In Your Dreams Page 20

  Her eyes were full of tears. "Hadley," he said, putting his hand over hers. "Stop. I don't know why you're back, but I imagine some shit hit the fan somewhere in your life, and all of a sudden, life with me didn't seem so bad. But I've moved on."

  Her eyes took on that stony look he remembered from when they disagreed. "Look at this picture," she said, pointing to a photo of him standing next to one of the carriage horses in Central Park. "Look how happy you are there. Just think about that, Jack. That's all I'm asking--if the happiest time in your life doesn't deserve a second chance. Because I'd do better. I swear it."

  Their life together had had some movie-esque qualities to it, Jack admitted--their courtship, the choreographed, petal-strewn lovemaking, the dinners by candlelight, the way she could turn every move into something beautiful.

  And in the past, when he'd remembered those times, he'd also remember her with Oliver.

  "Rest that ankle," he said, and, with that, he got up and left.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  WHEN JACK AND HADLEY had returned from their honeymoon two and a half years ago, Jack had nine days before warning signs had started to flicker like broken neon lights.

  Nine days.

  Despite what she'd said about wanting to have a family as soon as possible, Hadley decided to stay on the Pill, which was fine. After all, she was the one who'd be pregnant and giving birth. It just wasn't what she'd been telling him or their families.

  She also didn't want to work just yet; she just wanted to settle in first. Again, totally fine. She was living in a new town in a new part of the country. Of course she wanted to acclimate. Then, she said, she'd hang out a sign and start up her interior decorating business once more.

  But now that the wedding was behind her and life started to settle into a routine, Hadley seemed a little...irritable. She was surprised there weren't more events like the Black-and-White Ball, and her interest in doing wine tastings and guiding tours for Blue Heron quickly faded.

  She went to a garden club meeting but didn't join, saying it wasn't for her. Joined the Art League, took two pottery classes and didn't go back. Honor asked her to help with the Manningsport Women's Club, which was organizing a tour of homes as a fund-raiser for local scholarships, but Hadley came back from that saying it made her sad, what passed for graciousness "here in the North."

  "Don't be a snob, honey," Jack said, pouring her wine.

  "Well, come on, babe," she returned. "You've been to Savannah. You know what I'm used to." Then she gave him a sheepish look. "Sorry. I'm just feeling a little out of sorts." Then she wandered off to her computer, calling him over to look at the Christmas decorating ideas she'd found online, even though it was still summertime.

  She was alone in the house a lot. Pru and Honor invited her out a couple of times, but the sister Hadley most liked was Faith, and Faith was in California.

  And then there was Lazarus, the cat who lived with Jack.

  To say it was his cat would be a stretch; Jack fed him and housed him, and Lazarus allowed it. Occasionally, Laz would jump onto Jack's lap, knead his stomach for a few seconds, then make a hideous gacking sound and go off to parts unknown to murder and pillage the bird and rodent population. He was an ugly creature; tan with splotches of stripes, a shredded left ear and a crooked tail, wary of all humans except Jack.

  When Jack first moved back to Manningsport, he'd been struck with a surprisingly strong yearning for his mother. He'd gone up to the family cemetery and sat there in the misting rain, a hard lump in his throat.

  And then, from behind the gravestone of the first Holland who'd farmed this land, came a very small animal. It was battered and bleeding and matted to the point where Jack wasn't even sure what it was, but then it mewed.

  Jack's mom had had a thing for cats. They'd always had a few, out in the barns, in the house. Kind of seemed like a sign from Mom, him finding a cat out here right when he'd been missing her. He wrapped it in his jacket and took it to the vet, who said he didn't think the kitten would make it. When he pulled through, Jack named him Lazarus.

  Hadley hated Lazarus. Why, Jack had no idea, because Laz gave her a wide berth.

  Hadley had a cat, too. Princess Anastasia was a fat, fluffy white Persian with startling green eyes and a fondness for shredding curtains, upholstery and human flesh. Princess jumped on the table, walked on the counters, crapped wherever she happened to be at the moment and shed large clots of white hair all over the house. In Savannah, she'd been ill-tempered and unaffectionate. But in New York, she became downright destructive...especially and ironically toward Hadley, ripping her clothes, vomiting in her shoes and scratching and biting her. Not just little scratches, either, but long bloody tears and actual puncture wounds that would make Hadley's hand or foot throb.

  One night after such an attack, Jack grabbed the cat by the scruff and tossed her into the basement. "Jack!" Hadley yelped, clutching her bleeding hand. "She's just an innocent animal!"

  However, Hadley had no such sympathy for Lazarus.

  "Can't Prudence take him?" she asked one night. Her own cat was draped across her lap like roadkill, peaceful (until she decided to turn homicidal).

  "He's not the problem cat here, babe," he said.

  "I just think Princess Anastasia would be happier if that thing wasn't around, spooking her. Wouldn't you, Princess? You want that ugly ole thing to go live with Prudence?"

  "Hadley. He's not going anywhere."

  She stared at Lazarus, who was crouched under the coffee table, making his weird gacking sound. "He's disgusting, Jack."

  "Hey," Jack said, grinning as he poured more wine for his bride. "I love that disgusting cat. He's got character. And, yes, he's ugly. But so am I, and you love me."

  "Jack," she said. "You're gorgeous and you know it."

  She kissed him then. But she didn't warm up to Lazarus.

  One night about a month after they'd returned from their honeymoon, Hadley invited the whole clan for "a genuine Southern dinner." Honor, Pru, Carl, Ned and Abby, Dad, Mrs. Johnson, Goggy and Pops all arrived at once. Even Faith was home from San Francisco, and Jack was pouring the Half-Moon pinot gris they'd bottled four months ago.

  "The house looks gorgeous," Faith said, and Hadley beamed.

  She'd spent the whole day getting ready, setting the table with their wedding china, making place cards with her calligraphy pen, arranging flowers. Hadley had sworn she didn't want him to do anything for the dinner, and he'd been busy with some early harvesting, so he didn't know what she'd cooked. She fluttered around like a tiny bird, seeming even smaller standing by Jack's sturdy sisters.

  They drank wine and chatted and all was fine and good until they sat down to eat. Hadley set down a crock and took off the lid.

  "Southern chicken and dumplings!" she announced with pride.

  Mrs. Johnson and Goggy both recoiled in unison. What was in the pot looked like lumpy glue.

  "I'm starving, dear," Pops said. "Let's get eating! It's already six o'clock. I have to go to bed soon."

  Hadley ladled out the dinner, which seemed to be a gelatinous goo with the occasional chunk of white meat thrown in. The dumplings were slimy, dense and slippery, and the chicken was chewy and tough, a far cry from what Jack remembered from when Mrs. Boudreau had made the same dish.

  The Hollands didn't complain. They were Yankees; food was meant to nourish, not to enjoy, though their standards had risen during the Mrs. Johnson era (Mrs. J. was Jamaican and therefore believed in flavor).

  "It's delicious, dear," Pops said. "Thank you for having us."

  "You're always welcome here, Mr. Holland," she said, smiling and fluttering her eyelashes.

  "Did you just bat your eyelashes?" Pru asked. "I've always wondered if that actually happened. I mean, you come across the phrase from time to time, but I don't think I've ever seen it live and in person. Carl, stop staring at her."

  "You, too, old man," Goggy said, smacking Pops on the back of the head.

 
"Why can't I stare? She's beautiful. You're beautiful, sweetheart."

  "Mr. Holland, you're the sweetest thing," she said. This got a snort from everyone related to Pops. Hadley did have a way with men, and Jack had a soft spot for his grandfather. After all, the Holland men had to stick together, as Pops was fond of saying.

  "So I'm thinking about redoing the house," she said sweetly, "and I'd love y'all's opinion."

  "What do you mean, redo?" Mrs. Johnson asked sternly. "This house is perfect." Jack winked at her; he'd always been Mrs. J.'s favorite.

  "I'm thinking it could do with a Southern woman's touch," she said. Pru laughed, then, realizing Hadley was dead serious, coughed to cover.

  "Hadley, I forget. Are you an interior designer or an interior decorator?" Honor asked, taking a bite of slimy dumpling.

  "What's the difference?" Abby asked.

  Hadley didn't answer. She shot Jack a look he couldn't read and remained silent.

  "An interior designer deals with how the space is used," Faith said when Hadley remained quiet. "Decorators deal with how it looks. Am I right, Hadley?"

  "Um, yes. More or less. Excuse me, I have to check on something in the kitchen," Hadley said. She rose stiffly.

  "Need help?" Jack asked.

  "No, darlin'. You stay put."

  She left the table. A second later, Jack heard their bedroom door close.

  "Why is this gravy white, Jack?" Goggy asked. "Not that I'm criticizing, dear, but I'd be happy to teach her to cook."

  "And I would also be happy to help her, Jackie dear," said Mrs. J., not to be outdone. "Jamaican cuisine is quite delicious."

  "Is there any cheese?" Pops asked.

  Jack got his grandfather cheese, then went down the hall to their room. "Babe? Everything okay?" he asked.

  "Just fine," she said. She didn't spare him a glance, just returned to the table.

  Shit. Fine equaled doom.

  "How do you like life up north so far?" his father asked Hadley. "Hope you're not too homesick, sweetheart."

  "Oh, no, of course not," she said. "I just love y'all."

  "Well, now. The feeling's mutual," he said. Good old Dad.

  It was, in a lot of respects, a typical family dinner for the Hollands. Lots of talking, lots of wine, lots of laughter, a fair amount of bickering. They ate the meal, which, though bland and sticky, wasn't horrible. If Faith had made it, the teasing would've been merciless, but as Hadley was new to the family, no one said a word that wasn't complimentary.

  Ned and Abby were ordered to clear the table, and Mrs. J. cut the grape pie she'd brought while she and Goggy argued over crust-making techniques. Three minutes later, when dessert had been decimated, Goggy announced that it was time for everyone to leave, and the family trooped out with thanks and kisses and hugs.

  "See you tomorrow, guys," Jack said, closing the door. He smiled and turned to his wife. "So that went well."

  Hadley jammed her fists onto her hips. "Are you crazy? Your family hates me! Your sisters are so mean! And your grandmother is so judgmental!"

  Jack's mouth fell open. "Sweetheart, what are you talking about? No one hates you."

  "That Faith, showing off like that! Spouting about how designers are better than decorators! And Prudence didn't even take off her work boots!"

  "Was she supposed to?"

  "What about your father, just sitting there, not saying boo! He hates me!"

  "Calm down, sweetheart. Dad never talks much. He loves you."

  "Mrs. Johnson is horrible!"

  Okay, that was going too far. Mrs. J. was tireless and fierce and pretty damn wonderful. "Be careful," he said. "She's my first love."

  "They hate me because I'm Southern."

  "That's ridiculous," he said. "We won the Civil War. We're totally over it." She was not amused, shooting him a glare. "Come on, baby. Don't be upset. Everyone wants you to feel welcome here. They were just trying to get to know you."

  He drew her a bath. Lit candles. Poured her wine. Apologized if his family came on a little strong (which they did, but that was just how it was...which he'd assumed Hadley knew by now).

  She took a sip of wine and sighed. "You know what? I'm just gonna lose myself in my work--that's what I'll do."

  "That's great. Do you have a client?"

  "Yes, silly. His name is Jack Holland. Now get in this here tub."

  And just like that, her mood was better.

  *

  HADLEY WENT CRAZY with the redecorating.

  Jack's house was at the very top of the ridge, a good quarter mile up from the Old House, where his grandparents lived, and the New House, where Dad, Honor and Mrs. J. all resided. He'd been given the land when he turned thirty; Dad had similar parcels for the girls, but so far, none had done anything with them. Pru and Carl lived in a nice neighborhood on the other side of Manningsport, Honor lived with Dad and Faith was a Californian for the time being, though Jack suspected she'd move home soon enough.

  But Jack had built his house two years before, after living in an Airstream trailer for six months to get the feel of the land, where the light hit at various times a day. He studied house plans from Frank Lloyd Wright and the Arts and Crafts era, then hired an architect to draw up plans.

  The end result was an airy and open floor plan based around a huge stone fireplace with an exposed chimney. The floors were wide-planked cherry, the kitchen counters black soapstone. Two bedrooms upstairs for future kids, one down, as well as a home office. The basement contained a pool table and wine cellar. The house wasn't huge, but it had breathing space.

  Most importantly, it blended seamlessly into the landscape, the most important thing to a Holland. The outside of the house was planked with cedar, with huge windows that overlooked the vineyard and Crooked Lake. On three sides, it was surrounded by a forest of maples, oaks and pine, so it was almost camouflaged. Faith had drawn him up a landscaping plan for a Christmas present, and he'd followed it.

  The result was that Jack's house looked as if it had been there forever. It was modern yet traditional, too, and everyone who saw it was rather dazzled.

  Except his wife. Oh, she'd cooed over it when she'd first seen it, but now that she'd lived there for a month, it was suddenly in sore need of "Southern charm." Which would've been fine if it had been the type of charm Jack had seen at her own childhood home, carefully chosen antiques and family photos, clean lines and high-end furnishings.

  But no.

  Throw pillows seemed to be her trademark. The couch was covered in them; it looked nice, but it was impossible to sit without moving at least three. Their bed had the two pillows they used for their heads, four additional pillows covered in something called shams and a dozen more pillows in various sizes and colors. There was a painstaking order to these pillows, one Jack could never quite figure out. Lazarus liked to hide in the sea of shapes and then leap out, scattering them, which irritated Hadley to no end.

  She rearranged the furniture. Ordered a new couch, one that cost eight thousand dollars, without asking his opinion. Bought a rather hideous fan shaped like a peacock for the fireplace, which Jack had stacked with white birch logs until it got colder. She bought velvet curtains that blocked out the light. Little signs appeared everywhere, ordering him to "Live Fully, Love Deeply, Laugh Often" and reminding him that "We Are So Blessed!" In the kitchen, there now hung a chalkboard in the shape of a dancing reindeer that said "Only __ Days Till Christmas!" The sign that bothered him the most hung in the foyer--"Life isn't about waiting for the storms to pass. It's about learning to dance in the rain." He always felt as though he should apologize for that one. After all, his people were Dutch Yankee Lutheran farmers. There would be no dancing in the rain.

  But it was Hadley's house, too, now, so he moved aside the pillows and hoped her efforts would make her happy.

  Then she asked if she could do some work for Blue Heron. When Jack said he'd ask Honor, Hadley sulked and said Honor was bossy and mean. And yeah, Honor was bossy, but
not in a rude way. Just in the way that she had to be, because she was indeed the boss of the business end, and a damn good one. She certainly wasn't mean. She was maybe misunderstood, but when Jack tried to explain that, Hadley claimed he was taking his sister's side.

  Honor said she'd love to have some help--proof that she wasn't at all mean. But by the end of Hadley's first day, Honor asked Jack to come by her office. She closed the door after him.

  "Hadley's not going to work out," she said, getting straight to it.

  "Shit," he said. "You sure? It's only been a day."

  "I thought she could start out by picking merchandise for the gift shop, maybe rearranging some of the displays out there."

  "That'd be great. She loves buying stuff. And rearranging." Just last night he'd caught his shin on the coffee table, which Hadley had moved for the fourth time.

  "Well, she had other ideas." His sister fiddled with a pen.

  "Like what?"

  "She wanted to redo our logo and every label on every bottle we sell. Redesign the tasting room by getting rid of the bar and putting in Italian marble and tile flooring."

  Italian marble? The tasting room (which had been voted one of the ten most beautiful tasting rooms in America by Wine Spectator) featured a long, curving bar made by Samuel Hastings, using wood from a tree that had fallen in a winter storm ten years back. Blue slate floors. Two stone fireplaces, post and beam construction, beautiful old Oriental rugs.

  "She also thinks we should sheetrock the Cask Room, because the stone walls are--" Honor made quote marks with her fingers "'--downright spine-chilling.'"

  And the Cask Room was one of the best parts of the vineyard, an old stone cellar where the wine was aged in wooden barrels. Tourists loved it.

  "I'd told her we were all set on those things, and she..." Honor paused. "Well, I think her feelings were hurt. You might want to bring her flowers."

  Flowers didn't help. Hadley was seething, stating over and over that Honor hated her and didn't believe in her.

  "Honey," he said, "you have to understand that we all love Blue Heron. We don't want it to change. New ideas are great, but--"

  "But you don't want new ideas!"

  "Not an overhaul of everything, no. The tasting room is only a few years old."