Stamped Out Page 2

  April realized Deana was going to be busy for hours and said, “What about your stamping meeting? Will you have to cancel?”

  Deana said, “Yeah.”

  “I can have them here,” April said.

  “Oh no you can’t,” Bonnie said. “You don’t have any furniture.”

  “The girls don’t care,” Deana said. She rubbed the wood of the table. “You’ve got this huge work space. This table is perfect. They just want a place to make a mess.”

  Warming to the idea, Deana went on. “You wouldn’t have to do much. I’ve done all the precutting and kitting already. Everyone is working on the same Stamping Sister piece tonight, a photo book.”

  “Okay,” April said.

  “I charge twenty dollars a head,” Deana said. “I know at least six are coming.”

  April felt her jaw drop. “You get 120 bucks for a couple hours of work?” That was two weeks worth of groceries. Bonnie frowned.

  Deana said, “That’s including the cost of the project.”

  “I’ll pay you back for your costs,” April said.

  “You will not,” Deana replied vehemently. “You’re doing me a favor. They’ll be lucky to have you as their teacher. I’ll have Mark drop off the supplies.”

  “All right. I guess I’m a Stamping Sister for the night,” April said. Deana walked away with renewed energy. April accompanied her to the door and waved to her until her Camry cleared the driveway. She was glad to help out, but she hoped Deana would be able to come back later.

  April took in a deep breath of the clean, warm June night air. She could hear the busy stream that ran under the driveway. The wide-open feeling here was so different from California. She hadn’t remembered what it was like to live without congestion, without the constant background noise of people, buses and cars. A birdcall punctuated the silence. It was a mockingbird, a distant cousin to the bird outside her California bungalow that mimicked the computer booting up. More than once, he’d faked her cell phone ring so well, she’d answered it.

  Back inside, Bonnie was rummaging in the drawers and opening cupboard doors. Kitchens were her milieu and it hadn’t taken her long to get over her initial shyness.

  “What about hors d’oeuvres for tonight?” she said. “I’ll go to the IGA. I can whip up a batch of cheese straws. You can’t just have people over without feeding them.”

  “It’s okay, Mom. They’ll understand that this is all last minute.”

  She walked behind her mother, closing the cupboards and drawers. They were mostly empty. Bonnie stopped at the far end of the kitchen and watched her daughter.

  “What can I do?” she finally asked.

  “I need to drop off the trailer. It’s nearly five, and I don’t want to pay for an extra day.”

  Bonnie said, “I’ll come with you.”

  April had been looking forward to the quiet, familiar space of her car, but she had no choice. Bonnie was getting her purse. Once they were both in her car, April glanced back at the trailer. She was struck at how small a space her prized possessions had taken up. She didn’t have much to show for her thirty-one years on the planet. She looked at her mother, who was getting into the passenger seat. Was this the life she’d envisioned for her only child? Probably not.

  As soon as April pulled the Subaru back into the barn’s driveway, her mother said, “You’re coming over for dinner tomorrow night, right?”

  April didn’t remember agreeing to that, but she knew when she was licked. “Okay,” she said.

  “Whatever goes on, you won’t miss it? I don’t want any of your father’s drama to get in the way of our first dinner together.”

  April looked askance at her mother. “What kind of drama?”

  Bonnie looked straight ahead. “Well, you know. They might want to you to go to their place for dinner. Promise me. I’ve got something special to show you.”

  “Did you redecorate finally?” April said, laughing to take away the sting as she reached for the car door handle.

  Bonnie’s eyes clouded. “Six o’clock. Tomorrow. No matter what.”

  “Okay. See you tomorrow night,” April said.

  Her mother’s face lit up. “You know, I’m glad you’re back in town.”

  Her mother was pretty when she smiled, the frown lines turning into happy creases. April’s heart warmed at the sight. She’d never told her mother the worst of Ken’s antics, partly because she didn’t want to admit that marrying Ken had been a big mistake, but also to keep that smile on her mother’s face.

  The car door screeched loudly as she opened it, sending a flock of birds out of the oak tree.

  April bussed her mother’s cheek. “Lucky for me Dad landed a job that needed my expertise.”

  “Luck had nothing to do with it,” her mother said. “He’s worked for that family before. Don’t forget, he built that guesthouse back in the early nineties. Remember? The Castle.”

  Of course April remembered the Castle. She hadn’t realized that it was connected to Mirabella. Her mother delivered her parting shot after April had slammed her car door shut.

  She stuck her head out the window. “I just hope they don’t cause him to go bankrupt this time.”

  CHAPTER 2

  After a quick shower, April pulled on a knit top and snapped her khakis, smoothing the wrinkles with the palm of her hand. April filled up her mug with fresh coffee and dug out a pad and a pencil from her backpack. She had time for a few sketches before the stampers arrived. She sat at her drafting table and opened the book. The last page was one she’d done in her motel room in Ohio two nights earlier, filled with signs—octagonal stop signs, a triangle buggy caution sign she’d seen in Amish country, a cow crossing sign. How did the cows know where to cross anyhow?

  The barn was quiet. Only the gentle whirring of the two ceiling fans broke the silence.

  When she looked at the page again, she realized she’d drawn the turrets and crenellations of a castle. The Castle her mother had been talking about looked nothing like this, she thought. The townspeople had given the nickname to the guesthouse being built in the woods when the construction dragged into the third year—April’s junior year in high school.

  It was supposed to be a storybook cottage in a woodland setting: one story with low roofs and a huge fireplace that dominated the front façade. Her father had been the general contractor. But the job had been plagued by numerous setbacks as the owner changed his mind again and again. The Italian marble tile was replaced with Connemara marble. Then, a two-foot change in the bathroom led to a six-month delay as winter set in.

  As a young teen, April had visited the site many times, bringing her father lunch in the summer, and after school started, stopping by to do her homework in the job trailer. Somewhere in her mother’s house was a book full of drawings she’d done of the Castle. In her mind, she’d been the girl it was being designed for. But the building never seemed to get finished, and she had gotten busier. She lost interest in the Castle. By the time the job ended, she hadn’t been on the site for nearly a year. Until that night.

  The way she remembered it, the owner had gotten into legal trouble and stopped construction. Things at the Buchert household had gone haywire at about the same time, and her father’s company filed for bankruptcy shortly thereafter. She’d never really thought about what job had led to the demise of Buchert Construction.

  She shook off feelings of foreboding. Her father’s current company, Retro Reproductions, was a successful company, unlike Buchert Construction. Surely, lightning wouldn’t strike Ed Buchert twice.

  April opened the plastic containers Deana had had her husband, Mark, drop off. Man, she loved the smell of rubber stamps. Making her way around the table, she laid out the kits Deana had made, each one packaged in a cute plaid paper bag, tied with a raffia bow.

  April propped up Deana’s finished sample. The photo board book was made of thick bound pages, about four inches high by eight inches long. Each page had been decorated with c
oordinating papers, ribbons, eyelets and inks. The theme was tulips. The designs and colors were sophisticated, using pale pinks and reds with a touch of turquoise. The coordinating papers were an interesting mix of polka dots, stripes and florals. April admired the artist who’d originated the design.

  The stampers had only to follow the example of the one Deana had done, and they could have a carbon copy—or they could add their own touches to create a unique design.

  April heard a car outside and pulled on the main door. Her grip slipped. Her palms were damp, and she wiped them on her pants. Take a breath, she cautioned herself. There’s no reason to be nervous. She pulled the door open.

  The barn sat on a slight rise with stone steps leading to the gravel drive. The slope had been planted with blue rug juniper, pachysandra and sedum. Close to the barn, at the base of the stone foundation, were roses and peonies and lilacs, the smell of which was overwhelming. So sickly sweet, so redolent of spring, April nearly swooned.

  The drive was lined with oaks, their large branches creating a green canopy. She’d gotten used to gritty brown summers of California. Now there had to be twenty different shades of green right in front of her. The artist in her sighed happily. She would only have to look out a window for inspiration.

  A Chrysler sedan had pulled into the drive. April walked out to the car to greet her guest. A toothsome, athletic woman with a faded spring-break tan pumped April’s hand. She looked older than April, maybe midforties. She was wearing a pink cotton skirt with matching heels. Her V-neck top had crystals along the opening and showed a freckled cleavage. She smiled broadly. Her forehead didn’t crease when she smiled, giving her a frozen look. Apparently Botox had made it to the hinterlands.

  She talked quickly. “Mary Lou Rosen, Rosen Realty. Glad to meet you. When is your father going to put this place on the market? I’ve got just the buyer for it.”

  April felt her mouth drop open in shock. The woman clutched her forearm and squeezed.

  “I’m just kidding, hon. I say that to everyone. You’d be surprised how many listings I get that way.”

  A pretty girl pulled herself out of the passenger side. She was hugely pregnant and tottering on wooden-soled clogs. Mary Lou reached in the back seat and pulled out a quilted bag, then took the girl’s elbow.

  The young woman said, “Don’t mind her. She’s like a shock jock, but without a radio show. She just says things for effect.” The girl smiled to take away the sting of her remarks. April liked her already.

  “This is my daughter, Kit,” Mary Lou said. “And,” she said, pointing to her daughter’s belly, “those are my grand-daughters, Chloe and Portia.”

  “Not even close, Mom,” Kit said, still smiling. She shook April’s hand. Her face was freckled, and she wore a blue and white sundress that complemented her twinkling blue eyes. She couldn’t have been more than twenty. “See what I mean? My husband and I have decided not to know the sex of our babies, but my mother keeps hounding me.”

  April felt an immediate bond with Kit. “Mothers,” April said. “Mine put the ‘mother’ in smother.”

  Kit laughed in agreement. “I hear that.”

  Mary Lou pointed to her daughter’s big belly. “Seeing as you are on your way to becoming one yourself, I think I’ll have the last laugh.”

  Kit shrugged. “I can’t wait to see the inside of the barn,” she said, her eyes turning upward to the hay window above the door.

  Mary Lou followed her gaze and nodded. “We’ve tried every year to get your father to put this house on the charity house tour, but he never would.”

  Kit said, “Ed Buchert, the contractor, is your father? I never made the connection.”

  That stung. There was no reason someone Kit’s age would know Ed had a grown daughter, but it still hurt. It reminded April of all the years she’d stayed away.

  “Let’s go in,” April said, swallowing hard. Mary Lou took her daughter’s arm, warning her about the unevenness of the steps.

  April had left the main barn doors open. Her father had rigged a track so the original doors could be drawn back easily. The back door on the side wall near the kitchen was the one most often used, but it was very dramatic to have these big doors, big enough for a team of horses to pass through, open.

  Their slow movement into the barn was halted as a muddy, sun-baked Suburban came up the drive. April felt an immediate kinship. Her old Volvo was as battered, well used and well loved as this old car.

  “Here comes Suzi Dowling,” Mary Lou said cheerfully. “Don’t mind the dirt under her nails. It’s permanent. You know, she runs the nursery out on Drums Road.”

  Another family business. April wondered how she got along with her parents.

  Suzi gave a half wave but was distracted by the plantings. She poked a toe into the pachysandra and pulled a dandelion out by the root. She was wearing clean jean shorts and a button-down blue shirt with iron marks on it.

  “I think the peonies came from my grandmother’s place,” April said, offering up the only gardening jargon she knew.

  “Yeah, they’re doing great. You’re going to want to dust those roses soon and watch for aphids.” Suzi tossed the weed aside and brushed off her hands.

  “Thanks.” April wasn’t clear on how to “dust,” but she’d find out. Suzi finally turned to her and held out a hand. Her hair was sun-streaked brown. Tousled with a slight curl, her short cut flattered her pointy nose and chin.

  “Who else is here? Anybody inside?” Mary Lou chirped.

  April shook her head.

  “Tammy has Weight Watchers tonight. Lyle’ll drop her off after weigh-in,” Suzi said.

  Mary Lou put in, “Unless she’s lost weight, in which case she’ll make him take her to Stewart’s Drive-in for a frozen chocolate-chip banana-coconut mocha blend.”

  “That sounds good to me,” April said.

  That got a laugh and the group went in the door, with April bringing up the rear. Her face flamed as she saw them catch the empty interior. These women probably had suites of furniture, like Bonnie’d wanted. Most likely their towels matched their shower curtains and coordinated with their comforters. April felt inadequate in a way she never had in California.

  “Whoa, you’re going to need a decorator,” Mary Lou said.

  “I’ve got more stuff coming from California,” April lied. Ken would have to sell everything they owned just to pay off his credit cards. The house was his, but there was no equity left. As much as he loved the house his grandmother had left him, he had gambled it away. That had been April’s final straw. She knew then that their life together was beyond repair.

  She shook off the sadness and directed them to the table. “I’ve laid out everything you need. I’ve got more papers and inks over there on the kitchen counter if you need to purchase additional items.” God, that was lackluster, she thought. She was a rotten salesperson. Good thing Deana couldn’t hear her.

  Suzi pulled a book out of her floral bag. The cover was collaged with pressed flowers, ribbons and leaves. “Look, you guys. I finished my garden journal.”

  “May I?” April leafed through the day-by-day calendar, embellished with lifelike drawings of vines, flowers and birds. She recognized a Wordsworth quote, “Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own.” The colors used were sophisticated and the balance between illustrations and writing, perfect. The journal made April curious to see Suzi’s real garden.

  “Lovely.” She handed it back to Suzi, who had seated herself. Kit studied the paper and inks offered by Deana’s company. She pulled a selection, and April noted what she used for Deana’s records.

  Mary Lou opened a kit and set out papers and ink pads in front of her daughter. “This is going to be so pretty,” she said.

  A husky voice came from the doorway. “Hello, darlings.”

  A tall redhead in cream-colored shorts and a hand-painted silk blouse paused for dramatic effect on the threshold. Her Hollywood entrance was matched by long movie-star leg
s and a Veronica Lake hairdo. The sleeves of her shirt were carelessly pushed up to show off a handmade found-object bracelet, dangling with bits of metal and stone. She was relaxed in her elegant body.

  Men must flock to her, April thought. But then, men were easy. The platinum toe rings would probably bring most men to their knees. The true test was to see if the women liked her.

  “Rocky,” Mary Lou, Kit and Suzi greeted her in unison.

  “I brought presents,” she said, brandishing an expensive leather portfolio. “Wait until you see these handmade papers I bought in Philadelphia last week.”

  “Save them for show-and-tell,” Mary Lou said.

  She introduced herself to April. “Rocky Winchester.” Her smile was broad.

  “Of course, I remember you from high school,” April said.

  One grade ahead, Rocky had been impossible to approach but just as impossible to ignore. Deana and April had studied her at the club pool, unable to imagine themselves as poised and popular.

  “That was a long time ago,” Rocky said. She looked around the empty space. “You’ve got the simple life nailed,” she said.

  Not so much the simple life as the no life.

  The plank floor of the refurbished barn was dappled with late afternoon sunlight coming in the high windows. The warm wooden post and beams that made up the framework soared overhead, offering a rebuke to her meager possessions. Shafts of light captured the dust motes that lingered in the air.

  April said, “Have a seat at the table. Lucky for us, it didn’t fit in my father’s new place.”

  Mary Lou ran a hand over the smooth tabletop. “So nice. It’s one of Mitch’s, isn’t it?”

  April shrugged. “I know Dad had it made locally. I don’t remember who.”

  Rocky sighted down the table with an imaginary level and said, “Oh yeah, it looks like his work. True and straight. Just like him.”

  The others laughed. April felt a little left out by the obvious in-joke.

  She turned back to Deana’s plastic container, finding the stick-on name tags. She hesitated. They knew each other, but she needed a way to remember their names.