Ash #2
“I’m more than happy to accept a glass of wine if you don’t have any beer,” I go on. “Or even whisky. I’m not picky.”
Francesca stares at me some more. I think she’s trying to give me some kind of death stare, but because she’s so beautiful,
it isn’t exactly threatening.
“I’m sorry,” she says in a tone so sweet, it’s hard to tell she’s not sorry at all. “I don’t keep alcohol in the house. My ex didn’t drink, and it’s a habit I try to avoid as well, since alcohol has no health benefits—”
This information causes me to sit up straight, even though the couch is so damned comfortable.
“Dr. Dick didn’t drink?” I exclaim.
It’s only when I see the surprised look on her face that I realize what’s just come out of my mouth.
“Dr. Dick?” Her slender eyebrows have gone up. Way up.
“Sorry.” I don’t care if I’ve offended that douche. But I care if I’ve offended her. “I mean Richard. Didn’t he go by Dick?
I could have sworn that’s how he introduced himself.”
“Richard never went by Dick,” she says, looking intrigued, not offended. She’s closed the front door and crossed the room
to lower herself into the faded armchair across from my couch. I know I shouldn’t be looking at her legs, but they’re right
there in front of me, smooth and tanned and muscular as she crosses one over the other.
“But yes,” Francesca goes on. “Richard is very health conscious and doesn’t drink alcohol. Did he really ask you to call him
Dick?”
I can’t look at her face. That dark-eyed gaze is too intense. But I can’t look at her bare legs, either. That would be rude.
I decide to look at the rain streaming down the windows behind her. “He never asked me anything except not to let my knotweed
creep into his yard . . . whatever knotweed is.”
Francesca does something extraordinary in response to this, something I’ve never seen her do before in the year or so since
I’ve been sort of spying on her: she laughs.
“Yes,” she says. “That sounds like Richard. He was always pretty protective of his lawn.”
I have to look at her then, even though Francesca Giovanni laughing while sitting so close to me in those cutoffs might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
“It’s half your lawn, too,” I manage to remind her through the sudden frog in my throat.
“Not anymore. It’s all mine now.” There’s no ruefulness in her voice, only deep satisfaction, and maybe even a little pride.
So she’s glad Dr. Dick is gone! I clear my throat. “Well, that’s good. You’re doing a much better job with it than he ever
did.”
This produces another laugh from her. “Do you think so? I’m afraid not many would agree.”
“Well, I like the outdoors, but I prefer it in its natural state. You know, untamed, kind of wild.”
“I see. Tell me more about these superpowers of yours. You think you have more than one? What are they again . . . a cat whisperer,
and what was that other one? You find lost things?”
“No.” I can’t help grinning. So she’s in work mode. I’m loving this. “Lost things find me.”
“And how long have you felt that lost things find you?”
“My whole life. I told you; it’s my superpower. Everyone has one.”
“A superpower?”
“Yeah.
I know what she’s trying to do: analyze me. I’ve met therapists before—you can’t avoid them when you’re raised in a family
like mine—and they’re all the same: they want to peel you like an onion, then label all the layers.
Only I don’t like labels.
“So do you think you’re a superhero?”
I grin at her some more. I hate therapy, but this is kind of fun. “Yes. That’s why I keep a cape and police scanner with me at all times.”
“I see. Are they with you now?”
When I burst out laughing, she looks puzzled. “What’s so funny?”
“You!” I’m crowing. “You.”
“So . . . you don’t have a cape?”
“No. I’m a financial advisor for a family-owned charitable trust. I don’t have a cape or a police scanner. I do have superpowers,
though. You do, too.”
“Do I?” She raises a single questioning eyebrow.
“Sure. Everybody does. You should know that; you’re a therapist. It’s your job to help people figure out what their superpower
is.”
“Is it?”
“Yes, because most people don’t know. We’ve all got a little magical gift inside of us, something we love and can do well,
but it can sometimes take a lifetime to discover it, let alone trust that it’s real.”
“Are you talking about the Japanese concept of ikigai?” She’s looking at me curiously. Her gaze looks darker—and softer—than ever. “Our reason for being? What the French call
raison d’être?”
“Reason for being! Yes, that’s it. Hey, your French accent is pretty good—”
“Thanks.” She doesn’t smile at the compliment.
“But I wouldn’t describe my job as helping people figure out what their, um, superpower is.
A therapist’s main goal is to help patients get to know themselves better and understand how their past influences the present.
Insight-oriented psychotherapy facilitates introspection and deep self-reflection, leading to understanding and, ultimately, behavior change. ”
“Exactly what I was going to say.”
She grins at my sarcasm. “Okay. So your raison d’être is finding lost things and cats showing up whenever you call them.”
“No, I told you, lost things find me. The cat thing, though . . . in retrospect, I don’t know if the cat thing counts as a
superpower. It’s just something that happens a lot. I’m pretty lucky, I guess. Most people don’t get to do what they love
for a living.”
Now both of those dark, slender eyebrows are raised questioningly. “Does your employment as a financial advisor allow you
to do much finding of lost things?”
“Oh, sure. Investment opportunities. Houses. Pets. Even people. You’d be surprised.” I grin at her, pleased by the conversation.
I haven’t lied to her—not once. Truthfulness is as important in my line of work as it is in hers.
But so is a well-placed lie.
“I’m sure I’d be surprised, too.” Suddenly, she’s rising to her feet. “Unfortunately, that’s all the time we have. My sister
Angie is calling me.” She shows me her phone, which she’s dug out of the pocket of those form-fitting cutoffs. On the vibrating
screen is a photo of a woman who looks a lot like Francesca, but with a mullet. “I have to answer this. And anyway, it’s stopped
raining. You can go home now.”
I glance around. She’s right, it’s stopped pouring. There are still drips coming down from the roofline, but the clouds have
begun to move away. There’s even a hint of pink sunlight showing in the west.
“Wow,” I say, my heart sinking. “So it has.”
This was it! My one chance to impress Francesca Giovanni with my wit and boyish charm, and it’s over already. She’s lifting
the phone to her ear to answer it. “Hi, Angie. Can you hang on a minute?”
Then she lowers the phone and looks at me expectantly. “Do you mind?”
“Oh, sure.” I have to claw my way out of the sofa, I’ve sunk so far back into the cushions. But eventually I’m able to climb
to my feet. “Don’t worry about it. I can show myself out.”
“Great.” She’s already whirling away, pacing as she chats with her sister. “No, Ange, I told you that I’m not going. I RSVP’d
no to Dina last week. . . .”
“Okay.” I wave at her from the front door. “So I guess I’ll see you around. Good luck with the cat.”
She waves back, but vaguely. She’s fully focused on her conversation. “Because I don’t do engagement parties, Angie. You know that. Look what happened at mine, for Christ’s sake.”
I slip outside. The air feels cooler than it did before the storm. Cooler and fresher. Rainwater is dripping noisily from
Francesca’s roof and the treetops around her house. The dark clouds have vanished, leaving a sky that’s turning pink and lavender
from the setting sun. I can hear a mourning dove cooing somewhere above me.
“Oh, yeah?” Francesca is still on the phone. “Well, that’s not an incentive for me, Angie, because unlike you, I don’t attend
events merely to network for more clients. How could I? I can’t tell if someone is suffering from financial stress just by
looking at them, the way you can tell if someone needs a cut and color.”
I go down the porch steps. Francesca’s lawn has turned into a mess from the lack of grass, the dryness of the soil, and the soaking from all the rain. I feel my foot squelch down into the mud.
That’s when it occurs to me.
I’m starting to like it here in West Harbor. I like it here a lot.