“I hope you know you always have a home here, Georgia,” Star said gently, as though she could read her daughter’s thoughts.
Georgia cleared her throat, feeling overwhelmed all of a sudden, unsure what to say. She simply nodded, then wrung out the dish cloth and hung it on the dish drainer. She stepped back, putting a little distance between her and her mother. Shecouldn’t find any other words. She was overcome by what Star had told her about the cookbook, by the events of the last few days, by the unexpected turn her life had taken in the past forty-eight hours. Questions and conflicting emotions, revelations and the immediacy of her mother’s presence. Her heart felt too full, like a cloud swollen with too much rain.
“I think I’ll head upstairs and unpack,” she managed to say at last. “It’s been a long day.”
“Of course.” Star nodded, drying the last glass. “Sleep as late as you want. When you wake up, come find me in the garden.”
•••
Alone in hermother’s old bedroom, in the warm glow of the bedside table lamp, Georgia sat on the edge of the bed and gently held the vintage cookbook in her lap. So Star had not simply left this behind. She had left itforGeorgia. She had seen something special in Georgia and had left her this as a gift. Could she have known what a profound impact this book, Julia Child, and Paris would have on her daughter’s life?
Georgia closed her eyes and saw again her little five-year-old self standing alone in that driveway watching the puff of dust that was her mother’s car grow smaller and smaller on the horizon. Then she’d felt a firm grip on her shoulder. Aunt Hannah had turned her toward the house and away from that last glimpse of her mother.
“Come on, Georgia. Dry those tears,” Aunt Hannah had told her, scrubbing her tearstained face with a cool washcloth in the bathroom downstairs. “You’re a Jackson and that’s all that matters now.”
Then she’d stripped off Georgia’s soiled dress and replaced it with a fresh one. Georgia had never seen her favorite dress with the rainbows again. Like everything else about her mother,it had simply vanished. No one spoke Star’s name. From that day on, it was as though the family had erased Star from their world entirely. Aunt Hannah disapproved of Star, that much was clear. Every time Georgia asked about her mother, Aunt Hannah’s mouth would pinch closed as though tasting something sour. “Never mind your mama,” she’d say. “You’re all Jackson now. Just remember that.”
As Georgia got older, she had the impression that her aunt was keeping a close eye on her, vigilant for anything that might make her niece follow in her mother’s footsteps and stray. Georgia’s fascination with cooking and her dream of being a chef were mystifying to both her father and aunt. They regarded the entire thing with bewilderment and tacit disapproval. Georgia had spent all these years thinking that no one in her family had seen or encouraged her culinary gift. She had always felt so alone in her dreams and goals, but now she knew the truth. Star had introduced her to Julia and to Paris. Georgia’s dream had started before she even remembered it. Star had given that to her.
Carefully, she traced the orange letters on the torn turquoise cover. What did it mean that her goal, her life’s ambition, had been born of a dream she’d once shared with her mother? Suddenly, she was not the odd one out, the one always pulling against the weight of her family’s expectations and disappointment. Once, someone had dreamed the same dream together with her. Someone had seen her talent, glimpsed who she could become, and encouraged it. She hugged the cookbook to her chest and lay back on the bed, tears springing to her eyes. For the first time in a very long time, she didn’t feel alone.
11
Georgia awoke latethe next morning, groggy and a little disoriented from the nine-hour time change. She yawned and glanced at the cookbook sitting on the nightstand. After the revelations of the day before, she was now even more curious about Star and the questions swirling around her disappearance and reappearance. But this morning those questions would have to wait. She had a dinner to prepare for, and she was determined to make it the best meal Cole and Star had ever tasted. She dressed hastily, slipping into her trusty tailored white button-down shirt and a pair of navy pants and pulling her hair back with a headband, à la Audrey Hepburn. Eyeing herself in the mirror, she sent up a quick request to Julia, patron saint of delicious meals.
“Help me make this fabulous today, Julia. I want to make a meal they’ll remember forever.”
She pictured Julia standing in her kitchen, attempting to flip a potato pancake in a large frying pan. She was wearing her signature blouse and string of pearls and concentrating hard. “When you flip anything, you must just have courage and simply go for it,” Julia said and executed the flip. She bungled it, and gloppy mashed potato plopped all over her electric stovetop. “Oh, that really didn’t go well at all.” Julia looked puzzled.
Georgia frowned. That was definitely not what she was hoping for with this dinner. She wanted it to be flawless. She slickedon her signature red lipstick. “You can do this,” she told herself, trying to bolster her courage, but she still felt a flutter of apprehension. Michel thought she had lost her spark, and she certainly had lost her sense of taste. She wanted to make a meal tonight that would prove Michel wrong. She’d try her hardest to make this the sparkiest meal she possibly could, even if she couldn’t taste a crumb.
Julia scooped potato back into her pan, patted it flat, and then said brightly, “Well, if things don’t go quite the way you’d like them to, it doesn’t make much of a difference, really, because you can almost always fix whatever went wrong.”
“Nothing is going to go wrong,” Georgia said firmly. “Now first I’m going to need a lot of butter.”
The kitchen was empty when Georgia went downstairs. The clock over the stove read almost eleven in the morning. Out the kitchen window, Georgia could see Star and Pollen behind the house in the middle of what looked like several large raised garden beds. Star was kneeling in the dirt amid a jungle of green vines while Pollen chased her own tail in a circle. Cole was thankfully nowhere in sight.
“Good morning,” The screen door slammed behind her as Georgia headed toward Star. She patted a wiggling Pollen, who ran over and licked her hand, whining with joy. The grass was still wet with dew, although the sun was shining, and the air was crisp with the scent of salt water and freshly turned earth. She shivered, wishing she’d worn her blazer or a sweater.
“Morning, Georgia May.” Star struggled up from her kneeling position, a dirt-caked trowel in her hand. “How’d you sleep?”
“Like a rock,” Georgia said. It was true. She hadn’t slept that well in longer than she could remember. Once she’d finally fallen asleep after three in the morning, it had been deep and dreamless.
“Good.” Star dropped the trowel and removed a pair of flowered gardening gloves, slapping the dirt from them on her knee.
“Your garden looks amazing,” Georgia observed, surveying the two large raised garden beds that sat a few yards away from the back door. It was only April and already they were a riot of green—cucumber vines curling in every direction with little dark green cucumbers peeking out beneath them; tidy rows of beans; tissue paper–translucent patches of lettuces; and tomato vines in cages, with small, ripening red globes hanging in profusion. Georgia studied the vegetables, puzzled. The produce looked like it was almost ready to harvest, but it was just the middle of April, far too early. What sort of climate allowed for ripe tomatoes already? Was the island some sort of gardener’s utopia?
Star put her hands on her hips and surveyed the garden beds. “These are a mess. I usually sell my vegetables and honey at that stand out front, and I need to get things in shape now that the produce is starting to ripen. Truth be told, this whole property and house need a refresh. I’ve let some things go recently. It’s high time I got everything in order.”
“I’m happy to help while I’m here,” Georgia offered. She squinted. Was that a fig tree with little purple figs on it growing in a pot near the back door? Those shouldn’t be ready until late summer, surely?
Star swiped a curl away from her cheek, tucking it back into her low ponytail. “You probably don’t remember this, but we used to garden together when you were young,” she said. “You loved to harvest things. Weeding, not so much. You loved to dig carrots, if I remember right. Your eyes would light up like you’d found a treasure every time you pulled one from the ground.” She chuckled at the memory.
“I remember the carrots,” Georgia said. It had been years since she’d gardened, but she’d spent a lot of hours pulling weedsfor Aunt Hannah as a kid. Star was right. She’d never warmed to weeding, but harvesting vegetables she always enjoyed. “I remember you showing me how to plant potatoes with the eyes facing up.” She hadn’t thought of that in years. Another piece of her history slipped into place. Little by little, she was filling in the blank spots. “I was wondering if I could borrow a car this morning?” she asked, changing the subject. “I was hoping to go to the store in Friday Harbor. I need to get some ingredients for tonight.”
“Sure.” Star nodded, wiping her brow with the sleeve of her shirt, leaving a smear of dirt across her forehead. “I’ve only got one client today, but I can go over there when you get back. I run a little business on the island planting and taking care of people’s flower and vegetable gardens,” she explained. “It’s not the high season yet, though, so I just have a couple of places I visit every week. I can give you directions to the grocery store; it’s pretty simple. Or if you’d rather wait, I can ask Cole to take you after lunch while I’m gone?” She looked questioningly at Georgia.
“Oh no, I can find my way. No need to bother him,” Georgia demurred quickly. Enduring a car ride to town with a hot, glowering oyster farmer who seemed inexplicably to loathe her was definitely not on her agenda for the day.
