by Anne Canadeo
They chose some other photos of Gloria from the pile of framed shots. One had been taken on a beach in Rio at sunset, the famous silhouette of Sugar Loaf in the background. Gloria looked like a Brazilian beauty in a pareo skirt with a tropical flower print and a black halter top, her long hair blowing in the breeze.
She looked stunning, Lucy thought, tanned and relaxed. But more than just cosmetically correct, Gloria looked really happy.
“That must have been taken on their honeymoon,” Lucy said quietly. “She looks beautiful.”
“Truly. From the inside out, too,” Maggie agreed. “You can’t buy that in a bottle of face cream.”
They chose a few more, two that included Jamie. Then Maggie brought the photos into the living room, to see what the others thought. Lucy stayed behind and looked through those that remained.
She found it curious that there were no photographs of Gloria with relatives. Then she remembered Maggie had once told her that Gloria had been raised in foster homes and didn’t have any real family connections. A lot like Jamie, she realized. They had both experienced difficult, lonely childhoods and maybe that similarity had also drawn them together.
She pulled over one of the albums and flipped it open. The pictures dated back to the 1980s, judging from the clothes and hairstyles. Most were not very flattering. Gloria flaunted a puffy, layered hairdo and wide-shouldered business suits that made her look like a linebacker for the Patriots.
Interesting to see, though, Lucy thought. She really hadn’t aged much, it was amazing. Her face did look different, especially around the lips and eyes, where she’d had the most work done. And her chest, of course. Another gift from George Thurman, she’d once told them.
Maggie returned and looked over her shoulder. “That’s George Thurman. I didn’t really know him. Just by sight.”
The photo showed Gloria and a man who looked a bit older than her. He had dark hair, conservatively cut and sprinkled with gray, and wore large aviator glasses. The photo had obviously been taken at this house some years ago and showed them sitting together under an umbrella table with the swimming pool in the background.
A little girl, about five or six, Lucy guessed, sat on George’s lap. She had fair hair and big blue eyes. She wore a pink bathing suit and yellow, puffed-up swim aids on her skinny arms.
“Who’s that?” Lucy asked. “I thought Gloria didn’t have any children.”
“George had a daughter,” Maggie told her. “She was about five or six when he died. I’m not sure.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that. What happened to her?” Lucy asked, glancing at another summer photo of the little family that was on the same page.
“Her mother had primary custody, I think. She just came to visit George and Gloria during the week, or on weekends. George had divorced his first wife to marry Gloria. I believe he gave his ex-wife a good settlement and child support. But it still wasn’t an easy situation,” Maggie explained.
“I remember Edie saying that.”
“Gloria told me once she’d tried to stay in touch with the child after George died, but the mother wouldn’t let her. Then George’s ex-wife moved out of town, so that was that. Gloria never talked about her.”
Maggie sat down again and opened the other album, but quickly paged through.
That seemed likely, Lucy thought. Especially if George’s first wife had been ousted by Gloria. The child’s natural mother probably despised Gloria and didn’t want to compete for her child’s affection with the interloper.
Maggie abruptly flipped her photo album shut. “Nothing good here,” she decided. “Nothing she’d want to release for public viewing, I mean.”
“I think that’s the same story with this book,” Lucy replied.
She wasn’t as quick to close her album, though. The photos were intriguing and she couldn’t turn away so easily from this exclusive glimpse into Gloria’s past.
The exercise did stir up more melancholy feelings. Is that all that remained when your life was over? Some pages of yellowed photos? Even for a woman as interesting and vital as Gloria? It wasn’t a very comforting thought.
The memorial was scheduled to begin at twelve noon, so that guests who were working could come during their lunch hour.
Lucy had promised to be there early, but had trouble pulling together an appropriately formal, somber outfit. She had a lot of dark clothes, but most items were either too sporty, sexy, or speckled with dog hair.
She finally found a brown linen skirt and oatmeal-colored sweater set, left over from her past life, lurking around office cubicles.
The outfit felt about right, especially with her hair pinned up in a serious-looking knot. I look so responsible, I could interview as a bank teller, Lucy thought as she left the house.
When she turned down Sugar Maple Way, the cars extended down the road for almost as far as she could see. Lucy searched for a spot, parked some distance away, and walked quickly to the house. She entered by the front door and wove her way through the crowd, looking for familiar faces.
She spotted Dana, Suzanne, and Phoebe standing by the glass doors in the living room. Lucy grabbed a glass from a tray offered to her by a passing waiter and joined them.
“Wow, what a turnout,” she said.
“And it’s not even noon.” Dana checked her watch.
“Jamie is still getting flower deliveries. It’s starting to look like a greenhouse in here,” Suzanne said. Lucy followed her glance and saw a deliveryman carrying in a large arrangement of white roses.
“Where are the flowers we sent?” Phoebe asked.
Phoebe always wore black, so it probably wasn’t difficult for her to choose an outfit today. She had removed her nose ring, Lucy noticed, out of respect for Gloria. That was pretty thoughtful.
“That vase of starburst lilies,” Dana pointed out. “Maggie added the knitting needles and wool.”
“Oh … that was really nice.” Suzanne started to sniffle and Phoebe handed her a tissue.
There would be plenty more tears shed before the afternoon was over, Lucy knew that was true.
There were many familiar faces from town in the room, local businesspeople who Lucy recognized. Dana’s husband, Jack, had come. He stood at the far side of the living room, talking with a man who Lucy recognized, Martin Lewis, the attorney who was the executor of Gloria’s estate.
There was another cluster of men in dark, expensive-looking suits standing out on the patio, a group Lucy didn’t recognize.
They talked together quietly, checked BlackBerries and heavy gold watches. They sipped their drinks and gazed out at the pool, looking restless as they waited for the service to begin.
A caption underneath could have read “Time Is Money.” And the group didn’t look accustomed to wasting either.
“Who do you think those guys are?” Lucy asked her friends, slanting her gaze in the direction of the pack of suits.
“Some business connections. I don’t recognize any locals in the group.”
“The notorious locals are grazing at the hors d’oeuvre table,” Suzanne pointed out. “That’s Shirley Carlson in the navy blue suit, she’s a village trustee. Karen Wilcox, right next to her? She’s a VP at New England Savings and Loan. Those other two guys are somebodies … oh right. The smooth-looking guy with the dark hair? Mike Novak. He’s a real estate attorney. He’s in on a lot of big deals,” Suzanne said knowingly.
“I think he represented Gloria from time to time, Dana said. “Jack knows him a little from the club. He’s a good golfer.”
Dana turned and sipped her drink, wearing a certain expression that signaled to Lucy she probably knew something about Mr. Novak she didn’t feel comfortable disclosing. Something more than his impressive handicap.
Between both of their practices, Dana and Jack were privy to loads of confidential information about so many people in town. It seemed that the sight of these local politicians reminded Dana of some juicy tidbit, but one that she didn’t wish to shar
e.
Lucy glanced back at Novak, who was now conversing with the bank vice president. Even at this distance she could tell his hair was dyed, with the exception of his sideburns. The gravitas-silver sideburns that might even cost a little extra at the salon, designed to signal wisdom and maturity. He could definitely run for public office with that hairdo, no problem.
“Oh geez, check it out. Gloria Wannabes. A matching set,” Phoebe said under her breath. They followed her eye-rolling glance to the living room, where two women strolled in, perfectly groomed and expensively dressed, from their chic, wispy hairdos to the tips of their Manolo Blahniks. They were dripping with jewelry and further accessorized by attractive, much younger men.
“Must be some other club she belonged to?” Suzanne asked the others. “I mean, she had other hobbies besides knitting.”
“Right. Those ladies must be local reps from the Cougar Club,” Lucy replied.
The women were definitely of a certain type. Similar to Gloria at first glance, Lucy thought.
But not when you really looked close. Not really. Yes, Gloria had availed herself of all the cosmetic advantages, no question. But her good looks glowed with a true inner light. A vibrant spirit and sharp intelligence that shone through the tanning bed complexion.
When you saw Jamie walking beside her, he didn’t look like another expensive accessory, a designer handbag, or diamond-studded charm bracelet dangling from her wrist. Not like the male partners of these women.
“Where’s Maggie?” Phoebe asked. “I don’t think she should miss this.”
“Jamie asked Maggie to help in the kitchen. But that was a while ago. They should be around here someplace.” Lucy glanced around.
She spotted Jamie outside, near the pool, talking to his tennis partner, Kenny. The guy who had come the night Gloria died and picked Jamie up.
Maggie stood nearby speaking with a man Lucy vaguely recognized. “Who is that with Maggie?” she asked Suzanne.
“Nick Cooper. He just took over the bookstore on Main Street?” she said, trying to jog Lucy’s memory.
“And he’s been stalking her for weeks,” Phoebe supplied. “Though following her to a funeral is a tiny bit twisted.”
“He came for Gloria, silly,” Dana corrected her. “Gloria was in the bookstore all the time.” Lucy knew that was true. Gloria loved to read the latest celebrity tell-alls, diet books, self-improvement tomes, and even thick paperbacks with swirly writing on the cover.
Lucy would see them stashed in her knitting bag like forbidden treats, the kind that often had the words “stormy,” “sweet,” and “wild” in the title. Usually the same words, just interchanged.
“So this guy Nick is like always dropping by the shop and just sort of stares at Maggie,” Phoebe went on. “He’s got it bad. And he’s old. I mean, who wants to see that?”
Lucy gave her a look. Nick Cooper was not old. He was age appropriate for Maggie. Attractive, too, and they probably had things in common. Both owned shops in town? Both liked to read? Maggie could be intimidating and he seemed … intimidated? But even if he did summon up the courage to ask Maggie out, Lucy doubted it would go anywhere.
Maggie had lost her husband, Bill, a little over three years ago and there had been no one since. Not really. Bill had been the love of her life and Maggie didn’t expect to meet anyone who would take his place.
She did date from time to time, but it was usually a man who liked her much more than she liked him, and it never went very far. Poor Nicolas Cooper seemed to be falling into that category without even trying.
Maggie left Nick and walked over to the minister. Lucy saw him check his watch, then they both walked over to Jamie. It appeared that the service was about to begin.
“I think the minister is ready to start,” Lucy said. “We ought to take our seats.”
The four friends headed for the rows of folding chairs that had been set up in the living room, where the big, curving sectional normally stood. Jamie had asked them earlier to sit up front with him. They had helped him so much the last week and they were Gloria’s closest friends, he’d said, when they demurred.
“And mine, too,” he’d told them.
While Lucy found that hard to believe, it did seem true. He really didn’t have anyone else here, besides Kenny, the tennis friend. Not that she’d noticed.
Jamie, Maggie, and the minister came in and the minister took his place at the front of the room. “We’re ready to begin the service now, if everyone will please take a seat,” the minister said.
Jamie and Maggie sat in the two empty seats at the end of their row. Jamie’s expression was stoic as he faced straight ahead. He wore a tan linen sports coat and a black silky shirt underneath with the collar buttoned to the top.
He’d gotten a haircut, Lucy noticed, but he had not shaved since the night Gloria died and his cheeks were covered with a layer of scruffy blond beard that made him look weary and haggard.
There were so many present by now that there weren’t enough seats for everyone, even though the caterers had set up over seventy chairs in the living and dining rooms. Lucy had rarely seen such a large turnout at a memorial. And from so many walks of life. She was impressed. Gloria had amazing social skills and could start up a conversation with anybody. She made connections easily, though perhaps close connections were rare.
The minister spoke about Gloria’s life and achievements, though it was clear he didn’t know her firsthand. Then he invited others at the gathering to come forward.
An old friend named Elaine Curtis came up first. She told some amusing stories of Gloria’s high school days in Woburn and how Gloria had persuaded her to move into the city right after they’d graduated. How Gloria had worked in an office all day and went to school at night, to earn her degree.
“What an inspiration she was for me. For everyone who knew her,” Elaine said.
Gloria’s longtime secretary came up next, Lillian Stahl. She also had nothing but praise for her former boss. Then a very dignified-looking gentleman in an expensive dark suit stepped up to speak. He was bald with a fringe of gray hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He introduced himself as Richard Lamont, a former business partner from the Avalon Group. A friend of both Gloria’s and her late husband, George Thurman.
Lucy had noticed him speaking with Mike Novak earlier.
He praised Gloria personally and professionally, as one of the first wave of women executives, and spoke of how she’d bravely paved the way for so many other women in an industry that was such a male-dominated terrain.
“Gloria not only broke through the glass ceiling in this town. Once she got up there, she redecorated,” he quipped, making everyone chuckle.
He closed on a more serious note, reminding everyone how Gloria had never forgotten her modest beginnings and always tried to help young people starting out and how she gave so much to the community.
The minister asked if anyone else had any recollections to offer. When no one else came forward, the minister cast Jamie a questioning glance. Lucy wondered if he would speak. He’d been unsure about it. He said he wanted to talk about Gloria but was afraid he couldn’t manage it without breaking down.
Jamie finally nodded and slowly rose from his chair. As he stepped to the front of the group, Lucy thought she heard everyone in the room suck in a breath. He stood with his head bowed for a moment, then he looked up. His blue eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot, glassy with tears.
When he finally spoke his words were thick. “I met Gloria less than a year ago. She came into my life and changed everything, with just one beautiful smile. We didn’t have much time together. But maybe no one is allowed too much happiness in one lifetime and we had more than our share. Those were the best days of my life and will always be. I know that she touched all of you, too. Because she was like no one else in the world. No one I’ll ever know. Nor will you.
“Gloria wouldn’t have wanted any crying today. So that’s why I’m trying hard not to. She woul
d have wanted a party in her honor, lots of music and good food and wine. She would have wanted you all to enjoy yourselves today, to give her a good sendoff. ‘Life is short,’ she used to tell me. ‘So let’s have dessert first.’”
The group laughed and Lucy did, too. But she knew he wasn’t just reaching for a comic moment; Gloria did say that, among other pithy credos.
When his audience grew quiet again, Jamie added, “Life is short. So let’s not mourn today, but celebrate Gloria’s brief but exceptional life. An awesome woman. A perfect wife …”
At those words, he finally broke down. Tears spilled from the corners of his eyes, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Good-bye, my best friend. My true love and soul mate … I will miss you always.”
Jamie stood for a moment with his head hanging to his chest. The minister stepped over and helped him back to his seat, where he hunkered down and covered his face with his hands. Maggie was sitting closest to him and patted his back for a moment.
The minister closed the service with a brief prayer. When it was over, people stood up from their chairs and stared around, looking dazed. Then they began to walk over to Jamie to offer their condolences. Many were on lunch breaks and had to leave, Lucy knew.
Jamie had spoken more eloquently than she’d ever heard him before—or expected he could. If Lucy had ever doubted his feelings, she did believe now that he truly loved Gloria and her death had irrevocably altered him.
He might someday return to his sunny, boyish persona, she thought, but not too far underneath you would find a withdrawn, stony layer, hardened forever by this stunning loss.
Chapter Six
After the memorial Lucy went back to work, lasted a few hours at the computer, then spent most of the night knitting.
She’d been working steadily on her blanket squares, the perfect project for the rattling days after Gloria’s death. She’d chosen blue yarn and had two down, with six to go. While she clicked away at the simple stocking stitch, she couldn’t help but consider what she might work on next.
She wanted to make something for Matt, but wondered if it was too soon in the relationship. They’d only been going out three months. There seemed to be dating rules for everything—how soon to call, when to pay for dinner, when to sleep together … Was there some guideline for handmade gifts? It did seem like a big step in the relationship.
