“You need to drive us back to the house so Chloe can get her car. Chloe, maybe you can clean up the kitchen?”
Maybe you can, I wanted to say. Instead, having completed a full year of social work school, I said brightly, “Yes, we’ll all pitch in. Robin, what a great idea!”
SEVEN
SO much for the benefits of a full year of social work school. During the drive back to Leo and Francie’s house, Robin increasingly complained about her exhaustion, and by the time Nelson pulled the TV van into the driveway, she’d managed to weasel out of doing her share of the cleanup while simultaneously arousing my sympathy for Leo.
“We don’t want Leo coming home to that mess,” she’d said.
“For all we know, he’s there now,” I’d replied. “And if he isn’t, the house is probably locked up.” I’d negotiated the agreement that if we found Leo at home, we’d ask whether he wanted help in cleaning up. If not, Josh and I would leave. If Leo wanted our help or if the house was empty and unlocked, we’d stay. It was more or less a bet that I lost. When we got there, the back door was open, and there was no sign of Leo. My only piece of luck was that Robin insisted that Nelson had to drive her home, so at least he wasn’t hanging around filming while Josh and I cleared up the remains of the fatal dinner. I did the dishes while Josh threw out food, took out the trash, and packed up the cooking equipment that belonged to him. Neither of us, however, was valiant enough to don a pair of gloves and scrub the bathroom, which remained a revolting reminder of tonight’s tragedy. I just couldn’t stomach going back in there. When Leo returned, he’d just have to use another bathroom. Where was Leo, anyway? Someone had said that he’d ridden in the ambulance that had transported Francie—or Francie’s body—to the hospital. I hadn’t seen him there. Shouldn’t he be home by now? Maybe he simply couldn’t bear to return home without his wife?
I drove us back to my condo in Brighton. It was a one-bedroom on the third and top floor of what had originally been a large one-family house. My unit had a big bedroom, a small living room, a cramped kitchen, and a tiny bathroom, but I’d never before been so happy to be in the safety of my own little home. Josh made another trip down to the car to bring up the cooking equipment he had so excitedly used only hours earlier, and I put on water for tea. I wasn’t much of a tea drinker, and neither was Josh, but I felt chilled and weak, and the idea of tea felt comforting.
Josh returned, placed a cardboard box and his knife bag in a corner of my living room, and collapsed onto the couch. He ran both hands through his hair and held them there, disbelief plastered across his face. “This cannot have happened. This cannot have happened,” he kept repeating. He looked up at me with concern. “God, how are you doing, Chloe?”
I put the cups of tea on the coffee table, sat down next to him, and moved in close when he put his arm around me. He wrapped his other arm around me, squeezed me against him, and rubbed the back of my head. “Not very well,” I said in a broken voice as I started to cry. “Oh, Josh,” I managed, “I was with her when she died. She couldn’t breathe right. And she was lying in her own . . . filth! She must have been in so much pain.” I sat up and wiped my eyes. “I can’t imagine what killed her. It must be the same thing that made everybody sick, right? I mean, the odds of the two being unrelated are . . . negligible. Zero.”
My sleek, black, muscular cat, Gato, jumped onto the couch, positioned himself with his front quarters on Josh’s lap, and began purring loudly. “Hi, there, my friend.” Josh started patting Gato’s shiny coat. That darn cat, who loved Josh to pieces, fended off most of my own attempts to snuggle with him. To me, Josh said, “I’m so sorry you had to watch Francie die. And I’m sorry I wasn’t more help. I was feeling terrible, and I don’t know that I was thinking all that clearly. What a horrible thing for you to have to go through.”
“Josh, I can’t shake the image of Francie struggling for air. And her eyes were all glassy and unfocused. What do you think happened?”
“I’ve got one explanation for this.” He sighed. “But it’s not good.”
“There aren’t any good explanations, so shoot. Tell me what you think,” I said with a sniffle.
“I hate to even think it, but I wonder if Evan or Willie had something to do with it.”
Josh’s words shook me out of my tears. “What? You think Owen’s brothers did this? What on earth—”
“Hear me out.” He held out his hand to stop me from telling him he was out of his mind. “You know how Evan and Willie are. They’re always pulling practical jokes and goofing around. What if they thought it’d be funny to pull off a joke that ended up on television? To pull one on me? Remember when they stuck a few pieces of fish into the engine of Owen’s delivery truck? Once those things started rotting and the smell got into the driver’s area, even Owen knew that was not the normal way a seafood delivery truck should smell. They could’ve messed with the food or the wine to make me look terrible. I don’t know what they could’ve put in the food or maybe in the wine, but it’s a possibility.”
I froze. Far from hitting me as off-the-wall, the idea struck me as hideously possible. Owen swore that his brothers had always been a lot like Fred and George, Ron Weasley’s twin brothers, but that once Evan and Willie had read the Harry Potter books, they’d deliberately modeled themselves on the practical-joking tricksters. Until recently, their antics had simply provided a topic of lighthearted conversation, but as Owen and Adrianna’s wedding approached, I’d begun to share Adrianna’s fear that Willie and Evan would pull one of their stunts at the wedding, maybe even during the ceremony. I took a sip of tea and thought for a moment. “You know, it seemed obvious to me that Evan knew we were coming to the Wine and Cheese Shop. Willie probably called him to give him a heads-up. Evan had wine bottles open and breathing, and he had that platter conveniently displaying cheeses for you to sample. Do you think he could have put something in the wine? Or on the cheese? Or Willie did something to the lamb?” Oh, God, it would’ve been just like one of them to lace the food with laxatives to make everyone get sick on camera. But could laxatives have killed Francie? Could an overdose be fatal? Would they cause vomiting, though? I really didn’t know enough even to take a guess.
“I’m sure that Willie tipped Evan off,” Josh said. “And it would be just like the two of them to do something. But what? And what could have been so toxic it killed Francie that quickly? And, well, I don’t know . . .” He paused and frowned. “The more I think about it, I don’t know that they would have done something to make me look that bad. I don’t know if ruining my episode is really their style. Now, if Evan had given me a wine bottle that had a fake snake pop out when I opened it, that wouldn’t have surprised me. But I don’t know those two that well.”
“Ugh, I hope they don’t do anything stupid at Ade and Owen’s wedding. It would be just like them to pull some dumb stunt on the day of their brother’s marriage.” I could just imagine Adrianna’s bouquet shooting water into her face or the wedding rings sending jolts of electricity through the bride and groom.
Josh said, “So maybe there was some kind of bacteria in the food we bought. Like E. coli in spinach. Remember that? The arugula could have been tainted with E. coli. We keep hearing about all those food recalls and news reports on people dying from this kind of stuff. And they always say that people with immune problems or chronic illnesses are much more vulnerable than anyone else. We don’t know anything about Francie. She could’ve had an illness that would’ve made her more susceptible.”
“That’s true. That must have been what happened, Josh. It’s the only thing that makes sense. I guess we should just be glad that we’re healthy and that we’re not dead, too.”
“Yeah, I know. If that’s what killed her, though, I still feel responsible. I mean, I chose the ingredients.”
“There is absolutely no way you could have known, Josh. There must be other people who bought that food, too. We should probably call the store.”
“Yeah, I�
�ll do that tomorrow. Speaking of tomorrow, why don’t you take the day off? It’s already almost two in the morning. You’ve got to be drained.”
“That’s probably a good idea. I’m sure my parents won’t fire me.”
During summer break from graduate school, I was working as an assistant to my parents at their landscaping and garden design company. My specialty this summer, rain barrels, tied in neatly with my studies; promoting the use of rain barrels kept me politically and socially active. I’d first heard of them when I’d read an online article. The idea was simple: Large barrels were set under gutters to collect rainwater. A spigot or hose connector was affixed to the bottom of each barrel so that the collected rainwater could be used to fill watering cans or to supply water to a soaker hose. Unfortunately, many barrels were unattractive and came in loud, obtrusive shades of red and green. When I talked to my parents about rain barrels, they said that their wealthy, house-proud suburban clients would totally reject the idea of big, garish barrels no matter how effectively they conserved a limited resource—fresh water. But instead of telling me to forget about ecological friendliness, my parents found a young carpenter, Emilio, who designed and built rain barrels that blended in with the colors and styles of individual clients’ houses. My job was to accompany my parents on landscaping consults and push rain barrels into the design equation. I did some neighborhood canvassing on my own, too, but I loathed the door-to-door approach.
“Okay, Carter Landscapes’ rain barrel business will have to take Tuesday off.” I leaned my head into Josh’s shoulder. “Can I come see you at Simmer tomorrow night?”
“You bet. I’ll make you whatever you want,” he promised.
I loved going to see Josh at the restaurant. Not that I usually got to spend much time with him there, but his outstanding food made up for his absence. Besides, it was a way for him to be with me, really. He often made me special dishes that weren’t on the menu, and those were some of my favorites. Sometimes he played with seasonal ingredients, experimented with dishes he was considering for the menu, or just cooked what he was inspired to make that day.
“Good. Maybe I’ll hang out with Ade for a bit tomorrow afternoon, and I’ll come in after that. What time are you working?”
“I should get there around nine, I suppose. I have to close, so I’ll be there late, but who knows what shape the place will be in after I was gone today?” Josh stretched his arms above his head and gave a long, deep yawn. “This day is officially over, okay?”
Josh and I crawled into bed. “Josh?” I said. “What if it was poison? Not food poisoning, but poison?”
He curled his body around mine and pulled the comforter up high. Even though it was August, we were both shivering. “I know,” he answered quietly. “I’ve had the same thought.”
EIGHT
MY mind could have used a good fourteen hours of oblivion, but my body refused to sleep past eight o’clock the next morning. When I awoke, Josh had already left for work. I knew that he must be exhausted. Even so, since he was going to be at Simmer tonight to cook me the dinner he’d promised, he’d be working a brutally long day. I brewed a pot of coffee and called my mother to let her know I wasn’t coming to work today. I didn’t feel ready to tell my parents about Josh’s nightmare of a TV episode yesterday, so I simply said that I had a cold. In fact, I sounded so raspy that it took almost no effort to make myself sound sick.
“Chloe, you poor thing. Aren’t those summer colds the worst?” My mother was so full of sympathy that I felt a pang of guilt about my lie. “Why don’t I stop by later with some tissues and soup? Or, better yet, why don’t you come and stay with us for a few days, and we’ll take care of you?”
I was touched by my mother’s offer to nurse me back to health, but even if I’d been sick, I’d have refused. I loved my parents to pieces, but it would have been impossible to get any real rest with my mother popping into the guest bedroom every five minutes to take my temperature and feed me hot broth. I’d have had to return home to recover from recovering.
“No, thanks, Mom. I’m really fine. It’s just a cold. I should be much better tomorrow.”
“Well, don’t worry about tomorrow, either. I think it’ll be a slow day around here. I’ll call you if we need you. While I have you on the phone, are things looking all set for Adrianna’s shower on Saturday?”
“I think so. I’ve heard back from almost everyone.”
I couldn’t believe that it was only four more days until my best friend’s combination wedding shower and baby shower. Both the shower and wedding itself were going to be held at my parents’ house. I’d been determined to host Adrianna’s shower myself, but it would’ve been impossible to squeeze more than a few people into my little condo. And the wedding? Owen, who was working as a fish purveyor, was living off the commissions he made from selling seafood to restaurants, and Adrianna had just stopped working as an independent hair stylist. Consequently, the two parents-to-be were barely able to pay their bills. Owen’s parents simply didn’t have the money to help them, and Adrianna’s mother, Kitty, had suggested that they go to City Hall for a quick service. Kitty was less than thrilled about the order in which her daughter was getting married and starting a family. Adrianna’s father had vanished when she was very young, and she had no grandparents or other family members with the money or the desire to help finance her wedding.
So, a few months earlier, when it had become clear that Owen and Ade were stuck, I’d secretly approached my parents, who not only had offered to host both events at their house but were paying for practically everything. One reason for their generosity was that they knew and liked Owen and Ade. Another was that they understood how important my friends and their unborn baby were to me. A third was what felt like moral outrage at Adrianna’s mother’s nasty, stingy attitude. “We can afford to do it,” my father had assured me, “and so we will! The wedding will be beautiful. And,” he’d added, “if Adrianna’s mother doesn’t like it, she can sit in the back row and glower.”
Once the plan was in place, I invited the bride and groom to dinner at my parents’ house in Newton, where my mom and dad surprised Adrianna and Owen with their offer. Ade and Owen were completely overwhelmed at my parents’ generosity, and each had thanked my parents so frequently and profusely that my dad eventually started joking about rescinding the offer if the two wouldn’t shut up. Fortunately for my parents’ bank balance, Adrianna and Owen wanted a fairly small, simple wedding rather than one of those over-the-top affairs with a full band, a bridal party of twenty, an expensive photographer, and an exorbitantly priced reception hall. My friends would never have asked my parents to pay for a gigantic, pricey wedding, which wouldn’t have been Ade and Owen’s style, anyway.
Ade’s mother was flying in from Arizona on Friday, the day before the shower, and would be staying for over a week—in other words, until after the wedding. Although my parents were footing the bill for the shower and the wedding, Kitty had done nothing but complain about how much everything was costing her. Adrianna and Owen had had a hard time convincing Kitty that there was no room for her in their tiny apartment, which barely had room for the two of them—the nursery was a converted closet—and they’d suggested that Kitty skip the shower and just come to the wedding. Eventually, Kitty had decided to stay at a hotel for the week, but not without asking, “Do you have any idea what that’s going to cost me?”
Thank God that Ade had my dad and mom, Jack and Bethany Carter, to act as substitute parents!
“So,” my mother said, “Josh still can’t cater the shower, right?”
“No. He got Gavin to give him the day of the wedding off so he can cater it, but Gavin wouldn’t give him another Saturday, too.” To maintain the illusion of illness, I pretended to blow my nose.
“Well, darn it, Josh works so hard at that restaurant! You’d think that this Gavin would have the sense to keep his executive chef happy. Anyhow, we can handle the food. The shower won’t be that big. Is
Adrianna excited?”
“Very. Mom, she is so overwhelmed by everything you and Dad are doing for her. Thanks again.” My parents’ help meant as much to me as it did to Ade and Owen.
“Of course. We’d do anything for them. With the baby coming in a few weeks, the last thing they need to worry about is trying to pay for a wedding. And I can’t stand the idea a tiny civil ceremony with no real celebration to go along with it. We wouldn’t have it any other way. So let’s talk food!”
We finalized the menu for Saturday’s shower. I hung up feeling guilty for feigning a cold, but if I’d told my mother about Francie’s death, we’d’ve had a whole long conversation that I didn’t feel like having right now. And all this wedding talk was so fun! While making all these plans over the past few months, I’d spent my fair share of time fantasizing that I was planning my own wedding to Josh. Not that I was expecting an engagement anytime soon, but it seemed like marriage could be a possibility for the two of us.
As soon as I’d put down the phone, it rang again. I looked at the caller ID window and saw the dreaded words Private Call. Answering the phone when caller ID had picked up no information about the incoming call was risky: for all I knew, I’d be stuck talking to someone who’d coerce me into responding to a long survey about tile cleaning products or about my infomercial-watching preferences.
“Hello?” I said tentatively.
“Hi. Why aren’t you selling rain barrels? Do you want to come over?” Phew. It was Adrianna, whose new number was still unlisted. I’d have to get on her about having her number published, or I’d be missing a lot of calls.
“I’m playing hooky. Yeah, let me just throw on some clothes, and I’ll be over soon.”
When Ade and Owen had moved in together last spring, I’d been glad that their apartment was within walking distance of my place. Today, I actually wished that Adrianna lived a bit farther away than she did, because a good, long walk would’ve helped shake off some of yesterday’s tragedy. I tossed on a pair of gray yoga pants (not that I actually did yoga) and a white top, and yanked my hair into a ponytail. Knowing that Adrianna wouldn’t have any caffeinated coffee, I filled a travel mug with my own and left to see my incredibly enlarging friend. On the way, I resolved not to make any more jokes about how many babies she was carrying. Quads? Are you sure it’s not at least triplets? Well, I’d try very hard not to. The last time I’d made a joke about multiple births, she’d thrown a stuffed bear at me. Next time it could be something painful, like a bottle warmer or a diaper bin.
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