Chapter 34
THIRTY-FOUR
FRANKIE
Now
A soft gasp escaped Frankie at hearing a cadence so uncannily familiar in a stranger. Everything stilled around her, the already quiet interior of the car pressing against her eardrums like a vacuum. It couldn’t be… Her lips prepared to speak, but no sound came.
“Hello?” The woman again. Amber.
No, Frankie must be imagining things. The British accent was playing tricks on her. The name was a coincidence, and this was simply a clerk manning phones at a local business. Nothing else.
“Anyone there?”
But that husky alto that always sounded a second away from slipping into song…
“Um, hi,” Frankie said. “I’m calling because I think my mother was a customer of yours. My name is Frankie Lavigne, and—”
There was a rustle on the line, and then it went dead.
“Hello?” Frankie said. She looked to see if her phone was still connected, which it was, then listened again. Nothing.
She hung up and sat staring at the screen until it blurred. Had she just spoken to her sister, or was she losing her mind? She huffed out a little laugh. Was such a thing even possible?
She dialed again, holding her breath as it connected, but this time it went straight to voicemail. That same voice again that sounded so much like Estelle.
“You have reached Midsomer Lavender, where we aim to set your life in bloom. We’re unavailable to take your call right now, but please select one of the following options. For hours, press one. For our address, press two. To leave a message, press three. Have a wonderful day.”
Frankie waited too long to make her choice, the call disconnecting while her phone was still at her ear.
Her hand shook as she lowered it to her lap.
Was her sister there? The possibility swirling in her mind shouldn’t have made sense, but Frankie had to admit that it gave Estelle a reason for her floral purchases.
Had it been her way of supporting her oldest daughter’s business?
But surely there were many easier and more direct ways to do that, not to mention how it still didn’t explain why Estelle had kept it to herself.
Frankie called the number again, willing Amber to pick up this time, but she got voicemail again.
She cursed under her breath, debating what to do as the voice listed the options again.
Finally, she tapped the number two on her screen for an address and scrambled for a piece of paper and a pen in her bag to jot it down before the call disconnected.
She looked out the windshield down the cobblestoned street where she’d parked what felt like eons ago. The car was hers for twenty-four hours, so she wasn’t in a hurry, and she’d come this far. She could do a couple more hours on the road.
Her phone dinged with a message, and she yanked it up so fast it almost hit her face. But of course it wasn’t the lavender farm. No reason for them to be texting. It was Owen.
Asked the priest and he’s never heard of St. George’s Academy. What’s happening over there?
That settled it. Frankie was willing to bet that whether or not this Amber was her sister, there was a connection between the lavender farm and the boarding school, and she needed to know what it was more than anything.
Found a woman named Amber working at the lavender farm Mom bought all those products from, she typed. I’m heading there now.
Then she started the car.
It was mid-afternoon by the time Frankie approached her destination.
Two hours of endless green expanses lay behind her, the sky as big as she’d ever seen above the rolling English countryside.
She’d not paid it much attention though, her eyes firmly on the horizon straight ahead and the promise of a resolution, no matter what shape it would take.
Her heart pounded furiously in her chest as she made the turn off the main road, following the signs to the lavender farm, the sound of it dizzying as she spotted a two-story brick farmhouse rising beyond fields of not-yet-blooming shrubs.
She was so close, but the uncertainty of what she’d find still loomed before her.
She pulled into a small gravel parking lot outside a wood structure with a “SHOP” sign above the door and took a few steeling breaths before exiting.
There were three other cars in the lot, so Frankie assumed they were open, but the prospect of entering the store, of confronting the woman she’d heard on the phone, made her stomach roil.
She’d have a look at the fields first, she decided. Give herself a moment.
A cool wind blew across the sprawling landscape, making Frankie wrap her arms around herself despite the sunlight as she wandered along the rows of lavender mounds that would soon stretch on in endless purple.
A figure became visible at the far end of the row she was in, carrying a large basket under one arm and occasionally stooping down to pull something—weeds presumably—from the ground.
Frankie looked back toward the shop, but there was still no sign of life, so she set off toward the field worker instead. Sooner or later, she’d have to find someone to ask, and this person was no better or worse than the next.
She had the sun behind her, so when she was twenty yards out, she cleared her throat to make sure she didn’t sneak up on the poor woman—because it was a woman.
Clad in jeans and a flannel with sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat covering her head, Frankie couldn’t tell much else, but she stopped all the same when the woman stood up tall.
There was something about how she jerked her gloves off her hands and lifted an arm to shade her eyes from the light that drove the air from Frankie’s lungs like a punch to the stomach.
“Can I help you?” the woman called.
It was her. The woman from the phone. Amber. And seeing her like this, there was no doubt in Frankie’s mind that she’d finally found her sister.
She swallowed against the thickness in her throat, then cleared it. “I called earlier,” she said. “My name is Frankie.”
Amber’s arms fell to her sides, her gloves dropping to the ground. “You’re here?”
“I’m…” Frankie fought to find the right words as she realized that Amber knew who she was. “The phone call disconnected. I… I think I’ve been looking for you.”
A harsh noise escaped Amber like she’d fought to hold back a sob but lost the battle, and then she dropped to her knees where she stood. “Oh,” she cried. “No, it can’t be real.”
Frankie looked about her in a panic, briefly struck rigid by the unexpected reaction.
Then she continued toward the other woman, who had pulled off her hat and turned her face to the sky as tears flowed down her cheeks.
Hair a shade lighter than Frankie’s and with a few gray streaks at the temples spilled down her back in a loose braid.
“I’m sorry,” Frankie said. “I didn’t mean… You know who I am?”
Amber looked up at her. Nodded. She wiped her cheeks with the backs of her sleeves, then pushed off the ground.
“You knew Estelle?” Frankie asked, wanting to be sure. “Estelle Lavigne?”
Amber nodded again, a straggling sob making her hand go to her chest as if to soothe it. “She was my mother,” she said, a sharp exhale following the statement.
Goosebumps broke out all over Frankie’s body. She’d really found her. “I have so many questions.”
A sad sigh crossed Amber’s lips. “I know.” She took a step closer to Frankie, her eyes roaming over her features. “I can’t believe you’re here. How did you find me?”
“It’s a long story.” Frankie lips twisted with wry humor at the understatement.
“I can put on some tea,” Amber said. “If you want.”
Frankie wasn’t alone after all. She had a sister. A family. “More than anything,” she said.
Another airy sob escaped Amber, but this one was accompanied by a smile. “Oh my God. My husband is going to lose it,” she said as if underlining Frankie’s thought.
“You’re married?” she asked.
“Fourteen years.” Amber’s expression grew radiant, so reminiscent of Estelle that Frankie ached. “And my twins are twelve.”
Frankie laughed. She was an aunt too? “Amazing.”
Amber stilled. “It is,” she said. “And now you’re here.” She opened her arms. “Can I?”
Frankie didn’t hesitate, letting her big sister pull her into an embrace that smelled of lavender and the outdoors. She inhaled deeply and noted absently that Amber did the same.
“Come on,” Amber said, leading Frankie toward the farmhouse with one arm around her shoulders.
They entered through a patio door that led straight into a large kitchen with light-green cabinets and white counters.
An oak trestle table sat on a colorful woven rug at one end of the space, covered with what looked like a school art project.
On the walls were a mix of framed art prints, photos of the farm and its inhabitants, and taped-up kid drawings.
The space was lived in and immediately felt homey to Frankie.
“Have a seat,” Amber said, gesturing to a round stool tucked under the small kitchen island. She headed for the sink, where she took her time washing her hands and filling a kettle.
Frankie was thankful for the minutes of inertia.
She needed them to catch up to the reality of suddenly sitting in her sister’s kitchen, out of place and right where she belonged all at once.
There was so much she needed to know, but every possible question she came up with felt insignificant in the face of this momentous development.
“Now please tell me how you ended up here,” Amber said as she set first a mug down in front of Frankie, then a plate of what looked like lavender biscuits.
“You kind of stole my question there,” Frankie said, stirring honey into the steaming tea. “But fine, since you asked first.”
Amber leaned back against the counter, crossing her feet at the ankles like Estelle often had. It distracted Frankie enough that Amber had to ask again.
“Sorry. You just… You look a lot like Mom.”