Looking for Me

by Beth Hoffman

  “Okay, so he’s a lying sack of slime. I think it would be hilarious if we went back in there and had dinner. Hold your head high and make damn sure he sees you. Guaranteed it’ll ruin his evening. He’ll be destroyed.”

  She folded her arms across her chest and looked away. “I can’t. I’m too humiliated.”

  “C’mon, Olivia. Don’t let him do this to you. We need to go back in there, sit at our table, and watch him squirm. You’ll feel great, and he’ll end up—”

  “Stop being Captain Positive!” Olivia pulled a tissue from her handbag and blotted her tears.

  The power of her words sent me back a step. “Well then, the hell with Martin and his teenybopper date. We’re all dressed up, so let’s go somewhere else and have a nice dinner. You can bitch about him all you want, as long as we’re sitting in an air-conditioned restaurant.”

  “I just want to go home. Where’s your damn car?” she said, looking around. “I’m all confused.”

  In an attempt to prevent her from taking off in yet another direction, I stepped in front of her. “Olivia, I can understand being upset, but you don’t even know this Martin guy. Why did you put so much stock into this one date?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  She turned away and shook her head.

  “Olivia. Please talk to me.”

  She blotted another tear from her cheek, her face pained and delicate in the dimming light. “I’m . . . I’m petrified that I’ll never be loved again. Eric stole the best years of my life. I can’t even tell you how much I loved him. Now he’s happy with his California boy toy, and I’m falling apart. Every night I go to bed feeling lonely and worthless. I just read an article that said a woman over forty was more likely to die in a plane crash than get married.” Olivia’s voice made a little hiccup when she said, “The thought of growing old alone terrifies me.”

  Had she told me she was an alien from Jupiter, I wouldn’t have been more surprised. Stripped of her armor of wit and biting sarcasm, Olivia had exposed a soft, vulnerable place that I never knew existed. I wondered what kind of friend I’d been. How had I missed the signs of her most painful truth?

  I gently pressed my palms against her bare shoulders. “You’re beautiful and smart and funny. And even though you try to hide it, you have a big heart. But you have terrible taste in men.”

  She took off walking at a furious pace, her purse swinging from her shoulder and banging into her hip. Though a river of sweat was dripping down my back, I sped up and slipped my arm around hers.

  “I just don’t meet the right men,” she sputtered.

  “That’s not true.”

  “Oh, yes it is. Give me one example. One!”

  This wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have, but it was too late to close the door on the subject. “All right. Remember when your bathroom sink overflowed and that nice-looking plumber asked you for a date? You turned him down.”

  Olivia came to an abrupt halt. “Of course I did. What would we have talked about—Drano versus Liquid-Plumr? We had nothing in common, and—”

  “You didn’t even give him a chance. Well, guess what? That plumber you brushed off just published a collection of short stories. He’s dating Carla Fry. Remember her? She works over at Langdon Jewelers. She told me about it when I took my watch in to get repaired.”

  “Well, zippity-damn-doo-dah for her!” Olivia snapped. She turned her back to me and lowered her head. “Why are you telling me this, especially after what just happened with Martin?”

  I gave her a hug, which she immediately shrugged off. “I didn’t tell you to hurt you, Olivia. I told you because you’re my best friend. You deserve a great guy, but you’re never going to find him if you don’t stop being so judgmental. You’re hard on people. Remember when you and I met at that estate sale? You thought I was a ninny because I couldn’t get the chandelier into my car.”

  “Well, you were a ninny.”

  “I misjudged the size! That doesn’t make me a ninny. But then we started talking, and look what happened—”

  “Yeah, I hauled the chandelier back to your shop in my truck, because you were a ninny.”

  Exasperated, I let out a deep sigh. “Stop being so bitchy. I’m talking about the end result, and you know it. If it hadn’t been for that chandelier, we never would have met and discovered we had a lot in common.”

  Olivia blew a sweaty strand of hair from her forehead and offered the slightest nod of agreement.

  “C’mon, I’m melting. Let’s get out of this heat and have dinner.” I laced my arm through hers and urged her forward. “And if we can’t get a table at a nice restaurant, we can go back to my place, sit around in our underwear, and eat pizza.”

  While walking back to my car, Olivia stopped in front of a red Porsche. “I should smash his headlights.”

  “That’s Martin’s car? Olivia Dupree, this is exactly what I was just talking about. Forget about him, his big words, and his stupid argyle socks. The guy has no soul. He’s nothing but a . . . a thesaurus-humping egomaniac.”

  Just when I thought she was going to start crying again, Olivia’s lips twitched, and then she burst out laughing. “Thesaurus-humping? That was good, Teddi. You know what? You’re right. He charmed me into dropping the price on the Jules Verne by asking me to dinner. I could kick myself.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll kick you later. But for now, hold this.” I thrust my purse into her hands and stepped off the curb. Scanning the street surface, I found one and then another.

  “Teddi, what are you doing?”

  “Shhh. Cough if anyone heads this way.”

  I knelt by the side of the Porsche and unscrewed the cap from the valve stem of the left front tire. After shoving a tiny pebble inside, I replaced the cap and listened for the pssssst. When I heard it, I smiled. Moving to the right rear tire, I did the same thing.

  Olivia watched, her tears gone and her face beaming. “You’re a genius,” she whispered with laughter bubbling in her throat.

  “Well, I probably won’t be invited to the annual Mensa picnic, but I know when revenge is justified.”

  “Where did you learn to do that?”

  I stepped to the sidewalk, took my handbag from Olivia, and triumphantly tossed it over my shoulder. “My amazing little brother . . .”

  TWENTY-NINE

  Summer brought an explosion of work to the shop. Several hotels were hosting conventions, and an article in the New York Times about Charleston’s many charms had initiated a surge in tourism. I was selling antiques as fast as I acquired them, and Albert had a lengthy backlog of repairs. In August a young socialite commissioned me to paint a blanket chest to look like the game board of Candy Land for her little girl’s fifth birthday. Within a week of my delivering the chest to Marilee Armstrong’s home on Legare Street, everyone in her circle wanted a hand-painted piece of furniture. I was swamped with custom work and had to put people on a waiting list.

  In early October, Albert and I were in the workroom. He was repairing a fracture in the side of a handsome William and Mary olivewood chest. I smiled to myself from the opposite side of the workroom doing the opposite kind of work—painting a pine desk for a ten-year-old girl—bubblegum pink with lime green drawer pulls.

  The phone rang, and a minute later Inez stepped into the workroom. “Someone named Gabe is on the phone. Want me to take a message?”

  “No, I’ll take it.”

  I wiped off my hands and walked to my office, closing the door behind me.

  “Hi, Gabe.”

  “Hey, Teddi. Sorry to bother you at work, but I wanted to give you an update. Sally and I are putting together a fund-raiser at the farm, and it would mean a lot to us if you’d come.”

  I sat at my desk and looked at the calendar. “Do you have a date?”

  “Octob
er twenty-seventh. We think a Sunday will draw more people. But we really want you to be here, so if you need it to be a different date, we can change it.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for anything. What can I do to help?”

  “Are you kidding? After all you’ve done already? Sally and I still can’t believe it. She’s really excited to meet you, and so are my parents.”

  I heard a catch in his voice when he said, “Teddi? I . . . I just want to say thanks again.”

  “You’re welcome. See you soon. Bye, Gabe.”

  I circled the date on my calendar and then asked Inez if she could cover for me that weekend. She jumped at the chance to earn some overtime. While I was on the phone making my airline reservations, the bell above the front door rang and Olivia called out, “It’s just me!”

  After jotting down my confirmation number, I hung up the phone and stepped into the showroom. Olivia was standing by the window, holding a crystal inkwell to the light. “This is gorgeous, Teddi. Where did you get it?”

  “From a dealer in France.”

  The inkwell sparkled as she lifted the hinged silver lid and looked at the price. “I’m crazy about it, but it’s awfully expensive. Will you give me a discount?”

  “If you’ll do me a favor, you can have it for what I paid.”

  She looked at me and smiled. “Okay, it’s a deal. What’s the favor?”

  “Gabe invited me to a fund-raiser he and Sally are having at the farm. I’m too busy to spend all that time driving up and back, so I’m flying. Would you babysit Eddie while I’m gone?”

  “Absolutely,” she said, wiping her fingerprints from the inkwell on the hem of her blouse. “When is it?”

  “Sunday the twenty-seventh. But my flight is early on Saturday, so I’d need to drop Eddie off on Friday night.”

  “Bear will love having Eddie to play with.” Olivia handed me the inkwell and said, “Wrap it up.”

  While I grabbed some tissue and a bag, she sat on the corner of Albert’s workbench as if she owned the place. “Hey,” she said. “What’s going on?”

  “Hey yourself. Looks like you been rollin’ in the dirt.”

  She glanced down at her dirty jeans. “Actually, I have. Spent all morning digging up my side garden. I’m getting ready to plant some azaleas and thought I’d stop by and drive y’all nuts before I go to the nursery.”

  While Olivia, Albert, and I talked about gardening, the phone rang. I could hear Inez in her office cackling up a storm, but I couldn’t make out exactly what she was saying.

  A few minutes later, she appeared in the doorway, hands on her hips and her eyebrows raised. “Attention, everyone. I have an announcement. I just got a call from Kaye Farley over at Dodson’s Antiques. Wait till you hear this! Saturday morning Miz Sticky-Fingers Poteet pulled a porcelain dog from a glass case and ran out the door. Mr. Dodson saw her do it and set off after her, cussin’ and yellin’ something awful. He caught up with her halfway down the block, and there they were, Miz Poteet holding on to that dog and Mr. Dodson trying to yank it out of her hands. I guess it was a real tug-of-war. Well, Miz Poteet refused to let go, and then she stepped backward off the curb and fell.”

  “Is she hurt?” I asked.

  “Sprained her ankle, and her elbow was all scraped up and bleeding. Kaye saw the whole thing happen. The rescue squad and the police came, and people were lined up on both sides of the street. I guess it was quite a hullabaloo. Kaye said the dog was smashed to bits. It was one of those expensive ones. Oh, we’ve had a few in the past, what’s it called? They’re made in England, and—”

  “Staffordshire?” I said.

  “Yes, that’s it.” Inez let out a dramatic sigh and looked at me. “Kaye said she heard that Miz Poteet’s son hired someone to keep her from leaving the house. I guess this puts an end to all the designamony we’ve been getting. So much for that red convertible I’ve had my eye on.”

  Albert furrowed his brow. “Red convertible?”

  “What’s designamony?” Olivia asked.

  Though we all laughed when Inez explained what designamony was and how she came up with the idea, a part of me felt sorry for Miz Poteet, so much so that I thought about her off and on for the remainder of the day.

  At closing time I locked the door, gathered what I needed from the glass display cabinet, and set off to purchase a get-well card, colorful tissue, and a small gift bag. After buying everything I needed, I sat in my car to write a short message inside the card:

  Dear Mrs. Poteet,

  I’m sorry about your unfortunate mishap. Best wishes for a quick and full recovery.

  Sincerely,

  Teddi Overman

  After circling the streets looking for a parking space, I grew impatient and parked several blocks from Miz Poteet’s home. I took my time walking and admired the architecture of Charleston’s prized jewels. Though I’d seen it countless times, I slowed when I came to one of the city’s most photographed homes—a colossal white-painted beauty that sat on the corner of East Battery and Atlantic. Boasting three tiers of demilune porches and filigreed from top to bottom, the house resembled an extravagant wedding cake.

  Not nearly as opulent as the wedding-cake mansion, the Poteet home was a handsome Italianate that overlooked White Point Garden. The house had an original marble stairway, each of its steps showing wear and hairline fractures from the many people who’d climbed them during the past hundred years. While waiting for someone to answer the doorbell, I stepped back to admire the porch, wondering what it would be like to relax in one of the wicker rockers as a breeze rolled in from the harbor.

  Though I’d never laid eyes on him before, I was certain the man who opened the door was none other than the esquire himself. On the few occasions we’d spoken over the phone regarding his mother’s thefts, I always imagined him looking like a pompous toad. But that wasn’t the case.

  The man in the doorway was tall, with deep brown eyes and a head full of thick brown hair that was graying at the temples. Big ears aside, he might have looked handsome if he weren’t wearing such a grumpy look on his face.

  “Mr. Poteet?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hello. I’m Teddi Overman. I understand that your mother took a nasty fall. I’m so sorry. I wanted to bring her a little get-well gift.”

  Eyeing me suspiciously, he took the shiny pink bag from my outstretched hand. He must have thought I was playing some kind of cruel trick, because he pushed his hand through the tissue and pulled out the Limoges box. It was not the one Miz Poteet had stolen and then returned when my mother passed away, but one I’d recently purchased at a house sale—a precious little thing with a blue butterfly on its lid.

  The hard edge of his jaw softened when he looked at the tiny box. “Mother is quite fond of these.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  I wondered if he had any idea how many she’d stolen from me. How many he’d paid for with designamony tacked to his bill.

  “Well, I’ll be on my way. Please give your mother my best. Have a nice evening, Mr. Poteet.”

  I was down the steps and on the sidewalk when he called out, “Miz Overman?”

  I turned and looked up to face him. “Yes?”

  “Thank you for being kind to my mother. And please, call me Sam.”

  “Feel free to call me Teddi.”

  I smiled and lifted my hand. He did the same.

  While walking to my car I thought about how lonely he must be, living in that big old house with nobody to talk to but his wacky mother—so many rooms, so little laughter to fill them.

  THIRTY

  On Friday evening, October 25, I packed up Eddie’s food bowls and toys and drove him to Olivia’s. Bear was excited when we came through the door, and the two dogs happily raced off toward the kitchen.

  Olivia and I talked for several minutes, and when
I turned to leave, Eddie stopped playing with Bear and clung to me like dryer lint. I knelt and loved him up, whispering reassurances in his ear. But he wasn’t buying any of it.

  With an exaggerated groan, Olivia bent down and picked him up. “You’re turning into a tub-a-tub.” Eddie let out a pathetic whimper when I opened the front door, doing his best to squirm free of her arms. “Just go. He’ll be okay once you’re out of sight. I’ll take good care of him, Teddi.”

  I gave him a kiss and scratched his ears. “I’ll come get you Sunday night. That’s a promise.”

  When Olivia turned away so he couldn’t see me walk out the door, Eddie cried and cried. I left feeling guilty, and when I returned home to pack my suitcase, I missed him something awful.

  Thick white clouds gave way to sunshine when the plane touched down at Kentucky’s Blue Grass Airport. After signing for the rental car and hoisting my suitcase into the trunk, I was on the highway by nine-forty. It was a brisk autumn day, and I opened the window just enough to let the cool air blow in. The fifty-minute drive went by in a flash, and though I’d be spending the night at Stella’s house, I drove straight to the farm.

  Gabe would be waiting.

  The first thing I noticed when turning in to the driveway was what I assumed to be a large sign in the front yard. Wrapped in a gray tarp and secured with ropes, the sign was at least six feet wide and four feet tall. The lawn was meticulously cut and edged, and the house had been given a fresh coat of white paint. Added to the windows were new, slate gray shutters.

  I climbed the back porch steps and was about to knock on the door when a familiar rumble sounded. My lips parted when I turned and saw Daddy’s old Allis-Chalmers tractor chugging around the side of the barn. Gabe waved and headed toward me, the exhaust stack belching up pale smoke, just as I remembered. He drove into the backyard and cut the engine. The tractor, which clearly had been washed and waxed, shone in the sun.

  “Hey, Teddi,” he said, climbing down. “My buddy and I got your tractor running.”