No Parking

by Valentine Wheeler

  Rana nodded approvingly.

  “Oh, fine, gang up on me. And see, I’m sorry, I interrupted,” said Nour, laughing. “You were talking about the parking lot.”

  “I was?” Marianne shook her head, smiling. “Oh, right. We’ve been doing research to keep anyone but customers from parking in our lot, but it as far as anyone can tell, the sale doesn’t have any paperwork filed. It’s making it difficult to prove we can put up a sign.”

  “Well,” said Nour. “This is why I keep all my paperwork.” She shook her head. “That sounds very frustrating.”

  Marianne sighed. “I’ve always thought of suite B as part of my home, even though I know the bakery is unlikely to have enough business to need both sides of the building. But it makes me sad. I used to play over there when I was a kid, back when it was storage for our stuff, before my dad sold it.”

  “How old were you?” asked Nour. “When the landlord’s father bought it?”

  “Oh, about eight,” replied Marianne. “It was a long time ago.”

  “Fifty years, isn’t it?” said Rana. “No wonder the paperwork isn’t quite all in order anymore.” She spooned the last piece of lamb onto a piece of naan. “I’m glad I rented here, despite all the confusion.” She smiled at Marianne. “Swanley has been good to me.”

  “I’m glad, Mamti,” said Nour. “You deserve a rest.” She yawned.

  “Speaking of rest, I should get you home.” Rana picked up the check and slid a few bills inside, shushing Marianne’s protests. “I said we were treating you, and we are.”

  Marianne sat back, full and sleepy. “Well, I can’t argue with that. Thank you.” She stood, stretching. “You’ll come by before you leave to go home?” she asked Nour. “I need to repay the meal and take you both out.”

  Nour nodded and then pulled her into a loose hug. “It’s wonderful to meet you,” she said. “My Mamti likes you an awful lot. I can see why.”

  Marianne hugged her back and then stepped back as Rana ushered her daughter back out into the night. She followed more slowly, heading home.

  Chapter Ten

  Marianne sometimes just sat down on the couch and let time pass quietly for a half hour or so, decompressing from customers and sugar and butter. This had been a particularly long day, and she needed the moment to herself. She let her thoughts drift as she relaxed into the faded cushions, remembering her grandfather and father sitting together in this room fifty years earlier, joking and smiling together. She didn’t know what they were laughing at—the memory didn’t include that detail—but she remembered how strange she’d felt, seeing her dad laugh. She hadn’t realized how much she’d noticed but not understood back then.

  The doorbell sounded loudly, jerking Marianne from her thoughts. Rana had mentioned she might stop by Marianne’s to watch the latest Great British Baking Show episode after dropping Nour at the airport, and Marianne’s heart sped up a little against her will. She took a quick glance in the mirror as she passed, ensuring her hair looked somewhat presentable and she didn’t have too many butter stains on the apron she hadn’t managed to take off yet since closing time. She was excited to have a new friend, she told herself, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach. She knew Rana was attractive—knew she was attracted to her, knew they had the chemistry she so rarely felt with anyone and was therefore completely unequipped for when feelings did hit—but Zeke’s (and Ray’s, and Joe’s, and Kevin’s) teasing aside, she didn’t need romance. And besides, it had been long enough since she last felt that way about someone that she could almost rationalize the butterflies away by calling the sensations reflux. Almost, but not quite.

  She hurried down the steps and pulled open the door, a smile already spreading on her face. She’d bring out some of the leftover cheesy scones, she decided, and that bottle of wine she’d saved from last week’s basket from her cheese supplier. Did Rana drink? She didn’t even know. She thought Rana was Muslim, and didn’t that mean no alcohol? Fatima’s mother drank, but her father didn’t and neither did she, and they were the only other Muslims Marianne knew. It must be one of those things that depended on the person. She would ask. Rana wouldn’t be offended—

  Kevin stood shivering on her doorstep in the winter wind, flecks of snow in his hair and a sheepish smile on his face. “Hi,” he said as her face fell. “I take it I’m not who you were expecting?” He shifted awkwardly. “I can come back another day.”

  “Oh,” said Marianne. “No, that’s all right. Did you need something?”

  “I was wondering if we could talk.”

  “That doesn’t sound good,” said Marianne. “But since we’re already divorced, I can’t imagine it’s all that bad. Come on in.” She stepped to one side, letting Kevin pass her, and shut the door after one more hopeful glance outside.

  She followed Kevin up to her apartment, taking his coat and hanging it in the closet. “Want a drink?” she asked.

  “When have I ever said no?” Kevin replied with a flash of white teeth. He reached in his coat pocket and pulled out a paper bag. “I bear gifts.” He handed her the packet.

  “Fancy olives!” Marianne’s annoyance faded at the sight of the pint container inside.

  “With the marinated feta from that ritzy store in Woonsocket,” said Kevin. “I remember how much you liked them.”

  Marianne pulled a plate from the cabinet and the bottle of wine she’d been considering sharing with Rana. Now that she thought about it, she was pretty sure Rana didn’t drink. If she did, she’d get another, better bottle to share with her. “All right, you’ve bribed me sufficiently. What do you want to talk about?”

  Kevin sat on the couch and leaned forward as Marianne perched on the armchair across from him. He rested his elbows on his knees and nodded his thanks as Marianne set a wine glass on a coaster in front of him. “I think Luke Leventi is keeping the city from giving you information.”

  Marianne blinked. “Really? Why?” She shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense. The parking lot being full hurts Rana’s business, which hurts his prospects of continuing to get rent from her. And I haven’t found anything on that, not really.” She didn’t want to mention the will quite yet.

  Kevin raised his eyebrows. “Rana? You’re on a first name basis with your neighbor now?”

  “She’s nice! And it’s not her fault suite B is such a sore spot for me.”

  “So, you finally buried the hatchet?”

  Marianne smiled. “I’m being neighborly; that’s all.” She shook her head. She wasn’t telling him anything more than that. It wasn’t his business. “Why do you think Luke is keeping things from me?”

  He sighed. “I’m not sure. It’s just a feeling, I guess. But I tried to look into your last survey—I know, I know, you don’t want my help, but I was curious—and the records section it’s in is closed for water damage repair. And, coincidentally, so is the assessor’s tax file room.” He tapped the table with a finger. “And you know who’s the building maintenance guy in city hall?”

  “Paulie Laurence.” Luke Leventi’s longtime girlfriend’s younger brother did side jobs for the family whenever they needed repairs on their properties. “That’s a little bit of a stretch, Kevin. Don’t you think? And I hope you didn’t do anything but look around.”

  “I only looked. I promise. I didn’t even take anything out. And I thought I was being paranoid, too, until three separate city employees asked why I was so interested in your property. I might be jumpy, but I’m also pretty good at knowing when there’s something funny going on in local government.”

  “I know you are.” Marianne sat back, thinking. “What’s he so interested in? Why doesn’t he want me to fix this?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t like it.” He tapped his fingers again. “I told you. I have a feeling. I wanted to give you a heads’ up. He’s planning something. I’m sure of it now,” He shook his head. “Whatever it is, I can guarantee it’s not going to be good for your business. But what could it be?�
�

  They drank the wine companionably for a few minutes, mulling over the question.

  Marianne looked at Kevin. The feeling she’d had a few days earlier was intensifying, sitting with him here where they’d spent so much time. He wasn’t the man she’d married, but he wasn’t the one she’d divorced anymore either. She didn’t love him the way she used to, but he was a part of her life, someone she trusted with everything but her heart. She’d known him fifty years and he was and would always be the father of her children. Things had solidified between them lately, his moods not bothering her the way they used to, good or bad. He knew her, and she knew him. And he knew the town better than anyone else. Maybe he could help. “Zeke and I went through some of the old records here a few nights ago. We found a will,” she said, breaking the silence. “From my dad.”

  Kevin fumbled the olive he was stacking on a cracker, catching it before it fell to the table. “Really?”

  “In the old cabinet. With the deed from Marvelle.”

  “The original deed?” Kevin whistled. “From the original sale back in the nineteenth century? Oh, your dad would have loved to see that. Danny loved that sort of thing. The real original?”

  “That’s the one.” She smiled. “The paper was still in perfect shape, and I saw Marvelle Windmere’s signature right on there, preserved like it was signed yesterday. You wouldn’t believe it.”

  “And, wait, I thought your dad left you everything as his next of kin? I didn’t think he had a will. Or a need for one. He only had you and the kids. Unless his brother’s kids had something to do with this?”

  “No, nothing like that. It’s just—he didn’t write a will, not as far as anyone knew. And he never filed this one anywhere, or there’s no indication he did.” Her smile faded. “It was dated 1969.”

  “Oh,” said Kevin. He hadn’t known them then, but he knew what that year had been like for the family; now when someone was that depressed, there were resources. In 1969, Daniel Windmere had made a will because he thought he might not be around much longer. “And he never filed it with anyone?”

  “No lawyer, as far as I could tell, and it was witnessed by one of his old Army buddies. A guy who died a few years later.”

  “Well, it’s not as if there was anyone else to dispute you for what he left,” said Kevin. “So, it’s all right we didn’t find it then.”

  “I have to look at it more carefully.” Marianne took a sip of her wine. “Something about the whole thing is a little strange.”

  “How so?”

  “It didn’t make sense, the way he wrote it. He didn’t mention that the property had been divided, just that Simon Leventi was the conservator of my part until I reached a certain age.”

  “He wasn’t in his right mind, Marianne. Just like my dad. Mine did some really strange stuff when he got back from Vietnam too. But Danny wanted you to have this place,” said Kevin. “You know he did. And you’re keeping the family legacy going here.”

  “I should have paid more attention.” Marianne wrapped both hands around her wine glass, shoulders hunched. “When Dad was dying, I should have been here. I should have been learning the business like he wanted me to, not running around trying to get away. Then maybe I could have brought it back to what it was back when Granddad was running it.”

  “You didn’t know,” said Kevin. He leaned across the table toward her, smiling a little as he looked around the little kitchen he’d spent so much time in the year before they were married. “You needed out of here, Marianne, you know you did.”

  “Didn’t know you’d noticed, back then.”

  Kevin’s smile turned sheepish. “I didn’t. Not then.” He studied his hands. “I thought you married me because you were so in love with me. Took me till this year to realize you were running away from something, not toward me.”

  Marianne started, eyes widening. “Who are you and what have you done with my ex-husband?”

  “Hey!” Kevin shook his head. “That’s not very nice.”

  “Seriously, Kev, when did you get so self-aware?”

  “Age, I guess,” said Kevin. “Age and getting tired.” He smiled. “And a little tough love from the ladies in my life.”

  “Well, I guess the work I put in with you was worth something after all.’

  “It only took forty years.” He smiled, the ghost of his old charm rearing its head. “And it wasn’t all you. I did some of it myself. And all those PTA moms you like to make fun of me for loved talking about feelings.”

  “Always the ladies’ man.” She shook her head. “You really don’t think I should have taken the bakery right away?”

  “I don’t.”

  “And not just because of your career?”

  Kevin shook his head. “We could have had both. That’s my fault as much as yours.”

  She smiled. “Thanks, Kevin. For saying that, and for coming here tonight.” She reached out and patted his hand. “You know, the kids have been on me to see you more often.” She shook her head. “I think Janie has always held out hope we might get back together, no matter how many times I tell her it’s not going to happen.”

  Kevin winced. “I have to talk to that girl. She’s stubborn.”

  “Like her father.” Marianne grinned. “And her mother.”

  “She sure is.”

  They sat in silence for a moment; then Kevin sighed and glanced at his watch. “Hey, thank you for the drink, but I’m due at Ray’s for poker night. See you tomorrow morning for coffee?”

  Marianne got up, walking him to the door with a smile. “It’ll be waiting for you.”

  *

  Before she let Kevin or anyone else try to resolve things, Marianne had to take a stab at them herself. She wasn’t going to let other people solve this for her. Because despite everything, Luke was her father’s best friend’s son, someone she’d grown up thinking of as a cousin and neighbor. If this was all a misunderstanding of some sort, if it could be resolved without any enmity or lawyers or any of that, if there was some simple explanation that would fix it, she couldn’t miss that chance. It was a very small chance, and she was probably not using her best judgment trying to talk to him, but she owed that much, at least, to her father’s memory.

  She couldn’t say she and Luke had ever been friends, or even the type of near-family that could show up unannounced at somebody’s house—even when both their dads had been alive, their relationship hadn’t been like that. She sometimes wondered if her father and Luke’s had a fling, sometime in the past, with the way the two of them relied on each other and danced around each other. They’d been codependent and intertwined, switching from distant to close and back again week to week. But she wasn’t going to speculate on her father’s sexuality. If he hadn’t seen fit to reveal it while he was alive, it wasn’t her business now. But it would maybe explain the trust he’d put in the other man.

  Luke held what he called office hours at the Lucky Dog Pub every Monday night, ever since the campaign started, from seven to nine in the evening. She didn’t want to interfere with the campaign, or get involved in any way, but she figured she could catch him on his way out the door, maybe see if he’d grab a drink or something with her while they discussed their family history.

  He’d stationed himself in the back of the bar, holding court at the big table that stretched across the rear of the room with a small group of locals clustered around him. Marianne settled in on a stool to wait, ordering a beer from Carol behind the bar. Carol slid it over to her and then leaned over, tucking her long black hair behind one ear and saying, “You’re not planning to pay court to his lordship over there?”

  Marianne laughed. Carol didn’t like Luke. She hadn’t for years, ever since Luke and her sister’s bad breakup back in the early eighties. He’d dumped Frances for a blonde cheerleader whose name Marianne had long since forgotten while Carol and Frances and their family were on vacation visiting their grandparents in Venezuela. Her sister Frances held no grudge, and, in fac
t, had campaigned for him this election, but that was big sisters for you. “Not yet,” she said, taking a sip of her beer. “I’m going to try to catch him on the way out. Family business.”

  “Hm.” Carol set a dish of peanuts down beside Marianne. “Well, it’s nice to see you in here, even if it’s only to visit our local celebrity.” She smiled. “We haven’t seen you around much lately.”

  “What do you mean?” Marianne shook her head. “I saw you last week. Blueberry muffins, right?”

  “Seeing you working is one thing.” Carol rolled her eyes. “We never see you out on the town having fun anymore. Not for years.”

  “Well. I’ll try to come around more often,” said Marianne. “But going out to bars when you’re thirty and when you’re almost sixty is a little different.”

  Carol laughed. “You’re telling me, sweetie. And I know you get up early and all that. But still.” She paused. “That reminds me. Nellie wanted to see if we could set up a meeting with you. Something about those new cheese crackers you were selling the other day.” She grinned. “I think Nellie wants a new salty snack, one that won’t bother the peanut allergy crowd.”

  “You’ll get the gluten crowd complaining instead,” warned Marianne. “But tell her to give me a call.”

  “Your boy is on the move,” said Carol, and Marianne gulped down the last swig of her beer.

  “Thanks,” she said, pushing bills across the bar. “And I’ll see you around, Carol.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Carol waved her off. “I know where to find you.”

  Marianne slid from the stool and hurried toward the exit as Luke extracted himself from a crowd of well-wishers and made his way through the bar. She caught him as he reached the entryway. “Luke!” she said, stepping toward him. “Can we talk a minute?”

  He turned, his eyes guarded for a moment before his face broke into a genuine-looking smile. Of course, she assumed he’d been perfecting the grin the whole campaign, so she didn’t take it at face value. She’d learned long ago not to do so with him. “Marianne,” he said. “What can I do for you?”