Together Alone Page 6

  “I’m great,” Emily said, and actually meant it. She felt better than she had earlier. No doubt it had to do with holding Julia.

  She could see John and Brian talking in the driveway. Brian was shorter than John’s six-five by several inches, but something about him made up the difference. She wondered if it was the easy way he held himself. Or the stubble. Or the fact that he was from Manhattan and worldly wise. Or, simply, his eyes.

  “Is the house lonely?” Jill asked.

  Tough call, how to answer honestly without upsetting her. “Yes. When I stop to think about it. But I’m keeping busy.”

  “Have you heard from Dad?”

  “Last night. He asked for you. I gave him your phone number, but he’ll be on the run for the next few days.” It was a lame excuse. Public phone booths were a dime a dozen, particularly in hotel lobbies and airports.

  “Where is he now?” Jill asked.

  “Today, Baltimore. Tomorrow and Thursday, Philadelphia.”

  “And he’s coming home from there?”

  “Directly. I’m hoping to have the bathrooms done before then. I want us to do something nice this weekend—go off for the day or on a picnic or something. We’ll definitely call you while he’s home.”

  “I miss you, Mom.”

  “Me too, sweetie.”

  John and Brian were still in the driveway when she hung up the phone, but her time with Jill had been a breather. When she rejoined them, she felt more together. “The fact is,” she told Brian, who wore sunglasses now as he held a sleeping Julia, “that I have no idea how much the rent will be. I’ll have to talk with my husband. It’s his decision.”

  “When will you know?”

  “He’s on a business trip. He should be calling tonight.”

  “I’ll give you a deposit now.”

  “No need.”

  “Can I come by tomorrow, then?”

  “If you’d like.” If she had to have a tenant, she could do worse than renting to a detective. “And you think the work could be done in two weeks?”

  Though sunglasses hid his eyes, his voice held conviction. “Easy. Julia and I can be sleeping there in less time than that.”

  “No way.”

  “We can,” he insisted. “I’ll do the basics in the little room first and set up her crib there so she can nap. Regularly. Afternoons for sure. On weekends, at least. Maybe she’ll start liking me more.”

  “I’m sure she will,” Emily said. “But what about you?”

  “I’ll be sleeping on the floor anyway until I buy a bed.”

  “The bathroom isn’t even functional. The tub was never installed properly. You can’t bathe.”

  John spoke up. “One of my men can fix that in a day.” When she shot him an incredulous look, he said, “Well, hell, Doug wants you to rent, and Brian needs a place, and I’d rather he live here than someone else. I may just help you strip the walls, myself. Did our kids really write those things? Knowing you’d see them?”

  “That was the whole point,” Emily drawled. “The extent of their rebellion. We got off easy, I think.” She paused. “Unless there’s more to come. No,” she waved the thought away with a self-scolding, “don’t even think it.”

  “Huh,” John grunted in agreement and gestured Brian toward the door. “I got work to do.”

  So did Emily. If she was to spend the next two weeks working on the apartment with Brian, she had baking to do now. Doug was coming home Thursday night. For the first time in twenty years, they would have the weekend all to themselves. She wanted it to be perfect.

  four

  NOT ONLY DID EMILY BAKE DOUG’S FAVORITE strawberry-rhubarb pie, but she baked a loaf of the walnut bread that he liked and three dozen congo bars to mail to Jill. She southern-fried several pounds of chicken and froze it, thinking that if she and Doug did decide to pack a picnic, it would be perfect. Finally, she made carrot soup for herself and had it for supper.

  Doug wasn’t wild about carrot soup. He had been once, when they were first married. Anything that was simple and healthy had appealed to him then. Suppers often consisted of fresh soup and home-baked bread, as tasty as it was politically correct. Doug was, after all, an organic farmer.

  In those early days, he and his partner worked a piece of land on the far side of town, and while they weren’t setting the world afire, they managed to bring in enough of a profit to make for a comfortable life in Grannick. Then the public caught on to the idea of organically grown produce, and the farm began to thrive. Adjacent land was purchased. Production increased. They hired more hands. Doug set up an office, ditched his jeans and workboots for khakis and loafers, and immersed himself in management and marketing. He began to travel. He met savvy entrepreneurs. He graduated to suits.

  Eventually he sold the business to his partner, invested his take in his own consulting firm, and was on his way.

  He was still on his way. Gone, wherever.

  Emily waited for him to call, but he didn’t. Several friends did, wanting to know how she was doing without Jill. But Doug was apparently tied up.

  He was very bright, his success no surprise. He applied to his business the same foresight that had prompted him to buy their house at a time when they could barely afford it but when it was dirt cheap. They owned it free and clear now.

  Emily wished he had been as wise in planning for Jill’s education.

  But that was water over the dam, come to mind only because she was idle waiting for him to call. She preferred being busy. Then she didn’t think about things beyond her control.

  Determined not to repeat the fiasco of the night before, she put John Coltrane on the stereo, aimed the speakers toward the downstairs bathroom, and began stripping wallpaper. It was a small half-bath. Two nights’ work would be all, she figured, and if matching the pattern took longer than she expected, she could always work late. She had nothing better to do.

  Pulling off the last of the strips, she stuffed them into a garbage bag and set it outside with the trash. Returning, she sanded rough spots on the wall and spackled cracks, with one ear on the music and one on the phone.

  Doug usually called before dinner, since his meetings often ran late. Occasionally he called during a mid-evening break. Some nights he didn’t call at all.

  She was worried that he wouldn’t call this night. But she had to speak with him. So, when nine o’clock came without any word, she phoned his hotel.

  The front desk informed her that he wasn’t there, had never been there, had never even made a reservation.

  She didn’t understand. The last thing he had told her on his way out on Sunday was, “You know where I’ll be.”

  Well, she didn’t. And she wanted to reach him. Apparently he was staying somewhere new. She had no idea where.

  She returned to the bathroom and worked a little longer, but the more she thought about it, the more disturbed she was. Thinking that maybe the person on the phone had made a mistake, she called again. She spoke with someone different this time, but the end result was the same.

  In an attempt to find out what hotel Doug was at if not at the usual, she tried calling the travel agent who booked his flights, but the office was closed.

  On the chance that he had left Baltimore and gone to Philadelphia a day early, she called his hotel there, but he wasn’t expected until late the next day. She hung up the phone, feeling unsettled and alone.

  Within seconds, she snatched the phone back up.

  Kay was stretched out on the lounge in the screened-in porch at the back of her house, luxuriating with a biography of Jenny Churchill and a tumbler of iced lemonade, when the phone rang in the den. She slid her glasses to the top of her head and listened to the rumble of John’s voice. When he didn’t immediately call her, she assumed it was for him.

  Then again, it could be Marilee, though Marilee usually tried to call when John was out. John was a stickler of a father. He asked questions in a way that suggested he wasn’t getting the truth.

/>   Well, hell, sometimes he wasn’t. But when it came to Marilee, who did confide in Kay, what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

  “It’s Emily,” he said now and passed the phone to her.

  “Emily. Hi. What’s up?”

  “Can I run something by you?”

  Kay heard worry. “Sure. Go ahead.”

  “I didn’t tell John. You know how he gets. But I can’t reach Doug. He’s supposed to have been in Baltimore for the past two days, but the hotel has no record of him.”

  Kay sat up. “He must be at another hotel.”

  “Would he do that without telling me? I have no way of reaching him. What if there were an emergency here? What if something happened to Jill and I needed to contact him?”

  “You’d call other hotels. You’d call the police. You’d go to his desk and get his client’s number. I’m sure it’s an innocent mistake.”

  There was a pause on the other end. “Must be. It’s frustrating, though. The one time I try calling him, he isn’t there. It’s not very considerate of him.”

  Kay didn’t think so, either, but was surprised to hear Emily say it. She usually defended Doug to the hilt. “He left on Sunday, just when you were getting Jill ready to go. In the rush and emotion of that, he may have been distracted. When did you talk with him last?”

  “Last night. But I have to talk with him tonight. Did John tell you that he brought his new detective by to see the garage apartment?”

  “Vaguely.” John’s specialty was asking, not telling. He far preferred investigation to benign chitchat. What news he did bring came in single, simple sentences.

  “Well, Brian Stasek wants to rent the place,” Emily was saying, “and I need input from Doug.”

  “What did you think of him?”

  “Brian? He seems nice. His daughter is adorable.”

  Kay smiled. “I figured you’d fall for the kid.”

  “What’s not to fall for? The poor thing just lost her mother, and her father is slightly bewildered. He offered to help get the place ready, but I can’t do a thing until I talk with Doug.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because this is Doug’s project.”

  “Seems to me you’re the one doing the work.”

  “But he pays the bills.”

  “So?”

  “So, he has to tell me what he wants for rent, and how much I can spend on appliances and all. It’s his money.”

  “It’s yours, too,” Kay argued. “It’s everything you weren’t paid all these years while you were raising Jill and coddling him. You have a right to take some credit for his success.”

  “Well,” Emily mused, “that’s neither here nor there. The fact is that I need to talk with him tonight, but I have no idea where he is.”

  “Give him a little longer. Maybe he’ll call.”

  “If not, I will track him down. You’re right, through his client. He may be annoyed.”

  “Tough. He should be embarrassed, not telling you where he is.”

  “He’s busy. That’s all.”

  “He’s self-centered.”

  “He’s under a lot of pressure.”

  Sensing that Emily would counter each accusation with an excuse, Kay offered a few last words of encouragement before ending the call. She was surprised to find John still at the door.

  “She okay?” he asked.

  “She will be. Doug wasn’t where he said he’d be. It’s probably just a mix-up, but it’s too bad it happened this week. It’s a raw time for Emily.”

  “Where’s he supposed to be?”

  Kay told him the story in crisp answers to the questions he fired, but when he threatened to make some calls, she objected. “Don’t, John. Please. Emily won’t want that. Doug’s not missing, just momentarily displaced.” She collapsed the antenna and handed him the phone. “Will Brian Stasek be a good tenant?”

  “Yup.”

  “Not that they really need one. Doug’s making good money. If he’s feeling pinched, he could let Emily work.”

  “This will be easier for her. Once the apartment’s fixed up, all she’ll have to do is sit back and collect the rent.”

  “Now, that sounds exciting,” Kay mocked. “Instead of doing something to stimulate her mind, she can sit around collecting rent.”

  “She was good with the baby.”

  Kay had an awful thought. “You’re not setting her up to babysit, are you?”

  “It would keep her busy. And he’d pay.”

  “But she’s been a babysitter for the last twenty years. It’s time she moved on.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want to.”

  “Maybe she does but won’t say it.”

  They stared at each other, but Kay wasn’t backing down. She rarely did, where women and work were concerned. Not that it did much good. John was still most comfortable thinking of women safe and sound at home.

  “Anyway,” he said without quite conceding the point, “Brian will keep an eye on her.” He turned to leave. “When did Marilee call last?”

  “Mid-afternoon.”

  “What’s she doing?”

  “Having a ball,” the devil in Kay said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means she’s doing what she’s supposed to be doing.”

  “She’s supposed to be studying.”

  “Classes haven’t started yet.”

  “Then why is she there? How long does orientation have to run? Give kids time and freedom in a big city, and there’s trouble.” He glared off through the screen. “There’s a perfectly good college right here in town.”

  “She didn’t have the grades to apply, much less get in.”

  “Then UMass. Why isn’t she there?”

  “Because half her graduating class is there. She wanted something different.”

  “Did she have to go so far?”

  “It’s only an hour’s flight.”

  “UMass would have been an hour’s drive.”

  “And if she’d been there, what would you have done? Gone down every night and patrolled the campus? Kept her under surveillance? Really, John.”

  He shot her a frown.

  She sighed. He wasn’t ill-meaning, just old-fashioned. More gently, she said, “It’s possible that she chose Washington so that you couldn’t do any of that. She’s a big girl, John. She’s a good girl. She knows right from wrong. She won’t be doing anything you didn’t do yourself when you were her age.”

  “That’s what worries me.”

  Kay thought of the John she hadn’t known, the bachelor who had lived some, not only at eighteen but at twenty-five, twenty-eight, thirty-one. Twelve years her senior, he had been ready to settle down when she arrived in Grannick, and in all the time since, he had behaved to the letter. If not, she might have run in the opposite direction. She had been an innocent when they first met, and no beauty. She couldn’t have competed with other women. She wouldn’t have tried. But John had been sweet and attentive, and after anticipating spinsterhood, she had been snowed.

  “Marilee will be fine,” she insisted now. “Jill will be fine. Dawn, on the other hand,” she mused, “may need a little watching.” Taking the phone back from John, she pulled up the antenna.

  Celeste was in her bedroom when the phone rang. Her back was cushioned by the huge down comforter that was piled high, summer-style, at the foot of the bed. Before her on the pristine white throw were the contents of the small cigar box that contained the sum total of her childhood pictures.

  The box had belonged to her father, dead since she was sixteen, but even now the scent of him lingered. It conjured images of kindness and simplicity and a love so pure that ugly noses didn’t matter. He had loved her, ugly nose and all.

  It struck her now, looking through these pictures for the first time in years and with a deliberately critical eye, that he had the same ugly nose and, incredibly, the same double chin.

  Funny, but she hadn’t been aware of his having either, until
now. No doubt because she loved him. And because men could get away with a lot more than women.

  She had taken her nose and her jaw from him. Now she was about to obliterate them. For the first time, she felt a twinge of doubt, and the more she stared at her father, the greater it grew.

  The phone was a welcome reprieve. During the few seconds it took her to put down the pictures she was holding and stretch across the bed to reach it, she imagined someone tall, dark, and handsome, with her father’s kindness and love, on the other end.

  “Hello?”

  “I promised Marilee that I’d get Dawn’s number. Do you have it handy?”

  So much for tall, dark, and handsome. Celeste reeled it off. “She called before. I lectured her on everything I hope she’s doing right.”

  “Ah. The power of positive thinking. Have you told her about your nose?”

  “No. I don’t want her getting any ideas.”

  “She’ll see it for herself.”

  “Not for a while. She swore she wouldn’t be home until fall break.”

  “She might drop in unannounced.”

  “Only if she needs something.”

  “She’ll be angry you didn’t tell her.”

  “If it’s over and done and healed, she might not even realize what’s happened. She’ll think I look great to her because she hasn’t seen me in a while.”

  “Celeste. She has your nose.”

  Celeste felt a moment’s panic. “This is true.” She glanced at the pictures on the bed. “Kay, am I doing the right thing?”

  “I can’t tell you that. You’re the one calling the shots. It’s your self-image, remember?”

  “Yeah. But it’s also my heritage. I’m feeling guilty about erasing it.”

  “Then don’t.”

  “But I want to. I don’t like this nose. I don’t like seeing it in the mirror. I don’t like walking around with it. I want to be able to hold my head high, but I can’t now, and that only accentuates the double chin. I want a new face to go with a new life.”

  “Then do it.”

  “But will I live to regret it?”

  “Celeste, it’s only your nose. It isn’t you. You won’t change, either way. So flip a coin.”