At the end of the day, her hands were still shaking from the effort to control her temper, but she was proud she hadn’t let it rip the way she’d wanted to.
How dare he kept circling around inside her head. How dare he come into her shop as if they were friends. They were not friends. They would never be friends. He’d walked out on her at the lowest point of her life, the point when she’d needed him to keep her from sinking under the weight of her grief. She could understand his withdrawal immediately after the shock of Jessie’s death. Liddy had withdrawn, too. As time went on, it had become more difficult to get through the days. It was so hard to see past the pain and accept the fact she now had to live a life without her daughter, her sweet girl, her pride and joy. Months passed before she’d begun to feel even vaguely alive. And just when she was starting to breathe again, Jim had walked out on her.
After the double hit of her daughter’s death and her husband’s desertion, it had taken two full years for Liddy to understand that if she were to continue to live in this world, she needed to participate in life and make her days meaningful. Buying the bookshop was her investment in herself, her way of finding purpose in what had seemed, for a while, to be a life without direction. She had cleared a path for herself, and she owned it. Today had been the culmination of months of hard work and careful planning, and she took great pleasure in the success of her first week. But some of the day’s shine had been tarnished by Jim’s presence, adding yet another grievance onto the mile-high heap of things she’d never forgive him for.
Promptly at seven on Sunday evening, Liddy’s doorbell rang. She dried her hands on the nearest dish towel, patted the long braid draped over her left shoulder, and smoothed the front of her blue-and-white-striped shirt. She held in her stomach as she went to answer the door, chastising herself for tucking her shirt into the waist of her khaki pants rather than leaving it out, where it could effectively hide her stomach.
She paused in the hall, muttered, “Oh, the hell with it,” and pulled out her shirttails before opening the door and greeting her guest with a smile.
“Hey, Tuck. You’re right on time.”
“Are you kidding? I’ve been looking forward to this all week.” His eyes twinkling, he handed her a bunch of colorful dahlias and a bottle of wine. “I brought red because I’m pretty sure that’s what a good beef stew calls for.”
“It does, so we’ll go right into the kitchen and open this. And oh, what flowers!” she exclaimed. “I love dahlias. I don’t know why I’ve never grown them. They’re lovely, Tuck.”
The flowers were beautiful, their glorious shades of reds, corals, golds, and pale yellows cheery. Liddy couldn’t remember the last time anyone had brought her flowers, and she was touched by the gesture. She could have hugged Tuck for bringing them.
“Are these from Kathleen’s nursery?” She touched the petals of a large flower the color of a sunset.
“No. They’re from the nursery on Shelby Island.”
“You grew these?”
“I did.” He must have noticed her looking slightly drop jawed, because he said, “What? You think I don’t do anything but pound nails and fish?”
Liddy laughed. “No, no. I just didn’t know you were a gardener, that’s all.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he said, a hint of a tease in his voice.
“I’ll bet there is,” she murmured. “Next you’re going to tell me you’re a master gardener.”
“Just an avid one. Actually, the dahlias started out with my mother. She grew them for as long as I can remember, but she never grew anything else. Even when she couldn’t remember anything or anyone, she remembered how to tend these, when to bring the tubers in before the frost could kill them, when to divide them, when to plant again in the spring. The year after she died, I found a box of tubers in the barn, so I planted them in her memory. Fall came around, and I didn’t want to be the one to let her dahlias die from the cold, so I dug them up, brought them in. It became sort of a thing for me.”
“What else do you grow?”
“Nothing. Just dahlias.”
“Well, if you’re only going to grow one thing, you can’t do better than these beauties. The colors are stunning.”
They went into the kitchen, and Liddy gestured to the two wineglasses sitting on the counter. “Why don’t you do the honors while I find a vase?”
“Your kitchen smells just like I remember, Liddy.” Tuck sniffed the air and went to work on the wine bottle. “I can’t wait to taste that stew.”
“And in a few minutes, you will. Meanwhile, pour us some wine, and help yourself to some salsa and let me know if I’ve gone too far with the jalapeño.” She pointed to the table, on which a blue bowl of salsa and a basket of chips awaited. “I’ve been told I have a heavy hand when it comes to seasoning.”
He scooped up some salsa with a chip and took a bite. “Perfect. Just the right amount of heat.”
Liddy opened a cupboard and found the tall dark-green pottery vase that would set off the colors of the dahlias perfectly. She placed the flowers in the vase and brought it to the kitchen table. She’d planned on eating in the dining room, with its formal dark furniture and Jim’s grandmother’s china, but somehow this round table surrounded by windows with its view of the pond at the far end of the property seemed cozier and more intimate.
He poured her wine and passed her the glass, tipping his in her direction. “Cheers, Lydia. Here’s to the continued success of Wyndham Beach Reads. Judging by what I saw yesterday, you’re off to a great start.”
“Maybe it’s just the novelty, because we haven’t had a bookshop in town for months.” She touched the rim of her glass with his, then took a sip of wine right before she sat in the chair next to his. “I’m hoping I can give people enough reason to come back on a regular basis. You know, book clubs, special sales, maybe some author signings.” She grinned. “Not to mention a current inventory of bestsellers, something Fred could never keep on top of, even before he developed Alzheimer’s.”
“Well, I know the story hour for the kids was a big success. I heard people talking about it while I was in line to pay for JoJo’s books.” He took another chip and scooped up more salsa. “This is going to have to be my last chip. I need to save room for that stew. The aroma is driving me nuts.”
“It should be done.” She rose and took her wineglass with her. “Come here and give it a taste, see if you think it needs anything.” She got out a big wooden spoon and handed it to Tuck, who dutifully dipped it into the pot. “Watch now, it’s hot,” she cautioned as he raised the spoon to his lips.
“Hot, but perfect. Damn, that’s good, Liddy.” He handed her the spoon.
“Want to eat in here or in the dining room?” she asked.
“Right here is fine.” He proceeded to clear the kitchen table and set out the flatware she’d left on the counter. “I like this room. It’s homey and cozy, just right for eating a big bowl of stew on a chilly evening.”
“Here you go, then.” She filled a soup bowl, piling it high with chunks of beef and pieces of potatoes and carrots, then topped it with the well-seasoned broth. She handed him the bowl, then prepared one for herself. She was about to sit when she remembered the salads she’d made earlier. She got those from the refrigerator and took a loaf of crusty bread from the oven, where she’d heated it. “I think that’s it.”