Page 51 of A Lot Like Lavender

“Or, sorry… it was my late husband’s ashes,” she amends, cringing at her sister’s distress. I’m learning quickly that nothing is ever straightforward or simple with these women. But gracious, is it entertaining. “We were scattering his remains today.”

Mrs. Cotten grows immediately softer, rushing towards Emory like an elderly but equally aggressive linebacker. “Oh, honey…” She pulls her into her arms—any remnant of my best friend surely transferring to the pineapple printed dress she’s wearing. “I knew you could never be guilty of such atrocious behavior. I had no idea this was happenin’ today. I would have brought you a casserole if I had, of course.”

“That’s so sweet, but not necessary,” Emory mumbles from where her face has been pressed into the older woman’s body.

“Hush. I’ll bring my funeral mac and cheese.”

“You really don’t have to. He’s been gone a long time.”

Mrs. Cotten pays her no mind, instead reciting her new grocery list while keeping Emory in her grasp. “Bacon… gouda… cheddar… I’ll need to get chives for the top, of course. And Michael, we’ll need to get that french butter you love so much. Eat it in bed, baby. It’ll make you right as rain.”

Emory sinks into her. “That does sound nice.”

It sounds awesome. And the fantasy my active imagination procures with the word combo ofBed,Bacon Mac and Cheese,andEmorymust surely be written across my face, because Jack punches my bicep without preamble and lookslike he’ll gladly aim his fist at my face if I don’t straighten up.

I mumble an apology and think about less titillating subject matter.

My best friend’s ashes dusted across my boots. The Cotten family’s wardrobe. Mrs. Cotten allowing her Pine-ness to kiss her straight on the mouth after licking what was likely remnants of a human from the grass.

“Your outfits look great,” Emory says, barely batting an eye at the mouth-to-mouth, pineapple party we’re witnessing. Mrs. Cotten abandons her princess and plants a wet one on her husband’s lips before responding.

“Aren’t we just the sweetest?!” she asks, holding her hands out to her husband and fur child. “I just love the zesty combinations you come up with, Emory. You have such a gift.”

And, of course, Emory made these. I hate that I’m annoyed and somehow all the more endeared to her. Do I think pets should wear clothes? Decidedly, no. But the woman dresses entire, weirdo families. It’s disturbing while being impossibly adorable.

“So, what are you two doing all the way out here?” I ask, probably with more entitled authority than I should. “It bein’ private property and all.”

“We were having our weekly picnic,” Mrs. Cotten replies, slipping her hand across her husband’s chest, forgetting all about the suspected drug ring they discovered or the memorial they intruded upon.

He winks at Jack and me. “Ya need to keep the romance alive, men. Never stop pursuin’.”

Jack nods, likely learning over time that less is more with the characters of Honey Hill. But also, Michael Cottenseems just as happy with his lot in life as can be, so I do the same. The man may be on to something.

“You have a weekly picnic here?” Dinah has finally returned to the land of the living, though she looks a bit green. “That’s lovely.”

“Oh yes! Emory invited us years ago to walk the grounds whenever we like. Lots of folks from town visit the farm throughout the week. It’s good walkin’ land. And lavender season… just as it all starts to bloom… is so romantic. My Michael takes his girls for a weekly walk and picnic here at Purple Pastures.Sometimes with a bottle of champagne,”she whispers like she’s telling us a dirty little secret. “Then it’s home for the evening to our hot tub andVeronica.”

I kneel down, holding out my hand to the dog. “She sure is a sweet girl.” Veronica puts her nose into my palm, happy with the attention.

“Not Veronica, the dog,” Emory explains.“Veronica Mars.”

“I don’t know what that means…”

“Hot tub!” Dinah shouts suddenly, like she’s won a round of BINGO. “Romance!”

Emory’s eyes widen. “I couldn’t…”

“You could. You should.” Her sister bounces on her toes, clapping her hands. “We will! Right, J?”

She slaps Jackson in the chest, who wraps his arm around his wife’s shoulder, pulls her close and nods, though I’m not sure he actually knows what they’re talking about.

“Course, Polly.” He gestures lightly to me. “The doc is in, too. Whatever you need, Em. We’ll make it happen.”

“I don’t know what we’re talking about.” I mean, I want to make it happen but am feeling more confused by the second. Especially when Emory and Dinah are cryingagain, hugging each other and throwing compliments back and forth.

“I’m so proud of you.”

“No, I’m proud ofyou. You’re so strong and so brave.”