Chapter Thirteen
A rtur squeezed Liv’s hand before they headed through the backstage area toward the podium, and let it go before they came into full sight.
But what kept him from thinking about how it felt to let her hand go was the complete lack of tension in the auditorium. It was as if someone had popped the atmosphere with a pin; everyone was calmer. Quieter. More relaxed.
Would they be more receptive to what was happening?
He didn’t know, and yet more importantly, he couldn’t figure out what had happened when they were gone. Did someone talk to the residents?
He wasn’t sure; as he started to settle down behind the table, Paul Levitan caught his eye and gave him a look .
Hmmmm.
What did this mean?
He met the mayor’s expression, only to see she was shrugging, or pointing back at the paper. Did she catch the look on Paul Levitan’s face?
“Make good choices,” Leo had said as he was leaving Abe’s.
For not the first time that night he found himself returning to that statement, trying to figure out what the heck his friend meant.
But as he couldn’t figure it out, he organized his papers and did his best to settle back into the process of listening and taking notes until the meeting was over. When that happened and Liv banged her gavel, he walked with her to the parking lot.
“What do you think happened while we were in recess?” he asked.
“I have no idea,” she said. “None at all. And I have no idea what Paul Levitan did. He and the rest of the chamber have a mind of their own, I think.”
Which meant what? Had he walked into some kind of local conspiracy come to life? Did she know about what happened with McManus’s Pub?
“Anyway,” she said, “I guess we’ll find out.”
“Probably at the worst possible time,” he managed, his brain still whirring in an attempt to pull something out of this night, aside from the notes he’d put together.
“Probably,” she said with a smile. “See you tomorrow?”
“Breakfast knishes.”
“Yes,” she said, smiling.
“Looking forward to it,” he said. And knowing a dismissal when he heard it, he headed back to Abe’s.
Except he couldn’t get to sleep, having tried and failed to slow down his brain.
Luckily for him, he had notes to make presentable for his meeting with Liv. Questions and thoughts and…
An email.
He put his papers down next to his laptop before switching into his email.
An invitation.
To a lunch with selected members from the chamber of commerce. At Levitan’s.
The next day.
He checked the other emails included on the distribution list and saw the Mayor’s.
Which meant this was not in invitation but a summons. And there was no other response than yes.
Which he gave, cc’ing Liv.
As he typed the email, things fell into place. Levitan or someone from the chamber had been responsible for quieting the room. And he’d bet he’d find out what the cost was at this meeting.
What did he want? What did they want?
Did this have anything to do with McManus?
He had absolutely no idea, and even more importantly, he didn’t have time to ponder about it beyond sending his agreement to attend the luncheon, because just as he sent it, a separate email from the mayor came in. He read through it, and the important part read:
Change of location. Meet me in my office. I’ll have breakfast waiting. We’ll prepare. And strategize.
And coffee, he replied. I don’t think I’m going to sleep.
You should at least try, came another email from the mayor. It’s going to be a long one.
I have notes, he returned. Gotta prep for the meeting with you and then the lunch.
You have Shabbat plans?
She’d switched to the email program’s adjacent chat app, and he wondered why she asked. But he answered anyway. Best friend and a few others in Rivertown. You?
Family, but I’m not going to sleep either. Email me the notes when you’re done?
Sounds good.
He took a long swallow of the glass of water, before settling in for a long night.
Knowing that Liv would be on the other end kept him awake for reasons other than why he was in town.
*
Liv had made the mistake of waiting for the notes and then reading through them instead of going to sleep.
I like this, she’d messaged Artur after going through the notes.
Thank you. You think this is what they’re going to be talking about?
I don’t know. Racking my brain. Maybe I’ll have answers in a few hours.
See you then?
If she was bolder, braver, she’d tell him to come now, when she was staring at her crystal cabinet, sitting under a blanket on the couch and holding her phone.
Instead, she typed, See you then.
And tried not to think too much about what it would feel like to have him there with her, in the cozy night, in her town house, sitting next to her on the couch, his warmth keeping her warm, his voice calming her…
Instead, she forced herself to think about the chamber of commerce’s motives.
What did the chamber want? What was their concern?
She needed to figure out their agenda before the meeting. God forbid it was their attempt to act like a governmental chaperone.
Literally. Not figuratively.
The very last thing she needed was to be confronted with the business owners of Briarwood reminding her that her reputation was their reputation and that both needed to be clean.
In front of Artur. Who stirred feelings in her, a man who made her wish for a second she didn’t have to lock the doors of her personal life, and hide away in front of anybody and everybody who may have known who she was. Someone who was in Briarwood to fix the mess that had been made of a gift she wanted to give the town.
So instead of an invitation to her place where she could give him something personal, the next morning she brought him sour cream…to go along with bagels and coffee and other associated spreads.
For professional reasons.
And resisted the urge to call and check on him, simply got dressed, organized and headed into the office to prep for the meeting.
When he arrived, she could barely keep her jaw off the desk. “Take it easy,” she said half to him and half to herself, as he came in the room. “Let’s have coffee; you can have sour cream; we’ll have bagels and spreads and then we’ll hash it out.”
“Already with the calming?”
She smiled, gesturing to the spread. “Can’t help it apparently. Providing breakfast turns me into, well, someone who hovers.”
“You got me sour cream,” he said. “That is enough, more than enough.”
The look on his face, slightly lost, slightly excited was enough to knock her over. “People don’t remember? Don’t indulge you?”
“My friends get it,” he admitted. “Way too many people think it’s weird.”
“Where did it…” she began before deciding it was probably a bad idea to ask him this here, now. “Never mind.”
“Memories,” he said, answering the question she didn’t want to ask. “It’s always been comforting. Grandmother’s cooking, and when we moved to Rivertown, it wasn’t weird to ask for it. I kept asking.”
She nodded, taking her coffee into her hands. “I get it,” she said. Because she did. “My sister could always find pickles in the fridge growing up, and she made sure they were in the fridge wherever she went. It made me feel better to make sure she had them.”
Around the bagel he’d covered in cream cheese, he nodded. “You’re a good sister.”
“Sometimes,” she said with a laugh. “Siblings are hard. Do you have any?”
“Friends,” he said. “Friends that act like siblings.”
She nodded. “Rivertown, Shabbas?”
“That’s the one,” he said. “Friend I was with at Levitan’s when we bumped into each other. Another knows the guy at the Pasta Station.”
Connections to local businesses…
And the chamber of commerce.
“I wonder,” she said, beginning to voice her concern. “If that has something to do with the meeting and the agenda. Connections that have the chamber of commerce wondering about connections and crossing and interests.”
He nodded. “And where mine lie?”
“Wait,” she managed, the thoughts running through her head as she tried to corral the words and understand what he was saying. “What happened?”
He put his coffee down on her desk and looked up at her; she tried not to faint. “What do you mean what happened?”
“I mean,” she began, trying not to sigh, “what happened to make you think they’re concerned about where your interests lie?”
“Aaaaah,” he said. “Right. So. My friend was yelling at the guy from the Pasta Station when he introduced me. He…Maricelli, I think his name is?”
She could picture Frank Maricelli yelling at someone on the sidewalk. He wasn’t a bad guy, but he was protective. “Yeah. That’s him.”
“The reason why there was yelling, was that Maricelli had seen…us with my jacket when we were outside.”
And they must have seen something at the meeting, which made her realize that she’d been right. The chamber was, in fact, acting like a governmental chaperone.
Great.
But just to make sure, she continued the conversation. “Why was your friend yelling at Maricelli?”
Was he blushing? Was there color suddenly on his cheeks. “Maricelli was accusing me of behavior unbecoming,” he managed. “Leo, my friend, was taking exception to it.”
“Leo…?”
“Fratelli,” he replied. “I’ve known him since I moved to Rivertown.”
Better and better, she thought to herself.
Not. “I think the chamber is going to test you and me about what your actual purpose is being here,” she finally said.
“Right,” he said. “We have our postgame as part of the meeting? Set the agenda with them?”
“Or at least,” she said, “send your notes to the chamber, let them know that we’re going to be discussing the agenda you put together.”
“I’ll be prepared,” he said.
And if she hadn’t lost her mind already, she was a goner.