But Yiayia already had her phone out, tapping the screen, then handing it to Pru. “I don’t understand this Yelp thing, but there’s the store number.”
Pru took the phone, tapped the link, and listened to one ring.
“Bitter Bark Butcher! Happy holidays! How can we meat your needs?”
“Not sure you can, Mr.…” She looked at Yiayia, who shrugged. “Mr. Bob.”
“Let’s try. Why are you calling?”
“This is Molly Bancroft’s daughter.”
“Oh goodness. Dr. Molly never got her ham,” he said. “I went to her house, but no one was home.”
He really did want to “meat” their needs, and that gave Pru hope. “She was called into the vet office, and my dad is out, but I’m standing in front of your store right now. Is there any way…” She let her voice rise and trail off.
“Oh, honey,” he said. “I sold her ham to my last customer. I’d need to heat up the glaze now, and it takes a while to get right. And I would do it anyway for you, but…”
“We can wait, sir. And maybe we can help you with something?” What was one more errand at this point? Although it was getting darn cold for the dogs and grannies.
“I need to get a gift certificate from Bitter Bark Beauty for my wife’s stocking, and I have to go right now. I’m afraid I did the manly thing and waited until the last minute.”
Pru laughed, thinking of how most of her uncles were probably finishing their shopping this very minute.
“I’ll get it for you,” she offered without hesitation. “Can you let my great-grandmothers sit inside with their dogs while I run and get it?”
“I could do that, yes. I’m just two minutes away. Be right there.”
“We can go with you,” Yiayia said as Pru hung up.
“I think you should both stay here with the dogs, where it’s warm, while he makes the ham glaze. I’ll run over to the salon, easy-peasy.”
“We can stay, Agnes.” Gramma Finnie put her hand on Yiayia’s arm, nothing but love in her eyes. “I’d like to chat a wee bit.”
Yiayia just looked at her, silent.
“I’ve never seen you two genuinely mad at each other,” Pru said. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned today it’s that friends are precious. You two need some time to talk. Take it.”
“I should hope you’ve learned more than that,” Yiayia said with a sniff. “Like how not to run away from home.”
“I have to hear the end before I decide.”
Just then, the lights inside the butcher shop came on, and the door opened from the inside. An older man Pru recognized beamed at them. “I know, I know, it’s a Christmas miracle.” He handed Pru a fifty-dollar bill. “One gift certificate from the beauty shop, please. They close in less than half an hour.”
She took it and returned his smile. “I got this,” she assured him, then put a hand on each of the older women’s shoulders. “In you go, ladies. And don’t come out without a glazed ham and a solid friendship.”
Yiayia sighed, but Gramma patted Pru’s cheek. “Yer a good one, lass.”
Pru winked and took off for Bitter Bark Beauty, so invested in this darn dog that nothing would stop her from one last thing they needed to get it.
* * *
The problem was, Agnes didn’t want to have a heart-to-heart with Finnie. She knew what the other woman must think of her, but her heart did feel just a little bit lighter having finally confessed her sin.
“Just have a seat, ladies,” Bob said, rubbing a hand over his dome as he pointed to a tiny café table with two chairs next to the glass food display cabinet and the cash register counter. “I’ve got a little bit of work to do for Molly’s ham, but it’ll be ready in a bit. How about a nice bite of ham sampler for you two? And I can likely scare up some scraps for those dogs, okay?”
“Oh, that would be wonderful of you,” Finnie said. “We’ve sure worked up their appetite today.” When he disappeared into the back, Finnie dropped onto a chair with a sigh. “’Tis quite a kind thing he’s doing.”
“Oh, he’s just trying not to lose customers. He knows my grandsons own a restaurant.” Agnes took a load off, too, letting go of the leashes so Pyggie and Gala could sniff around, but both dogs merely curled up under a bench along the front window, as exhausted as the women were.
“A wee bit more walkin’ than these old bones are used to,” Finnie said, smiling at the dogs.
“You could go home at any time.”
Finnie looked up, and the sadness in her eyes cut right through Agnes, and she knew what was coming. Agnes! I thought you were tryin’ not to be short with folks.
“You really are angry with me,” Finnie said. “I do so sincerely apologize for what I did.”
Agnes closed her eyes. “Forget it.”
“How can I when my nearest and dearest friend is hurtin’?”
“I’m not…” Oh, but she was. Agnes looked away, studying an ad on the wall for grass-fed beef, the words swimming before her eyes.
“You think I judged your actions, Agnes, and perhaps I did, but is my heartfelt apology not enough?” Finnie put a hand on Agnes’s arm to get her attention. “Agnes?”
Cursing her tear ducts, she blinked. “Fine. Stop it, Finnie.” She popped to her feet and walked a step away, staring into the back of the butcher shop. “What’s taking him so long?”
“Agnes—”
“Don’t Agnes me!” She whipped around, irritation heating her face. Irritation and…shame.
Didn’t they just go hand in hand for her? Whenever shame burned, she lashed out at those closest.
And she was deeply ashamed right now. She felt shame because she’d done such a horrible deed as a young girl. And more shame because a woman like Finnie must think the worst of her. And even more shame because she swore that mean, nasty, short-tempered Agnes was gone…but here she was, back in full force. And Agnes hated her.
Finnie stood and took a step closer. “The memories are hurtin’ you, lass.”
“No,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “I’m just…rotten.” And nothing would change that. She’d already been judged once by the only Judge who mattered. What made her think she could change and get another chance?
“You are not rotten.” Finnie reached up and put her old knotted hands on Agnes’s shoulders as Bob came out with some bowls for the pups, and after setting them down, he brought a small tray and put it on the table for them. “Won’t be too long, ladies.”
After he left, Finnie leaned in to whisper, “You are human. And when you think about something you did that was very, very human, you take all your self-loathing out on the people who love you the most.”
Her shoulders sank under the weight of the words and Finnie’s small but mighty hands. “You’re so right, Finn.” Tears welled.
The tiny woman pulled her close and patted her back with the tender touch of someone who’d soothed many, many loved ones in her life. “There, there, lass. ’Tis over. Whatever happened, you ended up with your sweet Nik. I know that much.”
“But I carry this shame, Finnie. And it’s what has made me such a nasty woman most of my life.” Deep inside, she’d always known that. Always. But saying it made it so true and even more awful. She’d made her choice as an eighteen-year-old girl that Christmas afternoon. Maybe she hadn’t really understood what she was getting into, but that was no excuse for what she did.
And the shame that hung over her for the next sixty-some years had turned Agnes into a shrew.
“You haven’t been nasty for the part of your life that I’ve known you,” Finnie said. “Granted, ’tis but a few months since you moved to Bitter Bark, but not only are you kind—most days—you’ve made an effort to soften your blows. Your whole family notices.”
“I told you I was trying to improve for, you know, God.” How else could she put it? “But then the real me comes out.”
“The old you,” Finnie corrected. “The real Agnes is standing in front of me, and I love her. And I do not
judge her.” She angled her head with her own embarrassed smile. “I admit I was shocked, but we’re old ladies from another generation. ’Twas nothing, what you did.” She added a smile. “Norman was that handsome, then?” She wiggled her brows. “What Cassie would call sex on a stick?”
But Agnes didn’t laugh. She couldn’t. “Oh, Finnie. It was so much…worse than what you think.”
Finnie paled a little. “What happened?”
Agnes gave her head a sharp shake.
“You can’t be free of it until you let it go, lass.”
“I can’t…” She closed her eyes, knowing that Finnie was right. With a quick glance to make sure Bob was still working in the back, she took a deep breath and guided Finnie to the table, where they sat, and each took a bite of the ham sampler.
“Philadelphia,” she said when she swallowed, “wasn’t quite what I expected…”
Chapter Eight
Agnes had never been so cold in her whole life.
It wasn’t just the chilly hotel room, which, for a Hilton, wasn’t ever warm enough. There was another kind of chill in this place…one in her heart. She’d lived in sin for a month, and the knowledge pressed on her chest every single morning, making her cold on the inside.
The bathroom door opened, and steam rolled out, warm and wet. And there stood Norman in his bathrobe, also warm and wet. He wiped a towel over his hair, which looked darker, setting off the blue of his eyes. Would she ever get tired of looking at a man as handsome as that movie star Tab Hunter?
Probably not. But she was damn tired of living in a hotel and waiting for him to say the words she wanted to hear and then act on them.
“Big day today, Aggie. I’m going to meet with my boss at corporate. Won’t be home until late tomorrow night, if then. If that goes well, I’ll be getting that mainline neighborhood next. Big money. Lots of vacuum cleaners for the fancy folks.”
She barely heard a thing after Won’t be home…
“It’s not…home,” she said.
“You having second thoughts, sweetheart?” He came right to the bed, where she shivered under a sheet, pulling it down to reveal her nightdress. He looked lustily through the thin material, his hand greedily covering her breast. “I can usually dispel those in a hurry.”
He pinched her and moved in to kiss her lips, but she turned her face quickly.
“Hey, hey, Aggie. None of that when I want to kiss you.”
“I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”
“As if I give a damn about your teeth.” He lowered his head and began kissing the bare skin of her décolletage, his tongue like sparks on her skin. Instantly, she responded, but before she let her stupid body take over, she squeezed her eyes shut and inched him away.
“Norman, how much longer?”
He lifted his head, cleared his focus, and eased back. “A little while, baby.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means there’s a hierarchy to my business, and I can’t just demand time off.”
“You had two days last week and left me here.”
His eyes flashed. “Sales meetings at headquarters,” he ground out, because he was obviously sick of telling her this. “You don’t make President’s Club if you skip the corporate rigmarole. You know I’m on a ladder, and a man’s gotta climb it without…” He gave her a warning look that she absolutely hated. “Demands.”
Her stomach burned as she sat up a little straighter. “You promised.”
“I discussed possibilities.”
“You promised Las Vegas,” she shot back, refusing to be daunted by his arguments.
“Because I thought I might be able to work out there, but there aren’t enough neighborhoods to sell household products in the middle of the desert. Just some gambling halls.”
“And a place called A Little White Wedding Chapel,” she whispered. “I was in the market and read last week’s Time magazine, and there was an article about it. You can get married in a matter of hours.”
He stared at her, silent. It might have been the first time she’d used the word married, but surely he knew what she wanted after all these weeks.
He didn’t say a word.
“Norman, you said you wanted…this…to be permanent.” Did she have to be the one to ask? Did he want her to do that? Because, she would.
“It is permanent. We’re here, in Philly…sharing our lives. I could have this territory for a while, and this isn’t such a hellhole to live in on the company dime. Except for the heat problem, it’s a good life.”
“Norman, I don’t have a life. I’m in this hotel room, waiting for you all day and half the night.”
“But when I come home…” He reached for her breast again, but she swiped his hand away, making his eyes glint in anger. “Look, Agnes, I told you to get a part-time job. It wouldn’t bother me if you had a job.”
“I don’t want a job! I want a husband!”
He flinched a little, as if she’d slapped his face. Then he swallowed and slid off the bed, untying his robe. Dead silent, he opened the closet door and disrobed in front of her. Agnes’s cheeks warmed. She was still not used to the sight of a naked man, no matter how many times she’d shared his bed.
“I’ll leave you a little cash,” he said with aching nonchalance. “So you can eat something, maybe take in a movie.”
Cash. It made her feel like…the way that lady at the Hotel Metropolitan had looked at her. An ugly, sinful word she’d never used burned in her head.
Whore.
But what could she do? She’d sent a letter to her family and told them she’d left with her boyfriend and was marrying him, reminding them that she was eighteen years old and able to do whatever she wanted with her life.
Including ruin it.
Silent, she watched him put on his shirt, knot his tie, splash on some cologne, and take that money out of his wallet. Without a word, he set it on the corner of the dresser.
She stayed in bed, giving him a perfunctory kiss when he left, closing her eyes for a good ten minutes. When she opened them, his few dollar bills were the first thing she saw.
No. That was not who Agnes Mastros was.
Throwing back the covers, she got up, put on the only nice dress she’d brought, brushed her hair, added some lipstick, and got her handbag. She’d try the little market down the street, the bakery, maybe that breakfast diner. She’d get a job and a way to pay for her own damn food and movies.
She heard raised voices as she walked toward the tiny lobby, making her slow her step.
“How can I get the rooms cleaned by check-in time, Mr. Horowitz? There’s only two maids, and Vera is, you know, in the family way. What will guests think of that?”
“I’ll terminate her tonight, Bill,” another man said. “We can’t have a woman looking like that cleaning the rooms. Let me run an ad, and we’ll replace her.”
Replace her? She sailed around the corner and walked up to the two men deep in discussion, recognizing one as the manager, but not the other, a more distinguished man deep into his fifties.
“I would like to apply for that job.”
The older man drew back in surprise, but the manager eyed her closely. “Aren’t you and your husband in room thirteen?” he asked.
“We are,” she replied without missing a beat at husband. “But he’s on the road so much, and frankly, I miss housekeeping.” She smiled from one to the other. “I was trained by the best, in New York City.”
At their skeptical looks, she squared her shoulders and looked Bill the manager right in the eyes. “And I can start today. All I need is a uniform and some supplies.”
The manager gave a pleading look to his boss, who nodded. “Problem solved,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“Agnes Ma… Anderson. My name is Agnes Anderson.” And maybe it would be someday, but until then, she would not get paid by her…lover.
“Come on, Agnes. I’ll get you a few uniforms to try on, and then you can start with you
r own room, and I’ll see how it looks when you’re done. If it passes muster, you have a job.”
“Terrific.”
Not an hour later, wearing a navy uniform dress with the words Hilton Maid embroidered on it, Agnes knelt before the toilet with a scrub brush, using as much elbow grease as the cleaner in her bucket. The cleaning solution was cheap, though, and didn’t work. She’d have to ask Norman to give her some of his latest—
The hard knock on the door brought her head up sharply. Bill—er, Mr. Dunn—already? She wasn’t ready for the inspection. She hadn’t finished the bathroom or even made the bed. As she sailed past the messy sheets, she grabbed her nightshirt and slippers, looking around for any other personal items of hers, and stuffed them into the top dresser drawer.
“Norman, are you in there?”
The woman’s voice brought Agnes to a freezing halt. Who was that? She stared at the door, speechless.
“Norman!” The woman laughed. “You said you were taking today off. And I drove all the way from Brooklyn to surprise you, honey.”
Honey?
Suddenly cold all the way to her veins, Agnes walked to the door like she was striding through mud, opening it with one hand, the toilet brush still in the other.
A young brunette with beehive hair and bright red lips stood at the door. “Oh,” she exclaimed, then her gaze dropped to Agnes’s chest. “Oh, you’re the maid. Did Norm…uh, Mr. Anderson step out while you clean?”
Who was this? “He went to work,” Agnes said.
“Oh, he did, huh?” The woman sailed in, right past Agnes, shaking her head. “Or did he drive to New York to surprise me?” She turned, laughing. “Wouldn’t that be something? Like that short story about the couple who buy each other Christmas presents but have to sell the things…” She waved her hand. “Never mind. You wouldn’t know.”
The Gift of the Magi. Of course she knew.
“But it would be pretty hilarious if we both had the same idea for a surprise on our anniversary.”
“Anniversary?” The word caught in Agnes’s throat.
“Three years married,” she said in a singsong voice. “I’m Gloria Anderson, by the way. The wife of the man staying here.” She glanced around the room. “And I see he’s still not neat when I’m not around.”
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