Monday morning, with Olivia sleeping in at the house on her unplanned third day in town, Ruth debated whether or not to go to the mosaic class. She could have run out to get breakfast, then helped Liv hobble down to the table, and they could have tried to talk once again. But she hated to break a commitment, her lifelong motto being something along the lines of “Showing up is half the battle.” She was still trying to figure out what the other half was.
As with her first visit to the Beach Rose Inn, she was met by Molly, the chocolate Lab. But unlike the morning of her bumpy landing into town, she was not alone climbing the porch steps. The other mosaic-class students were arriving and patiently waiting for Amelia to show them into the art studio. Ruth looked around but did not see Elise Douglas.
Amelia appeared, dressed in one of her signature flowing dresses, her white hair in a loose bun. Her tanned arms were adorned with heavy bangles. “This way, troops.”
They filed up the three flights of stairs to a large, sun-filled room on the top floor of the house. In the middle of the room was a wide rectangular table that could seat the entire class; at each seat, a sketch pad and colored pencils. The center of the table held bowls of pebbles, plates filled with colorful tiles, and a porcelain bowl that appeared to contain shards of shattered china. And everywhere, vibrant bursts of color: end tables tiled in cobalt blue, a full-length mirror framed with hundreds of pieces of china in a pattern of pale pink and moss green and crimson. Ruth understood the power of color; women had been tapping into it with makeup going back to the days of Cleopatra and before. There was a reason the cosmetic industry was a multibillion-dollar juggernaut, one of the few considered recession-proof. It was more than women wanting to look their best; splashes of color on their faces made them happier.
Amelia instructed the women to find seats at the table. Ruth moved to the far side, a habit from her days of conference rooms and seeking out the power position at the end. She couldn’t stop looking around the room, an endless visual feast. To her right, a mermaid statue shimmered with opaque green glass and bits of mirror. Beyond that, the walls were covered with floor-to-ceiling shelves, some housing colorful plastic bins, others holding towers of teacups and plates.
“The first step, and in some ways the most difficult, is deciding on your mosaic design. So today, we’re going to spend time brainstorming ideas and then sketching them out on paper.”
Ruth already knew what she wanted to create. From the first moment she’d walked into the Beach Rose Inn, she’d been awed by the stained-glass starfish mosaic in the center of the common room. She knew she could not replicate something so artful and elaborate, but she could at least use the starfish design as a starting point.
“But first, to give you some inspiration, we’ll talk a little about the materials for your mosaic.” Amelia indicated bowls brimming with glass, beads, and tiles and three saucers of small squares that looked like a cross between tile and glass. One was filled with dark blue, one with petal pink, one with bright orange. “Remember, anything can be used for a mosaic—buttons, shards of porcelain, glass, broken mirrors. That’s what makes it such a personal art form. If you find yourself bumping up against a limit to your piece, we will push through.”
Ruth was all for pushing through limits. And she missed working with her hands. In the early days of her company, she’d mixed ingredients in the stockpots, poured them into molds, boxed the final product in its packaging. As the company grew, she had less and less time for that. And there was less need for her to be that involved. Production was outsourced. She became the front person, the big-picture person. Her days were filled with meetings and travel. Her role changed, but she loved the new challenges just as much. Anything was better than her current role: nothing.
Amelia peered over her shoulder. “How’s it coming along?”
“Slowly.”
“A starfish! My favorite,” Amelia said.
“The one you have in the entrance of the house inspired me.”
With a wistful look on her face, Amelia said, “My late wife made that. It gives me great comfort. A starfish represents renewal and regeneration.”
“Oh,” Ruth said. “That’s so lovely.”
“Did you know a starfish can regrow lost limbs?”
“I did not,” Ruth said.
Amelia squatted down so they were eye level. “By the way, Elise told me what a help you’ve been with the baby. Please know how much it’s appreciated.”
Ruth felt warmed by the comment. With her own mother gone, she’d forgotten what it was like to feel maternal approval from someone. It was comforting and gave her the sense of being less alone.
“I heard your daughter decided to visit after all.”
“Yes.” Ruth smiled. “Although she wasn’t thrilled with my little white lie.”
“You mean your exaggeration,” Amelia said with a wink. “Well, however it came to be, I’m happy to hear your nest is full. Rachel and Luke are having a few people over for dinner at their house tonight. We’d love it if you and your daughter could come.”
Ruth’s impulse was to decline. But the thought of another evening alone with Olivia, the uncomfortable silences and, worse, recrimination, made the invitation very appealing. Olivia could rest in her room if she wanted, but Ruth was going out. “I can’t speak for Olivia, but I will be there,” she said.
“Oh, tell your daughter I insist,” Amelia said. “See you tonight.”
Elise maneuvered the baby stroller onto the sidewalk and latched the fence gate behind her. If she hurried, she could still catch the last half of the mosaic class.
“I thought you rented out this house for the summer.”
She turned at the sound of the familiar gravelly voice behind her and found Bianca standing on the sidewalk.
“Oh, hi, Bianca. What are you doing here?”
“I keep an eye on my daughter’s house.” Bianca wrinkled up her face with a glance at the stroller and crossed her arms. “Whose baby is that?”
I keep an eye on my daughter’s house. Had Bianca been the one to call the police on them? “This baby is none of your business,” Elise said.
“Well, here’s something that is my business. It’s bad enough that you two rented my daughter’s house to that horrid summer person, but to think of you selling it to her—”
Elise was in no mood for this. “First of all, Bianca, it’s not your daughter’s house. It’s Fern’s and my house now. Second of all, we are not selling. It’s just a summer rental.”
Bianca made a noise, an exasperated harrumph sound. “That’s not what I heard.”
“Well, maybe you should stop listening to rumors.”
“No, I mean I literally heard Fern talking to that woman about selling the house. The other day, when I was in the shop. That woman said she was very interested. And Fern said it was an interesting idea. Since it was all so interesting, I’m surprised you don’t know about it.”
In the early-morning heat, Elise felt her body grow cold. But she would not give Bianca the satisfaction of reacting. She was a gossip and a pot-stirrer. She had to keep her eye on the important thing. She pulled the hood lower to cover Mira’s face.
“Always a joy chatting with you, Bianca,” she said. “Now I need to get going.”
Olivia felt like she was eighty years old.
It took her five minutes just to ease out of bed. She walked to the bathroom bent so far over she didn’t have to lean any farther down to rinse after brushing her teeth.
After popping two Advil, she sent off a quick e-mail to Dakota. There was no way she was going to make it into the office tomorrow morning. She’d be lucky to be on the road in time to go to sleep in her apartment.
It was tempting to crawl back under the covers, but she knew she couldn’t give in to the impulse not to move around. It was probably a good idea to walk to one of the bookstores and try to find a copy of the back-pain book. Just repeating the mantra I’m fine, I know this isn’t real wasn’t helping.
After a ten-minute, snail-paced odyssey to the kitchen, Olivia made coffee and settled at the table with her phone. A white slip of paper was tucked under a bowl of fruit. Her mother had left her a handwritten note. A note! I mean, ever hear of texting? She knew her mother was making one of her not-so-subtle points: Get your head out of your phone.
Good morning. I hope you’re feeling better. I’m at an art class and will be home at around eleven if you want to get brunch together. If not, there’s food in the fridge. Love, Mom
Nothing said retirement like a Monday-morning art class, Olivia thought. God, she was so happy that was far in her future. She had decades of her career in front of her. And she couldn’t wait to get back to it.
She scrolled through her phone, checking all of her clients’ accounts. A voice-mail reminder window popped up on her home screen. She owed her dad a phone call.
“Hey there,” he said, answering on the first ring. “Are you on the road?”
“No, I’m not. You won’t believe this, but my back totally went out. I can’t drive today.”
“I do believe it,” her father said. “You’re stressed.”
“Yeah. Stressed and trapped.”
“Don’t think of it like that. You’ll only make things worse. How’s your mother?”
“Well, as I told you, she’s fine. At an art class right now, apparently.”
“An art class?”
“Yeah. It’s the new, improved, chilled-out Ruth Cooperman. Just a few decades too late.”
Olivia was interrupted by knocking on the back door. “Dad, I have to run.” Or walk very slowly and carefully with determination. “I’ll call you when I’m back in the city tomorrow night. Love you.”
Olivia eased herself out of the chair and inched to the door. She peered out the window and saw a young brunette in a Princeton T-shirt and frayed denim shorts.
“Can I help you?” she said once she’d opened the door.
“Is Elise here?” She seemed more a girl than a woman, though realistically she might have been any age from eighteen to twenty-five. It was tough to tell. Olivia found that the older she got, the more difficult it was to determine the age of other people.
“No, she left for her tea store,” Olivia said.
“Really? My brother said she was here.”
Her brother? “Marco?”
The girl nodded and walked right past her, into the house, without hesitation. “That’s so frustrating,” the girl said. “I could have sworn he said he was just here and he saw her.”
“I mean, he was here yesterday. If that’s what you’re thinking of.”
The girl shook her head and declared, “I hate this town.”
Now she had Olivia’s full attention. “You do?”
The girl turned to her. “I’m sorry. I’m Jaci. And this isn’t your problem. Are you…what’s the deal? You live here for the summer?”
“My mother is renting this house.” She introduced herself. “I’m Olivia, Ruth’s daughter. I’m just here for the weekend. Well, and today. For what it’s worth, Provincetown seems like a nice enough place.”
“That’s because you didn’t grow up here,” Jaci said. “Everyone is in everyone’s business, and my family is trying to run my entire life.”
“Everyone has issues with family,” Olivia said.
Oh, things had gone so off the rails yesterday. Olivia didn’t think she was at all wrong with her analysis regarding Ruth’s odd willingness to take care of that baby. But the expression on her mother’s face! Like Olivia had slapped her. It would have been so much easier if she’d been able to just drive off into the proverbial sunset—or midmorning, as it happened—and have the last word, smug in the knowledge that her mother would never change and that she was justified in having no relationship with her. But then her own body betrayed her.
“I try to avoid my mother most of the time, if that’s any consolation,” Olivia said to the girl.
“It’s not,” Jaci said.
Olivia decided she liked her. “Well, I was just about to head over to the bookstore. I’d say you could stay and hang out if you’re waiting for Elise, but it’s really not my place.”
“Where do you live?” Jaci asked.
“New York City.”
“I love the city! I went for the first time last fall, a day trip with my roommate to see a movie at the Angelika. We ended up having so much fun walking around, we never even saw the film. Seriously, it’s my dream to live there after college. What do you do?”
Olivia told her about HotFeed, and Jaci oohed and aahed about the clients and Olivia’s job. “So what are you doing here?” Jaci said. “If that were my life, I wouldn’t leave for a day. Not for a minute.”
Olivia felt a compulsion to check her phone. Something nagged at her. It was the fact that her phone was oddly quiet for a Monday. It just means everything is running smoothly, she told herself. She shouldn’t need a million beeps and buzzes to feel that everything was okay in her universe. That’s why people went to places like Provincetown, right? To let go of all that for a few days.
“You must be so bored,” Jaci said.
Finally, someone who was on her wavelength. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” Olivia said.
“Are you coming to the party tonight? Please say yes. I want to hear all about your job, and New York, and just…everything!”
A party might be a good idea. A party could be just the distraction she needed to feel better. Either way, one more night, that was it; no matter what condition she was in tomorrow, she was back on the road. By Wednesday, she’d be sitting behind her desk.
And everything would be back to normal.