I stand and retrieve the shoulder bag. “Here. If you place your overnight bag over the handle of your suitcase you can just pull them both along. See?”
“Thanks. Thank you so much.” She begins to walk briskly away. And as she does, I see that Father Laurent and Liam have returned. And a third person is with them. Ramsey. He has Father Laurent’s kind, dark eyes, but his jaw is set differently. A scattering of gray touches his temples. Ramsey Laurent is a little taller than his father, and has more hair, but the family resemblance is still strong. And yet he doesn’t look like Father Laurent at all.
I’ve no idea how long they’ve been standing there.
Father Laurent quickly introduces me to his son. “Daisy, this is Ramsey. Ramsey, this is Daisy Murien, my landlady.”
It takes a lot of effort not to laugh.
A landlady, indeed.
I’m in no position of authority over Father Laurent. The idea is absurd. He is the wise and respected one. The one I run to for direction and consolation. I simply take his rent checks and deposit them into Reuben’s bank account.
“Pleasure to meet you,” I say, remembering my manners and extending my hand.
“Likewise,” Ramsey returns the handshake. His grip is firm, almost stern. We let go and he lets his hand fall back to rest on Liam’s shoulder.
“Got all your luggage?” I say.
“Yes. Thanks. It’s all here.”
“Okay. Well. Shall we go?”
There is something about Ramsey that needles me as we head to the escalators and short-term parking. There is something odd about this man who looks so much like Father Laurent and yet who doesn’t resemble him at all.
I decide as we enter the parking structure that Ramsey lacks the copious amounts of laugh lines that his father has. Wrinkles like that come from age, though, don’t they? And Ramsey can’t be much more than seven or eight years older than me.
Perhaps in twenty years he’ll have them, too.
I watch him talk to Liam in low tones. I study his eyes as we continue to walk, looking for the telltale signs that creases from smiling too much are growing beneath his skin. But I don’t see them.
He looks up at me.
I look away.
Eighteen
Dear Harriet,
It’s been a very odd day. It began all right, I guess. No… actually, it began rather pathetically. I realized while I nursed a mocha on the roof that I’m basking in bitterness, roiling with resentment. I’m an Eeyore.
This revelation is all thanks to you, since I did in fact take my woes to the chapel last night and I came away from that lovely experience with the knowledge that I’ve all the appeal of soured milk.
I was able to make things right with my mother, though. That felt pretty good. And I guess knowing I’m a pitiful sourpuss is better than thinking I’m a pretty amiable person and what-the-heck’s-wrong-with-everybody-else when it’s really me who has problems.
I asked Father Laurent to help me kill the monster inside me. I found him in the chapel this morning and I begged to help me out. He did the most amazing thing. He pulled one of my little blue hearts out of his pocket, blessed it and gave it to me. He told me to keep it close to my heart so that I wouldn’t ever forget that today had been a turning point for me.
I’ve no idea why he had one of those hearts in his pants pocket. None at all. Maybe he misses his wife like I miss Daniel and having it comforts him.
Actually I am learning it’s not Daniel I miss. It’s the euphoria of being in love that I grieve for.
Which brings me to what happened a little while after Father Laurent gave me the heart. Max was supposed to take Father Laurent and Liam to the airport to pick up Liam’s dad, but he forgot and I took them instead. So I got to meet Ramsey Laurent. I knew a little about him from the conversations I’ve had with Father and Liam and of course, there’s that whole nasty thing the Horn Blower did to him. For some reason I pictured him looking like Father Laurent’s wife, whose picture I’ve seen in Father’s living room. But the guy looks just like his dad. But then he also doesn’t look like him. It’s the weirdest thing.
He sat in the front seat of my car while I drove him and Father and Liam to get his own vehicle from a friend’s house. I caught him looking at me several times.
I wish I knew what Father Laurent has told him about me.
Maybe he hasn’t told him anything. Maybe he’s never mentioned me at all.
If you ask me, I think he spends far too much time away from home. I don’t think Liam particularly likes his new stepdad. And Ramsey lives too far away for Liam to live at both houses.
And what’s with that? Why did the guy relocate to Duluth when his marriage ended? Leaving his kid with no choice but to stay in Minneapolis with his mother and the man who came between his parents?
I don’t get it.
Couldn’t get a hold of Shelby today. She may call later tonight. Do you suppose she went out with this Eric guy two nights in a row?
I’m watching Sweet Home Alabama. The dress Reese Witherspoon wears in the almost-wedding scene is fairly understated but that’s why it works. Besides she was about to marry the wrong guy anyway.
Dear Daisy,
You are not an Eeyore. Eeyore was gloomy, not bitter. And being bitter is definitely worse than being gloomy. A gloomy person can be cheered. A bitter person can only be made un-bitter if they choose it. And there’s not a whole lot anyone can do about it if they don’t.
Sounds like you’ve made a good choice. I would imagine coming out from under bitterness might take awhile. Like losing a few pounds compares with getting a haircut. Both make you look different but one takes a lot longer than the other.
Who knows why Father Laurent had a little blue heart in his pocket? Yes, it does seem a little strange, but you may be right. Maybe he, like you, believes in the power of symbol to soothe.
And that thing with Ramsey Laurent and his son? You don’t get it because it’s not yours to get. MYOB.
Of course it’s possible Shelby went out with Eric again. An un-bitter person would be happy for her if she did.
Love the fit on the Sweet Home Alabama almost-wedding dress.
Doesn’t that movie have a happily-ever after ending?
Harriet
Nineteen
I’m waiting on the bottom step for Mom and L’Raine. They insist on riding with me to church this morning so that we can go out for brunch afterward. For once I am ready before they are.
There is quiet movement on the stairs behind me and I turn to see why my mom and L’Raine are being so quiet as they make their way down to me. But it is not my mom and aunt on the stairs. It is Father Laurent.
I smile. “Good morning, Father.”
“Hello, Daisy.”
I lean into the wall next to me so that he can pass. He looks a little pale this morning.
“Did you have a nice day with your son yesterday?” I ask.
“Yes, thanks. And thanks again for getting Liam and me to the airport on time.”
“It was nothing.”
“It was something to me. And Liam. He has missed his dad very much.”
“Well, you’re very welcome, then.”
“He and Liam are going camping for a few days on the North Shore, starting tomorrow,” Father Laurent continues in a brighter tone.
“I’m sure they’ll have a great time.”
“I think so, too. Well, have a lovely morning.” He starts for the back door.
“You want a ride to wherever you’re going, Father?” I ask.
“It’s all right, I can walk.”
“Well, where are you headed?”
“I’m going to visit St. Mary’s today.”
St. Mary’s is a bit of a walk. “It’s no trouble to give you a ride.”
“I like walking. But thanks for offering.” He smiles at me and is gone.
I hear movement again on the stairs. I turn and expect to see my mother and L’Raine. Instead Max
is bounding toward me. He is wearing baggy carpenter shorts, a canary yellow dress shirt and flip-flops.
“Hey.” He is cheerful, as always.
This is the first I’ve seen of him since dinner at Ping’s on Friday. I wonder if he even remembers that he forgot to take Father Laurent and Liam to the airport yesterday.
“Don’t worry. I took care of it.” I say cheerfully.
He stops on the step just ahead of me. “Huh?”
“I took care of it.”
He has the puzzled face of a Labrador retriever wondering where his tennis ball has disappeared to. “Took care of what?”
“You know. Getting Father Laurent and Liam to the airport yesterday.”
Realization floods over his face with alarming speed. He plops down beside me on my step. “Omigosh. I forgot.”
“Yes. You did.”
He looks away—at the plaster wall in front of us, at the heavy wood door that leads to the sales floor of Something Blue. “I can’t believe I forgot.”
I can.
He turns back to me. “So you took them? And they got there in time?”
“It’s all good. Lucky for you I had a boring morning stretching ahead of me.”
“So you didn’t mind?”
“No, I didn’t mind.”
“I’ll pay for your gas.”
“You’re not paying for my gas.”
He leans forward. “I guess we’re even then. You don’t me owe me anymore.”
“Owe you?” I can think of no reason why I should owe Max anything.
“Yeah. For going with you to Ping’s on Friday. Remember?’
I throw him a look of mock-contempt. “You were supposed to sit by me and keep me from having to make conversation with a man I didn’t know. Which you didn’t!”
“Well, that’s not my fault. Your mother handled all the seating.”
“You owe me,” I say tossing my head. “Not only did you get a free meal at my favorite restaurant, you got to sit by my gorgeous niece. You owe me for that and for filling in for you as airport shuttle service.”
He rewards me with easy silence. Max could care less that he owes anybody anything. “Okay. You’re right. Next time you want me to keep the blind date at bay, I’ll knock over chairs to be able to sit by you. That should go over pretty good. That’s probably worth two.”
“There’s not going to be any more blind dates,” I grumble.
“No?”
“I told Mom not to fix me up anymore. I want whatever’s going to happen to happen naturally and without— ”
“I totally agree,” Max interrupts and I realize he’s talking about himself. “I don’t want anyone playing Cupid. It’s just not cool.”
I’ve been so focused on myself I haven’t stopped to think that Max probably has friends and family members trying to fix him up with dates just like I have.
It’s one of the few things he and I have in common.
“My mother tried to get you and I together, you know,” I say. “When you first moved in here.”
Max is thoughtful for a moment. He doesn’t seem stunned that I said this. I guess it was probably obvious to him, too, what Mom was up to. “Nah, I just think she was wondering if we did see each other more often, would we, you know, get together.”
His candor surprises me, though I don’t know why it should. Max is about as transparent as anyone I know. I suddenly have the urge to ask him if he’s ever wished there had been more between us. I know he’ll give me a truthful answer.
“Max, have you ever wanted to be more than just friends?”
He turns his head to stare at me. I force myself to not look away. “Have you?”
Not the response I was expecting.
“I asked first,” I counter.
He hesitates for a moment. “When we were in high school I did.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Sure. But you were dating that Ryan dude and then when you broke up with him I could just tell I didn’t have a chance with you.”
“How could you tell that?” I don’t recall warding off any advances by Max. How could he have known that?
“Well, did I?”
I don’t answer.
“I could just tell, Daisy. And actually, when we both went away to college it seemed pretty clear that we would always be just friends. And I was okay with that.”
For some inexplicable reason I feel like I’ve just been slapped. It’s a little like being abandoned all over again. Although in a different way. Deep down I want Max to have wanted me. Even though I really don’t have any feelings for him beyond those of friendship.
It’s that monster in me rearing its ugly head again. I reach into my skirt pocket to touch the little blue heart Father Laurent gave me yesterday morning.
“But how did you know that?” I ask. I don’t think he knows I am trembling inside.
“Same way you did. You’ve always known we would only ever be good friends, haven’t you? Haven’t you always known?”
The little heart feels thin and weightless in my fingers. “I guess.”
“It’s not because we’re not totally cool people, either, ‘cause we are.” Max offers. Guess he can tell I’m a little bruised. “It’s just that there wasn’t that special thing between us, that… you know…”
He stops, unable to come up with the right word. I think of Sleepless in Seattle and Max’s flair for making coins and cards disappear.
“Magic?” I’m confident this will resonate with him.
But Max shakes his head. “No, it’s not magic. Magic can all be explained. All of it. Every trick I do is really just manipulation and misdirection. I can’t believe that’s what true love is like.”
“No, I guess it isn’t.”
“I think it’s more like… like you suddenly find yourself a prisoner with no possibility of escape but you couldn’t chose another life if you wanted to. Your whole life is wrapped up in that other person. You’ll never leave. You’ll never want to. I don’t think there’s a word for that.”
I can’t remember Max ever having said anything so eloquently.
“Think we’ll know it when we see it?” I ask.
Max stands up. “Oh, yeah. It’ll knock our socks off.” He walks over to the door that leads to the parking lot, opens it and swings it wide. “Ciao.” He winks a goodbye to me.
“Bye, Max.”
His surprising words are swirling about in my head as the back door closes and I hear footfalls behind me.
My mother and aunt are ready to go.
Twenty
There’s a standing invitation to everyone in the building to join Rosalina and Mario for Sunday dinner if you’ve no other plans and are in the mood for South American cuisine. What began as a rather impromptu gathering of whoever was around one Sunday evening four months ago has blossomed into something of a regular block party. Only it’s not a block, it’s an apartment building and there are only nine units. Ten if you count Reuben, and he’s hardly ever here.
Mom and L’Raine often come but don’t eat anything but Rosalina’s rice since they both claim to have issues with spicy food. Wendy and Philip are usually there, and so are Max and Father Laurent. I go primarily to be around people who seem to be living perfectly normal lives. Max goes for the food and Father Laurent, for the company. Solomon has been once, maybe twice. I think he has a thing about eating off a plate on his lap. It must really bug him. He usually has somewhere else he needs to be on Sunday nights.
Rosalina is as masterful at cooking as she is at alterations. Sometimes I can’t pronounce the dishes she makes, but I’ve not tasted one yet that I didn’t love, even if I did need to wash it down with plenty of ice water.
So as I head back to The Finland after a long walk on the shore of Lake Calhoun, I’m anticipating an exquisite meal with enough eye-popping spice to chase away the boring dregs of my lousy weekend.
Shelby still hasn’t called me back.
Max isn’t in love
with me.
I’m not in love with anyone, either.
I’m beyond gloomy; I’m bitter.
I can’t sell my wedding dress.
I yank open the back door of the building and head up the stairs. The aroma of something wonderful and wild is wafting down the stairwell.
Whatever Rosalina is making smells wickedly fiery and inviting.
I turn the key into my door and head to the kitchen to toss my empty water bottle into the sink.
My cell phone where I left it on the kitchen counter is flashing merrily. I pick ot up to listen to my voice mail.
“Hey, girlfriend. It’s Shelby. Sorry I missed your call yesterday. Eric invited me to meet his family. They were all getting together at Big Birch Lake for some reunion thing. So anyway, I went. But I’m home now, no plans for tonight, so call me. Okay. Catch you later.”
So she met Eric’s family. His family. Think happy thoughts, Daisy. I reach into my shorts pocket to stroke the little blue heart. Think happy thoughts for your best friend.
A second message is about to play. It’s probably Shelby telling me, “Oops, I forgot! Eric’s taking me to dinner tonight so I guess I won’t be home after all.”
But it’s not Shelby’s voice I hear.
It’s Daniel’s.
I lean against the wall for support as soon as I hear him say my name.
My name, my name, my name . . .
“Daisy? It’s Daniel. Um, just wondering if you have a minute or two to get together? I, uh, I understand if you don’t want to. I just… I just kind of wanted to see you. Hope it’s okay that I called. I’d really like to talk to you face-to-face. Um. Man, I hate leaving phone messages… I’ll just try you back later. So. See ya.”
Click.
End of messages.
For a moment I do nothing. I’m not sure I’m even breathing. I just stand there with the wall of my kitchen holding my body erect.
Then I listen to it again.
And again.
I slide down the wall, my knees coming forward so that when I rest my bottom on my kitchen floor, my bent knees are there to cradle my head.
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