by Robbi McCoy
“Do you want it?” Kyle asked, his black hair shining metallic blue under the gallery lights.
“I think I do.”
He nodded toward the owner and pointed at the painting. “My wife would like that one.”
The man’s mouth turned up into a generous smile, then he stepped forward and reached for the print, lifting it from its hanger. As he took it in the back to wrap it, Wren turned to Kyle and asked, “My wife?”
“I told you I could pull it off.” He set his lips smugly.
“I hope that means you’re going to buy it for me.”
He took his arm from her shoulders. “Let’s not get crazy.”
“That’s what I thought.”
As an artist, Kyle was an ideal companion for touring the Ashland art galleries. Originally, when Raven had told her he was an artist, she’d had an image of a deadbeat lying around the house smoking European cigarettes and drinking Lambrusco while Raven brought home the bacon. But even if Kyle’s work wasn’t hanging in the local galleries, he was making money with his talent, taking jobs some artists would turn their noses up at. He wasn’t above designing product packaging or advertising flyers. For holidays, he decorated store windows. On weekends, he became a sidewalk caricaturist. He was a working artist, the best kind to rent a house with. His dreams of greater things remained intact, but didn’t overshadow the need to buy food. Wren liked him more and more, seeing him as the perfect balancing influence for Raven’s more flighty personality.
After she paid for the print, they walked out into the warm June evening, arm in arm, Wren’s new piece of art wrapped in brown butcher paper and tucked under Kyle’s right arm. People looked at them as they walked along the sidewalk. Wren knew they made a striking couple. Kyle was an unarguably handsome man. He was clearly enjoying the charade, as much an actor in his way as Raven was.
“I’m so glad we get to spend some time together,” Kyle said, “to get to know one another. When I heard you were coming up, I was thrilled because ever since I first knew Raven was a twin, I’ve been curious about you. He’s always going on about ‘the special bond of twins.’ He clearly feels his life is blessed in an extraordinary way. I kind of understand. There will always be one person who’s known him from the beginning, from the womb, more intimately than anyone else ever will. That is a special bond.”
“Do you have brothers and sisters?”
“No. I’m an only child. My parents both died when I was just a baby, so no chance for siblings.”
“I’m sorry. Was it an accident?”
He glanced away and sighed. “Uh, I’d rather not talk about it. Ancient history.” His smile, meant to reassure, was unconvincing.
“Well, I’ll be happy to be your sister as well as Raven’s.” She gave his arm a heartening squeeze.
“There!” he said. “That look you just gave me. I’ve seen it on his face. Uncanny! It’s unnerving to see a woman with the features and mannerisms of the man I love. That’s probably why I took an instant liking to you.” He quietly studied her face, then asked, “Ready to eat?”
“Way past ready.”
“I’m trying to think of a suitable restaurant, some place worthy of your column.” He nodded toward a Japanese place with dark wood paneling on the outside. “Something like that?”
“I’d like to go to Sprouts,” she said decisively.
“Really? Raven said he took you there already. You want to go to the same place twice?”
“I haven’t reviewed it yet. Besides, I really want to taste Sophie’s cheese and that’s the one place I know that serves it.”
“Sophie’s still on your mind, is she?” He grinned knowingly. “All right. Let’s go to Sprouts, although the macho man I’m pretending to be may have to grumble at having leaves and twigs for dinner.”
Sophie had indeed been on Wren’s mind almost continuously ever since their blissful night together. She’d been wondering again this morning if she should search for her and try to see her again. But she was wary of starting something. She didn’t know Sophie well enough to know if she was the sort who could say goodbye at the end of a vacation affair. Wren had been put on guard by her brother’s irritating teasing about how women inevitably fell in love with anybody they slept with. The generalization was ridiculous. But it did sometimes happen. She didn’t want to take a chance it would happen to Sophie. She didn’t want to hurt her. It probably wasn’t worth the risk. But Sophie’s incredibly expressive lips were invading her dreams. If she wasn’t going to taste Sophie’s mouth again, then at least she could taste the fruits of her labor. That was the reasoning that led her back to Ellie’s restaurant.
Sprouts wasn’t as busy tonight as it had been over the weekend. There were only two other couples there, so they had their choice of tables and chose one next to the front window.
No sooner had they taken their seats than a Dalmatian with a blue leather collar slipped in through the front door as another customer left, running through the room and sliding on the slick floor as he made his turns. The dog ran to one end of the room, then ran back, wagging his tail wildly and looking thoroughly gleeful. Kyle leapt to his feet and tried unsuccessfully to grab the dog’s collar as he sped past.
The door opened again and in burst Ellie’s weird sister Cassandra, looking even more crazed than she had the previous times Wren had seen her. She was still wearing her long brown cape, still had dark circles under her eyes, still hadn’t bothered to brush her hair.
“Spot!” she hollered at the dog, who ignored her and continued running under tables with his nose to the floor, sniffing emphatically. Wren made herself as small as possible in her chair, hoping Cassandra wouldn’t notice her, but it was a vain hope. As their gaze met, the woman stopped short and stared with her haunting, sallow eyes.
“You!” she accused, stretching out her menacing index finger as Wren stood to face her, her legs trembling. “‘Fair is foul, and foul is fair!’” she hissed.
To no avail, Wren glanced around for Ellie to enforce her No Shakespeare! sign. Her attention was unwillingly drawn back to Cassandra, who locked her stare ruthlessly onto her. Wren stood speechless and terrified until the dog came skidding to a halt at Cassandra’s feet. She reached down and grabbed him by the collar, opening the door with her other hand, then gave him a powerful heave through the open doorway.
“Out, damned Spot! Out, I say!” She turned to narrow her eyes wordlessly but meaningfully at Wren before following Spot outside.
Kyle put an arm around Wren, hugging her close. “Are you okay? You look scared stiff.”
“That crazy woman keeps harassing me.”
“You’ve seen her before?”
“The other day when Raven and I had lunch here. The same thing happened.” Wren sat down shakily. “Fair is foul and foul is fair? What the hell?”
“She’s obviously nuts. Don’t let it bother you.” He patted her hand, then opened the menu. “Hey, let’s eat. I’ve never been in on a restaurant review before. Can I order what I want, or do I need to order something specific?”
Wren pushed Cassandra from her mind. “You can order what you want as long as it’s different from what I order. And you have to let me taste everything.”
She scanned the menu, shaking off the lingering uneasiness over Cassandra’s burning stare. “I really want to taste Sophie’s chêvre, so I think I’ll start with this roasted beet salad with goat cheese and toasted walnuts.”
“That sounds yummy,” Kyle said with a distinct lilt to his voice.
Wren looked over the top of her menu at him with a disapproving shake of her head. “That was way too gay.”
“Oh, sorry,” he said, expanding his chest and lowering his voice. “Beet salad. Yes, my love, I’m sure you’ll enjoy that. I think I’ll go for something meatier, like this grilled portobello mushroom.”
Wren laughed. “For my entrée, I’m going with the butternut squash ravioli.”
Ellie came out with a basket of bread for
their table, then took their order. Wren glanced at the unoccupied table where Sophie had sat the other day. In her mind, she could see her there still, wielding her fork with her elegant long fingers, those same fingers that had been so instrumental in her satisfaction later that night. Feeling suddenly liquid, Wren slid partway down in her chair before shaking off the sensation and righting herself. She swallowed a gulp of water.
“I’ve been meaning to ask about your pseudonym,” said Kyle. “How did you come up with it?”
She spread her napkin in her lap before answering in hushed tones. “Eno Threlkeld is an actual person, a boy who went to high school with us. He and Raven were good friends. What Raven liked about him, I’m sure, was that he was so big. He was tall and broad. As you know, Raven was a squirt.”
“Still is.”
“Yes. And flagrantly gay, even as a child. He endured a lot of abuse. Eno was kind of a misfit too. He was the only child of an older couple. His father was a fisherman. He smelled sort of fishy all the time. I do remember that, and that may be the real reason he wasn’t all that popular. Eno was a bodyguard for Raven, protecting him from bullies. That lasted until high school graduation when Raven and I went away to college. Haven’t seen him since.”
“So you named your alter ego after a fishy boy?”
“Yeah, I guess so. When I was casting about for a pen name, I happened to be touring the Lake District in England and came upon this little Norse village of Threlkeld. It reminded me of Eno. I thought it would make a good name. The kind of person it conjures up is so unlike me, don’t you think?”
“Yes! Practically the opposite of you. Like a brawny marauding Viking.”
“Eno wasn’t a marauder, by any means. He was gentle and kind, but he did look like he could pound you into sawdust. I don’t think old Eno would mind my using his name. I hope not, anyway.”
Ellie came out with their appetizers, setting a beet salad in front of Wren and a grilled portobello mushroom in front of Kyle.
“Weren’t you in here last week?” Ellie asked Wren. “With your twin brother?”
“Yes, that was me.”
“Here with her husband tonight,” Kyle offered.
Ellie turned to Kyle, who beamed at her with a close-lipped smile.
“Yes, darling,” Wren said, patting his hand. “By the way,” she said to Ellie, “your sister was in here again.”
Ellie looked taken aback. “She was?”
“Just a few minutes ago, with a dog.”
“She brought Spot in here? I’m so sorry about that. I’ve told her a hundred times I don’t want that dog in here.” Looking frazzled, Ellie retreated to the kitchen.
Wren observed her salad, admiring its appearance, then scooped up a taste of the goat cheese with her spoon, letting it spend some time on her tongue.
“How is it?” Kyle asked, staring expectantly at her.
She swallowed. “Disappointing. Very ordinary. Even a bit gritty. It doesn’t have the richness I would have expected from Nubians either. I mean, it isn’t terrible, but it’s nothing special.” She tasted one of the beets and a piece of oak leaf lettuce. “However, the salad, as a composition, is lovely.”
“So is this mushroom. Have a taste.” He pushed his fork toward her and she scraped the bite off with her teeth.
“Yes, that’s good. Not too much vinegar. Good quality, fruity olive oil.” Wren returned to her salad. “This is a great restaurant. Everything’s so fresh and simply prepared. They don’t go overboard with trying to be cute or anything. Which makes me even more disappointed in this cheese. I had high expectations.”
“Just because the woman was good in bed doesn’t mean she can make cheese.”
“You’re absolutely right!” Wren laughed at her own illogical assumption. “Besides, she’s new at cheese making. She’ll get better.”
The bell on the door tinkled. Wren spun around to see Raven’s understudy Max coming through the doorway. He looked nervously expectant, scanning the room before committing himself to coming all the way in. With his hair tamed and combed back, he looked slightly less waif-like than usual. He was also dressed more formally than before in tan slacks and a crisp white button-down shirt with a striped tan and yellow tie.
Ellie appeared from the back. Seeing Max, she halted mid-stride. They stood fifteen feet from one another, wordlessly staring. Ellie turned red and stuttered, then recovered enough to approach Max and offer him a table. He seemed to have gone completely mute. He sat, a silly smile on his face.
“That’s Raven’s understudy,” Wren informed Kyle. “Have you met him?”
“No.” Kyle peered around Wren to get a better look. “Scrawny little thing, isn’t he?”
Max noticed Wren, recognized her and waved. She returned his greeting with a smile.
“He looks all of eighteen,” Kyle observed.
“‘He wears the rose of youth upon him,’” Wren quoted. “According to Raven, he’s twenty-six.”
Kyle shrugged and cut into his mushroom.
The next time Ellie came by, to take their empty appetizer plates, Wren said, “I have a question about the chêvre.”
“Tallulah Rose, yes.”
“My husband here was just wondering if they were open for tours or tastings. It’s local, right?”
“Yes. But they don’t have anything like that. They’ve only been in business a short time. I was surprised we still had some of the cheese left. We run out every week before we get the new batch on Fridays. It’s a small family farm. Just a few goats and the two of them.”
Wren started. “The two of them?”
“Just Sophie and Olivia. They do everything themselves. They do plan to increase production, eventually. We’re looking forward to that.”
Wren nodded. “Thank you.”
Ellie headed over to Max’s table as Wren let this new information sink in. “Olivia” echoed in her brain like a ricocheting bullet.
Kyle reached across the table and put his hand over hers. “Are you okay?”
“I had no idea she was with someone.” She remembered how nervous Sophie had been last Friday and how Wren had chalked that up to excitement or timidity. It hadn’t occurred to her it might be because she was cheating on someone.
“Hmmm.” Kyle frowned. “So she makes a lousy cheese and she’s a liar.”
“Oh, no, no! She didn’t lie. She never said she was single.” Wren stared at her plate. “I never asked.”
“You look upset.”
She forced a smile. “No, I’m not. I…I didn’t expect anything more out of it. Just a good night’s fun.”
Kyle looked skeptical, then took his hand away. “Why were you asking those questions anyway? I thought you liked to keep a low profile when you’re working.”
“Yes, but I was thinking of going out there, visiting Tallulah Rose Creamery. I was just trying to get a little more information.”
Kyle put his fork down. “Ah, now I see. Now the truth comes out. I know why you’re so disappointed that her cheese is ordinary and she has a partner. It wasn’t just a good night’s fun. You want to see her again.”
Wren sighed. “Okay, I’ll admit I wouldn’t mind another one-night stand.”
“Technically, it isn’t a one-night stand if you do it again.”
“You know what I mean.”
Kyle smiled. “I don’t believe you. Once, maybe it’s just sex. Twice between two women and you’re headed for the altar.”
“You boys are exasperating! I won’t be able to prove you wrong now, will I, because obviously I’m not going to have another chance with her.”
“Ahhh.” He looked sympathetically sad, thrusting out his bottom lip. “At least you can give her cheese a bad review.”
Wren laughed shortly. “You’re right!”
Despite what she had said to Kyle, she really was disappointed. She had no right to be, she knew. She’d be a hypocrite to take a morally disapproving stance now. There had been nothing between them
to suggest they would ever see one another again. Sophie’s morning note should have made that clear. Goodbye. Thanks for the good time. Then she went home to her goats and her Olivia. No harm done. It was none of Wren’s business, nor her problem, why Sophie had cheated. But that tiny prudish, judgmental part of her was already waggling its finger and the romantic, idealistic part of her was searching for an explanation. Which was why it now seemed right that her review of Sprouts should come down with a certain measure of hard justice on Tallulah Rose Creamery.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
…I could a tale unfold whose lightest word
Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood;
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres;
Thy knotted and combined locks to part,
And each particular hair to stand on end
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine.
—Hamlet, Act I, Scene 5
“Lavender?” Sophie asked. “Is that really a flavor people want in a cupcake?”
Klaus stood beside her in the kitchen holding a tray containing a half dozen vanilla and lavender-flavored cupcakes frosted with white-chocolate ganache, white chocolate curls and a sprinkling of tiny lavender flowers for garnish. They were gorgeous little works of art. Behind him over the kitchen counter hung several balls of goat cheese in cheesecloth nests, dripping their milky whey into a plastic tub.
Klaus Olafssen was a big man, muscular and brimming with health and vigor. He had a bright, enthusiastic smile that was oddly innocent looking, boyish, actually, bursting out from his wide, clean-shaven jaw. His sandy, untamed, naturally wavy hair hung down on his forehead into his vivid blue eyes, eyes that always looked a little melancholy to her. She recalled the tragic story of how he had lost his father and twin brother to the ocean.
“You could just as well ask the same thing about goat cheese,” he answered. “If you asked people what flavor goat cheese they want, what are the chances somebody’d say lavender?”
Sophie smiled. “Okay, you have a point.”
“Will you try it?” Klaus asked, pushing the tray closer.
