Julie knew the drill and followed it to the letter until everyone was happy. She kept up a running monologue with the dogs and knew without a doubt that both retrievers understood every word she said.
Dressed in a light summer dress and sandals, she made her way to the kitchen, where she pulled out a bottle of wine and a glass, and stuffed some dog chews in her pocket. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are going to retire to the veranda because I need to THINK.”
And that’s where Mace found her four hours later. With her internal dinner clock working to the max, Gracie had gone out through the doggie door, across the yard to the cottage, and rang the bell. When Mace had opened the door for her, she backed up and barked. She backed up again, tail swishing, her head jerking to indicate that he was to follow her. He did.
At the big house, Gracie again scooted through the doggie door, then raced to the kitchen door to undo the dead bolt. Mace entered, his heart pounding as he followed the retriever out to the veranda, where Cooper was guarding Julie. Please God, don’t let there be anything wrong.
Cooper reared up and showed his teeth. Gracie smacked him with her paw. He barked, a sharp, be-very-careful kind of bark that Gracie approved of.
“Julie! It’s me, Oliver. Are you all right?”
Julie reared up, her eyes glazed. “Oh, Oliver, it’s you. Hell, no, I’m not all right. I’m pie-eyed. I drank this whole bottle of wine. And . . . and . . . I had a glass of wine at lunch with the twins. I’m schnockered. We’re not going to be having dinner this evening unless you want to try your hand at making something. I tried eating that shitty veggie burger at lunch, but I just couldn’t get it down. The wine was good, though. The twins are vegans, so we have to eat there every Monday. They love it. Then I told them my news, and my life started to change right in front of me. I’ll refund your dinner allowance tomorrow. I never get drunk. Well, I did when I was eighteen. I puked my guts out for three days. Then I got drunk one other time . . . that was the pits. I’m not a drinker, but I did drink today. I am so ashamed. You have a drunk landlady, Oliver. I also made the decision that I am never going to write that cookbook for which I kept testing recipes out on you. In fact, I might not ever even cook again, but I’m not about to hire a cook or a housekeeper,” Julie babbled, her arms flapping all over the place.
Mace smiled, looking at the dogs as though they should have an answer for him as to what he should do. They stared back at him with such intensity that he felt himself cringe. Even Lola was eyeing him with suspicion.
“I have a great idea, Julie. I’ll feed the dogs, then heat up some soup or something. I think I can handle that while you . . . ah . . . recline on the sofa and maybe take a nap. How does that sound?”
Julie tried to get up, then flopped back on the rocker, her head spinning. “I think that sounds like you think I am . . . incapacitated . . . which I am. I am also going to be sick, so if you could just . . . you know . . . help me inside. Did I say I am so ashamed for you to see me like this? There’s nothing worse than a drunk landlady. My kids would be appalled. They would, you know. Even I’m appalled. I’m talking too much, right? That’s so I won’t throw up. Oh, God, all I wanted to do was come out here and THINK.”
Mace picked Julie up like she were a feather and carried her into the house. He headed down the hall to the bathroom, got her situated, and closed the door behind him.
He winced at the horrible sounds he was hearing. The dogs howled, and he did his best to quiet them. But Cooper was having none of it. He kept slamming up against the bathroom door until Mace finally gave in and opened it. The big retriever whimpered at seeing his mistress on her knees hanging over the john, and he did his best to get his head under her armpit. Julie’s arm flopped over the dog to reassure him that she was okay. Mace backed out of the doorway, shut the door again, and leaned up against the wall until he was sure all of Julie’s retching was over.
Mace cautiously opened the door. Julie was curled up in a fetal position on a colorful hooked rug, like the rugs in the cottage. Cooper was stretched out next to her, one of his big paws draped across Julie’s chest. In spite of himself, Mace smiled. He walked back into the bedroom and looked around for a blanket to cover his landlady. That was when he saw the family picture of Julie, her husband, and their five children. He stared at it. Two sets of look-alike twins and a handsome young man. He peered closer at the picture and frowned as he tried to figure out how long ago it was taken. The best he could come up with was ten years ago, based on the way Julie looked when the picture was taken and how she looked now.
Mace felt guilty, like a sneak. He shouldn’t even be in Julie Wyatt’s bedroom. He quickly picked up a light blanket from the foot of the bed, brought it to the bathroom, and covered Julie. He left the door to the bathroom open and headed for the kitchen. Gracie stretched out in the open doorway, Lola at her side.
“Guess that means I am on my own,” Mace muttered as he made his way to the kitchen. Now it was his turn to sit down and THINK.
Chapter 7
Mace Carlisle was dripping sweat from every pore in his body when he let himself into the cottage. He must have walked over ten miles already. Lola was panting badly. He soaked a towel in cold water and wiped her down, holding the towel around her whole body for a good ten minutes to cool her down before he offered her some ice water. She drank daintily, then lay down on the cold, wet towel, her breathing once again normal, as was Mace’s. He waited a while, chugging on a bottle of iced tea, to make sure his dog was fine before he headed for the shower.
Mace realized that he loved this little town of Rosemont. Especially the drugstore, which was so like his father’s store back in Hoboken. He loved the old-fashioned wooden cabinets with the shelves, the smell of powder. It even smelled like their old store. He loved that you could buy a hot dog or an ice-cream cone, then sit at a little spindly table to eat both.
During his stay and on his many walks, he made a point of buying something from the local shop owners. He was obsessed with Burns Hardware. He checked every tool in the store, stared for hours at the garden hoses, the leaf blowers, the big sit-on lawn mowers. He wanted one of everything. Buying locally was the only way small towns could survive, with the Walmarts and Targets taking over everything.
What he put into the town was a drop in the bucket, but if he moved to Rosemont, he’d help the community. If he moved. Perhaps he would move on a limited basis. He could come down three or four times a year. Ah, the eternal optimist. It wouldn’t happen, but for now, he could dream. He had to think positively, even Jonesy told him that was half the battle. He could take a break, or he could retire altogether and let the company be run by those bright young buttoned-up MBAs he had on his payroll. All he had to do was make a decision to step down as CEO. That decision was off in the future—if there was a future—not something he had to think about immediately.
Satisfied that Lola wasn’t overheated and was sleeping peacefully, Mace headed to the bathroom and started to strip down. His phone rang just as he put his hand on the showerhead to fix it the way he liked. He grimaced as he wrapped a towel around his midsection and took the call. He listened for the most part to Oliver Goldfeld giving him the good news, without saying anything. Carlisle Pharmaceuticals had gotten a clean bill of health from the FDA. Eileen and Eli were still spouting vitriol, but no one was listening. Oliver assured him they were out of his life for good. And, he said, it had all been done legally.
“You need to come back, Mace, and tie up the loose ends. I did my part; now the rest is up to you. I found you a place to live that I think you’ll like. And you can have a dog. We have a buyer on your apartment in the Dakota if his financing goes through. I’d like you here in my office bright and early Monday morning, Mace. Take care of business here, and if you want to go back, then you go back. That’s up to you.”
All Mace really heard were the words if you want to go back, you can go back. “Okay, Oliver, I’ll leave on Saturday, make the trip in two days. I’ll s
ee you Monday morning, and be sure to bring the donuts. It’s your turn. Thanks, Oliver.”
“Don’t mention it, you big galoot.”
Standing under the stinging cold shower, Mace mumbled to himself. He didn’t want to leave, but he understood why he had to return to New York. He wanted to stay here. He really did. He wanted to join the community, wanted to make friends, and he goddamned well wanted to buy one of everything from Burns Hardware. And he sure as hell wanted Julie Wyatt to invite him to dinner once a week. And he wanted to get another dog.
As Mace lathered up his hair, he thought about Julie’s question of what it felt like to be rich. Well, right now, this very minute, he knew what it felt like to be rich. Being rich meant he could do whatever the damned hell he pleased. And it was going to please him to come back here and join the community of Rosemont. Hell, he might even take up golf.
Mace started to whistle in the shower, then he started to laugh until his mouth filled up with soap from the shampoo. He kept laughing.
Life was good.
Julie looked over at her tenant and smiled in the twilight. “Normally, I love a nice rainy day, but four days of it is a bit much, especially when the power keeps going in and out. I am such a creature of convenience. I’m just glad I had the good sense to have natural gas put in the house when I moved in; otherwise, we would be eating cold sandwiches and drinking warm drinks as opposed to drinking hot coffee. It’s supposed to be clear and sunny tomorrow. The dogs will love being able to romp around. They hate being cooped up.”
Mace sipped at his coffee, wondering where all this was going. Or was Julie just making after-dinner conversation? He looked around. He was going to miss his daily dinners and sitting out here afterward, talking about everything and nothing. His stomach crunched into a knot as he tried to come up with a way to tell his landlady he was leaving and would be canceling his short-term lease.
“I got some good news the other day. I still don’t believe it, and I didn’t say anything because I wanted to be sure . . . to be sure I wanted the deal. My daughters think I’m off the rails because I even thought about saying no. People from Oprah’s production company showed up at my lawyer’s office, contract in one hand, check in the other. They want me to do a show on her Sirius radio station. Arnie—that’s my lawyer—said he had his best contract people at the firm go over the contract with a fine-tooth comb, and there was nothing awry. He advised me to sign it. I did today, and my stomach has not been the same since. My life is going to change. I saw it changing the minute Arnie told me about it.” Julie jammed her hands in the pocket of her shorts and felt the wrinkled paper. Beyond telling her daughters, she still hadn’t dealt with that.
Mace tried not to smile. “Congratulations! Sometimes, change is a good thing, Julie.”
Julie shrugged. Her coffee was cold, but she didn’t care. She wrapped both hands around the cup as though warming her hands. “What’s it like being rich, Oliver? I know I asked you that question once before, but I need to ask you again.”
The question caught Mace off guard. He grappled in his mind for an answer. “I suppose it’s pleasant. That’s probably the wrong word.” He had to remember he was supposed to be Oliver Goldfeld, who did not consider himself rich, just comfortable and well-off. “Having enough money in the bank so you don’t have to worry about anything is very comforting. Taking days off just because is a perk. Being able to help those who need help and not worrying if you’re going to come up short is a rewarding feeling. I just never gave it that much thought, Julie.”
“I’m going to be rich,” Julie said flatly. “Actually, I think I am already rich since Arnie said he wired the money into my very lean brokerage account today.”
Mace was frowning and was glad Julie couldn’t see his face clearly. “And this does not make you happy? Is that what you’re saying?”
“I don’t think money can make a person happy. I’m sure most people wouldn’t agree with that. What . . . what’s your feeling on vengeance, Oliver? You know, like if you had a score to settle, and you couldn’t settle that score because money was the problem? And then, all of a sudden, you have enough money to . . . to . . . settle that score. Would you do it? You know, pull out all the stops and get even?”
Aha. Mace chose his words carefully. “I suppose it would depend on how important settling that score is or was. I suppose if I was wronged somehow, taken advantage of, then I’d pull out all the stops. That’s just me, but I think I’d do it all legally if humanly possible. Do you have a score you want to settle, Julie?”
Julie set the cup down on the little table next to her chair. “It’s more like a promise, Oliver. I made a promise, and I couldn’t follow through because I ran out of money and . . . and a whole lot of other things.”
Mace did not miss the catch, the break in Julie’s voice. “And now you have the money to follow through. Do you want to talk about it? I’m a good listener.”
“No. Yes. No; maybe some other time. No offense, Oliver.”
“None taken, Julie. It was a wonderful dinner. I can’t remember the last time I had rice pudding with raisins in it. My mother used to make it like that when I was a kid. You cook old-fashioned. I mean that as a compliment,” Mace added hastily.
“I know what you mean. I’m not going to be writing any cookbook. I made up my mind the other day that my plan was a fantasy; to write one was just a pipe dream. The only thing I regret about not doing it is that now I can’t dedicate it to you, my guinea-pig recipe taster. About that, I am sorry.”
Mace felt a lump in his throat. “I’m flattered as well as honored that you even thought about doing that. I suppose you will be quite busy with your new show for Oprah.”
“I guess so. But I think I also have another project I’m going to start on. I should be good to go on that by September. It’s long overdue. But now that I have all the money I could ever need, and enough time, that’s all the incentive I need.”
“I wish you all the luck in the world, Julie. If there’s anything I can do, all you have to do is ask.”
“I appreciate that, Oliver, because I know you mean it from your heart. I’ll be fine. I think I have some very impressive people—not that you aren’t impressive—who will help me do what needs to be done. But you know Murphy’s Law. I never discount that.”
Mace laughed. He should tell her now, get it over with. He wondered if he was flattering himself that Julie Wyatt would be crushed when he left. Just do it!
“Ah, Julie, I need to tell you that I’ll be leaving at the end of the week.” There, he’d said it, right out loud, and he felt sick to his stomach. He wished he could see her face.
“Really! I thought you said you would be here three months. I understand. I’ll have your refund monies for you tomorrow.”
“No, no. Absolutely not. I’m leaving early, so you get to keep the money.”
“That’s not the way I do business, Mr. Goldfeld. I’m going to tell you what I’ve always told my kids when I get the last word: ‘Don’t even think of sassing me.’ I will give you the refund. I hope you enjoyed your stay. I’m going to miss you, Oliver. I mean that. It won’t be the same sitting out here in the evening. Of course, I can get a dialogue going with the dogs, but they can’t talk back.”
“I’d like to come back for a visit from time to time. And to call you or e-mail you if that’s all right.”
“Of course it is. But, Oliver, don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“Don’t you worry about my promises. I have never broken one yet, and I won’t break this one, either. I’m really going to miss this little town. I think I’ve walked it from one end to the other. I bet I’ve seen places you haven’t seen even though you live here. Everyone knows Lola now. She gets so many treats along the way, she’s spoiled rotten.”
Julie laughed. “That’s a good thing, Oliver. When you get back to New York, will you still walk her?”
“Absolutely. I’m . . . ah . . . making changes in my lif
e. Actually, they’re already in effect. I’m going to semiretire. I’m going to do a lot of things I never had the time to do, and they all include Lola.”
“I still think you should get Lola a mate. Cooper and Gracie are going to be devastated when you take Lola away.”
“Lola is going to be devastated, too. Maybe when I get back to New York, I can call you, and you can hit the speakerphone, and they can bark at each other.”
Julie burst out laughing. “I can’t wait.”
“Julie, these last weeks have been extra special to me. I’ll never forget your generosity, your friendship, and your cooking. I don’t know what I would have done without you. Thanks seems hardly adequate.”
And let’s not forget that deal with Oprah and Sirius you arranged for me behind the scenes, Julie thought to herself.
“Oliver, I’d like to invite you for the holidays. You can meet my family. The boys are coming home for Christmas. I tend to go all out during the holidays. Well, that’s not quite true, for years now I haven’t done that . . . but just the other day, the girls asked me to make an old-fashioned Christmas this year. I said yes. Think about it. You don’t have to give me your answer now. You might even get a better offer, like from the White House. I’m inviting you for Thanksgiving, too.”
Mace chuckled. “I accept both dates. I will be here, count on it. Thanks for inviting me. I look forward to meeting all your children.”
“All but one,” Julie whispered so softly, Mace had to strain to hear what she said, though he pretended he hadn’t heard her.
“I think I’ll call it a night now. Thanks again for a wonderful dinner and the pleasure of your company.”
“My pleasure,” Julie said, picking up both coffee cups. She motioned for Cooper and Gracie to follow Mace. “Ten minutes, guys!”
Gracie barked. She would be back in exactly ten minutes. Cooper usually took fifteen before he crawled through the doggie door.
Gotcha! Page 7
