“Urgh.” Georgia squirmed backward, but the dog followed her movements on its two hind legs, as though they were dance partners doing a waltz. Pollen was very determined and very friendly.
“Sorry, sorry, she’s just excited. She wouldn’t harm a fly.” The woman hurried through the gate and pulled at the dog’s collar,apologizing and scolding at once. “Pollen, get down. Stop licking strangers. It’s rude.” She caught a good look at Georgia’s face, and her voice died away.
“Georgia May?” she said, her expression turning from shock to wonder in an instant.
“Mama?” Georgia said without thinking. She stared at her mother with a sudden jolt of recognition. She remembered that face. Star looked older, more weathered, but her eyes were the same. A striking shade of pale gray-green, like the waters of Puget Sound. Now they were filled with a mixture of hope and apprehension as she gazed at Georgia wide-eyed, as though she’d seen a ghost. Self-consciously, Georgia smoothed down her rumpled white shirt and then launched into the speech she’d practiced a dozen times on the plane. “I’m sorry to surprise you like this. I sent an email but I’m not sure if you got it in time. I didn’t have your number to call you. If it’s not convenient, I can just stay in a hotel or...” She let the sentence hang as she gazed at her long-lost mother, waiting on edge to see what she would say.
Star let go of the dog and stepped forward, cupping Georgia’s face in her hands. Her fingers were gnarled and strong, the skin of her palms leathery. The intimacy of the gesture took Georgia by surprise, but she didn’t pull away from the calloused warmth of her mother’s touch. Star’s gaze searched Georgia’s face, every inch, as though looking at a rare work of art.
“I would know you anywhere,” she murmured, her voice warm and husky. It was the same voice from Georgia’s memories. She felt a pang low in her belly at the familiar sound. It had been so long. “Look at you. And that hair. You look exactly like my grandma Emma.” Her mouth turned up at the corners, and she gave a surprised, delighted chuckle.
Georgia stepped back, feeling a little off-kilter at the intimacy, and Star drew back immediately, brushing her hands togetherself-consciously. “Look at me, getting carried away. There’s time for all of that later. Come on in. You must be tired. Of course you can stay. I have room.”
“Are you sure?” Georgia asked tentatively. “I don’t want to intrude.” But she was relieved. She couldn’t afford a hotel for more than a few nights, and she couldn’t go back to Paris for a while.
Star waved away her words. “You could never intrude. You’re family. Besides—” She pointed to the yellow lab who was hopping from foot to foot excitedly and wagging her entire back end. She had a friendly, goofy face and was panting and whining joyfully. “Pollen would never forgive me if you didn’t stay. She likes visitors. Come on, I’ll make you some tea and toast. Everything in the world is better with toast.”
With that, she grabbed the handles of both of Georgia’s suitcases and hoisted them with a grunt, heading up the porch steps and into the house. Georgia looked at Pollen, who gave a little woof of agreement. She felt thunderstruck at the sight of her mother, dazed and elated and more than a little conflicted. So many questions crowded her mind, clamoring for attention, but Georgia pushed them all back. There would be time for that later. For now it was enough to just be together again. With one last look around, Georgia followed Star up the steps and into the house, feeling lighter with every step.
8
Five minutes later,Georgia found herself seated at a white painted table in a simple vintage farmhouse kitchen while Star bustled around making toast and tea. Pale afternoon light streamed in through a bank of windows looking out over a green lawn that sloped down to the bay. It was a gorgeous view. Georgia tried to imagine waking every day to that view. Did it ever grow old? She couldn’t believe that it would. It was so peaceful here. The house radiated it, tinged with a hint of sadness. It was at odds with what Georgia remembered of her mother—a swirl of energy and color, like the sharp crackle of static electricity. The energy Star exuded now was one of quiet calm with an undercurrent of sorrow. There were grooves bracketing her mouth that spoke of suffering. She did not look like an addict or a liar or a witch, all things Georgia had heard whispered about her mother in the years since her disappearance. She looked like a woman who had lived a hard life and now finally was at peace with herself.
Georgia studied Star as she measured out dried leaves from a Mason jar and stirred them into a mug of hot water. She looked to be in her early fifties. A few inches shorter than Georgia with a slim build, she had a mass of salt-and-pepper curls cascading unbound down her back. She wore no makeup, and her bare face was gently lined, like someone who had spent years outside. There were crow’s-feet at the corners of her eyes. She was wearing what Georgia thought of as standard-issue hippie clothingbut with a twist—a short sleeve tie-dyed Grateful Dead T-shirt paired with a pebble-colored broomstick skirt. Long earrings with feathers and stones clicked slightly as she moved. On her right bicep, just visible below the edge of the T-shirt sleeve, was a tattoo. It looked like a skull wearing a crown of bright, blooming flowers. Georgia studied all this with interest. What did it say about the life Star had lived since she’d left? A toaster on the counter popped up a thick slice of toast, and Star buttered it and slathered it with honey from a pint glass jar.
“Here you go. This will set you right.” Star placed a plate in front of Georgia, the toast dripping with golden honey and butter. She also set the mug of leaves in hot water beside the plate. “The honey’s from my own bees.” She gestured out the window. Off to one side of the lawn, backed up to a line of evergreens, Georgia spotted a row of beehives, each painted a different vibrant shade. Scarlet, tangerine, canary yellow, and turquoise. Georgia took a nibble of the toast just to be polite. The bread appeared to be homemade, and had the density and consistency of drywall. It needed more than honey to save it.
Georgia grimaced at the bitter taste of the toast and took a gulp of tea to drive down the dry crumbs of bread lodged in her throat. She’d always wondered where her culinary gift had come from. Aunt Hannah had been a decent cook, turning out hearty, nutritious meals that were edible enough. Nothing fancy, just plain American fare that would fill the bellies of hungry ranchers, but Aunt Hannah had made no bones about the fact that she did not enjoy cooking. There was no art for her in it. It was simply a chore, like weeding. Georgia had a few vague memories of being in the kitchen with Star and had always wondered if Star had been her early inspiration. After Star left, Aunt Hannah and her father refused to talk about her. Georgia had grown up hoarding the little scraps of memory and bits ofinformation she could glean. But from the look of this bread, Star may not have been the inspiration either. Georgia poked surreptitiously at the bread, feeling surprisingly deflated. She’d always hoped and assumed that she and Star had shared a culinary gift. It appeared she was wrong.
Georgia took another sip of tea. It tasted bitter, but the aroma was good, strong and herbal. “What’s in this tea?” When she saw Star’s back was turned, she discreetly fed her slice of toast to Pollen, who was sitting by her chair, resting her head on Georgia’s knee and raising her eyebrows beseechingly. Satisfied, Pollen dropped to the floor and gnawed at the crust like it was a rawhide bone.
“Oh, just a bit of this and that.” Star joined her at the table with another mug of tea. “All things I grew in my garden. I’m a great believer in the power of herbs. You know each one has specific properties. This is my special tea blend.” She swirled the leaves in her mug with a spoon. “Care to guess what’s in there?”
Georgia sniffed the fragrant steam appraisingly. “Let’s see. Definitely mint.”
“For wisdom.” Star nodded, taking a sip.
“And rosemary.”
“For remembrance,” Star confirmed.
“And...” Georgia sniffed again. “Tarragon?” She’d always liked tarragon. It was considered the king of herbs in French cooking.
“For devotion.” Star looked pleased. “I call this clarity tea. I like to think when we drink it, the tea helps us remember what we’ve lost and what we’ve learned in life. It reminds us what’s important to us.”
“Sounds like powerful tea,” Georgia murmured. She watched Star across the table, trying to reconcile the mature woman who sat before her with the few distant memories she had frombefore Star left. She knew this was her mother, but there were so many unknown years between them. How could they possibly cover all of them? How could they make up all the lost time and get to know each other again? What had happened in those lost years? Whatever it was, it had made them virtual strangers now.
Just then, the back door banged open. Pollen leaped to her feet, tail wagging, and woofed a greeting as a man stomped through the doorway.
“Star, I’ve got some fresh Manila clams for you,” he announced, then snapped his mouth shut in surprise when he saw Georgia. He was tall, well over six feet, with dark windblown hair and a five-o’clock shadow. He looked to be about her age or a few years older, possibly mid-thirties, and was wearing an astonishing pair of bright orange rubber overalls that came up to his chest. It was the most ludicrous outfit she’d ever seen on a grown man. Georgia stared at him in consternation, and he gave her a similar look. He had a metal pail in one hand that was dripping on the floor.
“Cole, this is Georgia, my daughter,” Star said simply. The man had bright blue eyes, and as he scanned her from head to toe, his gaze widened in recognition and then an instant later grew cold, like chips of glacial ice. His expression went from surprise to alarm to dislike in the space of a few seconds. Georgia sucked in a startled breath. What in the world had she done to warrant that look?
“Georgia, this is Cole. He’s Justine’s nephew. She was my best friend and my housemate for years before... before she passed. Cole lives here on the property in a little cabin down by the water and works next door at the Westcott Bay Shellfish Company,” Star said by way of introduction.
That explained the overalls. What was even more surprisingwas that he managed to look so good in them, as though he were some sort of catalog model for shellfish farm gear. She could picture him in an outdoorsy magazine somewhere, posed among the pines along a clear mountain stream, rugged and handsome and aloof in his bright orange rubber overalls. Oddly, he looked a little familiar but she couldn’t place him. Where would they possibly have crossed paths? Maybe he just looked like an ad she’d seen somewhere. She straightened in her chair, summoning her poise to meet his obvious yet confounding dislike.
“Bonjour,” she said coolly. She hadn’t meant to greet him in French. It just slipped out. Usually, when she felt socially at a disadvantage, she would switch to French. She was fluent in the language, and in Paris it often gave her an edge in social situations. The French appreciated foreigners who could speak their language.
