She ignores me. For such a well-trained, eager-to-please dog, she’s developed a stubborn streak recently. She gallops in pursuit of the lone walker, and I already know that it’s Merry. I can tell because of how determined Chaser is to catch up with her.
I confess that I have become a little partial to Merry as well. Especially her cooking, but her smile hasn’t escaped my notice. It’s hard not to appreciate an attractive woman who delivers delicious food to your door on a daily basis. If I were another man, in another phase of his life, I might chase after her on the beach, too. But of course I’m me, and it’s now, and so any ideas of romance are out of the question.
“Chaser!” I call again.
The wind is with my yell, and Merry turns around. Chaser is already beside her.
Instead of ignoring my dog, which would help my efforts, Merry hugs and pets her. She smiles and waves to me, then turns around to continue her walk. Chaser stays by her side like they belong together.
I would go after them to teach Chaser that she can’t just run off to anyone she wants anytime she feels like it. I don’t think Merry would like to see me scold her four-legged friend, though, even if I had the time to do it.
I must finish reviewing the final Langdon Logistics proposal in the next hour or we’ll miss our deadline for consideration. Martin spent months planning the details of this project, which would keep our staff busy and avoid the layoffs that have been looming over us like an ugly storm cloud. I’ve spent the last few weeks putting my stamp on the design. I’m just triple-checking the figures to make sure it’s airtight.
I haven’t had time to surf since the night Chaser introduced me to Merry. I also don’t like the idea that she and Fritz might watch and fret from next door. I need fewer people worrying about me, not more.
I pour myself another cup of coffee to try to make up for my restless night. Katie has been absent from my dreams for weeks now, no matter how much I have pleaded for her. Sleep eventually comes, but she doesn’t. I miss her so much that I wake up aching.
I came to this island, to this house, because we had made some of our best memories here. I stayed because Katie became real to me through the long nights that made the days bearable, only because they were followed by more nights. If she doesn’t return to my dreams, there will be no reason for me to stay.
Chicago, with all its pain and chaos, doesn’t feel like home now either.
I don’t know where else I could go. Maybe there is no place for me anymore.
I finish checking the proposal and send it out via e-mail ten minutes before Jaycee’s deadline. She plans to hand-deliver it to the client over dinner. I know this, along with the facts that her nanny’s car is in the shop, her microwave broke last night in the middle of popcorn, and her son Graham’s cold didn’t keep him from scoring four points in his kindergarten-league basketball game yesterday.
It had made me dizzy for a second, listening to so much evidence of a real person’s real life, in which she interacts with other real people out in the real world. In my isolation, it’s easy to forget that the rest of society just continues on in the absence of Katie and me.
I hear footsteps on the exterior stairs and look up to see a windblown Merry standing on my deck, with Chaser beside her.
The house is a complete shambles. Instead of opening the door and inviting Merry inside, which seems like the polite thing to do, I step out and close the door behind me.
My arrangement with Merry, by design, hasn’t involved interaction. She brings my daily bread in the middle of my workday. She comes around to the front of the house, puts food inside the cooler that now lives on the stoop, and rings the bell to let me know it’s there.
I hired her to feed me after she woke up my taste buds with her bag of free samples. When I called the number on her menu and spoke with her about her cost and my convenience, I told her not to wait for me to answer the door when she makes her deliveries. I explained that, more often than not, I would be in an Internet meeting or on the phone when she came by. She leaves a bill with her Thursday deliveries, and I put a check in the cooler on Fridays.
Sometimes I step outside a minute after I hear the bell. I yell, “Thanks,” and wave just as she’s at her own front door, to be civil, and to see her smile. After three weeks of eating food she’s made with her own two hands and brought to me like a present, I’m starting to feel bad that I haven’t really spoken to her since the night we met.
Chaser seems determined for us to become friends. She races up to Merry on the beach every chance she gets. Tonight, apparently, she went so far as to lure Merry home.
“Your dog is a sweet walking partner.”
Merry’s accent is mellow and soothing. She takes her time with words like sweet and partner.
“I told her to go on home after our walk, but she wouldn’t. So I thought I’d better bring her up. I wanted to make sure she made it back to you safe and sound.”
My filthy house makes inviting Merry in for a drink impossible, along with about a thousand other reasons…or one. Chaser dances a full circle around her, though, as if she doesn’t see any reason why we can’t just bring her new best friend inside. She stares unblinkingly at Merry, like she expects her to throw a Frisbee at any moment.
“Why is this dog so taken with you?” I ask. “You must be feeding her.”
Merry blushes.
I realize what I just said and feel stupid and hopeless. I sounded like I used to, back in my dating days, when I was an artless old flirt. That was a lifetime ago.
I look down at the deck floor, which is sandy from neglectful care. I look at Chaser, who hasn’t had a bath, or even a brushing, since we came here.
Merry pushes back her hair.
“Was today’s lasagna dry when y’all warmed it up?” she asks. “I should’ve told you to leave it in the oven five minutes less than I wrote. I hope it wasn’t too dry.”
Merry not only feeds me better than I have ever eaten, she writes out instructions on how to perfectly enjoy the day’s offerings. She often puts a joke or a quote into her warm-up notes, always something that makes me smile or think. When I saw she wasn’t Mary, but Merry, it just fit. I’ve never told her that I enjoy those little extras, but she keeps it up anyway.
“Dry?” I ask. “No. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything so good.”
It’s true. The memory of tonight’s lasagna, along with Merry’s prolonged smile, makes me pause.
“There was a dead pelican up a ways that Chaser was fixing to roll in. But when I told her no, she came right back to me. She’s a good girl.”
That’s what Katie always called her. Good, good girl.
I pet Chaser on the head, feeling sick and empty inside.
“Well, now that she’s back at home, I’ll say goodnight,” Merry says, already walking away.
Chapter Fourteen
IN WHICH FRITZ AND UNCLE MAX ARGUE CURIOUSLY
As told by Merry, the peacemaker wannabe
“Will you be stopping by a store while you’re out, by chance?” Uncle Max asks. He just came back inside from having a smoke on the deck.
“Yes, sir. What can I get you?”
He hands me a list:
Hemorrhoid cream
Cigarettes
“Sure, no problem. Can you wait until later for these things, or should I make a quick run now?” I do the math and have just enough time. I made extra cookies and rolls to send to Mom and Grandma in Peaksy Falls, so I need to drop a box by the post office, too. I tucked an extra bag in there for the little ladies to bring to Missy Hancock; I know Mom and Grandma are just itching to see her babies again, but need an excuse to push them over their natural shyness.
“Later will be fine,” Uncle Max says. He checks to see if the coast is clear. “I would have asked Fritz, but he’s in a foul mood again this morning. He was the most cheerful boy…” Uncle Max looks off into the distance, as if he’s watching a nice memory play out like an old home m
ovie. Then he frowns. “But he started to have gloomy moods as a teenager. Not often, you know, only when he felt pressured, around exam time and suchlike. He hasn’t been quite the same since his mother died.” Uncle Max shakes his head solemnly.
“I didn’t know you two knew each other so well. You said you weren’t really close with your brother, and since Fritz lived with him…”
Uncle Max picks up one of the muffins cooling on the counter and takes a large bite.
Fritz sniffs from the top of the stairs behind me. I hadn’t heard him come up.
“Right,” he says. “Well, this Mr. Pershing was around quite a lot over the years, and we became acquainted. He with my ‘gloomy moods,’ and me with his, his, shall we say personality?”
“By ‘personality,’ you mean all my faults,” Uncle Max says, looking stricken.
I suppose they’re both still in mourning over my dad. It must’ve been really hard for Uncle Max to lose a brother and for Fritz to lose a father figure. They’re probably each trying to deal with it. I’m sort of jealous, in a weird way, that they knew my dad well enough to miss him so much.
“We must be boring you, Merry,” Uncle Max says.
He looks older and more worn out than he did when he first came into the room. His cough is downright scary at times, and he gets pale and sort of grayish. Whenever I ask any questions about how he’s feeling, he calls Poppycock! When Fritz makes him take his medicine, Uncle Max calls him a Henpecker.
“Y’all can have a nice long chat any time you want, and don’t worry about me,” I say, trying to smooth things over.
I have really taken a shine to both of these men. Uncle Max is easy because he compliments my cooking till I blush. But I care a whole lot for Fritz, too.
I’ve got to focus on work now. I’m catering a school board meeting today. It’s not a huge job, but I’m happy to have it. The lady who hired me has a daughter graduating from high school this spring, and she peppered me with questions about doing food for a hundred guests at the graduation party.
I also got a call out of the blue from somebody who liked my Asian pasta salad and ginger cookie samples. She asked if I can do an anniversary party for seventy-five guests in July.
I wish I could, but I just can’t agree to do the big parties until I know that I’ll be here to follow through on them. It wouldn’t be right to take on work that far ahead, not knowing if I’ll even be here. I might get kicked out long beforehand.
If I’m still here, though, I’d love those jobs. I’d have to hire some part-time help and invest in some bigger warming trays and other supplies. I’m already making a list, just in case.
I was supposed to get my fourth task this morning, but I don’t want to bug Fritz for it right now. He’s frowning toward Uncle Max, who’s gone out on the deck to have another smoke.
Suddenly Uncle Max turns and knocks on the patio door. “Dolphins!” he shouts.
My uncle Max and I are in synch about the ocean: we both love it and stare out there any old chance we get. We especially love spotting dolphins. I never, ever get sick of the sight. A day hasn’t passed without seeing some, but it somehow feels new and fresh every time.
“Come on, Fritz. Dolphins!” I say on my way out to watch the show.
He shakes his head. “Go ahead. You two can enjoy them well enough without me.”
Fritz has paperwork spread out all over the kitchen table by the time I’m packed up and ready to go set up for the school board meeting.
“What’re you working on?” I ask as I tape up the Peaksy Falls ladies’ care package and slip Jack’s instructions into his bag.
I always like to add little notes. Today in Jack’s I added a quote by Abraham Lincoln I had noticed at the printer’s shop. I liked it so well that I also wrote it out neatly and hung it in the corner of my bathroom mirror. It says: Whatever you are, be a good one. Inspiring, right?
Fritz sighs. “I’m paying bills for Mr. Pershing’s London house and reviewing bids to get it ready to sell. It needs to have some painting done, and so forth, so that it’s in tip-top shape.”
“So it’s going to be sold soon?”
“I still don’t know for certain when I should have it listed, as the papers haven’t been made available to me, which is rather a pain in my ass. An additional pain.” He rubs his eyes like he’s fixing to take them right out. “If you’re hoping to inherit it, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. I expect the directions will be to sell it and divide the proceeds among Mr. Pershing’s favorite charities. I don’t think any of that money will go to you.”
“Good,” I say.
“Good?” he asks, like he must’ve heard wrong.
“Well, I admit it was a welcome shock when you showed up and said I might have an inheritance coming. If I could earn it, that is. Especially now that I know the money could help my mom and grandma and Aunt Betty, I really hope I can make it through to the finish line. But this house and that money would be more than I ever dreamed of having.”
“Of course,” Fritz says. “That’s precious. I almost forgot you are perpetually playing the part of a Disney princess, always kind and fair and looking on the bright side. Bloody hell.”
I ignore his comments. I feel bad that he’s determined to be angry all the time. I heard him arguing with Victor last night on the phone. I wasn’t trying to listen, but I could hear. I was still up because I’d just had a similar conversation with Phil. He seems to have decided that since charming me back hasn’t worked, he’ll go ahead and try bullying me instead.
“I just hope that my dad left you something you cared about, Fritz. I can tell you loved him and that you were very good to him. You’re still being good to him—more than he probably deserved—putting up with me and being away from home and all.”
Fritz doesn’t look up from his papers, but his jaw tightens, and I can guess the answer.
I want to believe that my father was a great man. I want to think that the quirks and failings Fritz likes to sum up in funny stories just go to show that he was on the eccentric side, but still had a big heart and a big soul.
But then some kernel of information comes along to make me wonder. Like him insulting his sweet brother Max in his letters or not leaving anything to Fritz. I want to believe my dad was kind, and I wish every clue pointed that way.
“Want me to rent us a movie for later?” I ask. “You like Disney ones, you said?” I tease.
He doesn’t look up as he replies. “If you’ll stay with the old man tonight, I think I’ll go into the city for some fresh air.”
“Sure, no problem,” I say. I place Jack’s bag and the ladies’ postage box on top of the cooler before I pick it up and begin to haul it downstairs.
I confess that our neighbor Jack has been on my mind all morning. Probably on account of how I saw him up close last night and talked to him for a while on his deck. Maybe my dad’s nudging me toward him from the grave, too. Anyhow, I took bread from the oven while thinking of Jack. I thought of him while washing fruit and dicing vegetables. The dolphins swimming by made me think of the night he was out there in the deep water. I kind of wish I could say a few words to him this morning, in person.
But even if I want to, I know I won’t see Jack when I drop off his food. I’ll just have to leave it in the cooler, as usual, because that man is never going to invite me in.
I don’t pull back into my space in the garage until eight o’clock, which is a lot later than I had planned. I got a last-minute call about catering an office party tomorrow, so I had to shop at the big grocery store in the city to get everything I’ll need.
I left a message on Fritz’s phone about what they should eat for dinner, since I wouldn’t be there in time to serve them myself. Now I’m looking at several hours of work before I can shut my eyes. But that’s OK; I’m inching closer to officially breaking even and getting my first task checked off. And, maybe more importantly in a way, I’m learning that I really can run my own business!
Phil didn’t send any messages today. I felt bad about our fight last night and kind of hoped he’d call or maybe send a sweet love note, but all I have are empty inboxes. Phil has been so familiar for so long that I suppose it’s hard to not hear from him. Even a lumpy old pillow still feels good to rest your head on, especially if it’s that or nothing. In Mom’s last letter, she said they haven’t seen hide nor hair of him for the past week.
When I hand over his bag with the cigarettes and cream in it, Uncle Max pulls a face that says I’m in big trouble. I look at the sofa to see Fritz sitting with his arms folded across his chest like he’s spitting mad.
“What?” I ask as I unload the other bags I hauled up the three flights of stairs and hefted onto the counter.
Fritz doesn’t answer.
It takes me a minute before I recall that I told him I’d stay here tonight so he could go out.
“Oh shoot, Fritz! I’m sorry I’m later than I thought I’d be. It seems like you could’ve left without me, though. You’d have been fine here, wouldn’t you, Uncle Max?”
“I told Fritz that. I told him I didn’t need a babysitter because I have a lingering cold. But he wouldn’t listen.”
“Don’t wait up,” Fritz mutters on his way down the stairs.
I go to the stairwell and call after him, “I’m sorry! I’ll make it up to you.”
I feel just awful about having ruined his night.
I finish carrying up and putting away all the groceries before I finally can give in to Uncle Max’s begging for an extra piece of chocolate cake. First I drizzle chocolate sauce on the plate in a flower pattern. Then I set the slice carefully in the center, shave dark chocolate over the top, and sprinkle a little powdered sugar. This is just how he likes it. I drape a napkin over his lap to protect his clothes and serve it to him in his chair, along with his whiskey and a glass of milk.
Help Yourself Page 14