by Nancy Thayer
Bella made a face. “I don’t want to leave this area. I have a new appreciation of it after being away for a few years. Plus, I don’t want to leave my family. I want to watch my sister’s children grow up. When I have my children, I want my family around me. I don’t want to be way out in California.”
Natalie rolled her eyes impatiently. If she ever found a man she loved who loved her back, she’d move anywhere with him.
Morgan was more sympathetic. Softly, she analyzed the situation. “Which is harder? To have a family you don’t love or a family you love too much to leave?”
“Um, there are these things called airplanes,” Natalie told Bella. “They take you places, like from here to California.”
Bella rolled her eyes. “I realize that. But what if my children are sick and I need my family to come over and help me fix dinner and rock the baby?”
“Bella.” Natalie spoke in a sensible tone. “You don’t have any children yet. Maybe by the time you do, Aaron will have a job back on the East Coast.”
Bella shook her head. “Aaron wants to be with a big firm building skyscrapers. Skyscrapers near Dragonfly Lake? I don’t think so. What about you, Natalie? You moved here from New York. Do you have a man back in the city waiting for you?”
Natalie tossed back the bit of pink liquid from the bottom of her glass. “Nope. No such luck. Believe me, Bella, I’d love to be in your situation. I haven’t had very good luck with men. I don’t know if I ever will.”
“Well, you are kind of scary,” Bella told her.
“Well, hey, Bella.” Natalie laughed. “Have some more daiquiri!”
Morgan snorted.
Bella tried to explain: “All black and sharp points and so serious. You look so edgy.”
“Sharp points?” Natalie asked.
“You’re a size zero!” Bella explained.
“Hardly. Size six. And you should talk. You really are a size zero.”
“Ladies.” Morgan held out her hands. “It’s not about size. Look at me. I’m tall, I’m broad-shouldered, and Josh adores me. It’s about meeting the right man, and frankly, Natalie, how can you meet anyone when you’re stuck in your studio all day and night?”
Natalie straightened defiantly. “Maybe I don’t want to meet a man, okay? Maybe I don’t want to get married and have children. Maybe I don’t want to believe a man when he says he loves me, and then he leaves me, and leaves my children, and never sees them again, and doesn’t care if they live or die, and they grow up feeling worthless.”
Bella and Morgan were silent.
After a moment, Morgan tried to lighten the atmosphere. “What did you put in these drinks?”
Natalie waved her hands. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring you all down. It’s jealousy, Bella. Your family is so great. Our father walked out on us when I was one. I haven’t seen him since. Haven’t heard from him. I did see how it warped my mother. All she cares about is her bulldogs. Not to mention how it turned my brother into a psychopath.”
“Your brother’s a psychopath?” Bella asked, eyes wide.
“No, of course not. He’s just kind of turned to stone. It does something to you, you know, when you’re a child and your father phones and tells you he’s going to come see you and take you with him for a day or two, and then doesn’t show up or even call with an excuse. Our father used to call Slade—never me, he only was interested in his son—and tell Slade he’d pick him up some afternoon. Slade would get all dressed in his cleanest clothes. He’d comb his hair, even, because Mom wouldn’t do it for him. ‘He’s not going to come,’ Mom would say. ‘Don’t be a fool, Slade.’ Slade was nine years old. He’d stand out at the end of the driveway, watching for Dad’s car. We lived out in the country, hardly any cars passed, but when they did, I could see Slade rise up on his toes, his neck craning to see the driver. Then the car would go past, and Slade’s shoulders would slump. He’d stand out there until it got completely dark. Our father promised to come for him at least five times, and he never came. Not once.”
“Poor little boy,” Morgan said softly.
“Poor you,” Bella added.
Natalie shook her head impatiently. “We’re okay. I shouldn’t sound so pathetic. Slade is supersmart. Got a full scholarship to B.U., went there for two years, then dropped out to work full-time with an antiques dealer on Newbury Street. He restores furniture—the more valuable, the better the challenge. He makes a decent living and has a new girlfriend every month.”
“How old is he?” Morgan asked.
“Thirty-five.”
“Does he want to get married and have a family?”
Natalie chuckled. “Slade? Slade hasn’t committed to a girl or a woman in his life. He doesn’t have to. He’s drop-dead sexy and couldn’t care less about anyone but himself.” She shuddered. “Enough about him. Bella, tell me about Ben.”
“Well … I guess he’s kind of like Slade.”
Natalie rolled her eyes. “Believe me, no one’s like Slade.”
Bella explained, “I mean, Ben’s in his thirties, he doesn’t have a partner, he’s supersmart, and he’s kind of noncommunicative. He’s obsessed with his work.”
“It’s about fuel. Energy. He told me,” Natalie said. “Josh said Ben’s work is important.”
“You’re right,” Bella agreed. “It’s just that he’s so different from me. And from my older sister, Beatrice, and my younger brother, Brady. We’re all social, like Mom and Dad. We talk all the time, we like people, we’re extroverted. Ben’s so interior.”
Natalie thought, I can understand that; as an artist, I feel that way a lot. She began, “I can—”
Morgan said it first. “I can understand that. I’m a scientist, too. What I work with is often a life-or-death matter. When I focus on my work, I really dig in.”
“Okay,” Bella argued, “but you’re capable of compartmentalizing your work and also paying attention to other things.”
“Perhaps that’s only because I’m not working now,” Morgan pointed out. “I don’t have anything work-related to demand I use my brain. I do read articles online, when I find the time, but basically my brain’s filled with a speed-demon toddler and a husband who expects me to act like ‘the little woman’ for his boss.”
“Hey, I envy you,” Bella said. “I’d love to have a husband and a toddler.”
“You’re almost there,” Natalie assured her. “You’re in love with Aaron.”
“Oh, and would that be the Aaron who wants to move to California?” Bella’s remark brought them full circle.
Suddenly the roar and sputter of an engine assaulted their ears like a chain saw cutting through the front walls.
“What’s that?” Bella asked.
“Oh God,” Natalie moaned. “Slade’s motorcycle.”
A moment later, the front door opened and heavy, masculine footsteps came toward them down the hall.
“Hey, Natalie. Hello, everyone.” Slade stood there, every adolescent girl’s dream in his tight black jeans and heavy black boots. His glossy black hair, straight as a Cherokee’s, fell to his collar. Slade was tall, thin, and terrifyingly handsome, with a two-day beard of black bristles giving him a pirate’s exotic allure.
Natalie wanted to pound her head on the table. Several times. This always happened! Her friends always went gaga over Slade. Right now both Bella and Morgan were recovering from their first jaw-dropped, goggle-eyed reaction, segueing immediately into the female primate mating pose Slade provoked. Their eyes widened, their eyelashes fluttered, their posture changed so that their chests stuck out, and they smiled like a pair of pointy-breasted models from a 1950s calendar, ready to make his dinner and bring him a drink.
Slade kissed Natalie on top of her head and dropped into a chair across from her, his long legs in the black denim irresistibly attractive. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”
Natalie waved her hand briefly. “Bella, Morgan, this is my brother, Slade. What are you doing here?�
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“I came to see you, of course. You’ve invited me several times. What are you drinking?”
Bella answered first, her voice breathy. “Strawberry daiquiris. Would you like one?” She half rose from her chair.
“Thanks, Bella.” Slade could always remember a woman’s name. “I’d prefer a beer if Natalie has any.”
“I’ll get it.” Natalie rose and went into the kitchen.
“Did you come from Boston?” Morgan asked.
“Concord. About an hour out of Boston. Took me just over an hour to get here.”
“How long are you staying?” Bella was almost panting.
Slade shrugged. “Depends on how long Nat will put up with me. The weather’s so great, I just jumped on my bike without any plan at all. I wouldn’t mind staying here for the weekend, doing some hiking, now that it’s getting warm.” He took the beer Natalie offered him. “Thanks, Sis.”
“The weather’s supposed to be great all weekend,” Morgan announced.
“Yes!” Bella agreed, nodding eagerly. “Even warmer than today!”
“Well, then. Do you have room for me for the weekend, Nat?” Slade asked.
“You know there’s always room for you here,” Natalie assured her brother, because, after all, he was her brother, even if he did turn her friends into thirteen-year-olds who thought he was Justin Bieber. Deep in her heart, locked in a box sealed inside a casket tied up with ropes knotted a thousand times, hid the hope that someday Slade would actually feel love from another person and return that love in truth and in fidelity.
Of course, she hoped that for herself, too.
Slade sat on a chair at the end of the group, the beer in his hand. He took his sunglasses off, exposing his indigo-blue eyes with their thick black lashes.
“We’ve just moved in next door,” Morgan gushed. “My husband, Josh, works for the new business, Bio-Green, right on the other side of Amherst.”
Slade said, “Cool.”
Morgan continued, “We’ve got a little boy, Petey. He’s just over a year old.”
“He’s adorable!” Natalie added. “He’s got the fattest thighs!”
“Fat thighs. Nice.” Slade’s voice wasn’t sarcastic; if anything, it was ultrapolite.
Bella’s voice had gone husky. “I live next door. On that side. I think we might have seen you sometimes in the summer? When you and Natalie came to visit your aunt Eleanor?”
“Possible.” He took a swig of beer.
“I should put Petey to bed.” Morgan rose from the sofa.
Slade moved. “Hey. Don’t leave because of me,” he protested. He put his beer on the table. “I’ll take a walk around the lake.”
“No, really,” Morgan insisted. “I’ve got to help Josh.” She turned to Natalie and hugged her. “This was great! We’ll do it at my house next time.”
Bella reluctantly rose. “I should go, too.” She hugged Natalie, waved to Slade, and went out the door.
3
What was wrong with her? Bella wondered as she drove toward her mother’s shop. She was irritable and critical and edgy. She could call it spring fever, but it was June, the air thick with summer humidity and the sky an endless blue.
Of course, she knew exactly what was wrong with her: Natalie. Sophisticated, chic, citified Natalie. Bella liked Natalie, and Natalie was nice to her, so why did Bella feel so uncomfortable around her? Why did Natalie make Bella feel so lame?
Last night had been great fun, drinking those daiquiris with Natalie and Morgan. There hadn’t been much alcohol in them, and what there was was soaked up by the cheese, crackers, nuts, and olives Natalie had set out, so this morning when Bella woke, she hadn’t had the slightest hint of a hangover. So it wasn’t the booze that conjured up the instant sense of camaraderie among the three of them.
Except they weren’t old friends, and something about last night had gotten Bella’s hair on backward this morning. Was it Natalie’s art? Natalie had real talent. Her still lifes were better than her abstracts, or maybe Bella thought that because she didn’t get abstract art. Natalie had rushed them out of the studio before they could study any of her work, but Bella had had time to be impressed.
Natalie had her art. Morgan had her science. And Bella had … this?
Barnaby’s Barn sat next to the road, with space for cars off to the side so the charming façade wouldn’t be obscured. Bella parked. Instead of walking straight to the front door, she crossed the road and allowed herself a moment to stand considering the shop’s appearance, trying to see it with a fresh eye.
The barn was white clapboard. The windows were framed by blue shutters with cutout hearts. The Dutch door was blue, and blue window boxes were filled with real flowers in the summer and giant Louise-made striped lollipops and gingerbread people in the winter. Slate steps led in a crooked path from the parking lot to the blue front door. When she was a girl, Bella had believed the place was enchanted.
Her mother had created a magical universe. Louise had delighted in crafting Lake Worlds and seeing children enter the shop—the way their eyes widened with happy surprise.
That was sixteen years ago. These days, Louise didn’t seem to have the same enthusiasm for making the miniature worlds or for running the shop. Barnaby’s Barn was showing definite evidence of decline.
Was there anything Bella could do to fix the situation? She crossed the road and the raked gravel of the parking lot, unlocked the blue door, and stepped inside. It was adorable.
The ceiling was a pale sky blue, the walls a sunny yellow, the floor tiled in light green. Louise had painted enormous tulips and daisies, smiling cows, and leaping lambs on the four walls, and wind chimes and mobiles hung from the ceiling, tinkling and glimmering whenever the door opened. The display cases for the Lake Worlds were the first thing you saw when you entered, and other cases were set around not in rows but at odd angles, making the entire space a kind of maze. Shauna Webb’s handmade pottery was sold here, with a special “Cow Jumped over the Moon” set for children. Elizabeth Lodge’s handmade, embroidered, and smocked children’s clothing shared a case with Lorelei Jenkens’s hand-knit cashmere blankets and soft cotton baby clothes. Jim Harrington built cradles for real babies and smaller ones for dolls; he carved hearts and flowers and other designs into them and sold them here along with high chairs and stools. A sweet older woman named Lucy Lattimer made stuffed dolls with stitched faces and Victorian milkmaid dresses. These seldom sold. Louise had no idea why, and she felt so bad about it, she always bought two or three a year to give as gifts, and told Lucy customers had bought them. In one corner was a playhouse complete with table, chairs, sink, stove, and tea set, where customers’ children could occupy themselves while their parents shopped.
Bella dropped her purse in the back room, grabbed a spray container of glass cleaner and a roll of paper towels, and began to polish the display cases. Outside, the day was golden with sunshine. She’d be surprised if she had any customers. Everyone would be out enjoying the good weather.
Bella didn’t mind working. Her mother had made other plans, and Bella was glad Louise could take a break. Anyway, Bella had always enjoyed running the shop. It allowed her a chance to dream a bit, to remember. She was not drawn to the dolls or blankets or even the Lake Worlds. No, it was the furniture displaying the objects for sale that drew her eye and filled her with an enigmatic pleasure.
Her father’s family, the Barnabys, had come over from England around the turn of the twentieth century, bringing with them most of their furniture. As a child, Bella had spent her happiest hours roaming through her grandparents’ house, hiding inside the gargoyle cabinet when playing hide-and-seek with her older sister and brother, or reclining on a velvet, claw-footed settee, reading Sherlock Holmes while rain streaked down the windows. A magnificent “bench” stood in her grandparents’ front hall, soaring almost to the ceiling, built from dark walnut; intricately carved with scrolls, leaves, and berries; inlaid with ivory cherubs floating upward along
the back of the bench and around a beveled glass mirror. Her grandparents had perched there to remove their rain or snow boots, then lifted the bench’s lid and stashed the boots inside. That had been a good place for hide-and-seek, too. Armoires, desks, vanities, chairs—all the furniture in the house had a Secret Garden kind of feeling about it that Bella loved.
And that was what it was—for Bella, each piece of antique furniture was like a novel, rich with layers of history, the patina, chips, and scratches all bearing witness to lives full of adventure, mystery, desire, and drama played out by people she’d never met. Bella daydreamed about what those drawers had once held: lace handkerchiefs, lawn “waists,” cravats and watch fobs, straw boaters, tiaras, jewelry, face powder, and tucked beneath it all, she was certain, love letters. With just one piece of antique furniture in a room, the room was connected to endless histories.
Long ago, when Louise started her shop, she’d asked her in-laws if she could use a few pieces for display purposes, and they had readily agreed. “Old elephants gathering dust,” Bella’s grandmother called them. When her grandparents died, they left everything to Bella’s parents, who promptly put most of the antique furniture into a storage unit, sold the old Victorian in Northampton, and used the money from the house to pay for college tuition for their three oldest children.
Her parents thought the furniture was too dark and impractical. They filled their own home with light, bright, easy furnishings that children could bump their plastic fire trucks into without Louise worrying about damage. In Barnaby’s Barn, Louise had mixed a few pieces of the most useful old furniture with inexpensive tables she’d found on sale at Target or Walmart. The furniture didn’t matter to Louise; it was the displays that counted for her.
But the furniture mattered to Bella. She loved those old elephants. When Bella was in college, she’d taken a few courses in interior design and art history, although she’d had no real idea what sort of job this might lead to. She was well aware of her father’s unspoken hope that one of his children would follow his lead and become a teacher. Her older sister, Beatrice, had married young and now had three children. Ben had gone into science, and her younger brother, Brady, also seemed a scientific type, when he didn’t seem like a typical loopy adolescent. Bella was fond of children and she worshipped her father, so in her junior year she declared her major in education and became a third-grade teacher. Teaching had been pleasant enough, but for her it wasn’t the passion that it was for others.