by Meg Benjamin
Hyacinth ignored her, pouring a small puddle of sauce in the middle of her plate.
“Well, I think it’s admirable.” Nadia waved her fork rather like a conductor’s baton. “Hyacinth is a budding naturalist. She spends a great deal of her time looking after the local fauna. She’s rescued several birds and small rodents.”
Hyacinth’s eyes grew suddenly wide. She stared down at the puddle of sauce, her fork poised over a fingerling potato.
“Do you still have the turtle, Hyacinth?” Hank asked quietly.
After a moment, Hyacinth nodded without raising her eyes.
“Could I see it?”
Hyacinth stayed still for so long that Greta wondered if she’d answer at all. Then she nodded again, very slowly this time.
“Thank you. Maybe we could go look after dinner.”
“Maybe,” Hyacinth mumbled.
Alice watched them, frowning. “What turtle is this?”
“Just a box turtle,” Hyacinth said quickly. “One I found in the woods.”
“Oh.” Alice didn’t look convinced. “You’re not keeping it, are you?”
“Would anyone like more vegetables?” Greta asked a little desperately.
Alice spooned a few more green beans onto her plate, then passed the platter to Hyacinth. “Here. Knock yourself out.”
“Thank you.” Hyacinth emptied the platter onto her plate. She still hadn’t looked at either Hank or Greta.
Greta felt like sighing for an entirely different reason as she watched the adults finish their chicken. Looked like she was back to ground zero with Hyacinth.
Nadia scooped up her final green bean, then turned in her direction. “Wonderful, my dear. Absolutely superb.”
Ryan glanced up a little guiltily. “It was…good. Really good. Tasty.”
She wondered if she’d ever heard him use the word tasty before. She was pretty sure she hadn’t. “Dessert anyone?”
Hank glanced up at her, his lips spreading in a lazy grin. “Sure. Anytime.”
Across the table, she heard Ryan’s faint huff of disapproval, but she decided she didn’t care. She only had two more nights. And she wasn’t going to waste either of them on him.
Chapter Sixteen
Ryan followed her into the kitchen after most of the bombe had been enthusiastically consumed. “That was really good.”
“Thanks,” she muttered between her teeth.
“I guess I never realized you could do that.”
She wheeled around to stare at him. “I’m a culinary school grad, Ryan. Being able to cook a meal like that is pretty much a given. Let’s be frank—you never wanted to know if I could do that. You didn’t want me to cook for you at all.”
“Well, maybe that’s true. I guess I just didn’t think of it.” He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Look, could we go somewhere and talk?”
She folded her arms across her chest. She seemed to do that a lot when he was around. “Talk about what?”
He grimaced. “About, you know, us. Our situation.”
“We’ve already talked. We don’t have a situation, Ryan.” She sighed. Something else she seemed to do a lot when he was around. “We’re divorced, as I keep pointing out. I don’t see that there’s much left to talk about. And I really, really wish you’d go home.”
“Are you happy?” he blurted.
Greta sighed again. “I’m as happy as I know how to be at the moment. And I’m learning to be happier than that. So yeah, short answer? I’m happy.”
“Well.” He rubbed the back of his neck again. “That’s good, I guess.”
“You guess?” She narrowed her eyes.
“No, I mean, that’s great. See, I was worried about you. Your mom called and said you were gone, and I thought…”
The kitchen door swished open behind them. “Want to see Carolina?” Hank leaned into the room. “Hyacinth’s going to take me to visit her.”
Greta turned. “Sure.” Seeing a turtle seemed like a much better use of her time than any further dead-end dialogue with Ryan.
She followed Hank out the door, then glanced back over her shoulder to see Ryan walking along behind them. Well, crap. She really hoped he didn’t plan on following her around all night. There were definitely places where his presence wasn’t desirable.
The crickets were back, augmented now by some frogs down near the creek. Hyacinth’s back looked very straight as she tramped toward the shed. Something about her posture made Greta think of Joan of Arc marching to the stake.
“Nice night.” Hank grinned at her, reaching for her hand.
Oh yeah. She slipped her hand into his, ignoring the grumbling presence clumping along behind her.
Hyacinth propped the door open in front of them, moving purposefully forward. Hank paused, fumbling for the light switch at the side, but she turned, shaking her head. “Leave the light off. It upsets Carolina.”
Hank shrugged, moving closer.
Carolina’s shell still sat in the middle of the aquarium, presumably containing Carolina herself. Hank bent down for a better look. “Box turtle.”
“Eastern box turtle. Terrepene carolina,” Hyacinth corrected.
Hank studied the turtle for a moment longer, for what purpose Greta wasn’t sure. Then he shrugged. “It’s a nice turtle, but you probably need to let it go now. They don’t do well in captivity. It’s not happy, and it could get sick and die.”
Hyacinth’s chin went up. For a moment, she looked remarkably like her grandmother. “It’s endangered. I’m keeping it safe. And it’s not a captive, it’s a guest.”
Hank shook his head. “That’s not the way a turtle would see it. Plus I really doubt it’s endangered, Hyacinth. Box turtles are plentiful. There’s one type or another in every state in the country.”
Hyacinth’s lower lip began to tremble. Uh-oh. “It is endangered. It’s on the list from the Massachusetts Division of Wildlife. I looked it up on Grandma’s computer.”
“Let’s check again.” Hank pulled out his phone, clicking away on the Web browser, narrowing his eyes in the dim light. After a few moments, he smiled. “Oh, okay, I see what’s going on. It’s not endangered.”
Hyacinth glowered. “It’s threatened then.”
Hank shook his head. “Not that either. It’s what they call a ‘species of special concern’. They want people to look out for them, but they’re not in danger of going extinct.”
Hyacinth didn’t smile. “So I’m looking out for Carolina. I’m keeping her safe. If I let her go, somebody could run her over. Or an animal could eat her. A bear or something.”
Hank shook his head again. “I don’t think bears are interested in turtles. It would take too much work to get them out of their shells.”
“Alligators.” Ryan’s voice sounded from the other side of the shed. “They eat turtles.”
Hyacinth’s eyes widened again.
“There are no alligators in Massachusetts,” Greta said quickly. “Except in zoos. They’re tropical. It’s too cold for them up here.”
“Coyotes maybe,” Ryan mused. “They eat lots of things.”
Greta turned, giving him the kind of look she hoped would turn his blood to ice, but he wasn’t watching her.
He stared off into space. “And people do too, of course.”
“People?” Hyacinth stared at him in horror. “No! They couldn’t.”
Hank narrowed his eyes at Ryan. “Nobody here is going to eat your turtle, Hyacinth.”
“People don’t eat box turtles anyway,” Greta said firmly. “I’m a cook, and I know. Nobody is going to eat Carolina. Don’t worry, Hyacinth.”
“And the thing is, turtles are really well protected.” Hank stood up again, tucking his phone back in his pocket. “They’ve got their own armor, which is perfectly designed to keep predators from eating them. Carolina can take care of herself in the wild, honest.”
“She could still be run over.” Hyacinth stared down at the turtle, her lower lip jutt
ing out.
“She could.” Hank nodded. “You’ll have to trust that she won’t be. You can’t keep her safe from everything, and she’d be a lot happier back in the wild with other turtles. The aquarium just isn’t her environment. It’s not healthy for her.”
“I don’t want to let her go,” Hyacinth whispered. “She’s my friend.”
“I know,” Hank said softly, nodding again. “But sometimes you have to think about what’s best for the animal, not what’s best for us.”
“Would you like us to help you?” Greta knelt down beside her.
Hyacinth shook her head quickly. “No. I don’t want anybody around when I let her go.”
Greta blew out a breath, then stood up again. “Okay, then. We’ll leave you.” She turned back toward the door.
“People do too eat turtles.” Ryan sounded triumphant. “Turtle soup. They eat turtle soup.”
“Oh for Christ’s sake, Ryan,” Greta exploded. “Not now. You can correct me later. For now, zip it!”
“No,” Hyacinth wailed. “No, no, no! You can’t eat Carolina.”
Hank took hold of Ryan’s elbow, propelling him speedily toward the door. “Who are you, Anthony Bourdain? Let’s go for a walk.”
Greta turned back quickly toward Hyacinth. “Nobody will want to eat Carolina. She’s not the kind of turtle people eat. Besides, turtle soup isn’t something people like to eat much anymore. That was a long time ago. Don’t worry, Hyacinth. Nobody will use Carolina for dinner.” She hurried outside after Ryan and Hank.
They stood on the path outside, their shadows caught by the lights from the hotel. Hank had Ryan’s collar bunched in his fist, yanking him up so that he was resting on his toes. “What the hell is it about you and eating turtles? Hasn’t anybody ever taught you how to keep your friggin’ mouth shut? When the lady says zip it, she means zip it!”
“We ate snapper soup, Greta and me,” Ryan retorted, squirming against Hank’s grip. “In Philadelphia.”
“You heard the man,” Greta said through clenched teeth. “Zip it! I do not care what we ate anymore. Besides, those were snapping turtles and we’re a long way from Philadelphia. And people don’t really eat it much anymore even there.”
“But—”
Greta balled her hands into fists. “Ryan, for the love of heaven, stop trying to get the last word. If you say anything more on this topic, either Hank or I will bash you. Possibly both of us. And we will enjoy doing it. Do I make myself clear?”
He narrowed his eyes, his chin squaring mutinously, but then he nodded.
Greta stepped back inside the shed door. “We’ll leave now, Hyacinth. I know you’ll do the right thing. If you love Carolina, you’ll want what’s best for her.”
She turned without looking at Ryan. He wouldn’t have any reason to stay outside the shed to wait for Hyacinth and Carolina once she and Hank had left. Unless he just wanted to cause trouble, in which case she really would bash him.
Hank stepped beside her, taking her hand again as they walked. “Snapper soup?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Nasty stuff. Snapping turtles are really boney and sort of awful, but it used to be a big deal in Philadelphia so we had to try it. I guess they make it with stew beef now. Do you think she’ll do it?”
“Release Carolina?” He shrugged. “Yeah, I think she will.”
“Greta?” Ryan’s voice sounded from behind them. Well, crap.
She turned, jaw tense, still holding tight to Hank’s hand. “What?”
“We still need to talk. Or I do anyway.”
She sighed. Losing her temper would feel wonderful, but it probably wouldn’t accomplish anything besides making her feel wonderful. And she so wanted to get rid of him.
Hank raised an eyebrow. “Want me to bash him now?” he murmured. “I can’t guarantee anything in terms of results, but I’d have fun doing it.”
She shook her head. “Give me ten minutes, okay?”
“If you say so.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze, then turned toward the back door.
Greta gestured toward a garden bench—not, thank god, the bench where she and Hank had done their owl imitations—and sat. “This is the last time I’m doing this, Ryan. Whatever you think you need to say to me, you should say it now. After this, we’re done.”
He sank down beside her, rubbing his hands on his thighs as if he were wiping off sweat. Nervous? Ryan was nervous? That made no sense at all—she didn’t think she’d ever seen him nervous in the entire two years they’d been married.
“I thought you might have hurt yourself,” he blurted.
She blinked. Definitely not what she’d been expecting—not that she’d been expecting anything in particular. “Hurt myself? When?”
“When you left. When your mother called me. I thought…you know. You might have been upset.”
The penny slowly dropped. Greta stared at him. “You thought I’d try to kill myself? Over you?”
“Well…” He had the grace to look somewhat embarrassed, staring down into the dirt so that he wouldn’t have to meet her gaze. “I mean, I didn’t know what had happened to you. And I was worried. I thought, you know, I’d made you so unhappy…”
For a moment, she was furious. Over you? Kill myself over you? And then a giggle worked its way loose. “You thought…” Another giggle, then another. “You thought I…” And then she was whooping, resting her head against the back of the bench, laughing so hard she could hardly catch her breath.
Ryan stared, his mouth partly open, his forehead furrowed. “Damn it, Greta. That’s not fair.”
It took her a few more moments to stop, and then she shook her head, gasping. “What’s not fair?” She wrapped her arms around her waist, concentrating on breathing. At least she’d managed to slow the laughter down to the occasional eruption of snickers.
“Laughing at me. I was really worried about you. I didn’t know what might have happened. It’s not funny anyway. I thought I might have driven you to it, that it was one more thing I’d screwed up. I was…frightened for you.” He suddenly looked a lot like Hyacinth, chin up, lower lip extended.
Greta closed her eyes for a moment, steadying herself. “Okay, you’ve got a point. Maybe it’s not all that funny. But honestly, Ryan, what was the first thing I did after you came home that day when Dorothy dropped her little bombshell?”
He sighed. “You threw something at me.”
She nodded. “I threw my copy of Larousse Gastronomique, which I’d picked up because I was thinking of going back to work at that point. It’s a very heavy book.”
“You missed.”
“Lack of practice.” She shrugged. “People who throw things do not kill themselves, Ryan. They’re more inclined to murder than suicide. That’s what I was contemplating at the time.”
“I didn’t understand that was how you felt. We didn’t really talk. Besides, it’s been months. I wasn’t sure how you were feeling now.”
“You didn’t know how I felt.” She closed her eyes for a moment, then shook her head. “You didn’t ask. And I didn’t ask. We just sort of let it go, didn’t we? We really weren’t very good at being married, Ryan.”
He shook his head slowly. “I guess not.”
She put her hand on his arm. “Go back to Dorothy, okay? I think she knew what she was talking about when she said we weren’t right for each other. I don’t know whether she’s right for you or not, but I’m pretty sure I’m not. And she’ll look a lot better at company dinners than I ever did.”
Ryan stared down at his hands. “Dorothy’s gone.”
“She left you?” Greta blinked. “That does surprise me.” Dorothy seemed to have had their entire future worked out.
“I told her to go.” He looked up at her again. “That whole thing with inviting you to lunch and then telling you about her and me—that was a shitty thing to do.”
Yep. She shrugged. “I hope you gave her a good severance package. She might have grounds for a harassment suit.”
“She got a great severance package.” He paused. “Dad gave it to her.”
Okay, tricky. Ryan’s father hadn’t been one of Greta’s biggest fans. In fact, she was willing to bet he’d been expecting somebody more like Dorothy to be his daughter-in-law. But his company was definitely big time. And Ryan was one of his shining stars. Or he had been. Scandal would not be something he’d be crazy about. “Did your father send you here to find me?”
“What?” Ryan stared at her, shaking his head. “No. He doesn’t know where I am.”
“But he’s unhappy with you?”
“You might say that.” He rubbed his eyes. “I’m on leave of absence for a few weeks. He wants to make sure there are no repercussions.”
“Repercussions?”
“I guess Dorothy talked a lot about the two of us. A lot of people around the office knew we were…seeing each other.”
Screwing each other, actually. Terrific. Well, she hadn’t planned on spending any time around Ryan’s office anyway, but it was another reason not to go back to Boston. No telling how many of their friends and acquaintances knew about Ryan’s little fling. “I’m sure it will all blow over. You should be able to go back soon.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t even know if I want to go back. I don’t know why I got involved with her anyway, to tell you the truth. She’s not nearly as attractive as you are. And she’s a real bitch sometimes. You’ve got a temper, Greta, but you’re not a bitch. And you’re more fun to talk to than she ever was. All she wanted to talk about was work.”
Which was nice to hear, but a little late. “Anyway…”
“Anyway, then your mom called, and I started worrying. And then I got this idea about coming down here and finding you. That it would be something I could do to sort of make it right. So, you know, here I am.” He shrugged again, his blue eyes wide. For a moment he looked around ten years old. “And I’m glad I came. Sort of.”
I used to love him. Or something. Whatever it had been, she didn’t feel it now. On the other hand, she did feel a certain amount of sympathy for him. He looked like a lost child all of a sudden rather than the Master of the Universe his father had always wanted him to be.
