Was Hall that good in bed? She’d been friends with him since grade school, and there had never been even the slightest physical attraction between them. Still, every other female in Shelter Rock Cove treated him like a rock star with a speculum. Did his intimate knowledge of the female anatomy give him super powers in the sack? Her Jack only knew trannys and valve jobs, and she had always found him pretty amazing between the sheets. Hall must be—
Heat moved upward from her chest, flooding her cheeks with color. He was her best friend. You weren’t supposed to think about your best friend that way. Whatever he and Ellen had done last night was their business. Not that she would complain if he wanted to share a few of the juicier details, but to her regret Hall had never been one to kiss and tell.
Claudia glanced over at her, then gestured toward the lawyer’s assistant who was standing near the door. “Would you be a dear and raise the air-conditioning? My daughter’s having a hot flash.”
“I’m not having a hot flash,” she said through clenched teeth.
“No reason to be embarrassed,” her mother went on. “It’s just another season of life.” She turned her attention to Ellen, who was obviously trying very hard to stay out of the conversation. “Perfectly normal, isn’t it, Dr. Ellen?”
Ellen looked up from her paperwork, and you could see her sifting through possible responses for the one least likely to backfire on anyone there.
“Menopause is a perfectly natural transition,” she said carefully, then winked at Susan, who laughed despite herself. “But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t mind a little more air-conditioning.”
Ellen Markowitz was a terrific woman. She was sexy, vibrant, fiercely intelligent, and she was every bit as dedicated to her work as Hall was. He could do a lot worse.
Too bad Ellen could do a lot better. Susan wouldn’t be at all surprised if her best friend, the beloved Dr. Talbot, had the words Proceed with Caution tattooed on his butt. When it came to love, he was the worst bet in town. Ellen Markowitz had never seemed the gambling type, but desire and caution rarely walked hand-in-hand.
Let Claudia believe whatever she wanted to, but it was crystal clear to Susan that something was definitely going on, and damned if she wasn’t just the tiniest bit jealous.
Chapter Seven
“This is a big moment,” Deirdre said as they followed Stanley to the front door. “Maybe you want to be alone.” She was carrying three pizzas for the moving men and a container of mocha fudge.
Ellen, who was in charge of the beer and soda, laughed as she fumbled around with the keys. “What I really want is to be able to figure out which one of these is for the front door.”
“Try the one with the yellow yarn threaded through it,” Deirdre suggested. “It has a certain presence.”
Leave it to her sister to see presence in a house key.
Deirdre was right. The key worked.
“There are eight keys here, three of them with yarn threaded through them. How did you know to pick the yellow one?”
“It’s a gift,” she said as Ellen swung open the door and Stanley raced inside. “Some people deliver babies. I can tell you which key to use.” She stepped into the foyer and let out a long, loud whistle. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d bought a hotel?”
“It is huge, isn’t it?”
“Are you planning on taking in boarders?”
Ellen laughed, but Deirdre’s words struck a nerve. “You think it’s too big for one person?”
“I think it’s too big for the Sixth Fleet, but don’t go by me. I’m a city girl. I’m used to being able to wash the dishes while sitting in bed. This is probably small by Shelter Rock standards.”
She started toward the kitchen. She had to remind herself that Deirdre didn’t have that internal censor that kept most people from saying what they were really thinking. “Actually it’s pretty big by Shelter Rock standards, too.”
Deirdre trailed behind her. Her long skirts made a lovely hushed sound against her legs as she walked. Ellen couldn’t remember the last time she had worn a skirt that flowed and whispered. Maybe back in college. Maybe never.
“Wow!” Deirdre handed Ellen the pizzas, then executed a dancer’s turn. Her skirt billowed like a sail. “This looks like the set for one of those old films you see late at night on AMC.”
Ellen grinned as she placed the pizza boxes down on the granite-topped island. “It’s something, isn’t it?”
“Cabinets with frosted-glass fronts, big old-fashioned windows—oh, my God! A stone fireplace! Exactly what you always wanted.”
“You remembered that?”
“Sure. I wanted a mansion with hot and cold running servants, and you wanted a country kitchen with a stone fireplace and copper kettles hanging from hooks overhead.”
“I ordered the kettles last week from Williams-Sonoma. They should be here any day.”
“That’s it,” Deirdre said, running her hand across the rough coolness of the granite countertop. “I’m moving in with you.”
Ellen waited a beat too long. She wanted to say, “What a great idea! There’s plenty of room!” but somehow she couldn’t quite push the words out in time.
“Don’t worry,” her sister said with a little laugh. “I’m only teasing. You know me. I can’t stay in one place too long or I start getting itchy and wondering what’s waiting around the next corner.”
“Just like Billy.”
“Yep,” said Deirdre, with that same odd little laugh. “Like father, like daughter.”
A long silence fell between them. Ellen had turned away from Billy O’Brien many years ago. A handful of teenage summers hadn’t been enough to change all that had come before. Billy was a charming stranger to her and nothing more. She liked him. He amused her and made her laugh. In a way she even felt sorry for him, for when he chose his wife over Ellen’s mother, he changed all of their lives forever.
The only sound in the cavernous kitchen was the scratching of maple tree branches against the window.
“So how is he doing?” Ellen asked finally. “Is he still in Ireland?”
“Last I heard. He goes off for a while and then shows up on Mary Pat’s doorstep looking for a place to crash between gigs.”
“I thought Ireland was the real thing. The last time we talked, he told me he planned to stay over there.”
“Right,” Deirdre said. “You still don’t take him at his word, do you?”
“Did that record deal ever pan out?”
“Close but no cigar. Story of his life.”
“He’s so talented,” Ellen mused. “I don’t understand why it never happened for him.” Billy O’Brien had one of those Irish tenor voices that could make grown men fall down weeping and send grown women racing into his arms. Long ago and far away, her mother had been one of them.
“Same reason it hasn’t happened for me,” Deirdre answered. “Because they’re all dumb bastards out there who wouldn’t know talent if it bit them in the ass.”
They locked eyes over the pizza boxes, then dissolved into gales of raucous laughter that drowned out the sound of the front doorbell.
However, nothing could drown out Stanley. His persistent howling finally penetrated through the laughter, and the two women went into the hallway to investigate. They were just in time to see Annie Butler dashing across the driveway to her minivan.
“Annie!” Ellen pushed open the screen door and darted after her.
Annie spun around, and, as always, Ellen was struck by her loveliness. If a woman could radiate happiness, Annie Butler did exactly that. She was a walking testimonial to marriage and motherhood.
“You two were laughing so hard in there that I figured I’d come out here and call you from the cell phone!” She looked down at the giant dog dancing around her feet. “Hi, Stanley! Good to see you again.”
Deirdre, barefoot and nibbling a slice of pizza, wandered down the driveway to join them. “We have plenty,” she said to Annie, “if you want to join us.”<
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Ellen felt a little pinch at the back of her neck, a sure sign that a tension headache was beginning to build.
“That’s sweet of you two, but I have to get back to the store.” She turned and slid open the side door and reached inside. “I have your bag, Deirdre.” She handed over a scuffed garment bag, then reached back into the van. “Just wait until you see what I’ve got for you, Ellen!”
First out was an enormous arrangement of hollyhocks from Janna and the rest of their assistants at the office with a note that read “Happy Homecoming!” Then came a basket of daisies from Sweeney, whose Artists’ Co-op shared space with Annie’s flower shop. An impressive spray of bird-of-paradise and ginger blossoms from her banker. A basket of daisies from Claudia with a handwritten note wishing her many years of happiness. One from Susan wishing her the same. A tasteful bouquet of glads and lilies from her stepfather, Cy. A knockout arrangement of delphinium, snapdragons, jonquils, and lovelies-bleeding from Mary Pat.
“Mary Pat?” Deirdre glared at the showy card attached to the basket. “How did she know you were moving today?”
“I probably mentioned it to her once and she wrote it down in her Filofax.”
They both knew that flowers from Mary Pat meant about as much as a hello from your friendly neighborhood meter reader. Mary Pat did the right thing because it was expected of her. Sentiment of any kind didn’t enter into that arrangement, except maybe the slightest touch of pity.
“Now, wait until you see this,” Annie said, reaching deeper into the minivan. “It was the talk of the shop this afternoon!”
Deirdre let out a long slow whistle as Annie handed a bouquet of three dozen red roses to Ellen.
Ellen’s face turned as red as the blooms. She could barely wrap her arms around them. Her powers of speech vanished as the scent filled her brain.
“Who sent them?” Deirdre demanded, poking through the flowers. “Is there a gift card?”
“No card.” Annie’s smile grew wider. “The buyer wishes to remain anonymous.”
Deirdre wasn’t about to be deterred. “You can tell me. I won’t tell a soul.”
Ellen remained speechless. Annie looked at her closely, then slid the minivan’s door closed. “Sorry,” she said. “I took the Florist’s Oath.”
“The Florist’s Oath?” Deirdre asked, laughing.
“Thou shalt not divulge the name of he who wishes to remain anonymous.”
“And what happens if you break the oath?”
“Too terrible to contemplate.” She gestured toward the mountain of blooms at their feet. “Why don’t we get these inside before Stanley decides to water them?”
The dog was circling Mary Pat’s arrangement with great interest.
Finally Ellen found her voice. “We can manage, Annie. I know you need to get back to the shop.” She already knew from past experience that Annie wouldn’t accept a tip, so she made a mental note to double up the next time one of her teenage workers made a delivery.
“Why don’t you like Annie?” Deirdre asked after the minivan disappeared around the corner.
The question brought Ellen up short. “Who said I don’t like her?”
“You made it pretty clear you didn’t want her hanging around.”
“Annie has a store to run and an infant, a toddler, and a husband waiting for her at home. The last thing she needed was to waste time lugging flowers into the house for me.”
“I like her,” Deirdre said. “I’m sorry she didn’t stay awhile.”
“I like her, too. In fact, I delivered both of her babies.”
“Wow. I’m surprised you seemed so uneasy with her.”
“I wasn’t uneasy; I was surprised.” And embarrassed, but she didn’t tell Deirdre that. If Annie had the slightest idea what had really happened last night—it just didn’t bear thinking about. “Believe it or not, I don’t receive a truckload of flowers every Monday afternoon.”
It took two trips, but they managed to get the flowers safely inside before Stanley did something unspeakable to them.
“So much for counter space,” Ellen said as she surveyed her bounty.
“I’m impressed,” Deirdre said. “You must be the most popular gyno in Shelter Rock.” She fingered the bloodred roses. “So who’s the mystery man?”
“Who says it’s a man? Maybe they’re from a grateful patient.”
“Patients don’t send three dozen American Beauties.”
She shrugged as if it didn’t matter a bit to her.
“Come on! You must have a clue.”
“Not a single one.”
“You don’t really think I believe that, do you?”
“Probably not.” She paused for a second at the sound of a truck in the driveway. “Grab Stanley and put him in the backyard. The moving men are here.”
And not a moment too soon.
* * *
So far it wasn’t going at all the way Deirdre had expected it to. Two years ago, during their boozy lunch at the Ritz-Carlton, Ellen had been all warmth and solicitude as she listened to Deirdre unburden herself about the treacherous Antonio. “Stay with me tonight,” she had said, offering to share her suite with her falling-apart sister. Her focus had been on Deirdre. She couldn’t do enough to make her smile.
Today she had to get herself arrested in order to get her sister’s attention, and even then she hadn’t kept it for very long. Annie Butler showed up with a truckload of flowers, and Deirdre could see Ellen close in on herself like she did during the last summer they were all together. She would smile and say all the right things, but you just knew she was some place else.
Something was definitely up with her, and Deirdre was reasonably sure it had to do with a man. The clues were all there. She didn’t come home last night, and today a mystery man showered her with three dozen pricey long-stemmed roses. Red ones, at that. One of the few romantic clichés no woman on the planet ever grew tired of.
Since being dumped by that scum of a fiancé a few years ago, her sister had been close-mouthed about whatever was or wasn’t going on in her bedroom. Not that Deirdre blamed her for that. She was the same way. People invariably got the wrong idea when you talked about your love life. They either figured you were getting too much or not half enough, and either way you ended up having to explain yourself to someone who didn’t deserve to know. Besides, you needed close girlfriends to share that kind of thing, and Deirdre hadn’t had a best friend since eighth grade. Billy’s singing career had kept them moving around from place to place, and it was hard to keep making new friends, knowing you were going to have to say goodbye before you had a chance to share your secrets.
“You’re lucky you have Mary Pat,” her mother used to say as they packed up for yet another move. “That’s why God made sisters, so you’ll always have your best friend close by.”
And her mother really believed that crap. That was what made it so sad. Billy might have begat himself two more daughters, but in Mary Pat’s mind she was still an only child. It made their mother’s Disneyland take on sisterhood downright laughable.
The closest Deirdre had ever come to that kind of connection with another human being was during those first few summers after Ellen’s mother died when Billy decided it was time for his three girls to get to know each other. Yeah, there was a bright idea. Try throwing a mystery sister into the already volatile mix of two teenage girls in an unhappy home and see what happens.
Mary Pat never came around. She had been old enough to understand that there was trouble between her parents, old enough to know her father loved somebody else. She hated Ellen, whose very existence had ripped the heart out of her family.
After the shock and the anger began to wear off, Deirdre and Ellen had found themselves growing closer. They looked alike, although Deirdre was shorter and rounder than her willowy half sister, and both shared a love of Chinese food, blues music, and bad television. While Mary Pat locked herself in her room to write long, impassioned letters to the boy who
would soon become her husband, Deirdre and Ellen sprawled on the sofa and watched old movies while they talked about the future. Ellen had hers planned out to the last detail. She was going to become an OB-GYN like her stepfather. She had her schools picked out. She hoped to do her residency at Mount Sinai in Manhattan, then open up a private practice on the Upper West Side, where she grew up.
They were only six months apart in age, but Deirdre remembered feeling like a little girl as she listened to Ellen talk about her plans. When Ellen asked what she was going to do after high school, the best Deirdre could come up with was “Maybe bum around Europe for a while and see what happens.”
“I thought you were going to study music.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see what happens.”
Ellen believed in thinking ahead. Even her plans had plans. She had been raised to believe that anything was possible if you set your goals high and worked toward them, and from the look of things today that was exactly what had happened. Okay, so maybe this wasn’t the Upper West Side, but she had tried that and discovered it wasn’t quite what she wanted. Shelter Rock Cove was. All you had to do was watch the way people treated her, and you knew she was somebody special around here. She had her job. She had her new house. She had some guy who liked to send her roses.
Deirdre sat out on the back porch with Stanley, listening to the sounds of the moving men unloading Ellen’s furniture. Ten minutes should about do it. She had peeked into the truck, and, as far as she could tell, her sister didn’t have all that much. A plain double bed with a pine headboard. A soulless chest of drawers. One of those couches that looked better than they sat. No quilts. No family photos. No signs of life. If Deirdre had a doctor’s income, she would have the stuff to go with it. Plush sofas. A big wide bed with a brass headboard. Antique quilts and big puffy down comforters with satin duvets. One of those giant TVs that hung from the wall and practically invited you to walk straight into the screen and join the party. Pictures everywhere, all beautifully displayed in handcrafted frames. And she would have clothes, too, great stuff from funky boutiques and maybe a couple of knock-’em-dead audition dresses from Saks.
Girls of Summer (Shelter Rock Cove - Book #2) Page 8
