“No. She took her purse though. She’s . . . something’s wrong with her. She’s acting all strange. She needs me.”
“Has anything in her behavior given you reason to think she might be in danger, either from herself or someone else?”
“I don’t think she’d hurt herself. She wouldn’t hurt anyone else; she’s the sweetest girl on earth. Just tell me if you’ve heard from her.”
“I haven’t.”
“If she calls you, let me know immediately.”
“If I hear from her, I’ll recommend that she contact you, but I won’t take that decision out of her hands.”
“I’m her husband!”
“She’s an adult. It needs to be her choice. Let her make it.”
“But she’s out of her mind!”
“Wanting time alone to calm down after a fight is not a symptom of mental incapacity.”
“I’m trying to help her.”
“Then be ready to listen to her when she returns. Try to understand her point of view. Respect what she tells you.”
“I checked our credit cards, and there’s been no activity there and no money taken out of the bank.”
His wife had stomped out after a fight, and he’d felt the need to check her credit cards to see what she was up to? Natalie pressed her lips together, sealing her mouth shut for a moment. She wanted to tell Jonas he and Lacey needed marriage counseling, but suggesting it while Jonas was this worked up wouldn’t help. “So you know she hasn’t hopped on a plane to Siberia. Stay calm and give her time to calm down.”
“What has she said to you about me? Has she said anything about leaving home? Or about where she’d go if she . . . ran?”
“I’m not able to share any information that pertains to—”
Jonas cursed and hung up.
Natalie stowed her phone in her purse and lingered close to the heater, gazing at the dark shoreline and the glow of wrought-iron lampposts illuminating a walking trail along the perimeter of the pond. She ought to rejoin the party, but it was quiet out here, a peaceful place to think.
She actually felt better about Jonas than she had before. The marriage had huge issues, but it had potential. He seemed genuinely concerned about Lacey for Lacey’s sake, not solely because he was losing control of her. He was afraid of losing control of her, but it wasn’t his only motivation. He hadn’t denigrated Lacey or insulted Natalie. Even that blast of profanity at the end had been directed at the situation, not Natalie personally.
Would he be willing to go to marriage counseling? She guessed he would, as long as Lacey was willing to push for it, which meant a lot of individual work with Lacey before she’d have the backbone to insist. Natalie didn’t get the impression that Lacey wanted to leave Jonas. Then again, Lacey didn’t know what she wanted; she was too convinced that her own desires and thoughts were worthless.
Natalie moved out of the circle of warmth and crossed the deck toward the reception hall. Inside, she meandered through the now-larger crowd, chatting with other occupants of her office building she didn’t see often, stopping by the food tables, dipping cubes of bread into fondue, sampling a carbonated drink that tasted like passion fruit, and trying to convince herself she didn’t have to try every type of chocolate.
A hand tapped her shoulder. “They have raclette,” Camille said. “Have you tried it?”
“Is that a sport or a food?” Natalie asked.
“It’s cheese. Melted, gooey cheese. And potatoes, and I don’t know what else, but you need to try it.”
One of the servers stopped at Natalie’s side. “Excuse me. You’re Ms. Marsh?”
“Yes.”
“Felicia Radcliffe asked me to pass on a message to you. She wasn’t feeling well and decided to go home. She called a cab, so you don’t need to worry about her.”
Dismayed but not surprised that Felicia had left so early, Natalie said, “She called a cab? Where is she? I can give her a ride. She doesn’t need to pay for a taxi.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. She was already heading out the door when she gave me the message, and this was several minutes ago.”
“All right. Thank you.”
The server departed.
“Parties can be horrible,” Camille said softly. “Everybody’s having a good time, and you’re thinking about the person not there with you.”
Natalie thought of the gift she’d left at Felicia’s house. Maybe it would comfort her tonight. Sitting wrapped in a blanket, quietly absorbing poetry and watercolors, and crying whenever she wanted might be a soothing follow-up to attempting a party she’d previously attended with Wade.
“Come on.” Camille hooked her arm through Natalie’s. “I’ll direct you to the raclette.”
Chapter 11
Dandelion-yellow leaves drifted from the birch trees in Natalie’s sunny backyard, and an afternoon breeze rippled softly across her face as she opened the canister of semolina she’d set on the patio table next to the meats, vegetables, and cheeses Gideon had lined up in separate bowls.
“We’re at 705,” Gideon said, scrutinizing the thermometer on the dome-shaped pizza oven.
“Getting close.” Natalie stuck a spoon into the coarse semolina she would use to keep the pizzas from sticking to the wooden peel.
“Gotta say, Natalie, I’m excited about this.” Gideon tapped the rough mortar exterior of the oven. “After we’re done with the pizzas, what are we going to bake with all that retained heat? We could roast a pig and have a luau.”
“Unfortunately, you couldn’t fit a pig in there.”
“I’d suggest roasting a piglet, but that would sound like Winnie the Pooh took a dark turn.”
Natalie laughed. Part of her wanted to prompt Gideon to start sharing his concerns regarding Felicia; after Felicia’s abrupt departure from the party last night, Natalie was particularly worried about her. But she was reluctant to end a light conversation that included no anxiety, no loss, nothing anyone wanted her to fix. A conversation with a nice guy whose fascination with the pizza oven kept making Natalie smile. Whenever he asked a question about the oven’s construction that she couldn’t answer, he’d Google for information, then apologize for using his phone in her company and hastily ask a “tell me about yourself” question. They’d chat about her job or educational background or plans to learn to ski this winter until he would buckle to the compulsion to research firebricks, grab his phone again, and start talking about thermal mass.
“Have you used this oven in the winter?” he asked, checking the temperature again.
“I haven’t. Can I?”
“Heck yeah. You can use it year round. Wouldn’t it be great to make pizza on a snowy night?”
“Frozen pizza by the time I get it back inside. And frozen toes. Winter is not my favorite season.”
He gave her a playful, slightly goofy grin that made Natalie want to continue procrastinating the discussion of Felicia and learn more about Gideon. The urge embarrassed her; this lunch was not about socializing, let alone flirting, plus Gideon was on the rebound.
Still, she knew she’d be calling Camille this evening to confide that she suddenly had great appreciation for her backyard pizza oven. She also wanted to hear Camille’s report on last night’s flirting. Camille’s stamina at the party had outlasted Natalie’s, so they hadn’t had a chance to talk at the end. Natalie hadn’t tried to call her this morning—she’d have been sleeping in.
Had Camille read the letter from Dante yet? Natalie let that thought cling to her mind for a moment, then swatted it away. Why was she so apprehensive? Whatever the letter said, it couldn’t make her feel worse—or better—about her relationship with her mother. Could it?
“I thought you wanted to learn to ski,” Gideon said. “That involves winter.”
It took Natalie a few seconds to remember why they were talking about winter. “Maybe I should scrap that idea, and . . . volunteer as a tester for a fuzzy socks company. Or a hot-chocolate company. Unpaid, even.”
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“Selfless service,” Gideon said. “I admire your charitable attitude.”
“I’d also be willing to test space heaters, electric blankets—”
The door from the house opened. “There you are!” Andrea sauntered toward her, carrying a large white shopping bag. “Your front door was unlocked, so I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in.” She smiled at Gideon. “Hello. Sorry to interrupt.”
“This is my sister, Andrea Collier,” Natalie said. “Andrea, Gideon Radcliffe.”
Gideon shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Likewise.” The sunlight made Andrea’s smoky-quartz eyes gleam and accented the reddish highlights in her brown hair. She was dressed for Saturday errands, which for Andrea meant designer jeans and a metallic jersey-knit shirt that was probably dry-clean-only.
“Gideon is Felicia’s stepson,” Natalie said, brushing flour off her apron. “Felicia, our former neighbor.”
“Oh yes! We love Felicia. She made the best cookies when we were kids. I heard about your father’s death. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you,” Gideon said.
“His store was charming,” Andrea said. “I was there not long ago, buying a gift for Natalie—this layered skirt I knew she’d love but wouldn’t be able to buy for herself. Natalie, did I ever tell you Mom sold Mr. Radcliffe that set of wooden bracelets, the ones with the leaves and animals that Dad brought her from Africa? Remember those?”
“I remember them. No, I didn’t know she sold them to Wade.”
“Right before she died. They weren’t my style, but the craftsmanship was superb, and she didn’t want to just give them to someone else, so she invited him over to give him a chance to buy them for his store.”
Natalie maintained a cordially oblivious expression, as though she’d missed Andrea’s zinger. Someone else. Meaning Natalie, who had liked the bracelets.
“Your father was lucky to get his hands on them,” Andrea said to Gideon.
“They must have been exceptional,” Gideon said. “He rarely sold formerly owned merchandise.”
“Are you visiting Ohneka, or do you live here?” Andrea asked.
“I moved here a few weeks ago.”
“That’s great.” Andrea set her shopping bag on a patio chair. “You guys are adorable in your matching aprons. So Felicia introduced you?”
“We ran into each other at her house,” Natalie said. “I invited him to help me test this pizza oven.”
Andrea winked. “That’s a new pick-up line.”
Blushing, Natalie glanced at Gideon and found she wasn’t the only one turning red. She wanted to inform Andrea that she was misreading this but couldn’t think of a way to explain the lunch date without breaking Gideon’s confidence. She didn’t want to talk about his concerns in front of Andrea. Despite Andrea’s “we love her,” she’d had no contact with Felicia in years, and her only contact with Wade had been shopping at MaryLisa’s. She hadn’t attended his funeral.
“How is Charlotte?” Natalie changed the subject.
“Absolutely darling. You need to come see her—she’s almost crawling.” Andrea opened her shopping bag. “I’ll keep this quick and get out of your hair. I was sorting through my autumn clothes and culled some things I don’t wear anymore. Before I donate them, I want to see if you’d like to claim anything.”
“That’s sweet, but I’m fine for fall clothes . . .” Natalie tried to keep the words coming, but Andrea was holding up a cranberry-red boiled-wool jacket with a chic ruffled collar.
She passed the jacket to Natalie. “This would look great on you.”
“I . . . Andrea . . . I don’t need—”
Andrea pulled a forest-green cashmere cardigan out of the bag. “That skirt I gave you last winter would be perfect with this.”
“I don’t—” Natalie ended up with the sweater in her hand.
A wide sparkling smile on her face, Andrea pulled a dress out of the bag and held it up. “Gideon, wouldn’t Natalie look fantastic in this cerulean blue?”
Gideon got an uncomfortable, cornered-by-girl-talk expression on his face. “Uh, yes, she’d look great.”
Natalie shot Andrea a needle-sharp glare. “I doubt Gideon—”
“The knit fabric is so comfortable. Perfect dress for you to wear to work, and isn’t the belt darling with that gold mesh?” Andrea draped the dress over Natalie’s shoulder and reached into the bag.
When the bag was finally empty, the only things Natalie had successfully refused were two pairs of jeans—she didn’t like the style—boots with heels so high she’d put her life at risk if she wore them, and a maroon silk evening gown. The only time she wore a formal dress was to the Chapman soiree, which wouldn’t come for another year, and she already had two hand-me-down gowns in her closet that she hadn’t worn yet.
“I’ll let you get back to your lunch.” Andrea repacked the rejected clothes. “Great to meet you, Gideon. Say hi to Felicia for me.”
“I will.”
“And snap some pictures of Natalie in her cute new clothes, okay? She never wears the clothes I give her around me, so I need proof they aren’t going to waste.”
“Uh . . . that’s . . . uh . . . up to Natalie.”
“I’ll walk you out, Andrea.” Carrying the pile of clothes, Natalie started toward the door. To her relief, her sister followed.
Once she and Andrea were inside with the door closed, Natalie freed her irritation. “For heaven’s sake, give the guy a break. We barely know each other, and you’re badgering him into complimenting me and taking pictures.”
“Don’t be shy. It’s obvious you like each other. How long have you been seeing him?”
“I’m not ‘seeing’ him in that way.” She walked with Andrea toward the living room. “Like I said, we just met.”
“He’s decent looking. Polite. Might be your best option. What does he do for a living?”
“He’s a civil engineer. He works for the city.” Natalie laid her new clothes on the couch, ignoring the gibe about her “best option.” “Thank you for the clothes.”
“Keep me posted.” Andrea opened the front door. “I hope you manage to hook him. You’d be so much better off with a man in your life.”
“Have a good afternoon,” Natalie said flatly.
“See ya.” Andrea exited and shut the door.
Natalie eyed the pile of clothes on the couch, wanting to berate herself but knowing it would be healthier to shrug and laugh. Andrea offered hand-me-downs a few times a year, and Natalie always tried to refuse but ended up caving as Andrea tempted her with stylish, nearly new clothing. The plain fact was that Natalie couldn’t afford anything as nice as the clothing Andrea gave her.
The plain fact was that Andrea wanted to slam that truth into Natalie’s gut over and over.
In the backyard, Gideon was checking the oven temperature.
“I’m sorry,” Natalie said when she reached him. “My sister is . . . herself.”
“Hey, free clothes,” Gideon said. “That’s always a win.”
“True.” She knew Andrea had reveled in having Gideon as an audience for her generosity, and Natalie had no desire to explain the emotional undercurrents that tainted Andrea’s giving of gifts. Then again, Gideon might already have some idea of the issues, depending on what Felicia had told him.
He stepped away from the oven. “Should we take a picture of ourselves in our adorable matching aprons? You can text it to your sister.”
“I’m sorry for all that nonsense.”
“I don’t mind. Truth is this is the coolest apron I’ve ever worn.” He tapped the image of a smiling human brain on the front of it. “This elegance ought to be immortalized.”
“A grad-school friend made them for a fund-raiser.” Natalie sat at the patio table and fiddled with the canister of semolina, frustrated that she was having difficulty climbing out of the pit of emotions a run-of-the-mill interaction with Andrea had dug. She tried to think of something light to
say. What had they been talking about before Andrea had barged in?
Gideon pulled out a chair and sat next to her. “Your brain apron would look great with that cerulean dress.” He held up his phone. “If you want to try it on, I’m ready to record the proof.”
“Like proof of a Bigfoot sighting,” Natalie said. “Proof of me wearing Andrea’s clothes. I actually do wear them regularly, but if I know I’m going to see her, I choose something else. If I wear something of hers, she can’t stop commenting on it, telling me where she bought it, how much she paid for it, and why the quality is superior to anything I’ve ever bought.”
“Ah. Fun game. Let me try it.” Gideon stretched his legs out. “These are Levi’s. Classic 501s. I bought them on sale at JCPenney for maybe thirty-five bucks. They’re made of denim, which is made of cotton, which, in my case, is superior cotton because it’s been seasoned by all the salsa I’ve spilled in my lap.”
Natalie laughed. “Well done. Text that to Andrea.”
“Does she live in town?”
“She’s about forty-five minutes away, in Birch Falls. Do you have brothers or sisters?”
“I don’t, unfortunately. When I was a toddler, my mother had her first bout with cancer, and the treatment left her unable to have more kids.”
“How old were you when she died?”
“Sixteen.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“She’d been sick for years. It was rough. Horrible for Dad, horrible for both of us. He met Felicia a year later. Met her here in Ohneka at some small-business-owners event.”
“Where were you living at the time?”
“Rochester area. Fairport. That’s where I grew up. Dad worked in merchandising for a clothing chain, but he and Mom had always wanted to start their own little store. After she died, he decided to go for it, in her honor. That’s why the store is named MaryLisa’s—MaryLisa is my mother.”
“That’s a beautiful tribute. How did he choose Ohneka as the location?”
“He’d always liked it here—his family used to vacation at the lake. And when he found that prime spot on Main Street up for rent, he jumped on it. But he didn’t want to make me switch high schools, so he commuted for the first couple of years. So did Felicia, for that matter. They got married at the beginning of my senior year, and she came to live with us in Fairport.” He picked a splinter of bark off the front of his apron and flicked it onto the grass. “Sorry to steal her from you.”
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