Kiki Lowenstein Books 1-3 & Cara Mia Delgatto Books 1-3: The Perfect Series for Crafters, Pet Lovers, and Readers Who Like Upbeat Books!

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  Often I said nothing during the meal, except to compliment Linnea, the Lowensteins’ longtime housekeeper, on the food, which was always exquisite. Linnea cooked up a storm, and her beef brisket was unusually delicious. More to the point, the kindly black woman doted on me. Whatever portions I particularly liked, she would wrap up for me to take home as leftovers. Although I loved everything Linnea cooked, I did have my favorites. She made a bread topped with caramelized onions that was out of this world, her creamed spinach became my favorite dip for chips, and her pies often found their way onto a plate for my breakfast.

  “Kiki, it won’t do for you to make enemies of the neighbors,” Sheila scolded me. “George does not need enemies. He’s growing a business. Your job is to make friends. Who knows? The Nordstroms might be well-connected in the Swiss community. One of their friends might want to buy a house in one of George’s developments.”

  “Sven and Leesa are Swedes, Mother. Not Swiss citizens.” George could correct his mother with a winning smile, whereas I tended to mimic one of Linnea’s briskets and stew in my own juices.

  “That’s irrelevant, darling boy.” Sheila tossed back the last of her Malbec. “Point being that your wife should act as the family’s ambassador.”

  George obediently poured her more wine and refilled my glass, too, even without asking.

  I lifted my goblet to my mouth to cover my smile. Sheila’s suggestion that I should make friends for our family’s sake was ironic. Although we’d only lived in the metro-St. Louis area for two years, I’d already encountered more than a handful of people who’d gotten crosswise with Sheila and lived to tell a tale of woe. In fact, I’d been at a library function, a book club event, when another patron asked, “Lowenstein...as in Sheila?”

  When I nodded, she turned to her companion, a woman who’d listened to my response with a shudder. Shortly after, the two friends got up and left with one backward glance at me.

  “You are willing to make amends, aren’t you, Kiki? I can trust you to cross the street and extend an olive branch, can’t I?” Sheila’s frosty stare was totally at odds with the warm red of the wine in her glass.

  “Right,” I said, turning my attention to Anya, as she chewed on a hunk of Linnea’s homemade bread.

  “Please give me a real answer, Kiki. Not a nebulous evasion.”

  “Right, as in, yes, of course, I’ll offer myself as a human sacrifice to Sven the spin-meister. I’ll even do it at my earliest convenience.”

  Sheila allowed herself the tiniest unladylike snort. “Since your personal calendar is so full, I’ll expect to hear about your visit before we meet for dinner next week. Won’t I?”

  I meant it as a smile, but I had the feeling my grin had faded into a smirk, as I said, “Right.”

  9

  That night, I had trouble getting to sleep, thinking about another meeting with the Nordstroms. When I did doze off, I had awful dreams. I pictured five-foot-two me as a supplicant to our neighbors while they towered over me like ancient Amazonian figures. I woke up full of gratitude that it had only been a bad dream, and that my whimpers didn’t wake up George.

  The wine must have done a number on me, keeping my brain from sinking into a restful slumber. Not that it mattered. Tiny crinkling noises broadcast by the baby monitor signaled that Anya was wide awake. As I hauled myself out of bed, her thin voice cooed in a secret language all her own. I suspected she was jabbering to her stuffed toy, Mr. Blue Bunny, or having a serious conversation with the mobile of stars and moon shapes that waltzed slowly over her head.

  No matter whether I was well-rested or not, my daughter needed me. Parents don’t get to call in and take a day off. As always, the sight of her filled me with such an unbearable ache of love that it nearly knocked me to my knees. How could one small person have become my entire existence? I couldn’t even imagine life without her. She was the sum total of my reason for living.

  Picking her up, I vowed to do all I could to give her the best life possible. I had no choice but to give in to her grandmother’s demands to become the family ambassador. (Or scapegoat, depending on your point of view.)

  Once Anya was ready for the day, and I’d changed into street clothes, we went downstairs to the kitchen for our breakfast. In the middle of the table was a note from George, explaining he’d had an early morning meeting and reminding me of Job One: Try to smooth things over with the Nordstroms.

  To his credit, he went on to say, “Okay, we didn’t ask Sven to ride around like a maniac, but let’s be the bigger people. I want to enjoy our home for years to come. Getting along with the Nordstroms will be a step in the right direction.”

  I sank my head into my hands and stared at the walls of boxes piled around me. “Oh, good. Anya? While I was sleeping, everyone took a vote. The Nordstroms are now officially my problem. Isn’t that terrific? Not only am I responsible for you, for unboxing this stuff, and for cleaning up this mess, while doing laundry and making sure there’s food on the table, I get to offer myself up as a human sacrifice to the Nordic gods across the street.”

  With a sigh, I continued, “We all know that I am so outgoing and charismatic that this little task shouldn’t be any trouble at all. Right, sugar bear?”

  She crowed and banged her fork on the tray of her high chair.

  “I don’t think I can face a bowl of cold cereal. I don’t think I can plow through these boxes to find a clean coffee cup. In fact, I know I can’t. Tell you what, how about if we go for a ride?”

  She tossed the fork over the side of her high chair. It hit the floor and bounced between two boxes.

  “I’ll take that as a ‘You go, Mom!’ Love the way you simplify decision-making, little girl.” I tugged her out of the high chair and balanced her on one hip. “I mean, here I debate what’s a good course of action, while you move boldly ahead with a purpose. I could take lessons from you, Anya. In fact, I bet that’s why you’re here. To teach me stuff.”

  10

  I have my child perfectly trained. We know the way to every McDonald’s in the city, and we can even find the route to a few out in the boondocks, too. Anya catches sight of those golden arches and the chanting begins, “Do-no, do-no, do-no.” As I turned into the drive-through lane at the restaurant nearest our home, her cheers grew louder and louder.

  After I received my order — two sausage burritos and a large coffee for me, an English muffin and an orange juice for her — I found an empty spot in the parking lot. There we ate our food. Thus satiated, we tossed the trash into a can and headed for Whole Foods, a local grocery specializing in organic and healthy fare. It wasn’t my usual place to shop, but I’d worked it out in my head that only the best would do for Sven and Leesa.

  Because I badly needed a dose of courage to face the Nordstroms, I decided to take an approach with proven success. I would arrive on their doorstep like the proverbial Greek bearing gifts. Maybe I’d be more warmly received. I bought an expensive, gluten-free, über-healthy chocolate cake, paired with a bouquet of fragrant fall mums and asters, and a cheery "Hi, Neighbor!" card that I signed: Kiki, George, and Anya Lowenstein.

  How could anybody resist the wonderful peace offerings I had planned for the Nordic gods across the street? Anticipation of their delight boosted my self-confidence. While the tantalizing smell of chocolate begged me to sample the treat to make sure it was worthy, I resisted the urge. Instead, I drove us straight home after shopping.

  After lifting Anya out of her car seat and bringing in the goodies, I dressed my daughter in her cutest outfit. I ran a brush through my hair and secured it in a clip. After washing my face, I added a smear of lip gloss. Satisfied that I looked passable, and she looked adorable, I carried Anya down the stairs.

  She fought me as I loaded her into her stroller. At twenty-six months, she struggles to assert her independence, a sign she's growing up. As much as possible, I encourage her, but today I was on a mission. Into the stroller she went.

  A nip in the air signaled fall
was in full swing. I picked our way down the mud-splattered concrete driveway, along the sidewalk, across the street with its smattering of gravel, and up our neighbors' pristine brick drive.

  The Nordstroms’ yard presented a stark contrast to ours. Their front lawn looked plush as a thick green carpet. Their landscaping was mature, perfectly proportioned to their house, while our spindly shrubs seemed cheap and puny, as if we'd tossed a handful of twigs into the soil willy-nilly.

  "Give it time," I reminded myself. "Home wasn't built in a day."

  Anya grinned, her new front teeth gleaming in the sun. She had roared into toddlerhood with a vengeance. Her new favorite words were, "No" and "Wha-da?" The latter being her personal code for, What is that?

  "Friends," I told her as we bumped along. "Next to family, they're the most important part of life. In fact, I venture to say that in my life, they could easily outrank family. If I had any. Friends, I mean. You have family, Anya, but...it's complicated."

  In response, she tossed her Blue Bunny off the side of the stroller. I quickly retrieved the stuffed toy and brushed it off. After a guilty look around to see if anyone had noticed this lapse in hygiene, I handed the blue toy to Anya and pressed onward.

  "Here goes Operation Make New Friends," I said to Anya as I stepped under the Nordstroms’ portico. The small, open air porch sheltered the front door, but did not invite visitors to “sit a spell and relax.” Its purpose was totally utilitarian, a way of blocking precipitation.

  Taking a deep breath, I pressed the doorbell. From the back of the stroller hung a reusable fabric grocery bag festooned with dancing fall leaves. My mouth fairly watered as I thought about the cake inside. Paired with a fresh bouquet of fall flowers in jewel-tone colors, I hoped my gift would be irresistible. The scent of the flowers formed a delicate counterpoint to the rich fragrance of chocolate.

  The door crept open a sliver. I craned my neck to take in a perfectly oval face framed by a wheat-colored sheath of hair. Leesa Nordstrom towered over me by nearly twelve inches. The woman was built like a runway model, with legs that never seemed to end, and a figure anyone would envy. Especially an “anyone” like pudgy, post-baby fat me.

  "Yes?" Leesa's lilting accent rendered the word foreign to my ears.

  "Hi! I'm your neighbor Kiki Lowenstein, and this is my daughter, Anya. We haven’t been properly introduced so I wanted to drop by and say hello."

  Immediately behind Leesa, Sven’s face appeared. He ventured a tentative smile, but his wife’s expression did not change. Her eyes did not even glance at my adorable daughter. Instead, she drilled an iceberg stare into my forehead.

  "Lowenstein. That's what? Jewish?" She spoke slowly as if the words caused her pain.

  My mouth fought to keep the smile steady. "Yes, it is. I was born Episcopalian, but my husband and Anya are Jews."

  "Hmmm." Her posture stiffened.

  Sven did an about-face. I watched the back of his head retreat into their house.

  "This is for you." I extended the goodies toward Leesa. "Chocolate cake. From Whole Foods. And flowers."

  "We do not eat sweets. The colors of the flowers do not match our decor."

  Okay. Two gifts rejected, one to go.

  Digging around in the bag, I dredged up a greeting card. "Here."

  With two fingers, she extracted the offering from my hand, but the icy expression on her face didn’t change one bit.

  11

  "Darling." Sven appeared as if conjured by a magician. He announced his presence by lightly capturing Leesa's shoulder with one hand. "Give this woman a chance. She is trying."

  Yes. My mother often said that: Kiki is trying. She’s a test sent by God to torture me.

  Although the words stuck in my throat, I said, "Sorry for all the inconvenience you suffered during the building process.”

  It seemed to me, and I could be wrong about this, that our roles were reversed. The Nordstroms should be welcoming us to the neighborhood, not the other way around. However, in the name of harmony, I was willing to humble myself.

  "This has been big, big problem. Costs us extra money. Makes so much trouble. I must now give new cleaning lady more money. So much work she does. All because of you." Leesa pouted like a child.

  At that point, turning tail and taking a hike back home seemed immensely appealing.

  But Leesa was on a roll. "Your people block our street. Spread much dirt. Ruin grass. We chose quiet place, and you make everything noisy. We don’t like.”

  "Right." I nodded automatically. Agreement is always safer than voicing opposition.

  Over his wife’s shoulder, Sven gave me a look that suggested he didn't want to get involved. I didn’t blame him. But that left me standing there and taking her complaints like the punching bag I was becoming.

  At that point, I would have laid odds that Leesa was a kickboxing instructor. I could feel the blows to my midsection.

  "Sorry about the hassle. It was never our intention to inconvenience you."

  "A card is stupid." With a sneer, she dropped the envelope back into my bag. However, her aim was poor and the lovely card toppled to the ground.

  That was the last straw.

  Bubbling up inside came the voice of rebellion. My psyche was invaded by an angry little goblin, who is normally kept under lock and key. I bit my tongue, but I guess I didn't chomp down hard enough, because the words tumbled out, "Gee, who'd have thunk it? Who would have guessed you'd have a bit of inconvenience when you bought a house across the street from two lots that were for sale? It probably came as a real surprise that anyone would buy a prime piece of vacant property and build on it. Maybe you thought it would stay undeveloped forever? Of course, if you'd paid one bit of attention to the property values, you would know that didn't make sense. But you didn't, huh? What a shocker. And you think that card is stupid."

  If I hadn’t already turned my back on the Nordstroms, Leesa would have slammed the door in my face.

  I seethed with anger on the short march home, and I burned to tell someone how rude Leesa had been. But George didn't walk into the house that night until eight, long after Anya had fallen asleep in her crib. Powered by the energy of anger, I'd done three loads of laundry and emptied four boxes. I quickly became discouraged, as the cardboard cartons proved to be full of my husband's sports equipment. Putting his gear away would be pointless, as he was very picky about his things.

  In the end, I gave up on tidying up. Instead, I tried my best to get interested in a new book but found that tough sledding. When George finally walked in on me, I was sprawled on the living room sofa. He asked, "How'd the visit with the Nordstroms go?"

  And I told him.

  But the sympathy I'd expected was not on the menu.

  He shook his head. "You do realize you made things worse, don't you? Why? Maybe Leesa Nordstrom just needed the chance to vent. Now you've gone and gotten yourself new enemies. What happened to your grand idea about finding new friends?"

  "I found one today."

  "What's her name?"

  "Gluten."

  "Gretchen?"

  "Gluten. Gluten-free chocolate cake."

  12

  Twice a week Sheila called me without fail. By contrast, I never heard from my mother. She hadn’t called or sent a card since Anya arrived. Although the conversation with Sheila often annoyed me, I couldn’t fault her for not caring.

  “How is the unboxing process going?” My m-i-l sounded truly interested.

  “Not good. We still have workmen coming in and out. The grass seed hasn’t sprouted like we thought it would. The workers keep tracking in mud. As for the boxes, I’m doing my best, but George is gone a lot. I don’t want to put away his things without his input.”

  “Have you managed to clean up the sawdust and the rest of that junk?”

  “Nope. I make a small bit of headway each day, but with men coming back all the time, I’m not making any progress. My biggest priority is Anya. Keeping her happy and safe. She�
��s curious about everything.”

  “That because she’s a smart child. You can always tell. The dumb-dumbs sit there like lumps. The intelligent ones explore their environment every minute.”

  I winced. Sheila’s heartless correlation between activity and intelligence upset me. My mother-in-law could be blunt to the point of hurtful. I only prayed she didn’t share these unkind thoughts with anyone but me.

  “You need a cleaning lady,” she continued.

  “Yes, I know I do.”

  “Then get one!” With that, she hung up.

  After putting Anya down for a nap, I hopped to it. The task proved harder than I'd expected.

  Sylvia Pujoli, the real estate agent who found this lot for us, seemed like a great place to start. "I wish I could help you. Really I do. But I’ve had my own cleaning lady for decades. I’m out of touch with people who do that sort of work."

  "Even if I could find someone to help temporarily, it would make a huge difference. With Anya being so active, I can’t step away from her long enough to clear the mess left by the construction crew."

  "I warned George that having you move in without getting the place professionally cleaned was a mistake,” said Sylvia. “Especially with a toddler in the house. But he wouldn’t listen. Now you’re paying the price.”

  After that, I tuned the woman out, because instead of helping me clean my house, she was trashing my husband. “I told George...blah-blah-blah,” she said, over and over. I let her ramble, while I folded clothes.