Natalie chuckled. “Slade? Slade hasn’t committed to a girl or a woman in his life. He doesn’t have to. He’s drop-dead sexy and couldn’t care less about anyone but himself.” She shuddered. “Enough about him. Bella, tell me about Ben.”
“Well … I guess he’s kind of like Slade.”
Natalie rolled her eyes. “Believe me, no one’s like Slade.”
Bella explained, “I mean, Ben’s in his thirties, he doesn’t have a partner, he’s supersmart, and he’s kind of noncommunicative. He’s obsessed with his work.”
“It’s about fuel. Energy. He told me,” Natalie said. “Josh said Ben’s work is important.”
“You’re right,” Bella agreed. “It’s just that he’s so different from me. And from my older sister, Beatrice, and my younger brother, Brady. We’re all social, like Mom and Dad. We talk all the time, we like people, we’re extroverted. Ben’s so interior.”
Natalie thought, I can understand that; as an artist, I feel that way a lot. She began, “I can—”
Morgan said it first. “I can understand that. I’m a scientist, too. What I work with is often a life-or-death matter. When I focus on my work, I really dig in.”
“Okay,” Bella argued, “but you’re capable of compartmentalizing your work and also paying attention to other things.”
“Perhaps that’s only because I’m not working now,” Morgan pointed out. “I don’t have anything work-related to demand I use my brain. I do read articles online, when I find the time, but basically my brain’s filled with a speed-demon toddler and a husband who expects me to act like ‘the little woman’ for his boss.”
“Hey, I envy you,” Bella said. “I’d love to have a husband and a toddler.”
“You’re almost there,” Natalie assured her. “You’re in love with Aaron.”
“Oh, and would that be the Aaron who wants to move to California?” Bella’s remark brought them full circle.
Suddenly the roar and sputter of an engine assaulted their ears like a chain saw cutting through the front walls.
“What’s that?” Bella asked.
“Oh God,” Natalie moaned. “Slade’s motorcycle.”
A moment later, the front door opened and heavy, masculine footsteps came toward them down the hall.
“Hey, Natalie. Hello, everyone.” Slade stood there, every adolescent girl’s dream in his tight black jeans and heavy black boots. His glossy black hair, straight as a Cherokee’s, fell to his collar. Slade was tall, thin, and terrifyingly handsome, with a two-day beard of black bristles giving him a pirate’s exotic allure.
Natalie wanted to pound her head on the table. Several times. This always happened! Her friends always went gaga over Slade. Right now both Bella and Morgan were recovering from their first jaw-dropped, goggle-eyed reaction, segueing immediately into the female primate mating pose Slade provoked. Their eyes widened, their eyelashes fluttered, their posture changed so that their chests stuck out, and they smiled like a pair of pointy-breasted models from a 1950s calendar, ready to make his dinner and bring him a drink.
Slade kissed Natalie on top of her head and dropped into a chair across from her, his long legs in the black denim irresistibly attractive. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”
Natalie waved her hand briefly. “Bella, Morgan, this is my brother, Slade. What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you, of course. You’ve invited me several times. What are you drinking?”
Bella answered first, her voice breathy. “Strawberry daiquiris. Would you like one?” She half rose from her chair.
“Thanks, Bella.” Slade could always remember a woman’s name. “I’d prefer a beer if Natalie has any.”
“I’ll get it.” Natalie rose and went into the kitchen.
“Did you come from Boston?” Morgan asked.
“Concord. About an hour out of Boston. Took me just over an hour to get here.”
“How long are you staying?” Bella was almost panting.
Slade shrugged. “Depends on how long Nat will put up with me. The weather’s so great, I just jumped on my bike without any plan at all. I wouldn’t mind staying here for the weekend, doing some hiking, now that it’s getting warm.” He took the beer Natalie offered him. “Thanks, Sis.”
“The weather’s supposed to be great all weekend,” Morgan announced.
“Yes!” Bella agreed, nodding eagerly. “Even warmer than today!”
“Well, then. Do you have room for me for the weekend, Nat?” Slade asked.
“You know there’s always room for you here,” Natalie assured her brother, because, after all, he was her brother, even if he did turn her friends into thirteen-year-olds who thought he was Justin Bieber. Deep in her heart, locked in a box sealed inside a casket tied up with ropes knotted a thousand times, hid the hope that someday Slade would actually feel love from another person and return that love in truth and in fidelity.
Of course, she hoped that for herself, too.
Slade sat on a chair at the end of the group, the beer in his hand. He took his sunglasses off, exposing his indigo-blue eyes with their thick black lashes.
“We’ve just moved in next door,” Morgan gushed. “My husband, Josh, works for the new business, Bio-Green, right on the other side of Amherst.”
Slade said, “Cool.”
Morgan continued, “We’ve got a little boy, Petey. He’s just over a year old.”
“He’s adorable!” Natalie added. “He’s got the fattest thighs!”
“Fat thighs. Nice.” Slade’s voice wasn’t sarcastic; if anything, it was ultrapolite.
Bella’s voice had gone husky. “I live next door. On that side. I think we might have seen you sometimes in the summer? When you and Natalie came to visit your aunt Eleanor?”
“Possible.” He took a swig of beer.
“I should put Petey to bed.” Morgan rose from the sofa.
Slade moved. “Hey. Don’t leave because of me,” he protested. He put his beer on the table. “I’ll take a walk around the lake.”
“No, really,” Morgan insisted. “I’ve got to help Josh.” She turned to Natalie and hugged her. “This was great! We’ll do it at my house next time.”
Bella reluctantly rose. “I should go, too.” She hugged Natalie, waved to Slade, and went out the door.
3
What was wrong with her? Bella wondered as she drove toward her mother’s shop. She was irritable and critical and edgy. She could call it spring fever, but it was June, the air thick with summer humidity and the sky an endless blue.
Of course, she knew exactly what was wrong with her: Natalie. Sophisticated, chic, citified Natalie. Bella liked Natalie, and Natalie was nice to her, so why did Bella feel so uncomfortable around her? Why did Natalie make Bella feel so lame?
Last night had been great fun, drinking those daiquiris with Natalie and Morgan. There hadn’t been much alcohol in them, and what there was was soaked up by the cheese, crackers, nuts, and olives Natalie had set out, so this morning when Bella woke, she hadn’t had the slightest hint of a hangover. So it wasn’t the booze that conjured up the instant sense of camaraderie among the three of them.
Except they weren’t old friends, and something about last night had gotten Bella’s hair on backward this morning. Was it Natalie’s art? Natalie had real talent. Her still lifes were better than her abstracts, or maybe Bella thought that because she didn’t get abstract art. Natalie had rushed them out of the studio before they could study any of her work, but Bella had had time to be impressed.
Natalie had her art. Morgan had her science. And Bella had … this?
Barnaby’s Barn sat next to the road, with space for cars off to the side so the charming façade wouldn’t be obscured. Bella parked. Instead of walking straight to the front door, she crossed the road and allowed herself a moment to stand considering the shop’s appearance, trying to see it with a fresh eye.
The barn was white clapboard. The windows were fra
med by blue shutters with cutout hearts. The Dutch door was blue, and blue window boxes were filled with real flowers in the summer and giant Louise-made striped lollipops and gingerbread people in the winter. Slate steps led in a crooked path from the parking lot to the blue front door. When she was a girl, Bella had believed the place was enchanted.
Her mother had created a magical universe. Louise had delighted in crafting Lake Worlds and seeing children enter the shop—the way their eyes widened with happy surprise.
That was sixteen years ago. These days, Louise didn’t seem to have the same enthusiasm for making the miniature worlds or for running the shop. Barnaby’s Barn was showing definite evidence of decline.
Was there anything Bella could do to fix the situation? She crossed the road and the raked gravel of the parking lot, unlocked the blue door, and stepped inside. It was adorable.
The ceiling was a pale sky blue, the walls a sunny yellow, the floor tiled in light green. Louise had painted enormous tulips and daisies, smiling cows, and leaping lambs on the four walls, and wind chimes and mobiles hung from the ceiling, tinkling and glimmering whenever the door opened. The display cases for the Lake Worlds were the first thing you saw when you entered, and other cases were set around not in rows but at odd angles, making the entire space a kind of maze. Shauna Webb’s handmade pottery was sold here, with a special “Cow Jumped over the Moon” set for children. Elizabeth Lodge’s handmade, embroidered, and smocked children’s clothing shared a case with Lorelei Jenkens’s hand-knit cashmere blankets and soft cotton baby clothes. Jim Harrington built cradles for real babies and smaller ones for dolls; he carved hearts and flowers and other designs into them and sold them here along with high chairs and stools. A sweet older woman named Lucy Lattimer made stuffed dolls with stitched faces and Victorian milkmaid dresses. These seldom sold. Louise had no idea why, and she felt so bad about it, she always bought two or three a year to give as gifts, and told Lucy customers had bought them. In one corner was a playhouse complete with table, chairs, sink, stove, and tea set, where customers’ children could occupy themselves while their parents shopped.
Bella dropped her purse in the back room, grabbed a spray container of glass cleaner and a roll of paper towels, and began to polish the display cases. Outside, the day was golden with sunshine. She’d be surprised if she had any customers. Everyone would be out enjoying the good weather.
Bella didn’t mind working. Her mother had made other plans, and Bella was glad Louise could take a break. Anyway, Bella had always enjoyed running the shop. It allowed her a chance to dream a bit, to remember. She was not drawn to the dolls or blankets or even the Lake Worlds. No, it was the furniture displaying the objects for sale that drew her eye and filled her with an enigmatic pleasure.
Her father’s family, the Barnabys, had come over from England around the turn of the twentieth century, bringing with them most of their furniture. As a child, Bella had spent her happiest hours roaming through her grandparents’ house, hiding inside the gargoyle cabinet when playing hide-and-seek with her older sister and brother, or reclining on a velvet, claw-footed settee, reading Sherlock Holmes while rain streaked down the windows. A magnificent “bench” stood in her grandparents’ front hall, soaring almost to the ceiling, built from dark walnut; intricately carved with scrolls, leaves, and berries; inlaid with ivory cherubs floating upward along the back of the bench and around a beveled glass mirror. Her grandparents had perched there to remove their rain or snow boots, then lifted the bench’s lid and stashed the boots inside. That had been a good place for hide-and-seek, too. Armoires, desks, vanities, chairs—all the furniture in the house had a Secret Garden kind of feeling about it that Bella loved.
And that was what it was—for Bella, each piece of antique furniture was like a novel, rich with layers of history, the patina, chips, and scratches all bearing witness to lives full of adventure, mystery, desire, and drama played out by people she’d never met. Bella daydreamed about what those drawers had once held: lace handkerchiefs, lawn “waists,” cravats and watch fobs, straw boaters, tiaras, jewelry, face powder, and tucked beneath it all, she was certain, love letters. With just one piece of antique furniture in a room, the room was connected to endless histories.
Long ago, when Louise started her shop, she’d asked her in-laws if she could use a few pieces for display purposes, and they had readily agreed. “Old elephants gathering dust,” Bella’s grandmother called them. When her grandparents died, they left everything to Bella’s parents, who promptly put most of the antique furniture into a storage unit, sold the old Victorian in Northampton, and used the money from the house to pay for college tuition for their three oldest children.
Her parents thought the furniture was too dark and impractical. They filled their own home with light, bright, easy furnishings that children could bump their plastic fire trucks into without Louise worrying about damage. In Barnaby’s Barn, Louise had mixed a few pieces of the most useful old furniture with inexpensive tables she’d found on sale at Target or Walmart. The furniture didn’t matter to Louise; it was the displays that counted for her.
But the furniture mattered to Bella. She loved those old elephants. When Bella was in college, she’d taken a few courses in interior design and art history, although she’d had no real idea what sort of job this might lead to. She was well aware of her father’s unspoken hope that one of his children would follow his lead and become a teacher. Her older sister, Beatrice, had married young and now had three children. Ben had gone into science, and her younger brother, Brady, also seemed a scientific type, when he didn’t seem like a typical loopy adolescent. Bella was fond of children and she worshipped her father, so in her junior year she declared her major in education and became a third-grade teacher. Teaching had been pleasant enough, but for her it wasn’t the passion that it was for others.
On this quiet morning as she walked around the shop, she admitted to herself that her mother wasn’t as absorbed with Barnaby’s Barn as she’d been before she broke her leg. Louise had joined a bridge group and a book club; both met once a week. It had invigorated her, Louise confessed, to be with friends her own age, to discuss ideas, to use her mind at cards. She’d started collecting brochures about European cruises.
What did that mean for Barnaby’s Barn? Bella wasn’t sure. Her mother hadn’t yet said she wanted to close it.
Did Bella want to take it over?
If she did, she would certainly change it. Right now it looked tired to her, outdated. The best thing about Barnaby’s Barn for Bella was that it was where she had first met Aaron Waterhouse, when he entered the store in December looking for a Christmas present for his niece.
The bell above the door tinkled and a plump white-haired woman entered, wanting advice about a gift for her granddaughter. Bella smiled and gladly went to work.
At noon, the bell tinkled again, and Aaron walked in. He wore khakis and a red rugby shirt and moved with his usual tightly controlled energy. “Lunch!” He held up two white paper bags.
“Aaron, how wonderful.” Bella slid out from behind the counter to kiss him lightly. “I didn’t think I’d see you until tonight.”
“You have to eat, I have to eat, perfect solution. Let’s sit outside.”
“Oh …” Bella thought quickly. “The shop, the phone …”
“We’ll sit on the bench under the tree. If a customer comes, you can go in. Take the phone with you. If it rings, answer it.”
Bella kissed him again. “That’s what I like about you. So practical.”
He nuzzled her neck. “Is that the main reason?”
She allowed herself a moment’s surrender to desire, leaning against him, before pulling away. “You know it’s not.”
Beneath an old apple tree Louise had placed a wrought iron bench; they settled there. Aaron took out his offerings and set them on the bench between them. “Cheddar with chutney. Turkey with honey mustard. How about we take half of each? Chips. Juice.”
“Chocolate?” she asked.
“You’ll have to wait and see,” he teased.
They ate lunch, chatting companionably. Bella leaned back on the bench, gazing up at the pure blue sky. “I’m glad you got me out here. This is the first perfect day of summer.”
“Summer doesn’t actually begin until June twentieth,” Aaron told her.
“Stop that.” She slugged his shoulder in pretend irritation. “Feel the air. Look at the sky. It’s summer!”
“Look at the flowers. The lilac bush is still blooming. And over there, peonies. Both late spring plants.” He was trying not to grin, but this was a game they played often. Aaron couldn’t help it; he had a mind that retained absolutely every fact in detail. When they played Trivial Pursuit or watched Jeopardy!, he never missed.
Bella nudged his foot with hers. “You have no soul,” she carped, but they both knew she was lying. Aaron had a huge soul; furthermore, Bella admired him for knowing so much. “If tomorrow’s this nice, let’s get the canoe out on the lake in the afternoon.”
“Good idea.” Aaron stuffed the used papers into the bags. He brought out a small box and offered it to Bella.
“Godiva!” She gave him a suspicious look. “What does this mean?”
“It’s our dessert.”
“Aaron.” He had plenty of money, but he was frugal, and she liked that about him, and he knew she liked that about him. A Hershey bar would have been just fine.
“I got the call. I’m going out for the interview next Thursday.”
Bella’s appetite vanished. She stared down at the small gold box without seeing it. “That’s great, Aaron.”
“But?”
“But California is so far away.”
“I don’t have the job yet,” he reminded her. Reaching over, he held her hand. “Bella, we can work things out.”
A silver Range Rover pulled into the parking lot.
The perfect moment for an interruption, Bella thought. “Oh, look. I’ve got a customer. Can we discuss this tonight?”
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