Unforgettable. Linda Goodnight
yard is beautiful,” she answered a little stiffly. “Everyone admires the way my flowers border the walkways and line the drive in tidy rows.”
She lifted out a tangle of moist, earthy-scented soil and bulbs.
That was the thing about irises. If she wasn’t right on them in the spring, rooting them out, they took over. The blessing of course came in giving them away. What she viewed as pests, her friends considered coveted additions to their gardens. Carrie loved her gardens, but she loved them neat and orderly, although she had to admit a certain envy of Mother’s carefree attitude about her plants.
She added the uprooted bulbs to the bucket at her knee. Clods of dirt pattered like rain against the thick plastic.
“I think I’ll take these over to Sara Perneky.” The younger woman had raved about Carrie’s garden last spring.
“Wonderful idea.” Mother crouched down beside her to peer into the bucket. A fog of Avon cologne mingled with the scent of fresh, fertile earth. “After that nasty divorce, Sara could use a bright spot in her life. Poor girl. Don’t let any of these go to waste now. I know half a dozen ladies who would love a start, including me.”
“Mother, for goodness’ sake. Your garden is overrun now.” To Carrie’s way of thinking, Mother’s garden wasn’t a garden. It was a jungle.
“The more the merrier, I always say. Let ’em bloom.”
“A perfect nesting place for snakes.”
“That could have happened anywhere,” Mother said. “Besides, that little critter added a spark to the day. Lots of excitement when a snake comes a-calling.”
Dan, Carrie’s husband, had been called upon last fall to kill a copperhead found slithering from beneath the jungle of lilac and japonica and honeysuckle vines growing over the concrete top of Mother’s cellar. They’d all breathed a sigh of relief afterward when Frannie got out her giant hedge clippers and whacked away the worst of the bushes.
“I wonder where Dan and Lexi are?” Carrie said, shading her eyes to peer down the street. “I thought they’d be back by now.”
“Well, fiddle. Lexi’s not here?” Frannie adjusted her sunglasses. “I came by to see if she wanted to ride with me to the airport.”
Carrie froze. “The airport?”
Riverbend boasted a small airport for private planes. Mostly oilmen flew in and out of there, but occasionally someone gave flying lessons.
“You aren’t taking flying lessons, are you?” Frannie had threatened to do just that for years, but money was always an issue. Carrie thanked the good Lord it was. The thought of her mother barnstorming in a single-engine plane gave her hives. She could almost imagine Frannie decked out in Amelia Earhart helmet and goggles taking on a crop dusting job for the express purpose of swooping down to scare her daughter into apoplexy.
Frannie flapped a hand. “Mercy, no. Too expensive.”
Fingers gripping the top of the bucket, Carrie didn’t realize she was holding her breath until it seeped out in a whistle. “Then whatever for?”
“Skydiving.”
Carrie held up a stiff hand, stop sign style. “You aren’t going skydiving, Mother. You aren’t.”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Carrie. The skydiving club is doing a jump today. I’m only going out to watch.” A sneaky little grin teased the corners of her vermilion lips. “This time.”
Frannie had been threatening to jump out of an airplane as long as Carrie could remember. The idea struck sheer terror in her height-phobic daughter. “Thank the Lord.”
Mother checked her watch. “Gotta run. I told Alice I’d stop to pick her up on the way.” Alice Sherman was Mother’s best friend.
“Are you coming by later?”
“Probably not, honey. I have bowling tonight.”
Carrie lifted an eyebrow. “With Ken?”
She liked teasing her mother about the rugged farmer. The pair had been friends long before Ken’s wife died, but now Carrie suspected a romance. Except for the fact that Ken had taught Frannie to drive a tractor and ride a horse, both a little silly for someone of her age, Carrie was glad. Mother had been alone for most of her life.
Fran flapped a hand and laughed, her cheeks shining pink as she headed toward the gold Olds, or as Lexi called it, The Tanker. “Tell Lexi she missed out.”
“Are you still coming for dinner tomorrow after church?”
Her mother stopped, turned and whipped off her aviator sunglasses. “I’d forgotten all about it.”
Carrie squelched a twinge of irritation that she was low man on Mother’s totem pole. “Are you coming? I’m baking a red velvet cake.”
“Wouldn’t miss it, then.” She shoved the sunglasses back in place. “And honey, why don’t you take those extra bulbs over to Sara Perneky? She could use some good cheer.”
Before Carrie could remind her mother that they’d already discussed doing exactly that, Frannie had slammed the car door and cranked the engine.
As the Olds roared away, Mother gave two final blasts of the horn.
Carrie waved, shaking her head. Mother was…well, Mother.
* * *
By the time Dan and Lexi returned with the peat moss along with a bag of burgers from Whopper World and a few other items Carrie didn’t remember needing, Carrie had gone inside for a break.
“Saw your mom at Wal-Mart.” Dan bent to kiss her cheek.
“That’s funny. Mother stopped by more than an hour ago and didn’t say a word about seeing you.” Carrie dipped to the side so as not to streak Dan’s green Henley with dirt and shoved her hands under the kitchen faucets. Her back ached a little from muscles atrophied by winter. “She wanted Lexi to go with her.”
“Where?” Lexi asked, though she continued rummaging through a Wal-Mart bag.
“The airport to watch skydiving.” Carrie rinsed her hands and reached toward the paper towel holder. “I didn’t know you were going to Wal-Mart.”
No wonder they’d been gone so long.
“Lexi needed some new earrings.”
“Oh right. Like my mother needs another hat.”
“I didn’t have any blue ones.” Lexi tilted her head to display a series of neon-colored hoops dangling below two gleaming studs. “Do you like them, Mom?”
They were hideous. Three holes in one ear. Good grief. “Great for spring.”
“You hate them.”
Carrie patted her daughter’s silky brown hair. At fifteen and all legs, Lexi was growing into a beauty with tastes of her own. She was a great kid. The only kid. Though Carrie and Dan had prayed for more, these prayers had gone unanswered. “If you like them, that’s all that matters.”
“I told Dad you’d say that.” Her daughter didn’t seem the least offended. Their tastes had never run along the same lines and lately the gulf had widened. Where Carrie preferred subtle and classic, Lexi gravitated toward bold colors and the hottest trends.
“Come on.” Lexi settled at the bar. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”
Dan pulled a face. “This is after two doughnuts.”
Even with starbursts bracketing his eyes from years of working out in the sun, Dan Martin was a handsome man, fit and trim with hair as dark as ever. His worst flaw was that he didn’t attend church and in a small town like Riverbend, church membership was socially important. Though Dan claimed to be a