Marya was in no rush to come back to the house either, and thought it would feel very sad. She still hadn’t shared her good news with Francesca, it just felt like the wrong time. But she and Charles-Edouard were happy in Vermont, and exploring facets of their relationship that they’d never had access to before. There were no limits for them now, since he was getting divorced. He had spoken to his lawyer twice from Vermont, and everything was on track. His wife wanted to get out quickly, so she could marry his sous-chef. She wanted half of what Charles-Edouard had, and after thirty years together, he thought it was fair. He told Marya he had enough to split it in half with Arielle and still have a comfortable life. They were content with that, and she didn’t want anything from him. Just a good life, and they were off to a wonderful start. She had never expected to wind up with him, or with anyone, after John. This was all an enormous surprise, and an adjustment, but they were both good sports about it and flexible and tolerant of each other’s quirks. They were both kind-hearted people who enjoyed life, and loved each other, now as much more than friends. He still wanted to get married, and was pushing her to it. And she was still firm about wanting him to prove himself faithful to her, and that he was capable of it. After a great marriage to John for thirty-six years, she wasn’t going to marry a cheater now, or even stay with one. And Charles-Edouard had been one all his life, and made no claims otherwise. He said it was cultural and the fact that he didn’t love his wife. Marya didn’t care, she wanted no part of a man who had affairs. He swore he wouldn’t.
They had a wonderful time in Vermont together, driving around, and they took a gondola up the mountain at Stowe. She drove back into New Hampshire with him. They ate lobster, and simple meals at local inns. They went to farmers’ markets and cooked at home, and took turns at who did what dishes, and collaborated on some. They tried out recipes for their book, planted vegetables in her garden, picked flowers, took long walks, swam in a nearby lake, went fishing and cooked what they caught, and waded in streams, and made love at least once a day, which astounded Marya. She had never thought the sex life they had possible at their age. Charles-Edouard was a very sexy man, with the drive of a much younger man, and the ability to carry it out. Marya was thriving and flourishing with his attention and the love they shared. The only dark spot in their time together was the news of Eileen’s death. Marya was deeply saddened by it, and went to church with Charles-Edouard to pray for her. She cried as she lit a candle for her soul. And she was going to miss her. She wondered if Francesca was going to replace her as a tenant.
When Charles-Edouard and Marya drove down from Vermont at the end of the Labor Day weekend, she looked healthy and brown and happy, and Charles-Edouard’s bright blue eyes danced in his tan face, which made his hair look even whiter. He was wearing a blue shirt, jeans, and espadrilles, with a red sweater on his shoulders when they got out of her car in front of 44 Charles Street, and they unloaded their suitcases and shopping bags full of fresh vegetables and fruit from her garden and the farmers’ market in Vermont. Marya sighed as she looked up at the house, thinking how different it would be without Eileen. She had given them all an infusion of youth.
Chris and Ian were home when they walked up the steps with their things. They were surprised to see Charles-Edouard, and it was obvious that he’d been in Vermont with Marya. Chris hadn’t realized that was the plan, and they seemed to be happier than ever together. Chris was still sorry for her that he was married. They seemed like a perfect fit.
“Welcome home,” Chris said as he came down the stairs when he heard them come in. And Ian came up just as fast from the kitchen with a milk mustache and a cookie. He smiled broadly at Marya, and threw himself into Charles-Edouard’s open arms.
“I have an egg in my ear!” he shouted excitedly, and instead Charles-Edouard pulled out a coin, and handed it to him.
“You sold your eggs for money,” he said, and kissed the boy on both cheeks, and then embraced Chris. He had gotten used to Charles-Edouard’s effusive French greetings by then. Ian helped him carry the bags of food down to the kitchen, while Chris whispered to Marya that he hadn’t told Ian about Eileen. He had said she had moved back to California to be with her parents, which was true. He hadn’t explained that she was going back in an urn, in the form of ashes. The idea of her getting murdered in the house would have frightened Ian, and he’d been through enough trauma with his mother. Marya agreed entirely, and said she’d mention to Charles-Edouard not to say anything to him about the murder or even her death. It was a sad circumstance for them all. She gave Chris a hug, and they exchanged a warm, loving look of understanding.
“So how was your summer?” he asked her. “Ours was great at the Vineyard.” He looked it, and so did Ian. They were healthy and tan, and so was she. With the exception of the tragedy that had befallen Eileen, they had all had good vacations.
“We had a wonderful time in Vermont,” Marya said, glowing, “and Europe is always terrific. I’ve been back for a month. It feels like ages ago.” Chris and Ian had returned from the Vineyard the week before. And there was no sign of disruption in the house. Eileen’s rooms upstairs were closed and locked. And Francesca had finally bought living room furniture to replace what Todd had taken eight months before. It was a very comfortable room now, and she had decided not to sell the house, in spite of Eileen. She had told Chris when he got home. It was a tragedy, but they had to go on. Chris approved of her decision and was relieved. He and Ian were happy there. It was a perfect setup for them, and he couldn’t imagine his life now without Marya and Francesca as friends for him, and beloved aunts for Ian, although he knew Ian would miss Eileen too, the stories she read him, and the origami birds she made.
As they always did when Marya was home, they all congregated in the kitchen. She put some mushroom soup on the stove that she had made in Vermont before they left that morning. It smelled delicious. Charles-Edouard was playing the egg game with Ian, who was squealing with delight. Suddenly the house seemed full of good smells, and joy and noise and laughter again. It hadn’t been that way when he and Ian got home, and it had felt very somber to him at first, and as though they were all in mourning. It was better now. Marya and Charles-Edouard gave them back energy and life. It had been too quiet without them.
Francesca could hear all of them laughing in the kitchen, as she unlocked the front door when she came home from work. She smiled as she walked downstairs, and saw Marya. She already had her apron on and was cooking. She had put a chicken in the oven for dinner. And Charles-Edouard put some pâté that he had made on a plate and then threw his arms around Francesca and kissed her when he saw her.
“Ahhhh!!! La châtelaine!” he said with delight. He called her “the mistress of the château.” 44 Charles Street was hardly a château, but it was their home and they loved it. “You look beautiful with a tan, Francesca.” And her hair looked like spun gold.
They were all talking at once as Marya looked around the kitchen. A few things were out of place, and she set them to rights and put things on the shelf where they belonged. And then she noticed that the kitchen computer was gone. Francesca had given it to the police as evidence. They all had their own computers in their rooms, and didn’t need one in the kitchen anyway. Marya suspected that was why it had vanished, since Eileen used it so often.
The five of them couldn’t stop talking, to catch up on everything, and for the first time since Francesca had returned from Maine, the house felt alive and happy again and joyful. They each brought their special magic to it, and were a family together.
They were sitting at dinner at the round table in the kitchen, trying not to feel Eileen’s absence, when Francesca noticed something different about Charles-Edouard and Marya. She didn’t want to say anything, but as she cleared the soup dishes with her and rinsed them, she whispered to Marya.
“Am I crazy, or is something going on with you and Charles-Edouard?” It was subtle but noticeable, and Chris had sensed it too but would never ask.
He was far too polite.
Marya grinned mischievously as she answered in a whisper too. “His wife left him this summer. She filed for divorce. She’s marrying his main sous-chef.” Francesca stared at her in amazement.
“Omigod! Are you serious?”
Her voice was slightly louder in her excitement for Marya, and she lowered it again. “Are you getting married?”
“I don’t know yet. I want to see if he can be faithful for more than five minutes. But we’re happy and having a good time. This is all very recent. He showed up in Vermont a few weeks ago. It’s very new.” She looked beautiful and young as she said it. And Charles-Edouard glanced at the two women whispering at the sink, and suspected what they were talking about as they giggled. He smiled at Marya.
When they sat down again, and Marya served the chicken, he looked at Francesca with a warm smile. “Marya told you?” She nodded and beamed at both of them, while Chris looked confused.
“I’m very happy for both of you,” Francesca said with a loving look, and got up to kiss him on both cheeks, French style. “That’s wonderful news.”
“Did I miss something?” Chris looked puzzled. “Did something happen with you two this summer?” It looked that way to him.
“We’re in love. My wife is divorcing me.” He looked extremely happy about it, as he beamed at Chris.
“Good for you both!” Chris said with a broad smile. “I’m happy for you.” He meant it, although he wouldn’t have wanted to be in that situation himself. He had sworn off love forever after Kimberly. He always insisted that he didn’t miss it. His life was peaceful and sane, and he had Ian. “That’s exciting! When did all this happen?”
“In Vermont,” Marya filled in. Charles-Edouard got up to pour them all champagne, and they toasted the couple, and then as Francesca looked around the table, she wanted to offer another toast. She had a lump in her throat when she did.
“To Eileen. I hope she’s in a better place now,” she said softly, and they each solemnly raised their glass and took a sip.
“Why did she move back to California?” Ian asked plaintively. “I miss her. She was nice.”
“Yes, she was,” Francesca agreed. “Sometimes people we like move away,” she said simply. Ian nodded and started cutting his chicken, and after that they talked of Marya and Charles-Edouard, their respective summers and plans for the fall. Ian had started third grade, Francesca had a heavy exhibition schedule at the gallery, including two one-man shows, and she wanted to go to Art Basel in Miami in December. Charles-Edouard and Marya had their book to write. For the first time in weeks, life felt normal again at 44 Charles Street. Eileen wasn’t forgotten and never would be, but life went on.
Chapter 15
AT MARYA’S URGING, Francesca invited her mother to dinner the following week when she returned from Europe. She wanted to see her anyway, and had to, and doing it at one of Marya and Charles-Edouard’s dinners was an easy way to get together.
Thalia accepted with delight. She said she had had a fabulous summer. She had sent Francesca several e-mails and called her a couple of times, which was a lot for her. She rarely stayed in touch when she was away. She usually forgot her family when she was with her friends. And never the reverse. She had stayed longer than planned in Venice, and had a terrific time. And she thoroughly enjoyed the meal prepared by Marya and Charles-Edouard when she came to dinner. She still flirted with him whenever she talked to him, but she seemed a little less outrageous about it now. She had worn a black sweater and slacks instead of a short dress and high heels. They were halfway through the meal when she noticed Eileen’s absence. Francesca still hadn’t told her that she died. There was a long pregnant pause after Thalia asked about her.
“She moved back to California,” Ian said simply. “San Diego,” he informed her. No one else commented, and the conversation moved on. Francesca and Marya exchanged a long look that Thalia didn’t see.
“So what’s everyone planning now?” she asked over dessert. Charles-Edouard had made them a delicate pear tart. “Any trips? I’m going to Gstaad for Christmas,” she announced. Her friends in Venice had invited her to join them at their chalet there. It was one of the fancier ski resorts in Europe, and Thalia went at least once every winter, sometimes twice.
No one else had any major plans. The holidays seemed like light-years away to them. Charles-Edouard and Marya would be finishing their cookbook. Francesca was going to be busy at the gallery, and Chris had to get through the hearing for permanent custody of Ian, but he didn’t mention it to Thalia. That was hardly a pleasant plan.
Thalia had noticed the new warmth and closeness between Marya and Charles-Edouard. She asked her about it before she left, and Marya admitted it was true.
“Is he getting divorced, or did you just give in?” Thalia asked with interest. She had met several attractive married men in Venice herself. But she didn’t like playing on a team.
“His wife left him this summer and filed for divorce. I got lucky,” Marya said simply. She felt a little guilty having a man when Thalia wanted one so badly.
“You certainly did get lucky,” Thalia agreed in a plaintive tone. “I just don’t get it. You didn’t want a man, and I do. You get one and I don’t. Talk about upside down.” Marya didn’t want to tell her that maybe she tried too hard. And Marya hadn’t tried at all. Quite the reverse.
“Destiny perhaps,” Marya said diplomatically, but she believed it. “Things happen in their own time. You’ll get your turn,” she reassured her.
“I hope you’re right,” Thalia said with a sigh, as she put on a white jacket she had bought in Paris. As always, she was impeccably groomed and beautifully turned out, with exquisite pearl and diamond earrings and immaculately coiffed hair. She was enough to terrify any man. “I didn’t meet anyone even remotely possible this summer. St. Tropez is full of Eurotrash and Russians these days. And they’re all twelve years old. And everyone else in Europe is married, and cheating.”
“There’s someone out there for you,” Marya reassured her, and then Francesca came up from downstairs, walked her mother out, and put her in a cab. Even when she was pleasant, it was always a relief when she left. She was a lot of work, and it was stressful being with her. But Thalia got on well with Marya and Charles-Edouard, and was perfectly polite to Chris, which made her visits easier for Francesca. It was more agreeable than having dinner alone with her, which was always like the Spanish Inquisition. Francesca was tired when she went upstairs. It had been a long evening.
She spent the weekend in Connecticut with her father and Avery after that. He was working on a new painting and in his studio most of the time, which gave her a chance to go for long walks with Avery and relax.
“How are you all doing after Eileen?” Avery asked her gently, and Francesca sighed as she answered. She was still sad about it.
“We all miss her. She put a little extra youth in the group, despite her boy-craziness. She was more like a college kid than a grownup. I still haven’t told my mom, and I won’t. She doesn’t need to know. She’d just give me a headache about it, and it was bad enough. She was a real example of the kind of dating risks not to take. She would go out with anything that moved. She always thought it was safe, even when you could see it wasn’t. She had miserable judgment.”
“What about you? How’s your dating life these days?” Avery was worried about her. Todd had moved out more than eight months before, and Francesca had made no real effort to meet someone else. She didn’t seem to care.
“I don’t have one. I’m not even sure if I want one. I never meet anyone I’m interested in through my work. The artists I meet are all flakes, or pompous, or narcissistic. It just seems like too much work, and the clients who hit on me are always jerks. The nice ones are married.”
“You’re too young to give up,” Avery said firmly.
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m not. I miss having someone in my life, but I don’t want a mismatch like I had with Todd, and figure
it out five years later. You invest four years, figure out he’s the wrong guy, and then have a year of grief, and break up, and it breaks your heart. And five years go down the drain. I’m finding it a little hard to reenlist.”
“I hear Todd’s engaged,” Avery said cautiously.
“Yes, he is. Brave guy. He was suddenly in a big hurry to get married and have kids. God knows if he’s marrying the right woman. All he wants is a brood mare and someone to take to the Christmas party at his law firm. I’m not the type for either.”
“That’s a little harsh on both of you,” Avery said gently. She liked Todd. Just not for Francesca. She had never thought it was right, even in the beginning when they did. Avery had never thought he was interesting enough for her.
“Maybe it isn’t,” Francesca answered. “I don’t know what I want anymore. Arty, conservative, married, not married, living together, not. It’s all so goddamn complicated, and at this age everyone is damaged. They’ve all been screwed over by someone else, and so have I.” She was thinking of Chris when she said it. He readily admitted to being relationship-phobic, and she was beginning to feel that way too. “Maybe I’m too comfortable by myself now.” She’d been desperately lonely at first without Todd, but she wasn’t anymore. She liked doing what she wanted without having to consult anyone. “My roommates keep me company. I have Ian as the token child in my life, my artists to drive me nuts, they’re kind of like having permanent adolescents in your life. Why do I need a man?”
“When was the last time you had sex?” Avery asked her bluntly. “You might not want to give that up quite yet at thirty-five. It’s kind of nice.”
“Oh that.” Francesca grinned sheepishly. “I don’t even miss that anymore. I just turn it off.” It had been more than a year since she and Todd had stopped sleeping with each other, and having sex, before he left. “And I don’t have to shave my legs.”
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