“They thought the world of her, especially my mom. How is your father doing?”
“Very well. He has remarried.”
“Oh.” He thought for a moment. “I guess I did hear that.”
“She was one of my mother’s closest friends. I still think of her as Mrs. Sisson.”
“That has to be strange.”
“It is.”
She supposed it was odd, her saying only two words, not going on and on as she usually did. “I hadn’t heard anything about this inventory,” she continued. She wanted to sound like herself. She didn’t want him to think that she was uncomfortable. “I’m sorry. I could have started it when I was helping Grannor unpack in December.”
He ignored that. “I take it that you didn’t know I would be here.”
That was direct. “No, I didn’t. I’m surprised that Grannor didn’t say something. I talked to her yesterday. She must have known that you were coming.”
“Oh, she didn’t just know.” He was looking down at his drink, twisting the stem of the glass. Then he looked at her, his eyes glinting beneath his dark eyebrows. “She arranged it. Once she knew that I was coming, not Ryan, she insisted that it be this week.”
“You’re joking! Why did she want that? What was she thinking?”
He shrugged. “You know her better than I do.”
Colleen had never talked to her grandmother about her summer with Ben, but Grannor made it her business to learn such things. So what was Grannor doing, making sure that the two of them were at the lake together? Was she trying to remind Colleen of her failure? Grannor never thought that anyone was adequately aware of their failures. The moral composition of the universe required Mrs. Norton W. Ridge IV to dose out guilt and shame.
But me? Why would you want to torture me?
* * * *
The dining room had never been Colleen’s favorite room. The roofed octagon porch kept the room dark, but the new color embraced the darkness. The walls were a deep blue-green, the color of Norway pine in the late afternoon. The plate rail that used to have a few dusty plates now bore silver trophies, platters, and punch cups whose sheen reflected the light from the chandelier and wall sconces. Colleen was willing to admit that this was an improvement.
Only five places had been set at the table. Amanda looked at Colleen uneasily. “Leilah reminds me of my college music-theory professor,” she said softly. “Is she going to be our waitress?”
“I assume so,” Colleen answered.
Grannor directed Amanda and Ben to sit on one side of the table with Jason and Colleen facing them. Ben pulled out Grannor’s chair for her.
The women who had been Ben’s fellow competitors on the pro circuit probably would have belittled this kind of gallantry. Grannor wouldn’t; she expected to be treated with old-fashioned courtesy.
Colleen unfolded her napkin. “When it’s just you and Leilah, Grannor, do you eat together?”
“Why, no, of course not.” Mrs. Ridge answered with an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose that your father, Colleen, would say that I am a terrible snob. He is always criticizing me for that. But to pretend that Leilah and I are friends would be unpleasant for her. If she were a friend, she would have to entertain me and listen to me ramble on like some old person yammering about things that happened ages ago, and that is not part of her job.”
Leilah served dinner in courses. She brought out a leek soup in delicate two-handled bowls. Mrs. Ridge, in a lightly patronizing tone, told Amanda that the bowls were called “ecuelles.” “They are really for drinking broth, but I don’t know anyone who serves broth before a meal anymore, but you did like them as a child, Colleen.”
That was true. Sarah, her grandparents’ maid, had once had to put together a soup with less than an hour’s notice because Colleen had seen and liked the ecuelles. Colleen was touched that Grannor remembered that. Grannor usually didn’t pay particular attention to other people’s preferences. Surely her own could set a standard for the rest of the universe.
“All these things”—Amanda gestured to the two corner china cupboards and the massive glass-fronted sideboard so crammed with china and silver that it was impossible to distinguish one piece from the next—“do people use them?”
Mrs. Ridge shook her head. “The girls, the brides, don’t anymore, but we used our pretty things. Of course, we all had maids who didn’t mind polishing the silver. Your father, Colleen, always said that they didn’t mind because it was their one chance to sit down. He always talks as if we mistreated them.”
Colleen was not going to answer that. Her father was appalled by his parents’ snobbery and racism. Grannor tried to make light of her younger son’s disapproval because, Colleen felt sure, she secretly minded it a great deal.
After the soup course, Amanda and Colleen stood up to clear the ecuelles. Leilah stopped them at the swinging door to the kitchen. “I’m sure Mrs. Ridge wants her guests to enjoy themselves.”
But I’m not a guest, Colleen wanted to protest. I grew up in this kitchen. She had made ginger snaps with Sarah and had learned to fry chicken from Nancy, Sarah’s daughter. Reluctantly she sat back down at the table.
She was finding it difficult to sit across from Ben. He was sitting as he always had, back in his chair, his chest broad and open, his arms held lightly away from the sides of his body. When Amanda said something amusing, he smiled without actually smiling, his dark eyebrows going up, his green eyes glowing, his face opening.
You used to look at me like that.
He had claimed that he didn’t like small talk, but he was doing fine now. He asked Amanda questions about herself and easily replied to hers about him. Yes, he had always been interested in technology, and once it was time to stop competing professionally, he had studied software engineering and had then gotten interested in cyber-security.
There was so much more to the story than this. People had always said that Ben was going to be a better coach than he was a rider. He was analytical and observant, and he could make people understand what he saw. Although he would never be an Olympian himself, everyone believed that one day he would be coaching the Olympic team.
But then—Colleen had learned all this from the internet—more than two years ago he had suddenly come out criticizing the snowboarding establishment’s training programs. Kids were being pushed too fast; parents were being given false hope about their children’s eventual earning potential. The half-day classes that resorts offered for kids who wanted to have fun were fine, but the programs for the promising juniors…no, they were dangerous. Owners of such programs had felt betrayed by what Ben had said. He made enemies, and a lot of doors had been closed.
It was such a stupid act of self-sabotage. He had destroyed his career just as he had destroyed their relationship.
This wasn’t the time to ask him why he had done that. Colleen sat back and listened while he told Amanda that he hoped to continue studying a couple hours a day while he was at the lake.
“But here?” Amanda asked. “Without the internet? Colleen said we won’t be able to get a cell signal until Monday, and then we’ll have to stand at the end of the dock.”
Ben admitted that “working from anywhere” did not encompass standing at the end of a dock. He turned to Grannor. “I hope you’ll excuse me after dinner, Mrs. Ridge. There’s a little town a few miles north, isn’t there? If I can get a signal there, I can download what I need through my phone.”
“You young people use those little phones of yours too much,” Grannor announced. “But I don’t imagine that you are going to listen to me about that. If I can impose on you to take Colleen with you, she can return my library books. I’m sure Jason and Amanda will enjoy watching the sunset, but Colleen has seen it before.”
Jason and Amanda looked as if they would enjoy finding the internet connection.
“I’ll return your books,
” Ben said. “You don’t need to bother Colleen.”
“Oh, she doesn’t mind,” Grannor declared.
Colleen followed her grandmother into the bedroom to get the library books. They were Mary Stewarts and Phyllis Whitneys, so old that the library had had them rebound in pebbly buckram. “Do you want me to get you some more?” Colleen asked.
“That dinky little library isn’t going to be open at this hour. You’ll need to put these in the book drop.”
And why couldn’t Ben have done that exhausting chore? Colleen flipped one of the books open. It was due April 1, more than a week away. “Grannor, I don’t truly think that I need to do this.” She wasn’t going to jump through a lot of hoops for her grandmother. If she did, her grandmother would only raise the hoops higher. “I’ll go give the books to Ben.”
“Well, have it your way, missy.” Grannor sniffed.
Colleen set the books down on the leather-topped hall table while she got a coat from the closet. Through the side light of the front door she could see that Ben had backed his car around and was waiting for her so that he could open the door. The shadows were long, and the mountain air was growing chilly, but he wasn’t wearing a coat. He and his snowboarding friends didn’t feel the cold like normal people did.
He was leaning back against the car, his hands linked behind his head. The gesture pulled his blazer up and open.
She would have once taken the open blazer as an invitation to slip her arms underneath it, pressing her check against his shirt, feeling his lean, hard muscles, hearing his heartbeat. His arms would have closed around her, and he would have nudged her hair with his chin, getting her to tilt her head back so that he could kiss her.
She suddenly yearned to be back in those days when his green eyes always scanned a room looking for her. The longing was velvety blue, the heart-piercing plea of a lonely violin.
He straightened as soon as he saw her, and his jacket fell back in place. She had been about to hand him the books when suddenly, impulsively, she pulled them back. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
The village was only a few miles away, and even before they reached the mini-golf course, their phones were picking up signals. Ben said he would turn his into a hot spot and download the documents onto his computer that way, but it might take a while. He parked in front of the library. Colleen put the books in the book drop and crossed the street to walk through town.
The village’s Main Street ran parallel to the lake with a public beach on one side and the shops and restaurants on the other. Most of the shops had closed early as it was between seasons. The arcade with its pinball and skee ball machines was still open. Her brothers had loved that place. She hadn’t. She wasn’t any good at games like that.
What she had been able to do was spell. Third grade was the first time she had won the schoolwide spelling bee, beating even the sixth graders. She hadn’t cared that much about winning. What she had loved was the way that Sean and Finn had been rooting for her. Sean had been in fifth grade, and Finn, her almost twin, had also been in third. They had competitive natures, and they had loved seeing their delicately built sister wiping the floor with the big kids.
What happy memories. She peered into the arcade. Most of the machines were still the same. The same blaring robo-voice blasted out “SPIN…TO…WIN,” drawing out the ‘n’ sounds like a dying engine. She did see two desktop computers on a counter in the back. An overhead sign declared that it was an internet café. She would have to tell Ben.
He was sitting on a park bench when she came back up the street. His computer was open on the bench between them. She didn’t see his phone.
“Did you get a wi-fi signal?”
“The library has a guest network. The password is ‘guest.’ I got it on my second try. ‘Patron’ was my first one.”
“At least they had a password,” she pointed out.
“A lot of people are way too careless about internet security.”
Colleen hoped he never found out that she used the same password for everything. “Do you see yourself working with ordinary people who have clicked on a bad link or with big companies or the government?”
“Corporate and federal work can be the most interesting, but my dad and brother and my grandfather before them have always helped regular people.” He shrugged. “I just wish I were better at it. I don’t have the intuitive feel for it that other people do.”
His intuition about snowboarding and how to teach it to others had been great. Colleen decided to jump in the deep end. Playing from her heart was one of her strengths; restraint wasn’t. “So why don’t you do what you are best at? Isn’t that the best way to serve, by using your gifts to their fullest potential?”
“I assume you are talking about coaching. ‘Service’ seems like pretty church-y language to be using.”
“Keeping children from getting injured and their parents from being exploited…maybe that is the service that you were meant to do.”
“Maybe, but it’s not an option open to me anymore. You must have heard about my big flame-out.”
“But it was two years ago,” she said. “Haven’t people forgotten about it by now?”
“No, and I still believe it. I wouldn’t want to work in any of those programs even if they would have me, which they won’t.”
“Don’t you miss it?”
“Sure,” he said easily. “Who doesn’t miss some parts of being a kid? You’re so thrilled to see your name in the standings that you don’t care where you are.”
He was talking about competing, not coaching. She had been asking about coaching. But he was talking about himself; she wasn’t going to risk him shutting down. “The three of you did have wonderful times together.”
“Yes, but that sort of ‘no girls allowed’ treehouse isn’t much of a long-term strategy. Seth and Nate are both married now.”
As her father and brothers were. “Do you feel abandoned because of that?”
“No, not at all—”
So they weren’t in the same place about this. Colleen did feel abandoned by her family.
“—but remember, I went first. I was the first to truly fall in love and realize that that was better.”
Colleen could never hide her feelings. He must have seen how astonished she was.
“You didn’t think I was going to mention it, did you?” He was still speaking easily. “Maybe it is a form of penance. I could say a rosary every day for a month, or I could tell you that even if I did throw it away, what we had mattered.” He glanced down at his computer screen. “Oh, it looks like I am done. Are you ready to go?”
She had no idea how she answered.
Had she given up too quickly on him? She had told all her friends about him not calling. Of course she had. That’s what she did. They had all encouraged her to break up with him. No one should treat you like that…You deserve better…
She had kept making excuses for him. He was in the midst of competition season. That had to be all-consuming. And his steady stream of bronze medals and hearing himself labeled as “all technique, no passion, no style” had to be demoralizing.
When she got birthday cards from his two friends and not even a call from him, she had known it was time to give up. Then she had waited another month, hoping, not sleeping, then finally did what her friends had been urging.
Was it possible that this week would be a second chance?
* * * *
When she had declared that she would live here at the lake year-around, Colleen’s grandmother had sensibly decided that she should start sleeping on the first floor. A bedroom and bathroom had been created in the large corner room on the opposite end of the house from the library.
Colleen stopped by the room to say good night. Even with the bathroom taking up part of the room, it was still big enough for a pair of love seats opposite the bed. Gr
annor was sitting in one of them. She waved a hand at the one across from her, and obediently Colleen sat down.
“I can’t believe how much you’ve gotten done on the house since Christmas,” Colleen said.
Grannor sighed and shook her head. “We had workmen in the house every day. One day we had five painters and four landscapers. We couldn’t use the driveway for three days. And the deliveries, there were so many deliveries. It was difficult, beyond what you can imagine.”
Colleen imagined that her grandmother had been only slightly inconvenienced by these labors.
“Now, child,” her grandmother continued, “let’s have a good gossip about these friends of yours. Have you ever thought about hinting to dear Amanda that she should not wear a knit top to dinner?”
“No, I haven’t.” And she never would.
This was one of Grannor’s numerous Southern-belle commandments. Knits were for sports. As long as it had sleeves and a collar, of course you could wear a knit shirt to the tennis courts or golf course. But anywhere else? Absolutely not. “In my day,” she sniffed, “we would never wear a sweater to a luncheon, much less in the evening. A nicely tailored jacket is so much more flattering on the female form.”
Colleen had heard this before. “This is how people dress now.”
“I know, and even I wore a sweater in the evening this winter. Oh well, let’s talk about the Healy boy. He’s always been the quiet one in that family. His mother was hoping he would become a priest.”
“What?” Ben? A priest?
Certain of Colleen’s memories did not correspond very well to the priesthood.
“I don’t think there was much chance of that. Those Irish boys can be naughty, naughty, naughty, although the Healys, they all settled down just fine. Now, if you want my advice, child, you will make sure of him before someone else gets there first.”
“I beg your pardon?” Colleen spoke stiffly.
“Don’t get prissy with me, young lady. You can talk all you want about times having changed, but you can be sure that the Healys are thinking about it.”
“Thinking about what?”
Autumn's Child Page 3
