by Jae
He entered the house a few minutes later and dropped his briefcase, overcoat, and hat in the arm chair adjacent to Barb.
“You’re home early.” She started to rise. “Hungry?”
“No, no. I already ate. You don’t need to get up.” He loosened his tie as he spoke. “I have another meeting tonight, but I wanted to stop by and see how you’re keeping yourself.”
Barb eased back into her seat. Since when did Richard care what she did with her time? “Really? How interesting.” She spoke softly, fighting hard to keep sarcasm out of her tone.
He nodded earnestly. “Lately, it seems as though I only see you for a few minutes before work, and you’re already sound asleep by the time I get home.”
Richard said “lately” as if he just realized the pattern, and Barb choked back a snort of disbelief. He’d just described their routine of the past year, possibly longer.
“That’s sweet of you to check in like that.”
Richard smiled, too sure of his own worth to guess that Barb was anything less than thrilled to be granted audience with him for ten minutes between dalliances.
“What are you looking at?” He sat next to her on the couch and put his arm around her. “Anything interesting?”
She sat rigidly still, resisting the urge to push his arm right back off. “Just some recipes and decorating tips.” She flipped lazily through the pages, hoping that he wouldn’t notice the black circles around a few of the ads.
Of course, he did. “Whoa, what’s that?” He took the magazine from her and found the page advertising the new houses in Florida.
“Oh, just dreaming.”
He drew his brows together and nodded slowly. “About what?”
“These places just sound so exotic and exciting. I found a listing once for a development in Paris, France. Can you imagine?” She did her best to sound vapid and fanciful. The last thing she needed was for Richard to join her when she made her big move.
“I had no idea you were interested in these places.”
“Well, I’m not. Not really. I’m happy here with you, but sometimes it’s nice to imagine, you know?”
“Sure. That’s great. Maybe we could take a vacation and explore? What do you think? Europe? Florida? Hawaii? You name it.”
It was sweet of him to try so hard to please her, but she couldn’t help wondering how he would explain the time away to the other women in his life. Still, she smiled and agreed that it would be lovely.
“That’s decided, then.” He pressed a kiss to her temple and stood. “Now I must get going if I want to be on time to my meeting.”
She brushed her fingers over the spot where he kissed her. She felt none of the spark that Muriel sent racing through her body. It was time for her to stop planning and start doing. She had the money. Soon, she decided.
Another week and another dime novel from the rack, this one featuring two women who, in a misguided fit of patriotism, had joined the army and now lived together in the barracks. If the inevitable outcome hadn’t been that their relationship would implode, followed by one, or both, rushing to marry the nearest man—much as Barb herself had done after the war—she might have enjoyed the story. As it was, she was quite done reading and discussing books that she not only wrote in her spare time, but that also mirrored her own life and surrender to expectations.
She arrived at Abby’s house right on time, perfect Jell-O mold in her hand. She set it on the table and slipped her coat off. Then she noticed that the conversation around her had stopped abruptly when she walked in. The others stared at her, various shades of pink staining their cheeks. Except Muriel. For once, she didn’t greet Barb with her patented lazy, flirtatious smile. Her brows were drawn down, and her hands were clenched in tight fists at her side.
“What’s going on?” Barb asked. As she untied her headscarf, she tried to keep her tone light but couldn’t judge if she’d succeeded.
“Oh nothing.” Abby, Betty, and Harper answered in unison, their voices strained. None of them looked at her.
“Oh come on. Clearly, there’s something.”
“You should tell her.” Muriel’s voice was low and firm, with a hard, dangerous edge. Despite the situation, it sent a thrill down Barb’s spine.
“Tell me what?”
“It’s just that…” Abby started but petered out like a half-inflated balloon.
“Barb,” Muriel touched her arm gently, “Betty was just telling us that Richard has been having an affair.”
Barb stared at her, trying to decide how to react. An affair was hardly news to Barb since Richard had been sleeping with Betty off and on since Betty and her husband had moved to Cherry Park.
Barb decided to let this play out a little more before she reacted. “Betty? Care to explain?”
Betty shuffled, and her gaze flittered between the floor and Barb’s kneecaps. “I…”
“She said he’s been seeing his secretary.” Muriel glared at Betty.
“Ah.” Again, this wasn’t news to Barb, but it obviously was to Betty. Was she really surprised that a man who ran around with her would also run around with other women? It seemed very naive, especially for a woman who claimed to be as worldly as Betty did. Carefully, Barb said, “I see.”
Everyone stared at her, waiting for something. She had no idea what. How did other women react when faced with this type of revelation? Should she cry out and pound her chest about the lying, cheating bastard? Or maybe she should lift her chin and dab politely at the corners of her eyes? She couldn’t muster the energy for either.
“Are you okay?” Abby finally found her voice, followed rapidly by Harper asking the same.
“Yes, I’m…” Barb glanced at the ring of Jell-O with its bits of floating fruit, then at Muriel and her barely contained anger, and finally at her own feet. She needed to get out of here. Her only reason for staying, the charade of respectability, was officially shattered. “I’m going to go.”
No one, not even Muriel, followed as she made her way out the front door and down the steps. By the time she reached the sidewalk, she was smiling and her steps were lighter than they had been in years. A weight had been lifted.
The next morning, Barb rose, fixed breakfast as usual, and kissed Richard on his way out the door.
Then she started to pack. She filled two large suitcases and a travel bag and stuffed her purse with the cash she’d tucked away in an envelope behind the hall mirror. There were many other things she’d have liked to take, but not enough to delay her departure. After calling for a cab, she removed her portable typewriter from the shelf in the study and set it on her bags.
This was it. She took a deep breath and dialed one last number.
“Hello?” Muriel answered, her voice clear and strong and a touch confused.
Barb didn’t blame her. It was a bit early for the phone to ring. Nobody used the telephone before eight unless it was an emergency. Barb didn’t know if this truly qualified, but she had a deep, urgent longing to invite Muriel, and for once she was taking a chance and asking for what she wanted.
“Muriel, so glad you’re the one who answered…”
BOOKS, RENOVATIONS, AND A VESPA
BY MELISSA GRACE
Ginny pounded away on the keyboard. The deadline for her next round of edits loomed over her like the branches of the large oak that threatened the roof of her home. Maybe the guys she had hired to remodel her kitchen could cut back the sagging lower limbs. One more item on her ever-growing list of renovations.
She examined the empty wall across from her bed, where a large clock used to rhythmically tick her into a deep sleep. The substantial round timepiece had struck its last beat just days after her grandmother’s recent passing.
Ginny pinched the bridge of her nose. The hammering and snapping of the ti
meworn cabinets in the connecting room made it hard for her to focus, even through a closed door and her noise reduction headphones. She thought the guys she’d hired to renovate her grandmother’s old kitchen would have completed the demolition by now. They had been there since breakfast, and now Ginny’s tummy rumbled for a late dinner.
Two knocks came at her bedroom door. “Miss Wolf?”
Am I ever going to get these edits done? Ginny growled quietly as she tossed her laptop on the pillow, marched over to the door, and opened it. “Yes?” She stuck her head through the cracked opening.
“Almost done knockin’ the cabinets down. The guys and I’ll be headed out in the next half hour, and we’ll be back tomorrow for the delivery. Once we install those upgrades, we can get the template for your new countertops.”
She wanted to slam the door shut to muffle the hammering still coming from the kitchen. Instead, she said, “Thank you for the update, Stanley.”
“Not a problem. And hey…”
She had started to shut the door. “Yeah?”
“A van just pulled up. Says somethin’ about Jo the Pro or somethin’ like that. Don’t know what they’re doin’, but I woulda cut you a deal.” When he smiled, the puff of air between his nicotine-stained teeth smelled of coffee and a hint of Bailey’s Irish Cream liquor.
Ginny exhaled so quickly she could have squelched a bundle of burning candles. What made her decide to rush in so many home updates, all at the same time? She could’ve just saved the money her grandmother had left her and used it to buy books instead. Of course, those books needed a lovely built-in bookshelf on which to reside.
The doorbell rang. She opened the bedroom door just enough to step out and quickly shut it behind her. Stanley craned his neck to get a peek of what was inside. When she saw her kitchen, her knees went weak. She steadied herself by clinching the doorknob. “Oh my!”
“Don’t you worry,” another contractor said. “There’s always a storm before the calm.”
Ginny shot him a look. Either he was joking or he had some sort of dyslexia for sayings. More than likely it was the latter. “I just wasn’t expecting…” She couldn’t find the right words to complete the sentence.
“We’ll clear some of the debris, and then we’ll be on our way,” Stanley said. “Don’t you worry about nothin’. This ain’t our first rodeo.”
Ginny turned her back to the chaos and made her way to the front door. She took a deep breath before opening it.
“Hello, I’m Jo. I’m here to speak with Miss Virginia Wolf about building some bookshelves.”
She was not at all what Ginny expected. First, she was…well, a she. Second, she had a slight British accent. Not that Ginny had ever been to the United Kingdom. And third, she wore knee-high brown leather boots, a white button-down shirt, a dark suit jacket, and a pair of stretchy tan trousers. If she had worn a velvety cap to cover up her lengthy reddish-brown hair or carried a riding crop, she could have passed for an equestrian.
“Please call me Ginny.” They shook hands. “Come in.” She stepped aside to allow Jo entry.
“I’m a day early, but if it’s not too much trouble, I thought I would take some measurements of your space.” Jo reached into her leather messenger bag and pulled out a tape measure. She held it up, flashing a brilliant white smile between deep-set dimples.
When Ginny turned toward the kitchen, she realized just how quiet it had become the moment Jo walked in. The guys stood there, gawking at her.
Jo leaned forward and looked at the crew standing in the newly made pile of rubble. “Hello, gentlemen.” She gave a quick one-handed wave.
“Hi,” the men stammered in unison.
Ginny refrained from huffing. “Jo, this is Stanley, Matt, and Jamal. They’re here to renovate the kitchen. Guys, this is Jo. She’s here to build a bookshelf in my master bedroom.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Jo said.
They continued to stare, their jaws agape.
“Okay…” Ginny rolled her eyes and turned back toward Jo. “They’re just about finished for the evening. How about I take you into my bedroom?” She blinked twice. “You know, to where I would like the shelves built.”
“Perfect. Lead the way.”
Ginny escorted her to the room and shut the door behind them.
The guys snickered and gave a few quiet whistles.
“What a lovely room,” Jo said.
Ginny followed Jo’s gaze up at the ceiling. An upper row of windows and a thick layer of crown molding outlined the soaring ceilings. Large dark-stained wooden beams gave the windows a shelf that Ginny had decorated with a handful of stained-glass panels.
“I bet those look even more spectacular when the sun hits them directly,” Jo said. “Did you make them yourself?”
“My grandfather made them for my grandmother many years ago.”
“Well, they are absolutely brilliant.” Jo crossed to the French doors that led out to the patio. “And what a beautiful sitting area you have outside.” She turned with a bright smile. “I bet that oak out there gives you a lovely canopy.”
“It does. My grandparents planted it when they bought this home over seventy years ago. It grew with them, protecting them and their loved ones.”
“How lovely.”
“And over here is where I would like the bookshelf.” She indicated the blank wall.
Jo set her messenger bag on the bed and approached with the tape measure in hand. “How large were you thinking?” She stretched the tape out to begin taking measurements.
“The entire wall. I have quite the book collection.”
“Wonderful.” She measured the wall’s length and then up to the height of the beam that encircled the room.
Even with the impending deadline of edits, Ginny waited patiently. Jo moved so elegantly that she found it easy to ignore her laptop.
“Got it.” Jo let the tape spin back into its housing. “I can see why you have asked for a dark distressed wood for your shelves. They’re going to look incredible against the white walls and textiles in here. You have exceptional taste, Ginny. What time can I get started tomorrow?”
A crash came from the other room, and Ginny held up her index finger before running out of the bedroom. “What happened?”
Jo walked up beside her.
“This vase fell off the shelf over here,” Matt said.
“Grammy!” Ginny ran to the broken pieces of porcelain and kneeled. Tears welled up in her eyes.
“Grammy?” Stanley walked over to the tiny fragments while scratching his head.
“My grandmother was cremated. These are her ashes.”
“You burned your grandma and stuck her in a vase?”
Ginny’s jaw dropped. How could she answer such a ridiculous question? She tightened her jaw and balled her hands into fists.
“It’s okay, Ginny.” Jo placed her hand on her shoulder. “I’ll help you get your grandmother back safely into a functional container.” She looked over at Stanley. “I’m sure Stanley here will be more than willing to foot the bill for a new urn.”
“Yeah, we can do that,” Stanley said. “It was just a mistake, but we’ll make it right.”
Ginny remained on the floor. She covered her eyes with her hands.
“We’ll be back in the mornin’ to get the cabinets in. The truck should be here first thing.”
Matt and Jamal followed Stanley out the door.
Jo kneeled next to Ginny. “Since I’ll be spending the night parked out in your driveway, I’ll help watch for that delivery.”
Ginny nodded. She pulled her hands away from her eyes.
“I’ve got something in my van that will help you out here. If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll be right back.”
Ginny sto
pped crying and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Her lips quivered. “Thanks,” she said quietly.
Jo came around the side of the house and joined Ginny on the patio. She held two cups of steaming coffee. “Good morning! I thought I might find you back here.” She sat down. “Don’t feel obligated to drink it.” She slid the mug in front of Ginny.
“How sweet, thank you.” Ginny nearly burned her tongue as she took a sip. “So you fit a bed and a kitchen along with all your tools in that van of yours?”
“Absolutely. It’s a home away from home, but I do have to use a makeshift outdoor shower to bathe.” She looked at the street. “I see the guys haven’t made it back yet.”
“No. And they haven’t returned any of my texts. Feel free to use the shower inside whenever you’d like.”
“That’s very kind of you.” Jo smiled. “Well, if it’s okay with you, I would like to set up my shop out here under the tree. It’ll give me shade as I make cuts, and it should be far enough to prevent sawdust from entering your home.”
“Under the oak sounds good.”
“So, is it all right that I work throughout most the day, or do you have other plans for your bedroom?” Jo raised an eyebrow.
Ginny laughed. “No special plans yet, but I’m sure the bookshelves will remedy that.”
“Right.” Jo smiled.
“As long as the day remains beautiful, I plan to work out here on the patio. Feel free to come and go as you please.”
“Do you work from home every day?”
Ginny nodded. “I work for several publishers and directly with a handful of authors. I edit their manuscripts for them.”
“Well, Miss Wolf, a significant bookshelf in your master bedroom it is.” She smiled. “Perhaps you are the most avid reader I have ever met.”
“I absolutely love reading! Although,” she sighed, “some of these deadlines stress me out to no end. I enjoy the work, but keeping up with the demands can be quite a feat.”
