginny was doing it in reverse. She’d spent her childhood on a farm, too, and had stuck with that life as a mother, but now she was wandering out into the world to see what else she could do. It wasn’t easy, not at nearly fifty. Lavender was proud of her.

But it was plain that Ginny would not be the heir. Her eyes were pinned on some far horizon, and she couldn’t possibly stick anywhere right now. It made Lavender a little sad, but that was that.

Who would take the farm? Her belly protested the worrisome thought, and she made a concentrated effort to let it go. Things worked out. She’d just have a nap, then get up and have dinner with the group and make an early night of it. Tomorrow was her birthday!

The Flavor of a Blue Moon

a blog about great food…

 

Ruby reclined in the harem bedroom of her camper. The rain had stopped, but there were still heavy clouds overhead, and the air left behind carried a damp chill. Wrapped in a sweater, laptop open in front of her, she admired the photo from this afternoon. It was so great to have everyone together. As she admired it, a comment popped up:
Looking good, Mama.
It was from her dad. Grinning, she picked up the phone and called him.

“Where are you?” she asked without preamble.

“Tom and I just made it to Sydney this morning. You look great, kid. Really healthy and happy. Are you having a good time?”

“It’s a blast. I love this farm, Dad! You should see the chickens. They are so adorable, and they take care of kittens in their nests, right along with the eggs. Isn’t that cool?”

“It really is.” She could hear him doing something in the background, probably unpacking. “What else?”

“Let’s see … I’m in love with the lavender fields. They’re astonishingly beautiful. And there are beehives that Lavender harvests honey from; it’s made from the flowers. And—oh, ick, ick, ick!” Ninja Girl had leapt into the camper, a butterfly flapping against her lips. Proudly, she jumped up on the bed, blinking her bright yellow eyes, and put the butterfly down. “The kitten has a butterfly! She just put it on my bed! What do I do? Ick!”

“She’s showing you that she’s a solid hunter, sweetheart. Praise her. Tell her thank you.”

“Ewww, it’s still fluttering!” Ninja Girl pounced happily and grabbed it again in her teeth, clearly quite proud of herself. “Okay, I see, baby. Take it outside now.”

Ninja Girl looked at Ruby, shifted weight on her front paws, but didn’t move. The butterfly, a big yellow thing almost bigger than the kitten, gave a sad, dying flap.

“Okay, thank you.” She petted her kitten’s back, careful not to touch the insect. As if that was what she’d been waiting for, Ninja Girl dropped it and leapt down, sauntering to the door, tail high. Ruby had to laugh.
My job here is done.
“Dad, she’s so cute.”

“Good to hear. And how ’bout you? How are you feeling?”

“Never better, and”—she snapped her fingers—“I have actually stopped throwing up. Miracle of miracles.”

“Told you it would get better.”

Ruby eyed the now-still butterfly. She would have to take it outside in a minute. For now she scooted her feet away from it. “I told Liam about the baby.”