The Carson Springs Trilogy: Stranger in Paradise, Taste of Honey, and Wish Come True (82 page)

Gerry knew she was only making matters worse, but thought,
Damned if I do, damned if I don’t
.

“It’s really pretty amazing when you think about it,” she persisted, maintaining a sweetly innocent tone. “The drone gives her a lifetime supply of sperm when they mate, so in her case, once is enough.”

“Fascinating,” the nun said coldly.

The sense of futility was stronger than ever. What was the use of trying to win her over? By this time tomorrow Sister Clement would be on her way back to the mother-house. After that, it would only be a matter of days, weeks at the most, before Gerry was asked to resign.

If that were her only problem, she might have been able to put it in perspective. But there was Andie, too. Yesterday, when she’d returned home from the airport, Gerry had phoned her at Mike’s. Andie had been tearful but firm—she had no intention of coming home. It had been all Gerry could do to keep from jumping in her car and roaring up the hill to her ex-husband’s. The situation had to be handled carefully, she knew. Andie was hurting.
And didn’t I ignore all the signals?
Though it killed her to do so, she’d agreed to let Andie stay put for the time being.

A favorite saying of her mother’s popped into her head:
You’ll catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.
She prayed the same was true of Sister Clement. Maybe it wasn’t too late after all. If she could convince the woman she was doing more good than harm, maybe, just maybe …

They’d reached the edge of the clearing, with its rows of hives tucked amid the trees. Off in the distance she could hear the faint gurgling of the stream.

Gerry noticed Sister Clement hanging back, clearly nervous.

“Are you sure we won’t get stung?” She eyed the bees lazily circling the hives.

“Don’t worry, we won’t go any closer.”

The years of constant exposure had left Gerry fearless, but Sister Clement was eyeing the nearest hive, a good fifteen feet away, as warily as if it had been a rattlesnake coiled to strike. Nearby, one of Sister Carmela’s helpers, garbed in protective gear—white canvas jumpsuit, leather gauntlets, netted hood—was bending over a dismantled hive. Bees clung to her back and shoulders like a furry mantle.

“She’s cleaning away the propolis,” Gerry explained. “It’s a kind of resin the bees use like Spackle.” She indicated the gluey deposits being gently wiped away with turpentine. “It’s also used for embalming.”

“Embalming?”

Gerry pointed out a yellowish clump the size of a small soap bar stuck to the frame. “Probably a mouse that wandered in by accident and was stung to death.”

Sister Clement looked distinctly pale. “I … I think I’ve seen enough.” She held her notebook tightly clutched to her bosom. “I should be heading back. I’d like a word with the reverend mother before I go.”

Gerry’s heart sank. “In that case, I don’t want to keep you.” She turned but noticed Sister Clement wasn’t falling into step. She stood rooted to the spot, batting at a bee that buzzed about her head.

“It won’t sting if you hold still,” Gerry advised.

Too late. It was as if the woman were on fire. She waved her arms wildly, using her notebook to slap at the bee, which only served to attract more. With a jolt of alarm, Gerry realized the cause of all this excitement. The notebook was a dark maroon, a color that had the same effect on bees as the whirl of a matador’s cape on a bull. And Sister Clement’s frantic movements weren’t helping any. A small swarm had gathered now. A bee landed on her arm, and she let out a shriek.
“Oww, owww, owwwwwww
…”

More bees fastened themselves to her arms and back, and one resembling a large mole clung to the port stain on her cheek. “Don’t just stand there!” she squealed. “Do something!” She slapped at it, letting out a high, injured yelp.

Gerry approached her slowly so as not to excite the bees further. “Listen to me,” she said, her voice calm and steady. “Do exactly as I tell you and you won’t get hurt.
You’ve got to hold perfectly still.’”

But Sister Clement was beyond all reasoning. Ignoring Gerry, she bolted down the path, shrieking at the top of her lungs. The bees, in a frenzy now, swarmed after her.

With, a groan Gerry took off in pursuit. A dozen or so yards ahead, Sister Clement was zigzagging like a crazed buffalo amid the tall grass, arms flapping and veil flying. It might have been comical if Gerry hadn’t seen it for what it was: the sealing of her fate.

She’d chased Sister Clement halfway across the meadow before the nun tripped on her hem and went sprawling facedown on the ground. Gerry caught up with her and dropped onto her haunches, ignoring the few bees that hadn’t tired of the chase.

“Are you all right?” She seized Sister Clement by the arm, hauling her upright.

The woman was trembling all over, her eyes wide and staring. The port stain on her cheek had begun to swell, resembling a large purple contusion.
“You did this on purpose!”
she cried, flecks of spittle spraying from her contorted mouth.

“I’m sorry. I had no idea—” Gerry stopped, realizing anything she said right now would fall on deaf ears. “Would you like me to take you to the infirmary?”

Sister Clement ignored Gerry’s outstretched hand. “Thank you, Mrs. Fitzgerald, but I won’t be needing
your
assistance.” Her veil was awry and a clump of gray hair poked from under her starched wimple. With what little dignity she had left, she reached up to adjust it before stalking off in the direction of the road.

Gerry stood there, flooded with hopelessness.
This is a joke,
she thought. A cruel joke God was playing on her. She began to laugh hysterically, plunking down amid the sweet clover and timothy grass. She laughed until her stomach hurt and tears were streaming down her cheeks.

“For the love of God, what’s gotten into you?”

Gerry looked up to find her old friend Sister Carmela gazing down at her with concern. “I’ve just screwed myself out of a job, that’s what,” she said, pulling herself to her feet.

Sister Carmela’s expression didn’t alter. No doubt she’d heard saltier language growing up in one of L.A.’s worst neighborhoods. “So I see.” She glanced at the distant figure trudging up the road, her mouth stretching in a smile as if she believed Sister Clement had gotten exactly what she deserved.

Gerry felt a rush of affection. “Oh, Sister, I’m going to miss you.”

“Now, now. I won’t be hearing any such talk. You haven’t been fired yet.” The older woman patted her arm. “Perhaps if I put in a good word with Sister Clement …”

Gerry shook her head. “Thanks, but it wouldn’t do any good.” She gazed out over the meadow, where larks sang and hummingbirds caught the sunlight in flashes of iridescence. “I’ll be okay. Don’t I always land on my feet?” She smiled bravely, hoping that saying it out loud would make it so.

Making her way across the meadow, she glanced over her shoulder to find Sister Carmela standing motionless amid the tall grass, her creased brown face that of a mother anxiously watching her child cross a busy street. Gerry’s gloom lifted. She had friends here,
good
friends. In the months to come those friendships would sustain her.

Minutes later she was back in her office, listlessly sorting through the morning mail, when she heard a knock at the door. Mother Ignatius poked her head in.

“Do you have a moment?”

One look and Gerry knew she’d gotten an earful from Sister Clement. Her heart sank. “You’ve heard, I see.” She gestured toward the chair opposite her desk, but the reverend mother chose to remain standing. A bad sign.

She didn’t mince words. “I had someone take her to the infirmary. Let’s hope she isn’t allergic. But that’s not what concerns me. It seems Sister Clement is under the impression you purposely put her in harm’s way.” Mother Ignatius’s eyes were wintry.

“Is that what she told you?” Gerry grew warm with indignance before remembering there was more than her own future at stake here. “I suppose I should have been more careful, but I certainly didn’t mean her any harm,” she said.

“I told her as much.” The stern lines in the mother superior’s face relaxed. “Though I don’t suppose it made any difference. I believe Sister Clement has—what do they call it nowadays—an agenda?”

“I didn’t do anything to help, that’s for sure.”

“I won’t disagree with that.”

“Well, she can take her report and—” Gerry stopped, ashamed of what she’d been about to say. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not just my job on the line.”

A weary smile touched the reverend mother’s lips, and she suddenly looked every day of her age. Without a scrap of self-pity, she said, “Whatever happens, the needs of our community come first.”

“How soon will we know?”

“They’ll call a council. After that, it should go fairly swiftly.”

Gerry appreciated her directness. Mother Ignatius had never been anything less than honest, if at times brutally so. “I just wish there was something we could do.” Clearly her heart-to-heart with Jim Gallagher hadn’t helped.

The reverend mother started for the door, then turned with a smile of such illuminating sweetness her austere face was at once transformed. “It wouldn’t hurt to pray.”

Yes,
Gerry thought.
And where would it get me?
These days God’s presence was like a distant bell she could no longer hear. All her life, even in her darkest hours, she’d been comforted by the knowledge that He was looking over her. But now all she felt was alone.

She thought of Aubrey, and before she knew it, she was reaching for the phone. It had been more than a week since she’d seen him. He’d had a recording session in L.A., followed by a concert. Not that she minded his absences—just the opposite, in fact. Wasn’t it wonderful they both had their own lives, that neither of them had to sit home pining? Except now … well, right now she
needed
him—a need as profound as the relief that swept through her when he answered.

“Hello?” He sounded distracted.

“It’s me.” Was she interrupting something?

“Gerry.” His voice softened. “I was just thinking of you.”

She relaxed. “You were?”

“This very moment. You must have read my mind.”

“Good. If I’m a mind reader, I shouldn’t have any trouble finding another job.”

“What’s this? Don’t tell me you’ve been fired!” The concern in his voice was like a soothing balm.

“It’s a distinct possibility,” she told him. “Look, I don’t want to get into it over the phone. Can I see you?”

“I’m free tonight.”

“I was thinking more like right now.” She was quick to add, “If you’re not too busy, that is.”

“Aren’t you at work?”

“I could always play hooky.” God knew she was entitled. Hadn’t she given herself heart and soul to Blessed Bee, most days scarcely taking so much as a coffee break?

There was a pause at the other end, and her heart seemed to hover motionless between beats. Then came the answer she’d been hoping for. “Shall I pick you up?”

“No … thanks. I’m on my way.” She wasn’t so distraught she couldn’t drive, but bless Aubrey for wanting to saddle up his white charger.

Fifteen minutes later she was climbing Isla Verde’s steep, tree-lined drive in her car. She waved to old Guillermo, taking a break from the gardening, and he brought a finger to his lips to warn her not to say anything to Lupe about the cigarette he was enjoying. She smiled back, turning an invisible little key in the corner of her mouth the way she had with Sam when they were kids: His secret was safe with her.

She was pushing open the courtyard gate when Aubrey emerged from the house to greet her, dressed in a suit and tie as if she’d caught him on his way out the door. At once, she knew she had.

“You shouldn’t have canceled your plans for me,” she scolded lightly.

He kissed her on the mouth. He smelled faintly and deliciously of Lupe’s strong coffee laced with cocoa. “It wasn’t important—just lunch with Gregory.” His agent, she recalled. “I told him something had come up. He was most understanding.”

“Now I feel twice as guilty.”

“Don’t. I think we’re beyond that, don’t you?”

He studied her in the dappled green light filtering through the tall ferns, and she had the strangest sense of being stored away for future reference. She felt a sudden chill. Was he growing tired of her? If so, there was nothing to suggest it. More likely he felt as she did, that this wasn’t what they’d bargained on. Somewhere along the way it had crossed the line between intimate friendship and … something more.

“I’ll bet you say that to all the ladies,” she teased, but her heart wasn’t in it. What if Aubrey decided to end it? Once she might have been all right with it. But now …

“Only the pretty ones.” He flashed her a mock seductive smile, one eyebrow arched.

“Aren’t you going to ask me in?”

“I thought we’d take a drive instead. I had Lupe pack us a picnic lunch.”

“Sounds like heaven.” If anyone was a mind reader, it was Aubrey. A picnic was just what she felt like.

“Wait here. I won’t be a moment.”

He reappeared minutes later in khakis and an open-collared shirt, toting a wicker hamper. “It’s not exactly Fortnum and Mason,” he said. “But it’s as good as you’ll get on such short notice. Come, we’ll take my car.”

They strolled out onto the drive, their feet crunching over the drift of dried blossoms from the acacia tree overhead. More were scattered like tiny fallen stars over the hood of the Jaguar parked outside the garage. He escorted her around to the passenger side and held open the door. Gerry sank into the glove-leather seat with a sigh. She could easily get used to this, no doubt about it.

The morning’s tension began to drain away as they sped along the winding, tree-lined road. Aubrey drove too fast, hugging the curves, but for some reason it didn’t worry her. She sensed that he was in control.

Before long they were turning onto Schoolhouse Road, named after the town’s original one-room schoolhouse, now a dilapidated old wreck. In the fifties, it had enjoyed a brief second life in
Stranger in Paradise,
the movie that had put their valley on the map. She recalled how Sam’s mother used to enthrall them with the story of the day she’d visited the set as a guest of the director, a legendary ladies’ man, which had left Gerry and Sam to speculate endlessly. Sam insisted it was innocent; Gerry hadn’t been so sure.