Butterfly Ginger Page 2

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Ester,” he offered genuinely, trying to swallow the bland cracker that seemed to swell in his mouth. “I won’t let it happen again.”

  “I should hope not,” she said with a stern nod. “Perhaps you should make sure the garden tools are ready for your next group.”

  Ugh.

  He was being dismissed. Scolded and sent away in front of his two classes. In front of Blythe.

  “Yes, ma’am. Of course,” he muttered, humiliation curling in his gut.

  He poured the last of his lemonade into the sink and chanced to look back at Blythe before tossing the plastic cup into the garbage. She was watching him, chewing her lip nervously. He was about to turn to the back door when her hand darted out and caught his.

  Nate’s eyes met hers, and she smiled and squeezed his hand once. Then she turned and disappeared down the hall toward the art room. He caught his breath as he watched her go. Stunned, Nate walked out the back door in a daze, his humiliation all but forgotten.

  Alone on the porch, he stepped up to the railing and gripped it, the touch of her hand still alive against his palm. But it couldn’t compare to the feathery stirring in his chest.

  Nate looked over the garden rows and had an idea.

  When his second group came out, he got them started pulling the weeds in the last three rows. Then they filled up their plastic watering cans and watered each plant. Together, they checked the stakes on the tomatoes and tied up the new shoots on the green beans. Their last job of the day was harvesting.

  While the kids filled one plastic bag, Nate filled another. Okra. Eggplant. Tomatoes. Butternut squash. Mrs. Ester always invited him to take whatever he liked, so he knew this would be okay.

  When Mrs. Katherine called the children in for lunch, Nate picked up the garden tools and hoped that he was faster than Blythe. He gathered up the bag and jogged around to the front of the house. Just as he’d expected, a different car was parked in the spot where Maddie usually left her black Scion. It threw him that it was beat up tan Toyota Tercel, but his gray Ford F100 and Mrs. Katherine’s white Kia were the only other cars in the lot, so it had to be hers.

  He’d torn a sheet from the back of the seed log in the garden shed and scribbled a note on it. Nate set the bag of vegetables on the hood of the Tercel and read over the note again, hoping it wasn’t stupid.

  “Please don’t starve before calling me. — Nate”

  He’d printed his number below his name. Nate stared at the note and held his breath. He’d see her tomorrow whether she called or not. And if she didn’t call, he’d feel like an ass. But the thought of waiting until tomorrow to talk to her again seemed impossible.

  Before he could change his mind, Nate stuffed the note into the bag, beat a path to his truck, and drove to his next job.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Now

  “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” RAE CHEERED AS SHE towered over Blythe and pulled her into a hug. “Sorry I’m late. Did you order the spring rolls yet? I’m starved.”

  Blythe rolled her eyes. Three months of marriage and six months of professional success hadn’t changed her best friend one bit. She was still a poster girl for ADHD.

  “I did. Thank you very much. And you said you’d be late, so stop apologizing,” she scolded. “Besides, you taking me to lunch today is the best thing that’s happened to me in weeks, so we’re even.”

  Rae gave her a pitying smile as they sat down at their table near the front windows of Pimon Thai. It had been Blythe’s favorite restaurant in Lafayette ever since she’d discovered Thai food in college.

  “Well, your day is about to get even better because I got you an awesome gift,” Rae said, smiling in her self-congratulatory way and digging in her giant black purse. Blythe knew it held everything from Rae’s stainless steel water bottle to her laptop and blood pressure cuff, among other things. How someone so disorganized could simultaneously be so high-functioning had always amazed Blythe. It was one of the things that made Rae’s friendship so much fun. Traveling with her was especially adventurous.

  “Here,” Rae said, thrusting a small envelope at her. “Ask for Mario. He’s the best.”

  “What?” Blythe muttered, frowning as she took the small card. “Massage Envy” was written in mauve across the white envelope. “Oh, Rae, I couldn’t!”

  “Yes, you could.” Rae said flatly.

  “No… it’s too expensive, and you’re already buying lunch, and—”

  “Shut up and use it. It’s from Mitch, too. We can afford it, and we want you to enjoy yourself,” Rae insisted. “Besides, with as much crap as you’ve had to deal with the last three months, you’ve probably got knots on top of knots in your shoulders, and Mario is just the man to help work those out.”

  Blythe shot her friend a suspicious glare.

  “Rae, this isn’t some kind of set up, is i—”

  Rae tsked and rolled her eyes.

  “Please. Mario is as gay as a Maypole.”

  Blythe’s eyes bugged. Rae could always turn a phrase.

  “But if you’re looking for a set up…”

  Blythe threw up her hands.

  “No. God, no.”

  Rae’s eyes met hers, and Blythe felt pinned by the stare.

  “Clayton really did a number on you, didn’t he?”

  Blythe let out a sigh.

  “Honestly, Rae, Clayton Briggs is the least of my problems. Good riddance. It’s my birthday, and I’d rather not spend it feeling sorry for myself.”

  Blythe’s Summer of Shit had turned into the Fall from Hell, and she was hoping that her 25th birthday would mark the end of such a rotten year. In a matter of three months, she had lost her job, her car, the house she rented, and, as Rae pointed out, her boyfriend. But worst of all, she had lost New Orleans, the city that had saved her six years ago.

  Blythe shook these thoughts from her head and was grateful when their server arrived with the veggie spring rolls.

  “Anything else to drink besides water?” she asked.

  “No, thank—” Blythe started.

  “Yes, a coconut martini for the birthday girl and a pineapple juice for me,” Rae cut in, steamrolling her as usual. Blythe frowned at her. Two could play that game. “Make that two coconut martinis,” Blythe told the server and then faced her best friend. “I’m not drinking alone.”

  “No… just juice for me today,” Rae said, looking away and reaching for the spring rolls. “I’m on-call this afternoon.”

  Blythe squinted at Rae. That had never stopped her before. Rae and her husband Mitch, both R.N.s, had started their own home health service six months ago, and the business had taken off. They now had 12 employees and were turning away patients, but being on-call had never been a reason for her not to have one drink with Blythe.

  “I’m ready to order. Are you?” Rae asked, still not meeting Blythe’s eyes.

  Blythe ordered the Chu Chee with tofu, and Rae ordered the Tom Yum and shrimp Pad Thai. As soon as the server left them, Rae pounced.

  “How’s the job hunting going?”

  Blythe rolled her eyes. She felt like she’d applied to every possible business that could use a graphic designer.

  “It sucks. I had one nibble from a mobile app developer, but he’s a start-up, and his first question to me was if I needed to get paid right away.”

  Rae wrinkled her nose.

  “That doesn’t sound very promising,” she offered. “But something will come up.”

  “Well, if it doesn’t happen soon, I’ll have to start waiting tables or sell a kidney because I can’t live at home much longer.”

  Blythe’s family was driving her crazy. It was as though she and her parents had regressed at least six years. They seemed to be living out the roles they’d played when she was still in high school. Her mother and father certainly weren’t treating her like the adult she was, chastising her about her diet, asking where she was going and when she’d be home every time she left the house, and simultane
ously reminding her that she needed to find another job so she could support herself.

  Her brothers, Seth and Calvin, were less subtle. Blythe’s return to the three-bedroom home where she’d grown up meant that her brothers had to bunk together again, something they hadn’t done since she’d left for her freshman year at Tulane. Calvin, who was sixteen and the baby of the family, had taken to leaving Post-It notes on her bedroom door and on the bathroom mirror.

  “Move out!”

  “Get a job!”

  And her favorite:

  “Boomerang!”

  Blythe felt guilty about putting her brothers out. She knew that Seth and Calvin shared a tentative peace at best. Though only three years apart, the two brothers couldn’t have been more different. Seth was the athlete of the family, always competitive and keen to be the center of attention. He was perpetually moving, playing intramural rugby at UL and working out six days a week. Calvin, on the other hand, was more like her. Introspective. Quiet. And artistic in his own way. He was the only one who shared their mother’s love — and talent — for music. She could only imagine that sharing a room with Seth would have grated on each of Calvin’s sensitive nerves.

  But moving home had been her only option.

  When the owner of Bête Mignon had decided to let the magazine fold, Blythe and her roommate, Ellen, had both lost their jobs. And they might have been ok, scraping by on unemployment with what little savings they had between them, if it hadn’t been for the car accident three weeks later.

  On the way back from the unemployment office, Blythe’s ancient Toyota Tercel had been rear-ended by a kid in a monster truck — at least it was a truck that had been lifted. And the kid really had been a kid. Underage and without insurance. Because Blythe only carried liability on her 1998 Tercel, she was left with a case of whiplash, a totaled car, and an empty savings account.

  It embarrassed her now to think about it, but in her desperation to avoid moving back home — the very idea gave her hives — she had asked Clayton if she could move in with him.

  She’d never seen her law-student boyfriend look so terrified. Blythe had told herself that Clayton’s ambition to make Tulane law review and her focus as art director of a young magazine were the reasons the couple had never seriously discussed the future. When she saw the trapped look in his eyes at the thought of living together, she understood that a future for them had never been an option.

  Which was fine with her.

  Blythe didn’t want to examine too closely the fact that it bothered her so little. Even so, after moving back home with her parents and sleeping alone, she was forced to admit that she missed the two or three nights a week when Clayton shared her bed or she shared his.

  Still, she wasn’t looking for someone to take Clayton’s place. Not yet, anyway. Having a lover meant running the risk of falling in love.

  “You’ll find the right fit,” Rae said, startling her from her thoughts.

  Had her best friend been reading her mind?

  “Huh?”

  “Hello? A job? That is what we were talking about right?” Rae teased.

  “Oh… yeah.”

  Rae eyed her closely.

  “And if we aren’t talking about a job, Mitch has a friend who—”

  “No, Rae, seriously,” she droned. “The last thing I need right now is a guy.”

  And I’m done letting myself need anyone.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Six years ago

  “A PICNIC?” BLYTHE HEARD HERSELF ASK.

  “Yeah… you know. It’s Saturday. Blanket. Picnic basket. Food. Maybe even a Frisbee,” Nate teased.

  She pressed the phone closer to her ear and lowered her voice. There was no telling who might be listening outside her door.

  “So… like… a date?” she almost whispered, feeling her smile shape the words.

  She heard him inhale slowly over the phone.

  “Most definitely like a date… if — if that’s okay.” He sounded nervous.

  How could he be nervous? Blythe asked herself, picturing his rugged handsomeness and his easy smile. Guys like that don’t get nervous.

  “Oh, it’s okay,” she said, hoping to mask the fact that she was squeeing with glee. “I mean… I’d like that.”

  “Great,” he said, relief unmistakable in his voice. “I work until about five¸ and then I need to head home for a shower. Can I pick you up around six? There’s someplace cool I’d like to show you — but we should go before the sun goes down, and sunset is around eight tonight.”

  “Um… sure,” she hedged. “But if you come to get me, you might have to meet my parents, and then there’s the risk that you’ll also meet my brothers.”

  Nate laughed, a rich sound that loosened her shoulders.

  “I can handle parents and brothers,” Nate said, sounding confident. And why should he worry? She was the one in danger of mortification.

  “Okay, I guess,” Blythe agreed, resigned to her fate. “Just don’t hold them against me.”

  The line went silent for a second.

  “Believe me,” Nate said, his voice taking on a solemn tone, “I’m the last person in the world to judge you based on your family. Mine’s pretty… unusual.”

  Something in the sound of his voice made her believe him, and she wondered what he meant.

  “Okay… so, I live on Adrienne Street behind Myrtle Place Elementary. 103 Adrienne.”

  “Really?” Nate asked, surprised. “I know exactly where that is. I’m on St. Catherine, just across Congress… Wow… Okay, I’ll pick you up around six.”

  It was noon when they ended the call. Blythe had about six hours to get a handle on her nerves — and to try to control her excitement. Nate was so… different. She couldn’t get over the way she felt when she was with him.

  In her whole life, no one had ever looked at Blythe the way Nate looked at her. Since meeting him on Wednesday, her first day at Tiny Hands, she had only seen him at snack time on Thursday and Friday, but each time, Nate had come into the kitchen searching for her. There was no other way to describe it. He came in looking for her. And each time his eyes found hers, a thrill of nerves rushed up her body.

  Blythe had felt invisible until after she turned 16. She’d spent years with braces, glasses, and a shape like a boy’s, which wasn’t the end of the world. Even after she developed, if she noticed someone checking her out, that’s all it was. She might catch a boy gawking at her boobs or smirking at her with a leer that was hard to misread, but that was not the look in Nate’s brown eyes.

  Nate Bradley looked at her as though he found her fascinating. As though he’d waited all morning to see her, and seeing her made his day.

  Or maybe that was just the way she felt. Because after that first meeting, Blythe was so happy simply because she knew she would see him again. They worked in the same place, after all — and seeing him again was exactly what she wanted.

  When she’d gone out to her car that afternoon to find a plastic bag bursting with vegetables and a note asking her to call him, she’d giggled on the spot. Of course, she hadn’t been able to actually call. That was too weird. It was easier to text. And so she did, thanking him for the veggies.

  It had taken him a few hours to respond, and Blythe berated herself for checking her phone each of the two dozen times she did, but when she finally heard back from him, the back-and-forth lasted for hours that first night.

  Apparently, Nate worked all the time. He’d graduated from STM. His favorite band was Phoenix. He loved persimmons. And he wanted to know about her. She’d gone to Lafayette High in the gifted program. She liked Phoenix, too, but her favorite musician was Jason Mraz. Her favorite author was Philip Pullman.

  The thought of spending a few hours with him — without Mrs. Ester and 12 five and six-year-olds — seemed about as awesome as winning the lottery.

  And waiting had never seemed so hard.

  ****

  BLYTHE BARNES WOULD NOT have considered herse
lf a lucky person in general, but she was grateful for the stroke of luck that took her dad and her brothers to Judice Inn for burgers just minutes before Nate showed up.

  Because her mother taught piano lessons in the front room, that one space in the Barnes’s home was always tidy and presentable. Blythe had helped her mother to sort out the kitchen, which never stood a chance against her brothers. They made a mess every time they fixed a snack or meal, which seemed to happen hourly. And their idea of cleaning up was to pile dirty dishes in the sink.

  As usual, every other room in the house beyond the front room and the kitchen — except her bedroom — was a disaster. But Nate didn’t have to see those.

  She was in the middle of drying her hands when the doorbell rang, and the family’s dog, Phoebe, gave a half-hearted bark as she trotted to the front door.

  “I like a boy who’s on time!” her mother sang, putting the last dish into the dishwasher.

  “Mom, please don’t embarrass me,” Blythe begged.

  “Embarrass you? Honey, don’t be ridiculous.” But as Blythe stepped into the front room, Alexandra Barnes followed on her heels and took a seat on the piano bench.

  “Mom!” she hissed, knowing what was coming.

  Her mother just giggled and played the opening four notes of “The Wedding March.”

  “Mother!” She shot her mother a murderous look, and the woman quickly folded the notes into “Let it Be” by the Beatles.

  Blythe resolved to get it over with. Nate had probably heard her mother’s little joke through the front door anyway. He might have even tried to flee already. She held her breath and opened the door.

  His eyes told her everything. He’d heard it all. “The Wedding March” and the scolding she gave her mother, but he didn’t look terrified. In fact, Nate looked… amused.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  Seeing him standing on her porch somehow made her more nervous.

  It would be so easy to screw this up. And there at her front door, she realized she was so afraid of doing just that.