by Kaira Rouda
Gavin shot me a look, and Melanie nodded her head yes. That meant, I supposed, some text messages. At least she’d acknowledged they’d been in touch this time. Okay, time to shift subjects, I thought.
“So hey, Melanie, aside from phone calls, what else would you like to do for the party?” I asked. “I could really use help getting this business off to a good start.”
“Kelly, your business is important,” Patrick said suddenly.
“Of course it is, honey,” I said, smiling at him.
“I could help with food. I’m actually a great cook, Aunt Kelly, believe it or not,” she said, and smiled at the irony. “I used to help the nanny get dinner ready. I really like it.”
“The problem is, Mel, Kelly would depend on you to do what you said,” Patrick said, “to cook or help, whatever, and then, what if you let her down? What if you pulled what you did the night we went out to dinner? Then what would she do? Are you ready to face up to responsibilities?” Patrick threw his napkin into the center of the table.
The other three of us sat frozen in place.
Melanie was the one who spoke first. “Uncle Patrick, I know I let you down. I let all three of you down,” she said, looking at Gavin. “It won’t happen again. I am getting better. I want to help Aunt Kelly.”
“I hope you mean that,” Patrick said, and then picked up his plate and walked out of the kitchen.
I believed she did. Since her breakthrough, which of course was attributable to my amazing friend, Dr. Beth, and the fact she’d had the party at our house and now felt guilty, Melanie had been a different kid. She’d put the scale back in my bathroom to torment me (per Beth’s instructions). Beth actually told me to pitch the thing in the trash, but I just couldn’t break the chains. Beth also told me Mel was recording her successful meals and her setbacks and reviewing them daily with her. And, perhaps most exciting of all, Beth was talking about quitting her job at the hospital and opening her own eating disorder clinic. With this much entrepreneurial spirit around me, I couldn’t be wrong in going for it—in a big way.
I didn’t want Patrick’s explosion to hurt our momentum. So, perhaps doing what I’d just counseled myself against, I made excuses.
“Melanie, Patrick is just stressed over work. Gavin, you and Melanie go ahead and go for a walk and I’ll get the dishes.”
“You know, he’s right,” Melanie said quietly.
“I am right,” Patrick agreed. He’d walked back into the room and was leaning against the island. “Thank you for your apology. I’m new to this, too.”
“Come on, Mel, let’s help get the dishes and then we could take a walk. And like we talked about, you’re going to need to make amends for the party,” Gavin said, looking directly at Melanie. She nodded.
“We’ll handle the dishes, kids,” Patrick said. “And you don’t owe us any money for the party. Nothing was damaged, just some alcohol gone. And we needed to replace all of that anyway. Helping with Kelly’s party will be a great way to repay us.”
“I’ll make it right, and I’m not going to let you down again,” Melanie said, standing to help clear.
“I know you will,” I said to Mel. I smiled at Patrick. I could tell he wasn’t quite convinced.
After we cleaned up the kitchen, Melanie and Gavin went to the porch and—I was sure—from there to the hammock. Nothing better than that, I thought jealously. My choice after letting Oreo out? Go find Patrick and make sure he was calmed down.
As I walked into the bedroom, he was in bed, reading.
“You know, Kelly, we should also invite title insurance contacts of the law firm, mortgage brokers, home appraisers, and home warranty business owners to the party. These are the people who refer a ton of business to the Realtors,” Patrick said. He’d been researching my new business almost as much as I had.
Nice try. While it was great to know I had a mini-team behind me—including Oreo, who wagged his tail at me, probably wondering if I’d brought any table scraps upstairs—I was mad at how Patrick had handled his feelings about the party in the middle of the first civil dinner with the four of us.
“I know you’re mad,” he said, putting down his book and taking off his readers. “The thing is, I can’t keep my feelings pushed down like you do. When I feel it, I express it. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is.”
That’s probably a healthy way to be, I thought, but I was still mad at him for his outburst. And at myself for being gullible. And especially at Melanie for putting us in this position.
“Come over here. It looks like you need a hug,” he said, and he was right. I did.
The next morning, after a carefully planned breakfast with Melanie, based on Beth’s handwritten notes—one-half cup of yogurt, any flavor; fresh berries; two slices of wheat toast—one of us was full (her), the other was still hungry (me), and both of us were ready to tackle our huge assignment. Mel was excited to be the official calligrapher, and along with Beth, she was going to hand-address all of the invitations for my launch party. I’d picked a shiny silver envelope. Inside was the invitation, printed on thick white card stock with a silver border. The blue hydrangea was growing from the bottom left-hand corner, and the words were printed in silver ink. With just a week to go before the date—next Thursday, 7:30 pm—we had to get all six hundred invitations out today. We’d follow up the formal invitation with an Evite that Melanie had set up online for me. That way the guests who we had email addresses for would hear from me twice.
Beth and Melanie set up at the kitchen table. The baby slept in her carrier on the floor at Beth’s feet, Oreo on his mat below Melanie’s chair. It was so cute I had to take a photo.
“My business—our business—is official as of today! Smile!” I said and snapped a couple of shots. I gave them both a warm hug before being shooed away. Clearly it was going to be a calligraphy and counseling session, and I needed to scram.
I’d been working on a vision board up in my bedroom, and this was the perfect time to finish it. Oreo heard me leaving the room and followed behind. I guess he knew I was the one who needed him most today.
“CAN I GET YOU GUYS ANYTHING?” I ASKED, WALKING INTO THE kitchen, hoping I hadn’t disturbed them. I saw Melanie reach for a tissue from a box that had appeared in the middle of their invitations, envelopes, and address list piles. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“It’s okay, Kelly, come on over here,” Beth said. “Melanie and I were just talking about her mom, and how sorry she feels for her. We’re working a lot on Mel not feeling responsible for her parents, remembering that she’s the child here.”
“That’s absolutely right,” I said.
Melanie just nodded and half-smiled my way. She seemed suddenly intent on addressing the next envelope on her list.
“Melanie, Kelly and I are going to take a walk around the block, if you don’t mind watching Sarah,” Beth said. “We won’t be long. I just need a stretch before diving back into the invitations. When I come back, you should take a break, too, if you want.”
“Sure, you guys go ahead. I’ll look after the baby,” she said.
As we walked down my driveway, I said, “You must really trust Melanie, leaving her alone with Sarah. With all that happened this week at our house, I doubt Patrick would trust her with Oreo. And he wouldn’t trust her alone there at all.”
“She’s trustworthy, Kelly. She just made a poor decision. That Thompson boy, Bob and Heidi’s son, was messing with her, acting like he was her friend. He just wanted to get into your house, destroy what he thought was your perfect family,” Beth said. “Melanie showed me the text messages to that effect.”
“Wow, that’s sad,” I said. “I need to figure out how to explain this to Patrick.”
“No you don’t. Melanie is going to do it when the time is right. She needs to be comfortable talking with him, build a relationship with him, as she has with you,” Beth said.
I felt like telling her not to hold her breath, but ma
ybe Mel and Patrick would build a relationship someday.
We both saw Charlotte at the same time. We stopped. Beth looked at me; I looked at her. Charlotte, dressed impeccably, was replacing the “Make an offer” rider with an “In contract in less than 10 days!” sign.
What to do?
“Let’s head down the other way,” Beth said, doing an about-face and heading back to the other side of my circular drive.
That worked for me.
“So, can you tell me anything more about what’s going on with her parents?” Beth asked as we reached the first crossroad. “All I know is that it has something to do with your friend with the yard sign over there, and now, her mom is in Montana.”
“Right. Well, I’ve just been figuring all of this out, slowly, myself. It’s not like I got any information or instructions from Kathryn when she handed over her child.” I was surprised at the anger in my voice. We were walking at a brisk clip and it felt good. I was determined not to have a woman who had just given birth outpace me. I just hoped I didn’t start panting and embarrass myself.
“Bruce is self-absorbed and mean. Driven and successful, yes, but mean,” I said. “Kathryn is brilliant. Aside from being gorgeous, she’s broken through the glass ceiling many times in her career. She’s always in motion: on buying trips to Paris, to Asia. I think she’s been afraid to slow down. All that said, she’s a great mom and a great friend.”
“Are they getting a divorce? Because Melanie would be fine with that; it’s just the not knowing. No one is talking to the poor girl,” Beth said. “She is doing a great job with her issues and her priorities, as you know. She’s relaxing, eating finally. But the last step will be some honesty between her and her parents.”
“I agree. I just don’t have the whole story, though. When I talked to Kathryn she was so fragile, I kept the conversation light. Charlotte, well, she’s told me she and Bruce are together, and that they were soul mates. Apparently, they’re moving in next door together,” I said, realizing I was spilling the beans but knowing it would all be out sooner or later. Probably sooner. Grandville didn’t keep secrets, and clearly neither did I.
“Well, isn’t that interesting? Does she have no shame? I mean, she’s friends with Kathryn, too, isn’t she?” Beth asked.
“Yes, but as my mom so wisely told me recently, we don’t know the whole story and we need to stop blaming the women all the time,” I said. “I am telling you, Bruce is a snake.”
“Well, whatever,” Beth said, slowing down a bit. I was panting, and I couldn’t hide it anymore. Maybe I’d need to add some cardio (#12) to my yoga (#17). “We need to tell Mel about all of this, as honestly as we can,” Beth said.
“No. Kathryn needs to get back, and then her parents can tell her. You and I need to keep working on Melanie, getting her better,” I said, hoping I was right, believing I shouldn’t be the one to share the Charlotte news with Mel. “And speaking of Mel, we should head back.” Before I drop over, I didn’t add.
“Yes, the truth would be nice, coming from her parents. For once,” Beth said, as we rounded a street corner and headed back. “Kids always know more about what is going on than their parents think they know. They’re naturally intuitive, because they haven’t been told yet not to trust their intuition. So, does Melanie know the whole truth of her dad’s infidelity? No. But she senses enough. And she worries a lot about Kathryn, I can tell you that. Kathryn needs to grow up, take responsibility for her life, and start being a parent again. And so does Bruce.”
“Agreed. But Kathryn has to take care of herself first, and it seems that is what she’s doing. Bruce always has put himself first, so that’s no surprise.”
And with that, we power-walked back to my side door, and both of us glanced once more at the yard sign proclaiming Charlotte’s success.
The rest of the day was consumed by stamping, sealing, and then mailing the six hundred envelopes at the post office. What a fabulous start to my business dreams. I wondered when I’d begin to make money instead of spending it, but I figured it would be soon. Heck, Charlotte owed me big time for decorating what was now her new home.
That night, Gavin was taking Melanie out for a surprise dinner at what had once been her favorite restaurant. He was confident (especially after a little coaching from Beth) he could help Mel figure out a comfortable meal.
When Beth headed home and Melanie headed upstairs to get dressed for her date, I decided Patrick and I deserved a night out on the town. I called him at the office, and he agreed. This time, we knew, we wouldn’t come home to a teenage drunk fest.
We were tucked away in a romantic corner of another of my favorite places to dine. Tony’s is an amazing Italian restaurant nestled in the oldest part of the city. The building itself was once an old brewery in the German Village section of town. The food is a combination of old-world recipes and modern-day marvels. We’d seen a few acquaintances as we were escorted to our table. When the owner came over to greet us—I vainly suspected it had something to do with my rather fabulous purple dress, which I noticed fit less snuggly than it had before—Patrick pressed me to give Tony one of my new business cards.
Tony congratulated me and in his thick Neapolitan accent said he would be happy to recommend my services to everyone, as I was a woman with exquisite taste. My business sounded so exotic and sophisticated when he said it. Well, actually, everything sounded wonderful when he said it. Maybe he should come to my party and just walk around, enchanting people.
After thanking him and ordering, Patrick said, “Bruce called. He wants the firm to represent him in his divorce. Can you believe he had the balls to phone me? After how I saw him last?”
Yes, I did believe it. “You told him you had a conflict of interest, right?”
“Morally, I am conflicted, but the firm isn’t. Kathryn hasn’t hired us. Can you call her and find out if she needs representation? Otherwise, even as a partner, I think I’ll be overruled. The chance to work on Bruce’s personal affairs may lead to more business with Majors Entertainment. You know how that sounds to some of the other partners.”
“Well, I’ll call Kathryn then. Right now. It’s two hours earlier in Montana. I’ll be right back.”
Outside in the parking lot, I placed a call to Kathryn. This time she didn’t answer, so I left a message. Not having thought through this call until the moment I heard the beep, I stumbled along. “Hi Kathryn, no worries, it’s me again. Mel is fine. It’s just that Patrick got a call today from Bruce, and, well, he wanted representation and I thought if you did—Patrick, rather, thought he would like the firm to represent you—but if you have another option, that’s fine, too. I hope Montana is lovely. Call me as soon as you can,” I said and hung up.
If she didn’t know she was getting a divorce before, she certainly did now. I felt awful. Panicked, I hurried inside and back to the table. The appetizers were there and Patrick was waiting patiently.
“What did she say?” he asked, digging into his carpaccio.
“I got her voice mail. But the problem with that is I left a message,” I said, stirring my minestrone.
“That’s what it’s for,” he said, smiling.
“No, listen, what if she didn’t know he was calling attorneys? What if I just ruined her life via voice mail?”
“She’s a grown-up woman who dropped her teen daughter off at our house and left town for Montana?”
“Yep, Montana. A program to find balance and things,” I said.
“Okay, she’s in Montana where she’s rediscovering herself. I think she knows something is wrong in her marriage,” he said. “Enough about Mr. and Mrs. Bruce Majors for now; let’s enjoy our meal. David called me today.”
“He did? I spoke with Sean, briefly, but only because I called him. What did David say?” I asked, feeling jealous.
“That he needed more money in his camp store account.” We both laughed.
“Well, at least they need us,” I said. “And the way I figure, asking fo
r money is almost like saying ‘I love you.’ Cheers!”
IT HAD TO HAPPEN SOONER OR LATER, I SUPPOSE, BUT I HAD hoped it would be after I had had a chance to talk to Kathryn. Being somewhat dense at times, I hadn’t asked for the name of the ranch she was staying at in Montana, in case of an emergency. So, all I had was the message I’d left on her voice mail.
That, and Bruce ringing my doorbell first thing in the morning.
Melanie was still asleep. Patrick was at work, and Oreo was barking furiously. Maybe I’d told him a little too much about good old Bruce, or he sensed it, even through the front door.
I opened the door.
“Hi Kelly. Listen, I know how you feel about me, and I’m sorry about the other night, but I want you to know that I truly appreciate your help with Melanie. And I wondered if I could see her. Oh, and here, these are for you.”
He thrust a bouquet of yellow roses at me. The sign of friendship. I hated roses.
“Ah, thanks. Melanie is still asleep, Bruce. Do you want to come back later? Oreo, stop it!” I was afraid Oreo was going to eat Bruce’s leg if he stepped any farther into my house.
“Hi Dad,” said Melanie, her sleepy voice coming from above us at the top of the stairway.
“Mel Belle, how are you?” he said, brushing past Oreo and me and turning on the charm, which his daughter, it seemed, was not immune to.
“Hi Daddy,” Melanie repeated warmly as she rushed down the stairs and accepted her father’s embrace.
“Why don’t you two go sit in the living room and I can bring you some coffee?” I suggested, feeling nauseous. I really couldn’t stand Bruce Majors. “I’ll just go put these in water and be back in a few minutes.”
“Thanks, Aunt Kelly,” said my teenage borrowed daughter.