Chapter 18
Worried that Marcus might show up to take her to The Brewery, Riva had texted earlier, informing him that Laurel offered to drive her and Windy.
As in, hint hint, this is not a date. But as the three women walked into the pub from the parking lot, she felt a strange flutter of expectation at the thought of seeing him there.
And that bothered her. She didn’t want to feel that way . . . shouldn’t feel that way.
Although she’d pondered over her own wardrobe choices tonight, she had finally decided on a black linen sleeveless shift dress and sandals.
Rather plain and boring but comfortable and cool enough to withstand the occasional hot flash, which she hated to admit still took her by surprise.
To spice up the dress, she’d belted it with a long, fringed scarf and put on an old squash blossom necklace that Paul’s mother had given her many years ago.
According to Kenzie, who planned to inherit the necklace one day, these were a hot ticket item nowadays.
The look Riva had been going for tonight wasn’t completely clear, but Windy had proclaimed her as “boho chic.” As the three of them walked into the pub, all looking distinctly different from each other, she didn’t feel too out of place.
Perhaps it was her imagination, but she felt like maybe a couple of heads had turned as they walked in. Not that she wanted that. Or did she?
Marcus was seated by himself at a table up front, but he quickly stood when the three approached him, warmly greeting each of them. “You ladies all look lovely.” He pulled out a chair for Laurel. “Fiona was just here. Their guitarist is running late, so they’ll start up in about fifteen minutes.”
“Looks like a mixed crowd,” Riva observed. “Not all young folks.”
“Fiona’s flyers must’ve worked,” Windy added.
Marcus pointed to his glass of red wine. “In case you didn’t know, they don’t only serve beer here. And I have to admit their house red isn’t half bad.”
He offered to get them all a glass and while he was waiting at the bar, Kitty walked in.
Riva wasn’t even sure how she knew their housemate had arrived.
Maybe she could feel the room buzzing, or maybe it was the male heads turning, but somehow she could tell.
She watched as Kitty went straight to Marcus, sidling up to him in a flirtatious way that had never come naturally to Riva . . . and she hoped never would!
“That woman is such a narcissist,” Laurel mumbled.
“Really?” Windy’s pale brows arched.
“I’ve been reading up on it.” Laurel’s eyes were fixed on Kitty and Marcus. “Believe me, I think Kitty pretty much checks all the boxes for narcissism.”
“Laurel is an armchair psychiatrist,” Riva teased. “Next she’ll be diagnosing me.”
“I’ve already done that.” Laurel smirked. “You’re a repressed widow who feels guilty for having fun of any kind.”
Riva blinked but didn’t respond.
Laurel seemed to regret her words. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that to sound like a dig, Riva. You know I love you. It’s just that, well, you must admit that you’ve had a hard time getting back into the swing of things.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Riva frowned. “I mean, look at me. Here I am at a pub . . . party girl, woohoo.” She forced a tinny sounding laugh.
Laurel pointed at her. “Dressed in black. Widow’s weeds.”
“I happen to like black. I always have. And I got this dress years ago. Long before Paul got sick. It is not widow’s weeds.”
“I think Riva looks fabulous tonight,” Windy said. “Sophisticated but artsy. And that necklace is killer. Where did you get it?”
Grateful for the segue in conversation, Riva told the story of how her mother-in-law had given the family heirloom to her on her thirtieth birthday.
“It almost seemed like an apology for being so against our marriage at the beginning,” she added.
“I guess I finally proved that I wasn’t just a flibbertigibbet out to ruin her precious son’s legal career.
Eleanor had always said Greenwood was small potatoes and that Paul should take his practice to some big city or perhaps become a congressman or something. She felt I was holding him back.”
“Were you?” Windy asked.
“Paul never had those kinds of aspirations. He didn’t even like big cities. And he loved helping people with legal troubles.” She sighed. “Just one of many things I loved about him.”
“He was a truly good man,” Laurel agreed.
“I wish I’d met him.” Windy paused as Marcus and Kitty, carrying drinks, joined them.
“I’ll go back for mine now,” Kitty said in a sassy tone. “I had to tell the bartender how to make a mojito, and I think he’s into me now.” She giggled.
“That bartender looks young enough to be your son,” Laurel pointed out. “Maybe even her grandson,” she muttered quietly to Riva.
Kitty threw back her head and laughed. “Hey, I have no problem with younger men.” She poked Marcus in the shoulder.
“Unless someone better comes around.” She strolled off now, swinging her hips in a way that would look ridiculous on most women but somehow worked for Kitty.
She’d probably had years of practice. Riva watched her with wide eyes, then checked to make sure her jaw hadn’t dropped.
“That’s quite a gal.” Marcus grinned as he picked up his drink. “Ya gotta appreciate that youthful spirit.”
“Oh, we do,” Windy told him, then wrinkled her nose. “Except she makes the rest of us feel a bit old and dowdy at times.”
“Well, that’s just ridiculous.” He lifted his glass high. “Don’t forget that women and wine get better with age. Here’s to you lovely ladies.”
They all took a sip, and soon Kitty was headed back with her drink in hand.
They were one chair short, so Marcus got up to get one from another table.
While he was carrying it over, Kitty took his chair and scooted closer to Laurel to leave an empty spot between her and Windy.
Marcus slid his new chair into place and sat.
“Isn’t this cozy?” Kitty said, moving her chair even closer to his. She held up her drink. “Here’s to hoping Gerard followed my instructions.” She took a sip and seemed to think about it. “It could be worse, but I’m afraid he might need more lessons.”
“Well, this is a brewery,” Marcus reminded her. “I’m surprised they even serve mixed drinks.”
“Apparently they don’t serve many.” She turned to Marcus. “Have you ever had a mojito?”
“Not that I can recall.”
She held her drink out to him. “Try it. Tell me what you think.”
“Uh, no thanks.” He held up his wineglass. “This suits me fine.”
She took another swig. “Well, I think it’s a little on the bitter side. And I can’t taste any mint.”
“Maybe you should go back and lodge a complaint,” Laurel suggested.
“Nah.” Kitty waved a hand. “I can rough it. Besides, looks like our music is about to start.” She took another long swig. Apparently, her drink wasn’t that bad.
Riva looked toward the small stage where a young man was announcing the band.
And then Fiona, three men, and another woman came out, yelled a greeting, and began to play a lively tune.
The crowd seemed to get right into it. Some were even clapping along with the beat.
Riva felt relieved for Fiona. Maybe advancing age wasn’t a drawback when it came to music.
After all, think of the years of experience these musicians must have under their belts.
Pretty soon people were on the dance floor, and Riva wasn’t surprised to see Kitty grabbing Marcus by the hand.
“Come on. You can’t sit here with four unattached women and think we won’t get you out there. ”
The three of them watched as Kitty tugged Marcus out and then, not enjoying this scene, Riva turned her attention back to Laurel and Windy, commenting on the quality of the music.
“They are really good,” Windy agreed. “My toes are tapping.”
“I’m surprised you don’t want to dance,” Riva said to her. “You were so good in the kitchen the other night.”
“I wouldn’t mind dancing.” Laurel sounded wistful.
“Then come on, girlfriend.” Windy reached for her hand. “Let’s you and me cut the rug.”
“Cut the rug?” Riva laughed.
Windy held out a hand toward her. “Come on, you come too.”
“I’d rather be a spectator for the moment,” she said.
“She’s inhibited and repressed,” Laurel told Windy in a teasing tone.
Windy nodded. “Well, the night is young, Riva. We’ll get you out there.”
Riva watched them go, then took a deep breath and had a sip of wine.
This whole thing was way out of her comfort zone, but at least she’d made the effort to come.
She knew her friends were partly right. She was somewhat inhibited and repressed.
She knew it was related to what she’d told Marcus when they’d skipped out on the grief group.
Her two years of caring for a dying man—her best friend and true love—had changed her.
Made her older, sadder . . . inhibited. At the moment, she wasn’t even sure that, despite her recent efforts, she could ever undo that change.
Maybe it was like aging—inevitable. When no one was paying attention, it just happened.
After that number ended, another began, and the dancers started up again.
Riva tried to feign amusement as she continued to look on, like she was pleased to be here and highly entertained by the merrymaking going on out there.
But truth be told, she felt irritated. Oh, the music was good .
. . Fiona’s band was very talented. But she felt so out of place right now.
A complete misfit. And she wondered if there was a way to make a graceful exit.
Maybe she could leave a note on a cocktail napkin or send a text or just vanish and let them wonder.
It wasn’t dark outside yet, and her house was less than a mile away.
The thought of fresh clean air and a nice walk on a warm summer evening was tempting.
She glanced around the room, which was growing increasingly more crowded, and decided to make a fast break. If anyone noticed her absence, perhaps they’d think she’d gone to the ladies’ room. But she was barely out of her chair when Marcus cut off her escape.
“Heading for the dance floor?” he asked hopefully.
“I, uh, I was actually getting ready to sneak out,” she confessed.
He looked concerned. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” She cringed. “Just a little out of place.”
“That’s because you should be dancing.” He held out a hand. “Come on. Give it a try. Save me from another dance with Kitty.”
“Where did she go?”
“Getting herself another mojito.” He smiled. “Come on, Riva. Live a little.”
“Okay.” She felt a mixture of reluctance and nerves.
Part of her wanted to dance with Marcus.
Part of her wanted to run. The song playing was a little less lively than the earlier tunes, and Marcus took her hand and, with a hand behind her back, began to lead her in a two-step.
He was a good dancer, and after a bit, she felt herself relax.
By the time the song ended, she was actually smiling.
“Fun, eh?” he asked.
She nodded. “Surprisingly. My roommates gave me dancing lessons the other night. I think it’s paying off.”
“Go again?” he asked as the next song started.
“Okay.”
And so they danced a second time. And then a third. But when she caught a glimpse of their table, she noticed Laurel sitting alone. “I think I need a break,” she told Marcus between songs.
He looked surprised. “Tired?”
“Worried about Laurel. She looks unhappy.”
He looked toward the table. “Should I ask her to dance?”
“Yes! She would love that.”
With Marcus and Laurel two-stepping together, free-spirited Windy dancing by herself, and Kitty dancing cheek to cheek with a young guy in a cowboy hat, Riva was alone at the table again.
She didn’t really mind. Or that’s what she told herself.
But the truth was she felt awkward and out of place.
She didn’t belong in a pub like this, where singles came in the hopes of making a good connection. Especially if it was a temporary one.
Everything about today’s world felt like that .
. . temporary . . . disposable. Use it, lose it, throw it away.
How many of these couples would still be together tomorrow?
Maybe that’s how they preferred their relationships.
Noncommittal. Easy come, easy go. She watched as carefree younger people flirted, danced, drank, and mixed with each other happily.
How could an old widow, still in love with her husband, possibly fit in? Clearly she didn’t belong here.