by Mary Campisi
“What? Is he okay?” Panic gripped her, choked the breath from her lungs. She was a strong woman; she’d buried a husband, raised three children on her own, but Jesus God, she would not be able to handle it if something happened to one of her children.
“Yes. No. I mean nothing’s wrong with him physically”—pause—“it’s Alex.”
“Alex?”
And then the story came spilling out about Alex’s real reason for coming to Restalline and how it had nothing to do with a story at all; how she was some big-wig with a development company and she’d been sent to do research so her firm could buy up the town, drive everyone out; how Norman Kraziak was ready to accept their offer, how the man with the Audi was her uncle.
Stella sucked in a deep breath, feeling winded and light-headed, as though she’d just run a mile uphill. “Who told you all of this?”
“Nick.”
“Maybe… maybe he’s wrong.” Dear God, let him be wrong.
“I don’t know. Alex was very upset when she left, crying and all. And Nick, well, he was in pretty bad shape, too.”
“Is he still there?”
“No, he left, didn’t say where he was going.” Pause. “Stella? You know I wasn’t crazy about Alex, and you know why, but I think she really loves him… and I think he really loves her, too.”
“So do I.” She sighed, tried to massage the pain in her right temple. “Let’s just hope it’s strong enough to get them through this.” Stella said good-bye and clicked the phone off, then she sat there, staring at the mound of strawberry hulls in the stainless steel bowl she’d been using for the past thirty years. There were a few dents on the sides, and hundreds of scratches worn into the metal, but it was still sturdy, still functional. It had withstood the raising of three children, the death of a husband, the birth of six grandchildren, and thousands upon thousands of potatoes, strawberries, green beans, blueberries, broccoli. A tear slipped down her cheek.
Surely, surely, Nick and Alex’s love for each other was stronger than a silly stainless steel bowl, more durable, able to weather hardship? Surely, it must be so.
“Mom? Mom?” It was Gracie, her soft brown eyes filled with concern.
It all just poured out—the phone conversation with Elise, what Nick had said, what Alex was supposed to have done. When Stella told her the part about Nick calling himself a fool for trusting Alex, Gracie’s eyes were wet, her gaze fixed and staring.
“Hey, who died?” The screen door slammed and Michael strolled into the kitchen.
“You tell him, Gracie. I’m tired of talking.”
It was Gracie’s turn to relay Elise’s phone conversation. When she was finished, Michael flicked the bill of his cap up, met his mother’s teary gaze. “I knew she was no good.” He blew out a long, disgusted breath. “Didn’t I tell you she was no good? Nothing but trouble.”
“Michael, stop.” This from Gracie. “You don’t even know her.”
“I know about her and that’s more than enough.”
“Well, I like her and so does Mom.”
“How can you like a person who came to this town to destroy it? Do you think she cares about any of us? Do you think she’s not going to get a six-figure salary and a bonus on top of that if she lands this deal? She’s interested in money, not people—she could give a shit about any of us.” He yanked off his cap, ran a hand through his wavy hair. “And what the hell’s wrong with Norman? Has his crazy wife made him go loony, too? How could he even consider selling out?”
“We don’t know, Michael. We have to wait for Nick.” Stella dug out another hull, tossed a strawberry in the bowl. “He’s the only one who can tell us what really happened.”
“Right. You think he’s gonna tell you he was played for a sucker? I doubt it.” He picked up a strawberry, popped it in his mouth.
“Michael, can you stop with the comments, huh?” Gracie glared at him from across the table. “Can’t you just this once act like the human being that I know is hiding under all those smart-ass remarks?”
He shrugged. “Just calling it as I see it.”
“Well, don’t.”
“You know, there may be another way to find out the truth.” Stella set down her paring knife, looked at her children. “Actually, it might be the only way we’ll really know what happened.”
“What are you gonna do, Ma, go see the woman yourself, ask her if she was trying to screw us the whole time she was here, while she was eating our food, sitting at our table?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
***
Why did she always have to lose the people she loved?
Alex sped along the country road, mindless of the mossy, green trees and vibrant foliage reaching out to her from the sides of the road. There were wildflowers, bright yellow, and tiny white ones growing in clusters along the guardrails. Huge gray rocks jutted out along the east side, surrounded with a brush of thick limbs and leaves of varying shapes and sizes. Maples, oaks, cherries, pine.
But Alex saw none of it. Her mind and her heart were focused on reaching Glendover Manor and confronting her uncle. Every mile took her closer to the answers she sought. How could he have come here, confronted Nick, deliberately destroyed the fragile love that was emerging between them? And it was love, for Nick, too, she was sure of it. But all of that was gone now, torn in two by an uncle who cared more about controlling her than seeing her happy.
It had always been about control with Uncle Walter. As long as she did what he wanted, and as long as she thought about his needs first, and buried her own under the desperate desire to please, then he bestowed a token show of affection, a well-earned nod of pleasure in her direction.
But this time would be different. This time she would not quietly acquiesce, no, not this time. The tears had dried miles ago, and all that was left was an emptiness and the need to put things right, say what needed to be said, face-to-face, Uncle Walter on one side, Alex on the other.
Had her father and Uncle Walter been on opposites sides? Was that why her uncle never spoke of her father? Offered no childhood memories, no details, no pictures? Nothing? Alex glanced at the green-and-blue jeweled mirror resting on the passenger seat, glinting in the sunlight. The true jewel is in the mirror. Look into it, Alexandra, look into it and see the jewel. Finally, finally, for good, for bad, she was finding herself—she just hoped she could live with the person she uncovered.
When she reached Glendover Manor an elderly woman with blue-white hair and red lipstick told her that Walter Chamberlain was expecting his niece and could be found on the back veranda.
He was sitting there, under the shade of a patio awning, reading the Wall Street Journal. His only concession to the humid heat of the July afternoon was his suit jacket resting on the wrought-iron chair beside him and a very fine film of perspiration clinging to his upper lip, barely detectable.
“Alex,” he said as she approached him, “I’ve been expecting you.”
“Why did you do it, Uncle Walter?”
He ignored the question. “Sit down, dear. Would you like a glass of lemonade? The surroundings are a bit antiquated but the service is adequate.”
“I don’t want anything…except answers.”
She saw the way he raised his brow, a hint of surprise passing over his features. “I should be the one expecting answers from you.” He lifted his glass, sipped at his lemonade.
“How could you do it? Was it so important to teach me a lesson, show me that you could do whatever you wanted, that you had to come here, to Nick?” Her voice wobbled and she cleared her throat, pushing the words out. “You wanted a summer and winter resort, but it didn’t have to be Restalline. I’d only invested two months of research in it. Why couldn’t you have just accepted what I said, pulled out, and gone to your next choice?”
“I wanted Restalline.” His voice was calm, matter-of-fact.
“But why? Was it because I’d told you ‘no,’ this wasn’t the right place? Or m
aybe because you sensed this place meant more to me than just another small town? Was that it? Did you want to show me that you could control me, take something I wanted?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He undid the top button of his shirt, loosened his tie.
“For once in my life, tell me the truth.” Her voice rose with the pitch of her emotions. “Did you just want to win, because you knew you could, no matter who got hurt, even me?”
“Of course not. What’s wrong with—”
“I love Nick. Do you hear me? I love him. And I was going to tell him everything, beg him to forgive me for lying to him, for taking advantage of all the people in this town who trusted me.” Her next words fell flat, low. “I was going to stay here, with him and his son, hopefully have a life together. But don’t worry about that now, you’ve taken care of everything, just like you always do. He hates me, can’t look at me without thinking about how I betrayed him, and I owe it all to you.”
“You don’t belong here. You’re too good for this. My God, this town isn’t much better than a cow patch.”
“I loved it here.”
“And what? You didn’t like it in Virginia?”
“I didn’t belong there, not really.”
“Don’t start this, Alex.” He cleared his throat, shifted in his chair. “We’ll go back tomorrow, all of us. We can draw up the papers and you won’t have to see any of these people, ever again. Eric can take care of the rest of the negotiations. Once Kraziak signs it’ll only be a matter of time before the rest of the town follows.”
“Haven’t you listened to anything I’ve said? I love Nick Androvich, real love, not the Bride magazine, Tiffany kind, but the honest, dirty laundry, ‘til death do us part’ kind. I didn’t want this town to change. I wanted to belong here, more than anything”—she blinked hard, forced the rest of the words out—“but now I’ll never belong. I have to leave and I’ve got nowhere to go.”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. You were raised in Virginia, you belong there.”
“No”—she shook her head—“I don’t. I don’t belong anywhere.” The tears were coming, threatening to blur her vision, blind her with their intensity. She blinked several more times, afraid that if she started crying she’d never be able to stop.
“Stop being so damn dramatic, you sound just like your father, turning his nose up at everything I offered him, ranting on and on about not belonging. He was a Chamberlain, he didn’t belong with that Russian woman.”
“My mother?” He’d never spoken of her mother and father before.
“Hell, yes, your mother. Damn gypsy Russian ballerina. He had to have her, had to marry her no less, give her his name.” He ran a hand over his face. “He could’ve had anything and he gave it all up for her, to live the life of a nomad, travel up and down the coast painting and making jewelry. A Chamberlain,” he spat out, “painting and making jewelry and living in… in filth.”
“He must have loved her very much.”
“Love?” His pale blue eyes chilled her. “Yes, he was foolish enough to love her. And what did that love get him? I’ll tell you”—he leaned forward, his nostrils flaring—“it got him killed. He could’ve had everything, money, power, prestige, but he walked away from it all. I made a vow the first time I laid eyes on you sitting in the corner of that hovel you called home, your hair ratty, your feet covered in sand, that you would have everything your father rejected, the wealth, the money, the power and prestige that came with being a Chamberlain. I would see that you had it all, Alex, and I have.”
Chapter 17
Nick sat at the kitchen table waiting for Justin to finish washing his hands for dinner. Tonight was goulash, compliments of his mother, with extra paprika and black pepper, just the way he liked it. He opened his right hand, stared at the crumpled-up piece of paper in his palm. He’d committed every word inside to memory hours ago, even down to the squiggle on the smiley face at the bottom of the page:
I’m taking Justin to your mother’s then off to the grocery store. He wants pizza for dinner—he and I are going to try to make it together from one of your mom’s recipes. That should be interesting! See you tonight. We have to talk, no more diversions.
Love, Alex
We have to talk… had she planned to tell him tonight? Heat burned through him, intense, angry, pounding into his brain, circling his chest. What was she going to say? I’m sorry I was planning to screw you and your town, but it was just business? I didn’t really mean it? Can we just forget it, pretend it never happened? Oh, and by the way, you know you can trust me, don’t you?
He wished he’d never met Alex Chamberlain.
“Hey, Dad, what’s wrong? Your face is all weird looking.”
Justin stood in front of him, hair slicked back, hands still damp, his own features pulled with worry.
Nick dragged a hand over his face, rubbed his temple. “I’m fine, just tired. That’s what happens when you’re a doctor, you know. You can forget about sleeping like normal people.”
Justin pulled out a chair, sat down. “Are you gonna tell me where Alex is? She said we were making pizza tonight.” His lower lip puckered out. “She promised.”
Damn the woman, damn her, damn her. His son was going to be hurt, another victim caught in her web of lies. “Alex,” he started, forcing himself to say her name, “isn’t coming tonight.”
Justin rolled his eyes. “I know that, Dad. But where is she?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “When I see her again, I’m going to tell her—”
“She’s gone.”
“Huh?”
Here it comes, might as well get used to it. He’d have to repeat variations of the story for days, first to his family—his mother, sister, even his brother—then friends, patients, probably most of the town. “Alex,” he started again, “will be leaving Restalline very soon, if she hasn’t already. She’ll be going back to Virginia.” His chest tightened with each word.
“Why? I thought she was going to stay… be with us… like a family. I thought you two might get married, Grandma says she thought you would.”
“No.” Nick shook his head. “No, Justin, we’re not going to get married.”
“But… why?” There were tears in his eyes now, a fine trembling in his voice.
“It’s… complicated. Adult stuff.” How could he tell his son that they’d both fallen for a liar? “Alex is gone.”
Gone. Alex is gone. He heard the shakiness of his own voice—he’d have to practice those words before he said them again. Maybe after a hundred, no, five hundred times, the reality of it all wouldn’t hurt so much and he’d be able to glide right through it as though he were talking about a change in the forecast.
A tear spilled down Justin’s cheek, first one, then another until his face was wet and he was sniffing. “How could you let her go, Dad? Can’t you bring her back?” And then, the words that sent his world crashing, “We love her, Dad, both of us. We love her, don’t we?”
***
It was almost 7:00 p.m. when Alex finally made it to Norman Kraziak’s house. She was hot and sticky and exhausted but she had to see Norman, had to convince him he was about to make the worst mistake of his life.
Bright light spilled out of almost every window in the Kraziak’s two-story brick home. Alex rang the doorbell and waited. Norman, don’t do it! The words pounded in her head. Don’t listen to them! Eric Haines is a conniving, manipulator who’ll promise anything to get a deal. Tell him no…
“Alex.” It was Norman, standing before her in a short-sleeved plaid shirt and brown pants, his white hair slightly ruffled, his reading glasses dangling from a black nylon cord around his neck. “I’ve been expecting you.”
She nodded, unsmiling, and followed him into his study.
“Norman! Is that Alexandra?” Ruth Kraziak appeared in the doorway, her small frame covered in a blue cotton dress that hung well below her knees. “Alexandra.” She smiled a wide,
bright smile. “Have you come to take me to the bus stop? Is it time? I’ll just grab my purse—”
“Ruth.” Alex didn’t miss the tired resignation in Norman’s voice. “She hasn’t come for that.”
“It’s only Sunday, Ruth,” Alex said. “We go on Wednesday, remember?” She’d taken her to the bus stop the past two Wednesdays, sat with her for two hours while Ruth waited for her daughter to arrive. When the last bus pulled in and she saw that Caroline wasn’t on it, she’d get up, adjust her hat and announce that she must have been mistaken, Caroline must be coming in next week. Then they’d get into Alex’s Saab and drive to Hot Ed’s for a cup of his specialty brew coffee.
What would happen when Alex was gone? Who would see that Ruth got to the bus station? Would she attempt to go herself? If Norman did sell out, and move away as he’d talked about, then what? Then what?
Ruth wrung her hands in front of her. “Oh. My mistake.” She patted the side of her brownish-gray hair. “I seem to be so forgetful lately.” Her eyes grew bright. “But I don’t want to forget Caroline. How would it look if she got off the bus and no one was there to greet her? A mother never forgets her child.” Her voice faded, fell to a soft, reverent whisper, spoken in a tone that made Alex wonder if somewhere, deep inside Ruth’s brain, she knew her daughter would never be on any bus. “Well, I’ll leave you two to your business. Wednesday, I’ll see you on Wednesday, Alexandra.”
“Wednesday,” Alex repeated as the door closed, leaving her and Norman alone.
He let out a long sigh, sank into his black leather chair. “I want to thank you, Alex, for… for spending time with Ruth…”
“Sure. I… I don’t mind, really.”
He nodded, waited.
“You must know why I’ve come.”
“I think I do.” He picked up a paperweight. It was molded in the shape of a golden rocker , the symbol for NK Manufacturing.
“You know I didn’t come to Restalline to do a documentary about small-town life.” When he nodded, she continued. “And you also know that I was sent here to investigate the town… see if we wanted to buy it up, turn it into an exclusive resort.”