by Robin Brande
“Hildy! It’s all right. What’s going on?” Eliza gathered her mother-in-law in her arms and held on to her tightly.
“I’ve been so lonely!” Hildy cried. “And I worry about you. You can’t live like this, Lizzy—I can’t, either. We have to get on with our lives. I have to be with people. I can’t keep thinking about Ron all the time and missing him so much.”
“But...you hardly ever talk about him.”
“What’s there to say? I loved him every day, and now I don’t have any part of him anymore. I can’t stand it sometimes.”
“Shhh, shhh...” Eliza stroked her mother-in-law’s back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“And seeing you like this,” Hildy sniffled, “it only makes me feel worse.”
“Seeing me like what?”
“So closed off. So afraid of men.”
“I’m not afraid—”
“Yes, you are,” she said. “Teddy’s a nice boy. There are lots of nice boys. I don’t want you to be alone the rest of your life, Lizzy. It isn’t right. I want you to be happy. To have children some day.”
“But I don’t want—”
“Yes, you do,” Hildy cut her off. “I know you did. I kept telling Jamey he had to stop messing around with all his climbing and traveling and everything else he did—”
“It was his work, Hildy.”
“You know what I mean. He could have been home more. He should have been raising a family. You deserved children, Lizzy—I kept telling him that.”
Eliza’s throat hurt. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said. She’d been calm up until that point, but now Hildy was pressing on an open wound. Of course Eliza had wanted Jamey’s child—lots of them. But even one, just to have a piece of him now. She’d imagined it more times than she’d ever dare admit: what a son would have looked like, the sound of their daughter’s laugh. Fantasies Eliza knew were far too dangerous to ever think about again.
“If you’d just do this one thing for me,” Hildy said. She sat up again and pulled a tissue from the box beside Eliza’s bed. She blew her nose and grabbed another tissue to blot her eyes.
“What one thing?” Eliza asked, watching her mother-in-law to make sure she seemed all right again.
“Come with me to Easter,” Hildy said. “Please.”
Eliza sighed. “Why? Why is it so important that I come? I don’t understand this whole obsession of yours. Why does it have to be Ted Walsh?”
“Because what if he could make you happy?” Hildy said, gazing at her daughter-in-law with red, puffy eyes. “Why can’t you give him a chance?”
Learn to say no, Eliza recited to herself. Learn to say no.
“If he’s the right one, then he’ll still be there when I’m ready for him.”
“But what if he meets someone else?” Hildy argued.
“Then he wasn’t right for me.”
“You don’t believe that nonsense, do you? Sometimes people just can’t wait. They have to settle for someone else—the wrong person.”
“But what if he’s the wrong person?” Eliza countered. “What if I already know he’s not for me?”
“Do you?”
“I don’t know...maybe.”
“See? You don’t know either way because you’re too scared to find out.”
Eliza squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. She hated to give in, but she also hated to be stubborn just for stubbornness’s sake. It was a quality Jamey used to point out to her, and she’d worked hard to fix it.
“If I go,” Eliza said, opening her eyes again, “will you let me decide about him for myself?”
“Of course.”
“I mean none of this matchmaking and hinting or any of that. I get to decide, independently, whether or not I ever want to go out with him again.”
“That sounds fair.”
Then why can’t I decide that right now and say no and mean it?
“I’m only doing this for you.”
“I understand,” Hildy said. “Thank you.”
“If you say anything at this dinner to embarrass me—”
“I promise I won’t.”
Eliza scowled at her mother-in-law. “Has this all been a trick?”
Hildy laughed hoarsely. She blew her nose again. “Lizzy, I love you. I want you to be happy.”
Eliza sighed. “All right. One more try. But you have to leave it completely up to me—got it?”
“Yes.”
Eliza hugged her mother-in-law. “I love you too. Please don’t ever cry like that again. I can’t take it.”
“I promise I’ll only cry at your wedding.”
“Hildy—”
Hildy pantomimed locking her lips. “I swear I’ll be good.”
“I have to get back to King Lear,” Eliza replied wearily. “At least that was a normal family.”
12
“You won’t be sorry,” Ted whispered to Eliza as he admitted them to the house Easter evening. “My mother is worth the price of admission.”
Brunch at the Jacksons’ that morning had been noisy and fun. Katie and her friends raced around the yard searching for hidden Easter eggs, while a collection of neighbors and friends of the Jacksons sat around eating homemade cupcakes and an assortment of potluck dishes the families had brought. Eliza and Hildy contributed puff pastries filled with chorizo. Eliza noticed most of the guests seemed to take a taste, then set the pastry aside.
“Too spicy,” Hildy murmured as they saw yet another person repeat the same action. “We should have just brought mac and cheese.”
Carolyn introduced Hildy and Eliza around. It turned out Hildy knew several of the neighbors, some of whom, like Will Jackson, now lived in the homes previously owned by their parents.
“You think Jamey would have ever moved back here?” Hildy asked her daughter-in-law when they stood momentarily alone.
“Sorry, but I doubt it,” Eliza said. “He couldn’t stand the winters.”
“He spent a month in Antarctica!”
“I know, I can’t explain it, “ Eliza said, “but somehow that was different.”
Carolyn Jackson joined them. “So, what time’s the big party?”
Eliza groaned. “Don’t remind me. I’m nervous just thinking about it.”
“Why are you nervous?” Hildy asked. “They’re just people like this.”
Carolyn and Eliza exchanged an amused glance.
“The Walshes are not like this,” Carolyn said. “I guarantee it.”
“How are they different?” Hildy challenged.
“For one thing,” Carolyn answered, “all their forks and knives will match.”
Hildy snorted dismissively. “I can hold my head high at Sibylla Walsh’s house any day. I have nothing to be embarrassed about, and neither do you, Lizzy.”
“I’m not embarrassed, just…”
“Reluctant,” Carolyn offered.
“Shy,” Eliza elaborated.
Hildy linked her arm through Eliza’s. “My Lizzy will shine. Don’t you worry.”
Now, entering Sibylla Walsh’s museum-like mansion, Eliza felt every bit as small and awkward as she worried she would.
The house was as excessively tasteful as any Eliza had ever seen. Everything was magazine-quality, from the Oriental rugs to the dark red velvet sofa and chairs to the heavy, dark antique furniture masterfully cluttering the enormous living room.
“When’s the next tour?” Eliza muttered courageously to her mother-in-law.
Hildy’s whispers were always too loud. “Can you believe it?”
Ted heard it and smiled. “Let’s make the rounds,” he said cheerfully, and escorted both women into the fray.
There were about thirty people in the room—easily as many as at the Jacksons’ much smaller house that morning—but the effect of this group was completely different. As Eliza stepped forward to meet them, she immediately understood that nothing she could do that evening would ever come close to meeting their standards.
&
nbsp; The women all looked perfect. They wore what should be worn. Eliza felt underdressed in her version of a festive Easter outfit: black skirt, black flats, and a silky peach top she’d bought specifically for the occasion.
For good luck she’d worn the bracelet Jamey gave her, but clearly even that couldn’t save her outfit. Normally Eliza felt no need to impress anyone with her wardrobe—she dressed for comfort and practicality, not fashion—but walking into Sibylla Walsh’s living room, facing this particular gathering of strangers, made Eliza wish she’d tried a lot harder to find the best of everything she owned.
Among the group, Eliza recognized the woman who had waited in line behind David Walsh at the grand opening of the store. She, thought Eliza, looked right in this place.
She wore her short-cropped black hair smartly styled so it swept upward, drawing attention to her blue eyes and fine high cheeks. She was elegant in her long red dress, belted at the waist to emphasize her slim—“boyish,” Hildy called it later—figure.
Ted introduced her as Livia Keane. She had a handshake as firm as Katie Jackson’s. “Hi, nice to see you again.”
“Yeah, you too.” Yeah, you too. Eliza winced internally at her own lack of polish. This was why, she reminded herself, she didn’t mingle with people like the Walshes or the Keanes. No matter how confident she might feel in most situations, somehow being around classy people made her feel like a troll.
“And this,” Ted continued, escorting the Shepherds to a throne-like wing chair in the corner of the room, “is my mother, Sibylla Walsh.”
“Nice to meet you,” Eliza said. “Thank you for inviting us.”
“Hello, dear, welcome.”
Eliza could hear the faint touch of a German accent. The matriarch did not get up, but extended her hand horizontally as if expecting Eliza to kiss it. As it was, Eliza felt an impulse to curtsey. She doubted Mrs. Walsh would object.
The woman nodded to her other guest. “Hilda.”
“Hi, Sibylla, how are you?” Hildy said. “You look good.”
“And you,” Mrs. Walsh said without a hint of sincerity.
Someone was waving to them from across the room. Eliza smiled in relief. It was Mrs. Walsh’s brother, Herbert.
“How are you?” he shouted. “Good to see you!”
Eliza gave a small wave in return and resisted the urge to shout back. Wouldn’t Mrs. Walsh love that?
Ted continued to lead the widows Shepherd around the room. David Walsh nodded curtly as they passed and returned to his conversation.
Ted stopped in front of a pleasant-looking woman with short curly brown hair. She wore a simple, pastel blue dress and comfortable-looking shoes, and offered the first genuinely friendly smile Eliza had witnessed from any of the women since she’d entered the room.
“This is my sister, Sue.”
“Hi, Eliza, it’s nice to finally meet you.”
“You, too.”
“Suzy, how are you?” Hildy asked, giving the woman a hug—a gesture, Eliza noted, which had not been offered to Sibylla Walsh. “You look wonderful.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Shepherd. You’re the one who looks great.”
“Call me Hildy—we’re all grown up now. I hear you’re a teacher?”
“Yep. High school math.” Sue laughed and rolled her eyes. “Hard to believe I have the nerves for it, huh?”
“I bet you’re great,” Hildy said. “You were always so smart.”
“Thanks, but believe me, some days not smart enough. I don’t think you’ve ever met my boys. Danny?” Sue motioned for the teenager closest to her to join them. The boy greeted them shyly and shook both women’s hands. “And that’s Mike over there,” Sue said, pointing. “The one talking to my husband and David.”
Mike was as tall as his uncle David, with an expression equally as serious.
“How old are they?” Hildy asked.
“Mike will be eighteen this summer. Danny’s fourteen.”
Ted pinned his nephew’s arms behind his back. “Dan the Man. When’s your mom going to let me take you driving? Don’t you think it’s about time?”
“Never,” Sue answered. “I happen to love my son. So, Eliza, how do you like Careyville—it’s nice, isn’t it?”
“Very. I like it a lot.”
“I miss it,” Sue said. “Monarch’s a little too...what would you say, Teddy?”
“Up-tight?”
“Maybe,” Sue said. “I think I should have bought Mom and Dad’s house instead of letting David get it.”
“Then Mom wouldn’t have moved,” Ted said. “She’d still be living in there with you.”
“Good point,” Sue said with a laugh. “Never mind.” For the Shepherds’ benefit, she added, “It’s not that I don’t love my mother...”
“Sure, Suzy,” her brother said. “I’m telling her what you said.”
Eliza liked listening to the two of them together. It reminded her of how she and her brothers still teased each other after all these years.
“Careful, Teddy,” Sue said, “or I’ll let Eliza in on a few of your secrets.”
“I already told her everything.”
“Everything?”
Ted grinned. He wrapped his arm around his sister’s shoulder, pulled her close, and kissed her on her cheek. “You keep my secrets, I’ll keep yours. Hey, Danny, did your mom ever tell you about her tattoo?”
Sue elbowed her younger brother. “He’s not so bad,” she told Eliza. “Just don’t believe a thing he says.”
“Would you like some wine?” Ted asked them. “Dan, I know you will.”
The boy grinned and cast a guilty look toward his mother.
Sue ignored it. “I’ll take some red.”
“That sounds good,” Hildy agreed.
“Water for me,” Eliza said.
“You sure?” Ted asked. “You might need it tonight.”
“I think I need my wits more,” Eliza answered. “Water will do.”
“Danny, come with me,” Ted said. “I’ll teach you how to make a martini.”
The boy snickered. Sue shook her head.
Soon Livia Keane joined the trio of women. “It’s a shame you didn’t cater the dinner tonight,” she told Hildy. “I loved what you made for the opening.”
“It’s nice to be a guest instead,” Hildy answered politely.
“Did you ever taste her potatoes?” Livia asked Sue.
“No.”
“Neither did you,” Hildy pointed out. “Remember? You said they were too fattening.”
“They looked delicious,” Livia continued smoothly. “Everyone raved about them.”
“You should try them some time,” Hildy said. “It wouldn’t hurt your figure.”
“Oh, but a little here, a little there...” Livia patted her completely flat stomach. She cast her gaze around the room. Eliza guessed she was already bored, and searching for better conversation than theirs.
“Well...” Livia said, training an expert smile on the three of them.
“Nice to see you again,” Hildy said flatly. Then she turned her back on Livia and resumed her conversation with Sue. “What’s your husband doing these days?”
As Livia wandered off, Eliza couldn’t help smiling to herself about Hildy’s behavior toward the woman. Why was she so cold? Was it just because Livia had insulted her potatoes? Knowing Hildy, that was as good a reason as any.
Ted and his nephew returned with the drinks, and their small group made small talk until finally Sibylla Walsh announced that dinner was served. Ted offered his arm to both his dates, but only Hildy accepted. Eliza saw a better prospect walking toward her.
“Reuben sandwiches?” she whispered to Uncle Herbert as the two of them merged into the dining room with the rest.
“I wish,” he said. “My sister never lets me cater.”
Eliza paused at the threshold a moment, taking the place in. The dining room was at least half the size of Hildy’s entire second floor. Gold-trimmed white dishes glea
med bright on a dark mahogany table that could have seated many more than the thirty Easter guests. Family portraits hanging along the north and south walls gave Eliza the feeling that many eyes would be checking her table manners that night.
“Can I sit by you?” Eliza asked Uncle Herbert. “Or do you already have a date?”
He pointed to the place cards. “Sorry, Liebchen. No such luck.”
Eliza searched for her name. Much to her surprise—and horror—she’d be spending the meal sitting between Livia Keane and the grand matron herself.
As Eliza ate the opening course—a bland corn chowder she saw her mother-in-law taste, then set aside—she wondered cynically whether the only reason Sibylla Walsh had placed Eliza next to her was so that Eliza could feel the full force of being ignored. From her position at the head of the table, Mrs. Walsh either stared straight ahead in silence or occasionally turned to Sue, who sat on her other side. Never once in the first half hour did Mrs. Walsh deign to speak to Eliza.
For her part, Livia Keane had much to say: about the quality of the caterers (“I could have told Sibylla not to hire them. I used them once, and never again.”), the backgrounds and quality of some of the guests (“He’s with GM. I don’t know what she does, but I’m guessing it isn’t fashion. I’m just kidding—she seems very nice.”), and her own work as Director of Marketing for the Walsh stores (“I increased sales by fifteen percent last year. That’s when David finally had to look up from his spreadsheet and notice me. Didn’t you?”).
Livia looked right at David as she made this last comment, but he appeared not to hear. Or, thought Eliza, he was practicing his mother’s art of ignoring people.
“How long have the two of you been together?” Eliza asked Livia. Even if she didn’t particularly care for the woman, Eliza was always curious to hear about people’s relationships.
“Since New Year’s,” Livia said. “No one can resist a brainy woman in red, can he, David?” She gave him a playful nudge.
“What?” he asked irritably. His eyes flitted past Livia to Eliza. He nodded to her again as if he had only just noticed she was at his mother’s party.
“Eliza was asking how we met,” Livia said.
“Oh.” Apparently he had nothing more to add, because he turned back to his nephew Mike and resumed their conversation.