CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

 

Late in the afternoon, I have Xavier drop me off in front of Deep Brew C. It's just rained, and a cool, fishy-smelling breeze gives me a little chill as the setting sun filters through the remaining clouds, dipping behind the hills and casting the downtown area in shadow.

DBC is quiet, with only a smattering of locals now that the vacationers have gone home. It gets even quieter when the patrons spot me—ominously so, like a saloon in an old Western when the mysterious stranger walks in. The lump in my stomach that appeared as soon as I finished today's TV spot grows bigger and heavier.

"Hi, all," I say, nodding at my friends and neighbors. Tommy's pulling beers and doesn't—or won't—catch my eye. "How's Abbott's Bay this evening?"

My friends and neighbors pointedly turn back to their drinks.

"Tommy." I'm surprised I manage to keep my voice steady as I lean on the bar. He finally glances over at me. "Is Conn in?"

After a moment's hesitation, he answers, "He's at home. Harvey's not doing too well."

That's all it takes for me to hurry to Conn's house, dodging puddles, my arms wrapped tightly around my torso to fend off the evening chill. I peek in the window before opening the door. He's in the leather recliner, staring out the picture window at the fading light. When I let myself in he looks over but doesn't get up.

"Hey," I say softly.

"You're back."

"Yep." Suddenly I feel awkward and out of place in his house, in his presence. "I heard there's something wrong with Harvey. Is he going to be okay?"

The cat doesn't look unwell right now. He's splayed across his owner's thighs, twisting this way and that to get comfortable while trying to maximize the belly massage Conn's absently giving him.

"We had a little scare."

I want to get closer and see the cat for myself, but the vibe from Conn is keeping me halfway across the room. "What happened?"

"He'll be all right. I tried some new cat food because he's getting pickier, and it wreaked havoc with his stomach. The vet gave him an IV and said he needs to take it easy and eat 'senior' cat food."

"Oh, good. I mean, that the problem is only his food."

"Uh-huh."

More silence. The vibe gets heavier, and I know it's not only because Conn is worried about Harvey. I knew this was coming—I've just been trying to ignore it all day.

"Conn…" I start, but he cuts me off.

"We saw your interview." His words are conversational. His tone is not.

"We?"

"A lot of the town came to the restaurant on their lunch break to watch the show."

I swallow heavily and sit on the caved-in couch, nerves keeping me on the edge of the cushion. "Well, that was nice."

"Mm." He continues to pet Harvey, giving the cat his full attention. I get the feeling he doesn't want to look at me. "It was interesting."

"It's been…harder than I thought."

Finally he looks up. He must tense up as well, because Harvey shoots his owner a dirty look before slipping off his lap and stomping away. "You didn't seem to have a hard time telling stories about your clients."

Here we go. "I didn't name names."

"You didn't have to."

"Nobody outside of Abbott's Bay will know who I was talking about."

"But everyone in Abbott's Bay knows. You violated confidentiality."

"I don't have any promises of confidentiality!" That really stings. It reminds me of Trudy's attack, accusing me of being irresponsible because I'm not a licensed therapist.

Conn pushes to his feet and crosses to the kitchen to dish up some of Harvey's new cat food. "Yeah, well, maybe you should have thought of it sooner."

I know that look on his face—he's already judged me and found me lacking. Just like old times. My defenses go up immediately. Conn wasn't the one in a big corporate news setting, broiling under the set lights, surprise-attacked by the anchor I thought was starting to be my friend. Or at least a friendly acquaintance.

"Excuse me for helping people, and doing a decent job of it all summer, not to mention making the best of a stressful situation on live TV. It's not easy, you know."

 "Why do you do it, then?" When I don't answer, he fills in the blanks for me. "Because it's too tempting, right? Melanie Abbott, TV star. The next rung on the ladder, never mind if you step on your friends to get to it?"

"You're overreacting, and you're being cruel."

"Seems you know from cruel."

Now I'm on my feet as well, trembling with adrenaline. "You know, I don't need this right now. I just got back, I'm exhausted, and this is unfair. Come find me when you have something reasonable to say."

I try to storm out, but Conn throws himself in front of me, blocking my path to the door. "Look, Melanie. You hurt a lot of people who like you and look up to you. Laura especially. You should have seen her face. It was…" He shakes his head. "I don't care what was going on in that TV studio. It doesn't mean you get to make your friends the butt of a joke."

"I didn't—!"

"You did! And I saw the looks on their faces that proved it. It's like you brought out some…exaggerated version of your worst self or something. Lanie," he spits.

"Hey, Lanie wasn't my idea."

"Not the point. Viewers all across the country saw some heartless, catty woman getting some laughs at her clients' expense. And that's inexcusable."

"Whose side are you on?" I'm shouting now—something I never do. Well, if I do, it's usually when I'm arguing with Conn, and he's arguing back, but this isn't our usual bickering. This is mean. I'm furious that he'd condemn me like this.

"I'm on your side—more than anyone else in this town," he says. "But sometimes I have to tell you things you don't want to hear. This is one of those times. You hurt people today, all to make yourself look good." Then he gets very quiet. "Look…I love Melanie. But I don't even like Lanie."

Well. Welcome back to the world of Judgy Conn. It's been so long I'd almost forgotten what it was like. I should have known a month of heart-melting affection, hot sex, and bandying around the L-word wouldn't banish it for good.

He's wrong this time though, I tell myself as I march back up the road toward town. I did what I had to do, and I'll bet nobody thought anything of it, nobody was as hurt as badly as he says they were. I didn't say anything that wasn't true. The irony is Conn really hurt my feelings.

I need to see a friendly face, so I detour over to Hannah's instead of going straight home. She'll be able to give me a better perspective of people's reactions at the viewing party instead of Conn's gloom-and-doom reporting.

I knock, growing chilled again as I wait on her stoop. Nobody comes to the door. I try again. I think I can hear movement inside, but the door doesn't open. That's weird. After a third knock and calling Hannah's name, I lean over the railing and peek in her front window. It brings to mind my dad's potentially felonious behavior with the nude yoga tenant, but this is Hannah. She wouldn't call the police on me.

It might be a reflection on the glass as I move, but I could swear I see a flicker of light inside. A hint of dread trickles through me. What if did I hurt people, including Hannah, and she's avoiding me now? I accused her on air of not taking my advice to stop communicating with Marty, which was pretty mean, even though I credit her stubbornness with starting the business.

I pull out my cell phone and call hers. I can hear her ringtone coming from inside. Then it stops. Her voicemail greeting sounds in my ear, and I do my best to sound cheerful and not at all suspicious as I leave her a message.

"Hey, Hannah! I'm back from New York! Dying for some MooMoo's—want to get some before it closes for the season? Call me!"

I click off and hurry home, keeping my head down so I don't catch anyone's eye on the way. I turn off my phone, turn off my brain, and try not to think about my last disastrous TV appearance. I don't, however, delete it from my DVR unwatched. I make it almost forty-eight hours before I cave on Sunday afternoon.

It's awful. It's worse than I thought. No wonder everyone's avoiding me. I'd avoid me if I could. Suddenly there's nothing I want more than to go back in time and reject Jack's offer. My first instinct had been the correct one—I never should have gone on TV. This whole experience has been miserable from beginning to end—which, I decide, is now.

I text Jack, informing him I won't be continuing my segments on the NNN noon show. I expect him to be on the phone in an instant, no matter what country he's in today, demanding to know why I'm quitting, encouraging me to sign a new, extended contract, but my phone stays silent.

After three days hiding in my apartment, I run out of food, so I have to leave my self-imposed prison. I decide to go to the office. Work is always my refuge when I've screwed up royally in all other aspects of my life. I can bury myself in paperwork, pretend everything's normal, and not have to think about anything else.

Except Laura's there. After a moment of hesitation in the doorway, I charge toward my desk. Everyone's looking at me. I can feel it. Jason, Maude, even Eric the Red, who of course today—of all days—is not only in the office, but able to focus on things, like me. And Laura…I sneak a furtive peek. She's not looking at me, and somehow that's worse.

I change my mind and change direction, making a beeline for my father's office instead. I slink in, shut the door, and curl up on his couch without a word. He acts like he doesn't see me, which makes me wonder if he's angry with me as well.

Then he says, while still staring at his computer, "So my little girl's famous."

"For all the wrong reasons," I groan.

"Now, now. I hear any publicity is good publicity."

"Tell that to the residents of Abbott's Bay."

"True. It didn't play in Peoria."

"I have no idea what that means."

"It means," he says, finally swiveling his chair around to face me, "while most of the audience probably enjoyed your anecdotes as much as your interviewer did…who was that, again?"

"Trudy Helmet-Head."

"Stage name?"

"Something like that."

"Anyway, while the rest of America may have been entertained, your neighbors didn't take kindly to being outed on live TV."

"I helped all the people I talked about."

"Not Laura. Not yet."

"How do you hear all these things, old man?"

"I have my finger on the pulse of this town and you know it," he says with a wink. "I know things, my daughter. Many things."

I sit up and brush back my hair. "I've probably ruined your chances for re-election with all this…this…notoriety, haven't I?"

Dad joins me on the couch. "Oh, don't be silly." He puts his arm around me, and I rest my head on his shoulder. "You're not that important."

"Charles!" I swat at his chest, but he just holds me to him.

"As you're so quick to remind me, I'm running unopposed, I'm the incumbent, and people love me. I'm a shoo-in. Don't worry about me."

"Well, I do."

"Just…get yourself straight, all right?"

I think about Hannah hiding from me, the glares from my neighbors, and, worst of all, Conn's flinty eyes when he blasted me about my TV appearance. What if there's no coming back from this?

"How about you start with Laura?" Dad suggests, nodding toward the outer office. I follow his gaze, only to see the woman in question look up from her work, lock eyes with me, and…grab her things and rush out of the office.

I deserve this. "All right," I sigh. "One makeover, coming up. She'll be my biggest challenge and my greatest success."

"She doesn't want a makeover."

"She should." My father waits for me to locate my manners. "Sorry. I mean…she doesn't?"

"No. She needs someone to go with her to visit her grandmother, who's in a nursing home in Lowell. She's not doing so well, and Laura is finding it difficult to go by herself. Her grandmother raised her, and she's really emotional about this. She, well, needs a friend. For support."

"Oh."

I do believe I've made it to the final round of the Worst Person in the World contest.

 

*   *  *

 

After a restless night, I get up bright and early and head to work, solely to find Laura. She's not there—Maude tells me she's taken a day off—and isn't at home either. I try her cell, but she's not answering. She's always a ghost at the best of times. Now, when she wants to avoid me, she's patently invisible. I decide to check her favorite places around town…but I don't know what they are. The tea shop? She seems like a tea drinker. The yarn store? I assume she was the one who knitted that god-awful doggie hat, but I could be entirely wrong. What if she likes fencing, or paintball, and I just don't know it? Confounded, I stand in the middle of the street, hands on my hips, as I realize I don't know much about Laura at all.

I wonder if I should dare to enter Deep Brew C. Would Conn be there? Most likely. Would he throw me out? Not bodily, but his laser glare might cut me off at the knees. I have to chance it though.

The place is fairly busy for late morning. One of the local churches' prayer groups is taking up a pair of tables, exchanging pleasantries with a small but raucous knot of senior citizen ladies noshing on muffins, apparently fresh from their Zumba class, judging by their colorful workout gear. But no Laura. Then I notice a familiar face at a table in the back.

"Hey, Hannah." My voice is shaky.

She looks up, surprised, as does her companion—a pleasant-looking guy I recognize from the dozens of photos she's shown me over the past few months.

"You must be Marty."

He half rises from his chair and shakes the hand I hold out. "And you're Melanie. I've heard a lot about you."

"Likewise."

Average-looking, with a round face, overlong sideburns, and a shock of unruly brown hair, Marty Roberts would hardly stand out in a crowd. But Hannah looks at him like he's the most perfect man in the world, so I stop myself from writing him off as unremarkable. Superficial snap judgments have gotten me into a lot of trouble lately, after all.

"Hannah didn't tell me you were visiting. When did you get in?"

"Monday."

"May I sit?"

Hannah hesitates, but Marty gets up and brings over a chair from a nearby table. "Please join us. I'm really excited to finally be talking to the famous Melanie Abbott."

Marty realizes his poor choice of words but isn't sure how to recover.

"Famous, infamous," I demur with a smile. It's all awful, I want to add, but I don't.

"I got your message," Hannah says tentatively, turning to me with that deer-in-the-headlight look I haven't seen in a long time. "I was going to call you, but I've been a little—"

"Of course you've been busy, with Marty visiting. I understand. So, Marty," I venture gamely, feeling all-over awkward, "Are you going to take our Hannah back to Ohio with you now that the summer's over?"

"Well, that's the question. She really likes it here, and I can see why. It's a great town." He takes Hannah's hand again, rubbing his thumb along hers, gently. "But it's up to her." An entire conversation is exchanged in their looks, their smiles, and I start to understand what Hannah's been on about all summer.

"I'll go wherever Marty is," Hannah says.

Her bags are probably already packed, and it hurts my heart. People are always leaving. I thought I was used to it. I'm not.

Marty says to Hannah, "It doesn't have to be Ohio, you know. You can pick the place. There are jobs for me everywhere these days."

"What do you do?" I ask him, desperate to get out of my own head and make proper small talk.

"Organics. Right now I'm running a co-op, but I've done farm to table—"

"You're a farmer?"

"Distribution, mostly. I've got to admit, I'm really impressed with how many sustainable, zero-waste food places there are around here."

"This restaurant is one, did you know that?"

"This restaurant is what?"

I jump at the sound of Conn's voice behind me. It's not harsh, not cold—not like the last time I saw him, which is encouraging. I give him a wavering smile.

"Farm to table and sustainability," I tell him. "Marty here does…distribution of organic crops."

While Marty and Conn get acquainted, I look at Hannah and try to silently send her a message: I'm so sorry. I can't tell if she picks up on it or not. I interrupt the men's excited conversation about produce suppliers and co-ops and certified organic farms when I notice a duffel bag at Conn's feet.

"Going somewhere?"

"Yeah. I'm going back to Provincetown."

"More properties?"

"Taylor says a couple just came on the market I have to see. She's even got a meeting lined up with one seller's agent tomorrow. She's convinced this is the perfect place and I'm going to want to put in an offer right away."

God, our conversation sounds so stilted. It's excruciating. The only way out of this is through, but now is not the time to hash it out with him. So I say, "What about Harvey? Would you like me to check on him?"

"He's fine. I've got it covered." Belatedly, he adds, "Thanks anyway."

"Well then." I stand up, suddenly desperate for some air. "Drive safely." As I step away from the table, I kiss him on the cheek, and he lets me. So that's something. I even dare to make a joke. "Watch out for Taylor. She's got a thing for your ass." I wink at him, say goodbye to Marty and Hannah, and escape into the sunshine.