by Linda Reilly
Talia laughed. “You’re right. I was someplace else. Someplace I don’t want to be ever again.”
Bea nodded. “Then don’t think about it anymore, luv.” She reached over and squeezed Talia’s hand. “Listen, Tal, I know this job is just a stopover for you until you find your niche again. But these last five weeks … well, I don’t know what I’d have done without you. It’s been such a joy, such a relief, having you here again. Howie’s been out of commission for so long now …” Bea shook her head and reached for a napkin to dab at her leaky eyes.
Talia felt herself welling up, too. Bea was so special, such a treasure. Howie Lambert, Bea’s husband of thirty-seven years, was recovering from a knee operation that hadn’t gone well. He was still in the hospital, fighting an infection, and Bea’s stomach was in a constant knot from worry.
“I’m just glad I could help, Bea.”
Talia didn’t want to tell her that she’d been posting her résumé online, hoping desperately to land a position as a property manager. Prior to working as a commercial real estate broker, she’d loved managing the rentals for one of the gorgeously restored office buildings on Summer Street in Boston. Negotiating with tenants and fulfilling their rental needs was so much more rewarding than the sales grind. For Bea, the timing of Talia leaving her job in Boston had been a godsend.
Talia was sixteen—nearly half her lifetime ago—when she’d gotten her first job at the fish and chips shop. A senior in high school, she’d squeeze in hours after school and work nearly every weekend. At the time, her folks had been going through a rough patch. Lambert’s became her haven, her second home of sorts. It didn’t matter if she was frying fish, mashing peas, or scrubbing tables—she’d loved every moment she was there.
Shaking away the memories, she glanced over at Whitnee. The girl had been unusually quiet through lunch. Normally she polished off a boatload of vinegar-spritzed fries, and at least two helpings of Bea’s scrumptious mushy peas. Today she ate only a couple of fries and barely a spoonful of the peas.
“Whitnee, are you okay?” Talia said. “You seem a little down today.”
Whitnee tugged on a lock of her straight, carrot-colored hair. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s just … I got a lot going on at school, and there’s this one class I’m really sucking at—precalculus. Next week is the midterm, and I’m afraid I’m gonna flunk it.” She shrugged her thin shoulders. “If I don’t get a degree, it’ll kill my mom. I’m really scared of disappointing her. I’m like, the only kid in our family who ever got into college!”
Whitnee was taking evening classes in business administration at Berkshire Community College. It was her first semester, and Talia had the feeling that the workload was overwhelming her.
Talia reached over and touched Whitnee’s hand. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Not really.” Whitnee’s eyes were glassy with unshed tears. “I … just have to figure out how to study more efficiently. That’s what my advisor at the school said.”
Talia and Bea exchanged glances, and then Bea leaned forward toward Whitnee. “Listen, luv, I know your shift doesn’t end till seven, but why don’t you leave a little early today? You can use the extra time to study, or even take a walk and clear your head.”
“That’s real nice of you, Bea, but I … I actually need the money.”
Bea sighed, chewing her lip. “Then how about you make up the time, in dribs and drabs? An hour here, an hour there. Maybe when midterms are over?”
Whitnee sniffled, and then gave Bea a thin smile. “Sure, I guess I could do that. Thanks, Bea.” She emptied her plate into the waste can, collected her school tote, and scuttled out the door.
Bea turned to Talia with a sheepish look. “Poor girl, she looked so miserable. What could I do?”
“You did the right thing, Bea,” Talia said. She grabbed a clean sponge and a bottle of lime-scented spray cleaner and began to wipe down the stainless-steel work counter.
With the exception of Mr. Ruggles, the retired lawyer who dined at Lambert’s faithfully every Wednesday, the eatery was empty. Today he’d asked for a single order of mushy peas instead of his usual double, a sign that he was feeling especially low. His wife, Martha, had passed away three years ago, and according to Bea, he was lost without her.
Holding up a steaming pot of French-roast coffee, Talia headed out to the dining area. “I’ll bet you’d like a refill,” she said to him with a bright smile.
“Oh, I surely would, young lady.” He stabbed his fork through the last chunk of fried fish in his cone-shaped serving dish. “I’ll take Bea’s coffee any day over that sludge they serve at those chain stores!” He smiled at Talia, but the sadness in his faded brown eyes belied his good cheer. Having lost her grandmother six months earlier, Talia could understand the pain he must be feeling.
“I agree,” Talia said, refilling his mug. “Can I get you anything else?”
“No, I’m fine, dear. But thank you.”
From the kitchen, Talia could hear sputtering sounds coming from Bea. Before she had a chance to excuse herself to see what was troubling her boss, Bea burst into the dining area, gripping her smartphone as if it were a deadly weapon.
“Can you believe this?” Bea fumed, shaking the phone at her. “Now the bloody boob is badgering me by e-mail! How did he even get my e-mail address?”
Talia winced. She assumed Bea was talking about Turnbull, but with Mr. Ruggles sitting four feet away, a bit of discretion was in order. “Probably from the website,” Talia said quietly. “Maybe we should—”
“Well, he’s not going to get away with this,” Bea said darkly. “Fire up the deep fry, Talia. I’m going to boil Phil Turnbull in oil!”
2
Talia had managed to get Bea calmed down, and the rest of the afternoon passed without any further distractions. The eatery had gotten busy again around four thirty, and by seven—closing time—they were both weary. Bea planned to head directly to the hospital to sit with Howie for an hour or so. Talia had paid him a visit the evening before, so tonight she was looking forward to relaxing with a light snack and a glass of wine.
She swung her Fiat into the stubby driveway of her nana’s darling little bungalow. On the front lawn, a FOR SALE sign sat somewhat crookedly, the name and number of the realty company emblazoned across the bottom.
After Talia had left both her job and Chet, her mom had suggested that she move into the bungalow, at least until she figured out where her life—and her career—were headed. Her mom’s twin sisters, Aunt Josie and Aunt Jennie, were completely on board with the idea, so Talia had moved her things in right away. At best it was a temporary solution, but she didn’t want to think about a permanent place to live until she landed a new job … somewhere.
Or until someone made an offer on Nana’s house.
The sight of the Realtor’s lock box hanging over the doorknob sent a fresh wave of the blues washing over Talia. Nana’s death this past spring had been shattering. Not a day passed that Talia didn’t miss her. Now that the house was on the market, it wouldn’t be long before it attracted a buyer. For its age, it was in decent shape, and it fit the category of homes brokers liked to dub “starters.”
Inside, Talia dumped her purse onto the dilapidated tweed chair that her grandpop had been so attached to. After he died eleven years ago, Nana couldn’t bring herself to get rid of the eyesore, in spite of the fact that she loathed it while he was living. “I know he’s still sitting there,” she would tell Talia with a catch in her throat. “How can I send it to the dump?”
By the time Talia had showered and thrown on a pair of jeans, along with her favorite UMass sweatshirt, it was after seven thirty. She hadn’t given much thought to dinner, but since she’d had a filling lunch she opted for her default meal—a bowl of Rice Krispies with bananas. She was pouring a heap of cereal into one of Nana’s pink-flowered soup bowls when her cell phone jangled.
“Hope you haven’t eaten, because I’m on my way over with a
pizza and a bottle of wine!”
“Rachel! I thought you had an open house at the school.” Rachel Ostroski was Talia’s BFF going back to their early school days. They’d kept in touch throughout their college years and still remained close. An elementary school teacher, Rachel was currently single and looking for love on one of the online dating sites.
“Yeah, but I was able to bail early. Only five parents showed up for my class,” she said with a snort, “and even fewer for some of the others. So, are you in the mood for a slab or two of deep-dish pepperoni and mushroom? You can’t say no because I’m already in your driveway, parked behind that strange little car of yours.”
Talia laughed. “Then I won’t say no. Give me a sec to flick on the porch light so you won’t break your neck on the steps.”
Talia dumped the dry cereal back into the box, and then scooted into the living room and flipped on the outside light. Seconds later, Rachel strode through the front door, pizza box in one hand and a brown bag in the other. Talia relieved her of the pizza and wine while Rachel stripped off her Burberry raincoat with its matching scarf. As usual, her friend looked as if she’d just stepped out of a page in Vogue.
“Honestly, is that cashmere?” Talia asked in mock disgust, gazing at Rachel’s ensemble.
Rachel plucked at the stunning rose-colored sweater she was wearing over a black pencil skirt. With her thick mane of dark wavy hair, ocean blue eyes, and cheekbones that could slice a melon, she looked more like a runway model than a fourth-grade teacher. “Yeah, but only because I had to dress up for parents’ night.” She rubbed her hands together as she followed Talia into the kitchen. “Let’s open up that pizza box. After the evening I’ve had, I’m starving. By the way, did you get a cat?”
“A cat? No, why?”
Rachel shrugged. “I thought I saw a little feline face peeking out from the side of the house. When I shut my car door, it took off.”
“Must belong to a neighbor,” Talia said.
Rachel sat down at Nana’s scratched wooden table while Talia set two places with her grandmother’s pink-flowered dinnerware. As Rachel opened the bottle of pinot noir and poured each of them a glass, Talia began filling her in on the events of her day, including Bea’s meltdown over the e-mail.
“Ah, that’s good wine,” Talia said after sampling hers. “A nice change from chardonnay.” She opened the pizza box, releasing the intoxicating aroma of spicy meat, basil, and mozzarella. They each grabbed a slice of the gooey pie, and for a few moments they munched and drank in silence.
“So, this Turnbull you were telling me about,” Rachel said finally, a flush coloring her cheeks. “You said he’s the guy who owns Classic Radiance?”
“Yes, he’s the— Oh no, do you know him?”
Rachel took a bracing sip of her wine. “I dated him—once,” she confessed, “a little over a year ago. Believe me, once was enough. What a consummate fool he was—a real piece of work.” She gave Talia a wry smile. “I suppose I deserved it for letting myself be taken in by a pretty face. You’d think I’d be old enough to know better.”
Talia gave her a flat smile. “We’ve all been there, fallen for that. I imagine he came off as quite the charmer at first, but that it wore off very quickly.”
“You got that right.” Rachel shoved the end of a second slice into her mouth. After she swallowed, she said, “He drives this big Caddy and brags about it, like it’s the only car on the planet anyone with a brain would ever think of owning. And, get this—he keeps this big white towel draped over the back of the passenger seat so that—I kid you not—whoever sits there won’t sully his precious leather seats with the oils from their hair.”
Talia almost choked on a mouthful of pizza. She coughed and then washed it down with a hefty slug of wine. “Oh geez, he really is intense. Do you know if he was ever married?”
“Oh, he sure was.” Rachel grimaced. “I had to listen to him rail on about the K-witch, as he called her, for half the evening. Apparently the two did not have an amicable divorce.”
“Gee, what a surprise,” Talia said. “I’ve come to a decision, though. I thought about it while I was driving home tonight. I’m going to confront Turnbull in the morning, this time without Bea. I’m not going to put up with him upsetting her every day. She’s a wreck from all his pestering.”
Rachel looked dubiously at her. “Better practice what you’re going to say to him. He’s got this way of twisting your words, especially when it comes to … well, anyway, just be careful. Not to change the subject, but have you heard anything from Chet?”
Talia shook her head. “I told you, Rach, he’s not going to call. He has too big of an ego. Besides, I don’t want to hear from him. I don’t have anything left to say to him.”
“So, it’s really over then? No chance of you getting back together?”
Talia smiled at her friend over the burgeoning lump in her throat. “No, but I’m fine with it, honestly I am. We’d been going in different directions for longer than I wanted to admit. When he didn’t support me after I left that horrid job, I realized that our lives, our goals, had drifted too far apart.” She picked at a stray wedge of pepperoni that had stuck to the bottom of the pizza box. “Besides, he was going horseback riding nearly every weekend. I felt like I hardly ever saw him anymore. We were never going to find our way back to where we were in the beginning. I miss him, a lot, but I did the right thing.”
And it was the right thing, Talia reflected, as they polished off the remaining two slices of pizza. Chet’s anger over her leaving a job she detested had forced her to reassess the relationship. In doing so, she saw how vastly different they were. An investment counselor, Chet loved parties and socializing with clients, while Talia savored cozy evenings at home with comfort food, a good book, and her sweetheart at her side.
About a year ago, Chet had accepted a client’s offer to go horseback riding at his sprawling home in northeastern Massachusetts. Chet had taken to the pastime like a frog to a lily pad, and before long it was all he wanted to do. Talia tried, she really did, to latch onto the sport, but she could barely lift herself onto the horse, let alone control it with two skinny strips of leather. The saddle felt like it was made of granite, and every time she dismounted the animal, all she could think of was getting home and taking a long soak in the tub. After three separate tries, she gave up. Life was too short to spend on something she truly hated.
“What about you,” she prodded Rachel, anxious to change the subject. “Didn’t you have a date last weekend?”
Rachel scowled. “I was hoping you wouldn’t remember. It was an absolute disaster!” In typical Rachel style, she regaled Talia with a comical account of how she’d arranged to meet her date—a man she’d found on the online dating site—at a Thai restaurant in downtown Pittsfield. Every three minutes or so, and all through dinner, he’d whipped his comb out of his shirt pocket and scraped it over his balding head. The evening had gone south from there, ending with him trying to pull Rachel into a lip lock as they were heading into the parking lot toward their cars. By the time Rachel had finished telling the story, Talia was wiping the tears from her face.
Feeling thoroughly stuffed, Talia removed the dishes from the table and stacked them in the sink. “Well, I regret to say that I have nothing to offer you for dessert. If I’d known you were coming, I’d have stopped at the bakery for some brownies.”
Rachel gulped back the last of her wine. “Yeah, well, don’t let it happen again. Hey, did your mom tell you? My class is putting on a play for the residents at the Pines this Sunday. Can you believe I agreed to direct a bunch of fourth-graders in ‘The Legend of Sleepy Hollow’? I must’ve had a mental lapse the day I told the principal I’d do it.”
The Pines, actually the Wrensdale Pines, was the assisted living facility where Natalie Marby—Talia’s mom—worked as the assistant director.
Talia grinned. “That sounds like fun! I wonder why Mom forgot to tell me about it.”
; Rachel wiggled a hand in the air. “Well, first it was on, then it was off. As of this morning it’s on again, this time for good. I had a few parents who were afraid the play would be too scary for their kids, but when they finally sat down and read the script, they ended up changing their minds. We’ve already had three rehearsals, so the kids pretty much have their parts down pat.”
“I read it so long ago I don’t remember it,” Talia said, “but it sounds like a blast to me.”
“Oh yeah, it’ll be a real trip.” Rachel rolled her blue eyes at the ceiling. “Can you imagine getting twenty-three fourth graders into their respective costumes? I just pray to God one of them doesn’t get stage fright and panic when they have to say their lines. Hey, you want to come? It starts at one, but we’ll start setting up around eleven. I could really use your help.”
Talia cocked a finger at her. “I’ll be there. Maybe I should be the costume director or something.”
“No, I’ve got a better idea.” Rachel waggled her perfectly shaped eyebrows at Talia.
“Uh-oh. You’re scaring me with that evil look.”
Rachel laughed. “You, my friend, are now in charge of bringing the desserts. It’ll be one more thing I can cross off my list. Cookies, coffee cake, whatever floats your dinghy.”
Talia gawked at her friend. “Hey, now wait a minute. I didn’t—”
“No, you didn’t, so I did it for you.” Rachel winked at her, and Talia knew she had been had.
Rachel stayed another hour or so. As she was leaving, she hugged Talia and quietly said, “I miss her, too.”
Talia’s throat tightened. “I know you do.”
“I think I loved her as much as my own grandmother.”
Her lashes damp, Rachel hugged Talia again and left. Talia locked the door behind her friend, feeling her spirits lift. Rachel had always had a way of dragging her out of a funk. She was compassionate and funny and supremely grounded—especially for someone whose family was Dysfunction Central. And, thanks to her friend, Talia was feeling considerably better about facing Turnbull in the morning.
