by Anne Canadeo
An angry edge, Lucy noticed. Angry at all the people in Jamie’s past who had neglected him. They’d better stay out of sight, if they knew what was good for them, Lucy realized. They didn’t want to meet up with Gloria.
“It’s amazing he turned out with such a sweet personality, after going through all that.” Suzanne’s tone was sympathetic.
“Yes, it is,” Gloria agreed. “But he’s just built that way. He’s a special person.”
“Every child deserves a loving home. Kids are so defenseless,” Dana said. “It’s just not fair what some children have to go through.”
“Not fair at all. But you know what?” Gloria looked up from her knitting, glancing at each of them. “When I told him, ‘Jamie, this is your chance. I want you to just go and paint,’ he wouldn’t do it. He gave me an argument. Said he didn’t feel it was right and what would people say, and so on and so forth.” Gloria laughed, skillfully slipping a double stitch onto a long wooden needle. “As if I ever cared what people said about me. But it was sweet of him,” she noted. “He didn’t want to take advantage. He finally said we would give it a year and see if he’d made any progress. If not, he might go back to school and get some sort of degree. Cooking, maybe. That’s his second love. But I know that’s not where his heart is. I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
Neither did Lucy. Jamie loved to cook, but she didn’t think he was cut out for commercial kitchens. He did have a great personality and good social skills. He’d probably do very well in some sort of sales job, Lucy thought. If the painting didn’t work out, that is.
“How long has it been, Gloria, since he began painting full-time?” Dana asked curiously.
“Let’s see … we were married in December. Christmas Eve, down in the Keys, very romantic. So it’s almost six months. So far, so good.”
“Yes, very good,” Maggie agreed. “If it doesn’t work out at this gallery—I mean, it seems like it will, but you never know—it sounds like he’ll have other opportunities.”
“I’ve tried to tell him that, too. But I’ve got my fingers crossed. I hate to see him disappointed. He gets so blue and down on himself. Then he doesn’t want to touch a paintbrush for weeks and starts questioning everything. Oh, God. Sometimes I really forget how young he is.” Gloria lifted her head and gave a little laugh. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, don’t waste time with a lot of self-doubt and existential bellyaching. It’s useless. When disaster strikes, just pick up your skirts and plow on, ladies. That’s my motto. That’s what gets the job done.”
“When disaster strikes, just keep knitting. That’s my motto,” Maggie countered, making her friends laugh.
It was true. Whenever Maggie faced one of life’s lashing storms, she’d just hunkered down and knit her way right through it.
“Same philosophy.” Gloria waved her hand; the rings on her slim fingers twinkled in the dark like fireflies. “You have to stay focused and productive. Not give in to that poor-little-me mind-set. There are always going to be problems in life. You’re always going to hit a few speed bumps and potholes. When you least expect it, too. That’s one good thing about getting older. These little setbacks don’t throw you as much as they used to.”
Gloria seemed to be talking about something entirely different now than Jamie’s art show, or even their marriage, Lucy thought. Gloria sighed and gazed down at her knitting. Lucy had a feeling she was deep in thought about some unexpected speed bumps she’d either recently hit, or spotted on the horizon.
Then Gloria suddenly looked up, realizing she’d been distracted.
“Just between us,” she confided in a softer voice, “my dearest love will have a show in Boston before the year is out, if I have to buy the gallery and hang every one of those darn paintings myself.”
Everyone laughed at her declaration. But Lucy wasn’t sure that their hostess was actually joking.
Chapter Two
Lucy opened her eyes Friday morning to find herself nose to nose with her dog, a mostly golden retriever mix named Tink.
Tink was not allowed on the bed, but never tired of negotiating that question. As long as she managed to keep her back paws on the floor—sometimes, only one paw … or one doggy toenail—Lucy didn’t have the heart to scold her.
Her front half was now up on the mattress, her muzzle flat on the quilt, slowly inching up to the pillow. As Lucy stared into her eyes, Tink’s tail wagged behind like the propeller on a single-engine airplane, warming up a runway.
“Oh geez …” Lucy sighed and rolled over. Tink interpreted that response as “come on up!” and landed squarely in the middle of Lucy’s chest, pinning her to the mattress. Then she began methodically licking off any remnants of face cream Lucy had applied the night before.
“Okay. I’m getting up. See? Just let me out of the bed, dog.”
The sixty-pound hound finally released her and Lucy sat upright. She grabbed around the tangled bed linen for her robe, while Tink picked up a slipper in her mouth and dashed downstairs.
I’m dating a vet. Shouldn’t this dog be better trained by now? Lucy pondered the question as she stumbled down the stairs in one slipper.
While the dog was definitely more work than she’d expected, Tink had made her solitary life more interesting and made the cottage she lived in feel more like home. Lucy and her sister, Ellen, had spent summers in the cottage with their aunt Laura all through their childhood. When their aunt had died a little over a year ago, she’d left the place to her two nieces.
Married with two children, Ellen would be a perfect candidate for Real Housewives of Concord, Massachusetts, if such a show was ever aired. Plum Harbor was not her style anymore and Ellen was happy to have Lucy in the house, instead of some unknown renters.
Ellen and her husband, Scott, preferred the Vineyard or the Cape for summer weekends with their family, though Plum Harbor was a coastal village with beautiful beaches, boating, and a quaint Main Street that looked like a set from a Frank Capra movie. Neither a suburb nor a truly rural place anymore, Plum Harbor was something in between, an exburb, Lucy had heard it called. Either way, it suited her fine. So far, at least.
At the time of her aunt’s death, Lucy was still reeling from her divorce and had just quit her job at a big advertising agency to start her own graphic design business. She’d decided to move out to Plum Harbor for the summer for some peace and quiet and a change of scene. And had ended up staying long past Labor Day. She still sometimes felt like a visitor here, but now that nearly a year had passed, the move did seem to be a permanent one.
Down in the kitchen, as Lucy put together a pot of coffee, she felt a dull headache coming on. Her stomach felt queasy and her mouth was as dry as chalk.
Stomach virus?
Then she remembered … Gloria’s Brazilian cocktail. She should have known she’d regret it.
She managed to gulp down a mug of black coffee, then made her way upstairs and into the shower. She dressed in shorts, a T-shirt, and sneakers and returned to the kitchen. Tink danced around the slippery floor, waving a shoe in her mouth—universal canine sign language for “I need to relieve myself. Now.” Lucy finally clipped a leash on her collar and they launched into the neighborhood.
The dog had been shortchanged on her walk the night before, when Lucy got home late from Gloria’s. A long walk into town would do them both good, Lucy thought, as long as there was another huge cup of coffee and some pain relievers waiting on the other end. And she knew just where she might find some at this early hour, too.
Starting off from her cottage, the streets to the village all led downhill, which Lucy truly appreciated this morning. She hung onto Tink’s leash and let gravity do the rest as the dog pulled her along a winding route that led to the harbor and green.
Instead of walking all the way to the harbor this morning, as they usually did, Lucy steered Tink on a shortcut to Main Street and emerged on a corner about two blocks from Maggie’s store. It was only half past eight, but Lucy th
ought Maggie might be there by now. She often came in early to straighten the stock and get organized for her day. And she always put up a big pot of really good coffee, first thing.
As Lucy drew closer to the Black Sheep, she spotted Maggie’s green Subaru parked on the street in front. Maggie was in, no question. Even Tink seemed to know where they were headed and picked up her pace for the final stretch.
When Maggie was looking to open the Black Sheep knitting shop, she had found the perfect spot, the first floor of a freestanding Victorian building in the middle of the town’s main thoroughfare. The brick path that led from the sidewalk was bordered by flower beds, where Maggie had planted a lush array—clumps of yellow daylilies, dark pink snapdragons, and inky blue petunias.
There were more blooming plants along the front of the building—roses, hydrangea, peonies, and others that would blossom as the summer drew on. Window boxes hung from the porch railings, filled with more colorful flowers and long trailing vines.
The shop couldn’t have looked more inviting and did not disappoint in the least once you went inside, the array of flowers outside matching the colorful displays of all types of yarn.
Lucy led Tink up the porch and tied her leash to a post on the porch railing in a spot where the dog would be visible through the big bay window at the front of the shop. Lucy took a bottle of water and a portable dog dish out of her canvas bag and gave Tink a drink. Then Lucy dropped Tink’s favorite Nyla bone nearby, in case her little pal got bored and decided to taste test some of Maggie’s wicker furniture. Tink lapped the water noisily, then lay down with a deep sigh. She was used to their routine by now.
“Be a good girl. I won’t be long,” Lucy promised.
The door was open and Lucy walked in. The shop covered several small rooms and knitting nooks, a love seat and comfortable chairs to the left of the entrance. Armoires and baskets brimming with yarns stood near the counter in the center of the store and a big work table, used for classes and demonstrations, filled most of the back room. A cabinet full of buttons and other needful knitting items stood against the rear wall. Lucy took in the familiar surroundings with a glance. Maggie, however, was nowhere in sight.
“Anybody home?” Lucy called out.
“I’m back here, making coffee,” Maggie called from the storeroom. “Would you like some?”
The storeroom had been a kitchen at one time and still had the basic equipment, which Maggie frequently put to use.
“Yes, please. The largest cup you have. With a bottle of Advil, on the side.”
“Sounds like you have a hangover,” Maggie diagnosed.
“You guessed it.”
“Eat a banana. That always helps,” a third voice advised.
Lucy turned to see who had come in behind her at this hour. It was Edie Steiber, her big body covered in a loose-fitting cotton dress, a circa-1960s flower-power print. Large earrings shaped like daisies and bright bangle bracelets—definitely thrift store or garage sale finds—provided the perfect accessories. Lucy couldn’t help thinking that dear Edie looked like a flowered minivan … but the older woman did have her own fashion sense, you had to grant her that. A yellow cardigan, embellished with more daisies, was slung over her shoulders, her knitting bag firmly clamped under one thick soft arm.
Edie had obviously overheard their shouted conversation out on the porch. “Bananas help a lot of things—warts, muscle cramps … constipation—”
“I’ll have to remember that,” Lucy said quickly, cutting off Edie’s list of ailments.
Edie owned the Schooner, a diner on Main Street that was practically a historic landmark, certainly the favorite hangout of everyone Lucy knew in town. Aside from Maggie’s knitting shop.
She wondered why Edie wasn’t in her usual post at this hour, behind the cafe’s long Formica counter, watching over the cash register and the waitstaff with the vigilance of the three-headed dog at the gates of hell. Then again, she’d opened at the crack of dawn, so it was practically lunchtime on her clock, and Edie often went up the street to the Black Sheep when she had an emergency with a project … or a particularly juicy bit of gossip to share.
Lucy wondered which of these compelling reasons had brought her by this morning.
“Hello, Edie … I didn’t know you were here.” Maggie emerged from the back room with the coffeepot, creamer, sugar, and a few mugs on a tray, which she set down carefully on the big farm table at the back of the shop.
“Lucy has a big head. I told her to eat a banana.”
“I don’t have any bananas in the back. I did find some headache pills.”
“Thanks, I think I will have a few.” Lucy picked up a mug of coffee and the little white bottle.
“I’ve heard the best cure for a hangover is drinking lots of water,” Maggie offered. “Gloria’s exotic elixor?”
“You guessed it.” Lucy shook two red pills into her palm and then downed them with a gulp of coffee. “You were smart to avoid that potion.”
“Yes, I was, wasn’t I? But I’ve know Gloria a lot longer.” Maggie cast Lucy a sympathetic smile, then turned to Edie. “We were at Gloria Sterling’s house last night. She invited the knitting group for dinner. It was lots of fun.”
Edie didn’t seem impressed, Lucy noticed. She sat down at the table with a low grunting sound and helped herself to a mug of coffee, which she fixed with a long pour of milk and two spoons of sugar.
“Is she still married to that guy she picked up in Florida? Most people bring back a box of oranges.”
Maggie looked amused by the question. “Yes, it’s still going strong. Almost six months now, I think.”
“She ought to enjoy herself while she can. I have food in my walk-in that’s going to last longer than that hookup.”
Lucy wasn’t sure if this advice was a comment on the durability of Gloria’s marriage, or the questionable food handling practices at the Schooner.
“They seem very happy together,” Lucy said, feeling that Edie was being unfair.
“Of course they’re happy. She’s a plain fool with truckloads of money and he’s a boy toy who likes the good life. It’s a perfect match, honey,” Edie argued with her. “He’ll take her for whatever he can get and when he’s tired of being tied down to some Botoxed-up old bag—who people keep mistaking for his mother—he’ll dump her for someone his own age.”
“Or they’ll stay together and prove you wrong?” Maggie offered.
“Right. When pigs whistle. Hey, I’ll bet you fifty bucks that guy has his Louis Vuitton packed within a year,” Edie insisted.
“Okay, you’re on, my friend.” Maggie offered Edie her hand. Edie took it and shook, but still didn’t look satisfied.
“Did she make him sign a prenup?” Edie asked bluntly.
Lucy noticed Maggie hesitate before answering. “I really don’t know.”
“Oh … don’t give me that. You know. That means she didn’t, I’ll bet,” Edie said. “I’m not the type who wishes other people ill. But what goes around comes around and that Gloria Sterling has plenty coming around to her. That guy is going to take her for every penny and she’ll get what she deserves.”
Edie was never one to mince words or edit her opinion, but it did seem that the mere mention of Gloria had struck a sensitive nerve.
“Well … let’s hope not,” Lucy said, gamely speaking up again in Gloria’s defense. She liked Gloria, for all her flash and over-the-top style. She liked Jamie, too. She wished that they proved everyone wrong—everyone who held the same opinion of their marriage as Edie—and stayed together forever.
“You don’t understand,” Edie said, turning to Lucy. “You’re new around here. Maggie knows what I’m talking about,” Edie said, turning back to Maggie.
“Well … I’m not exactly sure, Edie. What are you talking about?” Maggie challenged her.
“The Queen of Mean, that’s what. When she was married to George Thurman, they terrorized this town. ‘Thurman-ized’ us, we used to say. Sh
e made the Wicked Witch of the West look like Christie Brinkley. I’m going back about twenty years now, I guess. It was the early nineties, a big recession. They bought up property like they were playing Monopoly. Raised the rents, threw people out. Hardworking people who had been in business for ten, twenty years in the same spot. Then suddenly, they couldn’t afford the new jacked-up leases.”
“I didn’t know that,” Lucy said honestly. She glanced at Maggie, wondering how much of this tale was fact and how much was Edie’s emotion-fueled hyperbole.
“Oh … well … I guess I’ve heard something about that, but I was still teaching back then,” Maggie reminded her. “I was pretty much out of that loop. I only opened this shop a few years ago. And I only got to know Gloria after George died,” she added.
“Okay, I see your point,” Edie replied evenly. She added another spoonful of sugar to her coffee and stirred slowly. “You weren’t on the front line, that is true. But it wasn’t pretty, believe me. The Thurmans were heartless. I was lucky. My father bought the Schooner when he had the chance, so I didn’t have to worry. But there are some people in this town who won’t even say her name out loud. You think I wish her ill? I really don’t. I’m just observing the way the world works. Over time. Sooner or later, what you put out comes back to you. Washes back up in the tide. It’s just the way it is,” Edie concluded with a shrug.