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SIOBHAN
Over the first few hours on Friday, I snapped photos of the Monroe children, the Carpenter family, and Mrs. Paxton’s two Havanese pups, then pitched my wedding services to a couple who “would really prefer a photographer with a videographer on staff.”
Yeah, that’s not me. Another one bites the dust...
Around two o’clock, facing another gaping hole in my schedule, I retrieved my snack plate and munched on celery and carrot sticks with hummus while staring at the business card on my corkboard. I surrendered to the numbers I’d avoided facing for months. With a sigh heavy with self-pity, I plucked out the pushpin—red, my code for urgent—and flipped the cardboard square through my fingers. My breath started coming in quick bursts, and my chest ached, but I picked up my cell and dialed the number before panic convinced me to change my mind again. I couldn’t procrastinate any longer.
When the pleasant voice on the other end greeted me, I raced to get the words out between inhales. “Umm...hi. May I speak to Bernard Devaux please?”
“May I ask who’s calling and what this is in reference to?”
I identified myself and added, “It’s regarding a property on Main Street in Snug Harbor. Camille Coffey was interested in acquiring rights to the lease.”
“Just a moment.”
While I waited on hold, I crossed my fingers I wasn’t too late, simultaneously praying I was. Conflicted, party of one, your table is ready.
After a few minutes of my bipolar wishing, a male voice intoned from the receiver, “This is Bernard Devaux. How can I help you?”
Seriously? Why did these guys have assistants who demanded all the details except my shoe size if they only planned to ask for the same details again when they got on the phone? I re-recited my spiel, this time with a lot less confidence.
“Ah, yes, Ms. Coffey’s boutique idea,” he replied. “Which property was yours?”
“Main Street. Snug Harbor.”
“Right.” I swear I could hear him doing mental gymnastics at the thought of the huge finder’s fee he might collect on the deal. “Hold on a second, Sharon. Let me pull up the offer.”
Oh, for the love of...
“It’s Siobhan,” I corrected.
“Right. One sec.”
Once again, I was placed on hold, and I shot up from my chair to pace the narrow space between my holiday setup and the desk. This was a mistake. For God’s sake, the man didn’t even remember my property, much less my name. And sure. Okay. Maybe that was egotistical. Still, I’d tossed and turned so many nights. I’d stared at his business card until I’d emblazoned the phone number into my brain. But for him, the entire transaction barely registered beyond the impatience of a stray thread on his fancy dress slacks.
I should hang up. I’d find the money somewhere.
Really? Where? Grow up, sunshine. You need this.
An audible click sounded through the receiver before my saner voice could continue chastising me. “Sharon? You there?”
I didn’t bother to correct him again. Resentment warred with desperation for control of my temper. I stopped pacing and sank into my chair with an inaudible sigh. “I’m here.”
“Great,” Bernard Devaux said with that same muffled enthusiasm I’d noted earlier. “I’ll...umm...have to speak with Ms. Coffey, make certain she’s still interested in that particular site. Are you sure you want me to contact her?”
In other words, Don’t make me call and bother her if this isn’t a done deal.
My heart thumped hard enough against my chest to break a rib, and I swallowed hard. “Absolutely.”
“All right then. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled. It’s a great space.”
I looked around my studio, as if memorizing every detail for the last time. “Yeah. It is.”
I said goodbye, disconnected, and burst into tears. So, naturally, that was when the front door alarm buzzed. I shook myself out of the self-pity stupor, using the mantra I’d developed in counseling. No time to cry. Get up and fight. Two deep inhales and exhales, a quick count to ten, and I managed to tether my blustery emotions into staid business demeanor. With a smile fixed in place, I sauntered to the front end, light and breezy—until I saw him standing there and stumbled over my own feet. On my way down to my knees, I grabbed onto the nearest sturdy object, a ladder-style bookshelf displaying photo frames, and my weight brought everything down with me. While I flailed to catch falling debris and protect my head at the same time, Jimmy pulled his hands from his jacket pockets, as if he could reach out and catch me from ten yards away.
“Whoa. Easy. Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Still kneeling on the floor, I gathered the scattered frames, inspecting each for damage before placing them back on the shelf. “Two visits in one week,” I remarked with open hostility. “What is it this time? Are the leaves on my trees falling onto your property? The plastic deer sneaking over at night to graze on your lawn?”
He grimaced and ran a hand over his thick hair. “I deserve that, I guess.” He shoved his fists in his pockets again. “Would it help if I said I’m sorry?”
“For what?” I got up on my haunches, step one to returning to a standing position.
“For what an ass I’ve been since I came home.”
His admission startled me so much I lost my balance and landed back on the floor near the shelf. The frames rattled, but stayed put this time. “What happened? Did three ghosts visit you in the night? Show you the error of your ways?”
He drew nearer and held out a hand to help me up. I surreptitiously checked his palm for a joy buzzer. Did they still make those things? Nana Thea had one years ago and for months, she tormented family, friends, and strangers by clasping their hands and giving them a jolt. Seeing no such device on Jimmy, I accepted his offer of assistance getting to my feet. The second we made contact, an electric charge zapped me, and I yanked back.
“Whoops. Sorry. Static,” he said.
“Uh-huh.” He kept his hand outstretched, but I waved him off. Once I was standing, I dusted off my jeans with my palms—not that I needed to. The action kept him from seeing how I trembled from the voltage of that one touch. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?”
His expression turned sheepish, and he shoved his hands in his pockets again. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he had a lucky rabbit’s foot he had to keep stroking. “Mostly to apologize, but also...”
I took a deep breath and braced for the verbal assault. “Also...?”
“I need you to drive me somewhere.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
He picked up one of the five-by-seven sterling frames and turned it around before replacing it on the shelf. “I’m having a minor procedure next Monday.”
I didn’t buy it for a second. Five hundred people in this town, and he chose me to take him to the doctor? No way. Not without an ulterior motive. I fisted my hands on my hips. “What kind of procedure?” I waited for the punchline, my skeletal structure stiff, my stance a perfect replication of Wonder Woman’s.
“Minor,” he repeated. “And nobody’s business but mine. The problem is the hospital won’t release me unless I have someone to drive me home afterwards. Cab won’t do. I need someone who knows me and knows where I live. Doc has my operation scheduled for first-thing in the morning so I’ll be at Morrison General at six a.m.”
“Six?” I swallowed hard. Crap. That meant getting up no later than five to allow time for a shower and coffee. I couldn’t possibly be ready to drive at that hour without both.
“I’m not asking you to go with me. I’ll take a cab there. But if you could come get me after it’s over so I can be discharged? Figure, around eight, eight-thirty? You just have to swoop into the outpatient surgery area, pick me up, drop me off at my house, and you’ll still be here before you open at nine.”
“How do you know I have to be here at nine?”
He smirked. “I live across the street. You leave your house every morning at 8:45 sharp. It’s not hard to do the math.”
Touché. “Okay. Why me? Why not ask your brother to pick you up?”
His expression sobered, and his forehead puckered with lines. “I trust you.”
“You. Trust. Me.” I had to say the words like shots from a nail gun—pop, pop, pop!—in the hope they’d permeate the wall of doubt in my head.
At last, his intense gaze steadied on my face. “Yeah. You’re reliable. And you can keep a secret better than anyone else in this town.”
Wow. There was a compliment I never expected I’d hear from him. “You don’t trust your brother?”
“Nope.” His lips tightened, and a small tic twitched in his cheek. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell him about this when you see him tonight.”
“H-how—?”
His quick hand wave cut me off in mid-question. “Never mind. Can you do it? Pick me up, I mean. And keep it a secret from Justin?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “Thanks. I appreciate that. I’ll see you at Morrison General on Monday around eight-thirty. ‘Til then, have fun with my brother tonight. Don’t be too nice to him, though. He needs to suffer a little. He’s had it easy his whole life.”
“Wha—?”
I couldn’t get any words out. Not that it mattered. With a quick wave and what I thought was the glimmer of a smile, Jimmy turned around and strode off through the front door. Long after he left, I stood there, mute and unmoving, the victim of a sudden hurricane, wind-whipped and baffled at what had just happened.
♥♥♥♥
ALTHEA
Bea Sills had lived in the Cape Cod-style house on the corner of Schooner and Sailfish for fifty-five years. She refused to move out until, as she proclaimed to anyone who asked, “The emergency crew carries me out feet-first.” Her three children had all grown up and moved away, her husband had passed at least ten years back, yet here she stayed, a neighborhood fixture as stubborn as the bulwarks at Coffield’s Wharf. The other ladies at the table were Prudence Jorgensen and Carolyn Newell, long-time residents here, as well. All four of us were old friends, old mahjong players, and of the same generation—give or take a few years.
After the initial welcome backs and sympathies for lost spouses, we settled into our game around Bea’s kitchen table, as if I’d never left the neighborhood, much less the state. We caught up on how our kids and grandkids fared, how cold the weather had been, and the latest local news.
“I see both Vais boys are back,” Prudence said.
“Yes,” I replied with a distracted air while reviewing my tiles. “Jimmy’s working on some project for the state, and Justin bought Snug Harbor Landscaping.”
Carolyn cackled as she discarded a bamboo five. “Ha! That’s not what I heard.”
“Why?” Bea asked. “What did you hear?”
“That Jimmy went off the deep end, and Janet Vais convinced Justin to come back to keep an eye on his brother.”
I called a pung and set down the other two bamboo fives in my rack. “What do you mean ‘off the deep end,’ Carolyn?”
The old hag sipped her tea, and her eyes narrowed over the rim of her cup. I wasn’t sure if she disapproved of the question or my game play.
“I keep forgetting you’ve been out of the loop for a while,” she muttered. “You probably don’t know about the accident, do you?”
“Accident?”
“Yes.” Carolyn leaned over the table with a toothy smile. Her delight in having the skinny on some awful gossip lent a sinister look to her expression. “Now, mind you, I only heard this from Rose, so I can’t verify it’s a hundred percent reliable.”
Rose. I anchored my eyes to keep them from rolling out of my head. Of course. Rose McKenna was the town busybody, her nose permanently crammed in everyone’s business.
“What did she say?” Bea asked.
I didn’t want to know. The term “accident” indicated an event that should engender empathy and compassion, not this hunger for details and smug superiority about another person’s troubles.
“Who cares?” I sniffed back my disdain. These were my friends. I would hope I could refocus them on more banal topics. “Let’s play.”
To my disappointment, my compatriots ignored me. “In a nutshell,” Carolyn said, “the way Rose tells it, Jimmy and his wife were involved in a vicious car accident a while back. They were okay, some bumps and bruises, but an elderly couple in another car were both killed.” She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms over her sunken chest. “Next thing you know, their marriage is kaput, his career is down the toilet, and he’s back in Snug Harbor—after a few weeks spent in a rehab place.”
“Oh?” Prudence’s penciled brows quirked into upside-down parentheses over her rounded eyes. “You think he fell into a bottle and couldn’t climb out without help?”
Carolyn mimed tilting a bottle to her lips and glugging. “Not that I blame him, if he did. Imagine living with the knowledge you killed someone’s grandma and grandpa with your recklessness.”
Bea clucked her tongue. Prudence shook her head, and Carolyn continued wearing that self-satisfied smirk. If there had been a frozen mackerel handy, I would’ve slapped her across both cheeks with the fish—just to watch her expression change to something more appropriate for the subject at hand.
An ache bloomed in my stomach. I kept remembering the closed blinds at the Vais house. If Jimmy had a drinking problem, he shouldn’t be in the dark alone like that. Maybe I was looking for an excuse to get away from these old biddies and their sharp tongues. The conversation had definitely taken an uncomfortable turn. All I knew for sure was that I felt a burning need to go to the Vais house and talk to Jimmy. Hell, I’d volunteer for a root canal rather than stay here a minute longer.
I shot to my feet with a gasp. “Oh, my goodness, I just remembered! Siobhan and I had plans for an early dinner tonight and then we’re going shopping. I’m so sorry to drop out of the game like this, but I really should dash. I don’t even have anything out of the freezer to cook.”
Carolyn’s expression never faltered. “You know what they say,” she said in that same snarky tone, twirling a finger near her temple. “The mind is the first thing to go.”
The other ladies around the table twittered in amusement while my inner dragon lady burned to blast a belly full of invectives at them all. Why on earth would I want to be friends with these people? Had they always been so insufferable? All those years I’d spent in Florida, when I said I missed their jokes and their camaraderie, had I viewed them with that faraway look Lou described? Or did old age make everyone lose their charm? I swallowed my fire and wrapped a hank of hair around my index finger, pouting my lips like a child. “Golly, I hope I don’t get lost going home.”
Their faces fell into wrinkled masses of disapproval. Whoops. I’d meant the remark to sound light and jovial, but I failed miserably.
Bea rose from her chair. “Let me get your coat, Thea.” Her tone was icy.
I didn’t bother to prolong anyone’s agony—including my own. “Thanks. Ladies, it was nice to see you all again.” Lie. I’d never felt like more of an outsider than at this moment—not even in that godforsaken senior complex after Archie died.
Once Bea brought my coat, I made a hasty retreat. As I strode down the sidewalk, I wondered if three pairs of eyes watched me from Bea’s living room window. I didn’t care. What was that old saying? If gossips talked about me, it meant they were leaving other people alone. I was totally okay being a target of their animosity, so long as they left Jimmy alone. I don’t know why I felt such a protective instinct for the man who’d been downright rude to me—and Siobhan—but I chalked it up to maternal instinct. You don’t have to give birth to a child to consider him or her your responsibility. Clean their poop, treat their boo-boos, or just watch them grow up, and you discover fast how invested you’ll become in their wellbeing. It really does take a village.
To throw any possible spies off my true intentions, I walked up the driveway and entered my house first. Once inside, I took my time before going out again. I played with my babies, defrosted a mac and cheese casserole I’d made earlier in the week, and all the while kept an eye on the house across the street. The car remained in the driveway, the blinds sealed shut, no movement at all. When my casserole was credibly warm but not too hot to hold, I carried the covered dish to Jimmy’s house. I steeled myself to bear his hostility when he opened the door, but what I got was a lot milder.
His stiff posture sagged on a long, deep sigh. “Thea. What can I do for you?”
Not exactly the warmest of welcomes, but he did open the door and wave me inside. I considered that tremendous progress.
“I made macaroni and four cheeses for dinner, but I forgot Siobhan wouldn’t be home.” I hefted the dish, and the glass cover clinked against the ceramic. “Did you eat yet?”
“Four cheeses?”
I grinned at his gluttonous interest. Men. They were all the same. “Yup. Cheddar, gouda, gruyere, and fontina. Does that mean you’d like to share this with me?” I waved the dish under his nose to entice him.
He took a step back. “You know, you might want to have Siobhan leave her work schedule someplace you’ll see it.”
Notice he didn’t answer the question. He didn’t have to. We both knew I had him right where I wanted him—even if he’d caught on to my ploy.
He closed the front door again, entombing me with him in his mausoleum. “This is the second time you’ve come to feed me because you forgot your granddaughter wouldn’t be home after you cooked.”
And it wouldn’t be the last. I didn’t say that aloud. I played forgetful, an advantage of my advanced age. “Is it?”
To my surprise, he laughed. “Yes, it is, and you know it!”
The man had a wonderful laugh, full of joy and life. I marveled at the change in him. What had happened in his life to make him so sour? Was he normally a grumpy guy, but alcohol had temporarily lightened his burden somehow? Or was he usually happy-go-lucky, but became a mean drunk? My father had been like that. After my brother, Tim, was killed, he’d try to numb the pain of his loss with booze, but the alcohol didn’t cheer him up. In fact, it only made him meaner, to the point he’d punch walls, shout profanities, and fly into rages. Eventually, the alcohol abuse killed him; cirrhosis got him in the end.
Maybe my dad’s behavior explained why I’d never been much of a drinker. I preferred to get high on life. What drove Jimmy to the highs and lows I’d witnessed? I studied his eyes—clear and bright, no glassiness. He was dressed in a green flannel shirt and jeans, clean-shaven, and totally at ease. Nothing about his appearance signified he’d imbibed, and my troubled mind relaxed slightly.
“I guess you and I are having dinner tonight.” He took the casserole dish from me. “Take off your coat while I heat this up. Can I nuke this one or should it go in the oven like the blueberry thing?”
“Microwave is fine. Five minutes on high should do it, since it only came out of the oven a little while ago,” I said and shrugged out of my jacket. “Where’s your closet?”
He jerked his head to the door near the staircase. After hanging up my coat, I took in the other changes around me. Sure, the blinds were still closed, but indoor lights brightened the living room. Don’t get me wrong. Signs of human life would go a long way to making this house feel like a home. In its current state, this place could be inhabited by a sophisticated bear and no one would know the difference.
Maybe he needed a plant or two. I’d offer to get him a few, but already tiptoed the fine line between welcome guest and unwanted pest. Having found myself on the good side of the man, I didn’t want to backslide. I promised myself I’d behave. My only goal tonight was to keep him company, let him know he had people around him who cared to prevent him from drinking, if he really did have a problem. I hoped, if he did, he’d already left it in the past with his stint in rehab. Look how well Siobhan had done with her time at that eating disorder clinic. I know. I still worried about her every once in a while, but she’d put me in my place the last time I voiced my concerns aloud, and I believed her. Maybe, the same result could come out of my dinner date with Jimmy.
I followed him into the kitchen where, again, the blinds remained in the tightest closed position, but the room was far from dark. The cabinets were white with glass fronts, gray and white marble tops, and silver handles. I appreciated the clean lines, but all that white, including the tile backsplash and globe lamps dangling from the ceiling, gave the room a sterile feeling, as opposed to the warmth of my golden oak kitchen finished in cranberry and spruce. Remember I said his parents had no imagination? Yeah, this kitchen was living proof. It was almost as if they concluded, “White goes with everything,” so assumed everything should be white.
The microwave hummed in the background while Jimmy pulled out silverware and plates—real ones this time.
“I see you’ve finally unpacked.”
He closed the silverware drawer and leaned on the counter, his face close to mine. “Nothing escapes your eagle eye, does it?”
I shrugged. “Archie used to say, ‘Even a blind squirrel finds a nut once in a while.’”
“I take it you’re the blind squirrel in that scenario? Was that a compliment?”
“I have no idea,” I admitted with a frown. To be honest, the comment had always irked me.
“Uh-huh.” Jimmy took the plates and silverware to the dinette table and set two places. “So, what brings you over here tonight? I mean, the casserole is a nice touch, but you’ve been staring at me since you got here. You’ve obviously got something on your mind. Why don’t we cut through the chitchat façade and you can tell me why you came over with another meal to share?”
I took a seat at the table and pointed a finger at him. “Direct. I like that about you. I’m the same way.”
He sat across from me. “Good. What are you looking for?”
“The truth.”
His eyes widened, but he made no other reaction. “About...?”
“About what’s going on with you. I always liked you, Jimmy. You were a good kid—a bit rebellious in your teen years, but most kids are. I’m worried about you. And I’m hearing rumors in the neighborhood I don’t like—”
“Aw, jeez.” He got to his feet, headed toward the refrigerator, and opened the white door. “I’m gonna need a beer. You want one?”
“No!” I shouted and waved my hands at him in a rapid pace. Shoot. The last thing I wanted to do was push him off the wagon. “Don’t. Please. I’m sorry.”
He closed the door and leaned against it, a green glass bottle in one hand. “O-kay. Easy, Thea. It’s just a beer. You don’t want one, you don’t have to have one.” He twisted off the top and raised the bottle to his lips.
I shot up with the speed of a lit firework hitting the night sky. “No! Don’t! Don’t mess up your sobriety!”
He paused, the bottle an inch from his slack jaw. “Mess up my...what?”
“Your sobriety.” I took the bottle from him and placed it in the sink. “Look, I don’t know what you’re going through, but whatever it is, it’s not worth ruining your life. You’ve already done the rehab. Don’t slide back into bad habits. You can do this. I know you can. You don’t need the booze.”
He tilted his head to one side, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Who told you I was in rehab?”
The words were cool, emotionless, and downright scary. I stifled a shiver and gave him a vague answer, not wanting to get any of the ladies into trouble, no matter how much they’d ticked me off. “I told you, there are rumors flying around the neighborhood. One of those rumors is that you came back to Snug Harbor after finishing a stint in rehab.”
To my second surprise of the evening, he laughed again.
I felt like an idiot when I realized his laughter could only mean one thing, and I spoke the conclusion aloud. “You weren’t in rehab?”
“Oh, I was in rehab,” he said. “Physical and occupational therapy rehabilitation. For a spinal injury.”