WILLOW NEEDED A manicure—her cuticles were as overgrown as the kudzu she noticed in the southwest section of the forest, about which she made a mental note to alert the groundskeepers. That greedy plant could not come near her flowers, not even close. She had forever been afraid of soil contamination by an invasive species, and kudzu was one of the worst offenders, though it did prefer to climb rather than spread. Still, if it had the chance, her hedges would be smothered in one season.
And she had to make an appointment at Joanne’s Salon in town to take care of her dry hands and the cracked heels of her feet, along with a haircut and a cucumber facial. Willow put the letter down on the desk and covered Zoe’s inked name with her hands. Her mind was so far away from business, the farthest it had ever been. Nails were her priority. And James Stein. He had specifically complimented her hands while they ate sushi, and now she noticed them with embarrassing admiration as she typed on her laptop or washed the dishes or shaved her legs. These were the types of distraction that had always made women less powerful than they should be.
Willow straightened her back and tapped her fingernails on the envelope. She had never taken Zoe Bennett for the handwritten-correspondence type. More like a texter—abbreviated and impersonal.
Willow had no clue when Mya would return home. She wasn’t in the habit of leaving a note. Ever. Important information or requests could be inside, and as president of Lenore Incorporated, Willow had the right to access requests or complaints. But how could she prepare her daughter for the business if she didn’t respect her correspondence with clients? Then again, Mya didn’t deserve this consideration. Maybe in the future, but not right now.
Small beads of sweat formed on her upper lip, and she wiped them away with the envelope. Willow slid her silver letter opener into the envelope, opened it, and lifted out a gold-flecked piece of handmade paper. It smelled heavily of the perfume, as if Zoe had enough to waste on a letter to the very people who created it. She had never once worried that Willow would cut her off.
Mya,
I received your letter and I absolutely love the idea of a perfume with more sex appeal. That’s right for me. Go ahead and send your mother out here for a meeting anyway to make her feel a part of things. And I absolutely agree with you, she’s done. She’s too old now and she’s lost her touch. Encourage her to retire, but no matter what she says, you need to make this happen. I already told Jennifer about your plan and I’ve contacted some of your biggest clients in case your mother resists. Call Justice Anne Reed of the Supreme Court and Jan Dorset at CNN and Lauren Dall at her investment house in New York if you don’t believe me. They’ll quit ordering as long as I promise not to expose them. But if the new formula works, all will be well. Contact me when it’s ready.
Until then,
Zoe Bennett
The girl didn’t have enough sense to make sure this letter arrived before Willow’s trip. And this whole time Mya had planned to set her up and urge her to retire, and worse, just like a middle school girl, she’d gossiped about Willow with Zoe.
Willow pinned the letter underneath the gold lion paperweight her mother had left behind, then stood up with both hands gripping the black leathertop desk and let out the longest, most deeply pent-up scream she’d ever screamed. She could feel all the trees and the flowers and the deer and the dragonflies pausing to let her have this moment. Not a single wingbeat, not a blade of grass bent to the wind. Lucia came running in with a face as deeply panicked as it had been when she was a toddler running to her mother’s room during a thunderstorm. Willow grabbed her chest and collapsed in her chair.
“Oh no, Mom!” Lucia screamed. “No, no, no.” She reached for the phone.
“Not a heart attack,” Willow said, and waved her hand in the air. “A scream like that hurts the chest, that’s all.” But Lucia still came to her side, kneeled down, and placed her hands on Willow’s shoulders. This was a comfort Willow had long since given up hoping for from Lucia.
“What in the hell just happened?”
Willow handed Lucia the note from Zoe.
Lucia crossed her legs on the ground next to Willow’s chair and read it. When she finished, she offered it back to Willow and shook her head.
“She sent me out there and had already promised them something I hadn’t agreed to. They all knew but me, and they were pandering to a wrinkled old out-of-touch has-been. Mya thinks I can’t do my job anymore and she can do it better. Who will trust her when she pulls things like this? Zoe Bennett can rot as far as I’m concerned.” Willow pushed the office chair into the back wall and knocked the paperweight off the desk.
Lucia retreated to the couch and braced herself on the armrest as Willow’s voice grew even louder. “Let Zoe contact every fucking client we have and expose us. Tell everyone in the world about our flower and what it can do. Let the stupid FDA finally get in here for a sample and let Mya see what happens then. She’ll have no business to take over whether she pushes me into retirement or not. I don’t give a damn anymore. She’s controlling things behind my back, and she can have the business and run it into the ground as far as I’m concerned.”
A loud snap, and then a smack against the office roof: another branch downed. Lucia jumped up from the couch and said, “Get some control,” and her voice outmatched Willow’s.
Willow finally looked up at Lucia, who was standing across the desk from her, and was about to apologize to her when the office phone rang. Willow placed her hands on her abdomen, a move she’d instinctively developed while she was pregnant, a protective gesture, but the impulse never went away. Willow said, “That’s probably Mya.”
In a very calm voice and with her delicate hand already on the phone, Lucia said, “Let me handle this at least.”
Willow nodded.
“Lenore Incorporated, this is Lucia,” she said in a confident voice that Willow remembered her using on the stage or in her bedroom when she practiced lines from plays. Lucia switched the phone from one ear to the other, and Willow saw herself as a younger woman standing in that very same spot using the very same phone. “Hold on one second,” Lucia said, her smile fading. She put the phone on hold and held it out for Willow. “It’s Robert from the plant. He said he needs to see you right away.”
Robert called for emergencies only. Willow could have collapsed like a house of cards, that’s how little resolve she had to act like the president after that letter and reading what her daughter thought of her. She also had no choice but to go. She said, “Tell him we’re on the way.”
Lucia pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows like she wasn’t sure what Willow meant by “we.”
Lucia tapped a button on the phone and said, “Hello, Robert? Yes, we’re on our way now.”