Jennifer Greene - Wild in the Field

Violet seemed to know this Jacob. Camille thought she might know him herself-his voice and name sounded familiar, as if they might have gone to school together. Distracted, she watched her sister in action. Violet kept fussing over the guy until his face turned beet red, bemusing Camille. Vi was so completely different around certain people. She was smart. Maybe she was a little eccentric in a couple of minor ways, but she’d always had a big IQ. Around certain males, though, Vi seemed to talk in blond and behave in ways that deliberately scared men from having a normal conversation.

By the time Jacob left, Camille was so puzzled by her sister’s behavior that she almost forgot she was foot-tapping upset with her. Unfortunately, the shop was busy. After Jacob left, a plump grandma bought chamomile tea and evening primrose oil. Then a pair of women walked in. Finally, the store was quiet for a few minutes.

“Hey,” Vi started to say.

“You traitor. You sicced Pete on me. How could you?”

“Huh?”

“Three nights ago. When I said I was staying home. You threatened me that if I didn’t get off the farm, you were going to do something. But I thought you meant that you were going to do something ugly-like call Mom.”

“Why would I call Mom and worry her?”

“Well, that’s why I thought you wouldn’t! But then I thought you’d call Daisy.”

Violet slid behind the counter, where she’d obviously been creating dried herb and flower arrangements until the flood of customers. The counter was mounded with heaps of leaves and fronds and smelly stuff. “Actually, I did call Daisy.”

Camille’s jaw dropped. “You tattletaled on me to Daisy?”

“Uh-huh. Reach behind you on that top shelf for the spools of ribbons, okay? I need the gold and red and, hmm, maybe the pale orchid. And yes, I tattletaled to Daisy. We must have talked about twenty minutes, brainstorming ways to push you into going out in public again.”

“I would have gone into town when I was ready!”

“Maybe,” Violet conceded. “But the point is, this way worked. You went to town. I knew Pete could get you to do it. And I also thought it was probably a good idea for him besides-hand me the emerald ribbon, too, okay? And here. Cut it in foot-long strips…”

“I’m not here to cut your damned ribbon.” Camille grabbed the scissors. “What’d you mean about it being good for Pete?”

“You know.” Stems and leaves and sticks flew every which way. “Pete hasn’t been the same since the divorce. You know how he was in high school-Mr. Bad Boy. Always full of the devil, full of fun. He was never mean-not that kind of devil-but he loved to play, loved to party, had a little wild streak. He could charm a teacher out of giving a test. Skip school and not get in trouble-”

“Could you cut to the chase? I was in school with you guys, remember?”

“Well, he met Debbie in college. In the beginning they seemed real tuned. She was real gregarious, a life-of-the-party type. And I guess they were fine when they were first married. At least that’s how I heard it. But then they had the twins, and a year after that his mom died.” Violet shook her head. “Big life things, you know? Only it’s as if Pete grew up and she never did.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you got my ribbons cut?”

Sheesh. It was like blackmail. Having to listen to all this extra chat and work, too. But she had to hand over the cut ribbons before Violet was willing to continue.

“Those babies…from the day the boys were born, Pete was just crazy for them. Everybody noticed. He was the one walking the floor at night, taking them to the pediatrician for their shots, taking them for walks, the whole shebang. As far as I know, Debbie wanted a baby, at least in theory, but maybe she didn’t realize how tied down she was going to be. And having twins made it worse.”

“How come I never heard any of this before?” Camille said impatiently.

“Everyone knew.”

“I didn’t.”

Violet took the mess of weeds and ribbon and some paper, and somehow, when she stuck it all in a vase, it looked like a zillion dollar florist arrangement…talking the whole time. “Cam, you were in college, and then you got that great marketing job, and then you were with Robert. You weren’t thinking about the stuff going on back home. Neither was I-when I was with Simpson. Anyway. It wasn’t just that Pete settled down after the boys were born. He also came back to White Hills because his dad needed help after his mother died. Debbie went nuts. Whining all the time about country life, nothing to do. Initially I’m not sure if Pete ever intended to stay here. It was more temporary, to help his dad.”

“But-?” Prodding Violet to get to the bottom line was like waiting for Congress to balance the budget.

“But he liked the land. And the boys just loved it here. And then he got into that other work-I don’t know what he does exactly, except that it’s something he can do at home. And that was the point, that he could make a good living and yet still be available for his kids-because by that time, Debbie sure wasn’t much of a mother.”

They both glanced up when the door opened, but it was just Killer pushing his nose in, looking for Camille. Three cats promptly leaped to tall shelves. Violet said quietly, “I think Pete really knew she was playing around quite a while before she took off.”

Camille ignored Killer, ignored the cats, ignored the ribbons. She blurted out, “I just can’t believe any woman would play around on Pete.”

“Neither can I.” Violet finished another breathtakingly artistic arrangement. Of course, she left enough of a mess to fill a trash truck, but neither woman was paying attention by then, anyway. “It’s not as if Pete and I ever clicked. We didn’t. But I still always thought he was a hunk. Not just because he’s good-looking, you know? But because some guys just come across as…”

“Male with a capital M ,” Camille supplied.

“Yeah, exactly. You can just look and know some guys will be good lovers, some won’t. It’s in their eyes. It’s in how they move. You can just tell they like sex-”

“Um, Vi. All men like sex. They come out of the womb reaching for a boob.”

Violet grinned. “Well, I know that. But I meant…some men like the pleasure of it, the touching, all of it, not just the getting-off part.” She paused. “That’s theory, of course. Everything I learned wrong about sex, I learned from Simpson. Anyway-”

“Anyway,” Camille echoed.

“The point is, Pete seemed to lose all his spirit after Debbie left. He turned into a complete Sobersides. I don’t mean there’s anything to criticize. Cripes, he’s a football dad, Boy Scout leader, volunteer for anything in the community involving kids. But ask him to a party, and he’s got a dozen excuses why he can’t go. And they say in town that he never goes out, no matter what woman’s tried chasing him. He’s just seemed to lose his pizzazz, you know?”

No, she hadn’t known.

But as she trudged back home, she felt more troubled than ever that they’d made love. It was one thing for her to do something insane in a moment of impulse-and wild chemistry-but another for her to risk hurting someone else. Violet had made her see Pete as far more vulnerable than showed on the surface. For damn sure, he didn’t need a woman in his life who he couldn’t trust, not after what his ex-wife had put him through.

She was within yards of the cottage when she heard the unexpected roar of engines. Killer paid no attention. The dog was used to the sound of trucks and tractors. And so was Camille-but not coming from anyone on Campbell land, much less from the direction of the lavender field.