by Meg Wolfe
Charlotte never did get it straight. She also wasn’t clear as to what role, if any, their relocation played in Ellis’ acceptance to the Conservatoire. But they were there, and now Ellis was there—and she herself wasn’t.
There are days like this, she thought, when it seems the entire world has gone contrary to expectations. It put her in an impatient mood, wanting to get as many things out of gray areas as possible. She wanted things to be settled—to be living in one place, to have one town, one life, and not this in-between shuttling back and forth between one place and another, with neither feeling like home base, if not home. She wanted friends to stay friends, families to stay families, homes to stay homes, neighbors to stay neighborly, employers to remain employers. But they didn’t. It was the worst feeling in the world for a nester like Charlotte, and it seemed like the upheaval would never come to an end.
She called Elm Grove Auto Repair to see if the Jeep was ready, but they said not for another couple of hours yet, they ran into “a little problem.” She sighed as she disconnected, after asking them to let her know if it was going to cost much more before proceeding with the work. By this time she had reached Harvey Street, where many people were taking advantage of the summery day, sitting at umbrellaed tables on the sidewalks in front of various restaurants and looking as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Inspired, she called Diane.
“Can you come out to play?”
Diane chuckled. “Actually, I can. Where are you at?”
“In front of Ramona’s Resale, but I was thinking more along the lines of a drink.”
“Have you had lunch yet?”
“Um, no—”
“I haven’t either, and I’ve got a craving for a ribeye sandwich. Cole’s Pub, five minutes?”
Diane ordered martinis for them both. “I insist—my treat. You look like you could use a treat right about now.”
“That is so nice of you. I’m very grateful, and enjoying this immensely,” said Charlotte, as she slid further back into the booth. Cole’s Pub was a restaurant/watering hole favored by lawyers and deal-makers. It was old and dark but comfortable; faint music played over the speakers, the kitchen sounds were faint, the murmurs of conversations were faint, the baseball game on the television above the bar was faint, and together they made a pleasant white noise that fit Charlotte’s mood better than the pretty, ladies-luncheon al fresco option they could have had at another restaurant. The martinis arrived and she knew that they would soon make the ambiance even more pleasant.
“It’s really hitting home just how little I’ve relaxed lately. I’m getting too irritated at things which are beyond my control.” She took her first sip. The gin made her nose twitch, but it was not unpleasant. She pulled an olive off its plastic spear and savored it. Wonderful.
“It’s understandable, but don’t worry about it,” said Diane, patting Charlotte’s hand. “This is only temporary. In fact, everything you’re doing now almost guarantees that you will bounce back and have financial security within a year or two.”
“Actually, there’s some question in my mind what form that will take.” She brought Diane up to date about Lola, the estate liquidation, the apartment, and her realization that she didn’t want to find new work in the same field.
“Holy horses. You haven’t lost any time, and actually you’ve moved on this a lot faster than I expected.”
Charlotte nodded. “I think I’ve been making decisions almost subconsciously, if that is possible. On the other hand, I admit I like being in control—”
“Most single moms do,” interrupted Diane. “Go ahead.”
“—and now, without Ellis to support and protect, I can scale nearly everything way back, making it easier to stay in control, and stay independent.”
“Money and a room of your own,” Diane concurred.
“Exactly. But Helene also said something that stuck in my head, that the people who survive are the ones who are willing to travel light.”
Diane nodded, rolling the words over in her head. “It’s certainly true financially.”
“I’m thinking it works with everything, money, stuff, maybe even relationships.”
At this point the waitress arrived with Diane’s ribeye sandwich and Charlotte’s grilled shrimp salad. After several meals of whatever was left in her refrigerator, the crisp texture of the salad, the smokiness of the shrimp, the sweet tang of balsamic vinegar, and the unaccustomed midday gin buzz combined to lift Charlotte’s mood. She and Diane looked at each other and giggled.
“I feel like I’m playing hookey,” said Diane, trying to talk and chew at the same time. “This is fun.”
Charlotte nodded. “And in a week or so I’ll be living just down the block.”
“It was meant to be, I mean it has the feeling of it was meant to be, not that I believe in that kind of stuff, but sometimes things really do have a way of working out well in the long run.” Diane’s tendency to run on was enhanced by the martini, but it didn’t stop her from ordering another when the waitress came to see if they needed anything.
Charlotte said no to the second drink. “I gotta pick up the Jeep in a little while and get things done at home. I’ll need every bit of time I can get to go through my stuff before Stanton gets there on Friday.” She forked a jumbo shrimp and took a bite. “But there’s no doubt this lunch is making me feel better.”
“You have always had that independent streak, and it’s admirable. But just because you can be a lone wolf and do everything on your own doesn’t mean you should.”
“How do you mean?”
“Don’t be afraid to reach out to your friends, Charlotte. Reach out to me, to Helene, Jimmy Frobisher, even new friends like Simon and Lola. Even if it’s just for a cuppa coffee or a beer. Line us up to help you when you’re ready to move, too.”
Charlotte just smiled, and thanked Diane. And ordered a cup of coffee.
She plunged into housework once she was back home after picking up the Jeep, which ended up costing half again as much as originally quoted. She redirected her annoyance by taking out the trash and sweeping the first autumn leaves off the deck. It calmed her down enough to make a large mug of herb tea, switch on the kitchen TV, and sit down with her To Do list. It was Tuesday; Stanton would be arriving Friday to begin setting up for the sale the following weekend. This left her today, Wednesday, and Thursday to finish going through closets, drawers—and the endless stuff in her basement. She was half-tempted to just let them find what they find, and pick out what she wanted to keep a day or two before the sale. Martin did say, after all, that they usually set aside things like photographs and letters and obviously personal things.
Sunday was the day she set aside to clean and paint the apartment, with the intention of moving in on Monday. So that meant she would be living and sleeping here for less than a week. She wrote the different items down on the list, then made a clean list with everything in the order it needed to be done. Seeing everything organized and in writing made her feel a little better, a little less scattered. One week was not really a lot of time to pick through a lifetime of possessions and select only enough to fit in a studio apartment, though. Or was it?
Charlotte’s attention was drawn to a local news bulletin showing the front of Warren Brothers Pawn and Payday, with an overlaid caption that said, “Local Pawn Broker Found Dead.” She turned up the volume with the remote. Did something happen to Bosley? She remembered the phone call he received that clearly upset him when he came to her house. The reporter Judy Sargent was once again on the scene, but this time her demeanor was serious.
“Early this morning, police discovered the body of local pawn broker Wesley Warren, who has not been seen since last Thursday afternoon. He was found in his car, which was submerged in a large pond alongside the road leading toward his residence north of Elm Grove. Police are withholding further comment pending an autopsy and toxicolo—.”
The picture sudden
ly went black. Charlotte worked the remote, but nothing came up except the words, “No Signal.”
No cable? Confused, she thought about it for a moment and remembered that she had scheduled its cancellation, but her understanding was that the service was paid through the end of the month. If it was canceled, that meant her cable Internet connection might be canceled, too. She opened her laptop and tried to get online. Dead. She wanted to know what happened to Bosley Warren’s brother, and wondered if the things she had pawned would still be accessible if the business should close. The atmosphere in the shop was tense and strange the day she was there, which would be no wonder if Wesley was missing and Bosley was out looking for him.
Cursing, she called the cable company on her cell phone and went through Press One for This, Press Two for That, layer after layer of menus until, after several tries, she got someone to check her account, who claimed that billing applied on the fifteenth of every month, and since no further payment was made, her service was canceled as per her request. It could be reinstated at an additional fee of—
Charlotte hung up. She was going to be out of here in a week, anyway; it simply wasn’t worth the hassle to straighten it out. Maybe she screwed up, maybe they did. Whatever. She thought about calling Helene or Diane, but decided she was peopled out and could find out whatever she needed to know soon enough the next day.
