Julia stood in the kitchen in stunned silence as her sister muttered, “Good night.” A stack of bedsheets was deposited into Julia’s arms, and she was pointed toward the guest room. Julia watched her sister shuffle off down a darkened hallway before she herself collapsed into the guest bed and drifted off to sleep.
She hoped to learn more today, but it was still too early to play detective. Julia turned her attention to her phone instead. Out of habit, she began scrolling. Her home screen filled her with concern. A glaring list of red notifications cascaded downward, announcing half a dozen missed calls and unanswered texts. No doubt James was upset.
A pang of guilt shot through her. Pushing up on her hands, she sat a little straighter in bed. With a hasty motion, she pressed the first message and listened.
“Julia, it’s me. What happened? I’m worried. I don’t understand why you’d run off like this. We need to talk. Please call me.” James’s speech sounded broken and far away. She detected concern but also traces of frustration. She’d disappeared, and she’d let him down.
Quickly, she punched out a text. Hi, hon. Sorry I missed your calls. I’m taking the weekend to be with my sister. Don’t worry about me. I’m okay. I won’t be gone long. I’ll try and call soon. She hit “Send” and hugged the phone to her chest.
What she’d wanted to say but hadn’t was that she needed space. She wanted to know what it felt like to be quiet enough to hear her own voice rather than everyone else’s. But she knew admitting such a thing would only hurt James. He considered them a pair, a dynamic duo that made decisions together. And this was a decision he hadn’t endorsed.
How could she tell him otherwise?
A vibration in her hand drew her attention back to the phone. The headline of an online news alert popped up. Months ago, after she’d been hired at GBN, she’d signed up to receive notifications any time her name appeared online. It was an app she’d learned about from Miller. He claimed it was important for them to know what was being said regarding their morning show. How viewers perceived them. Miller loved counting how many times his name was mentioned each week. Julia only partially warmed to the idea, but she played along anyway.
Instinctually, she located her laptop, which lay next to the bed, and brought it to life. Checking the clock, she saw she had just enough time to catch the last ten minutes of the weekend news. She was curious to see if GBN’s producers had been keeping a tighter rein on the network’s content since her debacle. That would surely have ruffled Miller’s preened feathers.
Opening the “Live” link from the GBN website, she waited for it to load. Suddenly her screen changed, and the weekend anchor’s face appeared. It felt strange to see this from such a distance. Almost as if she were no longer a part of the staff, or even a part of that world.
Julia pressed the volume button and watched. The anchor offered some friendly comments about the craziness of the local winter weather, a car commercial ran, and then there was a brief wrap-up of the headlines before the show ended.
Julia slumped backward. That could’ve been her just yesterday behind that desk, reading the news and encouraging viewers to have a good day before signing off. But it wasn’t. And the blow this sent to her ego bordered on catastrophic.
Rather than stew in this dangerous sentiment, she decided it was best to occupy her thoughts by clicking on another news site. Perhaps there would be headlines of interest somewhere else. Something to take her mind away from the fear of losing her job.
However, all it took was a singular mention of Rossetti’s name linked to hers in an online article for the computer to tumble from her lap. A trickle of panic moved in. She realized that while she might be miles away from the turmoil, it was still out there, looming.
She remained in bed a few seconds longer, contemplating her next move. Sunny daylight had begun to stream in through a large window, and as it did, the bird chirps outside rose by degrees. The usual orchestra of city noises to which she’d become accustomed no longer existed. She found herself missing the sound of life crashing into itself on the streets below. With only the dull hush of silence punctuated by waking wildlife, Julia found herself rather unnerved.
The quiet, she realized, had the acute ability to make her feel alone.
What she needed—or rather, what she was comfortably used to—was a quick jaunt to a nearby Starbucks, where the buzzing of other human life ran abundant. She craved getting dressed up and heading into town for a morning of shopping. Anything that let her hide among the busyness of other people. Julia missed the bustle of her own city. The desert was too uninhabited, too expansive, and too vacant.
Perhaps her spontaneous visit had been a serious mistake. Yet there were still things she wanted to know. For that reason, she was going to have to manage.
Like any good reporter, Julia knew that if she wanted to uncover more about Ginny’s new life, she was going to have to get up and walk around. Some sleuthing was in order. It hadn’t been so long since her stringer days that her journalistic instincts had completely vanished. There were certain things she needed to understand about her estranged sibling and missing niece. Things she needed to look into.
The urge sent her to her feet. She shrugged on a tunic-length cashmere sweater from the depths of her luggage, wrapped her arms around her middle, and crept barefoot along the cool floor. Julia shivered and cursed herself for packing such thin pajamas.
Truthfully, she hadn’t put much thought into her packing at all. Back in New York, she hadn’t had any idea what her days might look like if she weren’t in the office each morning, researching stories, weighing in during pitch meetings, or taping the news. Even on her days off, she usually found herself at the studio, putting in time. Now, without work, she felt adrift.
She needed to attach herself to something secure. Whether this was her sister remained to be seen.
Wandering down a narrow hallway, Julia passed a guest bathroom and a closed bedroom. Hesitantly, she placed her ear against the door and then nudged it back with her toe. She froze when it emitted an ear-splitting creak. Her pulse quickened. The last thing she wanted was to be caught snooping. But she was doing it anyway.
After making sure no one was coming, she let out her breath and edged farther into the darkened space. The soles of her feet left the hard floors and moved over the threshold to connect with a patch of cushioned carpet. Her nostrils tickled at the remnants of a vanilla-scented candle and floral-smelling body lotion.
Pausing, Julia splayed her toes and waited for her eyes to adjust. After a moment she could see an unmade bed resting against the far wall. Quilts and covers were heaped to form a small mountain near the footboard. An adjacent nightstand held a turquoise glass lamp and some dirty dishes. A drooping flower hung forlornly over the side of a mason jar, a few fallen petals at its base.
Julia moved farther into the center of the room, taking mental notes of the space. At the opposite end of the room, away from the messy bed, was a desk littered with lotions, compacts, and a box full of makeup brushes. Along the floor, just in front of a mirrored closet, lay a haphazard pile of a young woman’s laundry.
Instantly, Julia recognized this as Olive’s room.
Julia walked over and ran a single finger along the edge of the desk. She stared into the distance and tried to recall the details of the previous night. She saw the image of her now-grown niece careening away from the house in a car. The trailing honey-colored hair, the determined hands planted on the wheel. It had been for only a flash, but from what Julia had witnessed, she understood Olive to be very angry. It was all so baffling.
Sweet, shy Olive, who used to take up her crayons and color for hours on end as she sat huddled in a restaurant booth. Then, later, she’d developed into a creative and thoughtful teen. This innocent girl was now, allegedly, an unpredictable—and messy—young woman whom she no longer knew. How had this happened?
A darkness eclipsed Julia’s heart. It saddened her to think of the ways she’d fa
iled Olive. When Ginny had still lived in the city and the two of them had been on good terms, Julia had still been too consumed by work to give Olive much attention.
What’s worse, Julia knew the girl could have used a confidant. She reportedly had trouble connecting with peers in school, and Will was a failed and jaded creative who encouraged her retreat from society. Ginny was of course killing herself at the restaurant, working late hours and under pressure to perform. Somehow Olive just trailed along, quietly existing in the background.
Julia always planned to do more, to take her niece to Broadway shows and on shopping sprees. She naively assumed there’d be a free weekend here or there to offer up her time. But then she got the job at a start-up network. Her broadcast-news career took off at breakneck pace, just around the time her and Ginny’s parents were unexpectedly killed. The sisters clashed over how to handle the affairs, and their relationship fractured. Julia’s decision to stay had eventually landed her a dream position at GBN. Ginny’s decision to go had cost her her own career.
Life had sent them all splintering into chaos.
Through it all, Julia had always hoped she’d find a way to catch up with Olive. But a grueling work schedule and a new romance hadn’t left room for much else. And now here she was, standing alone in Olive’s empty bedroom, filled with immeasurable regret.
There was little she could do until Olive returned, which she hoped would be soon.
Exiting, Julia stepped back into the dim hallway and debated. Where to next? There was one door left, but it was shut tight. No light spilled out from the cracks. She could only assume this was Ginny’s room. It was perhaps still too early to wake her sister, even though there’d been a late-night promise to rise early and offer explanations. Deciding it was best to wait, Julia pivoted and went in the direction from which she’d come.
Arriving in the galley-style kitchen, she began peering into cupboards and drawers in search of ground coffee. Everything had its place. The utensils and cooking tools were neatly organized by type and size: the metal whisks and silicone spatulas had been separated from the larger ladles and tongs, and so forth. Julia knew her sister well enough to understand that, just like her restaurants, Ginny’s home kitchen required a certain level of disciplined perfection. God help the poor soul who accidentally put a confusing boning knife away in the wrong drawer.
Julia had been on the receiving end of that kind of flip-out firsthand. And it cut worse than the knife could.
Reflecting, she shook her head. The memory of a slick-haired sous chef bubbled up. She recalled a young man shrinking in the corner of Ginny’s former kitchen after the poor kid had neglected to properly wash and return a mandoline he’d borrowed for a batch of julienned vegetables. He’d been new and hadn’t yet been warned of Chef’s sometimes-merciless behavior. Or maybe the staff had neglected to do this on purpose. Ginny used to tell Julia tales of secret alliances and backstabbing among her workers, just so they could rise to the top of their highly competitive industry.
The result of the sous chef’s error, Julia remembered, had been Ginny’s thunderous affront followed by the young man being covered in a tidal wave of carrot shavings. Line cooks and dishwashers had all taken a collective gasp right along with a visiting Julia. The offender had been fired on the spot, and the episode had provided gossip fodder for days. Ginny Frank could sometimes be unforgiving.
People in the restaurant industry respected Ginny for her strength and talent, but it was always a fierce competition nonetheless. In the end, however, something stronger had taken her down.
Julia believed Ginny had given the job everything she had, but it had apparently been too much. This, coupled with her sister’s onset of grief over their parents’ deaths and overwhelming sense of responsibility to clean up the aftermath, had consumed Ginny. It was difficult to understand why her sister—her well-accomplished, grounded sister—had permanently left New York. Beyond that, Julia was angered by the act of abandonment that had accompanied Ginny’s dramatic departure. She’d been left in her wake with very little explanation.
Admittedly, Julia’s anger was still looming.
Moving around the kitchen, she brightened a little. It was amusing that, just like her, Ginny had refused to update to the trendy pod coffee makers and instead stuck with an older, slow-drip system.
She chuckled.
There was something about that full pot of dark liquid that Julia looked forward to each morning. Plus, you couldn’t stick your nose into a plastic pod and inhale freshly ground beans the way you could with a brown bag. It was the ritual she adored. And she’d learned it from Ginny.
She wondered just what else she might still have in common with Ginny. Still being the operative word.
Ginny had made it clear when she’d fled New York three years earlier that she’d intended to retreat. She’d let the lease go on her town house, collected her teenage daughter, and left. Julia had balked at the time. Didn’t Ginny know how important it was to keep a tight grip on all that had been built? Doors had finally begun to open for both of them. And while Julia was striding confidently through them, Ginny let them swing shut.
As far as Julia was concerned, Ginny had given up. She’d abandoned her.
Julia recalled the two of them fighting on one particular night, three years earlier. It had been the argument that wedged them apart with cruel finality. She could still see the image of a red-eyed Ginny thrashing about, packing her things, and informing her sister why she couldn’t possibly understand.
But she hadn’t really even been given the chance. That stung the most.
“You’re up early,” a voice said behind her. Julia startled and whirled around. A robe-clad Ginny stood before her, wiping at her droopy eyes and making her way toward the coffee maker. “You came a long way. We had a late night. I figured you’d still be in bed.”
Julia glanced from her sister to the clock on the wall. It read seven fifteen. “I couldn’t sleep,” she stammered. She only hoped Ginny hadn’t heard her snooping. “Plus, I’m still on East Coast time. Two hours ahead.”
“Ah,” Ginny said. She nodded and busied herself with pouring the coffee. “Thanks for starting the machine.”
“Sure.” Julia wavered. She was uncertain what to do next. Ginny wasn’t much for words at the moment. Perhaps she resented Julia being there. A shift in energy filled the hollow space between them. The earlier awkwardness of Julia’s unannounced arrival had returned.
Julia realized she’d been a fool for thinking this would be easy. It was anything but. The two of them might have figured out a way to come together the previous evening, for the sake of a crisis, but any spirit of teamwork had apparently dissipated overnight.
Ginny sipped at an oversize mug and shuffled in slippered feet over to a small breakfast nook. Wordlessly, Julia followed, unsure if that was what Ginny wanted. She hung back slightly, waiting for an invitation to sit down.
It was ironic, really. Back in the city she had a host of interns and staffers eager to rush around and fetch her coffee and cold-pressed juice. But not here. Julia’s status carried little weight in Ginny’s world. That much was glaringly clear.
A round glass table and a pair of wicker chairs sat tucked against the wall opposite a fireplace. Ginny pulled out a seat and plunked down. Her shoulders rounded as she placed her elbows onto the table and stared into her coffee.
A fragment of tucked-away grief wriggled free inside Julia.
Seeing Ginny like that, hunched over the kitchen table, was reminiscent of their father, who also used to stoop in a similar fashion. Ginny had aged in the past several years, Julia could tell. Pushing into her forties, her sister had become so much more like their father—the way she carried herself, the shape of her body, the pinched lines at the corners of her mouth.
Of their two parents, Ginny had always been closer to him. He was commanding and strong and as determined as a bull. He and Ginny shared a type of work ethic that had the ability to push th
em to the very brink of health if they allowed it. This was perhaps something Ginny had recognized about herself back in New York. Perhaps it was partially what made her leave it all behind. No matter the cost to her career.
The grief lingered a bit longer as Julia stood there. She wondered if her sister missed their parents every day. Or maybe Ginny had locked her feelings somewhere dark and far away. Just as Julia had done.
But being back here, in Arizona and with Ginny, was beginning to remind her of how things used to be. And all the time she’d lost by staying away.
Julia shifted. Ginny appeared lost in thought as she slowly blew on her drink and then sipped. It was surreal to see her there, back in their home state, in a house so removed from their lives in the city. An adobe affair set back against the foothills of a faraway desert land.
It wasn’t that it was so bad. It was quite charming, actually. Just different. Julia tried to imagine Ginny and Olive spending time in that cozy nook, waking up each morning to share conversation over breakfast, planning the events of their days.
But where was Olive? Julia frowned. She still had no idea where her niece had gone. Clearly the girl hadn’t bothered to come home the night before.
“Mind if I sit?” she finally asked.
Ginny thrust out the empty chair with the tip of her foot but didn’t bother to make eye contact. She shrugged. “Go ahead.”
Julia eased into the seat and cradled her half-empty mug. Starting a conversation had never felt so hard. “So, um, where’s Olive? Doesn’t she live here?”
Ginny grunted. Her head lifted slowly, as if burdened with thought. “Olive? Yeah, sometimes.”
“Oh.” Julia paused. “What exactly does that mean?”
A long sigh passed across the table. Ginny met her curious gaze. “She hates me, if you want to know the truth.”
“I see.” Julia leaned back, choosing her words. From what she remembered, Olive had always favored her dad. Ironically, just as Ginny had always favored their own father, though for opposite reasons. Will was reckless and free, and she supposed that would appeal to a girl with a creative spirit. But it had been sad to witness Ginny work so hard over the years with little connection to her daughter. The two just seemed to exist together, but not relate to each other. There wasn’t that tight bond some parents and children have. Julia had never quite understood it. But then again, she’d been too wrapped up in her own life for so much of the time. And if she thought about it now, so had Ginny. They both could have done better.
The Second Chance Supper Club Page 8