Chapter 44
When we arrive at the restaurant, Dawn and Jamie are waiting.
I’ve come to look forward to our weekend brunches over the last few weeks, and the mysterious crying baby that no one believes is real takes a back seat.
Sam perks up, too, and soon we’re all deep in conversation, laughing and joking as we sip cranberry-flavored “poinsettia” mimosas, which are a specialty of the establishment, according to our server.
Afterward, the four of us take a stroll through the Public Gardens and Boston Common, then head toward the waterfront, finally ending up at Faneuil Hall, a well-known marketplace in the city popular with locals and tourists alike.
We stroll the promenade and wander in and out of stores.
That evening, as a brilliant sunset sets the sky ablaze in hues of yellow and orange, we make our way back home, leaving Dawn and Jamie with a promise that we will get together again soon.
We finish the evening out on our balcony overlooking the Boston skyline while sipping hot cocoa.
It’s the perfect end to a wonderful afternoon.
As I sit there, watching the lights of the city twinkle and glow, I wonder what’s going through his mind.
I’m afraid he’ll ruin the moment, bring up the baby and the mysterious disappearing toy in the basement, suggest I return to the therapist or go back on the meds, but he doesn’t.
He seems content to let it be. Then, around eleven, he takes me by the hand and leads me into the bedroom.
It’s obvious how he wants to end the night, and I don’t protest. At least, not too much.
As usual, Sam has already left for work when I get up the next morning.
I have a meeting with Judy Abelman today that I rescheduled after Catherine showed up and waylaid me last Monday.
I’ve never met Judy—she isn’t one of my mother’s usual social circle, but rather a friend of a friend—so I don’t know much about her.
I also want to make a good impression, especially after canceling our previous appointment on such short notice.
I finish my coffee, slip my laptop into its case, and leave for her house in Chestnut Hill with plenty of time to spare.
Or at least, so I thought, because it takes forever to get across town thanks to a broken-down train on the Green Line.
In the end, the train gets to Chestnut Hill a full ten minutes after I should have been at my meeting, and I’m second-guessing myself for not spending the extra money and taking an Uber.
By the time I arrive at Judy Abelman’s house, I’m twenty-five minutes late and breathless from practically jogging all the way from the Chestnut Hill T station.
Judy lives in a large pastel-blue classic Colonial surrounded by manicured gardens with well-tended flower beds and a sprawling oak tree out front. Four steps lead up to the front door. I race up them and ring the bell, then suck in several deep breaths in an effort to make myself look less winded.
At first, no one answers, and I reach out to ring the bell again, but then the door opens to reveal a slender woman of about sixty years of age with short dark hair and thick glasses.
She studies me with a perplexed expression. “Yes? Can I help you?”
“Jordan Hollister. I’m the interior designer my mother referred to you. We have an appointment today.”
Judy shakes her head. “No, we don’t.”
“Are you sure?” I say, taken aback. “We spoke on the phone last Monday. I couldn’t make the original appointment, and we rescheduled. Maybe I misunderstood, but I thought you said this morning would be fine.”
“And then you called me again on Wednesday and canceled. Something about a large commercial project and not having time for any new clients.”
“What?” I would remember making a call like that. Apart from anything else, it’s just not true. I need all the clients I can get right now. “The last time we spoke was a week ago. You must be mistaken.”
“I can assure you that I’m not mistaken.” Judy folds her arms. “You were very clear about your lack of time. I’m sorry that you came all the way out here for no reason, but perhaps you should have called first if you had a change of heart.”
“I didn’t cancel our appointment, and I didn’t call you last Wednesday.”
Judy observes me with stern indifference. “I’m not sure that I like your tone, young lady, and I don’t appreciate being called a liar.”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to offend you. It’s just that—”
“Let me stop you right there, because it’s moot. I’ve already hired someone else.”
“You did?” It’s only been a few days. I’m surprised she could find another interior designer so quickly.
“Yes. Which is what I probably should have done in the first place.”
A lump rises in my throat. “Who?”
“An experienced professional with a proven track record who won’t let me down.
” Judy takes a step back into the house, her hand on the door.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I have better things to do than stand here listening to your excuses.
” Then she closes the door before I can utter another word, leaving me standing alone and mystified on her stoop.