Love by the Numbers

by Karin Kallmaker

  Her inner cheerleader finally got tired and she was no less anxious. After crossing into Connecticut she considered the best place to take a break. It was much later in the day than she’d planned. Last night, with no place else to go after the dealer took the last of her furniture, she’d collapsed in Uncle Damon’s guest room and slept hard for the first time in what seemed like years. She’d woken up this morning with the vague feeling of having been crying, but after a brisk shower and the pleasure of making eggs for herself and Uncle Damon that he’d praised for being “as good as David’s,” she’d been in a more positive frame of mind. Even though David had passed away more than five years ago, the house still had his laughter and serenity, and she had soaked it up.

  But the escrow officer who was supposed to take her keys from her had been delayed, making her start from Manhattan later than she had planned, especially after the time it took to secure the rental car. On the plus side, Uncle Damon had insisted on giving her an advance against her first couple of paychecks, and a small personal loan to pay down her credit card so she had some emergency funding should she need it. He’d been a little miffed that she hadn’t told him just how desperate her financial straits were. One minute he’d been treating her to dinner and the next offering her a job. It was a relief to have those financial cushions. Her bank had been the last stop on her way out of New York.

  She willed herself not to look in the rearview mirror. There’s nothing back there for you.

  The humidity dropped as she drove north and east through small town after small town. The cooler air was fragrant with the aroma of fresh sod and moss as she passed rolling pastures. The leaves were nowhere near turning but she could imagine how beautiful the landscape would be when reds, golds and coppers massed on the hillsides. Someday she might come back this way, maybe with someone special to share the sights.

  It occurred to her that she could actually think about having a “someone special.” That would mean, potentially, telling someone about her parents, and about hiding in her condo for a year and a half in fear of being recognized. Or about being judged, by the media at least, a financial swindler and criminal. How did one bring up, in a casual conversation, that one had an arrest record, or that perfect strangers felt justified when they swore or spat at you?

  A cool, quiet roadside park beckoned. Alone in the parking lot she left the car radio playing a public radio broadcast of Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony and enjoyed the lunch Uncle Damon had made for her. His “little of this, little of that” turned out to be sliced pear, a lovely wedge of brie, a tart kosher pickle and cream crackers. For at least those few minutes she felt calm. Finally, she could focus on exactly what she’d undertaken. Uncle Damon had said the author was unpleasant. He’d only given Lily one stricture: she couldn’t quit. Since the job was a godsend, she had no intention of failing.

  So she didn’t have to worry about money for a few months—what a relief. In addition to now having some resources on her credit card, another credit card from Uncle Damon’s little publishing house would be waiting for her in Edinburgh on Monday. Her priority, after she reclaimed the packet of tickets and itineraries from the difficult Dr. Hathaway, was updating the air tickets to her own name. If she had a smarter phone she could probably take care of that right now.

  Duh, she thought. Glad to find her mind could focus more clearly, she clicked open her cell phone and called Uncle Damon. After assuring him she was safely on her way and more than halfway to Meredith, New Hampshire, she made the case for needing better technology at her disposal.

  “A laptop? Of course you need a laptop. I should have thought of it.” She heard him call out to someone, then he came back on the line. “Lupe—my assistant—will see about ordering one from a store where you’re headed.”

  He went away again, then returned after a muffled conversation. “She says there’s an electronics store in Meredith. I’ll give her your number and she’ll keep you posted.”

  She thanked him and hung up with a deep breath. There, she told herself. Your brain isn’t fried, just rusty. There was nothing inherently difficult about this job. It needed attention and forethought. After living day to day for the many months since the scandal had broken, thinking about next week and next month was finally a possibility.

  Her final hurdle, however, was developing a working relationship with the famously boorish Dr. Hathaway. She’d had professors like that at Wellesley—brilliant and utterly without social graces. Some of them hadn’t had social graces to begin with. Their neurons fired a little bit differently than most people’s and their empathy was sometimes on a time delay. There, but slow to surface.

  But there had been a few profs who simply dispensed with the niceties because it was easier for them that way. One professor in particular had it all worked out through a social exchange diagnosis that he could be an insensitive asshat and if you minded, it was your fault. When a student had told him she had breast cancer, his response had been, “Why should that matter to me?”

  Lily’s jaw still dropped every time she recalled it, not to mention his subsequent diatribe about the inherent manipulative nature of compulsory compassion. She didn’t relish the idea of working with anyone who approached that level of asshattery.

  Back on the road, and finally able to tune in several choices in music, she flipped channels between Gotye, Christina Aguilera and Florence and the Machine. The upbeat music and peaceful highway continued to improve her mood throughout the afternoon.

  Though New Hampshire’s sapphire lakes and emerald mountains should have already prepared her, she gasped when she caught first sight of the large, richly blue Lake Winnipesaukee. Green-crusted islands, some with large homes just visible between the trees, were dotted across the surface. Deep fingers formed large bays and there were almost as many small craft on its surface as moored at the numerous docks.

  Daniel Webster Highway skirted Meredith Bay and would lead her into the heart of Meredith. She rounded the first corner into the town to find the roadside filled with food stands promising apples and peaches, shaved ices and fresh lemonade. In the lazy summer afternoon light, the water looked inviting. She envied the people out on their water skis, but noted they were all wearing body suits. The snow-fed lake was probably a few degrees above freezing. Given the crowds sunning on the lakeside beach and playing in the water, that was how New Englanders liked it. Not that New Yorkers weren’t a tough lot. They just tended to think New Englanders took things to unnecessary extremes.

  The rental car GPS warned her she was approaching Dr. Hathaway’s home. Nearly five o’clock was much later than she had planned. At first she thought she was being directed into a bed-and-breakfast called The Lakeside House by mistake, but the building turned out to be a large private residence. The classic saltbox two-story main building had two one-story wings. The driveway was lined with blooming rhododendrons of lavender and scarlet. Somebody kept a beautiful garden.

  Her tires crunched on the gravel as she slowed to a stop. It was a large house for the single loner that Uncle Damon had described. She’d had no time to even buy a copy of the professor’s book and wasn’t sure what she looked like. She realized that a young woman was sitting on the porch so she got out of the car with a brisk air, gathered her handbag and hoped her businesslike shirtdress that had served as her standard courtroom attire wasn’t overly crumpled from the long drive. She’d chosen her Magli stilettos to add several inches to her petite height and because they boosted her confidence.

  “Dr. Hathaway?” she asked as she mounted the three shallow steps to the cobblestone porch, even though she was guessing the woman was too young and fair-skinned to be the Indian-heritage professor.

  The pretty blonde shook her head. “Not by a long shot.”

  Lily realized then the woman was very pregnant and roughly her own age. “Am I in the right place to find her?”

  “Yes, but she won’t be home for another half hour or so. You could set your watch if you like
.” She changed to a nasal, mechanical tone. “When you hear the bicycle bell the time will be five-a-thirty, exac-ta-lee.”

  “I see.” She held out her hand such that the woman didn’t have to rise to shake it. “I’m Lily Smith from Insignis Publishing.”

  “Kate Hathaway, Nicky’s sister.” Her hand was swollen and dry. “Are you a new assistant? I didn’t know Nicky was getting another one. Does Nicky know she has a new victim?”

  “A pleasure to meet you.” Diplomacy 101 suggested that Lily would not need to understand Kate’s reasons for being snide about her sister to a stranger, so it was best to appear as if she was unaware of any undertone. She was spared from further pleasantries by the opening of the front door.

  A much older woman in a beautiful purple sari over soft green petticoats looked at her curiously. Kate and the woman shared the same nose, mouth and chin, though Kate’s skin was several shades lighter.

  “I apologize for arriving unannounced,” Lily said. Uncle Damon had given her a sketchy version of Nicole Hathaway’s bio and knew she was Indian by lineage and American by birth. This must be her mother, she thought, taking note of the simple gold cross at the woman’s throat. “I’m Lily Smith from Insignis Publishing. I’ll be accompanying Professor Hathaway on her tour. I understand she isn’t available yet.”

  “I am Indira Hathaway.” She offered her hand and Lily met her gaze. After a quick handshake, Mrs. Hathaway stepped back, holding the door open for Lily. “Welcome to our home. Please come in. My other daughter will be home very soon. May I offer you tea?”

  She smelled what had to be dinner. Her timing was awkward. “I really must check into my lodging for the night. I could return later this evening. Around seven or seven thirty?”

  “Please come in,” Mrs. Hathaway repeated. “Join me for a cup of tea and please stay for dinner.”

  “It’s not vindaloo,” Kate said from behind them.

  Lily froze for just a second before she realized that Mrs. Hathaway’s glacial stare wasn’t aimed at her. “I couldn’t impose.”

  “It is no imposition at all. Please, be our guest for our evening meal.”

  She hadn’t been to India since her exchange program stay of two months when she was a high school junior. From what she remembered, though, the repetition of the offer meant it was genuine. It would be rude not to accept and she had no reason to alienate Dr. Hathaway’s family.

  She nodded. “In that case, I’d be honored.” It was the truth when she added, “It smells delicious.”

  “We’re having spiced chicken. Are you a vegetarian?”

  “No, though I really should be.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re already too skinny.”

  “Welcome to the house of joy,” Kate muttered.

  The interior was all wood paneling and tweeds from New England with vibrant artwork and ceramics from India. The cultural clash was surprisingly lively—she liked it. It reflected the strong personality of the woman who was leading her not to the sitting room but to a delightfully old-fashioned kitchen. There was even a huge open hearth at the far end, though its function appeared to be decorative in this era.

  “My daughter did not mention that there was someone on the way to accompany her. I am very relieved.” Mrs. Hathaway set two delicate teacups on saucers next to the stove where a kettle was already simmering. “Do you have a favorite tea?”

  “Darjeeling, if you have it. But I’m not picky.” Lily knew that Uncle Damon had told Dr. Hathaway she was on her way, so why had she not told her family?

  “I do have it. Have you had a long journey today? Would you like to freshen up?”

  “I would love to freshen up. Thank you,” Lily said fervently.

  “Certainly. Kate, please show our guest to the powder room.”

  The now taciturn Kate led her back to the foyer and gestured at another door. Lily used the few minutes to gather her wits. Brushing her hair, though nothing would improve the cut, and a fresh application of powder and lipstick all helped hide how tired she was. She didn’t know why she was so nervous. Well, if Mrs. Hathaway was anything to judge by, Professor Hathaway would be formidable.

  The tea was well steeped by the time she returned, and she carried her cup and saucer into the sitting room in the wake of her hostess.

  “This is a lovely home.”

  “It’s been in my husband’s family for many generations. I and my daughter Nicole have lived here since my Robert brought me home from our honeymoon. That’s nearly thirty years ago now.”

  “If I may ask, I hope I’m not being rude, but what part of India are you from originally? I can’t place your accent—but then I don’t know enough of them to be sure of anything, Mrs. Hathaway.” Lily inhaled the earthy aroma of her tea, hoping it would restore some of her flagging energy.

  “You must call me Indira.”

  “That’s a powerful name.”

  “It is. I have always liked it.” Indira sipped her tea with a reserved smile. “I was born in Keralam province.”

  “In the south? I was told it’s lovely there. I stayed in Chennai for two months when I was in high school. It was one of several exchange programs I was in. I wish I had seen more of India, but it is such a large country.”

  Indira’s reserve faded and they were quickly discussing why the literacy rate in Kerala was so much higher than the rest of India. Indira was an avid reader of biographies and they found common ground in John Adams. She didn’t enlighten her hostess that she’d decided to read biographies of American presidents, in order by presidency, during the long months of self-imposed isolation. Library books were free. So far she’d made it to Taft.

  Indira excused herself for a few minutes to tend to dinner, and returned in full interrogation mode. Lily answered questions about her schooling. The word Wellesley brought a smile to Indira’s lips, but it made Lily nervous. Questions about her family, her parents, her own job history were inevitable. Yes, she had completed her undergraduate degree, but hadn’t yet chosen a master’s program. She was spared explaining the interruption in her schooling by a timer sounding from the kitchen. Indira hurried away again, after assuring Lily that she needed no assistance.

  After a moment, Kate, who had been sitting on the other side of the room, excused herself. “I’m not running away. It’s just that the glider on the porch feels better to my back.” She gestured at her belly.

  Lily smiled. “When are you due?”

  “Just after Halloween.” As Kate moved slowly toward the front door a trilling bell sounded from outside.

  She couldn’t help but look at her watch. It was five thirty on the dot.

  Kate glanced back and caught her noting the time. “Told ya.”

  * * *

  The nondescript sedan in the driveway might belong to the new assistant, Nicole thought. Darn it anyway. It had been foolish to hope Damon’s plan would fall through. She skirted the car easily, wishing the newcomer had decided to show up tomorrow morning at the college. Her bike tires had skidded on an unexpected puddle and she’d fallen. The mud smearing her left side was not the impression of competence she wanted to make, and it was beyond all reasonable expectation that her mother would let her quietly slip back to her bedroom to clean up.

  Sure enough, within seconds of opening the mudroom door she heard, “Nicole, we’re in the sitting room. Please come and meet Lily Smith.”

  In spite of being self-conscious about her appearance she was taken aback by the sitting room tableau.

  Her mother, animated and all smiles, was perched on the edge of the sofa. The assistant sat next to her, sipping tea from the good china.

  Tea, before dinner. Tea, in the good china.

  The hands so adroitly balancing the cup and saucer were delicate, the shapely legs were crossed, and the high heels were the kind of stylish ones that Nicole had never ever wanted to wear but Cole had always found…intriguing.

  The woman was setting her saucer on the side table and rising to her
feet. Brassy blonde, perfect makeup, manicured nails, shimmering crystal earrings, green eyes.

  She couldn’t be any older than Kate and the top of her head scarcely reached the height of Nicole’s shoulder.

  They shook hands and exchanged names.

  “Lily has agreed to stay to dinner,” her mother said.

  “Perfect.” Nicole hoped any oddness in her demeanor would be put down to the mud. “I really must go change. I had a tumble off my bike.”

  “And yet you still got here on time.” Kate, coming in from the porch, was giving her a look like she was in really deep trouble about something.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Don’t wait dinner on me.”

  “Of course we can wait.” Her mother waved her away as she turned back to Lily. “When you were in Chennai did you ever try kootu?”

  “I loved it.” Lily Smith’s voice was light and edged with humor. “I preferred the kind with all the greens and lots of black pepper.”

  Their voices faded away as she reached her bedroom. So the new assistant had been to India? That accounted for her mother’s beaming approval.

  She jumped when Kate spoke from behind her.

  “You are so screwed.”

  She turned in her open doorway to give Kate a puzzled look.

  “She wrapped Mom around her little finger in five seconds flat. You don’t stand a chance.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I know, you don’t need anyone, ever. Did you see her shoes? If those aren’t real Bruno Maglis, I’m not pregnant. Though I haven’t a clue what happened to her hair. Looks like a beauty school dropout soaked it with bleach and then cut it with a butter knife.”

  “What do her shoes have to do with Mom?”