“Not dumb,” he said. “People who don’t have an addiction or compulsion don’t suspect, or understand.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
He was shaking his head at me.
“What if I’d, like, been more understanding…” I stopped as his head-shaking grew more vigorous.
“Your husband was at the point of embezzling from his company.” I inwardly cursed George Winters for his thoroughness.
He lowered his voice. “And if I remember the article, he looted your joint money. Who wouldn’t be angry?” He paused. “And, it looked to me on the boardwalk the other night that he pissed off someone besides you.”
He didn’t ask about Pedone, but I volunteered the story. “So,” I concluded, “I don’t know where Robby is or if I’ll ever see him again.”
His head had been bent in concentration as he listened to me, and now he looked at me directly. “That’ll make it hard for you to address some of the issues you have about what he did.”
I smiled wanly. “What are you, a counselor?”
“No.” He was quite definite. “Given my history,” he grinned, “I’ve been around a lot of them. Have you, uh, talked to anybody?”
“Nope. Too much to do.”
“When you’re ready, you will.” He shrugged. “Or maybe you won’t want to.”
“We need a more pleasant topic,” I said.
“I’m used to all this stuff, I guess,” he said. “OK. What else do you want to talk about?”
“Why does it have to be up to me?”
“Uh oh,” he said, glancing out the window. “Those are your dogs, right?”
I turned to look out the window, groaned, and was pulling on my slicker and out the door in two seconds. Miss Piggy had climbed onto the bench next to the light post and Mister Rogers was lying under it. She was reaching down with her paw, trying to hit him. Several people were watching. As I walked out I heard a woman say, “She really whacked him last time, maybe we should call someone.”
“They’re fine,” I said, as I walked over and started to untie them. “Sometimes they act like cats. They must have grown up with them.”
I bent down to entice Mister Rogers to come out from under the bench, and he licked my face, from chin to forehead. “Ugh.” He had sand on his tongue. It was hard to guess what he’d been licking off the boardwalk.
“Don’t you know about your own dogs?” the woman asked.
I looked up at her as I wiped my face. She was about forty-five and wearing clothes that could only be described as dowdy. I assumed the two young boys with her were her children, so I did not tell her to mind her own business. “They’re adopted.”
She was still standing there as I separated the dogs’ leashes, which had of course become intertwined. “I think it’s safe for you to continue your walk,” I said, as nicely as I could.
“Humph. I never tie up my dogs outside a store.” She turned and walked down the boardwalk, with the two boys craning their necks to watch me.
When she was out of hearing distance, I mumbled, “At least I don’t look like one.”
“Now, now,” Scoobie said, but with laughter in his voice. He had come outside, coffee cup in hand. Miss Piggy jumped up on me and I pulled dog treats from the pocket of my now-dirty slicker and gave her one. “I see the dogs really have you trained,” he observed.
“Very funny.” I sighed as I looked at the slicker. “I guess I should be going.”
“Yeah. Don’t want the dogs to get bored.” He laughed as he watched me walk away.
I WAS NOT IN THE BEST MOOD as Aunt Madge and I drove to the Riordan house. Thoughts of Robby swirled in my mind, every now and then mixed with some about Michael and Scoobie. I’d been separated less than a month, and I was mildly interested in two men.
What’s wrong with me?
There was no smart retort to this question, so I turned my attention to Aunt Madge, who was driving. “How long will we be part of this circus?”
“If you want, I can take you back.” Her tone was sharp, and it surprised me.
“I don’t mind helping,” I said, chastened.
She relaxed. “You were moody at lunch.”
“Yeah, lots of demons in my head.”
“You can always join me for church,” she said, and I detected a glimmer of amusement.
“Thanks, but no.”
We drove in silence for a couple moments before I remembered to ask a question that had kept retreating to the back of my mind. “Do you suppose Elmira really saw Michael and his mother arguing?”
Aunt Madge frowned slightly. “Doubtful it was more than a talk about Michael’s business or her treatments. She told me Michael wanted her to go someplace like the Mayo Clinic for more aggressive treatment, and Ruth wanted to stay here.”
That made sense to me. Anything that made Elmira seem foolish was fine with me. Still, if the discussion was more heated, it was the only piece of the puzzle that could show Michael as less than a doting son. I had to force my expression to relax as we approached the house.
MICHAEL GREETED US at the door and offered coffee. Aunt Madge declined, but since I’d had little of my Java Jolt cup, I accepted. “The hardest part for me,” he said, “will be mother’s closet, so I figured if we started there I wouldn’t mind the rest of it as much.”
Aunt Madge complimented him on tackling the toughest part first, and I concentrated on not spilling my coffee as we climbed the stairs.
The walk-in closet was huge, and packed with clothes, shoes, handbags, and more. There was a rack along the back wall for belts and another for scarves. Many of the clothes were housed in garment bags, and a top shelf, which would not be reachable without some sort of stool, held hats, scarves, sweaters, and a couple small overnight bags.
“The funny thing is,” Michael said as he watched us eyeing the contents, “Mother didn’t spend that much on clothes. She just never threw anything away.”
“It could well come back in style,” Aunt Madge said.
Michael and I exchanged an amused glance and I thought again that Aunt Madge and Ruth Riordan were well-paired as friends. “Especially if it involves flared pants,” I said.
“You’re being a twit,” Aunt Madge said, simply. “I suggest we have a couple different sorting categories.” While I looked at her with my usual respect for her organized mind, she outlined her idea that we have some for the church thrift shop, some for Goodwill (the ones not now in style or more worn), and a few of her better things for Michael.
“I’m really not into cross-dressing,” he said.
“You’ve been with my niece too much,” she said. “You may have children some day, and it would be nice for them to see a couple of your mother’s lovely outfits.
While Michael did not look as if he agreed with this, I knew he wouldn’t argue with Aunt Madge. “There’s also her costume jewelry. She had some good stuff, which I’ll keep for my kids,” he nodded at Aunt Madge, “but she didn’t go into buying a lot of gold and gems. She had a lot of pretty decent costume stuff.”
Aunt Madge nodded while I craned my head, trying to figure out how to get to the top shelves. Michael must have followed my gaze, because he said, “A couple times a year she has Elsie bring in the stepstool from the kitchen, and they change summer stuff for winter, or something like that.” He seemed to realize he was talking about his mother in the present tense, and looked away.
With her usual efficiency, Aunt Madge assigned Michael to get the step stool and told me to pull the jewelry stand into the bedroom and start going through it. She began flipping through the clothes, occasionally pulling out a pants suit or dress.
I inched the jewelry stand out of the closet by making it 'walk' on its legs, and Michael lifted it the rest of the way from the walk-in closet into the bedroom when he returned with the stepstool. I half-listened to them talk as they went through things and carried clothes into the bedroom and laid them on the bed in different piles.
Aunt Madge had probably assigned me to the jewelry because she remembered the times Renée or I had gotten into her much smaller jewelry box and tried on the clip earrings and long necklaces that she favored. Naturally, I was the only one who ever broke anything.
It didn’t take me long to figure out that almost every necklace had its specific pair of earrings, and I tried to match them. Fortunately, she wasn’t into bracelets or rings, so this process was not as complex as it could have been. She easily had forty pairs of earrings. Unfortunately, she was also into clip-ons, so as much as I liked a few of them, I could not ask Michael if I could have a pair or two.
Here you are, sorting through a dead woman’s jewelry, thinking of yourself.
“Jolie.” Michael stood right next to me and I felt myself flush.
“Having a tough time matching colors?” he asked, seemingly amused at my blush.
“Nope. What’s up?” I tried to sound professional, as if closet sorting was my occupation.
He held out a round, blue earring that looked as if the small bauble could have been a sapphire. “This was on the floor. You probably have the mate.”
I took it. “Haven’t seen it. Funny.” I turned it over. “If it’s a real sapphire it would be a shame to lose the other one.”
He shrugged. “Not that it matters now.” I winced as he turned away.
I went back to work, glad that it was Aunt Madge working in the close quarters of the closet with Michael. As I sorted and placed sets into the plastic bags I had asked Michael to get from the kitchen, I tried to think of reasons to ask him to do something with me. He said he’d gone to a movie the night before his mother died, so he must like them.
Michael ordered Chinese food, and when it was delivered we went to the kitchen to eat. By that time, I had graduated to folding sweaters, checking the boxes of shoes to see which were the most worn, and going through the dresser drawers to sort summer tops and nightgowns. It was amazing that sorting clothes could get you so tired.
I half-listened as Michael and Aunt Madge talked about tackling the kitchen next, followed by guest bedrooms. Aunt Madge was outlining a timetable for the next week, figuring they could do a couple hours a day. The den would be last, as that’s where Michael spent most of his time. It was such a short while ago that I had sorted through the apartment I’d shared with Robby for six years. A major wave of sadness swept over me.
“Jolie?” I realized this was probably the second time that Aunt Madge had said my name. “Are you okay?”
“Just having a brain fart.” I smiled, probably too brightly.
Michael glanced at his watch as Aunt Madge continued. “Are you good for another hour?”
“Sure.” Suddenly, I would have preferred to go home and hug Jazz and play with the dogs. “Oh, the dogs. Don’t they…”
“Goodness, it’s been four hours.” Aunt Madge stood. “I can go and come back.”
Michael shook his head. “I’m more tired than I expected to be. Why don’t you head home, and I’ll bring Jolie in a few minutes.”
My thoughts swirled as he and Aunt Madge said their goodbyes and he walked her to the door. I was putting the empty food boxes into the trash when he came back into the kitchen.
“So, Gentil,” he walked close to me. “You already think I’m kind of arrogant and like to get my own way, right?”
I knew I was flushing and wished I could control it. “And your point would be…?”
His voice was huskier as he pulled me toward him. “Here’s what I want now.” He pulled me to him and his kiss was long and passionate.
I faced him and stood on my toes as he leaned into me, pushing the small of my back into him. I returned his kiss with the same passion, wondering wildly if I’d thrown away my diaphragm. Then I forgot about everything.
He pulled away first, breathing ragged, and his eyes met mine. “If we don’t stop now, I might not want to.”
Who said I did?
“What are you scared of?” I was fighting for breath.
He relaxed his grip and then swatted me gently on my bottom cheeks. “I’m not scared of anyone but that damn judge.”
Reality rushed back. “Now that’s a good birth control device.” I tried to keep my tone light.
He took my hand and led me to the living room where we plopped on the sofa. “You’re a pain in the ass, Jolie, but I like you. I’m just not sure we should rush into anything.”
I nodded, realizing he was being a gentleman.
Damn it all
. “Yeah, we’ve both been through a lot. So,” I had to grin, “have you got any timeframes or sorting methods in mind for this?”
I AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING in a good mood, happy to know someone found me attractive. I wasn’t sure what I wanted in the long run, but the prospect of having fun in bed with someone I liked was very appealing. My nose itched and I opened my eyes to see Jazz’s tail. “Soon you may not be my only bedmate, you know.” She meowed and jumped down, certain that she had my attention, and began pawing the door.
I snuck down the back stairs and fed Jazz in the kitchen while Aunt Madge carried a new thermos of coffee into the guest dining room. Jazz was now willing to be on the floor when the guys were in the room, but if they approached her she took off for the bookcase or for a slide under the sofa.
As she ate I glanced out the sliding glass door. Winter was knocking at the door, as my father used to say. Most of the leaves were off the trees, and I knew that the light wind was a cold one. The sky was overcast, and I thought I remembered that it was supposed to rain later. If Harry had work for me, I hoped I could get it done in the morning. Otherwise I’d have to dig out some rubber-soled shoes, and I had no idea which box they were in in the closet.