Читать книгу Butterfly Summer - Arlene James, Arlene James - Страница 12

“It’s not like Ellen to take off from a shoot without a word,” Heather said, sliding her sunglasses into place and looking out across the parking lot. “I hope she’s okay.”

“Ellen’s the sort who can take care of herself,” Ethan observed. “But you’re right. She usually micromanages every detail of a shoot. Have you tried her cell?”

“No answer.”

He shrugged unconcernedly. “Well, then I guess I have to beg a ride. Hope you’ve got room for my gear.”

“No problem.”

“I knew I should have brought my car,” he muttered.

It was company policy for employees on the same assignment to share a vehicle. Why compensate two for mileage when one car could take them both where they needed to go? Apparently Ellen had insisted on driving her car for some reason. Fox, Sheryl and Gayla had already departed, but all of them were freelancers and none lived in Davis Landing anyway.

Heather helped Ethan drag his considerable gear to her car, still feeling a little embarrassed by the whole makeover thing. Once she’d finally gotten a look at herself in a mirror, she’d been wearing her own dress again, so only her head looked as if it belonged to somebody else. She wasn’t quite certain that it didn’t. The effect had been startling, to be sure.

The dress itself suddenly seemed too large, and she wondered why she’d taken to wearing the wrong size. She didn’t think she’d lost more than ten pounds since college and that had pretty much been due to a natural change of eating habits as she’d gotten older. Somehow she hadn’t adapted as she ought to have.

The hair was the biggest difference, though it had not, as she’d feared, all been chopped off. In fact, the back layer was only three or four inches shorter than before, and oddly enough, the other layers—which graduated from her shoulders to the bottoms of her ears, the tops of her cheekbones and mideye before finally ending with short, feathery bangs—actually made it seem as if she had more hair rather than less. The color was what surprised her most, however.

It had never occurred to her that she might make an attractive redhead. Yet, the auburn tones looked perfectly natural. Fox claimed that was due to the painting technique that he had used, resulting in the “expert integration” of her natural mousy brown with the richer reds.

The makeup seemed heavy-handed to her, and Heather wished she’d had time to remove, or at least lighten, it before they’d had to vacate the premises. She had no intention of recreating this look on a daily basis, of course. It wasn’t as if she was going to have her picture shot every day, after all, let alone published! Nevertheless, it wouldn’t hurt to buy a new lipstick and maybe even some eye shadow.

After seeing how she could look with a little—all right, a lot—of effort she was a little embarrassed by how lazy she’d become with her appearance. It had been a long time since she’d bothered with makeup or even plucking her eyebrows.

In some ways, the results of the makeover had shocked her, and yet she couldn’t deny the pleasure that she felt at realizing she wasn’t quite as hopeless as she’d imagined, especially when those dimples of Ethan’s cut grooves in his cheeks every time he looked at her.

They had almost reached her car when Ethan asked, “So, was it as bad as you feared it would be?”

She glanced up at him, her arms full of tripod and folded reflector. “Let’s just say it was strange being on the other side of the camera.”

“In case you’re wondering, Fox isn’t usually that rude to models.”

Heather sent him a slightly amused look. “I realized that, and in case you’re wondering, I didn’t see any reason to object. I was a reluctant subject at best, and sometimes as boss it’s more important to bring the shoot in under deadline than throw your weight around.” When he stopped dead in his tracks, she had to stop, too, and turn to face him. “What? You don’t agree?”

He blinked as if seeing something he hadn’t seen before. “I guess I just never thought of it that way. I mean, throwing around their weight is what bosses do. Usually. Which is why I’ve always preferred to be a lowly wiseacre.”

She sent him a skeptical look. They both knew he enjoyed a reputation as a first-rate photographer.

“I just prefer to make sure that the job gets done when it’s supposed to get done,” she told him. “And I don’t think of you as a wiseacre.”

“No?”

She gave her head a slight shake and hitched the tripod higher in her arms.

“I think of you as an artist with a well-developed sense of humor.”

“I like your version best,” he told her. Grinning widely, he repositioned his own burdens and started forward again. “Any chance we’re getting close to your car?”

“The blue Saab on the right up there.” She followed him, feeling the heat rise in steamy waves from the pavement.

“Aero,” he said, naming the model of her car. “Sweet. I’d like to tool around town in a racy little Saab, but I have to drive an SUV because I have so much gear to haul. Not all of our sites are as well lit as this one, you know.”

She placed her load on the ground and opened the hatch back, saying, “My brothers all voted for the SUV or the wagon, but my sisters thought I ought to get the convertible.”

He shook his head and started loading his gear. “Naw, this is you, I think. Quality, high-performance but sensible.”

She laughed because those were exactly her own thoughts on the matter. He straightened abruptly, almost as if she’d taken a sudden swing at him.

“What?”

“I’m just still getting used to the new you,” he said, grinning again. “This new look is going to cause some waves back at the office. You mark my words.”

A hand rose to touch her hair self-consciously. She could only hope that she didn’t look as strange as she felt.

Ducking her head, she hurried around to slide behind the driver’s wheel, leaving Ethan to carefully stow away his gear. She dug her phone out of her purse, deciding that it might be a good time to check in with her parents, and dialed the hospital.

Nora told her that, owing to the severity of her father’s condition, the doctors were urging Wallace to consider transferring to the hospital in Nashville right away, but he wanted to remain close to the family—and the business—as long as possible. Once they started preparing Wallace for the bone marrow transplant, however, he would be in sterile seclusion, his immune system so compromised that the slightest infection could kill him.

Heather ended the call and bowed her head, the phone still clutched in her hands.

Oh, Lord, I just keep coming to You with this, but he’s so very ill and You are a God of miraculous power. Please heal my father. Please let us find that perfect bone marrow donor, and please help my mom and all the rest of us through this.

The passenger door opened and Ethan dropped down into the seat. Heather sat up a little straighter, stashing her phone in a convenient recess in the dash.

“Something wrong?”

Surprised that he could so easily read her mood, she let a second or two pass before saying, “I just talked to my mom at the hospital.”

“How is your dad doing?”

Heather sighed and started the car to get the air conditioner going. “His condition is serious enough to keep me on my knees, I can tell you.”

Ethan cocked his head. “On your knees? Is that a Tennesseeism I’m not familiar with yet?”

She stared at him, thinking that the meaning would surely click in place for him momentarily, but then she realized that his confusion was entirely genuine. Faith was such a part of Heather’s life that she sometimes forgot that it held little or no place in the lives of others.

“I just meant that I’ve been spending a lot of time in prayer over this,” she explained gently.

The light finally dawned. “Ah. Well, that makes perfect sense. For you.”

“But not for you?”

He shrugged. “I guess I just don’t know much about that sort of thing.”

“But surely you’ve been to church.”

“Couple times, you know, for weddings and such.”

How sad, Heather thought, but she smiled and said, “Maybe you’d like to visit my church sometime? Northside Community. It’s across the river in Hickory Mills. I really love it there. Quite a few singles our age attend.”

“I don’t know about that ‘our age’ thing,” he teased. “I figure I’m a good bit older than you.”

She let the church issue drop and backed the car out of the space, saying, “I don’t believe that. I’m twenty-seven, by the way. Called your bluff, didn’t I?”

Grinning as wide as his face, he nodded. “You sure did, but I win anyway. I’m thirty-two.”

“Five years is nothing,” she said flippantly. “At least, that’s what my baby sister always claims.”

He laughed at that, and conversation maintained a lighthearted tone from there on out.

She noted that he seemed at ease with her behind the wheel, which fit with his laid-back attitude. As a result, she didn’t feel as uncomfortable as she might have with him in the passenger seat. Tim, Amy and her dad, for instance, always made her nervous when they rode with her, but Chris, Jeremy and her mom never did. Neither did Lissa, but for an entirely different reason. She’d been hauling Melissa around since she’d first received her license, just as her older siblings had done for her.

Heather wondered again what her baby sister had gotten up to and when she was going to put in an appearance. As much as Melissa tried to avoid the unpleasant aspects of life, she would never forgive herself if she was off gallivanting around when something happened to their dad.

It was useless to worry about her, though, or even to be angry with her. Melissa would just bat those big, doelike eyes, flash a cheeky grin and throw her arms around your neck in a hug of such exuberance and affection that you’d forgive her anything.

When they reached the office, Heather dropped off Ethan and his equipment at his midsize SUV in the graveled lot across the street, Mill Road, where Hamilton Media employees parked. Then she drove around and took her assigned space at the front of the building on Main. By the time she’d gotten out of the car and reached the curb, Ethan had jogged up next to her, having stowed everything in his customized SUV, except for the trio of cameras, which he carried by the straps in one hand.

They walked along the sidewalk to the revolving door at the front of the Hamilton Building. Ethan started it moving, then stepped back to let Heather go first. On the drive up from Nashville, she’d almost forgotten her changed looks, but as she stepped into the lobby, Mr. Gordon rose to his feet and lifted a stalling hand.

“Do you have an appointment, Mi—” The question died on his lips as Heather drew closer. He tilted his head, looking like a quizzical owl behind his overlarge glasses. “Miss Heather?”

She fingered her new hairstyle self-consciously and kept going. “I, um, had to step in as the makeover subject.”

Both of the Gordons were staring at her open-mouthed as she punched the elevator button for herself. Fortunately, the door slid open immediately.

Ethan quickly joined her. He waggled an eyebrow at the Gordons as the door slid closed on them, then dropped a knowing look on Heather.

“Waves,” he whispered, rolling his free hand in an up-and-down motion. “Huge, crashing waves.”

Whether that was good or bad, Heather still couldn’t say, but she fortified herself with a deep breath as the elevator drew to a halt. When the door slid open, Ethan stepped out first. Heather, in fact, was seriously considering going right back down and taking herself home to a hot shower, hoping it would be her old self who emerged from the steam.

She never got the chance.

Ethan reached inside the elevator, took her by the arm and insistently tugged her out into the reception area. Then he just stood there, clasping his cameras behind his back while the receptionist smiled in greeting, glanced at Heather, dismissed her, did a quick double take and dropped the pen in her hand.

“Waves,” he said again quietly, taking Heather by the arm once more and swinging her around, propelling her in the direction of her office. “Great big rolling waves.”

He made a sound like a wave crashing against the seashore. Heather couldn’t suppress a smile, even as she cringed at the attention she was bound to receive from everyone she met today.

The receptionist must have gotten on the phone at once, because people began popping up out of their cubicles. As she passed her coworkers, Heather heard various comments, most of them sotto voce.

“Whoa.”

“Wow!”

“I’ve gotta get my hair done.”

Even, “That can’t be who I think it is.”

Ethan grinned as if all the attention was for him.

When they reached Brenda’s desk, Heather’s usually loquacious assistant slowly rose from her chair. Jaw dropping as she confirmed for herself that it was Heather standing before her, Brenda bobbled the water bottle from which she’d been drinking, splattering her blouse before she got it back under control.

Ethan announced in a ringing tone, “Heather had to substitute for the makeover candidate, and I think it might well be our best one so far.” Heather gulped, still uncertain whether to be pleased or embarrassed.

Amy was walking by just then, a clipboard and pen in hand. Hearing Heather’s name, she paused. Her eyes went wide as she took in the change that had come over her sister.

“Did I hear you say that Heather was this month’s makeover subject?” she asked Ethan.

“See for yourself.”

Amy let the clipboard drop, declaring, “Ellen’s outdone herself!”

“Uh, actually,” Heather muttered, “Ellen wasn’t there. I— I thought she might’ve come back here.”

Amy shook her head, eyes still wide, and muttered absently, “I was just looking for her. Nobody’s seen her.”

“Oh. Well, she’ll probably be in later,” Heather surmised uncomfortably. “I’d like her to know that we at least got the shoot finished before our time ran out.”

“I’d like her to know that the shots are spectacular,” Ethan put in, lifting the trio of cameras that he still carried. “And I’ll soon have the pictures to prove it.” With that he slanted Heather an I-told-you-so look and sauntered away.

“Will you look at you?” Amy declared. “You’re gorgeous!”

Heather glanced at Brenda and then back to her sister. “You really think so?”

They both exclaimed, “Yes!”

“Except for that dress,” Amy qualified apologetically.

Heather looked down at herself with a grimace. “It’s too big, isn’t it?”

Amy nodded. “Too big. Too out of style. Too frumpy. I love your hair!” She started as if an idea had just come to her. “Let’s go shopping later. Engel’s has their summer stuff on deep discount.”

“And it’s still out of my league,” Brenda complained, dropping back into her chair. “But the new you deserves a shopping spree.” To Heather’s amazement, she actually teared up. “I can’t get over how different you look!”

“Oh, Bren! It’s all right. I haven’t changed inside, you know.”

“I know,” Brenda wailed, sniffing. “But now you’re as lovely on the outside as you are inside!”

Heather laughed and looked to her elegant, sophisticated, beauty queen sister.

“Okay,” she said. “Shopping it is. In for a penny, in for a pound, I guess.”

Amy did a little victory dance and went on her way. That pretty much summed up how Heather was feeling at the moment.

It was just too bad that the person who had set this in motion wasn’t here to see the results of her handiwork.

Heather straightened the seams of the tiered chiffon skirt before pulling on the white knit top, then slid her feet into thong sandals with tiny heels. As inexplicably nervous as the day before, she slowly turned to face the full-length mirror on her closet door.

Surprisingly, the flowered, coral-hued chiffon that ruffled about her knees looked just as trim and fashionable as it had in the dressing room of Engel’s department store. Moreover, the simple scoop-necked top set off the skirt perfectly, and she didn’t even mind that it exposed her birthmark.

Tentatively skimming her fingers over the irregularly shaped spot, she remembered how intently Ethan had focused on it yesterday. He’d murmured something about it being shaped like a rose as he’d positioned her to get the best shot of it. Funny, she’d never thought of it like that, but now that he’d mentioned it, she was seeing the mark in a whole new way. She was seeing everything about her appearance in a whole new way, from the top of her newly styled head to the tips of her toes in their flirty coral sandals.

She stepped closer to the mirror. As her image filled up more of the space, the spring green walls, ivory lace and French Provincial furnishings of her roomy bedchamber receded. Heather focused on her face, trying to find fault with the subtle cosmetics that she had applied earlier.

She hadn’t forgotten how it was done, after all, and she couldn’t deny that she was pleased with the result. Touching her fingertips to the mirror, she half expected to feel them against her cheekbone. It was as if she were really seeing herself for the first time in a long, long while.

Suddenly ashamed, she bowed her head, telling God how sorry she was for thinking that He’d shortchanged her in the looks department when all along the problem had been her own laziness and perhaps a misplaced sense of modesty, as well. Not to mention an unwillingness to compete with her sisters. She shook her head at that, marveling that she could have been so silly.

Maybe she wasn’t a raving beauty, but the resemblance between herself and her sisters was stronger than she’d realized. Even more surprising was how much she looked like her beautiful mother, especially around the eyes. Their coloring was different, of course. Heather’s hair and eyes were a medium brown, or rather a rich chestnut with fiery highlights now, while Nora was blond and hazel-eyed. Nora’s mouth was a little wider, her face more classically oval and her frame even more petite, but Heather was suddenly liking her more angular, slightly sharper features now that the subtle cosmetics and the new hairstyle had softened them a bit.

“I’ll make the most of what You’ve given me from now on, Lord, I promise,” she whispered. “And please be with Dad and Mom today. I know You can heal him, Father, and I know You will. Amen.”

Nodding confidently at her smiling image, she went out to meet the day. Her feet fairly skipped along the landing and down both flights of the sweeping central staircase to the large foyer below, her heels clicking daintily on the polished hardwood floor. She gathered her handbag and briefcase from the antique wardrobe that stood against the parlor wall.

Actually, there were two parlors, the front parlor, which contained her grandmother’s grand piano and a very good collection of antiques, and the family room, where the marble fireplace furnished the focal point for comfortable, overstuffed couches and chairs. The interior wall shared by the two rooms contained a pair of wide pocket doors that could be opened to make one enormous room for entertaining, making the library at the back of the house the most private of the public rooms.

The dining areas on the opposite side of the foyer from the living area had once enjoyed a similar arrangement, but with the kitchen—complete with butler’s pantry and laundry room—rather than the library, beyond. Now, however, the formal and informal dining spaces had been combined into one large room with an enormous table handmade to accommodate six children and company.

All of the bedrooms, six in total, were on the second and third floors. Two others had been sacrificed to private baths and larger closets, changes her great-grandfather probably could not have even envisioned when he’d bought and renovated the elegant old redbrick Greek Revival–style house on the very outer edge of north Davis Landing.

There were larger, grander houses in the area, frankly, but not a single Hamilton would have traded this grand old place, with its expansive grounds, for any one of them.

Rather than exit via the front door with its heavy leaded glass inset, Heather turned and quickly made her way down the central hall and out the back to the terraced patio, where her mother habitually took her morning tea, weather permitting. Nora sat there now in one of the heavy, wrought-iron chairs, the morning paper spread out over a glass-topped table and fluttering unheeded in the breeze that sang softly in the tops of the trees. Clad in silk pajamas and a matching robe, she stared unseeingly across the property.

Heather dropped a hand upon her mother’s shoulder, feeling the frail bones keenly. Nora turned up a distracted smile, then twisted around in her chair as she got a good look at her middle daughter.

“Just look at you! How I wish your father could see you this morning.”

Heather bent forward to kiss her mother’s cheek. “I’ll go by the hospital later, give him a preview of this month’s Makeover Maven feature.”

“It would do his heart good, I’m sure,” Nora told her. “It has mine. Goodness, you look so young all of a sudden.”

“Not so dowdy, you mean,” Heather retorted, wrinkling her nose.

“Funny what a haircut and a new wardrobe can do,” Nora mused, “or maybe I’m just feeling old this morning.” She sighed and made an effort to smile.

Heather put down her bags and wrapped her arms around her mother’s slender shoulders. “It’s going to be all right, Mom. I just know it.”

Nora nodded. “I’ve been thinking about the hundred-and-third Psalm.” It was one of Nora’s favorites, and Heather knew it by heart.

“‘Bless the Lord, O my soul,’” she quoted softly. “‘And all that is within me, bless His holy name.’”

“‘Who pardons all your iniquities, Who heals all your diseases,’” Nora whispered, patting Heather’s arm. She looked up suddenly. “I don’t suppose your sister came in during the night, did she?”

Heather shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“You don’t think Melissa’s in some kind of trouble this time, do you?”

“I think she just can’t bear to see Dad in that hospital bed.”

Nora’s gaze drifted away again. “I don’t blame her for that.”

“Neither do I,” Heather agreed gently.

“Get on with you, darling. I’ll see you later at the hospital.”

Sensing that Nora needed solitude at the moment, Heather left her to her contemplation and hurried to her car, parked beneath the sheltered passage that ran between the main house and the old carriage house.

The morning had a golden cast to it that Heather could attribute only to God’s goodness.