6. Hildy
Hildy
TEN MONTHS AGO
NEW HOPE, Pa.—There were farms and then there were farms, Hildy reflected, taking in the scene.
A perfect blue sky, a puff or two of white clouds, blowsy flowers and rippling grass, rustic indoor furniture arranged on the lawn in conversational vignettes: The effect was very urban-sophisticate-moves-to-the-country-to-grow-a-perfect-pint-of-berries.
Which she would then sell at the farmer’s market and somehow earn enough to support her chenin blanc habit.
Hildy would watch the shit out of that movie, but this was supposed to be real life.
Or at least the aesthetic version of “real.” They had animals and everything, including a trio of sheep so immaculately groomed they could have competed at the Westminster Kennel Club.
Were there stylists who specialized in livestock, or did they pay a human beautician to give the animals a blowout?
She made a mental note to investigate further for a possible feature. Today, she had a different agenda.
“Earthy but sophisticated,” she murmured. “Natural without the tang of dirt. The mason jar aesthetic on steroids, refreshed and rejuvenated. A kale smoothie for the eyes.”
Naturally, Walter chose that moment to stroll around an artistic arrangement of hay bales. He acted surprised at seeing her there.
“Friend of the bride?” he asked.
“I have a lot of friends,” Hildy replied, with what she hoped was an air of mystery. If he thought she was there to party, like the spoiled socialite he presumed her to be, it would blindside him when Life, Styled published their superior coverage.
Walter stared into the distance, as though captivated by the miniature donkey being led on a harness like this year’s goldendoodle.
Guests could “borrow” one for the day, if they wanted to add a little animal husbandry to their sojourn in the country.
Hildy had been tempted, but she needed both hands free for taking notes.
“Don’t let me keep you,” Hildy said, with a transparently false smile.
“Why? Are you here with someone?”
“Is that so hard to believe?”
“Just making conversation.”
As if either of them ever said anything to the other without packing in at least two layers of hidden meaning. Every sentence was a baklava of sneak attacks and coded insults. “I’m surprised you made it out of the last one alive.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
She shrugged, watching his eyes catch on the sweetheart neckline of her gingham sundress. “Hopefully you won’t catch anything from the livestock.”
“And leave you to report on this wedding all by yourself? That would be tragic.”
“I think you mean ‘awesome.’”
“You don’t get to edit me, remember? I don’t work for you.”
“Thank God for that.” She steepled her hands, casting a grateful look skyward. “I have more important things to worry about than keeping you in line.”
“My sentiments exactly.”
A server approached, offering them hors d’oeuvres. Walter shook his head like the buzzkill he was, so naturally Hildy had to take one to be contrary.
“How is it?” he asked, when her mouth was full of puff pastry and chili oil and some kind of leaf.
She took her time swallowing before slowly running a finger over the corner of her lips. Stepping closer, she tapped the old-school notebook tucked into the lapel pocket of his suit. “Do your own research.”
His hand closed around her fingers, holding them for a beat before gently removing them from his person. Even after releasing her hand, he maintained eye contact, voice lowered to a confidential rumble. “I’ve done plenty.”
“Something in your throat?” Hildy held up a finger, and another server glided over with a tray of cocktails.
“I don’t drink when I’m on the clock,” Walter said.
She shrugged, taking a long sip of a beverage that tasted like a more acidic V8. “Yum,” she lied. “Maybe I’ll run the recipe as a sidebar.”
“Really?” His little hmm of surprise was like a mosquito bite on the back of Hildy’s knee.
“What?”
“It seems to me the real story is the setting.” Walter spoke as if it pained him to have to point out something so obvious. “This property has been in the bride’s family for generations. Her grandparents were married here—”
“And she had her grandmother’s dress remade for today,” Hildy cut in. “Speaking of historical tidbits.”
“They also added a saltwater swimming pond to the grounds, converted the main house to solar energy—”
“Installed a dance floor in the barn.”
“With wooden beams from an old dairy,” Walter hastened to add, before Hildy could say it. “But of course the real cherry on top—”
“Is the plantscaping.” She choked a little on the word, for its intrinsic silliness and because the botanical consultant had ignored Hildy’s request for an interview. So they’d grown their own flowers. It wasn’t that revolutionary.
Walter’s eyes lit up, like he knew exactly what she was thinking. “You heard about the sunflowers?”
The temptation to bluff was powerful, but Hildy kept her mouth shut.
“No?” he correctly surmised. “Must be because she promised the story to me.”
“Congratulations.” She gave him a dead-eyed smile. “Stop the presses, we have breaking news: Flowers spotted at wedding!”
“It’s not a bouquet, Hildy. We’re talking about a room made entirely of sunflowers. Four green, growing walls, a carpet of grass, nothing but sky overhead. Can you imagine the happy couple saying their vows at sunset?”
“It sounds like a glorified arbor,” Hildy lied.
“I guess you’ll find out when you read my story, since that part of the ceremony is private.” He sighed as if he sympathized with her plight. “It really is a piece of living art.”
“I’m glad you think so,” said the tall, spare brunette who had approached from Walter’s other side. She was all angles and monochromatic clothes, with a sleek bob and oversized jewelry. Hildy would have guessed art dealer or spy before gardener.
“Hello, Maude.” Walter turned on the charm, beaming as if he hadn’t already bamboozled a story out of her. Hildy might have thrown up, if her drink hadn’t already burned through her stomach lining.
Maude offered Hildy her hand. “Cousin of the bride.”
“You’re a lot more than that.” Walter sounded like he was auditioning for a role as her personal hype man. That was an awful lot of pride to take in a source—unless he and Maude were exchanging more than horticultural trivia.
“She has a degree in plant sciences from Cornell,” Walter informed Hildy. “Maude grew half of what we’re eating tonight. I’d tell you about it, but that would spoil the surprise.”
Hildy kept her smile locked in place even when Maude put a hand on Walter’s arm. It seemed like a superfluous gesture when their hips were already touching, but it did confirm the vibe she’d been sensing.
“I’m sorry I had to cut our conversation short.” Maude pitched her voice low, for Walter’s ears only. “I have a few minutes now, if you’re free. I could give you a tour.”
He gazed at Maude as if the two of them were alone at a candlelit restaurant. “I would love that. If you’re sure you don’t mind?”
“Knock yourselves out,” Hildy replied. Not that she wasn’t having a super fun time being the third wheel.
Walter frowned at her. “I was talking to Maude. She must be incredibly busy today.”
Unlike Hildy, who was standing there with a froufrou drink, twiddling her thumbs. It was so typical of Walter to make her feel like a vapid afterthought.
“My part is mostly done,” Maude assured him.
“Lucky me.” He smiled down at Maude-the-talented in that ingratiating way Hildy vaguely remembered from their youth. He probably used it all over the wedding circuit: Tell me more about your table settings! I find your choice of napkins deeply compelling!
What would the fawning bridesmaids and plantscapers say if they met high school Walter, before his frame filled out and his skin cleared and someone analyzed his colors?
(Though Hildy could have told him back then that this shade of green would make his eyes pop.) When they first met, it had been a toss-up whether Hildy wanted to kiss him or give him the other half of her BFF charm.
Maybe, she remembered thinking, this is what it’s like when you meet someone really special.
They could be your friend and your crush.
Now that she was older and wiser, Hildy’s feelings about Walter were a lot less ambiguous.
She wanted to take him apart, slowly and methodically, with her bare hands.
Psychologically, she course-corrected, when the wrong kind of image popped into her head.
It had nothing to do with removing his clothes.
“Excuse us,” Walter said, his arm not quite touching Maude’s lower back.
He could play the respectful gentleman all day. Hildy wasn’t fooled. This was Walter waving a red flag in her face. Look at me, stealing the scoop right out from under you!
Let Walter think he’d won. What was one minor skirmish in the grand scheme of their war? Hildy was already working another angle, with the potential to deliver a truly epic victory. And then they’d see who really excelled at nurturing a tiny seedling of an idea into a brilliant blossom of a story.
Hildy pictured a faceless woman poring over the pages of Life, Styled.
She might be at a nail salon, or a sticky kitchen table, or the doctor’s office, or on a crowded train, but for those stolen moments she’d be in this pastoral idyll, on a summer afternoon, walking on plush grass while a light breeze ruffled her hair.
Maybe it seemed superficial to some people, but Hildy believed she was providing a public service.
Who needed a sunflower room when you could take your mind on vacation for the price of a magazine?
Hildy held her hand out to the side, dropping an invisible mic.
“Was that Walter’s wallet?” Corinne asked, strolling up beside her. She pretended to check the grass for evidence.
“No.” Though that would have been a neat trick, had Hildy trained as a pickpocket. “I have a much bigger score in mind.”
“Looks like you have competition,” Corinne shot a pointed look at Maude, who was holding up a sprig of something green for Walter’s inspection.
“I’m not talking about scoring with Walter. The goal is to score on him. Or against him. Over him.” Damn it. “You know what I mean.”
“That makes one of us,” Corinne murmured into her drink.
Hildy didn’t dignify that with a response. “Rumor has it the Prescott clan may be gathering for another wedding in the not-too-distant future.”
“Shit!” Corinne’s face drained of color. “You mean Walter—”
“No!” Hildy was superstitiously glad to have cut her off before she could finish the thought. “Don’t be ridiculous. Not that it matters to me. Except for pitying whoever ends up with him. Why do you look so relieved?” she asked, before Corinne could argue.
“I was afraid I was going to have to hog-tie you, what with the open flames and pointy skewers.”
How would it feel to have a second-in-command who respected your executive functioning? Hildy would probably never know. “For your information, I’m totally in control—and in possession of a very important piece of knowledge.”
“Feel free to tell me once this dramatic pause is over.”
“There’s another Prescott daughter.” And Hildy was going to make sure she got to this one first.