by Jean Stone
He smiled to himself. Taking his keys from his pocket, congratulating himself for not feeling the need to tag along after Jo, Andrew locked the front door and headed through Sarah’s studio out to the parking lot in the back. He had just opened his car door and got inside when he heard a woman’s voice call out, “Andrew? Andrew. There you are.”
He paused for a moment. The voice was oddly familiar, but not familiar enough to belong to Lily, Elaine, Sarah, or Jo.
But the instant Andrew turned, he wished that he hadn’t. With everything else happening in his life right now, he really didn’t need to see Frannie Cassidy, John Benson’s assistant, his old mentor’s right and left arm and God only knew what else, standing across the parking lot waving at Andrew as if he were a long-lost something or other.
“Frannie,” he said as she approached and he remained seated. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He might have sounded harsh, which probably wasn’t fair, because Frannie had always been nice to him—well, up until the “end,” when things happened that she didn’t, couldn’t understand.
She wore black pants now and a black shirt that shrieked Manhattan and a big grin that was spread across her too thin, oval face. “I told you I’d come.” Without hesitation she circled the car and hopped in on the passenger’s side. Unlike Antonia, she made no surly comment about the age or the state of his vehicle. “It’s great to see you again,” she said. “You look terrific, by the way.”
He remembered the time she told him she hoped that Jo dumped him; he remembered how loyal she’d been to John.
Andrew sighed. “I don’t care what John wants,” he said. “The answer is no, Frannie. No matter what he thinks, the man is out of my life.” He did not add that John’s wife, Irene, was gone as well.
Frannie, however, just sat there, grinning. “My name isn’t Frannie,” she said. “Well, not for the purpose of this meeting anyway. My name is Andrea Hall, and I believe you called?”
Andrew frowned.
“Andrea Hall!” Frannie repeated. “Remember? The woman you talked to about starting the magazine for second-time brides?”
He turned his face out the side window. “Oh, Christ,” he said. “It was a setup.”
She swiveled to face him. “No, Andrew, it wasn’t a setup. I really wanted to start that magazine. I still do.”
He shook his head. “Sorry. Not interested.” John Benson, of course, must be behind this, and purging the Bensons from his life was a vow Andrew was going to keep.
“You don’t understand,” Frannie continued. “I don’t work for John anymore. In fact, John and Irene moved to the West Coast; didn’t you know?”
“Didn’t know. Don’t care.”
She tapped the dashboard with small, nervous taps. “You never saw the side of John that I had to endure.”
Again, Andrew was silent.
“I came up with the idea for the magazine months ago. I worked up a business plan; I outlined editorial content. But when I presented it to John he said, ‘No way.’ He didn’t want to help you or your friends. He wanted to keep you tied to his empire.”
Andrew ran his fingers over the steering wheel, acknowledging that the things Frannie was saying made sense, that John was a man who liked to think he owned people as well as things, that unless a venture had been his idea he deemed it worthless.
“What about Buzz?” he asked, because it had been part of his life for many months, though he hadn’t bothered to look for it on the newsstands since he and the Bensons had split.
“Sold. From what I understand, the new owners are going to turn it into erotica.”
“Great,” he said. “Just what the world needs.”
“What the world does need, Andrew, is a fun, quality magazine with a spin on second weddings. It’s an idea whose time definitely has come. I wasn’t going to go ahead with it; I was going back to law school. But magazines are in my blood, Andrew. And when you called me…well, I think we could make this work if we did it together.”
He wondered if this was a bad dream, if he’d fallen asleep and this was his punishment. “Who’s Andrea Hall?”
Frannie smiled. “She doesn’t exist. It’s just a name I made up. The number you called is my home phone. When you asked for her it took me a second to remember.” Then she smiled again. “I picked Andrea because it was close to Andrew. It was kind of a dumb joke.”
He couldn’t argue with that.
“Please, Andrew. Will you at least let me show you the proposal? I have a room at the Hilltop Bed and Breakfast, just outside town. It’s still pretty much off-season and they’re not very busy. I’m sure they’d let us work in the corner of the living room.”
“Frannie…” he said, then let the sentence trail off. “My life is complicated now.”
“Maybe it wouldn’t be,” she said, “if you had a real job, if you took on a project where you could showcase your real talents.”
“My real talents?” He laughed. “Pardon me for not seeing what a magazine has to do with television.”
“You’re a communicator, Andrew. And you’re really good at it.”
He let her words linger there in the air of the old car. “Frannie, I’ll need to think about it.” More than before, Andrew wanted to be home with Cassie. More than before, he wanted his quiet life back. But had it only been days ago that he’d wanted excitement? That he’d wanted something beyond putting together weddings and working with a bunch of women, great as they might be?
He turned on the ignition. “I have to go home now, Frannie. Cassie is expecting me.”
“I’ll be at the Hilltop,” she repeated, and got out of the car. Before closing the door, she leaned down and said, “I hope to see you in the morning. No strings attached, of course.”
The afternoon had been an eddy of one doorbell ring after another, of one “Yes, hello, my name is Lily, I’m a friend of Frank’s,” of one casserole dish after another to make room for in the refrigerator that should have been at Frank’s store, it was so old and so small.
The doorbell rang again, but this time it was Jo, who did not bear a casserole and was a welcome sight. She went immediately into the parlor, because Jo had been raised in West Hope and would know what to do.
“Hello, Mr. Forbes,” Jo said, taking Frank’s father’s hand. “I am so sorry about Eleanor.”
He nodded. “You’re Josephine, aren’t you? Marion Lyons’s girl?”
“Yes.”
Standing next to Jo, Lily feared for a moment that he would mention Brian. Instead, he said, “I remember when you were a little girl and you’d come by on summer evenings.”
Jo smiled. “And sit on your front lawn and listen to the ball game on the radio.”
Ralph smiled a dry, old smile. “You brought me a pennant one time.”
“A Red Sox pennant. You stuck it in the grass, and all the neighbors blew their horns when they drove by.”
“That was the year they almost won. Almost!”
They laughed and talked about how amazing it had been when the Sox finally won the Series in 2004.
Lily stood on one foot, then the other, wanting just to go outside, where the small talk would be done with and she could finally breathe.
Inevitably, the conversation turned back to Eleanor, and Ralph looked tired again. Lily used the opportunity to steer Jo from the parlor out onto the porch.
“Death should not be something so social,” Lily said as they sat on wicker chairs. “Take these chairs, for instance. Frank hauled them from the garage and cleaned them up this morning. He said the weather was going to be summerlike and people might want to sit outside.” She paused, rubbed her hand across the arm of the chair. “Isn’t that like him? His mother just died and he’s trying to make other people comfortable.”
Jo smiled. “How is he?” she asked.
“Better than I am. I’m afraid I’ve never been good at being a hostess unless a caterer is involved.”
“Nonsense. I’m s
ure you’re doing a fine job.”
“Well, I do know I had no idea so many people lived in West Hope. I think they’ve all come and gone through the back door this afternoon.”
“And you have Antonia to worry about.”
Lily closed her eyes. “I’m tired, Jo.”
“Then call Antonia and say so. Tell her you’ll see her tomorrow or the day after that. She has her assistant and her driver to keep her company if she gets bored.”
Lily shook her head. “I can’t do that, Jo. I have too much at stake.”
Jo looked away. “What about around here?” she asked suddenly. “Have there been any surprises?”
“Surprises? Such as what?” She leaned her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes. Maybe if she just slept for half an hour…
“Brian,” Jo said. “Has Frank’s brother shown up?”
Lily laughed and opened her eyes. “Excuse me, Ms. Lyons, but that family member happens to be indisposed, as you well know.”
“No,” she said. “No, he’s not. Brian has been out on bail since right after Christmas. I found out today.”
The early-evening early-spring air rode with a chill up onto the porch. “Really?”
Jo nodded. “I didn’t know if Frank knew. I didn’t know if Brian was…well, if he was here.”
“Oh,” Lily said, “that would be awful.”
“Frank hasn’t said anything about him?”
“No. Not a word.”
Jo nodded again. “It’s not as if I’m not going to face him sooner or later. But I assumed it would be in the courtroom in a couple of weeks.”
“Oh,” Lily repeated, “this would be awful. You don’t suppose he’ll find out about Eleanor, do you? You don’t suppose he’ll show up?”
Jo smiled a half smile, then said, “Well, it shouldn’t matter to you or me. Eleanor was his mother, after all.” Then she stood up. “Now, say good-bye to Frank and go have dinner with Antonia. I’ll stay here and help out for a while. But if I were you, I’d get home early and try to sleep.”
“No,” Lily said, “I’ll come back here tonight. Frank seems to like it when I’m in the house.”
28
I thought you liked Jo.”
“Dad, come on. Of course I do.”
“Don’t you want us to get married?”
“I want you to be happy.”
“What about you? Would it make you happy?”
“I’m a kid, Dad. Kids don’t have any say in the matter.”
“That’s not completely true.”
“It’s mostly true. And you know it.”
“But I don’t understand. You’re the one who kept telling me to propose.”
“I thought it would make you happy.”
“It did. But things are different now. They’ve become…well, difficult.”
“Because of the trial?”
“How do you know about that?”
“Lily told me that’s why Jo postponed the wedding. Because her old boyfriend is some kind of a thug.”
“A thug? Well, that’s a good word.”
“So is that why it’s postponed?”
“Did you think it was because of you?”
“No.”
“Are you glad we postponed it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Jo’s a good woman, honey. And she likes you a lot.”
“I know.”
“But you aren’t sure now if I should marry her?”
Cassie didn’t respond for half a minute. Then two big tears plopped into her lap. “I don’t know, Dad. I don’t know how I feel about anything anymore.”
“Oh, honey,” Andrew said, and he wrapped his arms around his daughter and held her the way he’d held her when she was three or four and was afraid of the dark.
The next morning Andrew decided to work on the blog before getting ready for work. Later there wouldn’t be time. It would be a busy day as they geared up for the kindergarten teacher’s extravaganza, with two smaller weddings in between. Lily would no doubt be tied up with Frank or Antonia; Jo and Sarah would pick up the slack; Elaine would be busy cooking things that seemed to take far too long to prepare. Not for the first time, Andrew wondered why weddings couldn’t be private, solemn occasions instead of the costly productions they were.
Not that he’d even hint at that question while he composed the blog.
He wondered if Frannie would think blogging was a good idea and if it should be incorporated into an online version of the magazine that she seemed so desperate to get under way. Maybe it should be confined to the Second Chances Web site.
As he popped open his laptop at the kitchen table, Andrew was certain of only one thing: Frannie was right. The magazine would be a success, just as the business of planning second weddings had taken off. Frannie had worked for John long enough to know the ins and outs of magazine publication. Andrew knew it wasn’t much different from TV news: share with the audience things they don’t already know that will enrich their lives and make them feel satisfied that they “tuned in.”
Most important, he remembered from his journalism days, was to share things the audience could relate to, especially issues from real lives.
Real lives like his and Cassie’s, he supposed.
No matter what their ages, Andrew typed, keep a special eye on your kids. They might appear to like or even love your spouse-to-be, but this is going to be a major change in their lives too. It’s only natural for them to feel a sense of loss. They’re losing a part of you that had been reserved for them.
Be careful that reality doesn’t get ignored in the excitement of the wedding plans.
He stared at the screen and wondered if that would be perceived as too scary, too anti second wedding. Frannie would perhaps have an opinion.
She was a professional, after all.
Someone who understood the marketing and communication of media-savvy ideas.
Someone who had the enthusiasm to help erase Andrew’s feelings of boredom, of needing something productive in his life again, something challenging.
In that moment Andrew knew that on his way to Second Chances, he would stop at the Hilltop B&B, that he would listen to what Frannie had to say. It would cost a small fortune in start-up money, but maybe Frannie had an idea about that too. He might as well pursue it.
After all, it wasn’t as if Winston College was beating down his door; it wasn’t as if he even could be sure that one of these days he’d be someone’s husband again.
Grace Koehler had soft gray hair and soft gray eyes and the gentle nature of a seasoned innkeeper. She welcomed Andrew and said Ms. Cassidy was in the front room and had been hoping that he’d come.
Which confirmed that her visit yesterday had not been a dream.
There was fresh coffee on the table where Frannie sat wearing her trademark black attire, though it looked like a different outfit. Next to the coffee, two maroon-color binders sat as if waiting to be opened and their pages unfurled.
“Good morning,” Andrew said, and sat down across from her.
“Andrew,” Frannie said, “we can do this, you’ll see.” She handed him one of the binders without asking if he wanted coffee.
They decided they’d go to the funeral as a group—Elaine, Sarah, Lily, Andrew, and Jo, or at least that’s what Lily said when Andrew finally arrived at work. “Safety in numbers,” Lily said, which probably meant if she went with all of them the world might not notice that she was attached to Frank, which made little sense because it wasn’t as if Reginald’s beastly sister would show up.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, ignoring Lily’s comment and settling into the remaining chair where the group was clustered in the Second Chances showroom. “I’ve been working on a new venture for our business.” Thankfully, no one corrected him by saying that he was not a partner in the business, that he was, technically, only the receptionist.
“Oh,” Lily nearly swooned. “Another venture? Can it wait until
after the funeral? Or until Antonia is gone? I can’t put one more thing inside my head right now, not one.”
“How long will Antonia be here?” The question came from Sarah, whom Andrew would have thought might be the least interested.
“I have no idea,” Lily said. “I’ve hardly seen her. I can’t imagine what she thinks.”
“She thinks you’re up to something,” Andrew said, and all eyes turned to him. “Well, that’s what she said to me. I think she’s going to stick around until she finds out what it is.” He watched as Lily’s cheeks went from pink to pale.
“But we had a nice dinner last night,” she said. “I took her to Northampton, to that tavern in the old hotel. She even let Pauline and Jonathan come. We went in the big Mercedes.”
Andrew wasn’t sure what any of that had to do with anything, except he knew, with Lily, one never could be sure.
“Well,” he said again, “that’s what she said to me.”
Then he felt bad, because Lily looked as if she was going to cry.
“Lily,” Sarah said, “why don’t you just tell her about Frank? God, I can’t believe you’re doing this only because of money.”
After a painful moment, Lily said, “Maybe it’s not just about the money. Believe it or not, none of you knows everything.”
Then she stood up, took her keys from her purse that had probably cost more than Andrew made in a semester at Winston College, and tearfully marched out of the showroom.
“Andrew,” Elaine said, “you shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Oh, please,” Sarah said. “It’s about time someone brought this up. It’s absurd, don’t you think? The way she’s dragged all of us into it, expecting us to cover for her, expecting us to be part of her charade?”
Then Sarah stood up and went into her studio, and Elaine left to go back to her kitchen, and Jo and Andrew were alone. Andrew said, “I didn’t mean to cause a Third World War.”
Jo said it didn’t matter, but by the way she went right back to work, Andrew had a huge suspicion that it did. Worst of all, he’d never had the chance to tell them about Frannie and about the commitment he’d made for the magazine.
