“She says if she makes it through, she might go straight on to law school. I told her it’s never too late,” Ms. Fernsby says as shecuts steam vents into the dough top. “It’s really never too late for anything. At least, that’s what I tell myself...”
For a second, her expression darkens as she wipes her fingers on her apron. I wonder what Ms. Fernsby would have done if she hadn’t felt tied to Lord Routledge’s house and money for Mabel’s sake. She leads a comfortable life here. But on cozy evenings, when she sips her brandy over a novel, does she think of what else the world might hold for her?
After dinner, Heathcliff Zooms with Mirabel from my bedroom’s sitting area. She looks great even on my grainy laptop screen—her teeth white as anything, blond hair coiffed around her shoulders, freshly applied peach lipstick. So different from the disheveled mug shot.
I stay off camera as Heathcliff chatters about Lucy, his “new best friend” (even though she still hisses at him every time he enters a room). He tells her about Batman. He tells her about the “nice man” who found him when he got lost at the museum and then took him and Mama out to lunch and bought him hot dogs and cake.
“And then do you know what?”
“What, darling?”
“He asked Mama for her number and said he wants to see her again.”
“Ohreally?Well, your mama seems to be enjoying herself.”
My cheeks burn.
“She is!” Heathcliff says happily. “She really is. We both are.”
“Well, that’s wonderful, darling. Your granddaddy and I miss you so much—do you hear me? Hey, if your mama’s there, can I talk to her for a minute?”
“Mama!” Heathcliff yells even though I’m right beside him.
“Hi.” I scoot over in front of the laptop camera as Heathcliff makes a beeline out of the room.
“Hello, Elizabeth.” Mirabel pushes on the cuticles of herfreshly painted nails. “Well, it sounds like you and Heathie are having yourselves a grand time there. Museums, cake, Britishgentlemen.”
“We are, Mirabel.” I ignore the insinuation.
“You know, Elizabeth, Henry Lawton keeps calling my Summerville attorney with personal questions about my background. You have your money for Heathcliff’s college, so whythe hellis he poking around, digging into matters best left alone?”
“Those are questions for him. He’s just doing his job, Mirabel.”
She glares at me through the screen and taps her long nails loudly.
“You know, I had a problem earlier this week. A little groundhog family took up residence under my garden. They created all sorts of chaos, tunneling, messing up my beauties’ roots. If they’d been anywhere else in my yard, I would have played nice—set out some live cages, some herbal repellants. But they were in myazaleas,Elizabeth.”
“I’m sorry, Mira...”
“Anyway, I was so put out yesterday, I took out my granddaddy’s Colt Navy pistol. I loaded it and waited for three hours—luring Mama Groundhog, Daddy Groundhog, and Baby Groundhog out of their home with bait. I was so patient, sitting there in my favorite chair in the shade of my favorite sun hat. As soon as each one poked their head out of the ground—” Mirabel deftly holds an imaginary pistol “—I shot their furry little skull.”
She smiles. “I don’t like anyone nosing around my gardens. I’ve taken great pains, Elizabeth, damn great pains, to grow and flourish my blooms, establish and keep my gardens’ boundaries, and nothing will disrupt that. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then I’d better let you go...”
“Mirabel, I’ve got some precious blooms myself, and I’m making sure mine are just as safe.”
She raises an eyebrow. “You really want to do this?”
“I just want to protect my own.”
“Well then, you’ve just set a pretty little fire in your garden.”
“Goodbye, Mirabel.”
I slam my laptop shut, fingers trembling in rage.
