“We’re off to do face painting. Anyone else want to join us?”
Both Steve and Tania looked at them longingly.
“Go!” Ellen said. “Have fun. Henry and I can man the booth for a while.” All four followed, looking grateful to be released from their duties.
“We’ll be back soon, boss.” Larry held Erin’s gloved hand in his.
“Take your time,” Ellen said. She turned to Henry after they’d left. “This is nice.”
“What?” he asked.
“This.” She gestured around her. “Everyone coming together for a good cause. All the kids running around having fun. Passing out kringle.”
He reached into his coat pocket. “I was thinking the same thing. In fact, I was wondering what might come after the kringle . . .”
“Henry, don’t be fresh.”
“Of course not. I meant maybe a pretzel or some cotton candy . . .” Just then he squeezed her hand. She felt something hard press against her palm.
When she pulled her hand away, she saw it held a silver chain with a pendant attached. The pendant was smooth, oblong, a thin white line running across it. A friendship rock.
“Oh, Henry! . . .” Her voice trailed off. “From our trip?” she asked.
He nodded.
“And here I thought you weren’t taking my friendship rock seriously. It’s stunning. Thank you,” she said as she closed the clasp around her neck.
He smiled. Then something occurred to her: “Wait a minute, is this your way of telling me we’re just friends?”
“Well, a little more than that, I hope.”
She gave him a peck on the cheek, two hearts beating beneath one exquisite stone.
“Buildings, too, are children of Earth and Sun.”
—Frank Lloyd Wright
Rob was back from the site and was feeling a little smug. Everything had gone off without a hitch. The building permits were in place, the construction crew was ready to begin, and the designs for the institute had gotten the final sign-off from the museum’s board of directors. Even the local paper showed up for the groundbreaking, shooting pictures of Walter Greenough and Frank Hobbs shaking hands with the museum director. After pressing shovels into their hands, the photographer had persuaded Greenough and Hobbs to wear clunky yellow hard hats. Greenough was probably in his eighties, and though he looked frail and small under his ungainly hat, Rob could see the conviction shining from his steely blue eyes that had gotten him to where he was today. Even Hobbs slapped Rob on the shoulder, saying, “Well done, son.”
He’d take it, happily. Whatever praise Hobbs wanted to send his way was fine by him. He’d been waiting only five years.
When he got back to the office, Kate looked up from her desk and smiled. “Construction suits you. You look handsome.”
Rob raised his hand, felt the cold plastic, and removed the hat. “Sorry, forgot I was wearing it. It’s mandatory on the site.”
“So how was it? The day you’ve always been dreaming of?”
“Something like that. It was pretty sweet, I have to admit. To see all that work finally come to fruition . . . it’s kind of like having a baby.”
“I’ll bet. Though Lanie might disagree with that assessment.”
He laughed. “Anyway, it was good. Hey, have you seen Samantha around? She wasn’t at the ceremony.”
“I think she’s with Eli. They’re already at work on some new project, not sure what.”
“Ah.” Typical, Rob thought. He should have known Eli wouldn’t let the grass grow under his feet; it figured he’d already corralled Samantha for the next design. For a second he wondered, was the poor guy hoping for something more with her, like a relationship? But nah, Eli wasn’t her type.
He was a little sad not to be working with Samantha again, but it was probably for the best, given the fallout with Lanie over the summer. Samantha remained upbeat, always pleasant, but something had shifted over the summer. He wasn’t sure if he could pin it to the night when she’d come up to him, drunk; she’d apologized the next day for her “indiscretion” at the bar. Rob had laughed it off, tried to make it seem insignificant, which it was, of course. Or maybe it had nothing to do with that night. Maybe Samantha was simply done playing second fiddle, done with being an apprentice and wanted to take the lead on her own projects. In either case, he hoped she’d continue to move up at the firm. She deserved every little bit of praise, and he’d seen to it that a commendation was placed in her file for review time.
When his line rang, Kate picked up. Her eyebrows shot up. “Hello, Mr. Hobbs. Okay. Uh-huh. He’s right here. I’ll make sure he comes right down.”
She hung up and turned to Rob. “Someone wants to see you.”
“Uh-oh.” Rob’s mind flashed through the possible scenarios: They were firing him now that all the design work was finished for the museum, or maybe Hobbs wanted him to make more changes to the plans. He’d met with Frank Hobbs alone only once before and that was shortly after he’d been hired. He was a nice enough guy, but hard to read. A little more slick than Greenough, and younger, too. Probably in his mid-sixties.
“You’re such a worry wart,” Kate said. “Maybe it’s something good.”
“Don’t start packing up my things till I’m back, okay?”
“Deal.” She smiled. “And Rob? Good luck.”
He headed down the hallway, feeling sweat break out on the back of his neck. Suddenly the hallway seemed particularly long, a gauntlet with Frank Hobbs waiting at its end. Hobbs was in the “interim” office, as they called it. Since he seldom set foot in the satellite Madison office, he’d set up shop in the odd corner that doubled as an intern’s space and an office for traveling associates. It had a computer, a window that looked out on the lake, a trash can. Maybe, Rob thought absurdly, he wants to use my office for the day, something a little nicer. He’d understand.>
He knocked with what he hoped sounded like a confident wrap of the knuckles.
“Come in.”
When he opened the door, Hobbs was looking out the window and he swiveled around in his chair.
“Oh, Rob, good. Come in, come in.”
His yellow hard hat was resting on the desk. He’d taken off his sports jacket, which was draped over the back of his chair. His pinstriped shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbows. He stood up, took a step forward, and reached out to shake Rob’s hand.
“Good to see you again.”
“Thank you, sir.” Rob noted he had a firm handshake. He tried to read from the tenor of Hobbs’s voice what was coming. He couldn’t decide.
“Have a seat, please.” He gestured to the chair on the other side of the desk and walked back to the window.
“That was some nice work you did on the art institute.”
“Thank you. I was pleased with how it all turned out.”
“I understand it wasn’t always the easiest row to hoe either. At least that’s what Walter tells me.”
“Oh, you know, we had our disagreements, Eli and I, but we always seemed to get it done. Samantha was a big help.” He hoped to God that Eli hadn’t ratted him out and that Walter had had to come to his defense. How humiliating. How shallow. If that was the case, he’d wring Eli’s little neck.
“Do you want some water?” As if it had just occurred to him, Hobbs gestured to the bottle of Perrier sitting on his desk. Rob shook his head.
“No thanks.” Why didn’t the man just cut to the chase already? Was he going to fire him? Put him on probation? Move him to another state?
“Rob, we’re having a few changes in-house.” He paused, looked out the window again. Rob braced himself. Here it came. He’d be out on the street looking for work tomorrow. What an awesome thank-you for a job well done. Screw them! He’d find something better, a place where his superiors appreciated him.
“Eli and I, how shall I put it?” He cleared his throat. Rob waited. “We’ve had a parting of ways. Eli has accepted a position with Donovan, Stark, and Lyons.”
>
“You’re joking?” Rob couldn’t have feigned more surprise if he wanted to. He assumed that Eli was just waiting for Greenough to kick the bucket before he’d be promoted to vice president of the company, alongside Hobbs. He and Hobbs had been buddies ever since Rob arrived at the firm. A parting of ways? It didn’t make sense.
“I wish I were, but I’m not. It seems Eli has some very definite ideas about the future of architecture in this city, and they don’t happen to be ones that Walter and I share.”
“Oh.” Rob didn’t know what else to say. “I think I understand.”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll be kicking myself ten years from now, but I don’t think the city is quite ready for some of this newfangled design. Call me old-fashioned, but there it is.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Rob nodded his head eagerly now. He knew that Greenough and Hobbs were fans of “green” architecture, but maybe they’d also grown wary of Eli’s insistence on catering to the “younger crowd” in all of his designs. That and his bullheadedness when it came to defending his own ideas. Rob remembered to breathe.
“Wow. Well, okay then. I appreciate your telling me.”
“Of course. Eli’s last day will be next Friday.”
“Good to know. Thanks.” Rob moved to leave.
“There’s one more thing.” Frank Hobbs moved to perch himself on the edge of his desk.
“I’m also looking to semiretire. I’d like to do some things with my better half—you know, cook, travel, see the world before it’s too late.”
Rob nodded again. “I can see why you’d—”
“Which brings me to my next point,” Hobbs cut him off. Was there more? Was he shutting down the whole business? Selling out?
“I’ve talked it over with Walter,” he paused.
Seriously, Rob didn’t think he could stand the suspense any longer. Just drop the frickin’ guillotine, he thought to himself.
“And Walter and I both agree,” he continued, “that you have the vision and the expertise that have come to distinguish our firm.”
Rob waited. “Thank you . . .” I think, he said to himself.
“I’m not done yet.” Hobbs held up his hand. “Let me finish.”
Rob felt his face flush. What an idiot he was. Shut up, he told himself.
“And since you so nicely embody all that the firm stands for, we’d like to offer you the position of vice president.”
Rob couldn’t speak. “Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry if I haven’t conveyed to you in the past how impressed I am with your work, but you’ve always had the most original ideas and designs that work with the space and the people who will be in them. If anyone is true to the vision of Frank Lloyd Wright, it’s you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, sir.” Finally, someone had noticed!
“And that’s why we’d be honored if you’d be willing to help run the firm in addition to heading up design teams. The firm will remain Hobbs & Greenough for the time being, but I suspect it will change to Hobbs, Greenough, & Taylor in a few years. Just give me a little time to fade gracefully into the distance.”
“Sir, I don’t know what to say. I’m beyond flattered.”
“You can stop calling me sir, for one. We’re colleagues. Frank works just fine.”
“Okay.”
Hobbs got up and held out his hand. “So, does this mean you accept?”
Rob rushed to shake it. “You bet. You bet I will. Thank you, sir, I mean Frank.”
“Terrific. I know Walter will be thrilled. Let me get him on the phone and tell him the good news.” He turned back to his desk. “And Rob?”
“Yes?”
“Let’s wait to make this announcement public until we tell everyone that Eli is leaving. I’d like to have some good news to share as well. We’ll talk money later.”
“Understood.”
He shut the door behind him and exhaled. He felt drunk. A promotion! A raise! And not just any old promotion—he was going to be vice president.
He beamed at Kate when he passed her desk.
“Good news?”
“I’d say so.”
“What?”
“Can’t tell yet.”
“Oh, come on.”
“Soon. I promise, I’ll tell you as soon as I can.”
He went into his office and closed the door. The stress of Lanie’s not working full-time—though he hadn’t told her he’d been worrying about the lack of income—suddenly melted away. They were going to be all right, more than all right. Could he ask for anything more? Well, yes, maybe one more thing. A new parking space.
He picked up his phone and tapped in Lanie’s cell number. “Feel like celebrating?” he asked when she picked up.
“Beware of the imposter kringle, an inferior pastry of dough and frosting that will leave its buyer unsated.”
—The Book of Kringle
The beaches came into view below, wide stretches of pink sand, though she knew it only looked pink from above, one of those optical illusions that the sun played. The water, however, was truly the aquamarine of travel magazines.
When the plane landed, Ellen pulled her bag from the overhead bin and waited for the group ahead of her to move forward. A cluster of couples on a ten-year anniversary bash had been getting progressively tipsy throughout the flight, and now she wondered if a few of them would even make it off the plane. A stewardess politely led one lady by the elbow as she yelled “Sint Maarten est fantastique!” Ellen’s French wasn’t stellar but she knew slurred speech when she heard it. The woman was trashed.
And yet here she was, hardly one who could point a finger. What she was doing on the island she really couldn’t say. Things had taken a definite turn for the better with Henry, so why, on a moment’s notice, had she decided to head to Sint Maarten for the first weekend of October, leaving the store once again in Larry’s capable hands? She hadn’t shared with Henry her true reason for going and had used Lanie as her cover; they were having a girls’ weekend away, she fibbed.
The thing was, she needed to see Max. And, he’d sent her the tickets with no strings attached. What was there to lose? He wanted her to hear him out before she crossed him off her list forever. And now there was the matter of the baby on the way. A little bundle of soon-to-be joy that Max had no inkling about. In the back of her mind, she wanted to tell him. He deserved to know. He would want to know. She wasn’t sure how he would react but then that wasn’t her problem. She didn’t expect him to be in her child’s life, unless, of course, he wanted to be. And if things really were going to get serious with Henry, she needed to make sure, no matter how silly, that her story with Max was truly a closed book. At least that’s what she told herself.
The cab pulled up to a pink stucco hotel, lush palm trees shading its walkway. Brilliant orange flowers exploded around the archway framing the entrance. After she paid, she pulled her luggage into the lobby and handed the hotel manager her credit card, marveling at his wonderful accent, a mix of Dutch and English. People always sounded smarter with an accent. As far as she was concerned, a Dutchman could be the biggest idiot and yet still be charming when he spoke.
“We hope you enjoy your stay in Sint Maarten, Mrs. McClarety,” he said.
“Miss,” she corrected politely.
“Ah. Miss,” he said and smiled. “That makes vacation more interesting, yes?”
“We’ll see.”
The bellhop took her luggage, pointing out the hotel pool and lounge, the restaurant and bar, the spa where she could get a massage and a foot rub. Max hadn’t been that far off when he’d first described the place as Fantasy Island.
When the bellhop showed her into her room, she held her breath. There was the ocean, laid out before her window like a succulent meal. On a nearby table sat four bottles of distilled water, fresh lemon slices, and ice chilling in a metal bowl. She couldn’t wait to get out of her sweaty clothes and into a cool shower. She’d wrap herself in the ho
tel robe, lounge on her king-size bed, and look out the window, telling her baby all that she saw. Paradise.
• • • •
The next morning she set out to meet Max over breakfast in a little restaurant down the street from her hotel. The sun was much more intense here, and she could feel her nose burning already. When she passed a vendor selling hats, she decided to buy a wide-brimmed sunhat covered with woven flowers. When in Rome, she told herself.
“You look beautiful in it, yes?” The vendor held up a mirror before she handed him money. “Nothing more beautiful than pretty woman expecting baby!” He smiled at her as he handed back her change.
Ellen was stunned. It was the first time anyone had acknowledged in a public way that she was pregnant. Her hand instantly flew to her belly, and the coins dropped to the pavement. “Here, here,” he said, as he bent down to pick them up.
“Thank you.” She glanced down at her belly and realized he was right. She looked, well, pregnant in her yellow sundress. It was a slight bump, but enough of a bump that said BABY ON BOARD. What on earth would Max think? She hadn’t been showing much before. It was as if the baby had pushed a foot out on the flight to announce its imminent arrival. Quickly, she grabbed one of the colorful wraps that also hung from the vendor’s booth.
“How much?”
“For you? Half price.” She handed the man a fistful of money. “Thank you.”
She wrapped the scarf around her waist and knotted it at the side, hoping it would disguise her pregnant belly. She was starting to feel queasy. Was it the heat? The baby? The thought of seeing Max? Maybe coming here had been a mistake.
When she walked into the restaurant, she spotted him straightaway sitting at a table in the corner.
“You made it!” Max got up and walked toward her, his arms outstretched. She removed her hat and held it in front of her belly. He was more darkly tanned than when he’d visited. And was it her imagination or did his upper arms look even more muscular when he reached out to embrace her?
“Ellen, it’s so good to see you. I’m so glad you’re here.” She felt some of the passion of that night swell up in her. She breathed in his scent.
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