by Jane Green
They have never been the couple to sleep spooned together. Callie can’t sleep spooned together. But she likes knowing he’s there, watching him when he is sprawled, like a little boy, legs splayed across the blankets.
Lila peers out of the window, waiting for Steffi to arrive.
“Christ,” she mutters out loud. “I love her like she’s my own sister, but why is she always so damned late?”
“She’ll be here.” Ed calls from the hallway, where he’s setting up the bar. “Do you want me to slice the lemons and limes for the drinks?”
“You’re the best,” Lila says and smiles at him. “My big lovely Waspy man.” She walks over to him and puts her arms around his waist.
“Will you stop calling me Waspy?” He looks down at Lila. “I’m English. It’s different. We don’t have Wasps there.”
“But you still are,” she says. “That’s why you’re in charge of the alcohol.”
“What?” He pulls back, confused. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Wasps drink, Jews eat. Okay, so not Wasps—Christians, whatever. Non-Jews, okay? Jews don’t do alcohol. Not well. Have you ever been to a Jewish wedding?”
Ed shakes his head. Lila never fails to make him smile with her stories and her forthrightness.
“I’m telling you, it’s all about the food, never about the alcohol. You’re lucky if you get a glass of kosher wine. At my cousin’s son’s bris the table almost collapsed there was so much food, and when someone suggested proposing a toast, my cousin suddenly realized she’d forgotten to order anything to drink.”
“So what did you do?”
“Milk and water. That was all she had.”
“Well at least we’ll be okay with the food tonight,” Ed says.
“If Steffi ever gets here. Even if she doesn’t I’ve made enough hors d’oeuvres to feed a small advancing army of hungry teenage boys. I can’t help it,” she adds with a shrug. “It’s hardwired into my genes.”
“You make me laugh,” Ed says affectionately, reaching down and kissing her. “I think you are the most extraordinary woman I have ever met.”
“But do you fancy me?” Lila uses the English expression that she always finds so amusing.
“I fancy you rotten.” He raises an eyebrow and gestures upstairs.
“Ew!” Lila pushes him away. “You can’t seriously be suggesting we run upstairs for a quickie in my best friend’s house while we’re getting ready for her surprise party and her eight-year-old and six-year-old are downstairs watching TV?”
“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.” He laughs.
“Well the answer is no. But if you behave well you may get lucky later tonight . . .” She reaches up and pulls him down for a kiss, just as they hear the sound of a car.
Lila looks out of the window. “Yay, she’s finally here. But Jesus Christ, what the hell is that?”
“This is Fingal,” Steffi pants, pointing to the huge, skinny but shaggy, horse-like animal standing next to her. “I have him for the weekend.”
“You haven’t rescued another creature that will be sent off to one of your mom’s poor friends again, have you?” Lila looks suspiciously at her after releasing her from a giant bear hug. “Because I think your mom may not do it again.”
“No, I haven’t. He’s really not mine. He belongs to a customer. I’m thinking of maybe dogsitting him while his owner goes to London, so I’m just taking him for this weekend to see if we like each other.”
“What is he?” Lila asks. “He’s enormous.”
“If I’m not mistaken, that’s a Scottish deerhound.” Ed walks over and bends down to give Steffi a kiss, then scratches Fingal behind the ears. A delighted Fingal leans into Ed for more attention. “They’re wonderful dogs. Very aristocratic.”
“That’s not a dog, that’s a pony,” Lila says cautiously.
“He’s very mellow.” Steffi leads him in. “Surprisingly easy.”
Lila peers out toward the car. “Where’s Rob?”
“Not here.”
“Uh-oh. Everything okay?”
“Not really.” Steffi walks over to the sofa at one end of the kitchen and points to it. “Load up,” she says to Fingal, who leaps up and curls into a surprisingly compact ball, then rests his head elegantly on his paws to survey the room.
“That’s impressive,” Lila says.
“I know!”
“So . . . Rob.”
“Men,” Steffi mutters, quickly shooting an apologetic glance at Ed. “Sorry. Not all men, obviously.”
“Men named Rob?” Ed offers.
“Exactly. So I’m mad at him because he brought all his stoner friends back the other night and when the munchies hit they ate all the chili I’d made for tonight, and then he never even apologized but just said if I wanted to save food for something I should keep it in the fridge at work.”
Lila shakes her head in disgust.
“I told him about the chili and he said he didn’t remember, so I said that was because he was so stoned all the time the weed had fried the few brain cells he had left, because, God knows, guitarists weren’t exactly known for their intellectual prowess.”
“You said that?” Lila is horrified.
“Well, yeah. I was mad.”
“Is that true?” Ed muses. “I always thought it was drummers who weren’t known for their intellectual prowess. A lot of the famous guitarists are actually quite brilliant. Look at Queen. And Coldplay. They’re all university educated and very bright.”
Steffi is looking at Ed as if he is nuts, while Lila gazes at him adoringly. “Isn’t he wonderful?” she says to Steffi, who nods quickly.
“Well, I don’t know. I don’t know any drummers. Or any other guitarists. It was just one of those stupid things I said because I was mad.”
“And that was how the fight started?”
“Uh-huh. And then . . .” She looks sheepish for a moment. “Then I brought Fingal home.”
“Let me guess. You hadn’t told him.”
“Only because I knew he’d say no!” Steffi says plaintively.
Ed starts to laugh. “Oh! So that makes it all right then!”
“And, um, whose apartment is it exactly?”
“Ours,” Steffi says petulantly.
“How long have you lived there?” Lila pushes.
“Four months.”
“And how long has Rob lived there?”
“Twelve years,” Steffi mumbles.
“I’m sorry,” Lila cups her hand around her ear, “I can’t hear you.”
“TWELVE YEARS. Okay, okay, I get it. It’s his apartment and I didn’t ask and I know he hates dogs.”
“He what?” Lila stares at her in disbelief. “Did you just say he hates dogs?”
“Well . . . yeah.”
“Does he like small ponies, by any chance?”
“Not really. He doesn’t like any animals.”
Ed shrugs. “You know what they say, never tr—”
“Yes! I know! So that’s the point. I brought Fingal home knowing it would make him even madder, and now we’re on a break.”
“Oh sweetie. Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m okay. I’m better than okay. Frankly I’m relieved. I’m fed up with not being able to sleep because he’s sitting around the apartment with all his friends practising riffs until six in the morning.”
“When does he sleep?” Ed is intrigued.
“Daylight hours. It’s like being married to a goddamned vampire.”
“Doesn’t sound like a whole lot of fun, I have to say,” Ed concurs.
“It’s not.”
“So . . . have you found yourself another apartment yet?”
“No. I’m going to stay with a friend for a few days, but there’s another thing.”
“Uh-oh. Why does my heart feel like sinking again?”
“No, it’s nothing bad. It’s just that the guy who owns Fingal also has this cottage in Sleepy Hollow, and it’s empty, and he said I c
ould stay there. I’m kind of thinking that I’m a bit done with the city, so I was wondering about going out there for the winter.”
“Steffi?” Lila says sternly. “Without wishing to sound like your father, when the hell are you ever going to settle down?”
Chili
Ingredients
1 green pepper
½ large white onion
2 cups baby carrots
3 cloves garlic
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon chili powder
2 teaspoons ground cumin
½ teaspoon Jamaican allspice (or any other kind—I just happened to have that)
½ teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon paprika
½ teaspoon turmeric
1 pound minced chicken/turkey (for meat eaters)
2 small cans kidney beans
1 small can black beans
1 large can chopped tomatoes
Dash of Worcestershire sauce
1 teaspoon fresh cilantro
Method
Chop the pepper, onion, carrots and garlic in a blender, then gently sauté in the oil until soft and flavorful (about 5 minutes). Add the chili, cumin, allspice, cinnamon, paprika, and turmeric and stir well.
For vegetarian chili, omit the meat step and carry on. If adding meat, add it now and keep stirring and turning until the meat changes color.
Add the kidney and black beans, making sure you rinse them well in a colander beforehand. Then add the tomatoes and the Worcestershire sauce.
Bring to a boil, then turn down the heat and cover, leaving to simmer for around 30 minutes. The longer you simmer it the better the flavor will be. Also, it’s best to make it a couple of days in advance and leave in the fridge for all the flavors to fully absorb.
Serve with sour cream, the cilantro, finely chopped onion guacamole and shredded cheese to garnish, allowing guests to help themselves as desired.
Chapter Nine
“I can’t believe you.” Callie, now dressed, fully made-up, feeling beautiful, tries to fight the tears in her eyes. “It’s my birthday, and we’re about to go in for dinner. Why do you need your goddamned BlackBerry?”
“I’m sorry, Callie,” Reece looks contrite. “I just need to send one quick email and then I’m done, I swear. I can’t believe I didn’t bring my BlackBerry.”
“Can’t you send it from your iPhone?”
“No, sweetie. All the back-up emails that reference this campaign are on the BlackBerry, and I need to be able to type properly.”
“Can’t you access your email account from the hotel? I’m sure they have a computer you can use.”
“Callie, Loki.” Reece puts his arms around her and pulls her close. “I can’t. I already checked. I know it’s your birthday, and I know how you hate me having to work nights, but I swear this will be quick. We’ll just run home and pick up the BlackBerry, and come straight back. If you drive, I can get the email out while you’re driving, and then I am all yours for the rest of the night, I swear. It will take twenty-five minutes, tops. Come on, baby. Don’t let this ruin your birthday. Please?”
Callie sighs dramatically and turns her head, eventually shrugging her acquiescence as she grabs her evening bag and shawl. “I’m still not happy, Reece,” she says, using his name instead of the more familiar term of endearment, which she only does when she’s angry with him. “But okay. Let’s go.”
In the TV room of 1024 Valley Road, Honor Wharton gives her grandchildren a kiss each, and reluctantly pulls herself away to go back to the kitchen to help out.
“Hey, I like your skirt,” Eliza calls nonchalantly as Honor is walking out of the room. Honor walks back in and twirls, the sequins and tiny mirrors sewn all over the bottom of the floor-length skirt catching the light as she turns, and she blows her granddaughter a kiss of thanks as she leaves.
She is constantly amazed by the love she feels for these grandchildren, quite different from the love she has for her daughters, and, more, by the love they have for her. If she could, she would live next door, but Maine has been her home for forty years and she cannot see herself ever leaving.
Three times a year she plans her big trips to Bedford, with day trips to New York to spend time with Steffi; and now, this year, there is a fourth visit to celebrate Callie’s birthday.
Despite seeing their grandmother less than a handful of times each year, Eliza and Jack beam with love every time they see her; they hurl themselves into Honor’s open arms, cover her with kisses, crawl onto her lap as they did when they were babies. Eliza always asks whether Googie—their name for Honor—can sleep in her room tonight.
Which Googie invariably does. She forgoes the guest room downstairs, with its connecting bathroom and beautiful canopied bed, for the twin bed in Eliza’s room, because there is nothing more magical for her than being waked at six a.m. by a small nose, inches from her own, a hand on her arm, and a plea for Googie to wake up and play horses with her.
Which Honor does willingly and joyfully, drinking up everything about her granddaughter and marveling at the bond they have, despite the distance and the scarcity of time together.
“Googie! We were looking for you!” Lila looks up from where she is pulling the Boursin triangles out of the oven. “Do you know where the name tags are?”
“I do.” Honor opens a drawer beside her. “I put them in here for safekeeping. Do you have the table plan?”
“I’ll get it for you in a moment. Have you met Kim and Mark? Callie and Reece’s friends?”
“Of course I’ve met Mark.” Honor reaches up and kisses him hello with a warm smile. “But I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure”—she turns to Kim, ignoring her outstretched hand and giving her a warm hug instead—“I’m Honor.”
“So nice to meet you!” Kim says. “I’ve heard so much about you! Did you say your name was Honor? I thought I just heard Lila call you something else?”
“Googie.” Honor smiles. “It’s what Eliza has always called me and it seems to have caught on. Now I’m Googie to the whole family.”
“So should we call you Honor? Or Googie?”
“Whichever you prefer. I’ll answer to pretty much anything these days.”
“I’ll let Dad know.” Steffi, busy refilling her wineglass, looks up with a grin. She checks her watch. “Mom, I’ll come with you to do the place mats. I know the table plan. They should be here soon and we have to get everything ready. Lila? Is all the food done?”
“I think so. I’ll just plate these and put them in the living room.”
Steffi and Honor walk into the dining room, and Honor admires the table. “Is this you, darling? Did you set the table?”
Steffi nods.
“You’re so creative, darling. I love those flowers, and in paper bags! Adorable!” Steffi bought armfuls of green hydrangeas and has put them in glasses and jam jars, then covered the jars with white lunch bags, tying them up with raffia and placing them all the way down the center of the table.
The name tags are brown-paper luggage tags, tied around tiny little terra-cotta pots stuffed with lavender.
“I thought it was very spring-like.” Steffi shrugs, unable to hide her pleasure. “And it smells good too.”
“It smells better than good, it’s divine.” Honor buries her nose in the lavender, just as a blood-curdling shriek is suddenly heard from the living room.
They look at each other in alarm and turn to race in and find out what has happened.
“FUCK!” Lila yells. “Oh CHRIST,” then, spying Honor, “Oh God. I’m sorry. My language. BUT STEFFI! That GODDAMNED DOG has eaten all the pâté.”
“It wasn’t Fingal,” Steffi says defensively. “He’s in the TV room with Eliza and Jack, and I told them to keep the door shut.”
“So who’s that under the table?” Lila gestures to a large snout poking out from under the table at the other end of the room. “My imaginary friend?”
“Oh shit,” mutters Steffi, before turning
to shout, “Eliza! Jack!”
“It’s not their fault,” Honor says. “They’re children.”
“Yeah?” Eliza wanders into the living room, balancing a hot cheese triangle on her fingers and blowing on it. “These are really good.”
“Where’s Fingal?” Steffi puts her hands on her hips.
“He’s . . . Uh-oh. I kept the door closed. I swear. It wasn’t me. It was Jack.”
“I don’t care who it was,” Lila says. “But he ate all the pâté. Good thing I came in when I did, or he would have eaten everything.”
Eliza’s face falls. “I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Lila feels the anger seep out of her just as quickly as it arrived. “Don’t worry. It’s not like we don’t have enough food. It was good pâté, though.”
“Thanks,” Steffi said. “Mushroom pecan. You can also form it into burgers and grill it.”
“Will you give me the recipe?”
“Sure.”
“And more important, will you get the damned dog out of the way?”
“I will. Here, Fingal. Good boy. Come on, let’s go back to the TV room.”
“Darling”—Honor stops Steffi as Fingal lopes next to her, both of them heading out of the living room—“don’t you think a dog this size is a little much for you? I’m not sure you should agree to dogsit him again. He is lovely, but he’s enormous. I think next time you need to say no.”
Honor looks closely at Steffi’s face. She knows this look. Very well.
“Oh no. This isn’t just a weekend thing, is it?”
Steffi shrugs and looks away. “It is just this weekend . . .”
“So what aren’t you telling me?”
“I kind of said I’d look after him for a while.”
“Oh Steffi. Why do you do these things? How long is a while? A week? Two?”
“No, a bit longer.”
“How long?” Honor pushes, but she already knows the answer. “It’s permanent, isn’t it? This is your new dog. Oh Steffi. Really. Is this wise?”