It Takes Two

by Judith Arnold

  “Rollie, I’m sorry you’ve painted yourself into a corner with your contradictory estimates. That’s not my problem, and it’s nothing I can help you to fix. If you’ll excuse me, I have to prepare for some client meetings. Take care.” She hung up the phone and smiled at those last two words, as hard as they’d been for her to utter. Let him think he hadn’t rattled her. Let him believe he no longer had any power over her.

  She swore to herself that he didn’t.

  ***

  “Next Monday,” Will told Brianna. “Unless someone commits a crime and Ed gets called away on it, the hour before lunch on Monday is probably the quietest time of the week at the tavern. Everyone is recovering from whatever they did all weekend.”

  “Their hangovers, you mean?” Brianna smiled. She had spent the morning at the Louvelle house, overseeing the delivery of the new kitchen appliances, checking the measurements on the cabinetry to make sure the refrigerator would fit into its space and the door of the wine cooler, when opened fully, wouldn’t block the aisle between the island and the dishwasher. Once the appliances and cabinets were all in place, the grass-green granite the Louvelles had decided they loved could be cut and installed.

  In the afternoon, she’d met with the Silverbergs, who owned the Victorian near the marina. They wanted to enlarge the house, but they didn’t want an addition that looked like an addition. Brianna took numerous photos of the house’s exterior from every possible angle, then snapped more photos inside. It was a beautiful house, with a generous porch and an abundance of scalloped shingles and gingerbread trim. She already had some ideas of how she could incorporate an addition into the house’s general lines.

  She’d driven to the tavern to meet Will after her appointment with the Silverbergs, and they’d walked down to the nearest town beach. A sea wall separated the beach from Atlantic Avenue, but one of the breaks in the wall was located a few blocks from the tavern, and they were able to access the sand from there.

  The afternoon didn’t exactly offer beach weather, but an early spring warmth filtered through the air. She left her jacket in the car, keeping the back seat warm, and Will rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. The sun glinted on the fine hairs of his forearms. He wasn’t bulky with muscle, but his entire body was sleek and well-toned. Who knew that designing inventory software could keep a guy in such good shape? Maybe he stayed fit by hauling cases of beer up and down the stairs at his mother’s tavern.

  They held hands as they strolled, their feet sinking into the pliant sand. A brisk breeze rose off the water, damp and salty. “Monday late morning is fine,” she said when he told her the time Ed Nolan hoped to pop the question. “Are you sure you want me there?”

  “Positive. This was all your idea, remember?”

  Well, no, it wasn’t all her idea. She’d vetoed rose petals and suggested music. If Will and his future step-father wanted to give her more credit than she deserved, she wouldn’t argue. And she’d enjoy witnessing the big moment—assuming it went well and Will’s mother accepted Ed’s proposal.

  Will inhaled deeply and smiled. “I can’t imagine living far from the ocean,” he said. “How do people in Kansas survive?”

  “They aren’t used to the ocean the way we are,” she said, then added, “Luckily for you, you can live near the ocean when you move to the West Coast.” She hated thinking about him moving away, hated thinking that in a matter of weeks, this lovely relationship would be torn in two, the halves separated by thousands of miles. Would she and Will keep in touch once he was gone? Would they fly back and forth, seeing each other only a few times a year? Could such an arrangement even be considered a relationship?

  It was because the prospect of his departure saddened her that she kept it in the forefront of her mind. She didn’t want to forget that he would soon be gone. Reminding herself that there could be nothing long-lasting between them prevented her from dreaming about a future with him, wishing for what couldn’t be.

  Her comment seemed to sadden him, as well. He fell silent, pensive, his gaze focused on the distant line where the ocean met the sky.

  She ought to leave him to his thoughts, but she couldn’t help herself. “What are you thinking about?” she asked.

  “Remember when we talked about the Cambridge Innovation Center?”

  She did remember. The afternoon she’d met Ed and they’d plotted his approach to Will’s mother, Will had told her that when he and his partners in his start-up had received an influx of venture capital money, they’d rented a small office at that beehive of tech entrepreneurship in Cambridge. “You liked working there, didn’t you.”

  “Loved it. Not only because it meant we could move operations out of our tiny apartment, and not only because it represented the fact that we actually had some funding, but…I mean, all those people shut up inside a building together, thinking of new ideas, creating new businesses. Everyone there was working crazy hours, but there was time to socialize, too. They had a lounge, and we’d gather there to drink beer and talk and exchange ideas. It was inspiring.”

  “Like a think tank,” she said. “Or the best part of college—gathering with people to work through problems. Sometimes you need a fresh perspective, or just to talk to someone who’s wrestling with the same issues.”

  “Two heads are better than one,” he quoted.

  “It takes two,” she added.

  He shifted his gaze from the horizon to her upturned face. “Yeah.”

  “Maybe there’s something like that in Seattle. A Washington State innovation center.”

  “If there is, I won’t be there. I’ll be at Pacific Dynamic.”

  “That will probably be like a self-contained innovation center. Lots of scientists and engineers exchanging ideas.” Why was she encouraging him about his move? She didn’t want him to go. She didn’t want him to get excited about leaving her.

  But since he was going to leave her, she wanted him to be happy when he was gone. When you loved someone, you wanted him to be happy. And, even though she knew this fling had flared to a full blaze quickly and would burn down to cold embers just as quickly, she loved Will.

  His smile looked forced. “We’ll be exchanging the ideas Pacific Dynamic wants us to exchange,” he said. “An innovation center would be cool. There should be lots of innovation centers. They don’t all have to be as big as the ones in Cambridge and Boston. Small towns could have them, too. Even a place like Brogan’s Point—a few flexible office suites where people could pursue clean technology projects and socialize with fellow techies… Why not?”

  Why not, indeed? “As long as the center had a lounge and beer, it would be successful.”

  His mouth relaxed into a genuine grin. “I love the way you think,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her off her feet. She felt grains of sand slide into her shoes, but Will was kissing her, and she didn’t care. For these few precious minutes—these few precious weeks—she could pretend Will would remain here in Brogan’s Point forever.

  Chapter Sixteen

  He saw the ad the next day, on Facebook, right alongside Brianna’s post about the historical buildings in Brogan’s Point. It featured a rendering of Davenport’s design for the Town Hall, along with the words: Out with the old! In with the new!

  Should he alert Brianna that her asshole ex-boyfriend was deliberately promoting his Town Hall design next to the article she’d posted about the town’s older buildings? He’d hate to ruin her day when she was so thrilled to be working with potential new clients. Last night she’d told him how much it meant to her to bring business to North Short Design. “I don’t want to be Michael’s charity case,” she’d said. “I want to pay my own way.”

  “If you get the commission for the Town Hall, you’ll pay your way and Michael’s for a good couple of years,” Will had said.

  And she still might. Just because Davenport had bought an advertisement on Facebook didn’t mean her proposal would lose the town vo
te.

  Still, Davenport’s design was enthralling. Will couldn’t help but appreciate its sweeping lines, its daring. He felt disloyal, allowing himself to admire the design competing with Brianna’s. Sure, the old Town Hall building had charm. It was a landmark. Renovating it would be more affordable than constructing Davenport’s ultramodern building from scratch. But Davenport’s design had ambition. It had courage. It looked to the future, not the past. Out with the old, in with the new.

  Of course, Will would never express his opinion to Brianna. It didn’t matter, anyway. He wasn’t registered to vote in Brogan’s Point. By the time the town celebrated the opening of its new administration building, whichever design prevailed, Will would be long gone.

  His cell phone rang, and he quickly resolved not to mention the ad to Brianna before he answered—only the call wasn’t from Brianna. It was from Ed’s daughter, Maeve Nolan. “Hey, Will,” she greeted him.

  He didn’t know Maeve well. She’d been a few years behind him in school, and her high school years had been rough, overlapping as they had with her mother’s illness and death. Maeve had been something of a recluse, and as soon as she’d finished high school, she had taken off for Seattle, his soon-to-be new home. What little he knew about those years of her life he’d learned from his mother, whose relationship with Ed had evolved over the years from being the bartender who kept cutting him off because he’d reached his limit to being the friend he could confide in, sharing the grief of widowhood, to being lovers. Hopefully, to becoming husband and wife, if all went well.

  Maeve had returned to Brogan’s Point a year ago, older and wiser. She had opened a pastry shop called Cookie’s which sold the best cookies in town, if not in the entire state of Massachusetts. She was engaged to marry a former football star from the high school who now practiced medicine at Mass General, down in Boston. Will was tickled by the idea that if all went well on Monday, she would eventually be his step-sister. Back in high school, he’d wished he had a sister who could explain the complicated workings of the female mind and who could set him up with her cute friends. Not that Maeve had had all that many friends in high school.

  And he didn’t want to get set up with anyone now. He had Brianna.

  Until he left town.

  He wiped that unpleasant thought from his mind. “How’s it going, Maeve?” he asked.

  “My dad told me you and he have been scheming to get your mother to say yes,” she said. “The big pop-the-question scene is Monday, right?”

  “We’re figuring around eleven a.m.,” he told her.

  “I’d love to be there,” she said. “I can get someone to cover for me at the store, but I don’t know how I can show up at your mother’s tavern without blowing the surprise.”

  “We can smuggle you in,” Will said. “You can hide in the ladies’ room.”

  She laughed. “I’ve hidden in that ladies’ room before. That ought to work.” She and Will discussed logistics for a few minutes before ending the call.

  He ought to take Brianna to Cookie’s. He had already introduced her to the lobster rolls at the Lobster Shack. She ought to experience Maeve’s butter-chip bars. They were amazing.

  How could thinking about Brianna make him so happy and so unhappy at the same time? It defied his logical mind. He was used to rational analysis, binary solutions, if/then. Ultimately, computer coding was all about zeroes and ones, on or off, yes or no. Base two.

  It takes two, he thought grimly as he clicked on the Facebook page featuring Davenport’s ad one more time, then tapped his phone to sleep and slid it into his pocket. He couldn’t linger all morning over his coffee. He had work to do. He had to see if the new software he’d rigged for his mother’s inventory was working better for her and Manny, and he had to help her with set-ups.

  Well, not had to. But he wanted to.

  En route to the tavern, he took a detour to the town green. He had a vague, crazy hope that if he saw the old Town Hall building, if he viewed it as if through Brianna’s eyes, he would convince himself that hers was the better proposal, and if he convinced himself of that, everything would be fine.

  It was a pretty building. He’d give her that. The pillars were majestic, and the symmetry of its front façade imparted a sense of stability. The building had lasted, and it would continue to last—if the town didn’t vote for Davenport’s building and tear this building down.

  Why would they tear it down, though? Why not repurpose it?

  Because they would still have to bring it up to code. They’d have to make it compliant with the Americans with Disabilities Act, add elevators, create a new main entrance that people in wheelchairs could access. If the town had to allocate thirteen million dollars—or, more likely, twenty million dollars—for Davenport’s building, they wouldn’t have the funds to update this building.

  Brogan’s Point needed someone who could envision something new for the building, even if it no longer housed the town’s government. And the town needed funding. But then, every municipality always needed funding.

  Not my problem, Will told himself, steering his car away from the building and in the direction of the Faulk Street Tavern.

  ***

  The following Monday at eleven a.m., Will met Ed, his daughter Maeve, and Brianna on Atlantic Avenue, down the block from the tavern. Will had his cordless speakers stashed in the pockets of his jacket; if he stuffed his hands into the pockets, he could conceal the slight bulges they made in the fabric. The songs were programmed into his phone, which was synced to the speakers. The foursome huddled under two umbrellas as a light but steady drizzle fell from the gray morning sky.

  “I should probably hide in the ladies’ room with you,” Brianna said to Maeve. “Will’s mother wouldn’t be expecting me to show up in her bar in the morning.”

  “She doesn’t expect me in the morning, either,” Ed said. He looked anxious. A tiny scab on the edge of his chin indicated that he’d nicked himself while shaving, and his gray-streaked hair drooped across his forehead, soggy from the rain. Maeve gently brushed it back with her fingers.

  “She’s always glad to see you,” Will assured him. “Any time you walk into the bar is a good time. We’re going to tell her I ran into you and told you about the new inventory system I installed, and you’re going to ask her to show it to you. Tell her you want to see how it lines up with her actual inventory. She’ll have to take you down to the basement to look at the bottles.”

  Ed nodded uncertainly.

  “You have to pretend you find computerized inventory software fascinating. Can you do that?”

  They all laughed. Ed looked a little less uncertain.

  “Once you’re downstairs, I’ll phone you—” he nodded to Brianna “—and you two can sneak into the ladies’ room. I’ll hide the speakers behind the jukebox. Then, when you come back upstairs—” this time he nodded at Ed “—you can ask my mother to fix you a cup of coffee, and while she’s doing that you can wander nonchalantly over to the jukebox.”

  “Dad, can you do that?” Maeve asked, her eyes glittering with amusement. “Can you do anything nonchalantly?”

  “I can try,” he muttered.

  “Pretend to put a quarter into the jukebox. Then I’ll queue up the music on my phone.”

  “Your mother’s going to think I’m crazy,” Ed worried.

  “So pretend you’re crazy. Pull her out from behind the bar and ask her to dance.”

  “She’s not going to want to marry a crazy man.”

  “She’ll want to marry you,” Will assured him.

  “Did you remember the ring?” Maeve asked.

  Ed patted the front pocket of his trousers. “I’ve got it. I don’t know how you give a woman a ring nonchalantly.” He glared accusingly at Brianna. “This music thing was your idea. It seems romantic, but Gus isn’t a romantic person.”

  “Every woman is romantic in her own way,” Brianna said. “Maybe one of the songs will
cast a spell.” She shot Will a glance so fleeting it almost didn’t register on him. But of course it did. He knew a song had cast a spell on them. He didn’t believe in spells, or magic, or the bewitching power of an old jukebox, but… That song. It had done something to him and Brianna.

  Will handed his umbrella to Brianna and joined Ed under his. They stepped into the tavern.

  As expected, it was empty. Manny was wiping down tables, and Will’s mother stood behind the bar, pulling bottles from a carton and lining them up on the shelf along the wall. She turned to see who had entered and cracked a slight smile. “Ed? What are you doing here?”

  Will felt Ed stiffen slightly as nerves overtook him. “We ran into each other,” Will covered for him. “I was telling him about the new inventory system I put together for you. He was intrigued.”

  Will’s mother turned her skeptical gaze on Ed. He swallowed and said, “It’s true. I was intrigued.” Will patted his rain-damp shoulder, hoping to impart confidence. “I was wondering if you could show me how it works.”

  “I’m kind of busy,” Will’s mother said. “Manny can show you.”

  Will sensed Ed stiffening again. “I know Manny knows how to work it,” he teased. “Why don’t you show Ed, so we’ll know you know how to work it, too?” At his mother’s scowl, he added, “Come on, Mom. You know Manny’s smarter at tech stuff than you are.”

  Busy cleaning one of the booth tables, Manny guffawed. “Got that right.”

  “Fine,” Will’s mother snapped. “I’ll show him. Come on, Ed. We’ve got to go down to the basement.”

  A faint smile curved Ed’s mouth. “Let’s go,” he said, reaching the bar and lifting the hinged panel to join Will’s mother behind it.

  Ed and Manny watched them vanish through the door to the cellar. Then Manny eyed Will curiously. Will touched his finger to his lips to silence Manny, pulled his phone from his pocket, and tapped Brianna’s number. “The coast is clear,” he told her, then disconnected the call and strode to the jukebox, pulling the speakers out of his pockets en route.