by E M Kaplan
“I think he knows that,” Drew said. He lingered for a minute—long enough for Josie to think that something was wrong.
“What?”
He scratched his head. “No sarcasm? No barbs? No last-minute insults for my date?”
Josie gave him a weak smile. Her heart was not into it, but she would give it the old college try. Even though it kind of made her want to cry. “Did your mom set you up?”
“Yeah,” he said. “And my date’s supposed to have a great personality.”
“All right,” Josie said, full of fake gusto. “Let’s have it. What’s her name?” She leaned against the doorway in mock jadedness only to realize that she was grateful to take the weight off her feet—even though she’d only been standing for about a minute. And what ailed her wasn’t entirely her stomach.
“Patrice.”
Josie squinted. “Patrice? Like, rosary beads and thighs the size of Swiss Colony Christmas hams? I hate her already.” Something inside Josie's stomach dropped at the thought of Drew putting his warm, firm hands on big soft Italian girl thighs. She wished she could just shut up, lie back on the couch, and feel sorry for herself, but she couldn't now that she'd started playing her role in their routine.
He smiled, and when he did, his handsomeness increased by a magnitude of, oh, about a million. “Oh boy, a mail order food jab.”
“Patrice? Like polyester flower-covered muumuu and perfume from CVS? She probably makes her own clothes and crochets baby sweaters for charity. Choose a girl like her and you know what you’ll get? Cheese casseroles for the rest of your life. And Jell-o. So you’d better damned well know what you’re getting into, mister, when you go out with a girl named Patrice.”
He was full-out grinning now. But, Josie had lost her heart for the game. For all she knew, this girl Patrice could be The One for him. So, instead of going on with the game, she gave him a shrug and smiled. That seemed to suffice. She left herself to think about her uncomfortable predicament—that in fact, she might be the one who was finding that she couldn’t do without him—for some other time. She was a mess in the head right now, she knew that. She needed to set aside some time to straighten some things out. Just not now.
He sighed with contentment. “Whew,” he said. “I feel a lot better now. For a minute there, I thought I was going to have to call an ambulance for you.”
Then, Josie remembered her previous night’s resolution. “Drew, how can I go to that Castle Ranch resort? Don’t I have to get on some kind of waiting list?”
He smiled and shrugged. “You don’t have to worry about that. My cousin owns the place. Just say when.”
“Your cousin?” She was stunned. Celebrities went to this place. It’d been written up in magazines. Big magazines. And more than once.
“My cousin Antonio. You never met him before, but I knew him when I was a kid. He moved away from home a long time ago. Went to the hotel school at Cornell.”
“Cousins up the wazoo…I didn’t realize they crossed state lines. Somehow, I should have known.” And here, Josie thought she’d met most of them by now at various family weddings—Costello family gatherings. That was his mother’s family. “What if I wanted to go in about a week?” she asked doubtfully.
“You get the time off, I’ll get you a reservation,” he said, pleased. She had made that look happen on his face. She just wished it had been because of her, not looking after her health.
“You sure? Doesn’t it take more than that? I thought the place was booked way ahead.”
“Hey,” he shrugged. “This is my family we’re talking here. And don’t try to back out of this.”
“You’re not going to have to trade your cousin a prostate exam for this favor, are you? I don’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position or anything.”
“Would you stop.” He did that aw-shucks smile again, the one that did funny things to the rhythm of her heart. “It’s not a big thing. I have an open invitation. He always has room for family. I could have gone out there any time I wanted if I ever took the time off.”
She bit the inside of her lip, and then nodded. “Okay. I’ll talk to my editor and get some time off. I’ll do it.” She wondered why Drew had never gone out to visit. But maybe it was more of a couple’s spa. So maybe, she figured, she would find herself nice and secluded out there.
He remembered that he still had her towel around his neck, damp from lifting weights. “Oops. This towel is yours. Sorry it’s dirty.” He picked up the sack of garbage—most of the contents of her fridge—to take out to the dumpster. “I’ll take it home and wash it for you.”
“Don't bother. Everything else around here is dirty. No big deal.” She held out her hand for the towel. She suddenly felt a little shy. “Thanks,” she said. He gave a little grin and left carrying out her garbage. Christ, who could not fall in love with him? He was taking out her trash. Whoever this woman Patrice was, Josie hated her.
She sighed. Lucky Patrice.
CHAPTER 6
During the next few days, Josie cleaned her apartment and packed. Cleaning was a bigger task than she had anticipated. The first day or so was rough with her stomach still recovering. She felt hollow most of the time, but nursed herself back to strength on scrambled eggs, crackers, and salty broth from bouillon cubes she’d found in her nearly bare pantry.
She also found the brochures on food allergies that Drew had given her. Apparently, she’d left them in her wreck of a kitchen. In tidying it up, Drew had found them and carefully—and prominently—fanned them out on top of her kitchen counter.
Several times, she tried to call Benjy to apologize for having been so nasty to him at the wedding. His cell was cut off—because he clearly followed the same financial plan as she did—so she left him message after message on his landline. He didn’t answer the phone—even during the days when she knew he was supposed to be at the house, which unsettled her. She didn’t want to consider the possibility that he was refusing her apology, that she’d stepped over the line one too many times and abused him in a way that he might never forgive. She’d done things like this before, but he knew her and her big mouth. He knew she was bitchy. She was mean, but she…kind of loved him like a brother. Then again, maybe he’d already forgiven her, she tried to tell herself.
She cleaned to take her mind off it. She began with an empty closet—most of her clothes were scattered on the floor like crime scene victims. The closet had just two empty hangers dangling, like meatless wishbones. She scrubbed and scoured her apartment, alternating it with trips to the washing machine in the basement. She cleared off her desk and dusted her computer but didn’t bother to turn it on. A couple of houseplants were too far gone to save, so she took them out to the Dumpster. Over the next few days, with the activity and suspicion with which she considered everything that she put into her mouth, her stomach gradually recovered to a more stable chemical balance.
Drew called to say her reservation was confirmed. She booked a flight. She talked with her editor, Julieanne, and got the days off—with Julieanne’s amazement and blessing after so many years without taking any significant time off. And then after much hemming and hawing, Julieanne said, “Josie, look, I know I owe you about three years worth of vacation. Lord knows you haven’t taken much of it, but…” There was a long pause.
Julieanne had been there for her time after time—like advancing her money when she made the occasional bone-headed financial mistakes like neglecting to pay a couple of bills even when she’d had the money.
Josie broke the silence. “So, you can’t pay me for my time off. No big deal.” She could almost hear Julieanne shaking her head at the other end of the line. She’d be sitting at her huge oak desk in her tiny, sunlit office at the paper.
“I can’t pay you,” her boss confirmed with a big sigh. “It’s going to have to be unpaid leave. I’m so, so sorry. You don’t deserve this. You should have had a raise and a promotion three years ago. You should be treated like a rock star, bu
t I’ve got nothing to work with in my budget.”
Josie had a ten thousand dollar limit on her credit card, thanks to what her official salary—before her pay reduction—was supposed to be. She was nowhere near the limit on that card. Financially, she looked damn fine on paper. Screw it, she told herself, I’m going anyway. “No problem,” she’d told Julieanne. “Just try not to lay me off while I’m gone.”
During one of Josie’s trips to the basement laundry room, Drew must have dropped by. She found a new color brochure about the ranch inside her door near the mail slot. She went down to the basement to finish a load and sat on top of the dryer, flipping through the glossy pages. The inside photos showed the desert at night—saguaro cactuses against a brilliantly starry sky. Peaceful seclusion, the brochure promised. Tranquil waterfalls and nature hiking trails. On-site nutritionist and trained staff.
Drew also was going to take care of Bert for her, which was no hardship for the traitorous pup. Whenever Drew was free to watch him, she came back from trips to find her dog fat and happy. In fact, she realized, if Drew took care of her any more than he already did, she'd end up in a similar state. She owed him big time for this one although she had the sinking feeling that she might not have much time left to pay him back for any of the nice favors he’d done for her. One more blind date introduction from his mother or a sister and that could be it for her chances. He might be whisked away to suburbia, married, and locked down with kids before she knew it. With some anxiety, she visualized herself playing with her “nieces” and “nephews”—his babies with someone else.
Masochistically, she called him later to find out how his date with Patrice had gone, but he wasn’t back yet. More cause for uncomfortable dropping sensations in the stomach—it was late and he was still out on his “breakfast” date. When his voicemail picked up, all she left him was casual thanks for the brochure and a promise to send him a postcard when she got to Arizona. To stop thinking about what he might be doing on his date with Patrice, she cleaned some more, although her apartment was pretty much spotless by now.
Then, she called her Aunt Ruth in Tucson to let her know that she would be coming into town. All the details were taken care of. She was leaving late the next day. Bert seemed vaguely traumatized by the lack of clothes on the floor. She’d left one old blanket in place of his bed of laundry, and he sat there in a small huff staring at her as she moved around packing. The only thing left was the awful bridesmaid dress which she didn’t know what to do with, so she gave him that to lie on, too. Only a few days had passed since the wedding, and her feelings about the dress hadn’t changed a bit.
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” she told Bert and stroked him on his broad, bony head. “You know you like him better than me. No stress for you. No stress for me. I’m taking a break from it all. Leaving my worries behind. It’ll just be me and the mud baths. Me and the morning massages. Me and simple foods. Me and the muy guapo pool boys.”
She grabbed the allergy brochures from the kitchen counter and sat down on the newly cleaned floor with Bert to read them.
What happens during a food-allergic reaction? The immune system mistakenly believes that a food is harmful. It creates antibodies to that food. The next time you eat that food, the immune system releases massive amounts of chemicals and histamines in order to protect your body.
What are common symptoms of a reaction? Symptoms range from a tingling sensation in the mouth, swelling of the tongue and the throat, difficulty breathing, hives, vomiting, abdominal cramps, diarrhea, drop in blood pressure, loss of consciousness, to death. Symptoms typically appear within minutes to two hours after you have eaten the food to which you are allergic.
“Yikes,” she told Bert and scratched his head. Then, read on.
Is there a cure for food allergies? Currently, there are no medications that cure food allergies. Strict avoidance is the only way to prevent a reaction. However, randomly taking food out of your diet can leave you with an unbalanced diet that can cause other health problems. Additionally, you may become frustrated because you reach a point where you believe that everything you eat is causing a reaction. Seek the help of a doctor before making significant changes in your diet.
“Yeah, and that’s how I ended up here in the first place,” she muttered.
What is the best treatment for a food allergy reaction? Epinephrine, also called adrenaline, is the medication of choice for controlling a severe reaction. It is available by prescription as an EpiPen auto injector.
It went on and on from there. She sighed and flipped to the next brochure, which was entitled What Is Anaphylaxis? She figured she could save some of that delightful reading for the airplane ride. Just more depressing news to her. She hugged Bert and hoped that her stomach problems were just a symptom of stress and all in her head.
The doorbell rang. And then again, rapidly. “I’m coming. I’m coming already,” she said, getting off the floor and opening the door.
And from the look on Susan’s face, Josie knew that something was terribly wrong.
“What is it? Is it Drew? Is it Benjy? What’s going on?” It wasn’t either of the boys, but what she heard shocked her.
“Leann is dead.”
#
Susan’s face was pale and tight. It took more than a minute for the meaning to register in Josie’s head. The words rattled around inside her mind for a while before they sank in.
Susan continued, speaking in gasps, “They were out at that place in Arizona—the ranch. They’ve been out there about a week, you know. She got sick really suddenly. And they tried to get her to the hospital, but she died. That’s all I know. I just can’t believe it. I can’t feel. I can’t feel anything.”
“Dead?” Josie felt rooted where she was standing. “What do you mean dead?” She heard the rhythmic tapping of Bert’s tail as he spied Susan, but he sensed their mood and held back his usual enthusiasm, good dog that he was. Susan had to push her way into the apartment; her gentle shove woke Josie from her shock.
Susan shook her head. “Dead. Really dead. She died. She had some kind of reaction to something. Did you check your e-mail? I sent you five messages today.”
“Reaction? Like an allergy?” Josie said the first thing on her mind, jumping to the brochures she'd just put down.
“Yeah. Something like that. I don’t really know.”
“What reaction? Do they know what it was—what the reaction was?” Josie said. She was trying to make sense of it. There had to be an explanation. How could Leann be dead? She was so freshly still the object of attention in Josie’s mind. Leann had been surrounded by so many people. An entourage. A bridal party. She’d been cushioned by friends. How could anything like death have even approached her?
Susan shook her head. They sat on Josie’s couch. “But there’s more.” Susan was dry-eyed and pushing back her hair from her eyes in a mechanical manner like something was obscuring her vision. Her blonde hair wasn’t actually in her eyes at all but was pulled back in a clip—the turquoise clip that had been Leann’s gifts to the bridesmaids from the rehearsal dinner. Josie had one, too.
“More what?” Josie said, still thinking about the grateful bride who had taken her hand in thanks. Leann, no longer breathing or talking or smiling. Or sweating. Or washing the china she’d carefully picked out. Or wearing the clothes she’d packed for her honeymoon.
“The mother wants to see you.” Susan said brokenly, suddenly sounding very tired and distant as if she were speaking from a long way away.
“Stay here. I’m going to make us some tea,” Josie said. She had the urge to get up and move around, to do something mundane. She needed to verify that things around her were real, to feel them with her fingertips.
“Do you have any crackers?”
“Yes, I have crackers. I have crackers like you wouldn’t believe.”
“My stomach…I don’t feel well,” Susan said.
Josie got out a box of Saltines. She ran some water into a g
lass measuring cup and put it in the microwave to boil. Zapped water was probably bad for them, but it was faster than the kettle, and she didn’t even know where her kettle was.
“I’m just going to lie here for a second,” said Susan. “Then we have to clean this place up.” She looked around. “Oh, it is cleaned up. What happened to it?” Her voice trailed off as she lay back on a pillow and put her feet up.
“Susan, why does Mrs. Ash want to see me?” She had the morbid thought that Leann’s mother was going to ask her to write a review of the funeral buffet. Or worse, be a menu consultant for the wake. No, Mrs. Ash, crab puffs probably didn’t convey the proper solemnity of the occasion. The microwave dinged.
“Not Mrs. Ash. The other one—Peter’s mother.”
“What?” Josie froze, about to pour the water over tea bags.
“Greta Williams is coming to see you. Here. In about an hour.”
“What for? Shouldn’t she be off somewhere…grieving?” asked Josie, although as soon as she said it, she realized she was unable to picture the woman emotional about anything. Josie felt vaguely irritated, transferring the remnants of her irritation about Michael Williams to his mother. She was even more disconcerted by the thought of this woman coming into her small but cozy apartment. She wanted to hide things quickly before the woman could see them, see into her private world.
“She thinks Leann was killed. She thinks her son did it.” Susan was mechanically petting Bert.
“Michael? Did what?” Josie asked still trying to get a grip on her confusion.
“No, Peter. I think she thinks Peter killed his wife.”
Josie stared at her. She shook her head and tried to start again. “This is not making any sense to me.” Josie took the crackers to Susan and forgot about the tea.
Susan just shook her head. “That’s all I know. She’s coming here.”
“But what does she want with me?” Josie wondered out loud.
