“This is crazy. Just because you've decided to get the building appraised doesn't mean you have to fix every little thing that's wrong with the place in one week.”
“Now, now. Don't spoil my fun. One of the few things Eddie and I have in common is our love of Home Depot. You wouldn't want to deprive me of bonding time with my son, would you?” I looked to the aforementioned son for confirmation and had to admit he seemed fairly content.
“You know me, Sarah,” Eddie gave me a lascivious wink. “Nothing I love more than HGTV and a chance to use my drill.”
No way was I going up against all three Thornton men.
“Well, then, thanks for the door. And the paint. I guess.” I grabbed some casual clothes that had been balled up on the closet floor and slipped into the bathroom to change.
Listening to Jeremy express satisfaction at Eddie's work, the next sounds I heard were the two men reassembling my closet.
“So, Sarah, have you spoken with my other son lately?” Jeremy initiated a new conversation through the closed bathroom door.
“Um, yes. I talked to him earlier.” I emerged from the bathroom and tossed my work clothes in the hamper across the room, abruptly changing the subject. “Two points. So, are you staying for dinner?”
“If you have enough.” Jeremy said needlessly, knowing I always made enough for company when Eddie was in town, expecting that he and his father would arrive for most meals.
“I think tonight is that big charity event David's attending at the Metropolitan Opera House,” Eddie piped in, already moving toward the kitchen.
I nodded, remembering David mentioning his plans before I'd launched into the conversation about the building appraisal. “I think you're right. Do you know who he's bringing? Barbie or Midge?”
Eddie burst out laughing at my comment, drawing his father's narrow gaze and low growl. I was lucky to sidestep any admonishment as I went to heat up our supper in the kitchen. I might have felt bad if my characterization of David's girlfriends was in any way wrong.
A very intelligent and sensitive man in most areas of his life, David Thornton's criteria for choosing women hadn't changed much from the time he was thirteen years old. Namely, the flashier, blonder and better endowed a woman was, the more David was attracted. I was never quite sure where he found these women, but after one or two dates he always ended up sorely disappointed and highly surprised that dinner conversation was limited to stories covered in US Weekly. In fact, knowing David's type of woman was one of the main arguments I used against Livvie's theory that my friend was attracted to me.
I hated to label him as shallow, because David always ended his relationship with the bimbette of the week when he discovered they couldn't make a deep connection. The tragedy was that he never quite figured out that a woman with a lifelong dream of being shaved by Howard Stern might not be able to hold up her end of a conversation about the Dow Jones Industrial Average.
“Get out.” I grabbed Eddie's arm from where he was already pawing through my refrigerator in search of something edible and coming up short. Luckily, I had recently prepared a vat of homemade spaghetti sauce – a low fat dish that even my traditional meat and potato uncle would enjoy. A quick zap in the microwave and we could eat.
“What do you boys have planned for the week?” I asked, rummaging through my silverware drawer while my guests took turns washing the sawdust off their hands at my sink.
Eddie answered first. “I need to run up the coast for a few shots of snow-covered lobster boats. I was commissioned to do the pictures for a piece that's going to run in Yankee magazine in March.”
“If you go on Wednesday I can leave Sammy in charge of the diner and go with you.” Jeremy called from over his shoulder, looking through my cupboards for bread – which he was not going to find. “We can stop for lunch in Augusta and visit my friend Earl.”
Eddie caught my eye briefly, before responding, “Earl, the dean of students at U Maine Augusta? That Earl?”
“Well, yes, that happens to be Earl's job.”
Uh, oh.
I popped open the microwave and gave the sauce a stir, trying to make myself one with my appliances, thereby somehow avoiding the imminent fireworks.
“Dad! We are not having this conversation again. I decided ten years ago that college isn't for me. I haven't changed my mind. Why do you keep pushing?”
My uncle put the plates on the table with a little more force than was necessary. “I'm not pushing. I just don't think you've thought through your decision. When I was a boy, I would have given my eye teeth to go to college, but there just wasn't the money. I've offered to pay your way time and again…”
“And it's not that I don't appreciate it,” Eddie interrupted. “But I don't need to go to college. I have a career and I'm very happy.”
Jeremy turned to me, trying to gain support. “Would you listen to my son? Have you ever heard anyone so bullheaded and stubborn?”
“Yes. You and David every time you open your mouths.” That earned a ghost of a smile from each of the Thorntons.
Jeremy shrugged, hating to lose the point, but lapping up the comparison of his sons to himself. At heart, my uncle was nothing if not the proud father. “Of course I'm glad my boys have forged their own way in the world, and I know it's a cliché, but sometimes father really does know best. Call me old fashioned, but I liked it when they used to mind me.”
“Don't worry, Dad. We still mind you. Well, most of the time.” Eddie winked, playfully mussing his father's hair and earning himself a well-placed punch to the bicep. The two men shadow-boxed around the kitchen while I put the pasta on to boil, an amazing show of choreographed chaos that would have made Jerome Robbins proud.
Finally the microwave bell alerted us that dinner was ready. I tossed the sauce through the pasta and both men piled their plates high. I took a small, reasonable portion and aside from my feelings of jealousy and bitter deprivation at the differences in our caloric intake, we ate in comfortable silence until the food disappeared. Following a long sigh of content, Jeremy peered at me over the top of his glasses. “You know, what I said about my boys goes for you too.”
“What's that?”
“I mean that part of me wishes you'd stayed a little girl so that you would mind me, too. I know you want to buy a home and I think that's a wonderful thing. Everyone should aspire to be a homeowner, but Eddie told me it really has something to do with some harebrained scheme you have to make your life perfect by your next birthday.”
I kicked my friend under the table. Eddie always had been the rat in the family.
“I don't know what Eddie told you, but it is not a harebrained scheme. You said yourself that aspiring to be a homeowner is a good thing. There's nothing wrong with trying to improve myself, is there?”
Jeremy furrowed his brow in thought. “No. No. I think improving oneself is a noble goal. I'm just concerned about some of the other things I've noticed recently with the strange exercise classes you've been attending and I heard Gloria is setting you up on a date with her nephew next week.”
Jeremy finished his milk in one long gulp. “I just don't want you to turn out like that Mary-Kate girl that wasted away to nothing, or those boy-crazy girls that party all night and don't wear any underwear.”
Knowing that my uncle's concern was sincere, I bit the inside of my lip and avoided eye contact with Eddie. When I was in enough pain to ensure I could keep a straight face, I solemnly swore that I would be reasonable in my weight-loss efforts.
And always wear panties.
“I'm just doing a few things to get healthy and meet new people. I mean, don't you ever get lonely sometimes, Jeremy?”
An unexpected smile crept across my uncle's face. “Well, no. Not so much as of late, that is.”
“What do you mean?” I couldn't believe what I was hearing. From the shocked look on Eddie's face, I could tell this was news for him, too.
“Are you seeing someone, dad?”
“I don't know. I
s ‘seeing someone’ the word you kids would use for keeping company with a lady friend? I think I would consider it ‘courting’ if I had to give a name to it.”
“Who exactly are you ‘courting’?” I pressed, dying for details.
“Oh, now, a gentleman doesn't provide details. It's not polite.” Jeremy rose from the table and kissed me on the forehead. “Speaking of which, I have to take off. I'm afraid I have plans later. Will you drop Eddie off at home after he helps you with the dishes?”
“Sure.”
With a pointed look at his son, indicating that he would be helping me with the dishes, Jeremy left, leaving two gaping mouths in this wake.
* * *
Exactly one week after my uncle dropped his conversational bomb at my dinner table, the two of us stood in the middle of the diner placing the last strands of tinsel on the now overly-decorated tree in the middle of the room. As far as I was aware, we were the only family left on the planet that still strung the fake silver threads from their tree. Mrs. Borbozzi from the dollar store told me she ordered a few boxes special for us every year.
“You really don't have to do this, Jeremy,” I reminded him for the hundredth time. “It's only a few days before Christmas. David will be here on Saturday, or we could put it off until after the holidays altogether.”
“Sarah Bennett. I swear to all that is holy, if you don't stop telling me what I do and do not have to do, I will sell this building outright and donate the profit to the Portland Home for Wayward Cats.”
I moved my fingers to my lips, zipping them tight, a timely gesture as the bell over the diner rang at the same instant, heralding the arrival of the real estate appraiser David had scheduled us to meet with.
Even if I could have talked, I wouldn't have had the words. The woman who entered the diner was a tiara and flaming baton short of a beauty pageant escapee.
Caryn Carmichael was roughly my height – five foot four or five – but with the added height of her stilettos and beehive-styled hair, she barely made it past the top threshold of the door. I couldn't help myself from wondering exactly how much of the destruction of our ozone layer could be directly related to keeping that bouffant aloft.
I didn't realize I'd been openly staring at the woman until I heard Jeremy clear his throat beside me, a warning signal from my childhood that really meant, “If you kids don't behave, I will start knocking heads together. Don't tempt me.”
Duly chastened, I swallowed the giggles that crept up my throat and tried to avoid eye contact in order to keep them at bay.
“Mr. Thornton?” Caryn's high squeaky voice didn't disappoint and completed the picture.
“Please call me Jeremy.” My uncle's impeccable manners kicked in over his shock as he grasped one well-manicured hand. “This is my business partner, Sarah Bennett.”
Business partner. Wow. That sounded so grown-up and official. Knowing that the title actually belonged to my father, it also sounded very, very wrong. Fortunately, I was prevented from walking down that maudlin road, since just as Jeremy mentioned my name, Caryn gasped and both hands covered her mouth.
She was either channeling Fay Wray or had just swallowed a fly.
“You're Sarah Bennett?”
“Um, yeah.”
“The Sarah Bennett?”
“I suppose…”
Caryn grabbed my right hand between both of hers and began pumping like she was Annie Sullivan and I'd just discovered the word for water. “David has told me so much about you. I am just so pleased to meet you!”
“Well, thanks. It's nice to meet you, too.” An awkward moment passed as Caryn stared at me, Jeremy stared at her, and I wondered exactly what reputation ‘the Sarah Bennett’ would have to live up to. “So, should…um…should we get started?”
“Of course. Of course.” Walking toward the kitchen, Caryn said, “So, Davey tells me you two are planning to sell this place.”
I wasn't sure whether I was more disturbed by her affectionate nickname for my friend or his apparent characterization of our meeting today. “No. No. We're not selling the building. We just need to know its value so we can think through some refinancing options, right Jeremy?”
An inexplicable look passed over my uncle's face as he turned toward the petite woman. “Well actually, Caryn, we're probably just looking at the value of the building, but we do want to keep our options open.”
“We do?”
Squaring his shoulders, Jeremy turned back toward me. “Well, yes. I mean, I'm not going to want to run the diner forever, Sarah, and I know you and my boys have other plans for your lives. If I'm going to buy your share of the building anyway, it might just be a good time for me to think about selling the whole kit and caboodle outright.”
I suddenly felt the guilt of the world settle firmly around my shoulders. “Jeremy! I told you that you don't have to…”
“Just hush, Sarah. We're not making any decisions today. We're just going to listen to what Caryn here has to say.”
I glared at my uncle, feeling somehow shanghaied by this entire experience. “We're just listening,” I agreed warily. “But we will be talking about this later.”
Caryn gave me a brilliant smile, probably meant to sooth my obvious nerves. Instead it only made me wonder how many thousands of dollars she'd invested in dental work. If the number was as high as I expected, it was possible that her teeth may have cost more than her breasts.
And those puppies were clearly worth a bundle.
“We're just here to talk, honey.” Caryn put her arm around me and gave my waist a little squeeze. “Don't you worry now. We won't make any tough decisions today.”
The annoyance I felt when men patronized me by reaching for the keys to my car, silently asserting that because they had a penis they should never deign to sit in the passenger seat didn't even come close to the rage I felt when women pretended we all belonged to one big sorority, linked by our double X chromosomes.
Sensing that if he didn't get Caryn away from me he might have to sweep up bleached blond chunks of hair from his floor before the morning shift, Jeremy jumped between us. “Should we start in the diner?”
“That sounds like a lovely place to start, sugar. Let me grab my clipboard and we'll get you both the information you're looking for.”
Watching Caryn work I hated to admit that she was surprisingly competent. She crawled through the basement, walked the property line and even commented on the walk-in freezer Jeremy and I had invested last year's tax return check in. She was familiar with the model and said it would add a great deal of value to the price of the property. I should have known David wouldn't have hooked us up with someone who wasn't good at her job, despite appearances to the contrary.
“Well, let's have a look upstairs now, shall we?” The overly perky agent asked, finally arriving at the only part of the appraisal I was actually prepared for. I led the way up the stairs and found myself opening closet doors, demonstrating the pressure in the shower and explaining away the water stain above the couch. I felt Jeremy twitch beside me, clearly annoyed he'd missed a spot on his own gigantic to-do list.
Two hours after the visit began, Caryn was standing at my kitchen counter going through her notes, her faux-Chanel suit still crisply pressed while my cotton t-shirt felt like it had wilted and crumpled under the strain of the day.
“Well, I think you've answered all of my questions.” Caryn snapped her briefcase shut. “I'll need to go down to City Hall later this week for some more information and then you should expect to receive a report in a week to ten days.”
I handed the woman one of my business cards. “That sounds great. Thank you. You can mail it to my office.”
“You work for Frank Murphy?” She squealed.
“Um. Yes…”
“You don't happen to know Morgan Donovan, do you?”
Just when I thought this experience couldn't get any worse…
I considered jumping in with a sarcastic reply. After all, I worked
in a law office with four employees and while I may not be happy about it, chances were good I knew Morgan Donovan. However, not wanting to risk another chastising throat clearing from Jeremy, I answered the question straight. “Yes. Morgan and I work together. Do you know him?”
“Only a little bit. That boy is just a gem, isn't he? Just a gem.”
“Yup. He's a gem alright.”
“I mean, the Church Street Womens Shelter would never have made their goal without his donation. It put them over the top.” Caryn held her hand to one ample breast. “And don't even get me started about the Elder Agency picnic. He and the foster grandfather he was paired with could not have been cuter at the horseshoe pit. It just about brought a tear to my eye.”
Jeremy piped in as he walked Caryn to the door. “Is that the same Morgan I've heard you speak of, Sarah?”
Translation: Why have you been slandering this poor boy?
“I guess it's the same person, but I can't say I've ever seen a charitable side to him.” I turned back to the diminutive bearer of this odd news. “Are you sure the Morgan Donovan you're talking about is the one who interns for Frank Murphy? It isn't a common name, but it isn't that unusual either.”
“Oh, I'm sure. Morgan Donovan, formerly of the Donovan Trust. When he gave up his position a few years ago and went to law school it was in all the business sections of all the papers.”
“Wait a minute. ‘The Donovan Trust’, as in the charitable division of Donovan Industries?” My brain was having difficulty processing at an appropriate rate of speed. “Donovan Industries employs half the mid-coast region.”
“Didn't Frank ever mention Morgan's previous line of work, kiddo?”
I shook my head at my uncle. “You know Frank. He walked Morgan in on his first day, said, ‘Here's the new intern’, and told me to teach him how to make coffee and unjam the copier.”
“And Morgan has never mentioned…”
I had the good grace to be a bit embarrassed. “Let's just say that our relationship hasn't exactly fostered a lot of productive conversation.”
Caryn watched the back and forth between me and my uncle with much interest. “Well, it doesn't surprise me at all that Morgan didn't talk about his family business or all the amazing work he does for charity. That boy is just something else.”
Next Year I'll be Perfect Page 7