The Secret of Joy (18 page)

A note inside the bag said:

Rebecca, least I could do to thank you for taking the little guy. I would have had them engrave your number below his name, but I don’t have your number. (I’d like it, though.) If you bring the tag into the Dog Den on Route 1, next to the flower shop, they’ll engrave it at no charge.—Theo

Rebecca’s hand flew to her heart at the kindness, the thoughtfulness of the gift, of the gesture. She kneeled down to unhook the old collar and leash that Marianne had pulled out of the inn’s Lost and Found for her, and attached the red collar. It looked so perfect against his short black fur with its white spots. “How about I get you a snazzy leash to match when I put my phone number on your little bone tag?” she asked Charlie, giving him a pat under his chin, his favorite area.

Unable to stop smiling, she took Charlie inside her room and he immediately curled up in his makeshift bed, an old chair cushion that Marianne had in the garage.

She called Ellie. “Ellie, I’m wondering something. Your note said I could bring someone to dinner on Wednesday. Do you know Theo Granger? He did something so nice for me,” she said, explaining about Charlie and the collar, “and I thought I could thank him with an invitation to your dinner party.”

It was a way of acknowledging how touched she was without repaying his thoughtfulness with something solo, like making him dinner, not that she had her own kitchen. Or taking him out to dinner.

“I know Theo. Everyone does. He’s wonderful. Of course bring him. He’s very single, you know.”

“I’m not,” Rebecca reminded her. “Well, not really.”

She wasn’t asking him on a date, she reminded herself. It was just a thank-you. This was a small town, and people were friendly and did this sort of thing.

She got Theo’s number from Marianne. He probably wouldn’t want to go. Then her problem would be solved. He did something exceptionally nice, she’d extend a dinner party invitation as a gesture of thanks, he’d decline, and they could go back to being
friends
.

“Sure, I’d love to,” was his response.

This is not a date
, she told herself with her face in the closet.
So stop fussing about what to wear
. Rebecca’s hand kept stopping on her red wrap dress. But that was definitely a date dress. Passing it by, she grabbed her camel-colored corduroys and the cream cashmere sweater her father had given her for her birthday last year. She pulled on her brown suede boots and added the gold bangles she’d inherited from her mother. Then just a little bit of makeup.

“How do I look?” she asked Charlie, who was half napping, half eyeing her from his little cushion next to the bed. “Not trying too hard, right? I
am
going to a dinner party at someone’s house. I can’t show up in my yoga pants.”

“Admit you like him,”
she could have sworn she heard Charlie say.

“I do like him.” Which was why she drew the line at the spritz of Chanel N° 19. This was
not
a date. Not a date.

Yet as she left, practically skipping down the street, she also had to admit she felt like doing the Snoopy dance of happiness. She did feel happy. Because she did have the smallest of crushes on Theo or because Joy had invited her on the tour this weekend or because she had a little black and white dog to love or because she had plans tonight, with friends she had not had a week ago? All of the above, perhaps.

She stopped at Mama’s, which was crowded with diners, to buy a basketful of Marianne’s whoopie pies to bring to Ellie’s. She would have gotten them right from Marianne, but she knew Marianne wouldn’t have accepted money, and she wanted to bring at least fifteen, since she had no idea how many people were coming (she assumed eightish).

“You’ve cleaned me out,” Arlene said. “Marianne will be thrilled. I won’t tell her you bought them, though,” she added with a wink. On the house, she threw in a bottle of cider she’d made herself, a new recipe she was trying out. Rebecca assured her she’d tell her everyone’s honest opinion.

As Rebecca was leaving, Matteo came stomping in, slamming doors. As he rushed past Rebecca and Arlene, he slammed his fist down on the counter; the pastry platters jumped. The little restaurant went quiet.

“Matteo, honey, protect your hands,” Arlene whispered.

“I don’t care about my stupid hands!” the boy shouted, tears in his eyes. “I don’t care if I ever play the stupid cello again!”
He went through the swinging doors into the kitchen, and Rebecca heard him thudding on the stairs.

“Uh-oh,” Arlene said. “Sounds like girlfriend trouble. Times like this I really wish his father were still around.”

“Where is he?” Rebecca asked. For some reason, she’d thought Arlene was a widow.

“California. He calls Matteo pretty often—a few times a week—but it’s not the same as being here. Theo’s talked to him before, in times of boy crisis. Maybe he can help.”

“I’m seeing Theo tonight,” Rebecca said, then blushed. “I mean, we’re going to be at the same dinner party.”

Arlene grinned. “Is that why you look so pretty? Well, then, maybe you can ask Theo to stop by tomorrow and check in on Matteo. I’ll go do my best now.”

“It’s a promise.” And with the basket of whoopie pies and a hand-labeled green bottle of cider, Rebecca continued down Ocean Avenue until she got to Theo’s cottage. She’d never seen the house from the front. It was a great house, a craftsman-style bungalow, small, yet somehow majestic all the same.

She knocked, and Theo opened the door, and she almost fell off the porch. God, he was handsome. He wore a long-sleeved button-down white shirt and dark gray cargo pants. A watch with a brown leather band. And he smelled like soap, clean and fresh. In his hands were two boxes with Mama’s label. Rebecca laughed and held up the basket and cider.

“Well, no shortage of dessert tonight,” he said. “I got cheesecake and mud pie. You look nice,” he added as they headed up
the quiet, dark street. His compliment lingered in the gathering dark, the surf and the seagulls like background music in this “he’s gonna kiss her” movie moment.

“Thanks. You, too,” she said, and they held each other’s gaze just long enough for Rebecca to know this was a date.

ten

As they walked the half mile to Ellie’s, Rebecca told Theo about Matteo and his tears.

“Poor guy,” Theo said. “I’ve been talking to him about girls for years now. Well, since he was twelve. He’s had his heart broken three times and he’s only seventeen. He’ll be okay. He forgets how much his music means to him. It’s everything, really. He’s very lucky to have it.”

Rebecca smiled. “He’s lucky to have you, too.”

“He’d prefer his father to me. We’ve talked a lot about that, too. My father wasn’t around much at all, so I get it. And I didn’t tell my mother much of anything, like Matteo. I kept things to myself.”

“So how’d you get to be so good at talking about this stuff?” Rebecca asked.

“Good question. No idea. I was kind of a loner as a kid and a teenager. Made me introspective, I guess.” He stopped in front of Ellie’s beautiful white Greek Revival house with an impressive entry porch adorned by four white pillars. Narrow
black-shuttered windows framed the red-painted door. “Here we are.”

Rebecca stared up at the gorgeous home. “I can’t believe Ellie has this huge house all to herself.”

“Not the whole house. It’s broken into four apartments. Many of the huge houses you see around are actually apartment buildings, or have an ‘in-law’ apartment attached to the main house.”

“Ah,” Rebecca said, recalling her first day in Wiscasset, when the Love Bus had picked up Ellie and she’d watched Tim come down wooden steps from a second-story landing. Theo led the way to the side entrance and rang the bell.

Ellie, decked out in a slinky red dress with black heels, opened the door and glanced past Rebecca and Theo down the steps. “I was hoping you were Tim. Not that I’m not thrilled to see you both,” she added with a smile. “Rebecca and Theo are here, everyone!” she called over her shoulder as she carried in their desserts and the cider.

No, wait a minute
. We
are not here. I’m here. And Theo’s here. But we’re not a couple. I do have a boyfriend back in New York. And an apartment. And a job being held for me
.

Suddenly, she felt like a fraud. Like she was living one life here while she had another far away, with people waiting for her to come back. Not that anyone was necessarily waiting. Michael was likely out to dinner with his “friend” right now, perhaps talking about how his girlfriend had gone crazy and had moved to Maine. And Charlotte had her husband.

She could work things out with Michael. Maybe if she finally owned up to hating her job, to liking the relationship
aspect of her work but not the legal aspect, she would get somewhere. If she went home, if she stayed with Michael, she could have Glenda Whitman.

That didn’t seem a good enough reason.

“I smell something Mexican and delicious,” Rebecca said. “I hope whoopie pies go with it.”

Ellie smiled. “Whoopie pies go with everything.” She peered around Rebecca and Theo out the window. No sign of Tim.

Ellie’s apartment was a tiny one-bedroom, but cozy—except for the Tim-inspired décor. The living room was a blend of his and hers. There was a tattered black leather sofa that had been attacked by a cat (his), but a red velvet love seat strewn with colorful pillows (hers). For every folksy touch there was dive-bar-inspired art. “Tim was here” was spelled out in beer caps above the bathroom door.

In the small dining alcove, a built-in china cabinet housed a collection of their wedding photos. The Rasmussens looked so young and so happy: Ellie, beautiful in a strapless gown, and Tim, a good-looking guy who reminded Rebecca of bouncers she’d seen in front of popular nightclubs in New York. He was at least six feet four and very muscular. In a photo of the wedding party, Rebecca counted twelve bridesmaids and twelve groomsmen. Ha! Rebecca had thought Charlotte, with her seven bridesmaids, had had a big bridal party.

In the living room were three couples Rebecca hadn’t met before. Ellie introduced the Mayfairs, a twentysomething couple married three years who looked remarkably alike, from their curly blond hair to their matching silver rimless
eyeglasses. The O’Connors, married eleven years, seemed mismatched yet held hands constantly. Julie O’Connor was tall and slender and never stopped talking; Otto O’Connor was shorter, with a visible potbelly, and said three words. Next were the Ludenowskys, married twenty-two years, both of whom were accountants and shared a practice. Once everyone had been introduced and shaken hands, the men zoomed around Theo and then drifted over to the corner table where the cheese cubes and crackers and beer were.

The women turned out to be members of Ellie’s knitting circle, which met in a Brunswick yarn shop.

“I’m hoping to inspire Tim by showing him examples of happily married couples at various stages of life,” Ellie explained. “This weekend, he’ll get the opposite, so I thought I would show him what it
can
be like. Long-term, too.” Ellie seemed on the verge of tears. A half hour had passed and there was no sign of Tim. “I was going to ask my neighbors—they’ve been married, like, fortysomething years, but I thought that would scare him.” She let out a deep breath. “He’s not coming, is he?”

“Give him a chance,” Rebecca said. “It’s still early.”

By eight o’clock, Tim still hadn’t shown up. “If I hold the meat any longer it’ll be too tough,” Ellie said as she and Rebecca headed into the kitchen. Rebecca laid strips of sizzling steak and chicken on the colorful Fiestaware. Ellie had gone all out with plates of cut-up vegetables, refried beans, guacamole, olives, salsa and tortillas. When they set everything on the dining-room table, Tim still hadn’t arrived.

“Do you think I went overboard?” Ellie whispered
to Rebecca as they headed back into the kitchen. “Maybe this is just too much, this dinner and then the tour this weekend. He promised to come tonight, though. Well, promised he’d try to come. But what else could he possibly be doing? Poker? Watching
CSI
? Why doesn’t he want to be here? I just don’t get it. I’m his
wife
. He married me to be with me for the rest of his life. I mean, that part was made very clear during the vows. He could have run at any time during the ceremony before the important part.”

“I’ll make you a margarita,” Theo said as he came into the kitchen. “They’re my specialty.”

Ellie ladled sour cream into a pretty bowl and stuck a spoon in it, tears in her eyes. “Glasses are in the cabinet above the toaster. Make mine
extra
strong.”

“Mine, too,” Rebecca whispered to Theo.

And finally, as Ellie called everyone to the dining room, she said, “Tim was held up at the office.” But considering he had his own landscaping company and cut the lawns of almost everyone at the table, she added, “Well, held up by stubborn weeds.” Then she ran out of the room.

The marrieds glanced at each other, their forks in the air.

Theo whispered, “I’ll take over as host. You can go talk to Ellie.” He smiled at the little crowd. “Bon appétit,” he said, filling a tortilla. And within seconds, the group was talking and laughing and building their fajitas and raving over the guacamole, which Ellie had made from scratch.

She went in search of Ellie, who was easy to find. Ellie sat on the top step of her little deck, her arms wrapped around her knees, her dark hair curtaining her face.

Rebecca put her arm around her friend. “Sorry, honey.”

“Me, too,” Ellie said, and lay her head on Rebecca’s shoulder.

“So this was an intervention of sorts?” Theo said as they walked back along the dark road. They carried doggie bags of leftovers that Ellie insisted they take, if not for themselves then for Spock and Charlie.

“Good word for it. Ellie wants to save the marriage. I don’t know Tim at all, but based on what Ellie’s told me, I’m worried for her.”

“And based on what I’ve seen of him around town, me too,” he said.