“That’s too bad,” Darcy said. “But I understand. There’s nothing worse than being away from home when you’re not feeling well.”
Thank goodness. She hated starting the week off on the wrong foot, but she really needed to get her head straightened out. A couple hours and a check-in with Jorie after she unpacked might do the trick.
Hilary stoodat one of the tall windows in her bedroom, watching the tour group assemble in the driveway below. It was a larger group than she expected. Yandi and Meg were in the middle, no doubt having one of their loud, animated conversations. And that Dane guy was near them too. She felt a twinge of guilt for being so abrupt with him. He seemed to be trying hard to engage her in conversation earlier, but all she wanted was to ride in peace during the two-hour trip to Hendricks. The feeling she’d had when she saw him was uncanny. Now that she could study him without reservation, he looked nothing like Will. Yet there was something about him.
Another tour bus with a fiberglass fish arrived to carry the passenger overload from the first bus. Hilary smiled in spite of her mood. The paint job on the buses was a patchwork of neon lettering in lime green—STURGEON WIDOWS TOURS!—and kitschy graphics. For a second she regretted her choice to stay behind. With branding like that, the tour itself was probably a riot.
She let the curtain drop back in place and fell onto the plush bed, the phone ringing in her ear. Of course Jorie took her time answering, even though she carried her phone on her every waking moment. Jorie always had a million things going on at once.
When she finally answered, her sister-in-law was breathless.
“Hil, thank goodness. I’ve been trying to call,” Jorie said.
Funny, her phone hadn’t registered any calls. She’d check again when they hung up. Maybe service in Hendricks was iffy.
“What’s up?”
In the background, Hattie’s high-pitched squeals carried over the phone line as if she wasn’t hundreds of miles away. Hattie was probably in her high chair, throwing parts of her lunch to Rowdy. Hilary pictured the dog standing vigilant like he always did, keeping the floor clean like a four-legged vacuum.
“Nothing here. Just the usual chaos,” Jorie said. “But now that you’re settled, how’s it going?”
Hilary wouldn’t exactly call herself settled, but it was nice to hear Jorie’s concern.
“It’s beautiful here. The people I’ve met have been really nice.” She tried to keep her voice upbeat.
“What’s on your agenda today? I’ve forgotten what they had lined up for us.”
“There’s a tour now and dinner later on.”
“You’re on a tour now?” Jorie asked. “It’s so quiet.”
“Not me. I stayed behind.”
“Why aren’t you going?”
“I needed some down time.”
“The plane ride and drive wasn’t enough?”
“Jorie.” Hilary couldn’t suppress the warning tone. Sometimes Jorie took things too far.
Hilary heard Jorie sigh. The corners of her mouth were probably drooping too once she pressed her lips together. The visual was solidly in Hilary’s mind; she’d seen it a thousand times.
The clatter of dishes sounded in the background. Then Jorie coughed.
“Okay, sorry. I was hoping you’d totally embrace this.” Jorie’s voice was softer now. Hattie’s squealing was muted like Jorie moved into another room.
Hilary rolled over onto her stomach. She picked at one of the chenille dots on the bedspread. “I know. I-I’m feeling a little off right now. Sis, I counted on you being here too.”
“You know I’ve looked forward to this for months,” Jorie said.
“Yeah, I know. How’s your dad?”
“Better. Stabilized. They might release him tomorrow. We’ll see.”
It was selfish feeling this way. Cal Larkin was a force, always had been, especially for her during the last two years. But here she was thinking of herself when he was laid up in the hospital. Despite the work she, Jorie, and Jorie’s husband—Tom—put in at Larkin Farms, it was still Cal’s place. He’d rebuilt the farm many times over on the foundation his father laid before he passed away when Cal was barely out of high school.
Silence stretched over the next several seconds while Hilary gazed through the parted curtains across the room. Sunlight grazed the polished surface of the Queen Anne table in front of the window. It was a beautiful early summer day even though she bet the temperatures still hovered in the fifties. A Northwoods summer.
