Marya, the woman from Vermont, appeared at the house on Charles Street five minutes before the appointed hour the next day. She was wearing ski pants, snow boots, and a parka with a hood, and it was a cold day in New York too. She had gray hair cut in a stylish bob, and looked nothing like what Francesca had expected. And she was much older than she had sounded on the phone. She mentioned that she was fifty-nine, and had just lost her husband after a long illness. But she looked like a cheerful, happy person. She was lithe and had a youthful attitude and look, although Francesca was startled to realize she was nearly her mother’s age, but an entirely different kind of person.
And she was much more interested in checking out the kitchen than seeing her room, which she had glanced at rapidly and said seemed fine to her.
“I take it you like to cook,” Francesca said, smiling at her.
“Yes, I do. It’s been my passion ever since I was a little girl. I’m very lucky to be able to do what I love. It never feels like work.” And then Francesca suddenly realized who she was, and how oblivious she had been. She was Marya Davis, the celebrated cook. She had written half a dozen famous cookbooks, and Francesca had two of them on a shelf. She was one of the most successful chefs, and specialized in French cuisine, made easy for the masses and people who were busy. She demystified some of the famous French dishes, and had written an entire book on soufflés. And here she was in Francesca’s kitchen on Charles Street, examining the kitchen and sitting at the table. “I’m working on a new book,” she explained. “And I thought it might be fun to spend some time here while I do. It’s too quiet where I live, particularly now that I’m alone.” She wasn’t mournful about it, just a little wistful.
“Was your husband a chef too?” Francesca asked, curious about her. She had dancing eyes, and a huge smile, and seemed like one of the warmest, friendliest people Francesca had ever met. She was totally unassuming, and she looked completely at home in Francesca’s kitchen. And if she moved in, Francesca realized instantly that there would be some wonderful things to eat.
She laughed in answer to Francesca’s question about her late husband. “He was a banker, not a cook, but he loved to eat, particularly French food. We used to spend a month in Provence every year, while I tried out new recipes. We had a lot of fun together. I miss him,” she said simply, “so I thought it might be good to do something different and move here for a while. But I’ll need to go back to Vermont occasionally to check on the house, and it’s so pretty there in the late spring. But now that I don’t ski anymore, I’d rather be here in the winter months.” Francesca’s own mother still skied at sixty-two, and the two women were close to the same age, but they weren’t even remotely alike. Marya Davis was a woman of talent, substance, humor, and depth. Thalia was none of those. And Francesca was thoroughly enjoying talking to Marya. She was a lovely woman, and Francesca was thrilled to meet her and at the prospect of having her live at the house. She had been lucky with all three of her tenants.
They talked about the details a few minutes later. Marya thought the price was fine, and the room was all she needed, and she was delighted to be near the kitchen. It was the perfect setup for her.
“I hope you’ll let me try some of my new recipes on you,” she said shyly, and Francesca looked delighted.
“It would be an honor, Mrs. Davis.” Francesca smiled warmly at her. She was so sweet, she almost wanted to give her a hug.
“Please call me Marya, or you’ll make me feel very old. I suppose I am, I’ll be sixty next year.” She looked at least ten years younger than she was, and she was so simple and unassuming that it was endearing, and easy to feel close to her. Francesca could hardly wait for her to move in. She was planning to drive back to Vermont that afternoon, and promised to be back in a few days.
Marya hugged her in the doorway as she left, and Francesca was smiling as she walked upstairs and ran into Eileen.
“You look happy.”
“I am. Marya Davis, the famous chef and author of many cookbooks, just rented the downstairs room. I’m thrilled, and she said she’d cook for us whenever we want. We’re going to be her guinea pigs for the next year.”
“How cool,” Eileen said, beaming. “I hate to cook.”
“Yeah, me too,” Francesca agreed. It had never been her strong suit, and Todd had been a much better cook than she was. “Well, that’s it. We’ve got a full house now,” Francesca said, looking pleased and relieved. Her mortgage payments were fully covered now without Todd. And they were a good group. Eileen, Chris, and now Marya. She had been very lucky with the roommates she’d found, contrary to her mother’s dire predictions, and even her own fears, and Todd’s.
It was perfect. The house on Charles Street was alive and full. They were all nice people, and Marya was a wonderful addition. 44 Charles Street was teeming with life. They were even going to be eating great food as soon as Marya moved in. It didn’t get better than that.
Chapter 6
MARYA MOVED IN on Valentine’s Day, and had made delicate wafer-thin heart-shaped gingerbread cookies for all of them before she even unpacked. Chris had been designing a project at the house that day. It was for one of his demanding industrial clients, which was always challenging, and required concentration, and the baking odors drifted up to him, until he could no longer focus on his work, and had to go downstairs to check it out. He found Marya in the kitchen, wearing a plaid apron and humming to herself. Although he had known that she was moving in, he hadn’t met her yet. She turned to him with a broad smile, put down a cookie tray, and shook his hand.
“I’ve never smelled anything so delicious in my entire life!” he said, glancing at the stove. She held out a plate to him, and five of the irresistible cookies vanished instantly and melted in his mouth.
“It’s just an old recipe I dusted off,” she said humbly, and once he was in the kitchen, Chris became aware of other delicious smells as well. She was trying out some new recipes, and making a tried and true one, and thought she’d set some food out for them in case any of them were planning to be home that night. Chris said he was. She invited him to come back later, and help himself to anything he wanted. “It’s so great having all of you to cook for,” she said. She had been so lonely since her husband had died. This was a perfect setup for her, and she was thrilled to be moving in. Her bags were still sitting unopened in her room. She hadn’t been able to resist the lure of the kitchen as soon as she walked in, much to his delight. “I hear you have an enchanting little boy,” Marya said as Chris poured himself a glass of milk from the fridge. He smiled at her words.
“He’s a good boy. I have him every other weekend, and I usually take him out after school on Wednesday nights. He lives with his mom.”
“I can’t wait to meet him.” Marya had no children of her own. It had never happened, and in her late fifties, she was of an era where the many options currently available to deal with infertility hadn’t existed yet. So she and her husband had accepted their lot, and devoted themselves to each other. It made the void in her life that much bigger now that he was gone. Having three roommates at the house on Charles Street was going to make her life a much happier place than the lonely home in Vermont that she still loved. But she wanted to be with people. She was ecstatic about the move to New York, and couldn’t wait to visit museums, restaurants, and friends. She was excited about all of it, and had a cheerful, upbeat attitude about life.
Chris went back upstairs to finish his project, and moments later, Marya met Eileen when she came home from work and went to use the computer in the kitchen to check her e-mail. Eileen could smell Marya’s cooking the moment she opened the front door.
“Wow!” Eileen said as she walked into the kitchen, and found herself looking at Marya. She was a pretty woman, and her slim athletic figure was noticeable even in the apron that she wore. “What smells so good?” She couldn’t tell if it was sweet or savory. Marya had put a chicken in the oven for all of them, was making asparagus, and planned t
o make a cheese soufflé when they all got home. She had baked a heart-shaped chocolate cake for dessert. It was a Valentine’s Day feast.
“I didn’t know if any of you were eating at home tonight, but I thought I’d take a chance. Valentine’s Day is so much fun.” It was a good excuse for a great meal.
Eileen smiled as she checked her e-mail, and saw that she had a date for that night. It was a first date with a man she’d been e-mailing with for several days. So far she had met some really nice guys, and a few duds. She got rid of the duds very quickly, and had only brought two men home. Francesca was uneasy about it, but hadn’t said anything to Eileen. She didn’t think she had that right. Eileen was an adult, and this was her home, and Francesca couldn’t screen her dates. But having strangers spend the night at the house seemed a little dicey to her. Nothing unpleasant had happened, but since Eileen was meeting them all on the Internet, Francesca was aware that she didn’t know any of her dates well. They were strangers to her too, which seemed risky to Francesca. It was why Internet encounters with men didn’t appeal to Francesca at all. She had been lucky with her roommates, but had checked them carefully through references and credit checks. Screening dates would have been much harder, seemed more dangerous, and she still had no desire to date anyone yet anyway. Todd had moved out only six weeks before. She still missed him, and was trying to get used to the idea that he was gone forever out of her life. And at times it was very hard. She had lost not only the man she loved, but her best friend and business partner, which made it a triple loss. The only other people in her life were the artists she represented. She had worked so hard on establishing her business for the past four years that the only people she saw were either artists or clients, and Todd.
Francesca was the last one to come home from work that night. She closed the gallery at seven, and walked the short distance home. She had sold two small pieces for Valentine’s Day and had been feeling down all afternoon. She had forgotten that Marya was moving in that day, and when she got home, she found all three of her tenants chatting in the kitchen and sharing a bottle of Spanish wine Marya had opened for them. She had brought a few cases of French, Spanish, and Chilean wines with her from Vermont, and they were sampling one of them, and liked it very much.
“Welcome home,” she said to Francesca with a cheerful look. It suddenly boosted her spirits to see all of them. She was dreading coming back to an empty house, and trying to forget that it was Valentine’s Day. Todd had always made a big deal of it, and took her out for a nice dinner every year. She hadn’t heard from him all day, and knew it was just as well, but she was down about it anyway. She smiled happily as Marya handed her a glass of the Spanish wine. Dinner was ready by then. She hadn’t planned to eat, and Eileen said she was going out, but the three of them sat down at the kitchen table, and devoured the delicious dinner that Marya served with ease. The asparagus and hollandaise were irresistible, the cheese soufflé for openers was beyond belief, and the chicken was roasted to perfection with a delicate mushroom stuffing. There was salad and French cheese, and the three of them finished off the chocolate cake as they talked animatedly around the table about food, travels, life experiences, friends. She had just arrived but Marya seemed to bring them all to life, and Francesca hadn’t seen Chris as friendly or as talkative since he moved in. Marya had a magical gift with people and food. Francesca couldn’t believe their luck that she was there, and Marya said that she felt fortunate to be living in Francesca’s house, and greatly blessed. They had so much fun that Eileen nearly forgot her date, and rushed out without changing. She just put on high heels and perfume, waved goodbye, and disappeared, as Francesca, Chris, and Marya sat at the table over the last of the meal. She served coffee, the gingerbread cookies, and truffles afterward. Chris said with conviction that it was the best meal he had ever eaten, and Francesca readily agreed. It was the best Valentine’s Day she had spent in years, even if it was without Todd.
She and Chris helped Marya clean up the kitchen, but Marya had tidied as she went along, and there was surprisingly little mess. Marya went to unpack then, and Chris and Francesca walked slowly up the stairs.
“I was dreading today,” Francesca admitted. “It’s my first Valentine’s Day without the man I bought the house with. It turned out to be a lot of fun tonight, thanks to Marya.”
Chris nodded solemnly, a little more distant now that he was alone with her. He was always very guarded whenever he talked to Francesca or Eileen except when Ian was around. Marya had really brought him out of his shell. And Francesca couldn’t help wondering what had happened to him to make him so withdrawn. She was beginning to think that it wasn’t so much his personality as traumas that had occurred.
“Today was probably hard for Marya too, without her husband,” Francesca commented. “She’s a lovely woman. I’m glad she moved in. Her food is fantastic. We’re all going to get fat if she cooks like that for us every night.” Chris smiled at what she said.
“I think this was just a special event. I haven’t celebrated Valentine’s Day, or even thought about it, for years. It’s for lovers and kids,” and he was neither, although he had talked to Ian that afternoon and sent him a Valentine’s Day card. Ian had a crush on his teacher and a girl in his class, and had sent them both cards, he had told his dad.
They said goodnight to each other outside Chris’s door, which had once been her dining room and library and was now his home. She hadn’t seen the rooms since he moved in and had no reason to, since he was renting them from her. And she walked slowly up the stairs to her bedroom, feeling lonely again. It was inevitable. There was so much hype about that day, if you didn’t have a lover to share it with, it felt like a day of mourning. But Marya had made it a lot easier and happier for her, and she was grateful to her for that.
Francesca heard Eileen come in later that night, and she could tell that she had someone with her, and hoped she was all right. Her trust and innocence about the men she met on the Internet worried Francesca considerably, but they were whispering and laughing as they tiptoed past Francesca’s door, and she saw him in the kitchen over breakfast the next day. Marya had left freshly baked rolls and croissants for them and gone out for a walk. And Eileen’s date of the night before was happily gobbling the croissants and barely said hello to Francesca as she walked in. He looked a little rough around the edges, but Eileen was smiling and seemed happy and young as she giggled at him. Francesca was mildly annoyed to have to deal with him over breakfast, and Chris didn’t look thrilled either as he poured himself a cup of the coffee Marya had made earlier. Mealtimes on Charles Street had become a lot more interesting since Marya moved in.
“How do you all know each other? Are you two a couple?” Eileen’s date asked them as Chris shot him an evil look, poured himself a bowl of cornflakes, and didn’t bother to answer. Francesca just said they were roommates, and let it go at that. The man had several tattoos and had rolled up his sleeves, which exposed his arms. They were in vivid color, and his hair was long. He said he worked in TV, and then explained that he was a grip, and he fondled Eileen’s buttocks openly just as she sat down. Chris almost laughed when he saw the look of disapproval on Francesca’s face. She thought it was a bit much over breakfast among strangers, but Eileen didn’t seem to mind and looked pleased. She kissed him passionately, and he looked like he had his tongue halfway down her throat. His name was Doug. And she had met him on the Internet, of course. It seemed to be her only resource for meeting men, which concerned Francesca. Other people seemed to meet decent men on the Internet, but Eileen appeared to be alarmingly naïve. Doug was still in the kitchen when the others left.
Francesca excused herself and said she had some calls to make from her room, and Chris said he had a client meeting at ten, to present the project he had been working on for weeks. It was finally complete. He had been designing new packaging for a well-known brand. He left the house with his portfolio a few minutes later, and so did Eileen. And by the time Francesca left
for the gallery at eleven, she was alone in the house. Marya had gone out too after cleaning up the kitchen when she came back from her walk.
The house was beginning to feel full and busy.
Francesca had arranged for a cleaning service to come twice a week, and they were all sharing the expense, rather than having to clean the house themselves. She was thinking about Eileen as she walked to work in a light February rain, and wondered if they’d be seeing Doug again. She hoped not, and thought he was crude, and a lot less than Eileen deserved. She seemed to be much more interested in quantity and the number of men she could meet, than in quality and narrowing the field to some better guys who were worthy of her. Francesca reminded herself that she was young and still naïve. She would have worried about her a lot if she were a younger sister. As a tenant or roommate, it was none of her business. But her Internet hobby was a little unnerving. It was a whole new world to Francesca, and not one she wanted to explore, although a lot of people were enthused about it and claimed they met nice people that way. It seemed risky to Francesca and she hoped Eileen would slow down a little and be careful in the meantime.
Francesca had a new show to curate and hang at the gallery that afternoon. It was a group show she had been working on for months, for two abstract painters and a sculptor, and she thought their work enhanced one another. It was important to find work that didn’t overshadow or distract from the rest of the show. One of the artists did enormous canvases and it was going to be hard for her to hang them alone. Without Todd to help her hang the shows now, she had asked one of their artists to come in and do it with her if he had time. He worked as an installer for several galleries to make extra money, and he was pleasant and helpful, although vague about time. He had been one of the first artists she signed up and his paintings sold fairly well. And he worked hard and was serious about his art and well trained. For once, he arrived on time, and Francesca figured out where she wanted him to hang the paintings, and he got up on a tall ladder for several hours to adjust the lights once they hung the work. It was after six when they were finished, and they both were tired but pleased with the result. He was ten years younger than she was and a cute guy.
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