by Linda Reilly
Had someone been touching it, she wondered, with more than a trace of ire. Although the broker had carte blanche to escort potential buyers through the bungalow, she certainly had no cause to touch any of Nana’s belongings.
On impulse, Talia turned on the radio. It burst to life with a loud click. After thirty or so seconds—old radios needed a warm-up—a song blasted out of the speakers. Talia’s insides did a cartwheel. The station that came on wasn’t the one Nana had always listened to. It was an oldies station, but not the kind that belted out the hits of the forties.
But it wasn’t the station, so much as the song, that sent pangs gusting through her. The mournful words from Nana’s favorite tune—“Mr. Bojangles”—were streaming from the radio at top volume.
Talia quickly lowered the volume to a more soothing level. She found herself singing along, surprised that she remembered most of the words. She thought about the day, so many years ago, when she’d been driving Nana to the outlet mall to look for a pair of slippers. “Mr. Bojangles” came on the radio, and Nana fell instantly in love with it. The character who inspired the song had reminded Nana of her father back in Italy—a man who often broke into song and dance even during the hardest of times.
A lump rose in Talia’s throat. Nearly every reminder of Nana was here, in this adorable little house. And though she’d only been ensconced here for seven weeks or so, the thought of having to move out felt like a sharp jab to the heart.
When the song ended, she turned off the radio. Her gaze floated over the faded Formica counter, where Nana always prepared simple but delectable meals. Talia could almost see her—her hands plunged into a bowl filled with the meat mixture from which she would form her meatballs. She never used a recipe, at least not that Talia had ever seen. She measured her ingredients by the eye, and by the heart. Natalie was coming to dinner? A little more fresh garlic went into the mix. The twins were visiting? Add a link or two of hot sausage to spice things up a bit. And for Talia, the magic ingredient was fresh-grated Parmesan cheese. Nana always made sure to have plenty in the fridge for an unexpected visit from her only granddaughter.
Hmmm, now that she thought about it … wouldn’t it be interesting to try deep-frying meatballs? She’d watched Nana make them so often, surely she could experiment with the ingredients and concoct her own meatball recipe. Instead of putting all the herbs in the meatballs, she could add some to the batter. Served with a drizzle of spicy marinara sauce, they would probably be a hit!
But she couldn’t think about that now, not with Bea still under suspicion. She tucked away the idea in a mental slot for future reference, and headed into the bathroom. Suzy’s bath oil had lost its original appeal, so she stepped into the shower.
Her hair, she realized, was in sore need of a trim. The last haircut she’d had was right before she ditched Chet, along with her old life. Since she was going to be in Belmont tomorrow, maybe she should pop into La-Di-Da to see if her stylist, Becky, could squeeze her in for an appointment.
No. Becky was no longer her stylist. That part of her life was over. She’d have to find someone local to cut her hair, and in the meantime she’d add a little more mousse to keep it from tumbling into her eyes.
She’d no sooner tugged on her nightshirt when she heard her cell ringing from Nana’s night table. She dashed to pick it up.
“Mom?”
“Hi, honey. Hope you weren’t in bed yet.”
“Nah. I just hopped out of the shower.”
A long sigh issued from her mother. “I had a message from the broker on the machine when I got home,” she said. “It sounds like the bungalow might be sold. I know I should be happy, but …” Talia’s mom sucked in a tiny sob. “I can’t imagine not ever being able to visit there again, you know?”
Oh yes, Talia knew. She swallowed. “I know, Mom. The broker left me a note on the fridge. I guess I’ll have to think about moving out.” And sooner rather than later.
After a momentary silence, her mom said, “I just wish there was something …” Talia could picture her mom biting her lip, a telltale sign of the wheels turning in her brain. The thought made her smile, but instantly she sobered.
“I wish there was something, too, but I think we’re out of options. Look, don’t worry about it, Mom. We’ll all pitch in to move Nana’s stuff out of here. I’d like to keep a few things for myself, if that’s okay with you and the aunts.”
Nana’s dresser.
The puffy pink chair in the bedroom.
The radio …
“Of course, dear,” her mom soothed. “You know the girls will give you anything you’d like to keep. But … what about you? You’ve got to live somewhere, too.”
“Heck, don’t worry about me. Like you said, I can always bunk with you and Dad for a while, right?”
“That’s a given,” her mom said firmly. Talia heard the smile in her voice.
They bade each other good night, the clock on Nana’s nightstand reading 10:23. Talia tried to read, but found she was too agitated to concentrate on the words. Tossing aside her book, she snuggled under the covers and turned off the light. Faces swirled through her head in a kaleidoscope of colors—Jill, Suzy Sato, Arthur Collins …
… Ryan.
Go away, all of you, and let me sleep!
She would need plenty of rest to face Chet in the morning. And though she dreaded the drive to Belmont to pick up the rest of her things, it would be a relief to finally get it done.
Fatigue eventually won the battle, and she drifted off. The last thing that fluttered through her mind was a picture of herself in the local paper. Next to the imaginary photo was the official announcement that she was the new proprietor of Lambert’s Fish & Chips.
21
Talia was relieved to be off the Mass Pike and away from the clog of traffic that trickled through the center of Belmont. The drive had been nerve-wracking, with trailer trucks whipping past her at a hundred miles an hour. Nearly every bridge, it seemed, had been undergoing construction, sending traffic patterns into a mishmash.
Overnight the sky had turned dreary and gray, the perfect fit for her mood. Rain was predicted for later in the day, but so far it had held off.
She swung her Fiat onto the access road to the Nutberry Village Townhouses. Although she’d lived in the condo complex for the better part of four years, the place never held any real appeal for her. It was Chet who’d picked the townhome. Given the option, Talia would have chosen the quaint, refurbished unit in the old brick schoolhouse they’d looked at when they first started shopping for a place to live.
Not that Nutberry wasn’t lovely. Colonial in style, the units were impeccably maintained and formed a U-shape around a central green. Behind the units was a forested area that provided shade during the hotter months. Wildlife abounded—squirrels, birds, chipmunks, even wild turkeys. Every year, during the late fall, she used to toss out nuts for the squirrels to find so they could tuck them away for the winter. Chet thought it was ridiculous to feed wild animals, but she did it nonetheless.
She drove slowly around the U until she reached the building that housed unit forty-two. A sudden case of nerves gripped her. Chet’s sporty Acura TL sat in one of the two parking spaces assigned to his—formerly their—rental unit. Even under the overcast sky, the car gleamed like liquid silver.
All at once, Talia wished he weren’t going to be here when she removed the last of her things. She still had her key to get in. She could have done this alone quite easily. Plus, she didn’t want to face him, didn’t want to explain for the hundredth time why their relationship would never have worked.
The spot where Talia used to park was occupied by a blue Honda Odyssey she didn’t recognize. Had Chet allowed another unit owner to use their second space, the one where Talia’s own vehicle once resided? He knew she was going to be picking up her things today. He couldn’t have left that spot open for her?
The thought irritated her as she eased her Fiat along the row of cars. Sh
e found an empty slot near the end. With a sigh she locked her purse in her car, jumped out, and headed for the front entrance.
Out of courtesy she rang the bell. She waited a minute or so and then stuck her key in the lock, frowning when it wouldn’t turn. What the—
The door swung open, and there stood Chet. His dark blond hair tousled to perfection, he wore a hunter-green crewneck shirt over beige chinos. “Hey, Tal,” he said gently. He leaned toward her and gave her a limp hug.
Talia stood stock-still until he withdrew his arms. He looked uncomfortable, which suited her just fine. “Chet,” she said with a crisp nod.
One glance around the formal living room told her that a lot had changed in her absence. The pricy, geometric-design shades Chet had insisted on buying were gone. In their place were heavy, barn red curtains, their rawhide tiebacks hanging from miniature, saddle-shaped hooks.
The glass coffee table still rested in front of the uncomfortable leather-and-chrome sofa, but instead of sporting a slew of magazines, it hosted three antique volumes propped up by a pair of bronze horses. Talia was dying to peek at the titles, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Actually, it wouldn’t have surprised her to discover that the books were fakes, like everything else about Chet.
Even the air was different. A woodsy, earthy scent rose from a potpourri bowl that sat on the faux mantel.
She felt like kicking herself for agreeing to pay for half of that awful chrome-and-leather furniture. Too contemporary to be comfortable, it looked like something that belonged on a spaceship. The price had been off the charts, but she’d gone along with it to please Chet. She shook her head at the memory.
Chet closed the door behind her. “I’ve got some coffee in the kitchen. Can I pour you a cup? Do you need to use the facility?”
The facility. What a pompous boob.
“No, thank you. I stopped on the Mass Pike.” Not that she owed him an explanation.
Without warning, a delicate-featured woman with chin-length, curly chestnut hair emerged from around the corner of the master bedroom. In her left hand she clutched an iPad. “Chet, I found that article on— Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize she was already here.”
She? So Talia was now a mere pronoun?
The woman’s face flushed a mottled red as she strode toward Talia on moccasin-covered feet. “Hi, I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Courtney?” She offered up her free hand, which was graced with short, rounded nails. On the ring finger of the hand holding the iPad was an emerald the size of Boston. The rest of her looked like an ad straight out of L.L.Bean’s fall catalogue.
And yes, she did recognize the woman. She was the neighbor of the couple who owned the horses where they’d gone riding those few times.
Suddenly, horribly, it all made sense.
The ease with which Chet had accepted her departure.
His eagerness to remove any sign she’d ever lived there.
Ignoring Courtney’s outstretched hand, Talia swept past her and stomped toward the same bedroom from which the woman had materialized. Tears pushed at her eyelids, but she was determined to keep them from rolling down her cheeks.
She’d been a chump, a fool. A court jester dancing to the master’s tune.
The master, meanwhile, had been finding his recreation elsewhere.
In the doorway of the bedroom, Talia stopped short. Nothing looked the same. The gray-blue comforter Chet had loved so much was gone. In its stead was a fluffy spread the color of apple blossoms, atop which rested a slew of rose-colored pillows edged in lace. A beige fainting sofa with a flowery pattern sat near the window that overlooked the forest. The rest of the room was equally unrecognizable. Nearly everything had been replaced with the kind of feminine accoutrements Chet had always despised.
Hats off to Courtney. The woman works fast.
Bile rose in Talia’s throat, but she swallowed it back. The sooner she got out of there, the better.
She moved toward the closet, and then remembered that her own things weren’t even in the master bedroom. Chet had needed the entire closet for himself, or so he’d claimed. Talia had been assigned the closet in the smaller bedroom—the room Chet used as his office-away-from-the-office.
She turned to find him standing behind her, a sheepish look on his face. “Hey, um, Talia, I know this all looks really different, but—”
“Actually, I don’t care,” Talia threw at him. She stormed out of the room and headed for the bedroom that housed her belongings. Chet had moved her clothes toward one end of the rack in the closet, presumably to make it easier for her to grab and remove them. The quilt Nana had lovingly sewn for her before she went off to college sat on the floor, folded neatly into a plastic bag that zipped all the way around. At least he hadn’t rolled it into a ball and tossed it on the floor, the way he used to when he claimed it was too hot for a quilt. The real truth was that the quilt was too homespun for him. It clashed with the image he had of himself as an enlightened business executive.
“I’ll help you take everything to the car,” Chet said in a quiet voice.
“Don’t bother,” Talia said. She tore an armful of clothing off the rack, not realizing how heavy it all was. She sagged and stumbled sideways a bit.
“You can’t get it all to your car by yourself,” he said crossly. His face red, he went to the closet in two long strides and pulled her winter jacket and wool blazers off the rack. He secured them all under one arm and then bent his knees and grabbed the handle of the quilt bag.
“Stop!” Talia ordered. She shoved her armful of clothing at him. “You take this. I’ll take the quilt.”
He glared at her over the mound of clothing, but did as she instructed. Making two trips during which neither of them spoke, they managed to get everything stuffed into the Fiat’s backseat. But there was still one thing that belonged to Talia.
“Where’s my mahogany candle table?” she said coolly.
Chet let out a breath. “Courtney stored it in the—”
“Courtney has no right to touch my table!”
He held up a hand. “If you’ll just listen,” he said, in a tone drained of patience. “Courtney wanted to be sure it didn’t get scratched during all the renovations, so she covered it with a sheet and placed it at the back of the closet. Your closet,” he added.
Okay, Talia did recall seeing something with a sheet draped over it at the back of her former closet. She pivoted on one heel and went back inside. Courtney had pulled a vanishing act, which was fine with Talia.
She found her candle table, covered by a striped sheet. She pulled it out of the closet and tossed the sheet on the carpet in a heap.
“Have a nice life,” she said to Chet. “I’m sure you and National Velvet will be deliriously happy.”
He didn’t try to follow her. Fortunately the candle table didn’t weigh a whole lot. Gripping it by its carved mahogany leg, she got it to her car and laid it carefully over the clothing that was piled across the backseat.
A lump lodged in her throat, she drove off. She was only about a mile from Chet’s condo when she felt herself breaking down. She swung her Fiat into the parking lot of a chain pharmacy and slammed her gearshift into Park. Tears began flowing like a spring river, gushing over her cheeks. In her glove box she found a stack of napkins from a recent visit to a fast-food joint. She used them to blot her swollen eyes, then tossed them onto the passenger seat.
She thought back to that awful day when she’d explained to Chet why she was leaving. He’d stared at her for a long time, nodding at certain intervals as if on cue. It was almost as if …
… as if he’d been expecting it.
Like the giant idiot she was, she’d interpreted his stunned silence as grief.
Oh my God, I did it for him, didn’t I? I relieved him of the messy task of pulling the plug on our relationship.
Talia sucked in one last, noisy sniffle, and then realized she was hungry. The noon hour had come and gone while she was still load
ing up her belongings. Since her only breakfast had been apple juice and a bowl of cereal, she needed a bit of sustenance before making the trip back. She went inside the pharmacy, where she bought a bottle of spring water and two packages of peanut butter cups. Armed with hydration and the appropriate fat calories, she started on the highway back to Wrensdale.
• • •
The rain that had threatened earlier never materialized. A swatch of sun peeked over the distant rolling hills. Even this late in October, the faded colors of the mountains of the Berkshires made a glorious sight against the gray-blue sky. The closer she got to Wrensdale, the more at peace she felt. In a sense, she’d shed an emotional coat of armor—one she hadn’t even realized had been weighing her down.
Talia swung into Nana’s driveway at 3:29, filled with a new sense of purpose. She might not have a place to live yet, but the direction in which her life was headed stretched clearly before her.
She was lifting her mahogany candle table out of her backseat when a car pulled in close behind hers. Since the driveway was short, the back end of the luxury vehicle stuck into the road a bit.
Oh no … the broker.
“Ah, you’re here,” the broker bleated, slamming the door of her car. High heels clicking on the blacktop, she eyed the candle table with a curled lip. “You’re bringing in more stuff?”
Talia squelched the urge to snap at her, and that’s when she saw the young couple emerge from the car. Sweet and petite were the first words that came to mind. Two diminutive towheads, more like brother and sister than a couple, except that one had blue eyes and the other had brown.
“You don’t need to worry,” Talia said crisply. “My stuff and my nana’s things will be out of here as soon as they need to be.”
Yes, Talia, behave like a spoiled child. That’ll really impress them.
“Anyway, these are the Rands,” the broker said. “They’re about to make a generous offer on your grandmother’s house, and I believe your mother is going to accept it.”
Talia shook their hands and offered a weak smile, but her stomach felt like tossing up the peanut butter cups she’d scarfed during the trip back.
