The Mirror (The Lost Bride Trilogy #2)

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-five

Maine bloomed in May. To add their part, Sonya and Cleo decided to hit the garden center.

“Son, we need to take the truck for this.”

“But do we really?”

“We do, really. Even if we just do the dozen pots we picked out, washed out, we’re not going to have room in your car or mine. We have to buy potting soil, and the peat moss. I really want to try herbs and tomatoes. Maybe peppers, too. Add all that to flats of flowers, and there’s just no way.”

“But it’s so big.”

“That’s the point.” Along with a bolstering smile, Cleo tried an encouraging shoulder pat. “You can do this.”

“I’ve got an idea!” Sonya shot a finger in the air. “Why don’t you drive the big, scary truck?”

Cleo shook her head. “You first.”

“There’s only one solution. Rock, paper, scissors.”

A moment later, Sonya looked down as Cleo’s rock crushed her scissors.

“Damn it. I know you’re right about taking it. I hate you’re right about taking it. I should’ve done a test run. Like just driven up and down Manor Road a couple times.”

“We’re going for it.” So saying, Cleo pulled out the remote she’d stuck in her pocket and opened the garage door.

It sat in there. Big, black, terrifying.

“It’s a monster.” Sonya approached it with dread. But she opened the driver’s door.

She wanted to fill those damn pots with flowers, didn’t she?

“Okay. I’m getting in.” When she did, she sat staring straight ahead. “I can’t reach the pedals, so—”

“That’s why you adjust the seat.”

She did, fussed with the mirrors, put on her seat belt.

“Maybe it won’t start.”

Of course it did. Either Trey or Owen had run it every couple of weeks since she’d moved in, so it started right up. With a roar.

“Oh God. One step at a time,” she muttered. “One step at a time. I’m taking off the brake. I’m putting it in drive. Just FYI, I will not attempt to back it in again if we survive this trip.”

Holding her breath, she eased on the gas. “We’re moving.”

“If we move at this speed, we might get there in time for the end-of-summer sale.”

“All right.” Face grim, Sonya vised her hands on the wheel. “Remember, you asked for it.”

She made it down the drive, turned onto Manor Road.

“I’m driving a freaking truck.”

“I’m driving it back!”

Somewhere along the twenty-minute drive, Sonya’s legs stopped shaking. She almost enjoyed it.

What she enjoyed, thoroughly, was wandering the big garden center outside Poole’s Bay, debating with Cleo on what to buy, asking for advice from staff, other customers.

She figured what they didn’t know about gardening they made up for by knowing color, shape, texture. And they’d both studied up on the basics.

Maybe the bare basics, but the basics.

They wanted scent, too, and herbs. And because she got completely caught up, what she felt were adorable tomato plants, some peppers, bags of soil, cute gardening gloves, fertilizer, a shiny new watering can, wind chimes.

Then they saw her, the fairy with the dreaming face and spread wings. She held a crystal ball in her hand, powered by solar, as she bent over as if to sniff the blooms.

“Son, we must have her.”

“Cleo, we must.”

In the end, they bought so much—even with the fairy and what they deemed a goddess holding a solar lantern riding in the back seat—it all barely fit into the bed of the truck.

“We lost our minds,” Sonya decided.

“I can’t argue, but God, this is fun.” Cleo rubbed her hands together. “I’m taking the wheel.”

After they got home, it took a full hour to haul everything to the back, to place the statues where they felt they belonged while Yoda and Pye sniffed at everything.

They put up and filled the hummingbird feeder, assured bears wouldn’t come calling there.

Then armed with spades, gloves, soil, and a bevy of plants, they started on the pots they’d already placed.

A kind of art, Sonya thought as she mixed colors, shapes, varied heights.

“I need one of those spilly-over things.” As she reached for one, she studied Cleo’s pot. “That’s beautiful, and you know, so’s mine. We can’t kill them, we just can’t.”

“We won’t. We’re going to take good care of them, and if we mess something up, we’ve got Jerome. Plus, if Eleanor takes care of the solarium plants, maybe she’ll keep an eye on these, too.”

Pausing, she looked over at Sonya.

“You had to see where he—it had to be Jerome—prepped that area where I can put the herbs. I can walk out of the kitchen and cut what I need. The tomatoes and peppers can go over there, too. It’s good light.”

By the time they finished the pots and realized they had enough left for half a dozen more, Anna dropped by.

“I heard you two loaded up the truck. And now I see my information was accurate. Just wow.”

“We went overboard.” Sonya pulled off her gloves.

“Not possible. You can use what’s left to fill in the beds, and still go back for more.”

“Really?”

“Oh, absolutely.” As she gave Sonya a nod, Anna gestured. “You could mass that half flat of impatiens over there, and pop some of that heliotrope there.”

“Wait.” Sonya held up a hand. “You know what you’re doing. If we haul, will you point?”

“Got ginger ale?”

“All you can drink.”

They hauled, Anna pointed, they placed. Digging in could wait until after a break. But it didn’t take long to realize Anna was right.

They could actually buy more.

“I love your new statues. I love what you’re doing here. These chairs.” She sat in one Cleo had painted on her sabbatical. “So fresh and cheerful. The flowers, all of it. Now I’m going to tell you, after much debate, discussion, consideration, Seth and I decided on the mural. Do you really have time to do it?”

“Try to stop me,” Cleo told her. “Which one?”

“You made it tough, giving us two fabulous choices. But we want number one. And I can see that’s what you were hoping we’d want.”

“My personal favorite.”

“And mine,” Sonya added. “Both are adorable, but that one just had a little more touch of whimsy.”

“Tell me when you’re ready for me to start on it.”

“Can we say anytime after your open house?”

“We can.”

Yoda let out a bark and dashed.

“I think our handsome handymen have arrived. We talked Trey and Owen into hanging some lights,” Sonya explained.

Mookie and Yoda raced around the side of the house, body-bumping each other in insane joy. Jones swaggered behind them, giving them his one-eyed look of disdain.

When the men came around, Trey took a study of pots and beds. “Been busy, and you drove the truck.”

He came up on the porch, bent down to kiss his sister’s cheek. “How’s my niece?”

“Active. Very. We’re considering starting up an infant soccer league. She’ll be captain.”

“We’ll cheer her on,” he promised as he pulled Sonya up, kissed her. “You drove the truck,” he repeated.

“Like Owen wears a suit: under duress. But we needed it for this.”

“Obviously,” Owen replied. “I like the new girls. Anything left at the plant place?”

“We left a few things,” Cleo told him. “And since Anna’s given us some pointers, we may go back for more.”

“And I’ve got my own selections still in the car.” Anna levered herself up. “So fill-in-the-blank Kate Miller and I are going home to plant.”

“Should you be doing that?”

“I’m pregnant, Trey, not disabled. And we’re going to go enjoy this gorgeous day. Talk soon.”

Trey watched her go, then turned to Sonya. “Should she be doing that?”

“I have no idea, but she’s a smart woman, so I’d say she does. And our break’s over. We’ll show you the lights and where we want them—thanking you in advance—before we start digging again.”

Shortly, the men, hands in pockets, stood studying the weeping tree with its thick, curved branches and delicate pink blossoms.

And exchanged a look.

“I’ll get the ladder.”

When Owen trudged off to the garage, Sonya and Cleo went back to planting.

She’d helped her mother—a little—planting things in the spring, Sonya remembered. And she’d done a little more at her condo. But nothing, she thought as she dug, to this extent.

She liked it more than she’d anticipated.

Not just the pots, which had been blank canvases, but now digging in the ground, filling in canvases already begun by another hand.

She worked on Anna’s suggestions while Cleo focused on the herbs and vegetables.

More taking ownership.

The dogs wandered front to back, as if supervising light stringing and planting, while the cat curled up on the deck to take a nap in the sun.

When the men came around to add lights to the deck, she simply filled with happiness. She sat back on her heels, swiped a gloved hand over her forehead, and left a smear of soil behind.

Owen stopped by Cleo. Sonya couldn’t hear the words, but a moment later, Owen shook his head. He walked to the garden shed, then came out with a bag of something he took to her.

She’d reached the end of the bed, noted Cleo worked in another spot, when Owen and Trey walked to her.

“Done,” Owen said.

“It’s going to look great. Any lights left over?”

“You bought enough to light up half the forest,” Trey pointed out.

“I was just thinking, if there’s enough, there’s that kind of pergola with the big, twisty vines?”

“Wisteria.”

She looked up at Owen, smeared more dirt on her face. “Is it? I know wisteria—the blooms anyway. They’re gorgeous! Maybe, since we have them, we could put lights there.”

Trey didn’t bother to sigh. “I’ll get the ladder.”

“What was in the bag you took to Cleo?”

“Epsom salts.”

Frowning, she rose, stretched her back. “Like what you put in the bath for aches—which I may do later?”

“That, and what you add to the soil when you plant tomatoes, peppers, other stuff. Magnesium,” he added. “They want it.”

“Oh.”

“Did you mix up deer spray?”

“Not yet.”

“If you don’t want to look out here tomorrow and see stumps, mix it, spray it.”

“All right, but some of what we got is deer resistant.”

Owen said, “Uh-huh,” and walked over to study the pergola.

Sonya walked over to Cleo.

“Owen says to mix up the deer spray and use it.”

“He gets bossy, but he’s probably right. The last thing we want is those pretty deer coming in and nibbling on all this. Go look at my herb bed! And the rest. And it smells so good already.”

“I will. And if you’ve got the rest of this, I’ll go make sandwiches.”

“I’ve got it, and I’m hungry.” Cleo glanced up. “You’ve got dirt all over your face, Son.”

“I do?” She swiped at it. “They could’ve told me.”

Annoyed, she went around to see the herb bed. So pretty, she thought, and hadn’t they been smart to get those sweet little plaques to stick in the ground that identified the herbs?

Since she’d gone that far, she continued around the front to admire the tiny lights running along the branches and the blossoms dripping from them.

She drew in the warm spring air, the scent of it carried on the steady sea breeze.

A good day’s work, she thought. Lights, flowers to dress her home.

When she went inside, Clover greeted her with Ella Fitzgerald and “A Flower Is a Lovesome Thing.”

“Sounds like an old one, but a new one for me. You’re expanding my musical vocabulary.”

After she washed up, she just had to look out the windows. Flowers on the deck, flowers in the beds, Cleo in her adorable garden hat, men hanging lights among the wisteria she imagined dripping color and scent before much longer.

Still brimming with happiness, she got out the sandwich rolls, the deli meats, cheeses. Ice-cold Cokes—unless the men wanted a Saturday afternoon beer—good sandwiches, plenty of chips.

A kind of inaugural garden picnic.

As she worked, she heard the dumbwaiter hum its way up to the butler’s pantry. It made her smile and wonder what Molly sent up. Maybe another pretty platter for the sandwiches, or picnic plates.

She stopped to go into the butler’s pantry and open the dumbwaiter.

The rat, big and black, stared back at her with feral red eyes. Its long, skinny tail swished. It bared its teeth.

She couldn’t stop the scream, or the second that ripped out of her as she slammed the door shut again and stumbled back.

She heard it scrabbling inside, even as she heard the laugh, the long, terrible laugh, echo from above.

Cleo burst in, rushed to her.

“What is it? Shut the fuck up!” she shouted when the laugh came again.

“Don’t open it. Don’t open it.”

Trey ran in, and Owen, and the dogs, even the cat as Cleo wrapped around Sonya.

“She’s shaking,” Cleo said, and wrapped tighter. “I don’t know what happened.”

“In there.” As she pointed, smoke leaked out of the dumbwaiter. “God, oh God. A rat. There’s a rat.”

Immediately, Cleo hauled Sonya several feet away.

“I don’t think so,” Trey murmured, and even as Sonya shouted, “Don’t!” he opened it.

A trail of smoke billowed out, then nothing.

“It wasn’t real.” For whatever reason, the realization made Sonya shake harder. “It wasn’t real.”

“You sit down now. Come on, you sit.” Cleo pulled her to a counter stool. “I heard her laughing. This was one of her nasty tricks.”

“It looked so real. I slammed the door, and I heard it inside. It looked so real.”

“Nothing there now.” Trey took over for Cleo, drew Sonya against him, stroked her hair. “You don’t have any rats or rodents in the house. No sign of them anywhere. We’ve been all through it, remember?”

“I know, I know, but… God. God.” Then she pushed away, color flooding back into her face. “Goddamn it! I screamed. She made me scream, and she laughed. I fell for it.”

“If I open a door and see a rat, I’ll probably make some noise.”

Owen’s comment got a look of approval from Cleo.

“You shut the door,” Trey pointed out. “You didn’t run.”

“More from being frozen in place than anything else. It was big, really big, and solid black. Red eyes, pointy little teeth. When I slammed the door on it, I could hear it, like it was trying to claw its way out.”

“I’ll get you some water.”

“No, Cleo, I’m okay now. I really am. I’m just pissed she made me scream.”

“Then I’ll give that dumbwaiter a good scrubbing out.”

“I got it. No, I’ve got it,” Owen insisted. “Maybe somebody could finish making those sandwiches. We’ll take one to go if everything’s settled back down. If Cleo wants her boat before next season, I’ve got work—and Trey’s working with me.”

Sensing Trey about to object, Sonya squeezed his hand. “That’s fine. I’m fine. Nothing’s going to screw up this very good day.”

“If you come back about seven, I’m going to grill some chicken.”

As he filled a bucket with hot, soapy water, Owen glanced back. “You know how to grill?”

“I can figure it out. Sit, Son. I’ll finish these sandwiches.”

“We’ll be back by seven,” Trey promised. “Sooner if you need.”

“We’re fine,” Sonya said again. “Cleo and I are going to take our sandwiches out to the deck and admire our work, and yours. She hates that, so she sent me a rat. She hates we’ve added color and light and scent. Hates we’re putting our mark on the manor. We’re going to keep doing just that, and she can send a swarm of her fake rats.”

“Let’s not go there,” Cleo said, and finished making sandwiches.

They ate on the deck with the cat and all three dogs. Then, vowing to be wise gardeners, mixed up the deer spray. When the animals deserted them, they agreed the smell would keep anything with a nose from munching on the garden.

Cleo spent the rest of the afternoon painting while Sonya worked on the cards for the open house dishes.

When the men came back, Cleo proved she could grill. They ate on the deck, and lingered to watch the sun go red behind the trees.

And to Sonya’s delight, watched the solar lights twinkle on.

“You were right.” Trey stretched out his long legs. “Worth it.”

“I want to see the tree. Let’s go see the tree!”

When they did, Sonya felt that happiness brim over again. “It’s perfect. It’s exactly how I imagined.”

“I hate to say it.” Owen scanned the tree, then gestured. “You’ve got enough left to do that giant rhodo on the other side of the house. Nice counterpoint.”

Trey shot him a look. “I’m not getting that damn ladder. It’s dark. Tomorrow,” he said to Sonya. “We’ll take a look at it tomorrow.”

The week passed quick and, thankfully, quiet. Even through another meeting with Bree where they went over logistics, took another tour of the house, the grounds.

RSVPs poured in, with barely a regret. They ordered flowers for delivery the day before, rented stanchions to block off the third floor.

Flowers bloomed in the sun. Lights twinkled in the dark.

Cleo painted, sometimes at home, sometimes in the village. Sonya filled her days with work—with breaks for walks with Yoda in the garden or by the seawall.

If she kept an eye on the Gold Room windows, it wasn’t a fearful one, but one of defiance.

In the evenings when Cleo cooked, she sat at the counter going over the checklist for the open house.

“We’re really set. I’m obsessing,” Sonya admitted. “But we’re really set. With a big cheer for Bree.”

“Cheer! We’d better be set at this point. Family’s going to start pouring in, so we’d better be. And I’m thinking we have a kind of buffet for the ones who come in on Friday. I think I can do a ham.”

Slowly, Sonya repeated, “You think you can do a ham?”

“I talked to Corrine about it, and I think I can do it. A ham, those roasted potatoes I’ve got down now, a veg, maybe some crudités, a cheese platter.”

“I call the crudités and cheese platter. And I can do some beer bread, since I’ve got that down. You’re right. We have to feed them. It’s going on the list. You know, at this very moment, all this seems like such a good idea.”

“And we’re hoping it still feels that way after.”

“Yeah, we are.”

“Positive thoughts bring positive vibes,” Cleo declared. “How’s work going?”

“Really well. Gigi’s is officially up and running, along with the Ogunquit law firm, and Ryder’s really happy with me. And the painting?”

“I was going to wait until I had some wine to talk about that.”

“I’m getting it now. Spill.”

“I took three framed canvases down to Kevin. He took all three.”

“All! Yay—but… not the watercolor of the tree.”

“That stays here. He also asked if I’d do a showing in the fall.”

“Cleo!”

“I think I will. Sabbatical will be over, but I’ll have enough. Even with doing the mural for Anna.”

She handed Cleo a glass of wine. “I love our life.”

Cleo clinked glasses, then smiled when Yoda scrambled up to run to the door. “Looks like a part of that life’s coming around for dinner.”

Sonya did love their life and the sharp turn it had taken months before. She loved her work, the result of another sharp turn into freelancing. Though it came with stunning challenges, ones she was determined to meet, she loved her home.

She loved Trey. Maybe they hadn’t said those words to each other yet, but she knew love. Hard to say it, she could admit, as a year before she’d designed her wedding invitations to another man.

And she loved their life, so why rush it?

After ending a virtual meeting with Burt and some of Ryder’s marketing team, she sat back, satisfied.

Her work, she thought, her art, her vision would soon come to life on a big-ass billboard in Portland.

“It’s a hell of a thing, Yoda.” She rubbed his back idly with her foot. “Consider this a quick victory lap before I start the mood board for a new client.”

As she worked, Clover’s music played, and the breeze wafted in the open windows.

A pretty perfect way, she decided, to end one month and start another. She hoped Cleo enjoyed the same, painting down in the village at the marina.

If part of her stayed braced, always braced, for whatever Dobbs would try next, she wouldn’t let it interfere with what she loved.

When her phone rang, she stepped back from the beginnings of her new board.

Sonya picked up the phone, and her heart dropped a little when she saw the display.

By Design.

No, she wouldn’t let the fact it might be Brandon stop her from answering her own phone.

“This is Sonya.”

“Sonya, Laine Cohen. Can I put you on speaker? Matt’s here, too.”

“Yes, of course. Hi, Matt!”

She pictured them both, in Laine’s office, the view of the Boston Common behind her. Laine with her sharp wedge of hair the color of Sonya’s formal dining room table. She’d have a pair of readers—some bold color—on a chain around her neck.

And her partner, Matt, sitting on the L of Laine’s desk, his glossy blond hair catching the light through the big window.

They’d been good for her, good to her from her start as an intern right through her resignation.

“How are you doing?” Matt asked. “How’s Maine?”

“I’m doing really well, and I love Maine. Wait just a second.”

Because they’d been good to her, good for her, she walked to the open window.

“Hear that? That’s the Atlantic. I’m looking at it, and the boats on it, from my office window.”

“You sound happy,” Laine commented.

“I am, very. How are both of you?”

“Busy, which makes us both happy. Sonya, Matt and I wanted to call you and congratulate you on the Ryder account.”

“Thank you. That’s so… that’s so you.”

“We’ve spoken with Miranda Ryder, and with Burt,” Matt put in. “Both speak highly of you, and your work. I hope you know Laine and I feel the same.”

“I do. I wouldn’t be where I am, professionally, without the foundation you gave me.”

“That’s not to say we’re not disappointed to lose that account, but,” Laine added, “you earned it. Now, after considerable… discussion, Matt and I agreed we needed to speak with you on another matter. We were informed about Brandon’s behavior and actions at Ryder.”

Sonya walked away from the window, began to pace. “That door’s closed for me.”

“I hope it is. Matt and I met with Brandon before his presentation, one that was scheduled so as to avoid any overlap with yours. At that time, we directed him, clearly, firmly, that if for any reason the two of you crossed paths, he would remain professional, polite, refrain from discussing your past history. He was there to represent By Design, and we expected him to meet those standards.”

“He failed. Laine and I want you to know we’re sorry for it.”

“It’s not your fault. Not what happened at Ryder, not the past history.”

“Regardless. He represented us. Matt and I were very clear. Brandon chose to ignore our directive.”

“Childish,” Matt muttered. “Petty.”

“We met with Brandon regarding this incident. He claims you deliberately waylaid him, insulted him, Matt, me.”

That fired her up. “I did no such thing! I promise you, I—”

“We’re aware of that,” Laine interrupted. “Even if this business hadn’t been overheard, we know better, Sonya.”

“We know you,” Matt said. “Miranda thought Laine and I should know, he also did his best to undermine you and your work during his presentation. She found it very… what was her word for it?”

“Unbecoming,” Laine supplied. “As a result of our meeting with Brandon, and by mutual agreement, he is no longer with By Design.”

“Oh.”

Sonya’s mind went temporarily blank.

“Under normal circumstances, we’d keep this as internal company business. Matt was very persuasive otherwise, and, frankly, I really couldn’t disagree with him. However fond we are of you, Sonya—”

“And we are!”

Laine gave a light laugh. “And we are, we didn’t come to this decision for you, but for the company we’ve built, for its standards. We’re telling you these details in case Brandon attempts, in any way, to malign your personal or professional reputation.”

“Forewarned is forearmed,” Matt tossed in.

“Yes, thank you. I don’t take blame for any of it, but I’m sorry.”

“As we all are. We wish you nothing but the best, Sonya. While we’re disappointed about the account, Matt and I take some pride in your accomplishments. I’ll add Miranda also mentioned that when asked, and in contrast to Brandon, you spoke with respect and affection for By Design. We appreciate it.”

“You earned the respect and affection.”

“If you ever decide to come back to Boston, our door’s open,” Matt told her.

“Thanks. This is home now.”

When she hung up, Clover tried Billy Joel’s “A Matter of Trust.”

“I guess it was. He broke it with me, now he broke it with them. And I can’t figure out how I feel about it. Taking a break. Come on, Yoda. Let’s go for a walk.”