“What do you have?”
“A very chocolate chip cookie and a sugar cookie made with lemon and polenta. I’m considering both types for the mail-order business. My sister Daisy always says I’m throwing too many recipes in the mix, so I thought some informal market research might sway her.”
Ah, Daisy. The adopted one. “How about a dozen of the lemon polenta.”
“I can do that.” She reached for a pink box and lined it with white parchment paper.
“How is the mail-order business?”
“Great.” She smiled. “We were hoping it would be an extra source of income, but it has actually surpassed our in-store sales. As a matter of fact, Daisy is out today with a real estate agent, scouting locations for a larger factory outside the city.”
“That sounds promising.”
“Terrifies me to stretch beyond these walls, but she feels it’s a risk worth considering. If she gives the thumbs-up then I’ll head out and see the site.” She carefully folded the paper over the cookies, closed the flap on the box, and sealed it with a gold sticker.
I reached for my wallet. “How much do I owe you?”
“On the house. You’ve made Margaret the happiest I’ve seen her in a while, and that’s easily worth a box of cookies.”
I fished out my wallet. “I’m paying Margaret for her time and expertise.”
She waved away the bills I extended toward her. “Believe me, she would have paid you to do the job. Take the cookies. It does my heart good to see her smile and chatter so happily about her work.”
Reluctantly, I tucked the bills back in my wallet. “Thank you. You seem like a very close family.”
She laughed. “We’re not perfect, but close.”
Her positive energy and attractive looks made her an easy candidate for a relationship if she were truly open to a union. I decided to drop a line in the water. “Margaret brought by some of your cookies the other day and I happened to have several when my contractor, Zeb Talbot, came by with his son, Eric. The boy loved the cookies.”
Rachel’s smile was as warm and genuine as her bakery. “Eric’s a great kid. He goes to the same school as my girls.”
About the same age. Common interests. Children. Self-employed. Some matches came together with almost no effort. Clearly Rachel and Zeb thought well of each other, so why hadn’t they connected? Could it be both were too busy with their lives and children to go after love? Perhaps it was fear of being hurt? Both were attractive, so the chemistry shouldn’t have been an issue. Was it a matter of a nudge or was there a piece of this puzzle I was missing?
“Mr. Talbot did a top-notch job on the renovation of my kitchen a couple of years ago, and he’s building a garage for me now.”
“The spot of the infamous hearth of stones.”
“The very spot.”
She handed me the box. “So why, after all this time, did you decide to remove the stones?”
“Seemed logical. The land needed to be put to a better use and the pile of stones was becoming an eyesore.”
“Land here is scarce, so I can appreciate the need to put it to use. If we had more, we wouldn’t be scouting new locations outside the city.”
“I suppose an expansion in town is out of the question.”
“Unless we could figure a way into one of the empty warehouses on the river. And then there’s the issue of parking. Growing also means more people to hire, and they need to have a place to work and park.”
“Sounds like good problems to have.”
She tugged at the strings on her apron. “I’m not complaining. Two years ago I thought we were losing the bakery, and I was in a panic. Now we’re growing by leaps and bounds.”
The scramble of little footsteps thundered down a back staircase. My back stiffened slightly, but Rachel took the disruption in stride.
“In seconds you’re about to meet the two little tornados that are the center of my life,” she said.
No sooner were her last words spoken than two little girls burst through a side door. They were about seven and while one had strawberry-blond hair like her mother, the other’s was a dark brown. They each wore their long hair in ponytails and were dressed in matching jean shorts, red T-shirts, and sneakers.
The girls didn’t notice me as they scrambled toward their mother and elbowed each other for their mother’s attention. The child with the dark hair grabbed Rachel’s left hand first, but the other was only a split second behind her, tugging on the other.
“Mom!” one shouted. “She’s being mean to me.”
“Not true!” the other shouted. “I did not call her a bad name.”
Over the rumble of an argument that I did not fully follow, Rachel said, “Rae, meet Anna and Ellie. Girls, turn around and say hello to Dr. McDonald.”
In unison, they each delivered a high-pitched “Hi” before quickly reengaging in their squabble.
Rachel shook her head and turned each of the girls around to face me. “Look Dr. McDonald in the eye when you address her.”
This time they each looked up with eyes filled with laughter and excitement, and giggled. “Hi, Dr. McDonald.” Again, the address came in unison.
“Good evening, ladies,” I said.
Whereas Eric had a calm energy, these two children fed off each other. Jennifer and I must have been like these kids, because Mom often reached for the aspirin bottle after a long day.
Rachel patted each on the back. “Girls, go upstairs. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Ellie shook her head. “But Mom, we need to talk to you about our teacher.”
“In a minute. Go.”
The girls puffed out bottom lips but turned and scurried up the back staircase. Rachel brushed back her bangs with the back of her hand. “My mom had three girls who were all under the age of four. I don’t know how she did it.”
“I have vague memories of Mom needing naps after a long day with my sister and me.”
“I could use a nap. Does your sister live in town?”
Dark emotions shifted in the shadows. “Jennifer died in a car accident when she was seventeen.” I hadn’t told the story in a long time and had forgotten how telling it could challenge my composure.
Rachel’s expression softened before understanding dimmed her brightness. “God, Rae, I should have connected the dots.”
Hundreds of people had attended Jennifer’s ceremony. Tragic deaths of those so young rattled lives and shined a spotlight on mortality. “It was a long time ago. Life moves on.”
“I was a year ahead of Jennifer, but we were both in the cheer squad together. I was dating my late husband, Mike, then and she was dating a boy named Jerry Trice?”
“I haven’t heard that name in a long time.”
“I hear he moved to California and opened a wine shop,” Rachel said. “He made it back to town for a high school reunion. Still looked good.”
“I didn’t realize Jerry came back to town.” After Jennifer’s death, Jerry came by the house to visit, but the meeting was awkward and too painful for him and for me. His connection to us severed with my sister’s death.
“He didn’t stay long. A day or two and then he had to get back to the West Coast.”
“Ah.” More emotions rattled below the ice and bumped up against its underside, testing its strength.
Rachel’s brows knotted. “Does it bother you when I talk about her? After my husband, Mike, died, everyone stopped talking about him. They were afraid that mentioning him would upset me, so they ignored him. But forgetting someone only makes it worse.”
“I haven’t talked much about her in years, so it’s nice to hear stories about her. Easy to forget there was a lot of fun in her life.”
“Same with Mike.”
“You must miss him very much.”
“I do. It’s been two yea
rs and there are still moments when I swear he’s standing right beside me. Moments when I’m laughing and I want to share; and moments when I’m angry and want to blame him.”
Imagining her with Zeb just didn’t feel right. They made perfect sense as a couple on paper, but now that I’d met her, I wasn’t so sure. Perhaps the problem was they were too much alike. No friction to make a spark.
There was someone for her, but his name danced out of reach. It would come to me soon. “Rachel, it’s been a pleasure, but I need to hurry along to meet Margaret.”
“Don’t keep her waiting. She’ll bust if she has to wait too long.” Rachel flashed a smile, but it didn’t quite hide the sadness. “Don’t be a stranger, Rae. I’m glad we got a chance to meet formally.”
I extended my hand and she accepted it easily. Her hand was slightly callused but her touch was gentle. “It was a pleasure,” I said. “And I’m certain we’ll meet again soon. Good luck with your business.”
Rachel crossed her fingers. “From your lips to God’s ears.” She leaned forward, her eyes dancing with curiosity. “Are you really a matchmaker?”
“No, I’m not. I’ve made a few introductions that have led to marriages, but it’s never intentional.”
“Your phone must have been ringing off the hook since that article.”
“There have been a few inquiries. All are disappointed to find I’m not a matchmaker, but a family counselor.”
Laughing, she shook her head. “Good families begin with good marriages.”
“True.” Since she’d brought the matchmaking up, I said, “Your sister, Margaret, asked me to find a suitor for you.”
Her face turned red as her expression warmed with laughter and annoyance. “You’re kidding?” She shook her head. “You don’t kid, do you?”
“I do not.”
“Well, don’t listen to Margaret. I’m doing fine. My life is full.”
“She never implied it wasn’t.”
Nervous laughter bubbled. “I might have to strangle her.”
“Consider yourself lucky to have a meddling sister like Margaret. Thank you again for the cookies, Rachel.”
She weighed my comment against her annoyance. “Sure, Rae.”
Outside the shop, I savored the warmth of the evening air as it chased away a chill from my bones. I moved quickly toward the salvage yard, my heels clipping on the slightly uneven brick sidewalk as I made my way past a collection of restaurants and pubs toward the corner of Union and King Streets, the location of Shire Architectural Salvage Company.
The salvage yard’s building, like many of the buildings in this section of town, was originally a warehouse that stored goods transported in and out of the Alexandria harbor via the Potomac River to the Chesapeake Bay. Faint white-and-red lettering across the top floor read R & C Dry Goods.
Through the front display window was an odd collection of items rescued from various homes, churches, and schools within a fifty-mile radius. A church pew occupied the bulk of the display space, and on top of a bench sat a pair of old brass lanterns, an old bicycle wheel, and stacked cigar boxes. Three stained glass windows, which depicted scenes from the Bible, leaned against the wall, along with window frames and a scattering of brass doorknobs on the floor. Above it all hung a trio of industrial lamps that cast a warm glow.
As I pushed open the front door, a small bell above me jangled. Inside the warehouse the ceiling supported a collection of light fixtures and industrial pendant lights. The front reception area was packed with mantels, windows, and wrought-iron fence sections. This hodgepodge of random items should have amounted to chaos, but somehow, among the old and discarded was a sense of a new beginning.
I didn’t see anyone at the front counter but heard quite a bit of clanging and banging echoing from the back of the warehouse. Following the sound, I moved deeper into the center aisle, which was stacked with old doors.
“Hello,” I said.
Clang. Bang. Clang.
I approached the back of the row slowly. “Hello, Margaret? Addie?”
A shadow shifted and then I saw a woman’s figure, silhouetted by the light from a dangling ship captain’s lantern. I hesitated and then realized I wasn’t looking at Addie or Margaret but Lisa Smyth. Standing beside her was Charlie, wagging his tail.
Seeing her at the gravesite had been jarring. I knew she was back in town, but seeing her hunched close to Jennifer’s gravestone, talking, was reminiscent of teenaged Jennifer and Lisa huddled together, whispering and giggling. In those days, I wanted so much to be included, but interruptions were always met with them shooing me away like an annoying fly. They always kept me at arm’s distance.
Unlike all their relaxed chatter in high school, I could see this conversation was not easy. Whatever Lisa had been saying was painful, judging from her white-knuckled fist and unshed tears. Only Jennifer and Lisa were in the car at the moment of impact. Only Lisa knew the last words my sister spoke. She saw it all.
The difference between Lisa’s life and Jennifer’s death was a seat belt. Lisa wore hers. Jennifer hadn’t. Mom had cautioned her about this, but Jennifer had clung to her tiny rebellion.
Did it bother Lisa that she had been wearing a seat belt and Jennifer hadn’t? Was she forever replaying their last words, wondering if she’d changed one syllable or one phrase, the entire sequence of events could have been changed? I had certainly played that game many times. If only I’d told Mom that the girls were leaving. If only . . .
Too many if onlys always led to Jennifer’s life being spared and the boy never being born. As much as I wanted my sister spared, I could never, would never, wish the boy away. I never rewrote his birth, only the moment I’d laid him in Susan’s arms and said good-bye.
“Lisa,” I said. “I didn’t realize you were here tonight.”
She flinched, not expecting the sound of my voice, and rose from a bin filled with random junk. Charlie barked as she slid her hands into the front pockets of her jeans, and a tentative, if not apologetic smile tweaked the edges of her lips. “Margaret called me.”
“Stands to reason we’d both be summoned. Our families have crossed paths for centuries. What’re you doing back here rooting in the junk bin?”
“I was milling around when I found this box.” She shoved aside a few more odd items and removed a midsized wooden box. Charlie yawned. “There are glass negatives in here.”
“Glass?”
“Taken by me when I was in high school. Addie and Margaret must have taken them when they cleaned out Amelia’s basement.” She set the box on the floor and pulled out one sheet of five-by-five glass. Holding it up to the lantern light, she inspected it. “I think I took these the summer between my junior and senior years.”
“Perhaps you could develop them.”
“I might.” Lisa replaced the negative. Hefting the box in her arms, she blew a stray curl from her eyes. “Can’t wait to hear what Margaret has to say.”
“I’m fascinated as well. There was a time when history bored me.”
“And now?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It may have relevance.”
“I’m not fond of the past. Half the time it’s an albatross around my neck.”
“We’re not talking about witch bottles, are we?” I asked.
“No.” She dropped her voice a notch and pulled in a breath. “Rae, you and I have never talked about Jennifer. And we need to.”
I tightened my hold on the cookie box. “Now is not really the time.”
Lisa struggled with the box of negatives as if juggling the weight of the past. “There will never be a good time.”
Lisa wanted to share her burden with me. “I don’t know what there is to say.”
She swallowed. “You never asked me about the accident.”
“Jennifer’s dead, Lisa. She’s gone. What i
s there to discuss?”
“Are you crazy? There’s so much that has never been said.” Realizing her voice rose, she drew in a breath. “Don’t you want to know about that last day? What we were talking about in the car? Why we wrecked?”
Ice around my heart cracked under her heated words, driving me deeper within so that I could shore up my defenses. “I came here to talk about Margaret’s discovery, Lisa. That’s the only history lesson I care to learn right now.”
Tears glistened before she blinked. “I owe you a confession.”
Holding up a hand, I stiffened. “Don’t do this. It’s not productive.”
“I think it could be healing.”
“Maybe for you. Not for me. I’m fine.”
“You’re wrong,” Lisa said.
“I heard along the way that you joined AA and I’m glad for you. I know facing the past is part of your process, but I’ll not be a part of your atonement.” The heat scalding the edges of each word surprised me.
“That’s bullshit and we both know it.” Charlie’s ears flattened.
“I’m not doing this now.”
She readied to fire back when we heard voices mingling with footsteps. Seconds later, Margaret and Addie appeared and I was truly grateful.
“Margaret,” I said, clearing my throat. “I understand you have news for us.”
“You bet I do!” Margaret rubbed her palms together.
Addie rolled her eyes. “She’s about to burst. I’ve never seen her so excited.”
Lisa set her crate on the counter. “Addie, I want to buy these negatives.”
“Those came from your basement. I can’t charge you for those.”
Lisa fished in her front pocket and pulled out two rumpled twenties. “I gave it all away, fair and square.”
“No, keep the negatives,” Addie said. “I really do insist.”
“I pay my debts,” Lisa said.
“Fine. Take a picture of Margaret and me some time. We’ll hang it out front. That would be fun.”
The View from Prince Street Page 16
