Chapter 8 #2
There would be warm brownies served after cake, an ice cream sundae bar, sandwiches at midnight.
For favors, each guest would receive a gift bag containing hand-blown ornaments from Sydenstricker Glass, a jar of local honey, chocolates from Chequessett Chocolates and a candle that allegedly smelled like the Cape air.
“How about a pony? Should everyone get a pony?” Robbie asked.
“Dad wants it to be memorable. He’ll have some of his colleagues and clients there.”
“Any celebrities?” Grandpop asked. “I wonder if he knows Helen Mirren. I find her quite attractive.”
“You have a girlfriend,” Winnie reminded him. “But yeah, Rosie, would anyone need security?”
“Uncle Jeff is the only actor coming, I think,” Rosie said.
“Which Jeff is that?” Winnie asked.
“Jeff Bridges.”
“The Big Lebowski is one of my favorite movies!” Grandpop exclaimed. “I wonder if he’d let me take a selfie with him.”
“He would,” Rosie said. “And he won’t need security, don’t worry. Maybe Tom and Rita, but I think Dad said they’d be in New Zealand. We can hang out in LA when we visit Dad.”
“How did you trick her into marrying you again?” Winnie asked.
“Just my good looks and lover-man skills.”
She winced. “Our grandfather is right there.”
“He’s sleeping,” Robbie said. Winnie glanced at Grandpop to confirm.
“Anything else, Winneria?” Robbie asked. “My brain is shutting down.”
“I think we’re good,” she said, looking at her iPad. “Rosie, you have a fitting in Boston next week.”
“Yep! Will you come? Lark and Harlow will be there. Addison is a maybe.”
“I’ll see if I can,” Winnie said. “Thank you for including me.”
“Of course, hon,” she said, giving her a one-armed hug. “Oh, you should swing by and see our house! We’re gutting the kitchen and would love to hear what you think”
Winnie watched as they left, hand in hand, laughing at something. Both of them had so much energy, were so outgoing and happy, like puppies. Adorable, but exhausting, all that adoration.
“How are you doing, my dear?” Grandpop asked, waking abruptly. “Our family is filled with happy couples. It must feel a bit tiring occasionally.”
The man might mistake a squirrel for a cat, but he was a little too smart sometimes. “Eh. I think I’m better off alone.”
“Come now. I know you were quite smitten.”
She felt her throat tighten and didn’t answer.
“Tell your old grandfather,” he said. “I can keep a secret. Or I’ll just forget what you said. Either way, unburden yourself, sweetheart.”
She shrugged. “Well, it’s…I mean, I never thought I’d be in love-love, you know? And that was okay. I figured I wasn’t the type.”
“But then you found yourself exactly the type,” he said.
She nodded, ordering herself not to cry. “Yeah. Sure. But the guy I loved was a liar. A really good liar who had no problem cheating on the mother of his children or jerking me around. Long story short, I think the universe is telling me to stick to the sidelines where I work best.”
“It’s telling you you’re human, my dear. That’s the only thing the universe is saying. People wear masks, and it takes some time to see beneath them. It doesn’t mean it’s your destiny to be alone.”
“I think it is. And I’m okay with that. Anyway, Grandpop, I should go. I have to drive back to Chatham.”
“There are some people who can make us feel like we’re an entirely different sort of person,” Grandpop said, covering her hand with his own.
His skin was crepey and thin, but his hand was warm.
“And then there are those who make us feel that we’re perfect just as we are.
My guess is that the former was your experience, am I right? ”
She gave a reluctant nod. All that…happiness, that lightness and laughter…It was as if she’d been a version of herself she didn’t know existed. “I’m not the most…magnetic person in the world. So when he noticed me…” She swallowed. “I was flattered.”
“No!” Grandpop almost shouted. “You should expect someone to notice you, darling girl! You’re lovely and unique. If someone doesn’t see that, it’s because he’s the wrong person. The right person will know your value.”
“So far, Grandpop, you’re the only one.”
He laughed. “You’re still very young.”
“Not really. I’m almost thirty-three.”
“Just out of infancy! Don’t worry, sweetheart. Your old grandpop knows a thing or two. Why, just yesterday when I was cleaning out the gutters—”
“Grandpop! What do we say about ladders?”
“Oh, pish,” he said. “When I was cleaning out the gutters…well, I nearly did fall, you know, but luckily, I grabbed the cornice and saved myself in the nick of time. Anyway, what I meant to say was that as I was clinging there, waiting for gravity to make up its mind, I found myself thinking that you’re my only grandchild not matched just yet.
And I hope to see you happily ensconced in a wonderful relationship before I die. ”
“All the more reason for me to stay single, Grandpop, if that’s your line in the sand. I have to go now.”
“All right, sweetheart. I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
It would be a relief, she thought, to get back to Chatham, to the empty, beautiful house…
Lorenzo was in Boston for the next two days, so she could pretend she lived in that beautiful, sterile house and fantasize about what she’d do to warm it up.
The couch was coming tomorrow—a long, sumptuous velvet thing the color of red wine.
She could watch a movie there and put the unused television to work.
She got off Route 6 in Eastham and headed toward Boat Meadow to see Robbie and Rosie’s house.
Rosie worked as a location scout for movies, and it either paid very well, or her dad was made of money, because the view was incredible.
It was low tide, and the mud flats stretched out a half mile or so.
She got out and walked down the sandy little path that wound through the sea grass to the house where her formerly feckless brother would be living.
Little Robbie had done okay after all, she thought with a smile. A good job, the girl he’d loved since he was an adolescent, and now this place to come home to each night. She peeked in the windows. Lots of work to be done, but it would be a stunner, she was sure.
She walked back to her car, hearing the piping plovers and orange-billed oystercatchers as they darted about. Maybe she’d sit on one of the benches and watch the sunset. That kind of thing soothed the soul.
Then she heard a familiar laugh, and the squeal of a child.
The Johnson family was here. All five of them. She recognized Mitchell’s curly hair, his laughing voice. Blakelee was wearing a colorful summery dress, and the three kids were frolicking and prancing at their sides.
They looked like the fake photos they use in frames—the wholesome, fun family, love shimmering all around them. The kind of photo that showed you what you were missing.
Enough. Mitchell-Tanner had taken enough of her brain and heart space today.
She went back to her car, careful not to slink or cower, then headed down the dirt road, turned onto Bridge Road and headed for Chatham.
She would do what she always did. Be productive.
Be useful. Try not to think too hard about her broken heart and how it had felt to be loved… even if that love had not been real.
* * *
Lorenzo had returned from his conference, but he told her he’d be in Boston, so Winnie chose to stay put in Chatham. Fluffina needed her, and while she could ostensibly work from her tiny house in Wellfleet, she wanted to stay here for the time being.
Every day, Lorenzo sent her a brief email telling her what he needed.
Her job was about sixty percent personal, forty percent professional, though that was growing as he began to trust her organizational skills and prompt response times.
She might drive into Boston to do some grocery shopping, unpack things, make sure the house was pristine.
She proofread one of his articles, found three entire typos and marked them.
Watered the plants on his terrace, scheduled his monthly and wildly expensive haircut.
She had his Persian carpets cleaned by a specialty rug cleaner, hired a window washer, though the building super was supposed to have done that, and inspected the house after the cleaners had been through to make sure they hadn’t missed something. She was a clean freak, after all.
In Chatham, Lorenzo asked her to furnish two of the guest bedrooms on the lower level, including her own, so she’d been buying sheets, curtains and duvets, then scouring antique stores and Facebook Marketplace for authentic mid-century modern accents and furniture.
It was wicked fun, and also perhaps another glimpse into his personal life.
His house had five bedrooms. He probably hadn’t bought such a big house to stay empty.
Either he wanted to have guests, or he wanted a big family.
Speaking of his family, Winnie found she also had access to his photos file.
She was fairly sure he wasn’t aware of this, but it didn’t stop her from looking.
There was a shared family folder; otherwise, Lorenzo didn’t seem the type to whip out his phone and take a picture of a view, or meal, or hotel room.
He didn’t seem to have taken any photos at all.
Maybe he was old-school and used film, but his computer contained only those uploaded by his siblings and parents.