Chapter 19
Nineteen
The offices of Barron, Winters Wall were closed on Memorial Day, giving everyone a long weekend to decompress. Even the yoga center was closed, so Whitney had nowhere to be this Monday morning.
Yesterday, Whitney had spent the whole day with all the female relatives who came in a couple of days early for the family Memorial Day celebration. Mom had treated them all to pedicures and facials at her favorite salon that had opened on Sunday especially for them. She’d even sprung for matching monogrammed robes for everyone, from Chloe at age two to G-Maw at ninety-three. Having little Chloe at the salon with them had been so much fun. She wasn’t a fan of getting her toenails painted, but she’d grow into that. She’d kicked and screamed until finally Carina gave up and let her play on the floor with her stuffed sloth in between snuggles with everyone in the room.
Mom had gone to a lot of trouble for the get-together, even catering a lovely lunch for everyone, including the gals working in the salon.
Whitney couldn’t imagine how much time her mother had put into making the photo albums for each of them. She’d handpicked pictures for each of them so everyone’s memory book was different.
It had been nice to walk around in the plush robes all day and get pampered. The childhood stories and reflection on simpler times seemed to go on for a long time. It wasn’t all that often they all got together, and those pictures had generated a lot of conversation.
It had been a long day, and she’d gone to bed early, but her body didn’t know what to do, not going to the office today.
She wasn’t the type to sit still, but there also wasn’t enough time to really do anything before heading over to Carina’s for the celebration.
Whitney got dressed and slipped her feet into a pair of sandals. Her freshly painted magenta toes looked so pretty.
She went into the kitchen and fixed a bowl of yogurt with a sprinkle of granola on top. Carrying it to the living room, she sat on the couch and took a bite while staring out the window. Her condo was great, but it sure didn’t have the view that Matthew’s had. It had honestly never seemed important before.
Suddenly, she was looking at things through a whole new lens.
But it was more than that. She was doing a lot of thinking about Matthew.
Imagining breakfast on the rooftop patio of the Harper Building with Matthew, she closed her eyes, thinking of how the warm sun would touch her face as she looked out across the city. She could picture spending time with him there. Day or night.
Whitney ate her breakfast and began looking through the album.
She ran her fingers across the tooled leather cover. Mom had gone to the effort to pick something she knew Whitney would like. Nothing smelled better than new leather.
She opened to the first pictures, smiling at how young they’d all once been. Despite time or distance, the love her extended family carried for one another was special. Kindness drove their relationships and traditions. She had a feeling the spa day was going to become a welcome tradition from now on too.
The annual Memorial Day party always brought the family back together.
Whitney flipped past rows of school pictures. You’d think they’d try harder with those poses since you were stuck with them your whole life. A few pages were from summers she’d spent with her Uncle Blake and even a few of him in his younger years. The farm. The horses and pastures. Those memories felt like a favorite sweater. Comforting and soft. She remembered the exact moment they had taken the picture of her and her uncle next to the bay quarter horse. Their smiles were full of mischief. There was no telling what they’d been up to that day. She’d always felt closer to him than anyone.
She took that photo from the album and set it aside to find a frame for it.
The next photograph was of her hugging a horse. Uncle Blake didn’t have that horse for long. Maybe this memory was why Matthew’s painting of the girl with the horse had touched her so deeply. It’s like you’ve always known me, Matthew.
She’d lost track of time as she sat there looking through the old photographs, and she still had to make the potato salad for the party this afternoon. Everyone loved her recipe because she used three kinds of potatoes: red, gold, and sweet potatoes. She knew how to make it by heart, but it took a long time to prepare, which meant she better get to work.
She got up and loaded the potatoes into the sink to scrub them then put them in a big bowl; she went to sit in the chair next to the window to peel them while she watched people gather for the parade on the street below.
A few determined families had already claimed their spaces, which seemed a little crazy to her because it was already so hot and muggy. Kids ran off some energy, doing circles on the sidewalk while the parents sat waiting.
The police had barricaded the side streets hours ago. She was used to the drill. If she needed to leave before the parade ended, she would’ve had to leave before now.
She got up and turned on the stove, setting her biggest pot astride the middle burner. She cubed the potatoes in nice, uniform pieces and got them going, setting the timer on her phone in case she got distracted while watching the parade.
The thumpity-thump of a bass drum beckoned her back to the window.
She skipped the chair and stood right in the window frame, tip-toeing to see down the street. Even after all these years, she loved a parade.
The music got louder.
Stars and stripes flickered from sticks in the hands of nearly everyone in the crowd as a convoy of military vehicles came roaring down the street.
Everyone cheered.
The instrumental version of “America the Beautiful” played from a tinny-sounding speaker on top of the last vehicle, a camo-painted Humvee. They didn’t need the words. The parade-goers sang anyway.
A resplendent color guard marched in perfect unison wearing the same uniform, flags billowing softly above them: red, white, and blue against a pale blue sky.
Drummers tapped against the metal of their drums, clicking out a secret message to the band marching behind them. Horns began blasting, shifting and turning, and every now and again they’d do a cool little hop-step in perfect time.
Whitney smiled from her front-row seat in her apartment, thankful for the air-conditioning and perfect view of the activities while floats lined the street as far as she could see.
The oven timer blasted. She hopped up and ran to the kitchen to silence it, dumping the potatoes into the colander, then ran back to see the rest of the procession.
In open convertibles, old men in military uniforms and funny hats waved. Heroes, all of them, probably harboring the sadness of the loss of friends and fallen soldiers they’d served with. A day of remembrance. War was such a terrible thing. No one really came out a winner.
A marching band stopped and turned left, facing the crowd on that side of the street with a banner that said “TRIBUTE” to our nation’s heroes. They marched in place, then moved forward and did a one-eighty to the other side, before double-stepping it to face forward again. There were six of those banners in all. Each required eight handlers spread out from end to end to move them down the road.
The banner handlers turned with the timing of synchronized swimmers, giving everyone a view of the poster. She wondered if it was as impressive at ground level as it was from up here.
A bright red convertible corvette followed behind the banners. Her heart danced, thinking of Matthew. He would’ve loved to see this.
Six uniformed men rode horses, carrying flags, and then three more high school bands followed. In full regalia, from jackets and sashes to hats and fuzzy plumes, to their white gloves, they had to be burning up in this heat.
With the last notes from the marching band lingering in the air, the Memorial Day parade concluded, leaving behind an infusion of unity and reverence.
Energized by the parade, Whitney hummed as she mixed the potato salad in a casserole dish for the drive to William and Carina’s.
She tucked her bathing suit in a bag in case she wanted to swim, and carried it and the potato salad to the elevator.
The streets were clear when she pulled out of the parking garage, but the pavement was littered with flags and wrappers. Ground workers rushed along with bright yellow bags, cleaning up the aftermath.
On the drive over, her phone buzzed. She glanced at the message, expecting it to be Carina asking her to pick up some forgotten item, but her dash screen said “Matthew.”
She tapped the button on the steering wheel with her thumb to display his message.
“Looking forward to Saturday.”
She resisted the urge to text back until she got to William and Carina’s.
The driveway was triple-parked, so she parked on the street and walked around to the backyard. The sounds of music and playful squeals and laughter carried across the lawn.
Everyone gathered on the porch, under the tree, or around the pool. They’d filled the screened gazebo with the food, lining up catering-style chafing dishes to last all day. Iced trays to the left, hot trays to the right, and the other snacks in the middle. She tucked her dish on top of the ice and then made a plate for herself. Luckily, she’d gotten there early enough to get a burnt hot dog. William always burned a few just to be sure she got one the way she liked them.
She could forgo the bun, but baked beans and potato salad were a must.
“Hey, Mom,” Whitney called out.
“Come. Join us.”
She sat next to her mother in the open chair at the long outdoor table.
Kids bounced into the pool, one at a time, and little Chloe sat poised in a floppy white sun hat and little blue cat-eye sunglasses next to Carina.
It was fun to catch up with everyone at the annual event, and at toast time, William raised a glass to Dad’s leadership and bragged about being a finalist in the upcoming awards.
“Hey, Whitney.”
She turned around. “Roger? What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to talk to you,” he said. “I asked William if it would be okay if I stopped by.”
“Oh? I didn’t know you were coming.” She looked past him. “Is Lindsey with you?”
“No. I want to talk to you about that.” Roger tugged on his shirt collar. “Could we maybe go inside?”
“Sure. Yeah. Come on in.” They walked inside into the dining room, away from the others.
“Thanks. You’ve been really busy lately.”
“Aren’t we always?” she said with a laugh.
“I mean more than usual. I’ve been trying to catch a minute of your time the last few days.”
She remembered Olivia mentioning that. “Oh. Sorry. I?—”
“Whitney, I made a mistake. Lindsey is not my person. I think I just wanted you and me to be something more than we were, and when we weren’t, well, I let myself believe that Lindsey could be my person. I miss how easy it was for us. We always had fun. No drama.”
Hot dogs and potato salad twisted in her gut. “Roger, the reason it was so easy is that what we had wasn’t really anything at all.” He didn’t nod in agreement. Didn’t say anything at all, just stood there looking at her. “We didn’t have to put in the hard work, because there were no expectations. Real relationships take effort.”
“Sure, it was convenient, but we were really good together.” Roger paused, but he didn’t give her a chance to respond. “I have a client dinner next week in Virginia Beach. Come with me. You can even have some expectations. You’ll see. It’ll be as good as it ever was.”
“No, thank you.” That ship had sailed. Now that she’d been getting to know Matthew, she wanted more. “We both were getting a little too comfortable in the situation,” she said. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out with Lindsey, but this… you and me… this isn’t why.”
“Do you have a date for the awards ceremony?” he asked.
He stood there waiting for an answer that she had no intention of giving him. “I’ve got plans. Thank you.”
“I heard you were dating an artist.”
She didn’t like the way he’d said that, and it wasn’t any of his business. “That’s personal.”
“He’s not your type. You know that, right? Can you take him to a formal event? A fundraiser? I have a feeling your parents would flip if you settled for someone like that. Besides, I already fit right in with your family.”
She tried to temper how much that comment bugged her. “Roger, it’s not becoming to judge someone you don’t even know.” She folded her arms. “And how would you know what my type is? You never once asked me what I wanted or liked. Suddenly you’re an expert on me?”
“I know you.” He shifted, looking a little agitated. “I checked him out. Looked for red flags. I care about your best interests,” Roger said.
“I don’t need you checking up on my decisions on who I go out with.”
“So you are seeing him. What are you going to do, hang around and wash his paint brushes for him? I can’t really picture that.”
If that’s what she wanted to do, that was her choice. “Maybe you should leave before you say something else that makes you look like?—”
He stopped her mid-sentence. “Fine. I’m going. When it doesn’t work out, give me a call.”
She watched him walk away, glad to not carry on the act any longer. Especially not after seeing this side of him.
Finally,the sun lowered in the sky, and everyone moved to the second level balcony to watch the city’s fireworks. Richmond always put on a spectacular fireworks display for Memorial Day.
Carina brought out a tray of tiny, bite-sized desserts.
“These are almost too pretty to eat,” G-Maw said.
“Nothing is that pretty.” Carina passed them around. “Come on, they are even tastier than they look. You don’t want to miss out.”
Whitney took one even though she was still full from the meal and had been snacking earlier.
Finally, the first flurry of fireworks soared into the air with repeaters that echoed so loud little Chloe immediately wailed. Their cousins’ kids tried to distract her and entice her with the pretty colors, but that little girl wasn’t having any part of it.
Carina picked her up and rocked her, but as soon as the next roman candle exploded in bright blue and purple above them, she cried out again. William took Chloe inside and Carina stayed outside with the rest of them.
“There’s no way a woman can upstage a little girl’s father. He can always calm her down better than me. I wasn’t born with that superpower,” Carina said.
“Don’t complain. It’s good William is doing his part. And it’s sweet that she’s a daddy’s girl.”
“I know. I love him for it, I really do.”
The fireworks soared higher, brighter, and louder with each launch.
Whitney liked the ones with the twinkling bits that rained down like a sparkly waterfall the best.
She wondered if Matthew was watching from his deck. Or maybe he’d have to watch from his art studio depending on where they sent them up over the river. She’d always been a little geographically challenged.
Her phone vibrated and her breath caught when she saw his name… again.
Matthew had texted a picture of the fireworks with a brief message.
MATTHEW: Hope you’re watching too.
WHITNEY: They’re beautiful.
She snapped a selfie with the fireworks behind her.
MATTHEW: Less beautiful than you. Good night. Drive home safely.
WHITNEY: Will do.
She pushed the phone back into her pocket, giddy from the sweet note.
It’s a good thing I have a busy week. It’s going to feel like forever until Saturday.