twenty-two
When Zeke walked into his office on Monday morning, he couldn’t believe who—or what—stood around his desk. Marketing was at it again. They must have conspired with John at the pro shop, because there were five life-size cutouts of golfer Phil Mickelson scattered around Zeke’s desk. The pro shop used the cutouts to sell golf apparel.
There was no plaid in sight, but someone had taped a cartoon word bubble over the Phil in the middle. It read Clone Attack!
Julia came up behind him and stopped. “That’s . . .” She paused to glance at all five pasteboard smiles. “That’s a little scary, actually.”
“Yeah. Like zombies.”
After last night, Zeke felt like one. Instead of unpacking the last seven boxes in the garage, he had hauled a truckload of stuff to a Salvation Army drop-off. He had expected a weight to lift from his shoulders, but as he unloaded the boxes, each one had felt heavier than the last. When he climbed back in his truck, he’d been sucker-punched with a grief so strong he slumped helplessly against the steering wheel.
Hollow and hurting, he’d driven back to Pismo Beach to think and remember, even to look for God. But he’d come back still full of bitterness.
Julia walked up to his desk, set down some papers, and picked up one of the cutouts by the elbow. “The zombies need to wait. We have a lot of work to do. Later you can figure out what to do with them.”
“I already know. John’s going to find one sitting in the backseat of his car, and the others are going to show up in Marketing when they least expect it.”
Julia smiled. “Revenge is sweet.”
Zeke picked up two at a time. He just wished he had a real Phil Mickelson clone to play golf with Mr. Carter. He gestured toward the papers. “Are those the paving quotes for Golden Point?”
“Some of them are.” She slid a manila envelope out from the stack. “Open this first. It’s fun.”
Zeke sat down behind the desk and pulled out a sheet of drawing paper covered with green circles vaguely shaped like turtles. The words Thank you, Mr. Zeke were written in Julia’s neat printing, followed by From Max in crooked letters, including a backwards R.
Giving Max the Turtles had been an impulsive decision, but the instant he saw the box in Julia’s hands, he knew Max would treasure the toys. Little boys longed to be heroes; so did grown men. Zeke didn’t know what the future held for Caliente Springs, or for himself and Julia, but he was ready to do battle for both, even if it meant wrestling an angel like Jacob did in the Old Testament.
He snapped off a piece of tape and hung Max’s drawing behind his desk. “This needs to go on display.”
Julia sat on the chair across from him. Before he could pick up the paving quotes, she broke in. “First, the Carter visit. Mr. and Mrs. Carter arrive Wednesday. I offered them a cottage, but he wants to stay in a room like his employees would.”
“The four of us have a six a.m. tee time.”
Wincing, Zeke shook his head. “He really does love golf. We’ll beat the heat, but does that work for you with Max?”
“It’s fine. My mom’s ankle is a lot better. She’s still taking Advil, but she can get around without the crutches if she doesn’t overdo it. In fact, I’m taking her for a quick shopping trip this afternoon.”
“Enjoy it.” Julia worked a lot of extra hours and deserved the time off.
Leaning back in his chair, Zeke picked up the quotes for paving the path at Golden Point. For the next several minutes, they discussed the job bids. They were all high, so at Julia’s suggestion they decided to check out the rose garden as a possible ceremony site.
Zeke came around his desk. “Let’s go right now. Then you can get on with your day.”
They left the office and passed through the lobby. It should have been crowded with people, but he could have shot off a rocket and not bothered a soul. “We need this wedding to be a hit.”
“I have a new idea,” Julia said as they walked. “One of the bridesmaids is on the staff of Flops & Fortunes. Have you heard of it?”
“It’s a reality TV show.” Contestants competed to see who could throw the most amazing party on a thousand-dollar budget. Weddings, reunions, surprise parties. Whatever created drama.
“We don’t qualify for the show, but Jessica, one of the bridesmaids, wants to live-tweet on the show’s official Twitter account. Let’s hope we’re in the fortune category and not a flop, because a million people are going to read a blow-by-blow account. It’s a little risky, but I’m all for taking chances.”
“Me too. How does Tiff feel about it?” Zeke pushed open the door to the sidewalk leading to the garden.
“She’s all for it.”
“And Ginger and George?”
Julia made a seesaw motion with her hand. “They’re ambivalent, but they like the idea of publicity for the resort.”
“Then it’s a go.”
“Yes. But I’ll feel better when we nail down the ceremony site.” She glanced up at the sky. “I wish I could convince Tiff to move it all indoors. It rarely rains here in September, but I have to be prepared. There’s a contingency plan in place, and it would be gorgeous.”
“Where?”
“The Sagebrush Room. It’s very plain, but we’d flood it with flowers and candles. I love the idea, but Tiff’s dead set on sunset at Golden Point.”
They arrived at the rose garden, stopped under the entry arch, and surveyed a watered lawn surrounded by adequate but ordinary rosebushes.
Julia spoke for both of them. “It’s not bad, but it’s not special.”
“No.” Zeke thought of the paving bids. Did he buy a new freezer for the restaurant, fix the backhoe, or pave the walk to the lookout? With an eye on the future, and the hope that Tiff’s wedding would lead to a hundred others, he made a decision. “Let’s go with Golden Point. I’ll find the money for the paving.”
Julia let out a breath. “Decision made. But the clock’s ticking. Let’s hope we don’t run into any big problems.”
Ellen usually enjoyed shopping, but today she hated every minute, every outfit, and every inch of her middle-aged body. The mirrors in the Macy’s dressing room weren’t helping, either. Every time she inspected an outfit for George’s show, she saw the fifteen pounds she needed to lose. The dress she was wearing now was the worst one yet. It skipped curvy, zoomed past plump, and went straight to sausage.
“Good grief,” she muttered.
There were clothes everywhere—on hooks and hangers, draped over the cubicle sides, even piled on the chair. Nothing felt right, and Julia was back on the sales floor, hot on the hunt and dead set on finding poor old Mom the perfect dress. Fat chance!
Julia, on the other hand, had tried on five dresses and picked two, both of which looked smashing on her.
“Those were the days,” Ellen said to the chubby woman in the mirror.
She turned to the side, sucked in her stomach, then gave up and let everything sag. Gravity wasn’t kind to women her age. She supposed men struggled too, but George didn’t. He was confident. Patient too. And he had a flat stomach. Her stomach wasn’t flat and never would be again, though the Spanx-brand underwear was worth every penny.
Fed up, she pulled the sausage dress over her head and decided to go with a western look. Jeans were more her style, and denim seemed fitting for George’s country music vibe.
Trying to be confident, she put on a brand of jeans she’d never heard of, a tailored white shirt, and a vest with swirls of silver, black, and purple sequins. She took a breath, faced herself in the mirror, and hated every inch. But what did she know? She had lost her fashion sense when she lost Ben.
Julia slipped into the dressing room with another armload of clothing.
Ellen channeled her inner Katharine Hepburn and struck a pose. “What do you think?”
“Hmmm.”
Ellen knew what that meant. “You hate it.”
“It’s just too—uh—”
“Too Dale Evans.”
“Who’s Dale Evans?”
Ellen felt as old as dirt. “You know who she is.” Or was. Dale was dead, God rest her soul. “She was married to Roy Rogers. The cowboy on the 1950s TV show.”
“Oh, yeah.” Julia strung out the words as if she were recalling the Stone Age. “Now I know who you mean.”
Ellen stuck out one leg. “Maybe boots would help.”
“Uh, no.”
“A scarf?”
“Mom. No.” Julia gave a slow, sad shake of her head. “Trust me. That outfit isn’t you.”
“Then what is me?”
Ellen didn’t know anymore. In the flower shop she wore jeans and a green smock with pockets full of notes and twist ties. She dressed up a little for church, but no one noticed and she was fine with that. She liked her comfortable clothes and her comfortable life.
Perspiration beaded on her brow. This shopping trip was just too much for her. But if she couldn’t shop, how would she survive the three-hour ride in George’s Corvette, the backstage excitement, and the front-row seat for his show?
And afterward, that first kiss still waited to be taken. Only four days had passed since she twisted her ankle, but she and George had spent hours together. Considering the long talks they shared as well as those silences filled with intimate sparks, kissing him should have been as natural as breathing. Yet in spite of the closeness she felt, she couldn’t seem to give him even a peck on the cheek. George, a scoundrel to the core, wasn’t making it easy for her either. He flirted until she blushed, but always backed away. The next move was hers, and Ellen knew it.
Warmth flooded her cheeks. Flustered and fed up, she squirmed out of the vest. “I’ve had it! If I don’t find something in two minutes, I’m calling off the date.” She unbuttoned the white shirt and threw it in a corner.
Julia held up a different dress. “Mom, try this one.”
Why bother? She was going to hate it.
To appease Julia, she reached for the folds of black silk. The fabric warmed against her fingers, and when she held it up by the shoulders, she didn’t hate it. The dress was short but not too short, and the wrap-around style promised to disguise her tummy. The half sleeves would hide her chicken arms, but what most caught Ellen’s eye was the bodice covered with iridescent beads.
Holding her breath, she lifted the dress over her head. The silk fluttered down her body, caressing her, until the hem brushed just above her knees.
“Don’t look yet.” Julia jumped to her feet and worked the zipper upward.
Looking down, Ellen watched the silk tighten over her hips, her waist, and finally her chest. There wasn’t a single pinch or pucker, no need to suck in her stomach or think about a minimizer bra to go with the Spanx.
When Julia finished, Ellen turned to the mirror and her jaw dropped. Forget Dale Evans. And forget Katharine Hepburn. This dress was her.
Julia clasped her hands over her heart. “Mom, you’re gorgeous.”
The last person who had called her gorgeous was Ben. Ellen’s throat swelled with a familiar lump, but this time it slipped back down. Looking at her reflection, she mentally gave Ben a wink, then settled into being herself.
“I like it.”
“Like it?” Julia threw her hands up in exasperation. “Mom, you’re stunning! George won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”
Ellen turned to the left, then the right. Her tummy didn’t show at all. As for the rest of her, the curves were in all the right places. She’d never be a size eight again, but with the right shoes, she just might find the courage to kiss George.
Julia met her gaze in the mirror. The sparkle in her daughter’s eyes was gone now, leaving behind a dull sheen of worry. “Can I ask you something personal?”
Ellen and Julia kept very few secrets from each other, but her relationship with George was a whole new topic. “Ask away. But I might not answer.”
“That’s all right. I understand.” Julia spoke to Ellen’s reflection in the mirror. “George likes you a lot.”
“We’re good friends.”
“I can see that. I’m wondering if you’d like to be more than friends.”
While Ellen pondered, Julia unzipped the dress and waited. Ellen stopped and started a few sentences, but she couldn’t find the right answer even when she was wearing her everyday clothes.
“I just don’t know,” she finally said as she paid for the dress. “But I do know my ankle hurts and I need to sit for a while. Let’s get some coffee before we take on jewelry and shoes.”
“I’d like that.”
They walked out to the main part of the mall, found a Panera Bread, and settled into big chairs with a latte for Ellen and something mocha for Julia. As usual, Ellen burned her tongue. She was impatient that way.
While Julia waited for her coffee to cool, Ellen considered her earlier question about George. “You think about life and love differently when you’re older.”
“How so?”
With her tongue stinging, she recalled the twenty-something woman who wanted a husband, children, and a house. Her eyes had been on the future, not the past. Now she looked back as much as she looked forward, and she enjoyed the view. “I’m content with my life.”
“That’s nice, but is content enough?”
“It beats feeling like a gutted fish the way I did after your dad died.”
Julia let out a sigh. “I want more than contentment, Mom. I want the sparks. The diamonds.” She smiled almost to herself. “Even the glitter. I want to fall in love again.”
“This is because of Zeke, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Julia stared out the window at the foot traffic in the mall. Moms with strollers. Teenagers clowning around. A gray-haired couple holding hands. Sighing, she faced Ellen. “Zeke and I are still getting to know each other again, but I like him a lot. No. It’s more than that. I’m afraid I’m falling in love with him again.”
“I wondered about that.” The little black dress Julia had just purchased said everything. “Do you know how he feels?”
“Not exactly. But I’m pretty sure he’s as confused as I am.” Julia slumped back in her chair and sighed. “I messed up so badly with Hunter. What if I’m wrong about these feelings for Zeke? He’s different than he was in Berkeley. Instead of leaning on God, he’s burned out and angry. Even bitter.”
“That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”
“Really?”
Ellen tapped her shoulder with her index finger. “Been there. Done that. Got the tattoo. Those months after your dad died were brutal. The grief nearly broke me, but my faith came back stronger, like a rosebush pruned to a few bare branches. It was tough. Zeke’s struggling right now. You’re wise to be cautious, but don’t forget that God knows him and loves him more than you can imagine.”
The cappuccino machine spurted hot milk, and cups and plates clattered against a metal sink. Julia traced the lid of her coffee cup. “I just want to do the right thing for Max. And for Zeke. How do I trust God when there’s so much at stake?”
Ellen was long past pie-in-the-sky expectations. “You accept the fact that sometimes life hurts.”
“But Max—”
“He’s in God’s hands, just like you are.” Ellen reached across the table and squeezed her daughter’s hand. “You need to be brave.”
“You too, Mom. I like George a lot.”
“So do I.”
Julia’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You’re not too old to get married again.”
“I’m also old enough not to get married. I like my freedom.” She frequently had this conversation with friends her own age. A few of them dated and even belonged to online sites like eHarmony, but Ellen found the entire social scene confusing. What did men expect or want? She didn’t know the rules anymore, or maybe there weren’t any rules.
Julia tipped her head to the side. “But, Mom, don’t you get lonely sometimes?”
“Of course.” Ellen saw no point in being coy with her adult daughter. “I miss having a husband. I miss everything about being married.”
They both paused, maybe to ponder what the words meant. Ellen missed the kisses and cuddling, the tender nights, but what she missed even more was talking over decisions. She could handle taking the car to the mechanic, but she hated the moment when the service manager asked her to sign a work order she didn’t understand. Then there were the nights when the house was too quiet and she imagined she heard a prowler.
In general, her days were easy and dull, comfortable like an old pair of jeans. She liked her life, except for hot flashes like the one erupting now.
She grabbed a napkin and fanned herself. “I should have skipped the coffee.”
Julia sighed with her. “I don’t think the caffeine is doing it, Mom. I think you have feelings for George and they scare you to death.”
“That about says it.” She fanned herself harder.
Julia raised the mocha in a kind of toast. “To fabulous dresses, great shoes, and good men.”
“To dresses, shoes, and men.” Ellen touched her paper cup to Julia’s.
“And to courage,” Julia added. “For both of us.”