The Guest Cottage

by Nancy Thayer

  Okay, Trevor wanted to say, okay, I get it. I’m too immature. I wear old T-shirts. I don’t have a yacht.

  But Sophie didn’t need a yacht, she needed Trevor, and somewhere in that convoluted mind of hers, she knew it. She didn’t have to bring Angie down to flirt with him and relieve him of adolescent sexual cravings. He was a big boy. He could restrain himself. It wasn’t sex he wanted. It was Sophie.

  “…is dying,” Leo said sadly.

  The words jerked Trevor back to reality. “What, Leo? What did you say?”

  “I said Connor told me he is dying.” Leo listlessly pushed a yellow rubber duck back and forth in the bathwater.

  “Leo, dude, when did Connor say that?” Trevor tried to keep the alarm out of his voice.

  “Yesterday. I told him about Mom dying, and that I wasn’t so sad anymore. He told me his mommy had died, and he wasn’t so sad anymore, because he was dying, too.”

  “Um. Leo, I think he meant his wife died, not his mommy. But I’m sorry to hear that. What did you say?”

  Leo looked up at Trevor. “I said maybe he’d see my mommy and his mommy in heaven when he got there.”

  Trevor frowned, trying to remember the last time they’d seen Connor. The summer was flying by so quickly, so many visitors were arriving at the guest cottage, that he hadn’t wandered down to the apartment to chat with the old guy.

  “Is he breathing all right?” Trevor asked. “Is he eating? Where were you when you spoke to him?”

  “I was showing him my bridge to the fairy house. He liked it. He was sitting out on his deck carving something. He didn’t seem sad, Daddy. He didn’t seem hungry. I didn’t ask him if he was hungry.” Leo’s face crinkled with worry.

  “It’s okay, Leo, you did exactly right. Old people don’t get as hungry as young people. I’m sure it made him happy to see your bridge. It is sad, though, that he thinks he is dying. I wonder if he needs to go see a doctor.”

  “Oh, Connor doesn’t like doctors,” Leo said. “I told him I don’t either.” Leo stood up, water cascading from his chubby, tanned body. “I’m ready to get out.”

  “I need to speak with Sophie about this,” Trevor muttered, more to himself than to his son as he lifted his child’s wet body from the bath.

  Leo nodded. “Sophie will fix it.”

  After dressing Leo and combing his unruly hair, Trevor changed out of his damp clothes. With guests coming to this special dinner, he couldn’t show up in a T-shirt. He put on khakis and a Brooks Brothers button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He’d been told—even Tallulah had commented—that the pale green of the shirt brought out the green of his eyes. Not that he was competing with Hristo.

  Downstairs he found the rest of the party lingering around the dining room table, drawn by the tantalizing aroma of Sophie’s cuisine. He shook hands with Hristo, kissed Angie’s cheek lightly and warily, and went into the kitchen to ask Sophie if he could help. She was flustered, taking pans from the oven, stirring pots on the stove. Her cheeks were pink from the heat and excitement. Trevor wanted to shove her up against the counter and put his hands down the front of her cute white apron.

  Instead, he did as she asked: he marshaled the kids in to wash their hands, then called everyone to the table. Sophie had allocated Hristo, as guest of honor, to one end of the table. She was at the other end, and everyone else could choose a place. Desi and Lacey of course sat side by side, Leo sat next to Jonah, and that left two empty chairs: one next to Sophie, one next to Hristo. With a silken glide, Angie took the chair next to Hristo. Trevor glanced at Sophie to see if she was as amused by this as he was. Sophie winked.

  When everyone was seated, Sophie tapped her glass. “Before we eat, I want to thank you all for coming and tell you what we are eating tonight. You know we are having a Bulgarian meal in honor of our guests, Hristo and Desi. First, we will have tarator, a cold soup of yogurt, cucumber, and garlic.”

  “Ick,” Leo interrupted spontaneously, and everyone laughed.

  “Try it,” Sophie suggested gently. “Next, shopska salad, which is made from chopped tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, peppers, and white cheese. I used feta. Next, moussaka, which I know my children like, and sarmi, grape leaves stuffed with rice and mincemeat. But first, a toast with the Bulgarian rakia Hristo has brought us tonight.”

  “Can I have some?” Jonah asked.

  “Me, too!” Leo piped up.

  “No, Leo,” Sophie said. “Rakia would burn your throat. Jonah, you may have a sip. One sip, and Hristo is pouring your glasses now. Rakia is clear, so it has the appearance of water but it is extremely potent—that means, Jonah, it could make you sick.”

  Lacey, thrilled to have her friend to dinner, averted a potential crisis. “Look, Leo—Desi and I aren’t having rakia. It stings. We’re having ginger ale. Want some, too?”

  “Okay,” Leo agreed.

  Hristo poured, Sophie asked everyone to wait until each person had a glass, and then she held hers high in a toast. “Nazdrave!” she said. “To life!”

  “Whoa!” Jonah said, swallowing. “I need water.”

  “We have water for everyone, and plenty of food,” Sophie told him, handing him a pitcher.

  As they ate, Angie plied Hristo with questions about Bulgaria. Finally he said, “Enough, enough. Angie, tell me what you do.”

  Angie leaned toward him, showing cleavage. “I’m a trial lawyer. In Boston. We have scores of immigrants from all countries in Boston. I’ve represented people from practically every nation. Recently…”

  “Mom. More moussaka?” Jonah asked, holding up his plate.

  “More moussaka, please?” Sophie corrected automatically.

  “Please.”

  She spooned another helping onto her son’s plate. At this end of the table, it was difficult to hear Angie and Hristo because of the children’s chatter. Trevor kept an eye on Sophie to see if it bothered her that Angie was attempting to move in on Sophie’s beau, but Sophie appeared content, even radiant.

  When the meal ended, Sophie said they’d have dessert outside—ice cream and berries. Jonah, in a charitable mood after such a good meal, deigned to play “Statues” with Lacey, Desi, and Leo.

  “I’ll wait for my dessert,” Angie said, rising. “I’m stuffed.” She rubbed her hand over her slender belly, inviting them to regard her figure in her restrained turquoise silk dress.

  “Go on out,” Sophie told her. “I’ll clear the table.”

  “I’ll help,” Hristo said, rising and picking up a plate.

  “No, that’s my job,” Trevor interrupted—perhaps a shade too sharply. “I mean, my agreement with Sophie is that she cooks and I clean the kitchen.”

  “But tonight is a special night,” Hristo argued winningly, with a smile and a twinkle in his eye. “Bulgarian night.”

  Angie yanked Trevor’s hand. “Come on. Let’s go out.”

  Trevor followed her, feeling sullen. He sat in a lawn chair next to Angie—anywhere else would be churlish—and watched her slowly unbuckle her glittering sandals and remove them.

  “Trust Sophie to have men fighting over her to do the dishes,” Angie said. She glanced at Trevor. “Honey, I’d say you’ve got it bad.”

  He didn’t want to discuss how he felt about Sophie with anyone, certainly not Angie. “And how are you doing, Angie?”

  “Honestly?” Angie curled up in her chair, tucking her feet beneath her skirt. “I’m lonely. My ex has a serious girlfriend and my kids like her, too, the traitors. Although I know it’s a good thing, it’s like my kids have even more people to love them, blah blah blah, here I am, all alone in the world, and why? I’m not exactly an old hag.”

  Touched by her candidness, Trevor agreed, “You’re certainly not, Angie. You’re beautiful. Smart, too.”

  “Thanks, Trevor. But do men want beautiful and smart? Sometimes I think I’m too smart, too ambitious, too driven, too argumentative, too flamboyant—and don’t say a thing. I know what I am. My husband liked all
that until I became more successful than he was; then he became unfaithful and now he’s with Betty Boop, all dimples and gee whizzes.”

  Trevor shifted uncomfortably in his own chair. He wasn’t up for this intimate a discussion. “I’m sorry,” he said at last, apologizing for men in general.

  “Oh, well, don’t worry about me. I like my solitude, being my own boss about everything in the house. And I’m getting plenty of carnal knowledge, believe me, and perhaps that’s all I need. If I can’t get loved, at least I can get…” With the children playing nearby, Angie refrained from finishing her sentence.

  Trevor focused on the children, who were running over the green grass, freezing into silly positions, falling onto the ground with laughter. Overhead the setting sun struck gold into the edges of the clouds as the sky changed from blue to lavender.

  “Remember being that age?” he asked. “The sheer joy of bare feet on soft grass, the excitement of being out at night, the smell of the fresh summer air…”

  Angie snorted. “Honey, I wasn’t ever that age.” She put her hand on Trevor’s arm. “Move slowly, but look in the kitchen window.”

  Trevor turned. Clearly outlined by the kitchen light, Sophie and Hristo stood facing each other in front of the sink, so close that Hristo could put his hand gently on Sophie’s cheek as he bent to kiss her lips.

  “Go on and shoot me now,” Angie said.

  “He might be kissing her to thank her for the meal,” Trevor suggested desperately.

  “MOM!” Jonah shouted. “WE CAN SEE YOU!”

  The bellow made its way into the house, causing Sophie to jump back from Hristo. She said something Trevor couldn’t understand, and then both people disappeared from the window.

  “He can’t marry her,” Trevor said. “He travels all over. Her children need the security of a home base.”

  “Oh, Trevor,” Angie sighed. “Step up to the plate, guy. You’re in love with Sophie—go get her. Then I’d have a chance with Hristo.”

  “She told me I’m too young,” Trevor protested. “And I am six years younger than she is. I don’t know what to do.”

  “If you don’t know what to do, you are too young for her.” Angie snorted. Rising from her chair, she said, “I’m going to play ‘Statues’ with the kids. At least I’ll run off some of my dinner.”

  Trevor sat brooding while Angie and the kids ran around in the dimming light and Sophie stayed inside, probably making out passionately with Hristo.

  A light came on in the apartment, and suddenly Trevor remembered what Leo had told him. He’d better check on the old guy. Skirting the swirling players, he went across the lawn and knocked on Connor’s door.

  Connor opened it. “Good evening, Trevor.”

  Trevor quickly assessed the man. Connor seemed perfectly fine, dressed in a white T-shirt and long khaki pants and those handsome loafers with the toe cut out of one side. No doubt, Trevor thought irrelevantly, the man had a bunion. Most old people did.

  Quickly, he came up with a reason for knocking. “Um, we’re going to have dessert on the patio. Angie is here, and Hristo, the Bulgarian, and we wondered if you’d like to join us.”

  “Thank you, but I believe I’ll decline,” Connor replied formally. “I’m in the middle of a good detective novel and I just brewed a fresh cup of coffee.”

  “All right, then,” Trevor said. “I hope the kids aren’t bothering you with all their screaming.”

  “I enjoy hearing their voices,” Connor told him. He nodded. “Good night.”

  Trevor went back up to the patio, thinking that Connor looked all right. He’d have to ask Sophie about him tomorrow. He was glad to see Sophie and Hristo sitting on the patio now, chatting with Angie. Trevor joined them.

  “Hristo follows the Red Sox, too,” Sophie informed Trevor. “We were just talking about this season.”

  “Yes,” Hristo agreed. “I was wondering why the baseball grand finale is called the World Series when it is played only in the United States.”

  “I don’t know,” Trevor said. “I never thought about it.”

  “I’ll find out,” Angie said. “That’s the sort of question that sticks with me.”

  The conversation evolved into a discussion of players. Jonah left the children and joined the adults to add his opinion of Big Papi and Dustin Pedroia. Not much later, Leo fell and hurt his arm. Trevor consoled his child and carried him up to bed. When he returned, Hristo and Desi were saying good night. Trevor shook hands with Hristo. Hristo kissed Angie on both cheeks, and then he kissed Sophie, politely, on both cheeks. Trevor experienced a whopping great satisfaction at being the one to close and lock the door behind the other man.

  “Fabulous meal,” Angie said to Sophie.

  “Thanks, Angie. Let’s talk tomorrow. I’m exhausted.” Sophie left to round up her son and daughter and nag them away from the television and upstairs to bed.

  Trevor went in to check the kitchen. It was spic-and-span, but he busied himself washing the countertops, hoping to avoid Angie. It worked. By the time he went up to bed, he could tell that Angie was asleep on the pull-out in the family room.

  —

  Because of the direction of the wind, the next day they drove out to the beach at Quidnet, where Sesachacha Pond was separated by a narrow stretch of sand that was often breached, allowing ocean water to flood in. Trevor and the kids were at the far end, trying to fly a kite. Angie and Sophie lay side by side on beach chairs, heads back, exposing their necks to the sun, eyes closed.

  “You know he’s in love with you,” Angie said.

  “Angie. Get real. He’s a child.”

  “Hardly. He’s got a successful business—super successful. I checked it out with some friends in Boston.”

  “You would,” Sophie said with a chuckle.

  “You bet. Plus, Trevor’s a wonderful father. Oh, and P.S., tell me when it was you ever saw Zack teach your kids how to fly a kite?”

  “Then why don’t you grab him? You had sex with him, if I recall.”

  Angie blew air through her lips like an exasperated horse. “Yeah, because I initiated it. He was capable but not thrilled.”

  Sophie couldn’t help laughing. “You can be a touch aggressive.”

  “Hey, I’m a trial lawyer. I chew men up and spit them out. I need a man who can deal with me.” Angie paused strategically. “Like that Hristo dude.”

  “Angie, Hristo is devoted to his country. He’ll always be traveling.”

  “So? Fine. I don’t want to get married. I’ve been married. I’ve had my children, my two sweet babies who’ve turned into defectors, and I don’t want any more. I make as much money as I need. I want to travel, too, have fun while I’m still young. I want that Hristo guy. He’s mysterious and sexy as hell.”

  “Take him.”

  “Get out.”

  “Seriously.”

  Angie pushed her sunglasses up onto her hair and sat up to twist around and gawk at Sophie. “You aren’t even a small bit smitten?”

  “Of course I think he’s fascinating,” Sophie replied calmly, thinking as she spoke, oddly and very clearly knowing as she spoke. “He seems genuinely nice, given how mega-sophisticated he is. And he is sexy as hell, I agree—”

  “Have you slept with him?”

  “Angie. I’m still married to Zack—”

  “Who’s sleeping with another woman—”

  “Besides, I don’t operate on the same wavelength you do. I don’t even operate on the same planet as you.”

  “What are you going to do when this vacation’s over?” Angie pressed.

  “Return to our house. Get the kids back in school. And, I suppose, start divorce proceedings with Zack.”

  Angie lay back in her chair. “Are you sad?”

  Sophie took the time to consider the question. “I was. I was hurt, insulted, ashamed for myself, and frightened for my kids. Having Zack’s mother here helped enormously. And I’ve learned something I’ve known all along, or rather I�
��ve stopped avoiding the truth. Zack is an absent father. He likes the status marriage and kids provide, but he can’t take the reality.” Sophie paused. “He hasn’t called the kids once.”

  “Shit.”

  “I don’t think they’re too surprised. Or even upset. We’re exactly like we always were. And you know what, Angie? I’m sad for the kids about the divorce, but for me? I’m glad.” She sighed. “Isn’t that terrible?”

  Angie reached over and held Sophie’s hand. “You two had some good times.”

  “We did. So did you and Spencer.”

  “But don’t you want a man, Sophie?” Angie asked.

  Under the hot rays of the sun, hearing her children whoop and run nearby, having her dear old irritating, stimulating friend Angie pressing on her thoughts, Sophie admitted to herself that yes, indeed, OMG, she did want a man. She wanted him so desperately, so unmistakably, distinctly, and fiercely that she was terrified of saying his name.

  She hedged. “Not just any man. I don’t think I’m as sexual as you are, Angie.” They both laughed. They’d been friends since high school and Sophie knew the sorts of escapades Angie had gotten up to all her life. “Sure, I guess I’d like a man,” Sophie continued, lying like a rug, “but I’m not in any hurry.”

  “Well, don’t dismiss Trevor simply because he’s younger than you are. I think he’s a keeper.”

  Sophie snorted. “You only want me to be with him so I’ll give you Hristo.”

  “Hey!” Angie playfully shoved Sophie’s arm. “You don’t think I can take Hristo away from you without your permission?”

  “I don’t know,” Sophie teased. “Why don’t you try?” She jumped up and ran toward the water, with Angie chasing her. They splashed each other, shrieking as the cold water hit their midsections, then dove in and swam next to each other, racing for a nearby shore. For a while, they were purely girls again.

  —