Chapter 6 #2
“I brought you ladies a donut,” I say, because one does not approach the altar of information-seeking without a proper offering. So I pull out one of my three maple bars and cut it neatly down the middle.
“Ooh,” Edna Gilbert says, watching the donut halves with sparkling eyes as I pass them across the table. She’s the more petite of the two, with fluffy, white-blonde hair. “Don’t mind if we do.”
“Enjoy,” I say, gesturing. “And while you’re eating, I’d love to hear the latest about our dear town.” I lean closer. “It somehow escaped me that my mother has a new beau”—I only say this because I’m absolutely positive the Ednas already know—“so I’d like to hear what else I’m missing out on.”
Edna Bloomberg hums enthusiastically, raising her eyebrows at Edna Gilbert as they munch. When they’re done chewing, they lean forward too.
“Well, they met at church,” Edna on the left says. “And the family of one Daryl Harper isn’t happy with the arrangement.”
Edna on the right nods with vigor. Her voice lowers conspiratorially as she adds, “Consensus seems to be that Mr. Harper has been feeling especially lonely as of late, what with the time of year”—she waves her hand at the window, through which the brilliantly colored trees lining Main are visible—“and the years getting on.”
“Ah,” I say slowly, leaning back in my chair and thinking. It’s been ten years since Dominic’s mom passed, and it was during the fall sometime. There were leaves on the ground at her funeral, half the town crammed into the tiny cemetery behind the church on Main.
I feel an unexpected twinge of pity at this thought, for Daryl and for the rest of them. A new woman has entered their lives, brash and rushed and overwhelming, and that woman turns out to be Alvina.
It’s sadder than I thought, one more knot in the tangled feelings that are my relationship with my mother.
“Anything else?” I say.
“Well,” Edna on the left says as she brushes the crumbs from her mouth. “Things appear to be moving quickly. Daryl is an upright man, you know. Values propriety and whatnot. But that mother of yours”—I actually appreciate that she doesn’t look apologetic—“she’s a bit of an undertow.”
“Quicksand,” the other Edna says with a nod.
I hum, a grim sound, but before I’ve decided if I want to ask further questions, they add some more.
“Now you know who else has been flirting up a storm lately?” Edna Bloomberg says. “The mayor.” She nudges Edna Gilbert and wiggles her dark eyebrows.
I blink at them. “Mayor Monroe?”
“Of course,” Edna Gilbert says, adjusting her glasses as they slip down her nose. “He’s the only mayor we’ve got, isn’t he?”
“We’ve been keeping an eye on him,” Edna Bloomberg says. “Because he’s a real catch, and he’s finally got some ladies surrounding him.”
Edna Gilbert nods. “There’s a nice nurse he always chats with—”
“And Lisa, his secretary—lots of late nights, and she’s divorced—”
“And he buys lots of candles from Genevieve at the candle shop, too,” Edna finishes, her voice authoritative. “No one needs so many candles.”
“Maybe he just likes candles,” I say.
The Ednas look less than impressed at my suggestion. “Well, thank you ladies,” I say with a sigh. “This has been very illuminating.”
Sad, but illuminating.
“Thank you for the donut, dear. We’re always happy to share what we know.”
“I know,” I say, and I can’t help my little smile at this understatement.
Then, with a wave, I head out of the bakery.
The trees lining Main are bright with reds and oranges and golds, but I don’t stop to admire the colors; I hook a right, down the little alley, and around to the back of the strip of shops.
The rear door to my family’s shop is unlocked, so I let myself in.
I emerge in the cluttered, dusty storeroom. It smells like rubber and metal here, a scent so familiar that I’m reminded of home.
Not the home of my house, but the home of my heart. The loving family, the afternoons helping here after school—a past that glows in my memory.
Sometimes I wonder if my glasses have always been rose-tinted, and I just never knew.
I startle out of my thoughts when the door to the main shop opens and Nathan hurries in.
“Whoa,” he says, jumping as much as I do. “Geez, Reese. Give me some warning.” He frowns and begins digging through a box on the shelf nearest the door, speaking over his shoulder. “Why are you here?”
The words that come out of my mouth are not the words I planned to say. “Do you think Alvina and Dad had a good marriage?”
Nathan’s hands freeze, probably taken aback by my question. “Where did that come from?” he says a second later, and he begins digging again.
“I don’t know,” I say, settling on a sturdy box and opening the bag of donuts. The words used by the Ednas continue to whirl too—undertow. Quicksand. Things that suck you in and don’t let you escape. “I see her now, and it’s hard not to—” I swallow and push the words out. “It’s hard not to wonder.”
Nathan sighs, turning away from the box he’s digging through and scrubbing his hand over his short, dark hair. “I don’t know. I don’t really think about it.”
“I know.”
“But I do think she was different when Dad was around.” He strolls toward me, weaving through the boxes and pointing at the maple bar I’ve just started eating.
By “started eating,” I mean I’m shoving it in my mouth with almost indecent fervor.
“Do I get one of those?” he says, his serious expression lifting into something more playful.
“No,” I say with a sniff. “You’re dead to me. Remember?”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry. But also”—I shift my eyes away from his and study my donut in great detail—“someone promised to come help me with the boxes, and she didn’t do that, did she?”
“She was very busy and emotionally distraught.”
Nathan snorts and picks up the paper bag next to me, peering inside. “Distraught?”
I don’t answer him, because he doesn’t know that Dominic and I ever dated. Still…
“It’s Daryl Harper,” I say. “If you were wondering. The man.”
“I wasn’t wondering,” Nathan says. He pulls the extra maple bar out of the bag and waves it at me. “Was this for me?”
“Yes,” I admit with a sigh. “It was for you.”
“Awesome. Thanks.” He takes an enormous bite and then frowns at me. “Daryl Harper, huh?” he says around his mouth full of donut.
I nod dully. “Daryl Harper. Highly unexpected choice.”
He gives a grim hum instead of speaking, thank goodness, because watching someone chew your favorite pastry with their mouth open is enough to turn you off of it for a while.
Nathan shoves another bite of donut into his mouth, having eaten a large amount impossibly quickly, and then thumbs over his shoulder to the door.
“Go on,” I say, recognizing his nonverbal goodbye. “I’ll hang out for a bit longer and then head home.”
He nods, already on his way back to the box on the shelf by the door. He digs through it for several more seconds, finds whatever he was looking for, and then goes back out to the front of the store.
I finish my donut in a few more bites and then leave like I said I would.
The rest of my Friday is spent at Nathan’s house, finishing my remaining work online and strategically avoiding Alvina.
When she goes to bed at eight, I kill time by reading Agatha Christie for an hour before going up to bed myself, lest our bedtimes overlap and I have to look at another negligee or—heaven forbid—hear about Daryl.
The sleep I fall into is fitful, but I’m chased by no dreams, good or bad.
I’ll take it.
I wake up not to a sound but to a smell.
It takes a moment for me to place the scent, but when I hear a little spritzing noise, it clicks: perfume. I’m hearing and smelling Alvina’s perfume.
Is it morning already?
But no—it’s totally dark outside. Yet my mother moves around our shared room, slow and quiet, so much that I barely hear her breathing.
What the heck is going on?
Is she…
Sneaking out?
Like a teenager?
I remain still, my eyes closed as I listen to her gentle footsteps—which is saying something, by the way, because Alvina is never gentle. The floor squeaks in a few places as she exits the room and goes out into the hall; a few seconds later I hear the faint creak of the top stair.
Finally safe from being seen awake, I sit up and check the time on my phone—just past eleven. “Why would you even go to bed in the first place?” I say to myself, bewildered. “Wouldn’t you just stay up until you leave?”
I hurry out from under the covers and cross to the window, wrinkling my nose at the perfume that still lingers in the air. Then I peek out between the blinds. Sure enough, a moment later my mother’s car pulls out into the street and drives off into the night.
A horrible suspicion tickles my mind, but I push it away.
Surely not. Right?