by Cindy Davis
Mamie burst into tears. She dropped into the nearest chair and buried her face in her hands. Everyone gathered around.
Helen faced the group, her hand on Mamie’s back. “I screwed up royally. Last night, Sean came to me. He was very upset, saying how Mamie’s deal with Mr. Arenheim had fallen through.”
Amanda put her hand on Mamie’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
“The problem is,” Claire said, “the deal hadn’t fallen through.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Sean told her the deal fell through. But it hadn’t.”
“That scumbag. That low-down piece of—”
It was unusual for Amanda to curse. Helen sank into a damask covered chair. “When Sean told me about Mamie’s deal not working out, I felt terrible, of course. We commiserated: how nice it would have been for Mamie, how nice for the town, and all that. Then he acted like he’d had this brilliant idea. ‘Gee, Helen, I know how you were counting on renting that place. Maybe you’d consider letting me have it. I could enlarge my restaurant.’”
“I allowed…no, I helped him replace Mamie’s name with his on the contract. God Mamie, I’m so sorry.”
“He’s a filthy rat.”
They all turned toward the new voice. Sylvie French, in her traditional polyester slacks and knitted vest, removed her coat and laid it across the back of the chair beside Mamie. “I thought he was bad when he screwed me out of the commission on that house he bought in Chaumont. But this beats it all.”
“I went to my lawyer this morning. I can break the contract. Since Sean duped me—”
By now Mamie had wiped away her tears and stood stoic and brave. “Thank you, but it’ll cost too much money.”
“Why?” Amanda asked.
“Because Sean will fight just for the principle of it.”
“I can’t believe he’s capable of something so despicable,” Amanda said.
“What!” Felicia turned a hollow-cheeked face to her friend. “After what—”
“No!” Amanda’s eyes flashed with anger.
No one but Claire seemed to notice the exchange between the women. Claire knew right then that what kept Felicia up nights had something to do with Sean.
“I went to his house last night,” Helen said, “to appeal to his human nature.”
An unladylike snort came from Felicia. She covered her mouth with an expensively manicured hand.
“I’m sorry, Mamie,” Helen said. “As Felicia so eloquently expressed, I wasted my time. He said he regretted the way things went down, but ultimately his business had to be at the forefront of his thoughts.”
“Let’s see how good his business is when we all boycott it!”
“It won’t matter. Our boycott won’t keep the summer people away.”
“It would if we picket or something,” offered Amanda.
Sylvie rapped her knuckles on the table. “We should call the meeting to order. I have an appointment in an hour.”
“How can you be so insensitive?” Helen asked.
“I’m not insensitive. It’s just obvious there’s nothing we can do, so why waste time beating a dead horse? You’re just encouraging poor Mamie’s depression.”
“I guess Sylvie’s right. We can’t accomplish anything right now. But I promise you, Mamie, I’ll find a way to fix this.”
Mamie patted Helen’s arm and went to sit. Felicia passed tea and coffee cups and a plate of Amanda’s homemade sugar cookies. She took a seat at the head of the table, framed by light from the tall windows. “One more thing I want to say before we get started. Let’s get together in the next day or so to decide what we can do about Sean. Legally.”
Mamie’s eyes fixed on the coffeepot in the center of the table. “No, don’t. I don’t want to be the reason for any more trouble.”
“Sean’s making the trouble, Mamie, not you,” Amanda said. “There’s got to be a way to handle it.”
There is, Claire wanted to shout. Don’t anybody do anything yet.
Claire realized Amanda was watching her. As their gazes met Amanda’s flicked away and became interested in how much sugar Payton added to her coffee.
She knows my plan!
“We were talking about Payton’s shop,” Felicia said. “We’re all very excited about it. It’s just what this town needs.”
“Gosh yes,” added Amanda. “I’m so tired of all the gift shops and junk stores.”
“I’m having a Grand Opening party the Saturday after next. You’re all invited. 9 a.m.,” Payton said.
“Can’t we get down to business?” Sylvie complained.
Helen gave her a squint-eyed glare behind wire-rimmed glasses. “First on the agenda is to welcome Payton.”
There was a chorus that made Payton blush. “Don’t you take a vote whether to let me in or not?”
Claire shook her head. “You don’t get off that easy.”
“Heavens no,” Helen said. “I told you we’re free and easy here. You want to be in, you’re in.”
Amanda pushed the cookie plate toward Mamie, who shook her head. Helen broke off a piece of cinnamon-sprinkled sugar cookie and aimed it at them as she spoke. “Payton, tell us about yourself.”
“We heard about her at the yacht club meeting already,” Sylvie whined.
“What I meant was, maybe she’d like to tell us about her travels.”
“I’m interested in hearing where you all have been,” Payton said.
Felicia set down her cup. “We already know everything about each other. That’s why we want to hear about you.”
“She’s been to Washington,” Helen prompted when Payton threw her a help me look. “She was there when Mount St. Helens erupted.”
“Really? What was it like?” Claire heard herself ask, even though she’d read countless articles about it.
“Awful. We were sure the world had come to an end. Ash was several inches deep on everything, and as soon as you cleared it away, it was back. We got out of there as soon as the planes were airborne again.”
“Ever been abroad?” Sylvie asked.
“I’ve been to Greenland.”
“Really? What’s it like? And don’t tell us it’s green,” Amanda said.
“It is green, though. It’s very pretty with wide open spaces and brilliant blue skies.”
Mamie spoke softly, “I’ve been to New Zealand…to visit my uncle. I painted a landscape of his hometown.” Her nose wrinkled as if trying to think of its name.
Felicia broke off the corner of a cookie. “I’ve been there, too. I went for—”
“Can we get back on the subject?” Sylvie asked.
“I thought travel was the subject.”
“We’ve heard your damned New Zealand story a dozen times.”
Payton frowned and picked at something on her sleeve. Claire wanted to tell her that was how these meetings went, someone opened a subject and they worked around the table, finishing, adding and embellishing—a conversational free-for-all. Sylvie and Felicia’s sparring was part of it, as commonplace as the breeze off the harbor. They both seemed to enjoy the relationship and carried no enmity when it was over. Well, none except for the usual class barrier. Felicia’s only real friend was Amanda March. Claire had never measured up and didn’t care to. She didn’t want to spend her days sipping Bacardi and finding fault with people.
“Did you, er, have a career?” Felicia asked.
“That’s not about travel.”
This time everyone ignored Sylvie. Payton took a fork-flattened peanut butter cookie and set it on a napkin. Then she picked up her spoon and stirred the coffee. Round and round Claire watched the liquid swirl. Finally Payton said, “I’m a retired school teacher.”
“You look too young to be retired,” Amanda said.
“That’s not about travel,” Sylvie said.
“What’s the matter with you today?” Helen asked.
Helen was right. Sylvie was frequently argumentative but never this bad.
&nb
sp; “I told you I have an appointment.”
“So, go to it. Why keep disrupting the meeting?”
Sylvie stood, tight-lipped. “You— Oh, never mind.” She jerked her coat from the back of the chair and left.
“Sheesh,” said Helen.
Amanda laughed.
For all their faults, Claire really liked these people. Every time they complained of Sean’s exploits, she felt ill. For all her forty-three years, she wondered why she’d been put on this earth. God must have had some Great Plan, but so far she’d been unable to fathom what it was. The one thing she thought she’d done right—giving her son up for adoption—had blown up in Sackets Harbor’s face.
Well, she’d rectify all that. Soon. Very soon.
“You do look too young to be retired,” Mamie said, shyly.
A flush spread from Payton’s cheeks down her neck, looking harsh against her purple blouse. She cleared her throat. “Retired just means that I don’t do it any more. I taught seventh grade math. I gave it up because students are too unappreciative.”
“Isn’t that the truth!”
“Felicia Ann Marie Dawson Featherstone, you’re so naughty!” chastised Amanda.
Everyone laughed. “In my day the teacher put a ruler to your knuckles if you didn’t shut up and pay attention. But, you actually learned something.”
“Were you born in Minneapolis?” Amanda asked Payton.
“Virginia. Richmond.”
They compared stories about Virginia for a while; Helen and Felicia had both been there. Then Amanda stood and tapped her knuckles on the table. The meeting was at an end. “I want to welcome Payton Winters to our group and say—I think for everyone—that I hope you’ll return.” She moved toward the door. Everyone piled their dirty cups on the tray.
“I almost forgot,” said Felicia, “I want to show you my painting, it’s called Sunset.” She disappeared into the living room.
Claire followed. It was a beautiful room, bright and airy, with a tall ceiling and lots of open space. A long sofa with flowered upholstery in coral and brown graced the longest wall. The matching chair sat beneath the artwork and Claire instantly knew the furniture had been upholstered to complement it. The painting was small, about six by nine inches.
“Who’s the artist?” Claire asked.
Both Mamie and Felicia answered, “Frederic Edwin Church.”
Claire braced herself with a palm on the back of the chair and leaning in for a better look at the painting Felicia had bought in Sean’s restaurant—he had several hanging on the walls there. Claire wasn’t much on art, couldn’t see the big deal about possessing an original over a print—until now.
“Stunning,” she said, meaning it.
“Yes,” Amanda agreed. “Church really captured the evening’s serenity.”
“And the value is ever increasing,” Felicia said.
“Only if the economy increases.” This from Helen.
“Art will always sell.”
“You sound like Sean,” Claire said.
As though mesmerized, Mamie moved closer. Claire backed to make room, but Mamie stopped six feet away.
“How does Brighton like it?” Helen asked.
“Loves it,” Felicia replied. Then she laughed. “That’s because he has no idea what I paid for it.”
“Will he be upset?”
“Upset! He’ll have chickens if he finds out.”
“Your secret’s safe with us,” Helen said.
There were tears in Mamie’s eyes. Claire smiled. She could see how something that beautiful could move a fellow artist to tears.
The group filed into the hallway. “I’ll see you all at the meet next week,” Helen called, rubbing her hands together in anticipation. “Can’t wait to get the cobwebs out of my brain. I hate winter.”
“I’ll be there,” Claire said.
“You’d better be!” Helen laughed and left.
“I didn’t know you raced,” Payton said.
“I’ve been the team’s official timekeeper for twelve years. I love the water, and racing, but the motion makes me sick,” Claire said.
“Do you race?” Payton asked Mamie.
She shook her head. “I hate the water. Besides, Mr. Arenheim is coming.”
They said their good-byes to Felicia and Amanda, who retraced their steps to the living room.
Payton caught up to Mamie and Claire in the driveway. “Wait.”
Mamie faced Payton, her eyes settling on the little cleft in Payton’s chin. Claire wondered if Payton felt at all discombobulated by Mamie’s inability to look people in the eye. She didn’t appear to notice.
“I was wondering how you left the gallery situation with Mr. Arenheim.”
“I-I haven’t told him yet.”
“She picks up the phone, dials his number, and hangs up before the call goes through,” Claire said.
“Except once,” Mamie said softly. “His secretary answered, and then I hung up. I j-just don’t know what to say. I’m so embarrassed. I led him to believe things would be fine.”
Claire opened the passenger door. “He’ll realize it wasn’t your fault.”
“People like Miles Arenheim expect things to go smoothly.”
“I might have a solution,” Payton said softly.
Mamie almost looked into Payton’s eyes. Almost.
“What if, for the summer, we use my house for the exhibit? It’d give you time to find another situation.”
Mamie’s face turned white, except for her cheeks, which grew a bright tulip red. Then she shook her head. “No, I couldn’t. It’s too much of an imposition.”
Payton put her hand on Mamie’s arm. “If you think it’s something that might work, then we’ll do it.” She turned to Claire. “Convince her, will you?”
“Give her a few minutes to digest your offer, and she’ll be bouncing all the way home.” She gave Payton a you’re a lifesaver smile. She plucked at Mamie’s sleeve. “Come on.”
This roused Mamie. She looked Payton in the eye—actually looked her in the eye—and whispered, “You are an angel.”
“Let me know what Mr. Arenheim says.”
“That was so generous,” Mamie cooed after strapping herself into the car.
“Seems like we should celebrate. Want to go to the Boathouse for supper? Felicia’s painting was really something, wasn’t it?”
“I thought you didn’t care about art.”
“I noticed it brought tears to your eyes.”
Mamie didn’t reply. When she stopped in Claire’s driveway, she didn’t shut off the car.
“Aren’t you coming in?”
“No, I have a lot of planning to do.”
“Glad to hear it. If you need any help, gimme a call.”
Claire waved good-bye to Mamie and walked around her house, checking the perennials sprouting in the small gardens around the property. Tulips in a dozen colors on the driveway side. Daffodils, even pink ones, along the back. Everything needed raking again. But even so, it looked beautiful. This was her artwork, her specialty. People who couldn’t, or wouldn’t develop their talents—people like Felicia—bought art from people like Mamie and, she guessed, like Sean. Where had he purchased Sunset? Maybe Claire could find out.
She went inside and phoned Felicia. “I was just curious. Did Sean tell you where he bought that painting?”
“He said he got it from a gallery in the City.” Felicia told Claire the name, but she didn’t recognize it. After hanging up, she typed the gallery name in the computer search square. Why wasn’t she surprised to find it had come from one of the places owned by Miles Arenheim?
FIVE
When the postmistress pushed the rectangular package across the counter, Claire felt a surge of elation so strong it was like being hit with a blast of January wind off the harbor. She glanced at the vacant table in the corner but swallowed the urge to open the package right there.
A wall of rain hit her head-on as she stepped outside. She held
the door for old Mrs. Campe, already soaked just running from her car. Claire opened her umbrella, ducked her face into her jacket collar and started down the steps, the words “it’s here” repeating in her head.
On the bottom step, Claire’s left foot slipped. She turned her ankle and went down hard. The umbrella and package flew out of her hands. Razor-like pain shot up her leg and into her spine. Cold rainwater saturated her pants. Her vision clouded. She squeezed her eyes shut and forced her brain to override the messages of pain.
A firm hand gripped her shoulder and someone knelt beside her. “Are you all right?”
Even through the viscous haze, Claire recognized the owner of the voice. Her eyes shot open. Blood rushed to her cheeks. “My package. Where is it?”
“Right here. It’s only a little damp,” Sean said, shaking it near his left ear. “Don’t worry. Doesn’t sound like anything’s broken. Are you hurt?”
Claire shook his hand off her arm. A vein throbbed in her temple and a migraine materialized as if yanked from a magician’s hat. She grasped the iron railing and tried to get to her feet but the feet just wouldn’t cooperate.
Faces bent to hers, asked if she was hurt. Features blurred together. Suddenly they all had Sean’s bright blue eyes and high cheekbones. She blinked several times to displace the vision and tried again to pull herself up. This time her right foot worked.
Sean held her down. “Don’t move, an ambulance is on the way.” He peeled her hand from the rail and warmed it in his.
She wrenched it from him and tried once again to rise. “No ambulance. I’m not hurt. Someone just help me up.” She seized the railing and planted her boots firmly in the puddle. “Please.”
Strong hands grasped her upper arms from behind and she was set carefully on her feet. Another wave of pain seared up her back. She tried not to grimace. Swallow the pain. Her eyes darted toward the package in Sean’s long lean fingers.
“Ms. Bastian, are you sure you’re all right?” Officer Vaughn Spencer’s face evolved from the mass of images before her.
“I’m fine. Will someone just help me to my car?”
“Why don’t you go to the hospital—” Vaughn tried to say.