Claire heads to the office to print out the promotional material I designed for the pressure cooking demonstration. Madeline heads to the front of the shop to check inventory. She’s obsessed with the gifts table stock and her little bijoux. She’s like Maddie that way—she, too, thought all those little baubles revealed the life and personality of our shop. If they sold, we thrived. Considering their robust margins, she was probably right.
When Madeline first arrived, she changed the composition of the bijoux collection. I noted Intelligentsia Conversation Starters and serious notepads trimmed in gold with embossed typewriters and tiny quill pens. Yet now the more colorful notes with pineapples, penguins, and hot air balloons are back. She even added a line of cards with catchy little messages. My favorite is Dear World, This may sound slutty, but I want to be used. Love, Grammar. It makes me laugh every time I pass by.
They go to work and I sink onto the stool behind the counter to recall the actual date of a few nights past. Ethan 22 drank too much. He talked about his ex-wife, no, two ex-wives. He tried to order for me. He called me Jan. And when we reached my car and he leaned in for that kiss—which was never going to be a delicate brush of the lips—I used his pause to duck away and speed off.
Claire is right. I do want to relive the date—each and every moment, again and again.
So I’ll never forget and go on another.
* * *
Claire
The day flew by. Customers came and went. Small gifts were purchased—the little red notebooks, pens, tiny coin pouches with appliquéd hearts, and everything on the dedicated “Hearts” table sold faster than Claire could ring the sales.
Though busy, she watched Janet out of the corner of her eye. There was something forced about her jocularity upon entering that morning. It took hours, but by lunch she’d relaxed. Her smile appeared genuine, her face less pinched, and her eyes opened wider. Claire noticed around three a peace she hadn’t seen before crept into them.
“What’s up? I see that little smile.”
Janet startled at the register. “Nothing.”
“Spill.”
“I’ve made a decision, that’s all. About dating.”
She refused to say more, and Claire backed away. Any decision that brought that flush of pink and an enigmatic smile was a good one.
“Oh . . . I got the reservation for tonight. It was a very formal ‘Yes, Mrs. Harrison, I’ll take care of it,’ which was a little hard to hear, but we’re in.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Can’t say I don’t deserve it.” Janet shrugged in an it-is-what-it-is manner rather than an I’ll-never-make-it-out-of-this-hole manner. That was a good sign too.
Madeline joined them from the back office. “We can put the sign out now, can’t we?”
Janet followed the last few customers to the door, and with a cheery “Good to see you. Enjoy your evening,” she shut the door and turned the sign. Closed for the day. Thank you. We’ll see you tomorrow.
“Come on, grab your coat. I need out of here.” Madeline turned back to the office without waiting for answers.
“What’s up?”
“The bank wants to meet again about Aunt Maddie’s loans. She took out two loans, in effect second mortgages, on the store and her house last year. I wouldn’t be surprised if they call them both. Neither was listed in the balance sheet Greg gave me, because she did it in October and had already signed everything with him in September. She did not have good legal counsel, didn’t ask Greg about them at all, and—”
“How is that possible? She was bedridden by November. I was with her every day—”
Claire spoke over Janet. “But you’ve been making the payments?”
“They’re billed in one sum. I didn’t realize there were two different loans, putting both the house and the store in jeopardy. I even asked about options for the house . . . Now I get the banker’s reaction. It was complete disbelief, verging on rude. He must have thought I was an idiot.”
“How could he not say anything?”
Madeline sighed and pulled on her coat. “He had to assume I knew.”
They plopped into Claire’s car. She looked beside her; Janet’s face was drawn tight. She peeked into the rearview mirror; Madeline stared out the window.
“I’ve never been to Mirabella’s. I hear it’s fantastic.”
No one answered her. And no one spoke again for the ten-minute drive.
They were assailed with scents of truffles, olive oil, stew, wine, and spices upon pushing through Mirabella’s revolving door. Claire felt everything tight within her unwind. Janet’s and Madeline’s expressions implied the same was happening for them.
The floor was covered in small white tiles with a black octagon accent every foot or so. The place had the feel of an authentic Art Deco French bistro with black, white, touches of red, and the light notes of French gypsy jazz playing over the sound system.
They found a tiny spot to rest and ordered the special of the evening, champagne and truffle fries. Claire and Janet perched on two stools at the corner of the bar. Madeline stood wedged between them.
“We’ve got about fifteen minutes until the table is ready.” Janet took a sip of her champagne and noted Madeline’s shoes. “Here. Sit. You’re like a tree. How can you stand in those?”
Madeline twisted one ankle to examine her four-inch block heel. “Most of what I own are heels. These aren’t my highest.”
Janet nodded to Claire. “That’s what we’ll shop for next. Shoes.”
“Not on my budget.”
“Forget I said anything then. We’d rather have you and the shop than new shoes.” Janet raised her glass. “Cheers. To the three of—”
She stopped, and all the color drained from her face. Against the white tiles, the noise, and the warmth, she turned puce.
“Janet?” Claire stood and followed Janet’s line of sight over the low wall separating the bar from the restaurant. Three tables away sat Seth. With a woman. Her hair was dark, shoulder length, deep and rich, with hints of red as it lay over a fitted ruby-red sweater. She was all the warmth that Janet lost.
“Oh . . . Sit. Now.” She pushed Janet back onto the stool.
“It’s Valentine’s Day. I mean, you don’t go on a first date, right? Not even a second, you don’t—”
“Stop.” Claire stood in front of her, blocking any view. “It absolutely could be a first date, or they could be friends, both feeling lonely tonight. You can’t let this derail you.”
“He doesn’t look lonely.”
“Come on, Janet. Don’t do this.” Claire turned and peeked again. Janet was right. Seth seemed animated, and happy.
“Do you want to leave?” Madeline asked the question.
“No.” Janet threw back her last sips of champagne. “I thought it would get better. Today . . . I thought it could all be okay. Forget it. I want this not to hurt so much. I want this to be over.”
“It will be.” Madeline gestured to the wall. “They’re leaving.”
Janet’s eyes shot to the door, then widened in horror. There was only one obstacle between Seth and the exit—their corner of the bar.
“Janet?”
His voice froze the three women.
Time stopped for a beat. Then picked up at double pace.
“Seth? How are you?” Janet’s face flooded with blood and brought her color close to normal.
“I’m—”
“Happy Valentine’s Day.” Janet cut him off with a cheery exclamation.
“Yes, I got your text this afternoon. It was . . . unnecessary, but thank you. This is Lana.”
“Nice to meet you, Lana. I’m Janet.”
“It’s lovely to meet you.” Lana studied Seth, then Janet.
Claire realized she had no clue who Janet was—which meant Seth had never mentioned his ex-wife, at least not by name. What that meant, she wasn’t sure, but she was sure Janet would not take it as a good sign. Not to mention Janet would feel,
to her, like one step closer to denying her existence.
“We should go,” Seth offered. He tapped Lana’s back and turned to the door.
His manner clearly cued Lana to the moment’s significance. Her open expression clouded.
Janet smiled and reached out a tentative hand, only to drop it midair. “It was good to see you, Seth, and you, Lana.”
Seth ushered his date into the revolving door without a look back.
As the door spun him away, Janet slumped.
Claire wrapped an arm around her. “You were so calm. You handled that beautifully.”
“You really did,” Madeline agreed. “Very impressive.”
“I texted him today. What a fool. I actually texted him Happy Valentine’s Day. I’m going to be sick.”
“What were you thinking?” Claire pushed the silver bowl of fries toward Janet.
“I was thinking maybe he was lonely. I was thinking I don’t want to go on any more dates. I have no clue what I was thinking. Please. I’m going to be sick. Can we go? I need to go.”
Claire pulled back and grabbed her coat. “Then we go. Madeline, I’ll get the car, you get the bill.”
“Wait.” Janet clutched at her arm. “Give him two minutes to get out of here.”
“We’ll be fine. If he sees me, I’ll tell him I forgot my purse.” Claire pulled out her keys and shoved the bag to Madeline. “By the time I get back, he’ll be long gone.”
She wove through the waiting throng and out the door. Madeline waved to the bartender.
“Mrs. Harrison? Your table is ready.”
Janet tugged Madeline’s sleeve rather than turn to Lexi, the hostess. Madeline spoke, “I’m sorry. We need to leave. Can you give our table away?”
“Of course.” The young woman didn’t look at Janet again. She spun on her booted heel and disappeared.
No one spoke until they reached the small lot behind the shop.
Claire twisted in the driver’s seat. Janet was now the expressionless one in the back. “Are you going to be okay?”
“I’ll be fine.” Janet pulled herself up and out of the car. She pointed to the shop and spoke to Madeline, who had climbed out of the passenger seat. “Do you mind if I go in and pick out a book? A nice romance?”
“Take anything you want.”
“Do you want me to stay with you?” Claire called.
Janet shook her head. “Go home. Hug your kids and call your husband. Remind him what he’s missing.”
“They’re probably out.”
Janet shook her head again. “You told me Brittany’s grounded.”
“True . . . I’ll go. See you tomorrow?”
“See you tomorrow. I’m going to grab something horrifically steamy and head home too.”
Madeline clicked the keys to her small car. “And I’m going to drive an hour south to an empty apartment and wait for a lawyer who may or may not show up.”
“Sure you both don’t want books too?” Janet put her key into the lock.
“I’ll pass. If Drew doesn’t show, I’ll work on some of the cases Greg sent me. Happy Valentine’s Day.”
“I’ll see what the kids are doing and then find a movie on demand.”
“Such romantics.” Janet sighed and pushed her way into the shop. She leaned out with a final wave. “Good night, ladies.”
Claire pulled into her driveway. Tonight the house was lit. Her mood lifted as she walked in to find Matt sitting at the counter eating a bowl of cereal.
“I left pot roast.”
“I ate it already.”
She glimpsed the television in the family room, which could be seen from the kitchen island. “What are you watching?”
He shrugged. “Some movie I found.”
The commercial ended. “That’s not some movie, that’s The Breakfast Club—a pivotal moment of my youth. Bring the bowl into the family room and I’ll watch with you . . . I love this movie . . . Wait until you see how they change. They—”
“I’m not allowed to eat in the family room.”
“Who says?” Claire winked. Matt grinned and followed. “Where’s your sister?”
“Dunno.” He flopped onto the couch, and milk sloshed onto his T-shirt.
“Isn’t she here?”
“I haven’t seen her.”
Claire pulled out her phone and texted Brittany.
Call and get home right now.
No reply.
She pulled up Find My iPhone. Brittany’s phone was offline.
Claire sank into the couch, laughed in all the right places, answered Matt’s questions—yes, people really did dress like Molly Ringwald and Judd Nelson back then—and hoped she convinced him that all was right in the world, at least within their home.
But the second he left to play video games, she felt her facade crumble. Her phone screen was dark. No call. No text. No Brittany.
She dragged a throw blanket over her legs and readied herself for a long night.
Chapter 12
Madeline
As I drove downtown, my thoughts turned to Chris rather than Drew. When he stopped by the store this morning, everything within me said He’s engaged. Stay at your desk. After all, I was in the back and he wouldn’t ask for me. He never did. I hadn’t seen him since my nervous foot-in-mouth moment at the flower box and wondered how he’d look at me now. Probably as he always did—I was the only one hyper-aware whenever he came near. He didn’t seem to notice me, when I wasn’t trampling on his dignity.
Stay at your—
Midmantra, I’d pushed back and headed toward the store front.
“Hey, Janet, have you seen— Hello.” I hoped my voice sounded far more surprised and genuine to him than it did to me.
But Janet wasn’t fooled. She banked a smile and innocently asked, “Yes?”
“I . . .” I stalled. I hadn’t gotten that far with my fake question. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter.”
“Hello there,” Chris chirped. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” He then turned back to Janet. “I brought you flowers.” He pulled a tight mixed bouquet from behind his back.
“Sonia is a lucky woman.”
“Aww . . . I was only thinking of you.”
She swatted his shoulder.
“Don’t worry. I got her flowers.” He winked. “Bigger ones.”
“As you should. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” His voice carried a sweet solemnity.
I drifted away as they talked. There were customers—the store was overflowing with last-minute Valentine’s Day shoppers, so it was a good time to leave the office work behind and get out on the floor.
I’d found I liked working the floor. Even more than I had enjoyed client work at the firm. There I helped clients with important stuff, but we rarely laughed or smiled, and we never joked. Contracts, estate planning, and tax codes didn’t lead to a lot of jocularity. But now I connected people with books, gifts, puzzles, and fun stuff.
It was the best of both worlds most days, as I got to play with that other stuff too, in the side storage room I’d cleared. Aunt Maddie’s old tutoring room fit a desk and three chairs, one behind it and two in front of it, quite comfortably. It fit me and my new clients perfectly.
Because Greg kept sending me cases. They were only little things that people needed help with, but they all mattered. Elena’s landlord fixed her toilet, another woman finally secured a restraining order against her abusive husband, a suit got filed against another predatory landlord in Elena’s neighborhood, and a kid got out of foster care and back with his mom. And as payment, the mom worked in the store three evenings a week. In fact, last night she brought two friends along, and I cleaned with them. I wasn’t sure who enjoyed it more. She loved the books and sharing them with her friends, and I loved hearing about their lives and their children.
“How is your Valentine’s Day going?”
I’d turned and found Chris standing across the gifts table, Janet nowhere in sight.
&n
bsp; “I’ve always laughed that it’s a Hallmark holiday, but it’s helping our bottom line so much I can’t complain.”
“Excellent. It’s good to see the store thriving. Maddie would be pleased.”
Loans and debt aside, it looked thriving. Janet’s displays were opulent and gorgeous, but if you mentally took them apart piece by piece, they weren’t expensive. She did a lot with little money. And Claire had rearranged some of the shelves so that we featured more rather than stocked less. She had taught me a lot about the character of our shop and our customers, and I’d begun to understand the unique mix of people and purchases. She’d made other changes too, including placing orders with more selectivity. Costs were down and sales were up, foot traffic too.
But it wasn’t enough . . .
“What? Your face fell.” Chris stepped around the table.
I wanted it to be enough. On some level, at some point, maybe at that moment, I began to see myself staying. It became a shop rather than a store and I was emotionally invested. I belonged—and I wanted Aunt Maddie to be pleased with it, and with me. Greg had been right that first day. Aunt Maddie had trusted me with her legacy; I couldn’t take that lightly. I no longer wanted to take that lightly.
And yet . . .
“Can I ask you something?” I tilted my head to the corner of the shop and walked that direction. Chris followed, so I assumed that meant yes. “When we met, after Aunt Maddie’s funeral at the park, I told you she was my aunt, and you . . . I sensed you knew about me and didn’t like me.”
“Is that a question?” He stood so close I could see the flecks in his eyes and smell his cologne, or soap, I wasn’t sure which.
“Yes.”
“I may have misjudged you.”
I kept quiet. He rubbed his chin. That clean-cut straight chin from the day at the park carried a five o’clock shadow today. It looked good.
He took a breath and started talking on the exhale. “I loved your aunt. I met her during a rough time, and besides Luke, who’s my older brother and has always gotten me out of jams, she’s the one who showed up, and listened, and loved me. My mom’s been gone a while, so your aunt became pretty special to me. And when she was dying, she talked about you a lot. You were so close, only forty miles away, but you never came. You should have heard her go on about you. You could do no wrong. Some brilliant hotshot lawyer . . .” He dropped his voice and his green eyes bored into mine. “But for me, you were the woman who never showed up to see her dying aunt.”
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