Melina recalled the opulent country club where Richard was a member; her only entrée to the club, ever, was when he’d forgotten something at the office and she had to bring it to him. As his assistant.
Melina swallowed hard, barely believing what she was hearing. “So you’ve answered, ‘Why me?’ But what about, ‘Why now?’”
“I thought you’d like this little surprise, me coming out to Seattle to help you win a new account.”
“Richard, I hate surprises. You should know that. And I don’t need your help to win that account. I’ve proven I can do it myself.”
“All right then, what about now?” he moved closer, crowding her personal space, his hand on her upper arm brushing the curve of her breast. “You’re successful. So am I. You’re biological clock is probably ticking and I’m enjoying the hell out of my mid-life crisis.”
“You think I’m desperate?” Melina spat.
“Hardly, gorgeous. I just think you’re pragmatic. You know what you want. The kind of life you want to lead. And I can give it to you. You know what I have to offer.”
“What about what I have to offer?” Melina felt a sickening twist in her gut, finally understanding where Richard was coming from.
“Now we’re talking,” Richard moved closer, his breath hot in her ear. “I’ll take it. You. Right here, bent over this railing. Lose the dress and keep the heels. That’s how you like it.” His last sentence transformed to a guttural snarl.
“How I like it,” she choked out. “How I like it? I’m not some quick fuck at your beck and call.”
“Come on, baby. We could be good together. I’m giving you a chance—what you wanted, a real commitment.”
“Oh, goody,” Melina’s voice oozed sarcasm. “Yes, please, Richard, give me a chance. You said you want me? That I’m the total package? Well, guess what? That’s what I want, too.”
Melina brought her face closer to Richard’s, threatening.
“Let me spell it out for you, asshole,” she hissed. “I want the total package. And you. Are. Not. It.”
Melina spun out of his grasp and he recoiled.
“Get the hell out of my party, Richard,” she added. “I’ve been flying solo for years. I can land any client—especially Pinnacle Bank—without you.”
***
Joshua circulated easily without Melina, enjoying the food and music, and visiting at length with Eric and Holly, the only two from Pursuit Marketing he knew.
A client mistook him for a Pursuit account manager and struck up a conversation; by the time Joshua had cleared up the confusion that he was an engineer, not a marketer, they were laughing like old friends.
The client, Edwin Randall, owned a multi-location car dealership. Always at home talking cars, the client asked Joshua what he drove.
“A Porsche,” he said. “How about you?”
“An Escalade,” the man said ruefully. “I have three kids and they each play a bunch of sports. I can’t live without something big enough to do the carpool. But I miss the days when my wife and I drove a little convertible, just the two of us. I’d guess you don’t have kids yet?”
“Nope, not yet,” Joshua said, “not married. But I’m dating Melina Avgerakis, one of the senior account managers at Pursuit,” he added, careful to get in her new title. They spotted Melina several yards away chatting with other clients.
Edwin nodded knowingly. “You mean you’re not married yet. She’s a beautiful girl.” Then he returned to his favorite topic. “What kind of Porsche?”
“A 1974 Carrera Targa. They only made six hundred and thirty of them, and mine is number three twenty-six.”
“That’s the one I saw out front!” Edwin said. “The valet didn’t even park it in the lot. Just pulled it to the side of the drive for show. How long have you had it?”
Joshua dove into the story of its resurrection, from rusting under a tarp in Tacoma to its recent paint job. They talked easily, trading stories of getting under the hood of fast cars; Joshua with his father, and Edwin in his younger years. Both had a keen appreciation for what was inside.
TWENTY-SIX
“Joshua! There you are,” Melina wrapped her arm around Joshua’s elbow, turning to face Edwin Randall, president of Randall Automotive. The man bought more TV airtime and print advertising than a handful of Melina’s clients put together.
“Mr. Randall, I’m Melina Avgerakis,” she said, extending her hand. “And it looks like you’ve met Joshua Danford.”
“Yes,” Edwin said warmly, “we were having such a good time talking cars for fun that I almost forgot they were my business. I spend so much time staring at spreadsheets that it’s nice to sit back and just enjoy a sweet ride.”
Melina’s practiced, client-facing smile turned to genuine pleasure—Joshua was doing it! No matter how casual he usually was, no matter how often he wore that ugly sweatshirt, here he was, holding his own with Pursuit’s top-billing client.
Melina realized that Joshua wasn’t winning the client over by being particularly polished or well-dressed. He was just being himself. His authentic, charming self.
Her handbag buzzed.
Annoyed, Melina considered letting the phone go to voicemail, especially in the presence of this client. But Edwin seemed happy to talk with Joshua, so she excused herself for a moment.
***
“Hello?” Melina said loudly over the din of guests and the band. She held one hand over her ear and strode out onto the deck in the brisk late-summer night. The city shone.
“Hello? Sorry, I couldn’t hear you. Who’s calling please?”
“Melina, this is Doctor Katherine Cook at Seattle Medical Center. I’m calling because Maureen Callaghan is a patient in my care.”
Who? What? Melina was momentarily disoriented. Momo.
“What’s happened? Is Momo all right?”
“Ms. Avgerakis, I’m sorry to tell you that Mrs. Callaghan had a serious fall and severely bruised her hip,” the doctor said. “She was unable to call for help right away, and she’s in a lot of pain. She’s very frail.”
Frail? What does that mean? “Is she going to be all right?” Melina demanded.
“That depends.” The doctor’s tone was guarded. “I’m afraid she will have to make some major changes. Frankly, I’m surprised that she’s lived independently so long. I understand you’re her tenant?”
Why are they calling me? Melina thought, panic slicing through her chest. Who was her next of kin? Momo’s husband passed away two decades ago.
“Can you come see her?” the doctor asked. “She wants you to come. She was quite insistent.”
Melina glanced over her shoulder, torn between the party, a critical stepping stone for her career, and the old woman who had become a constant in her life. Melina’s heart lurched with the clarity of the right decision.
“I’m on my way.”
***
Melina dropped her phone in her bag and grabbed Joshua by the shoulder, leaving Edwin with a few sentences of explanation.
Joshua drove in silence, holding her hand when he wasn’t using the stick shift. Tears streamed down Melina’s face.
“Melina, breathe,” Joshua coached as he pulled up to the hospital, taking the handkerchief from his pocket and handing it to her. “She’s going to be OK. It’s just a bruise. She has to be OK.”
Joshua had seen Melina cry before, but only selfishly, on her birthday. He steered her through the hospital’s entry to the information desk, gathering directions from the receptionist as Melina choked back sobs. They wound through the labyrinthine corridors and ascended the elevator to find the room.
“Momo!”
Melina wrapped her arms around the tiny woman’s neck fiercely, as if she could not bear to let her go. Momo smiled placidly, her hair even more unruly than usual, in sharp contrast to Melina’s sleek mane and tear-stained face.
“Darling girl, I knew you would come,” she said, embracing Melina. “And Joshua. Thank you. I’m glad you’r
e here.”
“When did this happen? How did this happen?” It was as if Melina wanted someone to blame.
“I went out to the garden this morning, and when I came back in, my shoes were a bit wet—”
“This morning?” Melina roared. “This morning? How long have you been here? When did you call for help? How could I—?” Melina gulped, thinking of her frenzied day at work, the anger she threw at Joshua when he showed up in jeans, the hundreds of tiny little inconveniences that she called crises.
“It took me a while to get to the phone,” Momo confessed, and Melina imagined her plight in all of its gory detail, pulling herself from the back door, across the kitchen, and up the counter to dial the wall-mounted phone. It made her physically ill.
Joshua and Melina exchanged looks, realizing that they’d been within a few yards of the big house, able to help but unaware.
“You are going to get better,” Melina declared, characteristic toughness in her voice. “And we are going to make sure this never happens again.”
“I know, darling.” Momo smiled. “I knew I could count on my family for help.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
This time, when Joshua showed up at Melina’s house in a T-shirt and jeans, it was a welcome sight. Melina was likewise ready for the hard work ahead: ponytail, no jewelry, no makeup, and—shocker—tennis shoes.
“I see that you’ve finally lost the ridiculous shoes,” Joshua said, trying to lighten the mood and erase some of the tension around her eyes. It was clear Melina had several sleepless nights.
“You promised to not call them ridiculous,” she chided, offering a kiss and a fresh cup of coffee. “Drink up. I’m going to get a full day’s work out of you.”
As they finished their coffee, a truck’s tires rumbled on the gravel drive, backing up to the main house. Squirt hopped out, as well as his eleven-year-old son, Drew. It was time to get to work.
“So what’s the game plan?” Joshua asked as Squirt unlocked the back door of the main house. Momo was stuck in the hospital for at least another week, and between now and then they had to fix the old house to help her avoid another accident.
“Wheelchair ramp, that’s priority one,” Squirt said, motioning to the back stairs. “I’m thinking from this porch down to the garden, since that’s the route she usually goes.”
Melina paled. “You think she’s going to be stuck in a wheelchair for long?”
“No, not long,” Squirt reassured her. “But I’m thinking that even when she’s walking, it’s better for her to have a smooth, even ramp and sturdy handrails rather than those wide-open stairs.”
“Sold,” Joshua agreed as they headed inside the house. “What else?”
“I think we’ve got to take another look at the furniture and flooring, make sure there aren’t any rugs she can trip over or stuff in the way.” Squirt gave a thick braided rug in the dining room a shove with his shoe.
Everything was coated in a fine layer of dust. “Let’s air this place out, clean it from top to bottom and give her better access to anything she has to reach.”
Melina nodded, spotting iced tea glasses high in a kitchen cupboard. They should be on a lower shelf. “What about her bedroom? She shouldn’t be climbing the stairs up to the second floor.”
“I was thinking about that. Let’s convert the front sitting room into her bedroom. She can close the French doors so it feels more like a bedroom than the other rooms on the first floor, and if we move the wardrobe down here, that can be her closet.”
“I’m going to call for backup,” Joshua said, taking out his phone, ready to dial the entire basketball group.
“I’ll get started in the kitchen.” Melina turned toward the back of the house. Squirt and Drew walked outside, measuring the back stairs for the ramp, writing a list of the supplies they’d need.
“Hooks! We need some hooks!” Melina called out the kitchen window, and Drew added them to the hardware store list. Since Momo could comfortably reach only the bottom shelf in the kitchen cabinets, Melina planned to hang teacups from small hooks under the cabinets.
Joshua’s friends soon showed up, Derek and Greg and Rick, ready for the big job of moving a four-poster bed, dresser and wardrobe downstairs. Then they moved couches, side tables and bookshelves upstairs, effectively flip-flopping the rooms.
Melina cleaned and organized, sorted and stacked. Her back ached from bending and she sneezed as she cleaned her way through the kitchen, dining room and front hall.
She had the vacuum out, dusting baseboards and clearing out cobwebs when she moved on to the next room—Momo’s studio.
Melina pushed open the door and kept vacuuming, flicking a switch because the afternoon light couldn’t penetrate the curtains. Nothing happened.
The ceiling fixture might have burned out, Melina guessed, knowing Squirt usually took care of things like that for Momo. Melina wondered when Momo last used her studio; the dust in here seemed especially thick.
Melina pushed open the curtains and shuddered at the cobwebs she brushed with her hands. The light momentarily blinded her, and then she turned to take in the room for the first time.
It was stunning. Canvases were stacked along each wall and paintings hung from every available surface. There were four easels, a desk and chair, and a tower of books devoted exclusively to painting.
Melina caught the residual smell of oil paints and canvas.
“It’s sad, isn’t it?” Squirt spooked Melina by appearing in the doorway. “She was a really talented painter, but now her eyes are so bad that she doesn’t paint anymore. I think that’s why her garden and her birds are so precious; they’re her living canvas.”
“This is really wonderful work,” Melina said, pulling a drape from a partially finished canvas. Another garden scene, vibrant with color, messy but exuberant.
Squirt tipped a few canvases back from the wall. “I remember when she painted this one. I was in junior high. She had a huge, showy iris in her garden and she couldn’t get over how voluptuous it looked. That’s the word she used. Voluptuous. I asked her what it meant and she made me look it up.”
Melina smiled sadly, wishing her real family had taken as much interest in her as Squirt’s adopted grandmother did in him.
“Did you know Claude Monet didn’t think painting was his best work?” Squirt asked suddenly. Melina shook her head. “He painted loads and loads, more than a dozen paintings just of his lily pads. But he always thought the garden he built, with the pond and those lily pads, was his best work.”
“So you think Momo didn’t value her painting?”
“Well, I know she sold some of it, back when she was still painting regularly, but she was never a commercial success,” Squirt said. “She just painted because she wanted to.”
Melina turned that over in her mind—creating art for art’s sake. What did she create, beyond ads and strategy documents and invoices to make the partners in her firm more wealthy?
“Momo loves beauty, and she loves people,” Squirt said. “Now we have our opportunity to love her back. Let’s keep going on this.”
He turned back to the porch, where the wheelchair ramp was under construction with Drew and Joshua’s friends. Melina pushed open the windows and began dusting the studio, starting with the bookshelves and the art hanging from every wall.
I love Momo, Melina thought. And her heart warmed to the idea that her family—her chosen family—had grown.
TWENTY-EIGHT
“What’s that?” Joshua stopped and stared, pointing to a painting on the wall in Momo’s studio.
Melina straightened, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her wrist, leaving comical streaks of dirt on her face.
“Pretty, huh? Momo painted it,” Melina said, “and about seventy others in this room, if I’ve counted right,” she added, gesturing to more canvases on the opposite wall.
“No, look at it, Melina,” Joshua insisted. “Really look. Haven’t you seen that before?”
“Um, no, I’ve never been in this room,” she answered automatically.
Joshua spun Melina to face him. “OK, look again, but this time, don’t think about this room, or this house, or anything. Just look at the painting and tell me where you’ve seen it before.”
“But I haven’t—”
“Shh. Don’t think about that.” He turned her toward the painting. “Look again. Where have you seen that exact same scene? That same bay tree in the background. The foxgloves and the snowball bush. Where? Think.”
“Here?” she ventured.
“Right … the garden,” Joshua nodded. “Where else?”
Melina looked at the painting again. It was familiar. She’d seen the scene before, the same use of messy brush strokes to capture the riot of color and foliage. She’d seen a painting like it—
“In your living room!” she squealed.
“Yes! I’m sure of it!” Joshua shouted, joy lighting his face. “I think that old painting I got at an estate store was actually painted by Momo! How cool is that?”
“Very cool!” Melina enthused. “She is going to be so surprised.”
***
Squirt rolled Momo’s wheelchair up the ramp and tipped the chair backward over the doorsill.
“You make so much fuss over me,” Momo said, patting Squirt’s hand. “Thank you. All of you.” She looked at Squirt, Drew, Melina and Joshua and smiled. Her family.
Squirt rolled Momo through each room, unimpeded by rugs or furniture. “I can hardly believe this is my house!” Momo exclaimed as she inspected the changes.
Melina scooted ahead of the tour to open the French doors to the front room. “And here is your new master suite!” she announced. The curtains were open and light filled the room, adorned with several tall vases of flowers and dominated by Momo’s four-poster bed draped in white linens.
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