by Elsa Kurt
Afterward, he’d take them out to lunch at Mae’s. It gave them a sense of what life was like in their quaint New England town. One look up and down historic Old Main Street, with its old-fashioned lampposts, massive urns of seasonal flowers at every corner—maintained by the Chance Beautification Committee, of course—and cobblestoned road, usually made or broke a deal. Some people saw quaint and charming; others saw antiquated and boring. He had a strong feeling that the Villeneuve family would see the former.
He brought them the scenic route, making sure they caught sight of the majestic ocean view, the charming streets named for various trees—Sycamore Lane, Wisteria Court, Dogwood Drive, and of course, Elm, Oak, and Maple streets. Miles drove them past the elementary school as well as the First Baptist, Congregational, and St. Paul’s Catholic churches—got to cover all the bases, he always said—the public library, and Chance’s jewel, Centerwood Park and Recreation Facility. It boasted a band gazebo, playground with a splash pad, a five-acre oval-ish pond, outdoor exercise equipment, and a walking/jogging trail around the pond. The annual Fourth of July Extravaganza was held there—with fireworks sponsored by Hannaford Realty, of course—as well as the Veteran’s, Memorial, and Chance Chamber Fair days. Although the Villeneuves were in their own car, he could almost hear Marisol’s wistful sighs and their little girl’s pleas of, “Mommy, playground!”
Ordinarily, these thoughts would fill him with a sense of giddy anticipation. The sight of ink on contracts was to him what others felt when they smelled a newborn baby’s scalp. Or witnessed their child’s first steps. Or the first time they—God damn it. Suddenly, his every thought had a kid subliminally snuck in it. Under everything, one sentence repeated. I’ve got a kid. I’ve got a kid. Holy shit, I’ve got a kid. Miles Hannaford had never thought of anyone’s wants or needs outside his own. He never had to. But now? Now I’ve got a kid. Brianna’s behavior at the office was confirmation. The question was, what happened now?
Chapter 11
GOSSIP TRAIN
“Jesus, Katie. What are those kids even doing? It sounds like a soccer stadium over there. Just bring them to the park and set ’em loose.” Elise was pushing Gianna in her stroller down Cardinal Lane—her phone trapped between her shoulder and ear—toward Katie’s beautifully renovated Victorian. The one she’d coveted all throughout junior high and high school, but whose husband was too much of a wimp to get into a bidding war against Katie and her husband, Billy. Instead, Elise had to settle for the less amazing, smaller Victorian four houses down. Well, it was smaller. Elise had rectified that in record time, along with the lackluster exterior paint, mediocre landscaping, and sub-par backyard. Under her ever-cracking whip, 49 Cardinal Lane was the crown jewel of the street. Or at least a worthy rival of 57 Cardinal Lane.
On the other end of the line, an agitated Katie talked in equal parts to Elise and at her brood. “I know, I’m trying, Jesus. They’re off the wall. I can’t wait until—Ian, get down from there. Liam, do not throw that in the house. Get your shoes on, now—what was I saying?”
Elise sighed. “Well, I was telling you that Miles just drove past me and turned on to Heron’s Way and I was wondering if he was showing the Stillman house. Then World War Three broke out over at your place.”
“Oh, right. Could you see the people he’s showing it to?”
“Just a glimpse. Hispanic couple, early thirties. Nice car. Kid—a girl, I think—in the back.”
“You got all that from a glimpse, huh? That’s imposs—I swear to God, Ian. You’re gonna break—” A loud crash finished the sentence. After a bit more yelling interspersed with a child crying, Katie breathed into the phone, “Let me let you go. These fucking kids, so help me God.”
The call ended before Elise could respond. She shrugged and set the phone in the stroller’s left-side cup holder. From the right-side cup holder, she lifted her coffee and stopped walking. Centerwood Park was the destination, but now the dilemma of whether she should turn down Heron’s Way—to see if Miles really was showing the Stillman house and keep Brianna, Charlotte, and Brittany waiting at the park—or stick to her plan.
“What do you think, Gia baby? A quick detour won’t hurt anyone, right?” Gianna grinned a drooly grin up at her and ate another Cheerio from the tray. “All right, that settles it. Let’s go be nosy, baby.”
Elise snatched up her phone again and sent a group text to the girls.
Elise: Few min behind. Getting intel, C U soon.
She pushed the stroller across the street, quick stepping until she neared the expansive Tudor with Miles’s Mercedes and a Land Rover in the cobblestone driveway and wondering how the Stillmans were doing now that they were divorced. Particularly Janelle Stillman. Elise also wondered how happy she’d been with her lawyer. The one Daddy had set her up with—Phillip Jameson, Esq.—was a stodgy, half-deaf, grumpy old man with ear hair and caterpillar eyebrows. Elise couldn’t stand him. Why couldn’t she get someone who looked like Matthew McConaughey in that Dallas something movie? God, she’d settle for a Tom Hanks. Anything but old Jameson.
Elise had timed her approach on the Stillman driveway to coincide with the new couple and Miles to exit their cars. She gave them all a polite, slightly surprised smile and wave and called out a passing, “Good morning,” knowing full well Miles would never pass up an opportunity to introduce neighborhood people to prospective clients.
“Elise! Good morning,” Miles called out. “Have a second? I’d love to introduce you to the Villeneuves.” He walk-ran down the driveway to escort her, which was really just an excuse to hiss in her ear, “Do not fuck me over, Elise. This is a half-million-dollar home,” smiling all the while at the handsome couple and their little girl.
“What’s in it for me, Hannaford?” Elise directed a matching placid, friendly smile at the Villeneuve family.
“How about I keep your I’m-divorcing-my-very-British-husband secret?”
“You fu—”
“Now, now, smile and play nice,” Miles whispered, then, “Pedro, Marisol, this is Elise Martino. She lives right around the corner on Cardinal Lane. A lifelong resident of Chance, isn’t that right, Elise?”
They shook hands, and Elise—in a game show hostess voice—said, “Sure is, Miles. It’s such a great place to live, I couldn’t imagine going anywhere else. Especially now that I have a child.” Then, in a normal tone, “This is Gianna, by the way. Miles is oblivious of children. He never even notices—”
“Elise is getting a divorce,” exclaimed Miles, who’d seemed to be suddenly hit by a heat wave, based on the color of his face. All three adults stared at him, blinking. “I—I only mention it because Pedro is a lawyer.”
Pedro, taken aback, stammered a moment, then recovered. “Ah, yes, that’s right. A divorce lawyer, in fact. I could—would you like my card, or—”
Elise, setting aside her revenge plots against Miles, took another look at Pedro Villeneuve and envisioned him as Jimmy Smits. He was certainly tall enough. And good looking enough. “Oh, um, sure. Yes, thank you.”
He handed her a business card that read Pedro Villeneuve, Attorney at Law. In smaller letters, Divorce & Family Law. His wife stepped forward and took Elise’s hand in both of hers and smiled warmly as she said, “I’m so sorry to hear this. I will say a prayer for you.”
It was Elise’s turn to stammer. “I—you, that’s very kind. Thank you.” Everyone stood awkwardly for a moment until Miles subtly nudged Elise and cleared his throat. “Right, well, I’ve really got to get going. Meeting some of the other moms at the park. Centerwood? I’m sure Miles drove you past it. He likes to show off all of Chance’s various landmarks and attractions, don’t you, Miles?” She shot him a sardonic smile and continued, “Anyhow, I hope you decide to buy a house here. It really is a great place to raise a family.”
In unison, the Villeneuves said, “It was nice meeting you,” as she sashayed down the driveway, her long black ponytail swishing back and forth in time with her steps. She knew M
iles would be openly staring and suspected Pedro Villeneuve was doing so covertly. She recognized a too-long handshake when she received one.
Elise wore a self-satisfied smirk for the rest of her walk to Centerwood and considered how much of her pit stop she would share with the girls. One mention of Miles would send both Brianna and Brittany into a state. That was always fun to watch. But were the Villeneuves worth mentioning? She—Marisol—was pretty enough, yet not too pretty. And that praying thing? That was weird. Although it seemed genuine, Elise had to admit, and it was kind of nice. He—Pedro—well, he was hot. The Latin lover of Chance. That could be fun too. If they bought the house. Which they probably would because Miles was a natural born salesman. Knowing him, he probably had three other, lesser houses to show them after the Stillman house. Elise shook her head in grudging admiration. She couldn’t sell someone the shoes on their feet.
A wave of panic hit her. Would she have to get a job after she divorced Ethan? She loved being a stay-at-home mom. She was an art history major, for God’s sake. What would she do with that? Work in McKenna Wayne’s tiny art gallery on Old Main? Or take the drive every day to the Florence Griswold in Old Lyme, assuming they’d even hire a woman with a degree but no experience? It would mean putting Gianna in daycare or asking her mother or, God forbid, her sister Rachelle to watch her. She shuddered.
No point in dwelling on any of that now. She couldn’t let the other women see her stressed. Elise Martino was never stressed, damn it. Life was a fucking breeze; everything was great. No, they couldn’t know anything until it was a done deal and she’d straightened everything out. Miles. Damn him. She’d have to pay that shady shit a visit and find out exactly what he knew and who he’d heard it from. For now, though, Elise needed to put her game face on.
“Hey, ladies. Sorry it took me so long,” she sang out, approaching the ring of benches surrounding the playground. They always chose the same section—cluster of three, under the maple trees, closest to the sandbox—and met at the same time each week. Brianna brought coffees, Charlotte brought Baileys, Brittany handled the snacks, and Elise…well, she brought the gossip.
“Well, if you were getting intel, you’re forgiven,” said Brianna with a coy, suspicious smile.
“Yeah, but if you were getting laid by that sexy Brit of yours, you’re not forgiven,” said Brittany, throwing a crumpled baby wipe at her.
“Wait, what did you say Ethan called it? Get a leg on?”
Elise laughed. “Over. It’s ‘get a leg over.’ And no, I was not, thank you very much, you pervs.”
“All right then, give,” demanded Brianna.
“Wait,” said Charlotte, “what about Katie? Shouldn’t we wait for her?”
“She’ll never make it. Her crazy kids were off the wall. I could hear them up the street,” said Brittany, rolling her eyes.
“Yeah, no way she’s coming. I was on the phone with her when the shit hit the fan over there.”
A little voice called out, “Shit!”
“Great, thanks, Elise,” said Charlotte, whose little Benjamin was the expletory parrot. “Can we please start spelling the swear words? My Benjamin is very advanced in his language skills, you know.”
“Yeah, well, he’s eating sand right now, so—”
“Shit. Benjamin, no! We do not eat the sand.”
Brianna sighed, “Can someone pour the damn Baileys already?”
They all pulled off the lids of their coffees and pushed the half-full cups at Charlotte, who was wiping sand from her hands with yet another wet wipe in disgust. “Jesus, can you at least try to be a little discreet?” They looked around the park with varying degrees of interest, from Brianna’s total lack thereof to Elise’s devilish glee—the others somewhere in between.
As they sipped and observed their children at play—or in little Cassidy’s case, sleep—Elise filled them in on her spy mission at the Stillmans’ house. She left out the part about Miles knowing of her impending divorce, as well as her dig at him about children. If Brianna thought no one knew about her fling, she was sorely mistaken. Elise had suspected it for ages, but when Brianna’s girl was born, she got all the confirmation she needed. But what to do with such knowledge? That was the question.
“So, what was—what was her name again—Marissa? What was she like? Nice, or—”
“Oh, who cares?” huffed Brittany, interrupting Charlotte. “What I want to know is what was the husband like, hmm?”
“Oh my God, Brittany, what is wrong with you lately? You’re, like, obsessed with everyone’s—Benjamin, trucks are for playing, not eating—s-e-x lives,” scolded Charlotte.
“Yeah, Britski, what gives? Ol’ Bart not getting a leg over?”
“Don’t call me that, Brianna. And our sex—sorry, s-e-x life is fine, thank you. In fact, it’s smoking hot. Bart has been really into role-playing lately. Last night we played—”
“Okay, nope,” declared Charlotte. “I literally cannot hear another word about my dentist’s sex life. He puts his hands in my mouth, for God’s sake, Brittany.”
“You should see where he had his—”
In unison, the three friends groaned, “Ewww, Brittany.”
Brittany shrugged then sniffed, “Geez, since when did you guys turn into such prudes?”
This went on long enough to make Elise realize her Villeneuve story was dismissed, which irritated her to no end. Damn Brittany and her constant need to upstage Elise. It was all just a continuation of high school, and everybody knew it. Still, they all played their roles. Brianna, the leader. Charlotte, the priss. Brittany, the slut. Katie, the airhead. Then there was Elise. What was she? The gossip, she supposed. Although she preferred to think of herself as more of a fountain of information. Or perhaps a bottomless well of knowledge.
“Earth to Elise.” Brianna toed her ankle. “Are you even listening?”
“What? Yes, yeah—the Festival on Main, next week, I know.”
Brianna eyed her suspiciously then continued in her snooty, superior drone, “Anyhow, I think we should meet up in front of First Baptist at nine sharp, then we can walk to Old Main and get a spot in front of Mae’s. It’s just easier for everyone, don’t you think?”
They all looked at Charlotte, who flushed and stammered, “Well, technically, it’d be easier for me to meet you guys in front of Mae’s, right?”
Brianna leaned back against the bench’s backrest and eyed Charlotte coolly. She took a slow sip of her Baileys-laced coffee then said, “Don’t you want to walk with us, Char?”
They all knew where this was going. Brianna was still far from over Charlotte and Joel’s failure to move onto one of the bird streets, where the other women lived in close proximity to one another. They had chosen the tree streets—Wisteria Court specifically—placing them on the other side of town.
“No—I mean, yes, of course, I do. I’d just, you know, have to drive over to you guys and then drive back home after, and—”
“Perfect, then. It’s settled.” Brianna smiled beatifically.
“Well, I’ve got somewhere else to be,” announced Elise.
“Already? You just got here,” pouted Brianna.
“Yeah, and you never even finished your story about the new couple and Miles the Asshole,” added Brittany.
“Athhole, aaaaathole,” chirped Benjamin from behind Charlotte. She glared at Brittany before turning to Elise. “Do you think they’ll buy the house?”
Elise shrugged. “Who knows? It would be fun to have some new faces in town, though. You all are starting to bore me,” she teased. However, there was truth to it.
“Speaking of new faces,” began Brianna, leaning forward conspiratorially, “how about that sexy writer guy at Mae’s? How do you not have any intel on that, Lissie?”
“I heard he’s writing about us—I mean, the whole town, not just us—although, I think we’d be—”
“Everybody knows that already, Charlotte. Be quiet and let Elise tell us what she found out,” snap
ped Brianna.
God damn Brianna. How much did she know? Elise didn’t want to betray Bruce’s confidence, but if Brianna knew and told it first, she’d lose her status and never live it down. She decided to test the waters. “Okay, I really do only have a minute, but you know where he’s staying, right?”
Charlotte said, “At Mrs. Rudiwitz’s B&B, right?”
Elise resisted the urge to pat her on the head and offer her a gold star. “Right. But I heard Tony Pescatelli has family coming in, and they have all the rooms booked. So you know what that means?”
Here, Elise held her breath. If any of them knew, they’d spill it. She was walking a fine line, but if they happened to guess where William Grant was staying, then she could say to Bruce with all sincerity that she did not tell them anything, thereby absolving her of any guilt.
“It means he’s got to find another place to stay, duh,” said Brittany, hoisting one adorable towhead twin onto her lap and popping a bottle into the mouth of the other identical one in the double stroller.
“Bingo,” said Elise. She could almost see the machinations of Brianna’s brain behind the shrewd gaze. She took her time lifting Gianna from her stroller, adjusting her little pink dress over her chubby legs and kissing her sweet neck.
“You guys are so lucky your kids nap throughout our—I mean, their—playdate,” sighed Charlotte as she swatted another filthy toy from Benjamin’s mouth and attacked him with yet another wet wipe.
Brianna lifted Cassidy and set her on the playmat by her feet, scattering a handful of toys around her. “You have to put him on a schedule, Charlotte. I don’t know what’s so hard about it, really. Anyhow, back to what you were saying, Elise.”
“Well, it’s hard to guess. I mean, who did he spend the most time with at the café? Bruce, maybe?” Elise kept her face a mask of contemplation and hoped Brianna didn’t see through it.
