Authors: Pamela Grandstaff
“Stand up to her,” Claire said. “She needs you more than you need her right now; she doesn’t want you to know it, but it’s true.”
“I’m going right now to buy a plane ticket,” he said. “I’m leaving her, Claire. I mean it.”
“You think that now, when you’re mad,” Claire said. “Give it a day or two, and
, meanwhile, give her a taste of her own medicine. Don’t ask her for permission. Tell her you’re taking some time off. Turn the tables on her.”
“I’ll come there.”
“I don’t think that’s such a great idea.”
“You don’t want me to come, then, is what you’re saying,” he said. “Who could blame you, after what I did to you.”
“This isn’t about me,” Claire said. “This is about you and Sloan. You should honor your contract, make the most of it, and get yourself a career out of it. Then if you still want to talk next spring, we can talk.”
“You’re not talking like a woman in love,” he said. “Too sensible by half.”
“You’re not here, so I can stay sensible,” Claire said. “As long as you aren’t within reach I can be strong.”
“I want you, Claire,” he said. “I miss you so much. It’s killing me.”
“So much drama,” Claire said. “Call me later.”
Claire ended the call before she said something she might later regret.
“Are you coming in, or is this just your personal phone booth?”
Her cousin Patrick was leaning on his elbows at the bar, clearly listening to every word of her phone cal
l. The bar was empty but for her and him. Claire set her Zen garden down on top of the bar and took a seat.
“What’ll you have?”
“Club soda with a lime,” Claire said.
“Fine, but you’ll have to cut your own lime,” Patrick said.
He pushed a bowl of lemons and limes over toward her, along with a scarred wooden cutting board and a dull-looking knife. Claire washed her hands in the bar sink before cutting up the lemons and limes into thin wedges.
“Why aren’t you working?” he asked her.
“Lost my job,” she said, and told him about Denise’s mysterious salon buyer.
“Sloan tried to buy the bar, too,” Patrick said. “Had some lawyer call and make me an offer. I told him to tell her she wasn’t that great of a lay and the bar wasn’t for sale. Funny but he never called again.”
“She might have paid quite a lot.”
“There are some things more important than money,” Patrick said. “This place belongs to your parents, to our family, and I’ll be damned if I let some
hipster trust-funder put a microbrew-pub in here.”
“You need a waitress?”
“Not you,” Patrick said. “And not that I don’t think you’d do a helluva job. I just don’t think you’d enjoy it.”
“You’re right,” Claire said. “How long before Melissa can come back?”
“She has four more months of her six-month parole, but she isn’t coming back here,” Patrick said. “She took a secretarial course while she was inside; she’s looking for an office job.”
“Does Aunt Bonnie know that?”
“My mother hears what she wants to hear,” Patrick said. “She’ll know it’s true when Melissa gives her notice at the bakery.”
“You two getting married?”
“Now why in the world would we want to go and do a stupid thing like that for?”
“Sorry,” Claire said. “Silly me.”
“You think Maggie’s going to marry Scott?”
“I do, why? Do you know something I don’t?”
“She won’t,” Patrick said. “Not unless someone figures out a way she can do it without my mother on her back.”
“Hannah wants to plan a surprise wedding,” Claire said.
“Maggie would kill her,” Patrick said.
A couple
of locals wandered in so Claire put plastic wrap over her lemon and lime sections and left. She decided to take a walk, because she didn’t know what else to do and she didn’t want to go home. If no one was home, she’d only ruminate, and if her father was there, they’d argue. She started up Peony Street toward the library and ran into Sam Campbell, Hannah’s husband, outside the community center. The tent was still up, but everything else had been cleared away.
“I heard about the salon closing,” he said. “What are you going to do?”
“Word sure travels fast in this town,” Claire said.
“When you’re married to the town crier it does,” he said.
She told him about Anne Marie’s offer to run the health spa.
“Sounds shady,” he said.
“It probably is,” Claire said. “How’s the vet rehab going?”
“The grant we were hoping for probably isn’t coming now,” he said. “It was being shepherded by Congressman Green. All of his earmarks have been canceled.”
“Will you still be able to run the program?”
“Sure,” he said. “Just not with new gym equipment.”
“How much do you need?” she asked.
“Claire,” he said. “Don’t.”
“Why not?” she said. “It’s just money.”
“I don’t want your money,” he said. “You’ve done enough for me and my family.”
“I’m not even going to pretend to know what that means,” Claire said. “I’m just glad you’re happy.”
“What’s being happy got to do with anything?”
“Stop that,” Claire said. “The very least you can do is be happy. The very least.”
“Okay, Claire,” he said. “I’ll be happy.”
“Good,” she said, “Now find me a job while you’re at it.”
“I’ll do my best,” he said.
Claire walked on uphill, and turned right at Morning Glory Avenue rather than left out Possum Holler. Halfway down the first block she saw Knox Rodefeffer having an argument with someone in his driveway. Claire didn’t even try to hide her interest; instead she strolled up the hill.
“You used to love me!” the young woman shouted.
“No, I didn’t,” he said. “And I certainly never encouraged you to do something so stupid.”
Claire finally recognized the young woman as Knox’s previous secretary, Courtenay. Her mascara was running down her face, and she was not a pretty crier.
“I risked everything for you,” she said.
“I didn’t ask you to do an
ything,” Knox said. “You did that all on your own.”
“You lied to me,” she screamed. “I’ll tell them everything.”
“No you won’t,” Knox said. “You have just as much to lose as I do.”
Knox saw Claire and immediately turned and walked back toward his front door. Courtenay got back in her car and reversed down the steep driveway so fast Claire had to jump out of the way.
Claire considered running after her, but she drove away so fast there was no way Claire could keep up. When Courtenay’s car reached Pine Mountain Road, she zoomed off east in the direction of Glencora. Claire idly wondered if Courtenay and Claire’s ex-husband, Pip, had become reacquainted; they had recently had quite a passionate affair.
Claire kept walking down Morning Glory Avenue, and then crossed Pine Mountain Road onto Morning Glory Circle. There was no one outside Trick’s house or Mamie’s house. A gardener was working on Gwyneth Eldridge’s front hedges, and there was a delivery truck backed up to the south side entrance of the Eldridge Inn. Claire walked down to see what was going on.
Anne Marie was directing workmen unloading chairs. She waved Claire over when she saw her.
“Claire, darling, be a lamb and deal with this for me. I can’t find Jeremy and no one seems to be in charge at the Inn today.”
“Sure,” Claire said. “What needs to happen?”
“Oh, never mind,” Anne Marie said. “There he is.”
A tall, thin man came running across the lawn that separated Gwyneth’s house from the Inn. He had white hair, bright blue eyes, and wore an immaculate white suit, white shirt, and white tie. He was also wearing a hologram rainbow badge with his name on it.
“I’m coming,” he called out. “Never fear, Jeremy is here!”
Anne Marie made a show of pouting as he fell to his knees before her and prostrated himself at her feet.
“Say you forgive me,” he begged. “Or never shall I rise.”
“Oh, get up, do,” she said, but she was smiling. “You know how much I hate dealing with details.”
Anne Marie introduced Claire to Jeremy, whose big smile was so full of such bright white teeth that she almost missed the calculating expression in his eyes. He squeezed her hand too hard and wrung it up and down one time too many.
“So pleased, really,” he said. “Anne Marie told me all about you. A gift from the loving universe. So glad to have you on board.”
“I’m not on board,” Claire said, but they both ignored her.
“Take a look at the basement,” Anne Marie said to Claire. “See if you think there is anything we can do to make it more spa-like down there.”
With a wave Anne Marie was gone, silk scarf ends flying. Jeremy led the workers to the conference room, which they were readying for the seminar. There was a pile of yoga mats and
several cartons of bottled water stacked to one side. A huge board with a rainbow heart hologram was on an easel near the front of the room. Another easel near the doorway had rules posted on it.
“
No cell phones, recording devices, or computers
No leaving the room without permission
No food or beverages other than those provided
No exceptions
”
It sounded more like the rules for after-school detention than for a conference on love and spirituality.
Claire went downstairs to look around the basement, which was dark and dreary, with concrete walls painted institutional green and crisscrossing rows of exposed pipes and duct work below the ceiling. It was dry, at least. It would take a lot of money and good lighting to make it into a luxury spa. Did she even want to do it? Claire walked around to the back entrance and pushed the slanted access door open. She heard a voice.
“The funeral is tomorrow,” she h
eard Anne Marie saying. “They’ll read the will afterward, and then we’ll meet with the insurance agents. After we get the check, I’ll call you.”
Claire peeked over the edge of the stairway to see Anne Marie walking through the back garden hold
ing her cell phone but speaking through a hands-free headset hooked over her ear. Claire thought she must not know about the many scanner grannies in town who would no doubt be listening in to her call.
“You sh
ouldn’t have gone up there,” Anne Marie said. “I don’t know what you thought you could accomplish.”
Claire backed down so that she could hear but not be seen.
“Let me worry about Meredith,” Anne Marie said. “You just keep your mouth shut and leave Knox alone. If you will let me handle everything, it will be fine. I promise.”
Claire could hear Ann Marie getting closer, so she scooted back into the basement. A few moments later she heard Anne Marie come down the stairs.
“Claire,” she called out. “Claire, are you down here?”
Claire came out of the laundry room.
“Lots of work to be done,” she said to Anne Marie. “It will take months.”
“Nonsense,” Anne Marie said. “We can just put up some screens, set up a few massage tables and light some candles. I need it to happen by Friday.”
“There’s no way,” Claire said.
“In a loving universe, Claire, everything is possible,” Anne Marie said. “If you need money
, I have money. If you need volunteers, I have those, too, in abundance, God knows. Just tell Jeremy what you need and he’ll help you make it happen.”
Anne Marie turned on her heel and strode away, already dialing her next call. Claire took out her notepad to make a list, and then stopped. This felt so familiar because it was so familiar. This was exactly what it was like working for Sloan: impossible deadlines, herculean tasks, a bottomless pocketbook, and probably nothing she did would ever be good enough.
“I’m not doing it,” she said out loud. “I don’t work for you.”
But she found she couldn’t just walk away. What else did she have to do? She found herself picturing a series of tent-like spaces lit with soft spot
lights and calming classical music playing. The front desk area could go there, and the waiting area there. It really wouldn’t be all that hard. Claire wrote and wrote.
Upstairs she found Jeremy paying the deliverymen. She showed him her list.
“You certainly are the right woman for the job,” he said. “Here.”
He took a credit card out of his wallet and handed it to her.
“Let me know if you need any help,” he said. “Here’s my cell number.”
He handed her a business card much like Anne Marie’s.
“How did you come to work for Anne Marie?” she asked him.
“I used to work for her publisher,” he said. “I worked closely with Anne Marie on several of her book launches, book tours, and then a cruise. We worked well together, so she made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Now we have our own publishing company and print on demand. We have the ranch resort in Cali, and we give seminars all over the world.
Anne Marie has the energy of ten women. I don’t think she ever sleeps.”