The days were growing ever longer and the waves ever larger, much to the delight of the surfing population, which had swelled in the last week due to the annual European Surf Festival in Biarritz. Even Jean was willing to adapt to Spanish dining hours this time of year. Dinner was at ten o’clock on the balcony tonight. Lily and Magdali and her daughter joined us á table, and we enjoyed Magdali’s culinary genius of Merlu Beurre Citronné et Belle de Fontenay pomme de terres avec Piments d’Espelete—grilled hake fish with butter and lemon and very elegant potatoes with a dab of Basque peppers. I’d recently been informed by the patron of the Panier de Luz vegetable and fruit market in Saint-Jean-de-Luz that of course there were more than thirty types of potatoes. Who knew? It was just too bad the meal ended with my less than elegant strawberry shortcake. I’d never figure out French ovens and centigrade conversions.
We moved into the salon when the evening grew cool. Youssef joined the group for an epic game of gin rummy and poker, taught by Lily. I watched the happy group as I sat at an ancient desk, writing emails, running numbers, and trying to figure out ideas on how to raise funds.
The idea of the bed-and-breakfast I’d all but given up. Tonight’s attempt at strawberry shortcake, followed by plumbing problems in the main-floor bathroom, were all the proof I needed that it was a bad idea. At least the realtor in Darien had said the open house had gone well and there was a potential buyer. I’d go back to the States to sell everything in the house worth anything, haul the rest to the dump, and ship Lily’s and my personal effects.
Leaving behind my practice would be another matter altogether. It had been one thing to be absent for six weeks; it was another to shut it down. And I’d face the challenge of opening a new practice here. How many French men and women were going to want to unload their burdens to an American with poor vocabulary and no French license, and no way to collect government health insurance? The mayor would probably shut me down in less than a week. And did I want to practice anymore? Did I even have a choice? As far as I could see, the only things I could do were become an English tutor, a nanny, or a really bad gardener. And I was willing to do it all now. I couldn’t afford to wait on repairing Madeleine Marie. Worse, I was still short two hundred thousand to pay off my uncle and get him out of all our lives.
I looked at Lily, her eyes shining above the cards she held in her hands. And none of it mattered. I would learn how to plaster, install plumbing, and put down a new roof myself if that’s what it would take to keep our new old family together.
A sort of peace had invaded without fanfare or notice. I’d always thought during the struggle of my marriage that after the long-dreamed plan to divorce was realized and Lily settled in college, I’d finally float about my days filled with happiness. It had taken a lot longer to accept that emptiness would be the new normal post divorce and post Lily’s departure to boarding school. And as life does, just when I’d accepted—no, embraced—emptiness, peace and contentment had swooped in. It was just all so surprising. And yet, I feared there was no way to sustain it. I was going to disappoint her and my grandfather unless I worked day and night, and even then there was a good chance I’d fail.
There was no way around it if I couldn’t raise enough money. And I couldn’t invest a euro in the villa without paying off my uncle first, for he would drag us to court the minute Jean died, to protect his share, probably suggesting my grandfather hadn’t been in his right mind when he’d decided to leave me or Lily the lawful 25 percent. Having to sell the villa would devastate Lily. There was just no way out. No immediate failsafe solution. But I knew the next steps. It was time to live paycheck to paycheck as I’d done in my twenties.
I chose a book from the shelves and strolled to the French doors leading to the balcony to take in the beauty of the waning light on the water. Orange and gold melded with black sea, and the ever-present surfers ebbed and flowed just like the tide.
It still hadn’t rained. It had now been more than two weeks, and there was a stillness to the air that was almost eerie. The hydrangeas were wilting, and the villagers’ moods were elevated just like the old barometer on the mantle. I spied a little round creature speeding along the perimeter of the flower beds bordering the pea gravel below.
It was probably a rat. An oddly fat one at that. Lovely. One more thing to add to the list: check for signs of rats in the house. Well, it certainly was a noisy, bumbling thing.
It was ten thirty and there was another half hour before the weekly Skype sessions would begin. At least I’d gotten Max to agree on an earlier time frame. Apparently, I had the yoga teacher, Heather, who was now his fiancée, to thank. My East Coast Skype clients were dropping appointments left and right. Apparently, only Californians embraced therapy on a screen. But life was chugging on for all of them—sometimes for the better and sometimes for the worse.
Gillian St. James had decided to stop therapy as she was now wedded to liar and cheat number three. She just wasn’t ready to change, and I understood and had seen it hundreds of times before. Anne Bishop had found a job and was taking online courses toward an MBA. She had not flamed out. Now I was down two weekly clients from the original eight. Something more to worry about.
Tomorrow I’d arranged to meet with the banker at Barclays to discuss a loan, something impossibly difficult to obtain per Phillip. Then there was a meeting with Jojo to put a lid on his dream. Sotheby’s would have to wait. There was a dinner party to plan for tomorrow. And I was determined that everyone have an extraordinary time.
Settling into the chaise longue under the stars on the terrace, I opened the book, turned on the mini book light, and, despite all my worries, truly relaxed and tuned out for the first time in almost twenty years.
A short while later, I glanced at my watch and jumped out of the cozy chair. I was late. For Max. Oh God! I ran past the card players to take the stairs to my bedroom.
And there was Lily. Sitting at my desk in the corner, Skyping with . . . Max. And Heather, the infamous yoga instructor.
“Lily!”
“Yes, Mom?”
“Um, what are you doing?”
“Hey, she’s great, Katie-girl,” Max said. “Maybe I should hire her instead of you. She knows a good deal when she hears it, isn’t that right, Lily?”
“You’re funny,” she replied with a giggle.
“Max,” I said, walking toward my desk and indicating silently to Lily that I’d like my chair. “You are not allowed to talk to my daughter. Got it?”
“Mom! How rude.”
“Max? Got it?” I repeated.
“That overprotective-mom thing you’ve got going, Kate, is something else. I’ve never seen this side of you.”
“I see it all the time,” Lily inserted.
“Indeed,” I replied. “Lily, I need some privacy.”
“Mom, I want to see what you do,” she said. “Can I stay if he allows it?”
“No,” I said.
“Come on, Katie-girl,” Max whined. “It’s two against one. Actually, Heather, would you back me up here?”
Of course she would.
“So, Lily here was just telling me that you’ve decided to stay in France permanently. That’s a real kick in the pants.
“What else did she say?” I glared at my daughter, who giggled.
“Lily also told me that the place is falling apart and that you don’t know how you’re going to come up with the funds to fix it.”
“I’m surprised she didn’t tell you about all our other family problems.” I shot her a glance and she smiled.
“She did. Nasty piece of work that uncle of yours. Sounds like a narcissistic prick, if you ask me. Pardon my language, Lily.”
It took one to know one.
“So,” Max interrupted, “how you going to raise that million you need?”
“What?” I glanced at Lily.
She shrugged her shoulders with as much innocence as a second grader during First Communion.
“I’m sorry, Max, but there must be some sort of misunderstanding. First, I don’t need to raise a million dollars. And second—”
“Of course you need a million. A half million to pay off that viper of an uncle. And another half million to fix the roof and a hell of a lot more, if Lily’s calculations are right.”
And suddenly, déjà vu entered the room like a ghost on a mission. It was Antoinette all over again in the form of Lily. Wheedling and cajoling to have others do her bidding. I guessed I’d have to wait a generation for my more reserved genes to kick in with her children.
Who would be born here?
“I give up,” I said, laughing. “What’s the difference—half a million to a million. It’s like Monopoly money at this point.”
“Okay, then. How much do you have to invest?”
Lily was whispering, “Do it, Mom. Do it.”
I gave her the evil eye. “Max, I can’t afford to lose a penny. And the payout would probably be too late anyway.”
“Limerack is a guaranteed win.”
“There are no guarantees in life, Max.”
“Sure there are,” he insisted. “Why don’t you ask Heather’s advice. She has a stock portfolio rivaling mine.”
That woke me up.
“The studios pay me a fortune to get their stars in shape each season,” she said with a giggle.
“Heather?” What did I have to lose at this point?
“Yes, Kate?”
“Do you have any advice for me?”
“Absolutely. Invest in Limerack. Oh, and, um . . .” “Yes?”
“Your daughter and I think you should find a boyfriend.”
I looked at Lily and she smiled.
“Well, that’s just a great idea,” I said in a tone that suggested I thought the exact opposite.
“Mom,” Lily said, “you’re not getting any younger. And I saw the way that hot surfer looked at you at the beach today. I think you should date Russ.”
“I am not going out with a half-Aussie, half-Danish vagabond half my age,” I retorted. “And what daughter wants their mother dating anyway? Stepparents are evil. Haven’t you seen enough Disney stories to have that burned in your brain?”
“I didn’t say anything about a stepfather,” she replied.
Max’s hand was back where it didn’t belong. “Katie-girl, live a little. Your daughter just gave you permission to get laid.”
“Okay, that’s it,” I said. “Session over. I’ll see you, Max, and you alone, next week, same time.” My finger was poised over the mouse.
Three people howled nooooo in unison.
“Okay, look,” Max began again, “just give me twenty-five grand. Fifty if you can, and I’ll run it up as far and as fast as I can.”
I looked at the three inmates in this loony bin and capitulated. Sort of. “Twenty. And that’s as far as I’ll go. And if you lose it, I might ask you to double your payments for a while.”
His eyes widened with a deal on the table. “Make it twenty-five and I’ll match it. But you gotta give me free therapy for . . . well, let’s say for five years.”
“Three.”
It was if I’d agreed to finance his latest film. “Thatta girl. I’m so proud of you that I’ll do what you’ve always suggested.”
“And what is that, Max?”
“Why, show a little empathy.” He looked at Heather with an expression I’d never ever seen in his jaded eyes. “My darling Heather, what can I do to make you happy, sweetheart? Wanna go shopping on Rodeo?”
“Nope,” she said. “Let’s go take Bobo for a run on the beach. Say bye-bye, Kate, honey bear.”
“Bye-bye, Kate, honey bear.”
The couple nuzzled, and then froze as the call ended.
Maybe I’d been wrong about Max. Maybe he wasn’t the misogynistic narcissist I’d always pegged him to be. Maybe he just hadn’t met the right person—the right fit. Then again, Heather would be most men’s dream come true. She could be a chameleon. And I was getting too jaded.
“You know, Mom,” Lily said. “This is a pretty cool job. Way more fun than I thought. I think I could be pretty good at it if I decided to make this a career. How much do you charge an hour?”
The fun house just kept moving deeper into crazy town.
And I loved it.
Whispers from the Garden . . .
Yowler had disappeared. It had been three nights, and panic was setting in. Panic was not an emotion I was used to having more than a minute or two when in danger. It was definitely something I didn’t like. Even Yowler’s pet, that old Two-Legged, was tired of calling for her. Her voice had grown thready and sad. Then again, it took forever for her to call Yowler, what with that ridiculous string of names she had given her.
Still. A thousand disasters could have befallen Yowler. Maybe that horrible Barker she called a Boxer had got her next door. Or, more likely, the other Boxer, still on the loose, had eaten her. I shivered. Maybe she’d gotten stuck in a tree. She had said that had happened once before. I told her that no matter how tasty the Wing Beaters were, she should just stay out of the trees. But she never listened to me.
I could feel the saliva rising on my tongue, only I couldn’t exactly remember her scent anymore.
Oh, I didn’t like this feeling.
What was this feeling?
“Miss me?”
I turned to find her big, round golden eyes watching me from under the pink blooms that were drooping from the dry spell.
“Oh, Yowler, where did you go?”
“Miss me?” she repeated.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, did you wish I was here while I was gone?”
“Yes, exactly that,” I said, and breathed in her lovely, poignant scent. “I thought you might be dead.”
Her whiskers fluttered, and she stretched out a back leg and started to lick herself in a most undignified manner as usual. But I didn’t say anything because I was just so happy to see her. Yes, this was happiness. Almost—no—better than a slew of little Slugs gleaming in the moonlight.
“I went on a little adventure,” she said. “You might call it a retreat. Or a semester abroad. Whatever. You know what I mean, right? Hedgehogs do that, don’t they?”
“You mean hibernate? Yes. I live to hibernate.”
“No!” She sounded annoyed. “It’s the complete opposite. It’s when you succumb to the call of wildness. You explore. Find new hunting grounds, meet others of your species to, ahem, well, mate, although I must admit that I’ve never, ever enjoyed it. I mean, really? Who likes to have some idiot sinking their claws and teeth into your neck and doing something completely embarrassing? Not me, I tell you. And then, ten weeks later, your figure is gone, and a litter of demanding kittens appear and they almost never look like me.”
“So where did you go?” I asked again, desperate to change the subject.
“Just over a few hills and valleys. Saw a horse or two. You know the horses are a little different in the mountains—much shorter, and sturdier.”
I was so happy to see her, but I wanted to understand. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going away for a while?”
“You’re not going to start that, are you? Trying to keep a collar on me? If you do, it’s going to get tedious fast,” she said. “Besides, you should never give up your power like that.”
“Power? I don’t have any power. I don’t think I even want any power.”
“Don’t I know it,” she continued. “But, Quilly, you need to know that now that you’re out in the world, relationships between creatures are always under the control of those who care the least.”
“Well, I don’t want to care the least. I’ve been alone so long that I like the idea of caring the most. And where I come from everyone pretends not to care at all.”
She made a strange tsk-tsking noise. “You’ve got to get your game on.”
“Why?”
“Well, what are you going to do if I die or leave and never come back?”
“Go into hibernation early. Probably. Or just focus on Slugs and hiding. It’s who I am.”
“Forget I said a thing,” she muttered. “It’s almost impossible to explain things to you sometimes.”
“That’s okay. I don’t need you to explain things. I just don’t like it when you leave for a long time and not tell me you’re going.”
“Where did you think I’d gone?”
“I thought the Barkers had got you. Or maybe one of those big, smelly, loud things the Two-Leggeds ride around in.”
“You should never assume anything, Quilly.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a waste of time and energy. You’ll never know what’s going on in someone else’s mind unless you find the courage to ask them. And you can’t afford to waste any time or energy given your average life span.”
“What!? How long am I going to live?” I was afraid I’d started to whimper.
“Forget I said anything.”
Yowler got a little closer and I felt her lovely, long orange tail curl around me.
“Could you please come a little closer, Yowler? I guess you’re right. It was that missing thing that was happening.”
“All right,” she said inching closer. “But don’t expect me to lick you or anything. I’m not a fool. I don’t make mistakes twice. I only have six and a half lives left and I don’t intend to lose one with you.”
“Oh,” I said, wondering how many lives I had. A dark sense of time and space enveloped me.
“Now, don’t take it personally,” Yowler said with a meow. “Never take anything personally.”
“Is that a waste of time too?”
“Exactly,” she said. “You might not follow directions well, but you’re a fast learner.”
I heard a funny sound emanating from her throat. It was sort of like the drone of the scary machine that clipped the grass—only much softer. “What’s that sound?”
“Oh, nothing,” she said, and sounded a trifle embarrassed. I knew that feeling well.
“It’s okay, Yowler. I won’t take it personally and I won’t assume anything. So I guess I just have to be courageous and ask you again. What’s that sound?”
“I’m purring, Quilly. I can’t really control it. It just means I sort of, kind of, like you.” She coughed. “For now, at least. I might change my mind. You never know.”
It took a while for all of this to sink in. But finally I understood. “Whose got the power now? I’ll tell you who. I do!”
“Oh, shut up,” she said.
“But you like me.”
“Don’t get your quills in a twist, will you? I knew I shouldn’t have said a thing.”
I could see a sudden wild swirl of the plane tree branches silhouetted in the moonlight. “Yowler?”
“Yes, Quilly?”
“I like you too. You can have the power back. I don’t need it.”
A crack of sound and light rolled down to earth from the night sky, and Yowler’s lovely purring stopped.
“Come on, you,” she said. “Time to go into hiding. I knew this was coming and it’s going to be the worst one in many, many moons.”
I didn’t need her to tell me that. I could smell it and feel it in my bones. I ran as fast as my legs would go.
“Can’t you go any faster?”
“No,” I moaned.
She dashed to an ancient boxwood at the front near the gate and waited for me to catch up. “Okay, we’ve got to get to that cave on the cliff face. But I found a shortcut for you. Just please tell me you’re not claustrophobic.”
“I don’t know what that is, but I promise not to be if that’s the only way.”
She crouched on her hindquarters and began madly digging. Yowler stopped and walked behind me. “Okay, then. Down the hatch.”
“What?”
“Go down that hole. I promise you’ll be safe.”
“You just told me not to make any assumptions.”
“I also said not to take anything personally. So don’t take this the wrong way.” With that she shoved me with a swipe of her paw. And we both yowled. She then sang out, “Meet you on the dark side!”
I fell and fell and fell some more.