Love Letters From Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [81]
“Oh, hi, Richard.” There was no disguising the lack of enthusiasm in her voice as she turned away from Lindsay who was trying hard to look disinterested, and Paul, who pretended to be browsing the Internet. “That was Paul. He’s helping us with the wedding, remember I told you about that? And I really can’t keep this line tied up ...”
“I know we agreed to keep our distance for a while,” he said, his voice low and tender, “but I wanted to check on Lori. And I missed you.”
“Lori’s fine. Lori’s great. I’ll tell her you’re on the phone.”
“And I have some news.”
“Really Richard. Awfully busy, here.”
“My broker found a piece of property that sounds like just what I’ve been looking for. I was thinking I’d come look at it next weekend. Maybe we could get together.”
“Richard,” Cici warned urgently, “don’t you dare say a word to Lori about this.”
“I won’t. I told you, this is just in the speculation stage.”
“Because she’s dealing with a lot right now. We all are.”
Paul murmured, tapping his watch, “Tick tock.”
“I’ll get Lori on the phone,” Cici said hurriedly. “Thanks for calling, Richard. Hold on.”
Lindsay stepped outside the office and called around the corner, “Lori! Your dad’s on the phone!”
Cici waited until she heard a click and Lori’s cheerful “Hi, Daddy!” and then she returned the phone to its cradle, feeling a little awkward in the silence that followed.
“Don’t feel bad,” Paul said sympathetically. “It’s not like we haven’t all done something we’re ashamed of.”
“Thanks a lot,” Cici muttered. “And I certainly hope you’re not thinking of giving me relationship advice.”
“Relationship?” Paul’s brows shot skyward. “This is worse than I thought.”
Lindsay looked concerned. “Honey, you never said ... how did you leave things with Richard?”
“That’s the problem,” Cici admitted unhappily. “I’m starting to think that how I left them, and how he left them are two different things.”
Paul tapped a few keys on the computer. “Never mind about the cellophane bags. I just sent Lori an e-mail.”
“She’s in the next room!”
“And”—another click—“told Bridget about the cookies. The next sound you hear will be ...”
But they waited, and listened, and didn’t hear anything from Bridget at all.
Bridget@LadybugFarmLadies: Don’t you know that we love you? And it hurts our feelings when you don’t tell us these things.
Derrick@artsolo: How is he? I could wring his neck.
Bridget@LadybugFarmLadies: How do you think he is? He loves you, too.
Derrick@artsolo: This is so childish.
Bridget@LadybugFarmladies: I couldn’t agree more!
Derrick@artsolo: I meant Paul. This isjust like him. Such a drama queen.
Bridget@LadybugFarmLadies: Excuse me? I don’t see how you can overdramatize heart problems.
Derrick@artsolo: I don’t have a heart problem! I had an episode.
Bridget@LadybugFarmLadies: That, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, is the stupidest reason I’ve ever heard for having a fight with someone who cares about you.
Derrick@artsolo: It’s more complicated than that.
Bridget@LadybugFarmLadies: I’m listening.
Lindsay poked her head into the kitchen. Every available surface was filled with clear glass jars, apricot and green ribbons, champagne glasses, tiny white silk roses, and rolls of cellophane. There were three cake layers cooling on the center island, four racks of scones cooling on the shelves that once had held recipe books, and something was scorching on the stove.
Lindsay said, “Can you make one hundred ladybug cook ies before the wedding?”
Bridget replied, without looking up from her typing, “Sure.”
Cici was behind her. “Where is Ida Mae?”
“I sent her to the barn to bring more jars.”
“Because whatever is on the stove is burning.”
“Oh, cripes!” Bridget started up from the table. “It’s the lemon filling for the wedding cake!”
“I’ve got it.” Lindsay hurried to remove the smoking pot. “You’re making the cake now?”
“I’ve never made a wedding cake before. I have to practice.” Bridget glanced distractedly at the steaming pot Lindsay transferred