I crossed the street and followed my nose. The yeasty aroma of fresh-baked bread teased me along, right to the door of Katie’s Bakery. I have a weakness for fresh bread, and I emerged a few minutes later with a sourdough ba guette and a loaf of whole wheat. It would go stale before I could eat it all, but I couldn’t decide which one I wanted, so I bought both.
I walked a couple more blocks, glancing in store windows, taking stock of what had changed and what had stayed the same. I’d been back in Pine Ridge a couple months, but I had holed up in my rented house and concentrated on putting my life back together. I hadn’t really explored my old hometown, and it was both strange and familiar at the same time.
I crossed back over, strolling along the sidewalk. The drugstore and the fabric shop were where I remembered them, but there was a vacant store front between them, its window papered over, leaving only a sliver of the room visible.
I stopped and peered into the narrow gap in the paper, looking for a clue to jog my memory about what had been there.
The empty space didn’t trigger any memories, but as I stood there, the bread warm under my arm, I did remember something.
Tuesday afternoons, after school. Tuesday was rye day at the bakery, and it had been my responsibility to pick up a loaf after school for my father’s ham sandwiches. Dad had loved rye bread, the heavier and darker the better.
I would come out of the bakery, a loosely wrapped loaf under my arm just as the sourdough was now, feeling the warmth of the freshly baked bread and smelling the caraway seeds.
There was always a knot of girls across the street, in front of what was now an empty shop.
Dance students!
This was where the dance studio had been. Ballet, tap, jazz, and modern; lessons every week for the girls whose parents sent them to learn grace and elegance.
My mother offered me lessons but I refused to go, preferring to spend my time in the library, or taking things apart to find out how they worked. But I remembered that group of girls in their tights and topknots, clustered on the sidewalk waiting for their rides, and chattering like a flock of exotic birds.
Even then, standing across the street apart from the chattering dancers, I knew it was hard for my mother to relate to me. My father had understood my need and my ambition. He was the one who encouraged my interest in math, and supported me when I said I wanted to study computer science at one of the best—and most expensive—schools in the country.
But Mom never quite got it.
Now, I looked at that empty space and wondered what had happened to all those other girls. Most, I suspected, had married local boys and still lived near Pine Ridge. They probably dropped in on their mothers, too.
One of the things I missed living in Pine Ridge was a dojo.
I hadn’t stopped training. I still worked out at home. But it wasn’t the same.
The empty dance studio would be ideal. All I had to do was find someone with the money to lease it, the dedication to renovate, and the patience to teach martial arts in a small town.
No problem, right?
Even though I tried to put Monday’s dinner out of my mind, eventually it was time to show up at Mother’s for my command performance.
I dressed the part, in the silk pants and cashmere sweater I hadn’t worn on the canceled dinner date with Wade. As a peace offering to my mother, I put on the string of pearls she’d bought me when I graduated from high school. I would have preferred a boom box for my dorm room, but she insisted that every lady needed a string of pearls.
Mostly, they lay coiled in the bottom of my jewelry box.
Some temptations, though, are too much. Parking the ’Vette in Mother’s driveway earned me a disapproving frown, in spite of the pearls. Well, it might have had something to do with the growl of 427 well-tuned cubic inches.
Gregory put on his best host face, making small talk about the car. After a very few minutes, I realized he knew next to nothing about me. Apparently, whatever the relationship between him and my mother—and judging from the way he was playing host, it was more than professional—she hadn’t told him much about her only child.
Wade arrived a few minutes later, and by the time dinner was ready, we had played out all the polite conversational bits. We agreed the weather was still cool for this late in the spring, that the local sports teams needed to make some good draft picks, and it was good that the high school was being repainted over the summer break.
I offered to help Mom put the food on the table, leaving Wade and Gregory to their own devices.
Walking into my mom’s kitchen, full of the smells of her favorite company dinner, was like a trip back to my childhood. A ham, covered in pineapple rings and studded with whole cloves, rested on the counter. Mom pulled a bubbling casserole of au gratin potatoes from the oven, and I could see a tray of golden biscuits behind it.
“Put the green beans in the serving bowl, please.” Mom nodded toward the counter, where a warmed bowl waited.
I did as I was told, as I always had in Mom’s kitchen, and carried the bowl to the dining room table. There were hot pads arranged on the table, and I knew where each dish went. I ferried the ham and potatoes in, while Mom put the biscuits in a bread basket.
I was suddenly eight years old again, helping Mom set the dining room table for “grown-up” company, before I got my dinner on a tray table in front of the television.
I liked it when Mom and Dad had grown-up company. To this day, eating on a tray table in front of the TV reminds me of those nights. Minus the home-cooked meal, of course—I never managed to inherit my mother’s gifts in the kitchen.
As usual, Mom’s food was delicious. The ham was hot and juicy, with a touch of honey and sweet cloves, and the potatoes dripped with her homemade cheese sauce, rich with cream.
For several minutes the room was quiet except for the murmurs of “please” and “thank you” as platters and bowls were passed around and plates filled, followed by the clink of silver against china.
The presence of the china and silver gave me a sense of foreboding. They had always been reserved for special occasions in the past, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what was special about tonight.
I didn’t have to wait long to find out.
As soon as his plate was filled, Gregory excused himself and went to the kitchen. He returned a minute later with a bottle of Oregon pinot noir. He poured glasses for each of us, and cleared his throat.
“Here’s to old friends,” he said, looking first at Mom and then at Wade, “and to new ones.”
He looked at me, and I nodded in what I hoped was a noncommittal way. I didn’t want to offend him, but I wasn’t going to promise to be his buddy, either. Apparently, this was an important getting-to-know-you event.
“May we all be friends for many years to come.” The look he gave Mom this time carried some serious meaning. I didn’t have to depend on Wade’s assessment of their relationship. By now, it was painfully clear.
Mr. Too-Smooth was sleeping with my mom.
I so didn’t need to know that!
Look on the bright side, I told myself. Maybe he will keep her distracted, and she won’t have so much time to devote to making my life miserable.
Yeah. And maybe she’ll fly to the moon. My mother always found time to make my life miserable. It was a talent she had.
I was grateful when Wade asked Gregory about the plans for Clackamas Commons, skillfully directing the conversation away from our personal relationships. My admiration for his political skills went up several points.
“Sandra,” Gregory said, “is taking the lead on that project. I think she’s going to have a very successful retail outlet on her hands by the end of the summer.”
Mom’s name sounded strange coming from Gregory. To be fair, it probably would have sounded strange coming from any man I classified as her boyfriend, but it didn’t make it any easier.
“She’s also working on the Tepper properties.” He turned to me. “I u
nderstand you and Barry are ready to get moving on the house?”
I hesitated. It wasn’t my decision when we started, or what we did. “I really can’t speak for Barry,” I answered. “He sets the schedule, and makes the work assignments.”
I glanced over at Mom. “I know Mom requested me on that job, but I’m just an apprentice, and I can’t work without a journeyman on-site. Even if it’s a one-man job, I can’t work it alone, so we’ll just have to see.”
“Oh, it’s all taken care of, Georgiana.” Mom smiled at me, clearly proud of her skill at getting what she wanted. “I talked to Barry this afternoon, and he assured me we could have two people on the job.”
She frowned a little, and took a sip of her wine. “There’s quite a punch list for you and we’re anxious to move ahead, aren’t we, Gregory?” She turned to Gregory for confirmation.
“Sure are,” he agreed. “We’ve already sunk some serious coin into those properties, and the warehouse is going to need a lot more work than the house. If we can flip it quickly, it makes our cash flow a lot more comfortable.”
“Do you have title to the properties already?” Wade asked. “I should have gotten some paperwork by now.”
“No.” Gregory’s tone was conciliatory. “Not yet. But the Gladstones are authorizing the work on a contingency. If they can’t get us a clear title by the cutoff, they’re committed to repay any expenses and to cover any unpaid bills we incur.”
“The Gladstones?” I asked. “I thought Miss Tepper still owned the property.”
“She does,” Mom answered. “But she’s out of state, and the Gladstones have her power of attorney. They’re acting on her behalf.”
“What about all the stuff in her house? Didn’t they say they were going to move it out? I can’t imagine you guys”—I nodded at Mom and Gregory—“will have an easy time of it, having to work around all the furniture to sell the place.”
“They hired a moving crew to come in next week and pack everything,” Gregory said. “When Martha gets settled in Arizona, they’ll ship it to her.”
“Did you see that stuff?” I looked back and forth from my mom to Gregory. “There’s a ton of it. She’d be better off having a huge garage sale, and just getting new stuff in Arizona. You’d have to be rich to afford shipping all that a thousand-plus miles.” I shrugged. “But I guess she is.”
“Where did you hear that?” Wade asked sharply.
“From Paula Ciccone,” I said. I wondered why he thought it was any of his business.
“Well, that explains it,” my mother chimed in. “By Paula’s standards, lots of people are rich. I mean, she married a plumber, for heaven’s sake.”
“Have you forgotten, Mother, that I’m a plumber?”
“An apprentice, as you keep reminding me. For now,” she said, waving a hand in dismissal of my work. “Eventually, you’ll settle down and get married.”
I rolled my eyes. “Here we go again.”
“Really, Georgiana!”
“Yes. Really, Mom. Let’s drop the subject, shall we?”
Mom glowered at me, but she didn’t push.
“Anyway,” I said, “there’s a lot of stuff in that house. It just seems foolish to pay to have it all packed and stored, and then pay to have it shipped.”
I remembered my move, selling or giving away anything that wouldn’t fit in the ’Vette. The exceptions were Daisy and Buddha, who had ridden to Portland via a very expensive truck. I couldn’t really afford to ship anything else north.
“You never can tell what people will do with their money,” my mother said darkly. “Martha Tepper always impressed me as being, well, frugal. Though I certainly never thought of her as rich.”
“She has those properties, Sandra,” Gregory said. “And you know how much those are worth.”
Wade squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. He fiddled with his napkin and sighed. “Can we please not talk about Martha Tepper’s finances?” he asked. “I’ve been her accountant for the past several years, and this whole conversation is a bit awkward for me. Even if I’m not participating.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, reaching over to touch his hand. “I just thought it was odd, after I found that brooch, and Paula told me the story about—”
“I warned you about Paula’s stories,” he said. But at least he was smiling again.
“And you were right. It was a pretty dramatic tale.”
“What are you talking about?” Gregory asked. The puzzled look on his face told me Mom hadn’t shared my story with him.
By now I was getting tired of telling the story of the brooch. I’d told it too many times, and heard too many people’s opinions of what it meant.
I gave him a condensed version of the tale, skipping over where and how I found it. I repeated the bare bones of the story Paula had told Sue and me over lunch, without the more dramatic bits.
To tell the truth, the story still made me choke up a little. I guess maybe I’m as big a sucker for a tragic love story as she is. I didn’t want to betray those emotions in front of my current dinner companions.
“I still have the brooch, but I’d sure like to get it back to Miss Tepper. Especially after Paula told me how important it is to her.” I turned to Gregory. “Do you have a forwarding address for her? The Gladstones haven’t called yet, but since you and Mom are working on her property . . .”
Gregory took a bite of ham, shaking his head. When he finished chewing, he looked over at Mom. “Delicious dinner, Sandy.”
Sandy!?! No one called my mother Sandy. Mrs. Neverall, or Sandra, or Georgiana’s mom. Even my father didn’t call her Sandy.
But it didn’t faze Mom. She just gave him a goofy smile and said, “Thank you.”
Before I could recover from that shock, Gregory turned to me, the corners of his mouth turning down. “Wish I could help you out there, Georgiana.” I was silently grateful he hadn’t called me by some nickname. “But I don’t think I do. I know there’s a raft of paperwork in the office, but I think anything for Miss Tepper is all going through the Gladstones’ office. I’ll double-check it for you, though, if you’d like.”
“Thank you.” I hesitated, but I couldn’t bring myself to call him by his first name. Not yet. “I would really appreciate that. If I can get an address, I’ll see that the brooch gets to her safely.”
“As I said, I’ll check. If I can’t find it, I’ll remind Rick Gladstone to get it for you.”
I forced myself to smile at him, still reeling slightly from him calling my mom Sandy.
“Thanks.”
Mom stood up. “Georgiana, could you help me with the dessert, please?”
“Sure.” I stood and gathered up my plate and Wade’s, while she picked up hers and Gregory’s.
Both men offered to help clear the table, but of course, Mom wouldn’t hear of it. This was women’s work after all, even if the women in question—namely Mom and I—held full-time jobs along with our other duties.
It took a couple of trips to clear the table, and Mom insisted we put away the leftovers before we served coffee and dessert. “If you put things away immediately,” she lectured me, dragging out plastic containers and lids from her neatly arranged cupboard, “you can relax and enjoy the rest of your evening with your company.
“Besides, if you leave a mess in the kitchen, it’s all you think about, and it’s there, waiting for you, all night.”
“Whatever,” I muttered.
Though I hated to admit it, she was right. When we returned to the table with pumpkin pie and freshly brewed coffee, it was nice to sit down and relax, knowing there wasn’t a kitchen piled high with leftover food and dirty dishes.
Of course, in my house, there wouldn’t be a mess, either. I threw the paper plates out as soon as I finished eating, and takeout came with its own containers, ready for the refrigerator.
I thought it best not to explain that to Mom.
For once I was grateful I had to work in the morning. It meant I could ma
ke my excuses early and head for the door as soon as I could after we’d finished the pie and coffee. Mom prattled on about how “we must do this again soon” and shoved two containers brimming with leftovers into my hands.
“Now I know you’ll have a decent dinner tomorrow night after that class of yours.”
I decided she didn’t need to know that Tuesday was my regular date with Mayor McCheese, while I drove to the community college. Let her have her illusions.
Wade caught up with me in the driveway, as I was slipping into the driver’s seat of the ’Vette.
“I was right, you don’t like him.”
“He’s sleeping with my mother. How am I supposed to feel?”
“He’s not a bad guy, Georgie.” Wade crouched next to the open door, and reached in, laying his hand over mine where it rested on the steering wheel. “He’s just not your dad. It’ll take some getting used to, I admit. But give the guy a chance.”
“I’ll try.” I didn’t really lie. I just didn’t say how hard I would try.
“Trust me on this one, okay, Georgie?” Wade leaned in and kissed my cheek, friendly, nonthreatening. Patient.
“I was right about Paula, wasn’t I?”
“Yeah,” I said. But he was wrong about the story’s impact. “And now I’m really worried.”
chapter 10
“ I just didn’ t want to know about any of it,” I said to Sue. “If I think too hard about Mom and Gregory, then I start thinking about them having sex, and my brain shuts down.”
We were sitting in the back office of Doggy Day Spa, a few days after my dinner with Mom and Gregory. “I mean, who needs to know those things about their parents?”
“Georgie.” Sue was using her patient voice. “You know your mother’s a grown woman, and she has every right to have a social life. It’s been a long time since your dad died.”
I felt like I was about nine and just learning about sex for the first time. Sure, you knew the mechanics, and even the whole “when a couple love each other” speech that we all got. But somehow it was different when it was your parents. And it was waaaay different when it was someone new in your parent’s life.
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