Love Letters From Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [63]
Richard flipped his phone closed and came forward. “Send them all in,” he said. “Your mother and I were just going to go get a bite to eat.”
“I just got here!” Cici protested as he took her arm and gently tugged her to her feet.
Richard kissed Lori’s cheek. “No booze or loud music,” he advised, and she laughed.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” Cici said as he ushered her toward the door. “And if you get tired, just tell your friends to leave.”
But even as Richard opened the door three high-energy, cheery college students pushed inside, bearing more balloons and teddy bears and all of them talking at once. Lori squealed with delight and opened her arms to receive the gifts and the hugs, and Cici muttered, “You always have to be the cool dad.”
“Seeing those kids will do her more good than anything you or I could do.” He dropped her arm as they reached the elevator. “Besides, I’m starved.”
“What a pity,” she replied. “Because the one thing you won’t find in this hospital is food.”
“Good thing I called ahead for reservations at Bon Homme, then,” he said. “Continental cuisine, wine cellar, and just around the corner. Also ...” The elevator pinged and he touched her shoulder to escort her inside. “Brick oven pizza.”
Cici lifted an eyebrow. “Now I remember why I married you.”
He smiled at her as the elevator doors closed.
Bridget didn’t have to call Farley. He was waiting at the back door when she came down from her shower, somewhat refreshed and dying for a cup of coffee. When she smelled the aroma of fresh brew intermingled with that of sautéed onions and warm cheese biscuits and sweet caramel sauce, she blessed Ida Mae with every fiber of her being and made a private vow never to think another mean thought about her—for at least the rest of the week.
The woman of the hour was saying, “I’ll tell her you was here,” as she closed the screen door. She had a quart-sized jar of clear golden honey in her hand.
“Farley brought you some honey,” Ida Mae said as Bridget came in. She set the jar on the counter and went back to the stove.
“Red clover,” Farley called through the screen door.
“Oh, hi, Farley,” Bridget said. She detoured, a little reluctantly, from the coffeepot to the back door. She stepped out onto the porch and quickly closed the kitchen door behind her, trying not to make a face at the smell that was even stronger on this side of the house.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “I want to ask you something.”
He took his cap off quickly, and Bridget noticed the absence of his customary chewing tobacco and soda can. “It’s from the bees that live on the far side of your meadow,” he explained. “You know, where it’s all covered with red clover of a season? I thought you might like it.”
“Why, thank you, Farley,” Bridget said, smiling. “That was really thoughtful. And thank you for helping Noah fertilize the vineyard this morning, but what I wanted to ask you was—”
“Weren’t no problem,” he replied. “Sorry about the smell, but you just keep your windows closed for a day or two and it’ll be fine.”
“Well, that’s the problem. You see—”
“Miss Bridget,” Farley said somberly. He held his cap against his heart and the expression in his clear hazel eyes was grave. “I heard about the tragedy that struck your house. Now, you know I’m not much of a churchgoing man, but if it would help your feelings any, I’d be proud to sit by you at preaching on Sunday and pray for the good Lord to lay his hand on that precious girl.”
Bridget’s astonishment was so great that her jaw actually dropped. “Why—why, I ... that’s so sweet of you. I don’t know what to say. But Lori’s fine, really, she’ll be coming home next week.”
He looked disappointed. “Glad to hear it.” He started to put his hat back on, then turned back, an expression close to hopeful in his eyes. “But about Sunday .. .”
“Sunday,” Bridget repeated slowly as her beleaguered thought processes gradually began to catch up with the conversation. “Farley, did you say the smell would be gone in a couple of days?”