to. Let me take the two of you out to dinner tomorrow evening.”
“I’ll have to ask Meredith,” I said,
moving toward the door. ‘Tomorrow’s not going to be easy for her.”
“Of course,” Roz said. “Just tell
her how anxious I am to meet her. We have so much in common, loving Jo as we
did.”
“I will,” I said. I put my hand on
the knob. “Anything else? You’ll be all right, here by yourself?”
“Quite all right,” she said. She
sighed. “I just have to get used to the idea that Jo’s gone, that’s all. Good
night.”
“Good night,” I said, already on the
stoop.
But I was too late. When I went into
the living room, McQuaid was sitting at my desk, hunched over a yellow legal
pad, taking notes out of Modern Correctional Practice. There were two
other books on the desk, and his leather briefcase - large enough
to be a satchel - was open on the floor beside him.
I came up behind him and put my arms
around his neck. “Hi,” I said in my huskiest, sexiest voice.
“Hi,” he said absently. “Hey, China,
when you were in practice, how much did you get involved with community
reentry programs? What’s your feeling about them? Do they work?”
I dropped my arms with a sigh. I
knew the signals.
I could forget about sex for the
moment.
“Oh, by the way,” McQuaid said,
putting down his pencil, “I forgot to tell you. Brian will be home at
nine-thirty tonight, so I can’t stay late.”
Maybe it was just as well, I
thought. My body might be here, but my mind was far away. With Jo, whose
absence was a sad, lonely ache.
CHAPTER 4
I called Meredith at eight-thirty
the next morning, Thursday. Lucille had arrived from Hawaii the afternoon
before. I figured that the two of them hadn’t had a very happy evening, but
when Meredith answered the phone, she sounded upbeat enough. I asked if I could
give her and her aunt a ride to the park that afternoon. “Thanks,” Meredith
replied, “but Lucille rented a car at the airport. You can give me a ride home,
though. She’s driving to Austin after the service to catch a flight back.”
“Sure,” I said. “Are you feeling up
to dinner? Roz Kotner would like to take us.” “Roz? When did she get here?” “Last
night. She’s staying in my cottage.” “Did she say anything about the argument
with Mother?”
“Just that it was silly and she was
sorry. I think maybe that’s why she wants to take you to dinner. To make
amends. How about it?”
Another pause. “Well, I guess,”
Meredith said slowly. “But let’s make an early night of it. Today isn’t going
to be the easiest day of my life.”
At nine I propped open the front
door of my shop with the stone figure of Haumea, the Hawaiian goddess of wild
plants, that Ruby had given me for my birthday. I swept the walk, hung a large
herb wreath outside the door, and lugged a heavy tray of potted thyme and basil
and rosemary plants out to the sidewalk to entice casual passersby into the
gardens and the shop.
I have a good feeling about Thyme
and Seasons. The shop’s only twenty by twenty, but I use every square inch.
Floor-to-ceiling shelves along the back wall hold jars and bottles of dried
herbs, tinctures, salves, and ointments. Herb books are neatly racked in the
corner, and shelves on another wall are full of potpourri and potpourri
makings. A wooden display case houses essential oils, bottles, and perfume
supplies. Other shelves hold various herb products that I make or buy from
local craftspeople—gift baskets, vinegars, seasoning blends, jellies, soaps,
candles. Handmade baskets are stacked in the corners and spill onto the floor.
Dried flowers are everywhere, bunched in jars and hanging from the wooden
beams, and braided ropes of red peppers and garlic hang on the stone walls.
Compared to my office in the law firm, with its bone walls, designer silk ficus
trees, and greener-than-grass carpet, the shop feels natural and homey. It
feels real.
I dusted the counter,
“I’ll have to ask Meredith,” I said,
moving toward the door. ‘Tomorrow’s not going to be easy for her.”
“Of course,” Roz said. “Just tell
her how anxious I am to meet her. We have so much in common, loving Jo as we
did.”
“I will,” I said. I put my hand on
the knob. “Anything else? You’ll be all right, here by yourself?”
“Quite all right,” she said. She
sighed. “I just have to get used to the idea that Jo’s gone, that’s all. Good
night.”
“Good night,” I said, already on the
stoop.
But I was too late. When I went into
the living room, McQuaid was sitting at my desk, hunched over a yellow legal
pad, taking notes out of Modern Correctional Practice. There were two
other books on the desk, and his leather briefcase - large enough
to be a satchel - was open on the floor beside him.
I came up behind him and put my arms
around his neck. “Hi,” I said in my huskiest, sexiest voice.
“Hi,” he said absently. “Hey, China,
when you were in practice, how much did you get involved with community
reentry programs? What’s your feeling about them? Do they work?”
I dropped my arms with a sigh. I
knew the signals.
I could forget about sex for the
moment.
“Oh, by the way,” McQuaid said,
putting down his pencil, “I forgot to tell you. Brian will be home at
nine-thirty tonight, so I can’t stay late.”
Maybe it was just as well, I
thought. My body might be here, but my mind was far away. With Jo, whose
absence was a sad, lonely ache.
CHAPTER 4
I called Meredith at eight-thirty
the next morning, Thursday. Lucille had arrived from Hawaii the afternoon
before. I figured that the two of them hadn’t had a very happy evening, but
when Meredith answered the phone, she sounded upbeat enough. I asked if I could
give her and her aunt a ride to the park that afternoon. “Thanks,” Meredith
replied, “but Lucille rented a car at the airport. You can give me a ride home,
though. She’s driving to Austin after the service to catch a flight back.”
“Sure,” I said. “Are you feeling up
to dinner? Roz Kotner would like to take us.” “Roz? When did she get here?” “Last
night. She’s staying in my cottage.” “Did she say anything about the argument
with Mother?”
“Just that it was silly and she was
sorry. I think maybe that’s why she wants to take you to dinner. To make
amends. How about it?”
Another pause. “Well, I guess,”
Meredith said slowly. “But let’s make an early night of it. Today isn’t going
to be the easiest day of my life.”
At nine I propped open the front
door of my shop with the stone figure of Haumea, the Hawaiian goddess of wild
plants, that Ruby had given me for my birthday. I swept the walk, hung a large
herb wreath outside the door, and lugged a heavy tray of potted thyme and basil
and rosemary plants out to the sidewalk to entice casual passersby into the
gardens and the shop.
I have a good feeling about Thyme
and Seasons. The shop’s only twenty by twenty, but I use every square inch.
Floor-to-ceiling shelves along the back wall hold jars and bottles of dried
herbs, tinctures, salves, and ointments. Herb books are neatly racked in the
corner, and shelves on another wall are full of potpourri and potpourri
makings. A wooden display case houses essential oils, bottles, and perfume
supplies. Other shelves hold various herb products that I make or buy from
local craftspeople—gift baskets, vinegars, seasoning blends, jellies, soaps,
candles. Handmade baskets are stacked in the corners and spill onto the floor.
Dried flowers are everywhere, bunched in jars and hanging from the wooden
beams, and braided ropes of red peppers and garlic hang on the stone walls.
Compared to my office in the law firm, with its bone walls, designer silk ficus
trees, and greener-than-grass carpet, the shop feels natural and homey. It
feels real.
I dusted the counter,
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