She'd planned Natalie Moorefield's birthday tea party down to every detail. For the first part of the week the activity helped calm her, helped her reclaim her routine as she brought all those details together. On Wednesday morning, the date of the party, she ran through the last preparations, checking the table settings, the decorations, the frosted cakes and assortment of cookies that were Natalie's favorites. She'd placed glass bowls of daisies on each table, bright and fresh, the way a little girl's life should be, full of smiles and hopes.
"It must have been quite a weekend. You've had that summer love look off and on all week." Chloe watched her boss step back and judge if the tablecloth at station four was perfectly even on all edges.
"What's a summer love look?"
"That's somewhere between euphoria and abject misery. Panic and happiness. Like your face is about to break out from too much chocolate. You're exhausted and disheveled inside, even if everything is physically in place on the outside. Not sure if you want to laugh or cry, or shut yourself in your room all day with a bathtub and a good showerhead. Plus, you had a whisker burn along your throat." Marguerite's hand flew to her neck and Chloe grinned. But as she saw misery take precedence in the blue-eyed gaze, she reached out, put a hand on Marguerite's arm.
"Hey, I'm sorry. I was just teasing. Was it that gorgeous tiger from last week? He seemed like a good guy - "
"He is. He's a good man." Marguerite nodded, smoothing the tablecloth that Chloe noted had no wrinkles. "For the right woman. That's enough about that, now. Natalie's coming up the walkway. Did you put the little glass fish in the bowls?" Despite Gen's warning look, Chloe opened her mouth to pursue it further but the front screen door slammed.
"Miss M!" Natalie, looking like a seven-year-old princess in a pink dress with a lace crinoline and pink and white ribbons in her hair, did a spin for Marguerite's benefit.
"Look, Miss M! Mommy let me pierce my ears and took me to have a mani...manc...
My nails!" She thrust them out, the tiny cuticles covered with a light pink frost of polish. A set of small pink rhinestones glittered at her ears as she turned her head left and right, making the curls bounce.
To the jaded, the cynical, she would look a cliche, a gender-enforced stereotype. To Marguerite, she looked like happiness. She squatted, smoothing the fitted silk of her black cheongsam with its embroidered pattern of silver dragons beneath her hips in order to take the little face in her hands and turn it left and right. "Oh, they're so pretty.
And you're so pretty."
"That's you. How come you don't have your ears pierced? You don't even wear jewelry. Most times."
"I'm too much of a scaredy-cat," Marguerite confided, slanting a smile at Natalie's mother. Tina Moorefield was in a pale pink linen dress with a matching ribbon in her fall of chestnut hair. An early thirties bank executive, she looked a bit embarrassed but equally lovely, with a light tinge in her cheeks.
"Natalie said we had to match today."
"Show her your fingers, Mommy."
The mother smiled and dutifully extended her manicured fingers in a matching shade of pink.
"Here comes Ria, Sylvia and Mary!"
"I'm afraid she's been speaking in exclamation mode all day." Tina laughed, watching her only child fly out the front door.
Indeed it seemed the party of eleven little girls all arrived at once, punctually on the heels of the guest of honor. There was a great deal of squealing and giggling as the children compared finery.
"This is wonderful." Tina looked around the room, a mixture of elegance and fantasy. Sheer drapes hung in waves from the ceiling, sewn with silver stars, some of which hung free on threads to turn and throw their sparkle over the three round tables.
Each was set for five, the tablecloths strewn with rose petals and sprinkles shaped like stars. The three tea sets Marguerite had chosen to use were floral-pattern English bone china. One with deep pink roses at Natalie's table, one with bluebells and one with yellow daffodils.
"Marguerite, I never realized you would go to so much trouble. This is beyond my wildest dreams. I think I owe you more money." Marguerite shook her head. "Natalie is compensation enough." Tina's eyes glowed. "Isn't she something? Some days all I have to do is look at her to know my life's worth something." There was a sudden mist in her eyes. "And to think at one time I thought it would be best if the both of us were dead." Marguerite reached out, covered her hands with one of hers, squeezed firmly.
"None of that, now. That's past."
Tina nodded. "Sorry. You're right. It happens so much less now, but it happens.
Perversely, on days when I'm so happy. And it always revolves around her." The two women watched Natalie and the girls moving from table to table,
"helping" Chloe drop the party favors, fish made of colored glass, into the bowls next to the daisies in the center of each table. Each girl had her opinion of where she wanted to sit and what fish should be in her bowl.
A teenage girl came in, carrying a load of presents. She laid them down where Gen directed, then took a self-conscious position against the wall, looking bored. "That's Debra." There was an apology in Tina's voice. "I know you said I needed to bring an additional adult to sit at the third table but my friend called just an hour ago. Her son fell off the swings and needed a few stitches and, well, I brought her teenager, Debra." She nodded at the girl, looking sloppy and out of place at the formal affair in her hip-hugger jeans and crop top. "I honestly don't know how much help she'll be but she's been in trouble a lot, so her mother couldn't leave her at home. Dealing with her at the hospital wasn't an option, so I told her I'd bring her to 'help' me." She waved her hands helplessly. "But don't worry. I can just sit my chair between two tables and watch both..."
"Can I be of assistance?"
Marguerite, startled, turned nearly into Tyler, who apparently had come in through the side porch door. Because she was startled, she took a deep breath as she turned. The aftershave, skin, soap, shampoo...all of him.
Chloe was right. The want and longing, banked up and building since the moment she'd left his house, just flooded out through her, making her feel better and yet far more flustered, all at once. His amber eyes were warm and intent on her, taking in everything about her appearance. He wore slacks and shirt, blazer and a tie. She wondered if he had a crystal ball.
"I'll be happy to sit at the third table," he said, his attention moving over the Japanese fashion she'd worn that fitted her body with elegant sensuality. He lifted her limp hand in his, kissed her knuckles. "If Mrs..." He turned his gaze to Tina, lifted a brow, his lips curving in a charming smile.
"Moorefield. Tina Moorefield." Tina found her tongue after only a brief hesitation, which Marguerite admired, since she was still looking for hers. "And it's Ms."
"If Ms. Moorefield doesn't object."
"No...objections. If you're a friend of Marguerite's." Tina added it hastily, apparently just managing to remember that she shouldn't be entrusting her charges to a total stranger.
"Well, that's debatable but I'm sure she'll vouch that I can be trusted with the well-being of a group of little girls."
While destroying the sanity of an adult woman, Marguerite thought, but she pulled it together enough to nod.
"I've been trying to talk Marguerite into performing a Japanese tea ceremony for me but she tells me she reserves it only for her special customers."
"A properly done chaji takes four hours." His teeth flashed at her. "I have the stamina." Tina stifled a chuckle. Eyes glinting, Tyler inclined his head to her and moved to a wide-eyed Chloe, asking her if she needed any help as if he'd worked there all his life.
"I'd offer to catch you if you need to swoon," Tina said under her breath. "Except my knees went weak watching him kiss your hand."
"He is so irritating," Marguerite said, trying not to grit her teeth. Tina grinned, as though there was a joke everyone understood but Marguerite did not find the least bit funny.
"Men like that are always a handful. There was a bank president after me for a while. I didn't pursue it. Of course, if he'd been able to do that to me..."
"What?"
Tina ran a finger up the gooseflesh that still hadn't settled on Marguerite's skin.
"That."
"Excuse me. I just need to go settle some things and then we'll get started." She courteously extricated herself from the amused mother and stepped to Tyler's side, catching his sleeve and drawing him into the kitchen.
"What are you doing here?" She tried to keep her tone even, instead of snapping it out like an accusation. "I thought we were done."
"I have a proposition for you. One I think you'll like. But it can keep until later." He nodded at the swinging door, behind which the chatter of Natalie and her friends continued unabated, covering their conversation. "Let's not keep the birthday girl waiting."
"Have you heard of the phone?"
He gave her an appraising look. "Would you have taken my call?" His intuition was getting on her nerves. She turned on her heel.
She let out a surprised squeak as his hands caught her waist, pulled her back against him. He bent to her ear, his grip appropriately placed, but her skin heated as if he were touching her in far more intimate places.
"I missed you."
She closed her eyes, knowing he was saying what was resonating in her own heart.
"Tyler, I told you I can't do this."
"I don't believe that. And I think you missed me, too."
"I left your house just a few days ago. You're not that impressive." He smiled against her throat. "You were so tight when I slid into you, angel." He nipped at the skin just below the lobe and her nipples tightened traitorously. "So wet and hot."
"Let go of me, you bully."
He chuckled as she wrested herself away with a well-placed elbow to his ribs.
But as she moved away, his eyes sobered, all teasing humor dying away. He'd gotten the report of what had happened at The Zone, talked to Jeremy about Brendan's visit to the first aid area. It wasn't hard to put it together. He still felt it radiating off her.
While he hadn't been there for the incident, it did not make him feel any less responsible.
He'd let her walk away, only concerned about losing ground on the advances he'd made through her shields, not about the vulnerabilities his attack on her walls might have left. He vowed he wouldn't make the same mistake again. First he'd talked with Perry and gotten him to agree to lift the suspension of her member privileges. Then he'd checked in with Gen to find out Marguerite's schedule for the week. He'd intentionally come on this day, to see her in a situation where courtesy demanded that she'd have to give him time to make amends.
When he stepped back out onto the floor, Marguerite had the girls gathering around the sideboard to show them the process of prepping the tea, steeping it, explaining the purpose of the utensils.
"That's a pretty color, Miss M. What color is that?"
"Blue, silly," one of Natalie's friends said, rolling her eyes.
"No, it's a very good question," Marguerite said. "It's cobalt. See this texture? It's called a Cobalt Net because it's a netlike pattern with touches of gold. It's been hand-painted, is made out of porcelain and it came all the way from St. Petersburg. Who knows what country that's in?"
"Russia!" Two girls called out. Marguerite nodded.
"It still looks like blue to me," the child who'd teased Natalie said.
"It is blue, you're correct." Marguerite agreed. "But isn't it wonderful that we have so many wonderful names and variations of one color?" Marguerite was aware of Tyler, leaning against the wall watching her as she stood among the rapt children, pouring tea, showing them how to use the strainer. She was also aware of Debra, standing off to the side, trying not to look interested, trying to hold on to her petulant apathy.
"Now, you want your teapot to be clay or porcelain, to bring out the best flavor of whatever tea you choose to put in it. If you want to figure out if a teapot has good balance, you fill it seventy-five percent of the way full. About how high is that?" One of the children nearest her touched the outside of the teapot, about two-thirds up. "Very good. A little higher but that's close. When it's that full, if you lift the teapot and try to pour the water out and it feels a bit unbalanced, it's not a good teapot."
"Oh, Jesus." The teenaged girl rolled her eyes, apparently about to burst with her irritation. "Why is this important? I mean, who the hell cares, really?"
"Debra," Tina began sharply.
"No, it's all right." Marguerite gave Tina a reassuring glance. She finished the pouring, considered the question in silence.
"Are you going to answer?"
"Yes. I like to think things through. While you were rude about it, you've asked a very intelligent, thought-provoking question. I assume you're interested in the answer, so I want to give you a thorough and accurate reply." She registered the girl's surprised expression and cocked her head, giving her a direct glance that Tyler suspected had made grown men drop to their knees in a heartbeat, so he wasn't surprised to see it have a quelling effect on an unhappy teenager. "And please don't curse in here. I don't allow cursing in the tearoom." She sent a significant glance over to Tyler. "Those who do are served a tea of dish soap and water, regardless of the age and size of the offender."
He raised an intrigued brow, a spark of challenge in his eye. She looked away hastily.
"You can't make me not curse."
"No." She faced Debra again, folding her hands in front of her. "You're right. Only you can do that. Only you can impose self-respect and therefore earn the respect of others. Now, you asked the question 'why is this important'?
"Have you ever noticed that children Natalie's age almost never ask that question?" She cast an affectionate look at Natalie, sitting quietly now, listening to every word.
"Maybe it's because at this point, everything is new, something to be learned that you didn't know. Your mind is this lovely open meadow, waiting to be populated with blooms of knowledge, in so many shapes and colors." Her voice was captivating, like a storyteller's. She'd nearly hypnotized Brendan with the modulations of that sultry cadence the night she branded him. Now as Tyler glanced around the room, he saw they were all equally drawn in. Of course as far as he was concerned she could read the phone book and have his complete attention.
"As we get older, I think we forget about that meadow. There are so many flowers, we could live a thousand years and never discover them all." Her eyes became more somber. "Learning something new, unexpected, introduces a new bloom to that garden.
Do you ever go into your room and put on your headphones to listen to your music, closing out everything? Parents, even friends?" She waited until she got a reluctant nod from the girl. Tyler saw from Debra's expression that she was somewhat taken aback to be getting an answer instead of an admonishment. "You may not realize it but you're seeking the silence in your soul, a place where you go to find the best of yourself. Learning a simple and beautiful skill, like choosing a teapot, that's seeking that silence, creating rituals where that silence may be found and nurtured. As long as you have that place, you'll never lose yourself, who you are, what you want. But you have to remember to keep bringing flowers into your meadow, always one at a time, to appreciate each blossom, to honor its contribution to your character. It helps make you into the person you were meant to be."
"But Miss Marguerite, there's a really pretty purple flower in my mother's garden but she says it's a weed."
"So why doesn't she pull it out?" Marguerite asked.
The little girl, a black child with large brown eyes and a wealth of pigtails tied with tiny lavender bows, thought it over. "I dunno - "
"I don't know," Marguerite corrected kindly.
"I don't know," she repeated. "She says it's pretty, though."
"Well, another lesson, then. One person's weed is another's flower." She lifted the teapot, glanced at the older girl. "This may be a weed to one person. That's up to you to decide. But for another, it may be a rare blossom."
"Or a weed you like, like a flower."
Marguerite's lips curved, a soft glow in her face that Tyler felt even in his far corner.
He thought that rare smile could be the sunshine in any man's meadow, keeping all the flowers cultivated there blooming year long.
"Precisely. The philosophy of one's life is never a straight line. And sometimes, you can overthink things. When that happens there's only one thing to do. Do you know what that is?"
She winked at Chloe and the hostess went to the private tearoom. Drawing back the curtain, she revealed two open chests overflowing with oversized hats, fat, serpentine boas, faux pearls, costume jewelry and high-heeled shoes, all draped artfully over the chests like a pirate's treasure.
"Shopping."
There was a clamor of cheers and agreement and the girls scrambled toward the chests. Chloe supervised them as Gen began pouring out small portions of tea into the cups on the tables and putting tiny cakes on each pretty plate.
When Debra hesitated, Marguerite beckoned her forward, lifting a hat from the wall near her Victorian-period display. The hat was red felt with black chantilly lace and red roses on the brim, the lace forming a veil down the back. "I think you would look lovely in this. It's an original, as you can see by some of the fading. The lady who first bought it was married young, had three children and died at the age of nineteen, complications to the third birth. Whenever I hold it, I wonder what she might or might not have done if she'd known she was going to die so young. What things would have been the most important to her."
"You sound like you're lecturing."
"No, I'm not. I'm telling you something I've learned. What you do with it is entirely up to you."
She arranged the girl's hair for the hat, using a couple of pins from her own hair, which dropped her braid, pinned in a coil on her neck, down her back. When she was done, from the neck up Debra had gone from a slovenly looking teenager to a lovely young lady, although she seemed a bit baffled.
Marguerite turned her toward the other girls, clustered around the chest. "Now, if you can wade in there, there's a pair of ruby ear clips that look perfect with this hat. But that's just a suggestion. You choose what you like best. I suspect you're a very special young woman, Debra. I hope you'll consider coming to my tearoom again, because I'm glad you're here today."
Tyler watched his angel encourage her forward with a nod. The little girls, many now under the floppy brims of the large reproduction hats piled high with flowers, feathers and other trim work, admired the beautiful hat she was wearing. They teetered around her on high-heeled shoes, surrounding her with the heroine-worship preadolescents had for girls who had achieved double-digits in age.
"She's got a gift, doesn't she?" Tina was sitting within speaking distance at the other table. Tyler courteously came and sat at the adjacent table so he was facing her, since at the moment the proprietress and her staff had everything well in hand, occupied in the small confines of the private tearoom.
"She appears to have so many gifts, I don't believe I'll ever discover them all." Tina cocked her head, studied him. "If you're the real deal, she needs someone like you."
"And if I'm not?"
"She'll get you out of her life easily enough. But she has friends who will help. She only needs to ask."
The blunt response took him by surprise. He took a second look at Tina Moorefield, seeing a different woman from the one who had blushed at his regard. The set of her mouth also made him notice something else, something that caused his eyes to narrow.
He leaned forward, touched Tina's chin, startling her. "Who broke your jaw?" At her sudden discomfiture, he shook his head. "I apologize. Let me ask it another way. Is he gone? He's not part of your and Natalie's life anymore, correct?" As Tina looked at his resolute expression, she realized that this man would take steps to rectify that situation if her answer was no. Though she'd seen it too rarely in her life, she recognized the signs of a man who felt it was a male's responsibility to protect women and children, any woman or child who needed it, regardless of whether or not he knew her personally.
"He isn't. And I didn't think it showed so much anymore." Her hand almost rose self-consciously to her cheek, then she made herself put it down, meet his questioning gaze.
"It doesn't. You're a lovely woman but I'm familiar with how facial bones mend. I apologize if I upset you."
"No." She shook her head. "At the Helen Center, where I'm a volunteer board member, we do all sorts of outreach programs to teach people that they have to get involved if they think a person is being abused. We tell them that they might be that person's only hope for a decent life, a life without fear."
"That's how you met Marguerite, then."
Tina nodded, assuming from the question that he knew of Marguerite's involvement in the Center. "I don't know what we'd do without her. She's a life sponsor, practically pays most of the utility bills from month to month, renovations, supply needs. If we ever run short on donations to keep the shelter going, we can depend on her to make up the shortfall. She was already involved there when Natalie and I checked in, as victims." Her chin tightened. "I hate that word but that's what we were at that point. Marguerite, the Center, they helped us remember we were more than that." She blinked, waved when he reached for his handkerchief. "No, I'm fine. I keep telling Marguerite I'm going to learn to be as strong as she is. She always tells me it's healthy to cry but I never see her do it. Whatever happened to her to make this such an important cause to her, she must have shed her tears years ago." The mother's gaze went to her child, who was trying on a hat with a deep purple and blue flower arrangement on top of the black felt. A crescent of netting formed a veil over her eyes, which shone through the gauzy fabric like brown jewels. "When something evil is done to your child, you think the whole world must be evil. Those first nights, when Natalie was in pain and my injuries were too severe for me to hold her, Marguerite would put her in her lap, rock her to sleep, sing to her, tell her she and her Mommy were going to be all right. And she has this voice, when you hear it, you just know you can believe it."
"What did he do to Natalie?" Tyler's eyes shifted to Marguerite as she straightened from arranging Natalie's hat properly. She looked at him, her chin lifted, the cool reserve in place.
"Broke her arm in two places when she tried to stop him from beating me. He twisted it - that was the first break - then he knocked her down and stomped on it with his work boots. That's when I knew I had to do something. I left that night when he was drunk. Thank God he died less than six months later, driving into a tree. I leave flowers there all the time. To thank the tree for killing him." She shook her head. "God, I'm sorry. You didn't need to hear all that. You just..." As he turned his head toward her, Tina couldn't finish the thought. You just have the face of a man who can handle hearing anything. Who would take care of anything. And she suspected, for all her reserve, that Marguerite could use that. Maybe every superhumanly strong woman could.
"Take your seats, ladies." As she stepped out of the private tearoom, Marguerite noted with some concern the conversation going on between Tina and Tyler. She raised her voice high enough to interrupt it. "If you can be patient another moment or two, we'll talk about the tea ceremony and then start our tea." The children moved as a herd, swarming around the three tables.
"Miss Marguerite?"
She stopped, her hands on the spindles of her chair. She realized that while she'd accomplished her objective of cutting short the possibility of Tina sharing information about the history of her relationship with Marguerite that Marguerite did not wish Tyler to know, she'd also drawn his attention back to her. She eyed him warily. "Yes, Mr. Winterman?"
"With all due respect, I think you overlooked one very important point of etiquette for a tea party, if a gentleman is present."
It was on the tip of her tongue to indicate that one was not. The message must have clear on her face, for Tina coughed over a laugh. Marguerite schooled her expression to polite impassivity. "And that would be?"
"If a gentleman is in the room, he should assist the ladies into their chairs." And to demonstrate, he stepped to Debra's chair and pulled it out, gesturing to her to take her seat with a flourish. She blushed but complied, sitting down and looking self-conscious but pleased as he brought her up to the table.
"Me, me!" He honored the clamor, repeating the act for each child present, as well as Tina Moorefield when the children demanded she stand back up so he could go through the same ritual. He saved Natalie for nearly last. The birthday girl gave him a beatific smile, spread her skirts out and perched. She'd donned a pair of ruby slippers with two-inch heels and now she hooked them on the top rung of the chair's frame to accommodate herself in the adult-sized chair.
"Miss M, you have to wait, too. He said it's etket. Et..."
"Etiquette."
Marguerite stopped, caught in the act of trying to seat herself before he noted that she was the last one standing. As if he had not been aware of that all along, she reflected, with an irritated glance at his amused expression.
He moved behind her with an exaggerated reproving look that made the little girls giggle and pulled out the chair for her.
Marguerite turned her head toward him in a gracious movement but the look she shot him once she wasn't looking toward the girls was pure venom. He seemed unperturbed, his fingertips caressing her back, the tips of her hair as he guided her into the chair. Marguerite took her seat, felt his warmth and strength behind her as he guided the chair up to the table. "Thank you," she said.
"I know who you think is the prettiest girl here," Natalie announced, pinning him with a knowing look.
Tyler grinned. "That would be the birthday girl, of course." Natalie shook her head, her curls swinging. "You're just saying that because it's my birthday. You think Miss M is the prettiest, because you're in love with her." There was a clatter as Marguerite knocked one of her fortunately empty teacups across the table. She grabbed at it but it rolled over the edge, skittering away as if possessed. Before she blinked, Tyler had caught it in his open palm.
He brought it back to the table, sitting it down next to her hand, meeting her flustered gaze. "I handle delicate objects very well," he said, low, as the girls exclaimed over the fortunate catch.
She stared at him. He passed a knuckle over her cheek. "All right?"
"Fine." She drew her head back. Cleared her throat. "Thank you for that important lesson, Mr. Winterman. If you could take your seat now, we'll go on with the tea." Marguerite waited until he found his chair, trying to still her racing heart, chastising herself for being so ridiculous about his presence here, the amused and knowing looks Tina and Chloe were exchanging, the intuition of the children. She was feeling invaded on all sides and she placed the blame squarely on his shoulders for appearing in her day when he had not been invited. But this was Natalie's party, she reminded herself. That was her focus and her salvation. Just like with Brendan.
Immerse herself in the details and the seas moving turbulently within her would calm, even under the unsettling gaze of Tyler Winterman.
"Now, girls, let's talk a little bit about the tea ceremony itself. The chairs we are sitting in were made in 1850 by a master craftsman, Thomas Wilkenson. He put his initials in the design work of each one, in the left arm. You can run your fingers over it, feel it, his promise that each one was hand-crafted. His wife did the brocade work which, while it eventually had to be replaced, was reproduced as she did it. By hand and with the same pattern, by her granddaughter. That's what a tea ceremony emphasizes. The detail and perfection. The care. Imagine it's a hundred years ago and there's so much going on in your daily life. Well, even now. You have very busy days, don't you? Tell me what you do all day."
"School."
"Soccer."
"Dance."
"Homework."
"Piano."
And the list went on. When it ran down, she nodded. "So you see, we are all so very busy. Now, imagine if you set aside thirty minutes of your day for this. A quiet oasis of time, where you could set a mood or tone just by how carefully you planned the ceremony, the enjoyment of those who you might invite to attend, every detail, from flowers, candles, colors...you can do this for your friends, your parents, your sister..." She held the girls riveted, bringing alive a way of life that had been all but forgotten and perhaps had never existed as perfectly as it was imagined now. But in just the couple of times he'd been here, Tyler could tell how much these details meant to her, as if they were tiny stitches that kept her life perfectly sewn together, so what was inside didn't burst out.
He loved watching her move, speak, but he especially liked her stillness. That was when he felt the energy rolling off her in waves most strongly. Like now. She wore black heels with that cheongsam, a very sexy and yet elegant choice for a woman of her stature and coloring, the formfitting skirt stopping just above her knee. When she'd had her back to him, he'd lingered on the three reminders of even the strongest woman's vulnerability, her fragility. The nape of her neck, the small of her back and the slender anklebones, so similar to and perfectly aligned with the slim heels of her black dress shoes. He wondered how she would react if he touched his lips to that anklebone, caressed it with the heat of his mouth. Then he thought he might better turn his thoughts elsewhere, for if Chloe or Gen asked him to get up to help with anything, he would not be in a suitable condition to be at a children's birthday party.
After the proper amount of time for the seven-year-old attention span, Marguerite concluded her stories about the tea ceremony. The girls had a half-hour to sip their tea,
eat their cookies and blow the candles out of their teacakes before Tina agreed that her daughter could begin opening her presents. In a move that was typical for a child without a father but no less capable of tugging at his heartstrings, Natalie commanded Tyler to sit by her while she was doing so. As she compelled him to admire each gift, the other little girls joined her in doing what little girls did naturally, trying out flirting skills that would be honed to dangerous proportions by their early teens but were simply charming now.
It hurt Marguerite to watch it. And it fascinated her. As she quietly worked with Chloe and Gen to clear off the cookie plates and dirty utensils, leaving just the teapots at the tables and a few unfinished cups of tea, he kept them entertained single-handedly.
He would make a good father, she realized. Some child deserved him. That hurt even more deeply, such that she turned her back on the scene and retreated to the kitchen with her tray.
Ten minutes later, Chloe came in to report that he'd even coaxed a smile out of Debra. Mellowed her such that she was letting Natalie sit in her lap for a few moments, a surrogate older sister.
"And Tina wants you to come out for this next gift. It's a handmade dress from her mother and she wants you to see it."
Marguerite dutifully returned to the floor and found herself directed to sit next to Tyler while Natalie opened the gift. He hooked his arm on the back of her chair, fingers loosely caught in the slats, his thumb idly tracing a pattern on the back of her shoulder, playing with the bra strap under the dress in a discreet, sensual way, the very intimacy of it not lost on her. She thought she really ought to encourage him to use email to communicate with her in the future. Email didn't have hands, a male scent. That mouth she couldn't stop thinking about.
She was relieved when the last gift was opened and she could rise and help Chloe and Gen clean up the wrapping paper. She sent the girls scampering after each scrap of paper, ribbon or bow, though most of the bows were now stuck in their hair, tied onto wrists or made into necklaces with the attached ribbons.
A shriek, a gasp and Marguerite turned in time to see the girls, wound up by the fun and sugar, stumble against Natalie, who in turn stumbled against the birthday girl's table in her oversized ruby shoes. The impact knocked over the rose teapot. The spout broke as it fell over and hit two of the cups. The three items knocked over the bowl of daisies, sloshed out the fishbowl water and all of it spun off the table like pins in a bowling alley. Out of the corner of her eye Marguerite saw Tyler and Chloe emerge from their trash trip into the kitchen in time to witness the glassware, teacups, spilled tea, sugar cookies and flowers crash to the floor all together. The pot, saved by its shape, remained on the edge of the table, a thin stream of tea anointing the wreckage.
Natalie's face was whiter than her mother's and she turned horrified eyes to Marguerite, lips quivering, not the calculated tears of a child knowing how to get out of trouble, but of true dismay.
"Miss M, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She bent down and Marguerite realized she intended to get down on those childish hands and knees in her beautiful pink dress to try and fix the damage.
"Oh, no, sweetheart." She caught her up in two steps, lifting her up to her shoulder with some effort. Feeling the thin limbs twine around her waist, she didn't care that the wet tea on the bottoms of those oversized shoes was likely now staining embroidered silk. "Your pretty outfit. You can't mess it up. And broken glass is too dangerous to pick up with bare hands. We'll get a broom and clean it up."
"But...but it's my fault...and you just said how special everything is supposed to be... I wasn't careful."
"No, you weren't," Marguerite agreed, stroking her curls and making those brimming dark eyes look toward her. "And under normal circumstances your mom and I would have you help clean up. But you know what? Sometimes, mistakes happen, when you really, really don't mean for them to. It happens to everyone. And there's this rule that says you can't ever do anything wrong on your birthday." Natalie blinked. "But I did."
"But it's wiped away, whoosh, like this." She brushed a tear off Natalie's cheek, inspiring a tentative smile. "I want this day to be absolutely perfect for you, Natalie."
"But you won't like me anymore."
Marguerite rested her forehead against the child's. "Do you trust me to always tell you the truth?"
Natalie nodded.
"There is nothing you can do to make me not like you. Why, you are more important than every piece of china in this whole place. And it makes me feel that you are a very, very good friend, to care so much about my things."
"I have an allowance. I get five dollars every week. I can pay you back. I should pay you back." Natalie put her hands on either side of Marguerite's neck, curling her fingers in her hair. She had it pulled back but her braid had unraveled and was flowing down to her waist since she'd removed the clips to pin up Debra's hat.
"All right, then. If you think you should pay some toward the cost, why don't you give me a month's worth of allowance?"
"But the pot is worth like a jillion dollars." Marguerite smiled. "If that were the case, my friend Chloe over there would have pawned it and sent me a postcard from Bimini." Chloe chuckled, empting the dustpan of wet glass in the bag Tyler was holding for her. "That's a fact for sure."
The child looked puzzled by the adult byplay but persisted. "I should give you my allowance forever."
"No. When something like this happens, you need to give a friend something they will value. You know what I value, Natalie?"
She shook her head.
"You. Your friendship. So, if you'll give me a month's worth of allowance and promise to be my friend forever, I'll consider that a very, very fair payment for my tea set."
Natalie studied her for a long time. "Mommy," she said at last. "Is that fair? To Miss Marguerite?"
Marguerite resisted the urge to squeeze the precocious child to her heart and never let go. Tina approached, ran her hand up her daughter's back in reassurance. "That's very fair."
"Okay," Natalie said at last.
"All right." Marguerite lowered her back to the floor after Tina ran a quick washcloth over her feet. "And look. All better. They got it all cleaned up. And what are you all doing to my hair?" The other little girls, as if released by the license she had given to Natalie, were touching the ends of it, feeling the silk of it around her hips. She spun around in mock outrage and they scampered away, giggling, though this time they were more cautious around the tables.
"Don't you know this is enchanted hair? When I let it all down, I can make the wind blow, the rains fall, or the sun shine. Chloe, why don't you take them out to the back garden and the play area and get some of this energy out? Tyler and I will finish cleaning."
"Mr. Reynolds is here," Gen mentioned. Marguerite turned, looked out through the screen door as a white Lincoln pulled up.
"All right, all the better if the girls go out to play now." She looked toward Tyler.
"Do you mind busing tables while I talk to one of my vendors?"
"Not if I'm fairly compensated."
"I just acquired a promise for twenty dollars," she retorted. "It's all yours."