Free The Lavender Hour by Anne Leclaire Page A

hair caught up in an elastic band. I set it aside and tried to concentrate on my morning's work and replaying my earlier conversation with Lily.
    L ATER THAT afternoon, as prearranged, Faye picked me up, and we headed over to Brewster.
    “Okay, what's going on?” Faye said, as she swung out onto Route 28, cutting in front of a pickup and ignoring the driver, who was honking furiously.
    “What do you mean?”
    She turned to look at me. “Not hard to figure out. You haven't said five words since you got into the car.”
    “Watch the road,” I said. There. Three words.
    Faye tailgated the car in front of us, edging left to pass when anopportunity presented itself. Unmindful, the car ahead crept along. LORPs, Faye called them. Little old retired people who flooded the roads, driving along at a pace twenty miles south of the limit, turn signals perpetually switched on, chins held level with the hubs of their steering wheels. Although Faye was saintly in a number of ways, patience while behind the wheel wasn't her long suit. The LORPs drove her nuts. If it were up to her, she'd have them outlawed. Or permitted on the roads one hour per day. Ten to eleven A.M. Max. Her idea was to clear the roads of everyone else and let the LORPs duke it out, which they often did, backing into one another in the post office lot on a regular basis. Last fall, she advised me not to venture anywhere near there until after noon, by which time, the last of them had picked up their mail. According to Faye, most of them drove like they'd undergone vertebrae fusion, unable to turn their heads more than two centimeters left or right. Nights you were safe, she said, since they didn't like to drive in the dark, but days you definitely were throwing the dice.
    “Y OU DON'T have to tell me if you don't want,” Faye said.
    “Tell you what?”
    “What it is that's bothering you.”
    “It's nothing, really.”
    “Nothing?”
    I sighed. “Okay, it's Lily. I talked to her this morning, and I've barely been able to work since.”
    “And…”
    “I don't know.” I really didn't want to get into this and most certainly didn't want to tell Faye about my mama hanging up on me. Talking about Lily to Faye made me feel disloyal. “I guess I'm just worried about her.”
    “Isn't that backward? Isn't the mother the one who's supposed to worry about the daughter?”
    I bit at my lip.
    “Okay,” Faye said. “What specifically are you concerned about?”
    “Well, it's this man she's with, for one thing,” I said. “This dentist person. Who is he? What does he want with her?”
    “I think that should be pretty obvious, Jessie.”
    “You think he's after her money?”
    Faye cocked an eyebrow. “I was thinking along the lines of something more carnal.”
    I stared at her. “Sex?”
    “Desire doesn't dry up with the passing of decades, you know.”
    “Jesus, Faye.”
    She laughed. “More power to her, I say. I don't know why she didn't start seeing men years ago.”
    “Not another word, okay. I don't even want to go there.”
    Faye laughed again. “So what's the other thing?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “You said you were worried about the dentist for one thing. What's the other?”
    “Well it's everything, really.”
    “Can you be more specific?”
    “It's like she's not even the same person.” I told Faye about how Lily wasn't hosting the traditional family Easter brunch.
    “Well, that's the best thing I've heard in a long time.”
    “It is?”
    “It means she's letting go of what no longer fits. She's changing.”
    “That wins the Understatement of the Year Award.”
    Faye looked at me. “Why exactly are you upset about what she's doing?”
    “It's crazy. Especially this sailing thing. You've seen her on the ocean, Faye. She doesn't know a boom from a broom handle.”
    “True,” Faye said, laughing. “Okay. What's the worst that could happen?”
    I stared at Faye. “Hellooooo? She's crossing the Atlantic. Storm at sea. Death.”