The All You Can Dream Buffet Read online

  “We can wait for Ginny. Then you don’t have to show it twice.”

  “I think she’ll like it.” Lavender pinched a single blossom, crushed it in her fingers, and passed it over to Ruby. “This is Royal Velvet. It doesn’t produce as much oil per plant as Grosso, which is the most common form of lavender. Velvet is much purer. Smell that?”

  Ruby inhaled gently, letting the scent fill her sinuses a little at a time. It did seem quite strong, a most lavender-like lavender, but she wanted a comparison. “Do you also grow the other one?”

  “I do. This way.” They waded to the end of the row and down into another patch, this one with alternating colors of blossoms. The plants were sturdier-looking, taller, more vigorous, and when Lavender pinched off a flower, she said, “Grosso has a fairly strong note of camphor, which lessens the quality, in my opinion.”

  Ruby smelled the blossom, and she could definitely pick out the camphor, an astringent note that undercut the sweetness of lavender. “That’s amazing,” she said. “I’ve used lavender now and then in cooking, and it’s a very strong purple color.”

  “Right. Provence is the queen of culinary lavenders. The shape and color of the flower is what you want there.”

  “Provence,” Ruby repeated. “Grosso. Royal Velvet.” She held the other blossom to her nose, and the difference was so dramatically clear that she exclaimed, “Oh! I see!”

  Lavender smiled. “Good girl.”

  “Did your mother name you for the fields?”

  “Oh, heavens, no. These were hazelnut orchards.” She swallowed, peering into the distance, then sighed and swept a hand down to brush the plants. “I didn’t want to run the place back then—I ran away to be a stewardess the minute I graduated high school. Wanted to see the world, and I did. That’s how I met Ginger, the one whose daughter sold Ginny the trailer.”

  “The artist in Carmel who was your friend from the airline days?”

  “Yep.” Lavender half-grinned. “She was an Aussie. We had some good times, she and I.”

  Ruby blinked. The smile, so ripe with wicked memory, made everything she knew about Lavender rearrange itself to include a young woman in a tidy uniform having adventures around the world. “Those are stories I’d love to hear.”

  “I’m better telling them after a glass or two of mead.”

  “I get that. How old were you when you came back here?”

  “Fifty-seven. I was in admin at the airline by then and getting pretty bored with it. Then my nephew who ran the farm died unexpectedly, and it was time to come home. I poured my savings into turning it into an organic and lavender farm. I knew that was what Glen would want. He’d worked so hard on the place, I couldn’t let him down.” She paused, again looking out toward the horizon. She rubbed the center of her chest, as if rubbing the ache of a broken heart, and Ruby knew just how that felt.

  “You miss him.”

  “He was the closest thing to a child I had.” Abruptly, she started to walk. “That’s before you were born, isn’t it?”

  Ruby laughed and nodded. “It is. Kinda weird to think about that.”

  Lavender gestured for Ruby to follow, and she made her way toward the other end of the fields. Looking back over her shoulder, Ruby admired the tidy rows of smeary plants. Maybe this could be her work, this magical plant. Maybe Lavender would apprentice her, and she could raise her baby in a place like this one—

  “Did you hear me?”

  Ruby swung back. “What?”

  “How did you get your name? I never have heard that story.”

  “My dad used to like to listen to this radio show about Ruby, the Galactic Gumshoe.”

  “No kidding! I remember that.”

  “Really? Nobody else has ever known what I was talking about! That’s so cool.”

  They swished through the lavender in silence for a moment, then Lavender asked, “And your mother? You never speak of her at all.”

  Ruby thought of the Google Maps view of her mother’s house in Seattle. “I don’t really remember her. She left when I got sick.”

  “When she found out you had leukemia?”

  “It sounds terrible, I know it does, but she was young and …” Ruby shrugged. It always made her feel vaguely ashamed, as if she should find some true reason, but she never did. It was terrible, leaving a seven-year-old who was that sick.

  She felt Lavender’s strong, broad hand sweep around her own, the palm papery. Lavender gave her hand a squeeze. “She didn’t deserve you.”

  “I agree.” She squeezed back and put a hand on her tummy, a silent promise that she’d never be that kind of mother. Ever. “Luckily, I got a great dad.”

  “He sounds terrific.” A slight pause, then, “I assume the baby is Liam’s?”

  “Yeah.” Ruby sighed. “It was foolish. The very end, right before I came home.”

  “Does he know?”

  “Um … actually, no. I haven’t told him yet.”

  “Are you going to?”

  Ruby shrugged again. “I guess I have to, right? That’s the only answer. But that means I have to talk to him or have contact, and, honestly, it’s really hard.”

  Lavender nodded. She led the way through a diagonal shortcut and stopped. There, sitting in rows at the end of the fields, were four white bee boxes, so perfectly recognizable for what they were. “There are the lavender bees. I have some others on the other side of the farm, but these are close so they can just gather lavender nectar for now.”

  “What about when the lavender stops blooming?”

  “I’ll harvest the honey and put the boxes closer to the forest and the other fields.”

  Ruby rubbed a gentle hand in a circle over her belly. Lavender’s question had brought Liam’s face to mind so vividly that she felt the wild grief welling up again. Even thinking of talking to him made her want to cry. “I know it’s just a bad breakup and everybody goes through it,” she said, and once she started, the words tumbled out, one after the other after the other, “but sometimes I really feel like Liam was the love of my life and I won’t love anyone like that again. I mean, I’m still so raw, after all this time! I miss him like crazy, every single day, and so much! And I can’t stop pining. It’s crazy, right? But that’s the honest truth. He was my soul mate and something terrible happened, but I don’t know what it is, and I feel like I’m going to go insane trying to figure it out.”

  Lavender didn’t say anything for a minute. She swooped down and tugged a long feather of grass from its mooring and began to dissect the seed head with her thumbnail. “It did seem very abrupt.”

  “I know, right?”

  “The thing is, it also seemed very certain. He didn’t waver. He left you and he went to live with someone else.”

  Ruby made a small noise, putting her hand over the place that had just been gutted. “That’s harsh.”

  “No, it’s a fact. If you can look at the facts, maybe it will make it easier to start feeling better.”

  “Maybe.” Ruby bowed her head. “It is true, exactly what you said. But it’s also true that we fell in love practically on sight and were together for six years.”

  “Maybe he fell in love with the other woman on sight, too.”

  “Maybe,” Ruby whispered. It felt as if an anvil were sitting on her chest. “So why did it feel so fated?”

  “Because maybe it was fated. Maybe it was to bring you that baby.”

  Ruby looked up. “Right! Maybe it is. It’s pretty amazing.” She nodded. “I’ll send him an email in a few days, tell him the truth.”

  “You probably need to get that out of the way.”

  A little blossom of hope, buzzy as a bee, suggested that it might be the way back to him, back to them, if he knew they’d made a child.

  “C’mon, let’s get to town and do some shopping,” Lavender said. “We’ve got a lot more to do for this festival. You can help me cook over the next few days. We can use the extra space in the food truck.”

  “Cool.�
� Ruby skipped ahead, thinking with pleasure of breaking in the trailer for real, of serving people. Her father would be happy.

  The drive to McMinnville took them on country roads that looped through soft yellow and green fields and past all kinds of houses—trailers and cottages, modern buildings and stately old farmhouses. There was a tiny strip of town dominated by a giant silo and splendiferous gardens of roses. Ruby saw black-and-white cows, wide plantings of crops she couldn’t identify, and wineries and more lavender farms. “Are there a lot of lavender farms around here?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Lavender replied. She drove her truck with the confidence of a lumberjack, her big, aged hands strong on the steering wheel. “It’s a big draw in the midsummer; there’s a lavender festival that brings in a lot of tourists.”

  Ruby thought about that. If there were a lot of farms, there was a lot of competition, and maybe this wouldn’t be the best work for her. Maybe her food truck was still the best thing. She could get a permit, drive around the Bay Area, find the best parking spot.

  It sounded exhausting, which in turn made her feel guilty, because she’d talked her dad into lending her the money. Her stomach started to bubble, so she tried to focus on something happier, like the pretty view of mountains in the distance, but they went over a hill, swooping down the other side, and Ruby blurted out, “I need to stop!” She put a hand over her mouth, breathing as evenly as she could, holding on until Lavender swerved into a driveway. Ruby flung open the door and puked into a ditch, only afterward looking to see if anyone was around. There was an old man in overalls and a straw hat staring at her from his tiny patch of green lawn across the street. “Sorry!” she called. “I’m pregnant.”

  He glared and muttered something, then stomped away in boots that were not tied, the laces trailing behind him in the grass. A cat dashed out from under the bushes and tried to grab them, leaping again with each footstep.

  Ruby wiped her mouth. “Sorry. It’s gross, I know it is.”

  “It’s not gross. It’s just how it is for some women. Have you had a physical?”

  “Of course. My doctor said it should get better soon. Most women get over the worst of it by four or five months.”

  “I’ll look up some more teas this evening.”

  McMinnville was a normal-looking small town, with houses laid out in tidy blocks and a strip of downtown with a restaurant called the Blue Moon Tavern, which Ruby had to take a picture of for the blog. Down the street a little ways, Lavender pointed out an old hotel. “That’s a place worth visiting when Ginny gets here.”

  Suddenly she slowed, peering into the window of a café. “Well, I’ll be damned. Those bastards.”

  “What is it?”

  “My goddamned nephews are talking to Wade Markum.” She pointed toward the café. “He’s the farmer I was telling you about.”

  “I don’t think you were telling me. Maybe Ginny?”

  “Maybe.” She pulled over, parallel-parking the big truck as easily as if it were a smart car. With narrowed eyes, she peered over her shoulder at the window, which had a reflection of trees and sky bouncing off it, so Ruby couldn’t see what Lavender saw. Lavender tapped her fingers on the steering wheel and her mouth worked, lip in, lip out. Finally she swore again, softly. “Damn it.”

  “Will it help to talk it out?”

  “Wade has about a thousand acres of land catty-corner to mine. He’s been farming for forty years and wants my land, too. He’s made me some offers, but he’s not interested in the lavender, or the organic produce, or the chickens. He’ll mow it all under to make pasture for sheep and, more specifically, lambs.”

  Ruby made a noise of protest.

  “Portland eats a lot of lamb these days,” she said matter-of-factly. Again the lower lip, in and out. In and out. She tapped the back of her thumb on the plastic wheel. “And it’s not like I have anything against lamb, but I’ve worked my ass off to build that business, and I’m not going to stand by and let it be mowed over.”

  “So what can you do?”

  Lavender flung open the door. “C’mon.”

  Ruby hurried to catch up as Lavender strode across the street. Ruby had to wait for a car, and then another, and then someone stopped for her. She ran across, raising a hand in thanks. As Lavender pushed the door open, she thought to turn around and look for Ruby. She waited there, every bit as wrinkled as you’d imagine an eighty-four-year-old to be but still straight, as powerful as a wizard.

  Or a witch, Ruby thought, but “wizard” sounded more powerful.

  Whatever. That powerful woman moved into the room and paused by the table. “How you doing, nephews? Couldn’t wait till I was dead?”

  “Lavender!” One of the men stood up. He was tall and stout, like a football player who’d turned to real estate. “We’re on our way out to the farm, as a matter of fact. We just stopped for a late breakfast and ran into Wade here.”

  “Bullshit,” Lavender said.

  All three men looked prosperous, in a Western-casual kind of way. Jeans paired with expensive shirts. The city men wore loafers, but the farmer wore boots that were a little muddy. Ruby felt smug being able to pick out that detail.

  The farmer stood up. “Why don’t you join us, Lavender? We are talking about your farm and the potential it offers.”

  Ruby’s eyebrows shot up. Bold!

  Lavender crossed her arms and addressed her nephews. “I know you’re waiting for me to kick the bucket so you can hand over the farm and upgrade your mini-mansions—”

  “That’s not true!”

  She continued without acknowledging them. “But, as you see, I’m as hale and hearty as I’ve ever been. I’m having a party this weekend for my eighty-fifth birthday. Why don’t you all come? You can see for yourself that lavender is just as viable a product as lamb.”

  “Lavender—”

  “Have you met my apprentice? This is Ruby Zarlingo. She writes a famous blog called ‘The Flavor of a Blue Moon.’ You should check it out.”

  Ruby lifted a hand, but Lavender was already hustling them out of the restaurant. “Bastards,” she muttered under her breath. They strode down the sidewalk, Ruby hurrying to keep up with Lavender’s long-legged stride. She finally slowed after two blocks and peered around, as if emerging from some dream. “C’mon. Let’s get some coffee or something. A pastry, maybe?”

  “Maybe some toast,” Ruby said. People who weren’t vegan often didn’t realize that pastries mostly had eggs and/or butter.

  They found a different café, the Wild Wood, which was an absolutely adorable retro-looking place. The hipster waitress had black hair with short bangs and red lipstick, and she smiled as she gave them menus. “Hi, my name is Tiff. You ladies want something to drink?”

  “Hot tea for me,” Ruby said.

  “Coffee,” Lavender barked. She glared at the menu as if it were her nephews and the farmer.

  Ruby smiled apologetically, and the server winked.

  The place was magical, Ruby thought. Retro signs for Maytag washers and Hires root beer and potatoes and broccoli and cauliflower hung on the walls, and there were old-school kitchen utensils of every variety hanging from the ceiling—eggbeaters and potato mashers and spoons and spatulas. Her restaurant side was charmed. She wanted to be the owner of this place, with its Formica tables and vinyl dinette chairs in pastel colors. She’d make it a vegan restaurant, of course, with wholesome pastries and treats and breakfasts, like Sticky Fingers in D.C.

  A ripple of excitement touched her. Yes, that could be so fantastic! Maybe restaurants really were her work.

  The menu was fairly standard diner with an upscale feel. “This doesn’t feel like a small-town café,” she said aloud. “The other one didn’t, either, now that I think about it.”

  “It’s wine country.” Lavender slapped the menu down and folded her big hands. Knots showed at some of the joints, and brown spots speckled the skin. “Everybody thinks they’re gourmets these days. Truffle oil this and foie gras
that.”

  “They don’t call themselves ‘gourmets’ anymore,” Ruby said. “They’re ‘foodies.’ ”

  “Right. Like us.” Her eyes unexpectedly twinkled. “There are a couple of celebrated chefs in town if you’re interested in exploring.”

  Ruby lifted a shoulder. “Maybe.” It made her feel tired.

  Maybe restaurants weren’t her work.

  The server brought their drinks. Ruby ordered toast with strawberry jam and no butter. Lavender, who never seemed to stop eating, wanted a cinnamon roll.

  “So those were your nephews, I gather?” Ruby asked. “And they stand to inherit?”

  “That’s right. They’re not bad men, they just don’t want to run a farm, and I get that.”

  “Can’t you put something in your will that will make sure the whole thing stays the way you want?”

  “It is supposed to be handed down to the next family member in line.”

  “That seems shortsighted. You took over in the eighties, right? By then they must have realized that times were changing, that not everyone wants to farm.”

  “At the time, it was expected that my brother’s boy, Glen, would inherit. He was a devoted farmer, and he ran the place like a general, raising profits by fourteen percent in three years. But, as I told you,” Lavender’s voice cracked, and she took a sip of coffee, “my nephew died—killed in a car accident. That was when I inherited. It was god-awful.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ruby said.

  “He was a good man. We’d talked a lot over the years about him turning the hazelnut orchard into lavender, so I went ahead with it after he died. His life insurance, combined with my savings, ended up paying for nearly every bloody penny of it.”

  “Can you encumber it somehow? Make sure that they can’t sell it to that guy or something?”

  “I have to do something,” Lavender agreed. “You and Ginny can help me brainstorm.”

  Ruby leaned forward and touched Lavender’s hand. “I bet there’s a way.”