2. Prescription For Love

“Well, he and Margie are planning on looking after the chicks over at Presley’s, so he needs some transportation since neither of them drives.”

“I imagine the two of them will be getting their licenses at about the same time.”

Flann winced. “Don’t remind me.”

Ida sat with her own coffee and studied Flann unhurriedly. “You and your sisters survived, they will too. We’ll all keep an eye on them.”

“I’m not worried about them—it’s the rest of the idiots out there.”

“We’ll see that they know what they’re about.”

“I know.”

“Blake seems like a nice boy.”

“He is.”

“He and Margie hit it off.”

Flann searched for any sign that her mother had concerns and didn’t find any. The idea that Blake wouldn’t immediately be accepted for the great kid he was bothered her and she could only imagine how Abby must feel. “Margie is teaching him the wonders of farming.”

Ida smiled. “Abby is quite remarkable too.”

Flann flushed and stared at her coffee. “Uh-huh.”

“I admire her, being a single mother. It doesn’t much matter if it’s one child or five, it’s always easier when there’s two people sharing the raising.”

“You managed.”

“That’s not fair, Flannery,” her mother said gently.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not me deserving the apology.” Ida stroked her arm to signal she was forgiven. “And if anybody ought to be complaining, it would be me.”

“You’re right again, I’m just—I don’t know, probably just tired.” She didn’t know why the hell she was mad, or even who she was really mad at. “I should go.”

Ida took her hand. “No, you should stay and tell me what’s bothering you.”

“I don’t know,” Flann said, when she meant to say nothing. “I love Dad, you know that, right?” “Course I do, and so does he.”

“Harper always wanted to be just like him.” Her mother said nothing.

“And I was always afraid I was.”

“What do you mean?”

“I love what I do, just like he does. Maybe too much. Sometimes I thought he’d rather be taking care of other people than taking care of us.”

“It must’ve seemed that way when you were younger.”

“But I’m not young anymore, and I do know better.” Flann shook her head. “It’s hard to let go of feelings you’ve had for a long, long time.”

“That’s because you’re still angry at him about Kate. You think he should have known, and he should have fixed her.”

“No, of course I don’t. I know no one could have—”

“You know it now, but you didn’t know it then. And like you said, those feelings take a long time to change.”

“I don’t even know why I’m thinking about all of this right now.” She avoided serious relationships so she’d never have a chance to let anyone down, so she’d never fail to take care of the people who needed her. The decision had never bothered her, until now.

Ida smiled. “Don’t you?”

Flann frowned. “I think you better let me in on it, if you do.”

“Oh no. There’re some things a mother ought to stay clear of.”

“I’m gonna remind you you said that someday.”

“I’ll remind you not to sass, Flannery.”

Flannery grinned. “I love you.”

Ida got up, kissed Flann’s cheek, and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “I love you too.”

Flann carried her dishes to the sink. “I guess I’ll be seeing you at the barn raising this weekend.” “We haven’t had a good old-fashioned barn raising in a long time,” Ida said.

“Just another excuse for a party.”

“Mm-hmm. Everybody loves one.”

“I’ll see you.” Flann headed for the door. “Save me a dance.”

“I suspect you’ll have a full card. And Flannery,” Ida called after her.

Flann turned.

Her mother’s eyes twinkled and Flann couldn’t quite decipher her smile. “Remember, women enjoy being courted.”

Flann’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

“Just a little motherly advice.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Abby sat on the back steps with an honest-to-God newspaper spread open on her knees. Granted, it was the Argyle Post, a ten-page weekly filled with some of the most fascinating stories she’d ever read. The headliner described the daring rescue of an escaped parrot by the local sheriff’s deputy (with photo of officer and parrot). Another stated the fine received by a local resident whose backyard pig had apparently destroyed a neighbor’s vegetable garden. Another listed the names of five residents cited for speeding on the county road connecting the township to parts beyond. The rest of the paper was filled with births, deaths, and marriage announcements, and a surprisingly full calendar of upcoming events including the Fourth of July Fireworks on the Green celebration, a twoday local artists’ exhibition, a play put on by the theater group in a neighboring village, and the annual pig roast.

“Blake,” Abby called, “there’s going to be an art exhibit in a couple of weeks I think you might like

—local artists.”

Blake came to the door, munching a piece of toast slathered with peanut butter. “Okay, sure.”