The Scent Keeper(84)

Then she shook her head. “Beautifully done, Fisher, but I’m afraid it’s not my thing.” She looked up at him and their eyes met. “I’ll have a glass of Viognier, please, if you have it.”

The crowd whooped. “You got him!” yelled one of the boat builders. “That’s a first.”

Fisher’s face colored. But then he turned to the crowd and inclined his head in defeat. “What can I say? The woman knows her mind.”



* * *



The rest of our time at The Island was uneventful. Fisher was busy with other customers. Victoria’s wine disappeared and she declined a refill, leaving us with no particular reason to stay. I had some explanations to give, I knew, and no way left to avoid them.

We rode the elevator up to the top floor, the fragrance of citrus and fir surrounding us. “I’m sorry,” I said again. “I should have told you where I was going.”

“All women are allowed to have a few secrets,” she said, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I was confused about many things right then, but one thing I knew—she was the only parent I had left.

We walked down the hall, and she put her key in the lock.

“Have you eaten?” she asked. She took my coat and hung it in the closet. “I bought a beautiful chèvre at the farmer’s market.”

“No salad?” I asked, an apology dressed in shared memory. She smiled.

“It looked too good to pass up,” she said.

She went into the kitchen. I could hear her opening cupboards, the crinkle of plastic as she pulled crackers out of a box. She returned to the living room, setting down a tray containing a round serving plate and two glasses of wine. She handed me one with a small smile.

“So tell me all about him,” she said as she sat down, pulled her legs up underneath her.

“We met in school,” I said.

She nodded. “But who is he, really? I mean, what makes him a boy you’d follow all the way to the city?” Her eyes held that same curiosity I remembered from that first time we’d gone to the pink sunrise store, and she’d asked me what I thought about the scent. It made me realize how much I wanted to tell someone about Fisher, how much I wanted to let a beautiful secret out into the world for once.

“You saw how he is,” I said. “He sees everything. His father was tough—is tough, that’s why he’s here—but he’s better than that. He’s special.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I said, and I could hear how much I meant it.

She looked at me, nodded. “That’s how I felt about your father, too.”

She shifted position on the couch and gave me a knowing smile. “So, can I assume Fisher is the reason you’re so late with my car manufacturer fragrance?”

“No,” I said, caught off guard. “He isn’t. I just…” I shook my head, unable to explain.

She spread cheese on a water cracker, giving me time.

“We all get blocked now and then,” she said when I didn’t continue. She handed me the cracker. “You’ve been working so hard. It makes sense.”

Why was she being so nice? I’d lied to her, put her in a bad position with the car people. I’d seen how she’d punished employees for far less. Maybe it was because I was her daughter. Maybe she really did love me.

“Yes,” I said, grateful for the understanding.



* * *



An hour later, the plate of crackers and cheese was empty, as was my glass of wine. We’d found our way into a discussion of car manufacturers after all, and I’d told her the ideas I was working on before everything fell apart.

“You see?” Victoria said. “You’ve got more than you give yourself credit for.”

I didn’t tell her that the concepts I was giving her were so old they tasted like dust in my mouth. Maybe she already suspected as much—generally when Victoria was listening to my ideas, I could almost see her writing notes in her head. Now she was just listening, until I finally ran out of things to say.

“You know,” she said, “I’d really like to get to know Fisher better. Let me take the two of you out to dinner.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “He works most nights.” I looked around me at Victoria’s gloriously tall windows, the gleaming wood floors. I thought of the contrast with Fisher’s boat, with its peeling paint and cans of food.

“Come on,” Victoria said. “I know just the place.”

Maybe if I tried hard enough, I thought, I could bring Fisher and my mother together, balance two disparate scents into a new fragrance. It’s what I did. At least, what I used to do.

“Okay,” I said. “Let me talk to Fisher.”



* * *



“Why would she want to do that?” Fisher asked, the next day at the bar. “She doesn’t like me.”

“Fisher,” I said. “She just wants to get to know you.”

“I was right about her drink, you know,” he said, lining up the bottles on the shelves with their labels out, getting ready for the evening crowd.

I avoided his comment. “She’s been great about all this.”

“Of course she has. She’s your mother.” It didn’t sound quite so nice when he said it.