Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Jay
We spot Catherine sitting at a table beside the front window where she’s taking in the view. I wonder how we looked as we walked up. Nervous? Guilty? Dazed?
That last one is me. Dazed. I still can’t believe we’re about to sit down with Smitten Kitten after weeks of speculating who she might be.
“Hello,” she says as we reach her table. “I didn’t expect to see you, Jay.”
“Hello, Catherine,” Phoebe says. “It’s important for Jay to be here, and you’ll see why shortly.”
“You have my attention. Have a seat,” she says. “I’ve ordered green tea, but feel free to order something else when Nori comes over.”
“Green tea will be fine,” Phoebe says, looking at me, and I nod. We take our seats, and Phoebe begins. “If it’s all right with you, I’m going to get right to the point.” Catherine simply nods, and Phoebe continues. “Part of my compensation package at the museum includes a year of free rent. Foster set me up with an apartment at The Serendipity. ”
Catherine looks surprised, and I suspect not many things catch her off guard.
“Specifically, I live in 3E.” Phoebe waits for this to sink in, which it does immediately.
Catherine’s lips part, and I don’t think she’s ever done anything as inelegant as gape in her entire life, but this is what it would look like if she did. “I lived there years ago.”
Phoebe nods. “We figured it out this morning. That’s why Jay is here. I ended up with a mystery on my hands the day I moved in, and he’s been helping me solve it.”
“What mystery?” Catherine asks. She’s always alert, always observing, but her focus on Phoebe is intense.
“I got a misdelivered letter. In fact, I got several.” She pulls them from the folder and sets them in front of Catherine. “They were all addressed to Smitten Kitten in 3E, all from Dear Heart.”
Catherine brushes her finger against the corner of the top letter gently, as if she’s afraid it will pop like a bubble and disappear or crumble away into dust.
Just then, Nori appears beside the table with a tray bearing a ceramic teapot and three cups with saucers. She sets them all on the table. “Can I get anything else for you this morning?”
Phoebe, who is watching Catherine closely, seems to decide that Catherine needs more time to process when she doesn’t even notice Nori.
“That’s a pretty teapot,” she tells Nori, letting Catherine stay lost in her thoughts as she shuffles the envelopes without removing any of the letters.
Nori gives her a smile that almost looks tired. “Thanks. I always try to grab interesting ones from thrift stores and yard sales, but it’s taking a while to build up a collection. Especially because they break. People are mostly careful, but it happens. ”
I hide a smile, already knowing what’s about to happen.
“Nori,” Phoebe says, “do you know a lot about tea? Or know people who know a lot about tea?”
“You mean like tea ceremonies or production or something else?”
“All of the above and more,” Phoebe tells her. “Where it started, how it affected agrarian economies, current harvesting practices, fair trade.”
Nori gives Phoebe a curious look. “I know a lot about a few of those things, and a little about a lot of those things.”
“I have an idea. I’ve been getting lots of donated tea sets, and they’re very pretty, but they don’t have the kind of historical value or local connections I need for the museum.” Phoebe leans forward, the same light in her startling amber eyes as when she shared her new exhibit ideas last night. She’s gorgeous, a bit of extra color in her cheeks as her enthusiasm grows. “But I’ll need to develop a lot of programs for everyone from VIP patrons to special interest groups in town. Would you consider a partnership? I’d give you all the tea sets we can’t use, you can keep them as a permanent loan and use them however you want. In exchange, you’d help me put together a quarterly tea with special guest lectures on historical and cultural tea-related topics. And of course, provide the tea in thoughtfully chosen tea sets.”
“I love the idea, but how soon are you wanting to start? I’m just getting my feet under me as the owner here, so I don’t have a ton of bandwidth.”
“I’ll give you the tea sets right away, but the soonest we’d talk about tea parties is six months from now.”
“I’m into it,” she says. “Thanks for thinking of me.”
She walks off to tend to another customer, and Phoebe settles back with a smile. It’s not a victorious smile, like she came out better in a deal. She’s genuinely so pleased by finding a win-win solution. It’s so her. I understand why Dear Heart couldn’t resist calling Smitten Kitten adorable.
Speaking of … I glance Catherine’s way to see how she’s doing. She’s pulled the letter from the first envelope, and she’s reading it, a soft smile on her lips.
Phoebe and I exchange a look. Hers says Is this good? Mine says Yes, it’s good. I pour tea into all three cups, and Phoebe and I each drink ours silently, waiting for a cue from Catherine.
Eventually, she sets the letter down and picks up her tea. “Tell me how these ended up with you.” Then she settles into her chair, takes a sip, and waits.
Phoebe explains, starting with her attempts to return the first letter to sender and my advice to finally open it. “From that point on, I was determined to return them to Smitten Kitten, or her family, or failing that, to the sender. It became more obvious with each one that at some point, these letters had been written with a lot of love, and I— we —hoped the story had a happy ending. But either way, we knew we needed to try to get them home.”
“How were you able to figure out it was me?” Catherine asks. She sounds astonished, and I take it as a sign that she’s not mad about us reading her private letters.
Phoebe lays it out letter by letter, from the clues we gathered, the wrong turns we took, our microfilm adventure, the old lease records. “It all clicked this morning. We’d narrowed it down to you three finalists, and I’m kicking myself that we didn’t think of the Kitty nickname possibility earlier. Although to be honest, I would have assumed it was Katherine Daily. I have such a hard time imagining you as a Cathy.”
“I haven’t been Cathy for a very long time. I started going by Catherine once I was married. But you still figured it out. ”
Phoebe says, “We did. See the one at the bottom of the pile?”
Catherine pulls it out. “You didn’t open it.”
Phoebe shakes her head. “No, ma’am. And I’m sorry we had to open and read the other ones. I should have said that first.”
Catherine shakes her head. “No need to apologize.”
“That one woke me up this morning. I opened my eyes and knew I’d find it in the mailbox. I brought it over to Jay first thing. It’s kind of a tradition to try to crack them together. We were outside discussing the”—a tiny hesitation as if she was trying to figure out how to spin our spat—“board meeting, when we saw a fawn walk out of the brush. We were trying to think of all the different names for deer, and then we made the connection. Deer hart. Dear heart. Buck. William.”
Catherine nods as she listens, and Phoebe says, “I’ll let Jay tell the next part since he figured it out, if you don’t mind, Jay?”
I know she’s trying to give me a chance to prove I’m not the lightweight she told Catherine I was. She doesn’t need to do that, but this isn’t a moment about us, so I pick up the story rather than argue about who should tell it.
“We realized Kitten was probably a nickname, not just a pet name, which meant we now had two possible candidates with first and last name. I’d spent a lot of time thinking about the Dear Heart clues, so I tried a few advanced searches using the names of the two pageant finalists plus variations with Buck, William, MIT, and his job, and I got a hit with his obituary.”
“We saw that he died last year, and you were listed as his widow,” Phoebe says. “It filled in a couple of other blanks for us too. I’m so sorry, Catherine. You must miss him so much if he was anything like his letters. ”
Catherine doesn’t answer. Instead, she pulls a linen kerchief from her Chanel bag and dabs at the tears on each cheek before she folds it and tucks it away again. “I still can’t understand how these letters got to you, but I can see they were meant to be your business. There were always stories about that building …”
She trails off, looking somewhere distant before she blinks and focuses on Phoebe. “Yes, Buck passed last year. Yes, he was as funny and infuriating and captivating as his letters. That never changed through our whole marriage. And yes, I miss him terribly.” She stops and reaches for her tea, taking a sip to compose herself, I’d guess.
“I’m so happy to know that it was a love story from start to finish,” Phoebe says, her voice soft.
When Catherine returns the cup to the table, she rests her hand on the stack of letters. “Thank you for returning these to me. They are precious.”
“I did wonder something,” Phoebe says. “Did you get these when he sent them originally? Because we had to unseal each one to read it.”
Catherine nods. “I did. We wrote to each other every week, and I kept every letter Buck sent in a hatbox. When I moved back to Boston, I brought them all with me. Until this morning, I thought I still had them all.”
“But how …” I don’t finish my question because there’s no answer as to why they came to Phoebe unopened. And if they wrote every week, that means Phoebe only got some of them, so why these particular ones?
They both seem to understand the unfinished question and the futility of answering it as our gazes all land on the stack of letters again.
“Catherine,” Phoebe says, leaning forward again. If Catherine hasn’t figured it out yet, she will learn that the lean means Phoebe’s got an idea, and you might as well say yes, because it’ll be too good to say no to.
“As we’ve been researching this,” Phoebe says, “the phrase you used at our first board meeting, the ‘spirit of Serendipity Springs,’ kept coming back to me. You said I needed to think of more ways to make sure the museum speaks to the locals, even the ones who know the town’s history. I have another idea?—”
“Uh-oh,” Catherine says, and I choke on my tea. She’s reading Phoebe right.
“It’s good,” Phoebe insists. “Maybe my best one yet. I want to do an exhibit called ‘Heart of Serendipity Springs’ about the … serendipitous ways people in this city have fallen in love throughout its history.”
When Catherine gives a tiny head shake, my stomach sinks. Phoebe is onto something here, even if Catherine doesn’t want to share her own letters as part of it.
Phoebe’s voice gets lower but faster as she strains to make her point. “People would love to share their own stories or favorite stories from their family history. There must be hundreds of photos, mementos, letters, and heirlooms we could pull from. And it doesn’t need to be a static exhibit either! We could set up a recording station with thoughtful prompts where people can tell their stories and preserve them in a permanent digital archive. Maybe it’s something we do every February to tempt people in during the month everyone hates going out. They’ll want to see the new stories each year.”
Catherine is shaking her head more adamantly, and she holds up her hand. “Stop, Phoebe, please. You don’t need to convince me. After the board meeting last night, I knew I’d misjudged you, and today I can see how badly.”
Phoebe sits back, looking as if she has no idea what to say to that .
“You’re clearly a skilled researcher and historian, but you have the gift only the most exceptional curators do of understanding how to tell a story in a way that people will listen. And you have a talent for sensing which stories people will want to hear. I see you have the best interests of the Museum of Serendipity at heart because it permeates everything you do. The deal you made with Nori is clever on multiple levels.”
“Oh.” That extra touch of color appears in Phoebe’s cheeks. “I didn’t realize you heard that.”
“I’m neither dead nor deaf, my dear,” Catherine says, amused. “The truth is, I might be a little too proud of my skills of observation. It happens when you’re rarely wrong. But I see now that your connection to Jay is due to you working together so closely on these letters. I apologize, and I’ll make it clear at the next board meeting that you have my full confidence.”
I expect to see Phoebe looking elated, but she’s shaking her head. “You weren’t wrong about everything, Catherine. I need to tell you some things.”
She doesn’t look at me, but I shift in my chair, uneasy that I don’t know where this is going. Or maybe not uneasy. Maybe feeling a tickle of hope and trying not to because it will suck if I’m wrong.
“I misled you by downplaying Jay last night when we spoke,” Phoebe says. “He’s not a lightweight. He is a gifted historian and a skilled researcher, and while I appreciate your assessment of my story sense, Jay is the one with the true gift for it. He’s remarkable in his field, and he loves and respects his family’s legacy. I hope he’ll agree to continue lending his expertise beyond his duties on the board, even though I haven’t protected his name like I should.”
Catherine’s eyebrows go up as both she and Phoebe turn to me.
They’re waiting for me to answer, but I’m dealing with a dopamine rush from hearing Phoebe talk about me in such a complimentary way. “Yes? Yes.”
Catherine presses her lips together and turns back to Phoebe. “I have no objection.”
It’s not a ringing endorsement, but that helps manage the dopamine.
“Also.” Phoebe squeezes her eyes shut for a second and takes a deep breath.
I have no idea what’s coming next, but Catherine and I are riveted.
“Also, there’s more. About Jay. That you should know, I mean.”
I’ve never heard Phoebe so off-balance.
“I kissed him,” she says, and it’s loud enough that a couple of heads turn toward us. “A lot.”
Catherine says nothing but looks at me as if considering this development.
“It was after the cookie thing,” Phoebe says. “Not that day. Later. At the time, the cookie thing was what I told you it was.” She bites her lip. “Mostly? And there will be more. Kissing, not cookies.”
I straighten. “What? No, I like cookies.”
She glares at me, and for the first time since I’ve known her, a full blush sweeps up her throat to her face.
“There will be kissing and cookies,” she amends, looking back to Catherine. “Because Jay isn’t just smart. He’s handsome, and a really good grandson and son and … guy. And he’s funny and helpful, and easy to work with. And he has good ideas. And he’s handsome.”
“You said that one twice,” Catherine interjects.
“Let her talk,” I tell Catherine. “You were saying handsome?”
Phoebe sighs. “I told you, I don’t know how not to have something with you. But honestly, I don’t want to not have something with you. I mean, I do want to have something with you.”
She’s starting to look distressed, and if I had any defenses left against her, that’s what demolishes them.
“I like you too, Phoebe Hopper. Would you go on a date with me sometime?”
“I can’t believe this,” Catherine says, and Phoebe stiffens.
I will not let Catherine ruin this. She knows as well as I do—no, even better than I do—that we can make this work with the board. I reach over and take Phoebe’s hand, which is clammy, but she grips mine tightly.
“Catherine—” I start, but she isn’t having it.
“You mean to tell me you kissed her”—an emphatic finger stab toward Phoebe—“ a lot before you even took her on a date?” Now Catherine is glaring at me, but I see a gleam in her eye.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say. “Sorry, ma’am. But in my defense, she tells me nearly every time she sees me that she won’t date me.”
“Is that true?” Catherine demands from Phoebe.
“Yes,” Phoebe says. “Uh, ma’am.”
“Dis-grace-ful,” Catherine pronounces, and she makes every S sound sibilant and chilling. She narrows her eyes at Phoebe. “Tell me this, Director Hopper. If you had it to do over again, would you handle the announcement of Hayes Bradford’s engagement the same way?”
“No,” Phoebe says, no hesitation. “I wouldn’t. He wasn’t worthy of my energy, for one. But no matter what, I should have waited to take it up with him at another time and place.”
“Very well. Let me test my powers of observation again. Are you hoping to parlay this job into a promotion at the Sutton when Diana Gill retires?”
This time Phoebe hesitates, and my stomach clenches. I’d love to not go into this today. Or ever. But especially not right now, when Phoebe’s revelations are still tumbling around inside me like fluffy blankets in a dryer, making me feel ten kinds of warm and happy. I’d love a month or two to enjoy that feeling. Or a week. Even a day. But I won’t get to enjoy it for even an hour.
“In some ways, it would be easier,” Phoebe says. “I love Boston. And Jay is in Boston. And I love?—”
My heart skips a beat.
“—the idea of more time with him.” She meets my eyes without flinching. “I’m pretty sure I’m still going to want as much time as I can get with him when that position opens up.”
Well, you love to hear it, don’t you?
“But no,” she says, surprising me again . “I don’t think the Sutton is the right place for me. The Museum of Serendipity is.” She switches her gaze to meet Catherine’s eyes. “Foster was right to choose me.”
Catherine settles back again. “Phoebe, these letters actually explain why I was resentful toward you during your time at the Sutton. You had the job I’d dreamed of for myself, and I never got to do it. Times were different. Expectations were different. I don’t regret my choices, as much as I wish I could live both versions of my life. I saw in you someone who wasn’t taking your opportunity as seriously as I would have, and at some level, I suppose I was punishing you for it. No,” she says, when Phoebe opens her mouth to speak. “Let me finish. I was wrong to do that, and I’m sorry. But I was correct that you were not the right fit for the Sutton.”
“But I—” Phoebe starts to say until I squeeze her hand. I’m learning to have faith in Catherine.
“The reason you weren’t right for the Sutton isn’t because of your skillset.” Catherine smiles at Phoebe. “It’s because of your gifts. And they have found the right home here.”
I loosen my grip on Phoebe’s hand .
She doesn’t let go of mine, but she clears her throat. “I agree. I could fit into the Sutton box, but it was an effort. With the Serendipity, I can bring all of my strengths to the work. I don’t have to be two versions of myself.”
Catherine nods. “As it should be. You’ll write a formal disclosure for the rest of the board, we’ll come up with guidelines for when you need to recuse yourself, and we’ll accelerate the process of filling the board so we can maintain a quorum when Jay has to abstain. That should cover it. Any questions?”
I shake my head. “No, that was thorough.”
“Several,” Phoebe says, and I snort. “Why did you have to choose between your master’s degree and marriage?”
“It wasn’t common for married women to attend college,” she says. “My parents believed, as did Buck and I and his parents and nearly everyone, that it was my father’s duty to provide for me until my husband took over. So my father would have willingly paid for me to continue my education, but if I married, it would fall to Buck. He didn’t pay for his own schooling either. His parents did, and the cost of getting my master’s degree would have started us under a heavy financial burden. Or so it seemed to two very privileged young people who hadn’t yet learned to struggle.”
Catherine picks up the sealed envelope. “I wonder …”
She slides her finger beneath the flap to open it and pulls the letter out, reading for only a few seconds before smiling at us. “I remember this one. I remember all of them, I read them so many times before the next one would come. Would you like to know what the last letter says?”
“More than anything,” Phoebe says.
“What she said,” I answer.
“Go ahead.” Catherine holds it across the table. “Read it.”