The Sparrow Sisters by Ellen Herrick Page B

his right had been a Mercedes convertible.
    â€œI am, P,” Simon came around the counter and held out his arms. Sorrel’s face was a study in conflict. For a moment she thought Simon was going to embrace her, but he reached for the arrangement and hoisted it up. “Someone get the door,” he said as he sidled away. “Am I going to knock anything?”
    Henry pushed the door open and eased back from the flowers. “You’re fine,” he said.
    Simon nestled the big glass cylinder into the back seat and came around to the front. The car looked like some kind of parade float.
    â€œPatience?” he asked, pointing at her truck.
    â€œOh, am I in your way?” she asked.
    â€œCute, P,” Simon said. He turned to Henry. “The Sisters all pretend they don’t like me, but I know better.” Simon opened his car door, keeping his eyes on Patience’s truck.
    Patience swung into the cab, scattering sand and clamshells beside the sports car as she backed up. Her bumper came a bit too close to the Mercedes, and she grinned at Simon’s face.
    â€œYou’d better drive slowly, Simon, or the whole thing’ll be nothing but stems by the time you get home,” Sorrel said. She stood at the barn door, her arms crossed over her chest. Simon looked back at her with a nod. Henry saw that his eyes strayed to her bare feet. A smile twitched the corner of his mouth as he climbed in.
    â€œYou know, Sisters, you are both welcome at the party, and then you could see this thing in situ,” he said and looked at Henry. “The Sparrows are founders too. We invite them every year, and they never show.”
    Patience snorted as she climbed out of the truck and came to stand beside Henry.
    â€œSeriously, Patience, why don’t you accompany the good doctor? We haven’t had nearly enough gossip lately.”
    Henry waved his hand at Patience. “You don’t have to do that.”
    He couldn’t imagine how he could concentrate on the names and faces of current and possible patients if this woman stood beside him. Even now, he could feel her warmth; smell the hay-like scent of her sweat. He wondered if that was a good sign, the sweetness beneath the heat.
    â€œI’ll think about it,” Patience said. Sorrel’s eyes snapped to her sister. Simon drove off, and the three of them stood in silence listening to the evening settle.
    â€œAs if Charlotte Mayo would be caught dead socializing with the Sparrow Sisters,” Sorrel finally said, her voice low.
    â€œHa,” Patience said. “As if you would be caught dead mingling in the Mayo house.”
    Sorrel frowned, and Patience felt guilty
    â€œSorrel, I’m showing Dr. Carlyle around,” Patience said in a voice that dared her sister to ask any questions. But Sorrel was already turning back to the barn, separating the strands of her heavy braid until her black and white hair fell across her back in a fan.
    â€œI get the feeling that your sister and Simon have a history,” Henry said as he followed Patience into the reclaimed pasture. It was divided into dozens of plantings—gardens—each with a distinct character. Henry felt as if he were moving through the rooms of a great house.
    â€œWell, they should have a history. Sorrel is stubborn and Simon is stupid. He’s not so bad, not like his father, for instance. He was a real ass. Pushed his kids until one of them, Simon’s brother Howard, fell. He dropped out of school, went to L.A., took up cooking, and never came back. That is worse than insanity to the Mayos.” Patience turned to Henry. “That was the year before Simon came home from Harvard with Charlotte. I guess he was afraid to push his father back.”
    Patience walked through the rows of young box and round containers of chartreuse oakleaf hydrangeas. Henry followed, wondering at the billowing mounds of white and purple lilac and drifts of pale cherry