A Year on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [130]
“There’s an awful lot of work piling up, with Cici being hurt and all.”
He grunted.
She said nothing else. He stood there, warming his hands over the fire in silence, for the longest time. Then he said, without looking at her, “I reckon I might be able to help you out some.”
“We were talking about taking somebody on permanently,” Lindsay said casually, “to live on the place and help take care of things. Of course, whoever we hired would have to agree to a few rules.”
“I ain’t much for rules,” he said warily.
“Like no smoking on the premises.”
He shrugged. “Hell, I can’t afford smokes on what you pay nohow.”
“And staying in school.”
He scowled fiercely. “What you running, a damn prison?”
She shrugged, and started to turn away. “Well, I have to get back to my guests.”
He said, without turning from the fire, “Maybe I’ll think about it.”
She smiled. “Why don’t you do that?”
She started to walk away again, and again he stopped her. “Hey,” he said.
She turned.
He reached inside his jacket and brought out a slender cardboard tube of the size that might once have held a roll of paper towels. “Here.” Awkwardly, he handed the tube to her.
She took it slowly, gently prying out the cylinder of paper inside, unrolling it. “Oh . . . Noah,” she whispered. “It’s beautiful.”
It was a charcoal sketch of their house, painstakingly rendered in exquisite detail. The hydrangeas and clematis were in bloom and the hollyhocks seemed almost to nod in the breeze. Shadows stretched across the front porch, and three rockers awaited their occupants. Mountains swelled in the background and in the foreground a long drive wound toward a road. At the end of it was a hand-painted sign: Welcome to Ladybug Farm.
Lindsay looked at him, her eyes full, hardly knowing what to say.
“I kept a picture of it in my head,” he said simply.
Lindsay had to look quickly away, before she embarrassed herself and him with tears, and she smiled as she carefully rolled the sketch and replaced it in its crude container. “Come on,” she told him huskily, “let’s get you something to eat.”
Cici and Lori sat on the floor beneath the Christmas tree, where Lori quickly emptied a plate filled with one of everything on the serving table, and drank two glasses of nonalcoholic eggnog. “Mom, this fruitcake is outrageous,” Lori declared. “Have you tasted it?” She offered her mother a bite from her fork, but Cici held up a hand.
“No, thanks.”
“Seriously, this doesn’t even taste like fruitcake. It’s like—I can’t even describe it. You’ve got to have some. I think it’s the best thing Aunt Bridget has ever made.”
“Aunt Bridget didn’t make it,” Cici said quickly, “so don’t you dare tell her it’s the best thing she’s ever made. Lori, you did tell your dad you were coming here, didn’t you?”
Lori scraped her plate. “We had a talk,” she told her mother. “The thing is, I think I’m kind of over L.A. Maybe I’ll stay out here for a while, if it’s okay with you.”
Cici stared at her. “Okay?” she repeated blankly.
Lori gave a self-conscious smile as she licked her fork. “Well, okay, I know you don’t like to hear this, but . . . maybe you were right. A little right, anyway, about how you can get mixed up when you’re away from home, and maybe I haven’t been thinking exactly straight lately. It was all so much fun. It was a great adventure and I got to do some terrific things but . . . it just wasn’t going anywhere, you know? And after a while that starts to get old.”
For a moment, Cici couldn’t even speak. Finally she managed, “What about Jeff?”
Lori couldn’t quite meet her eyes. “Married,” she said. “And boring.”
Cici reached across and squeezed her fingers. “I’m sorry.”
But Lori’s heart, if it had in fact been broken, was recovering quickly. “So now that I’m here,” she said cheerfully, “things are going to be different. Lucky for me you’ve got such a super place, right? I mean, who knew? Too bad you can’t do anything about the weather.”
Cici’s own heart was so full that her chest couldn’t hold the emotion, and the simple, quiet joy radiated up into her eyes and spread