She raised her eyes. “Emma told me she spoke to you about going through the envelope she found in my desk.”
“She didn’t reveal anything.”
Zoë nodded. “I know. She told me that, too. I didn’t plan on telling anyone, but since Emma snooped around, that ship has sailed.”
“I’m good at forgetting things. Whatever it is, you don’t have to tell me. I’ll forget Emma spoke to me and everything will be copacetic.”
“Sweet Josie. You’re not just good at forgetting things. You’re good at everything.”
“Hardly.”
“I applied for a job on a cruise ship.”
“What?” Once Emma told me the secret wasn’t from the past, and despite her reassurance to Ellis, I’d been prepared to hear that Zoë was ill, maybe from a dread disease with a dismal prognosis, but a job on a cruise ship? “Why?”
“Emma.” She looked away, out the window, where the rain pelted the glass. “I’ve been reading everything I can get my hands on about empty nest syndrome. The consensus seems to be to change it up, find new interests, break the patterns of your schedule. All in all, I figure why the heck not? Jake is happily living in Boston, with no plans to move back after graduation. Emma’s heading off to the marines. When you think about it, there’s nothing keeping me here.”
The same sickening sensation I felt on roller coasters roiled me, tossing my stomach into my throat, only to have it slam against my ribs as it lurched to my knees. What about me? I wanted to ask. I’d understood Zoë’s reaction to Emma’s enlisting on an intellectual level. Now I understood it emotionally. How could Zoë even think of leaving me?
She sipped some water. “I got an offer a minute and a half after I applied. It was smart that I decided to get my nursing license. The contract calls for four months on, two months off. Once I’m assigned a ship, you and Ty can book a cruise, and we can hang out during my time off.”
I felt as if I’d stepped unknowingly through the looking glass. Zoë was no longer acting like Zoë. I had to make sense of the nonsensical. I grasped the chair arms to steady myself.
“What about Ellis?”
“I haven’t told him yet. When you and Ty come on a cruise, he can come, too.”
“Zoë, you know I adore you. I want whatever is best for you. What about your job? You love being a sexual assault medical advocate.”
“I’ll take a leave of absence.”
“What other options have you considered?”
“None. Like what? What other options should I consider?”
“Taking a cruise with Ellis for a shorter time.”
“What makes you think he’d want to go with me?”
“Because he loves you.” I leaned forward. “Where is this coming from, Zoë?”
Zoë turned her head aside. Two tears ran down her cheek in a zigzag pattern. “I always knew Ellis was too good to be true. I’ve talked to you about that.”
“Not for years now.”
“I became complacent. Silly me.”
“You’re not making any sense. Did you and Ellis have a fight?”
“No, of course not. But we’re in a holding pattern, and I need to shake things up, not continue in a rut.”
I felt the earth right itself, the chasm inching its way to closure. Zoë was caught in a vortex of unwanted change—Emma’s enlisting, Jake not coming home after college, realizing that her nest really was going to be empty. She felt unmoored, purposeless. She’d spent decades being needed, and now she wasn’t. I could see her dilemma as clear as day, but that and a dime wouldn’t get me a cup of coffee or Zoë happiness. Luckily, I saw a way out.
“I bet some of the empty nest success stories featured smaller changes than escaping on a cruise ship,” I said.
“Is that what this seems like to you? Like I’m running away?”
“A little bit. I understand the instinct … I think everyone has felt that way at some point.”
Zoë looked down at the carpet for a few seconds. “What do you think I want?”
“A new set of commitments to replace the ones you’re losing.”
“I’d marry Ellis in a heartbeat, but he hasn’t asked me.”
“Name other things you love—not people … things.”
“Why?”
I smiled. “I have an idea.”
“What?”
“Name them.”
“I don’t know … lots of things. Making soup. Journaling. Dogs. Botanical gardens.”
“How long before you have to accept the cruise ship position?” I asked.
“It’s kind of open-ended. They always need nurses on one ship or another.”
“I want you to trust me.”
“I do. You know that.”
“I need to talk to a couple of people, and I don’t want to tell you anything about it.”
“Emma?”
“Yes.”
She looked out the window again, the rain still pounding the glass. “And Ellis.”
“And Ty. And Jake.”
She turned to face me, her eyes moist. “It sounds like you’re planning an intervention.”
“Do you think you need one?”
She rubbed her forehead. “Yes, I guess maybe I do. I was already in bad shape. When Emma enlisted, well, that finished the job. Do you really think my idea is a bad one?”
“No, not at all. I think escaping for a few months sounds heavenly. I just don’t think it’s going to give you what you really want.”
“What do you think I really want?”
“That’s the surprise. Give me a week.”
She stood and walked to the French doors. “I will. I won’t talk to anyone or do anything for a week. I know I’m adrift. I just don’t know how to find my way back.”
“I can help, and I will.”
I walked her into the kitchen and leaned on the doorjamb while she put on her slicker. “One of my tag sale customers is a retired lieutenant commander, Cynthia Silberblatt. I asked if she had any advice for me to pass along to you about Emma enlisting.”
Zoë wiggled her feet into her sandals. “She said I shouldn’t worry, right?”
“No, she said Emma will have all the training she needs. There’s nothing she’ll face that she won’t be prepared to handle.”
She met my eyes for several seconds, the words resonating. “I’d hug you, but I’m still wet.”
I lifted my arms and mimed hugging her. “Virtual hug!”
She mimicked my position. “Virtual hug!” She opened the back door, and the sound of the rain pummeling the roof grew louder. She looked over her shoulder. “Please thank Lieutenant Commander Silberblatt for me. It’s comforting to hear from someone who knows, even if I don’t think I’ll ever stop worrying. I know she’s grown up, but she’s still my baby.” She blew me a kiss. “Thank you, Josie.”
Having a family, whether biological or created, doesn’t guarantee stability any more than someone leaving the nest means you aren’t loved. Zoë might sign on for that cruise ship someday. Ty and I might move to Washington, DC, for his job. In a matter of months, once the Gingerbread House’s renovation was complete, Zoë and I would no longer be next-door neighbors. Things change. People move on. It’s love that endures, if you’re lucky.
* * *
After Zoë left, I went upstairs. Ty was reading something online.
“Am I interrupting?”
“Not a bit. I went downstairs a few minutes ago and saw you and Zoë holed up in the study. Is everything okay?”
“Well, it’s complicated. I want to explain, but I need to think about it first.”
“Okay.”
“Are you done? Let’s go sit outside and listen to the rain.”
“I’m totally done. I had some back-and-forth with the team, and we’re back on schedule, ready to start Monday. Disaster averted.”
I took his hand. “No surprise to me.”
Outside, we sat on Adirondack rockers under the overhang.
; “You’d never know it now,” Ty said, “but tomorrow’s supposed to be beautiful.”
“Let’s do something fun.”
“Like what?”
“Let’s go for a hike.” I told him about Nessie and Charlie’s trek along the Appalachian Trail. “Let’s walk the Ridge Trail at Fox Forest, then have lunch at the Hancock Inn.”
“Lunch is good, but I like the Mud Pond Trail better.”
“We did Mud Pond last time.”
We decided to defer the decision until morning, opting instead to sit and hold hands and watch the rain batter the flagstones. It was as relaxing as a massage. I tried to put my amorphous worry about Maudie aside, but I couldn’t, not completely, and before I went to bed I texted Wes asking if Maudie Wilson had attended the Rocky Point Women’s Club gala.
* * *
I awakened Sunday around eight to the irresistible aroma of bacon and a text from Wes. Maudie had been MIA from the gala. A surge of panic jolted me upright. It was getting harder and harder to believe Maudie was okay, just out snorkeling somewhere, having fun.
It was still overcast when we left, but pale shards of light were cutting through the cloud cover, and by the time we arrived at Fox Forest, the clouds were feathery and blowing away.
We decided on Barred Owl Trail, a new walk for both of us. I spent most of the time thinking about Zoë, planning my strategy, rehearsing what I’d say to Ellis.
We climbed along a muddy path replete with sodden moss. After twenty minutes we rounded a bend on the trail and came to a flat hunk of granite, a natural seat, big enough for two. We got ourselves positioned to watch the waterfall a hundred feet away, sitting so our shoulders touched.
Water trickled through striated rocks on the facing cliff, landing with a steady, staccato beat in the water basin below. The sun angling through the water sparked flecks of gold on the cliff wall. Ten feet below the top ledge, a ragged oval opening provided a clear view into a valley I hadn’t known existed. By tilting my head to the right, I saw a shimmering pool of water, a secret world mostly hidden from sight by the cliff. I was staring at this natural wonder, but I wasn’t seeing it at all. I was remembering Maudie’s windows, low to the ground and open to the world.
CHAPTER TWENTY
At seven o’clock Monday morning, an hour after Ty left for Canada, I Googled Gerard Martin. His name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place him until I saw his photograph. I’d met him at a few Chamber of Commerce breakfasts. He was middle-aged and middle-sized, and, if I recalled right, rather quiet.
Martin’s Travel Agency occupied a double-wide storefront in a strip mall next to Betty’s Flooring, one of the largest retailers on the seacoast. I’d passed by Martin’s dozens of times, maybe more, without noticing it, proving once again that you only notice those things that interest you, or that you need or want.
Everything in the agency was modern, from the recessed lighting to the open layout. The staff worked at convertible desks, the kind that raise or lower as the worker prefers. Of the dozen or so people visible from the front entrance, about half were standing at their desks. All wore headphones. A private office enclosed in glass had been partitioned at the rear. Semitransparent blinds provided a modicum of privacy. A shadowy shape, silhouetted through the blinds, was seated at a big desk. I pushed open the heavy entry door.
A young man in a summer-weight slim-fit suit came out from behind his standing desk to greet me.
“Hi. I’m Ivan. Welcome to Martin’s.”
“Hi, Ivan.” I handed him a business card. “Would you tell Mr. Martin I’m here? I’d love to talk to him if he has a minute.”
Ivan walked to the back, and a moment later, he stepped out, followed by Gerard Martin, who was smiling warmly. Ivan returned to his workstation, and Gerard waved me into his office.
When I reached him, he extended his hand for a shake. “Josie! What a nice surprise! Come in, come in!”
Inside, Gerard opened a palm toward an upholstered armchair next to the near corner of his desk and waited for me to sit before sitting himself.
“Thank you for seeing me without an appointment.”
“I’ve been an admirer of yours for years. Congratulations on your TV show and your expansion.”
“Thank you. I’ve seen you at some Chamber breakfasts, I think.”
“That’s right.” He readjusted himself, settling into his chair, signaling he had all the time in the world. Gerard was an experienced salesman, glad to let me set the pace.
“You know Maudie Wilson.”
He nodded, his expression shifting from eager-to-please to sad. “I’ve been following the news. Her niece—tragic.”
“Nessie Wynn suggested I talk to you.” He didn’t speak, and I let the silence linger for a few seconds before continuing. “She thought you might know where Maudie is.”
After another period of silence, Gerard said, “What’s your interest?”
“My husband and I bought her house.” Unexpected tears welled in my eyes, and I looked aside for a moment, blinking. “I’ve only met her recently, but I feel an unusual connection. We became friends in an instant.”
“Yes, Maudie has that gift. She’s a fine woman. I’ve known her for many years. As you may know, since most consumers prefer to book their own travel, a large part of my business is homestays and interest-based tours. I was sorry to see Maudie move into an assisted living facility. She hosted seven international students over three years, ever since Eli died.”
“I had no idea.” I smiled. “That’s wonderful.”
“I, too, consider her a friend, as much a friend as a client, so I’m sure you understand my hesitation to reveal anything she wouldn’t want discussed.”
“It might help find her.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want to be found.”
“Have you spoken to the police?”
“My conversations with my clients aren’t privileged like a lawyer’s would be, but I consider them confidential and do my best to protect their privacy. If I spoke to the police, which I’m not acknowledging, I’d tell them the same thing I’m telling you.”
“You’re not going to let the cat out of the bag.”
“I’m not even acknowledging there’s a cat or a bag.”
I nodded, understanding his reticence but racking my brain as to how I could overcome it. I leaned forward, pinning his eyes with my own. “I’m worried about her, Gerard.”
He paused for an extra second before replying, but neither his eyes nor his words gave anything away. “With all respect, Josie, if she’d wanted you to know where she is, she would have told you.”
“Would you check in with her? To make sure she’s okay, to let her know about Celia?”
“I’ll tell you what I told the police—if I know where Maudie is, which I’m not saying I do, it’s not my place to check on her or deliver bad news.”
I couldn’t think of anything else to ask, so I thanked him and let him walk me out. He chatted about the beautiful weather after Saturday’s torrential rain and the next Chamber meeting, saying he hoped he’d see me there.
* * *
The glorious weather didn’t last long. The sunny warmth gave way to overcast skies and cooler temperatures. I was snuggling with Hank in my private office as I researched chartering yachts when I spotted a dragonfly hovering outside my window. No wonder Clara Driscoll chose dragonflies as a theme for Tiffany’s lamps. No wonder they were so enduringly popular. It was more than their astonishing shimmering incandescence; it was their resilience, their capability, and their adaptability. They were magnificent creatures. Watching it, I had an idea for the church. Before I could develop it, Cara called.
Gretchen was downstairs, wondering if I had a minute. I said I did, and within seconds, I heard the click-clack of her stilettos as she crossed the warehouse floor.
My eyes widened as Gretchen sat on a guest chair across from me. “You’ve cut your hair,” I said.
She patted the sides of her pixie-sh
ort hair. “What do you think?”
“Give me a minute.” The super-short cut accentuated her cheekbones and eyes. “I think I love it. You look more sophisticated somehow. The truth is that you’re so beautiful, you could wear a paper bag and it wouldn’t matter. How much did you cut?”
“Twenty-three inches. I donated it to a nonprofit that makes wigs for kids.”
“Oh, Gretchen, that’s fantastic of you.”
“I hope it helps. In any event, I’m sorry to barge in, but I have a request and I wanted to make it in person. I’ve been thinking about my workload. I don’t think I’m as productive as I might be. I think I defer to small tasks as a palate cleanser, as it were. I have so many big things to do that it’s nice to get down in the dirt sometimes. To help me become more productive, I need an assistant.”
“You have too much on your plate.”
“Not exactly. It’s not that there’s too much … it’s that I’m feeling overly fragmented. An assistant will help me keep track of all the details.”
“Do you have a proposed job description?”
She extracted a turquoise plastic sleeve from her tote bag, removed a sheet of paper, and slid it across the desk.
I read the bulleted list of duties carefully. “Budgeting. Project management. Scheduling. Supervising. Merchandising. This is high level.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not sure that it’s reasonable to expect one person to have such disparate skills.”
“I do.”
I laughed. “True. But you’re extraordinary.” I placed the single sheet under a paperweight, a snow globe featuring a winter forest scene, then tapped the paper with my index finger. “I say go for it.”
She smiled. “Thank you. I’ll keep you posted.”
She reached for her tote bag, preparing to leave.
The dragonfly flew away. I turned back to face her. “You know the Congregational church next door.”
“Sure! I love Pastor Ted’s garden! Jack and I bring Johnny each season. Johnny’s only four, but Pastor Ted talks to him as if he’s an adult. It’s wonderful to see. Johnny just asked Jack why we haven’t planted more varieties of lettuce.”
Hidden Treasure Page 15
