The Touch of a Woman (5 page)

“And what about you, Ellis? Where in Northern California?”

“My story isn’t as interesting as yours, I’m afraid. Born and raised in Modesto. My dad worked in shipping at the Gallo winery and my mom was admissions coordinator at the junior college. They retired a few years ago and bought a gigantic motor home. Come November, they drive it down to a campground near Scottsdale. That’s where they ride out their winters.”

“Living the dream.”

“
Their
dream. More power to them.”

“What took you to the City? That’s a big jump from Modesto.”

She liked that Summer had called it the City, just like the locals. San Francisco deserved its lofty image.

“I majored in English lit at Berkeley and got my first job at
San Francisco Vista
, the magazine. Left after three years when I had the twins—my boys—but then I started freelancing again when Allison started school.”

“Three kids. So you must have gotten married young.”

It wasn’t a question. More like an invitation to elaborate. At some point, she needed at least to mention Bruce. “Yes, my husband died a little over a year ago.”

Summer frowned and reached over to pat her arm. “I’m so sorry.”

Ellis didn’t want to dwell on it. “It’s been an adjustment. I think Sacramento will be good for me. One of my sons lives here, and my daughter’s a freshman now at UC-Davis. That’s Jeremy and Allison.”

“I bet that’s who I saw helping you last night.”

“And Bruno. That’s Jeremy’s boyfriend.” Her admission brought a huge grin, which wasn’t surprising at all since Summer had mentioned a girlfriend.

“You have a gay son. How cool is that?”

“He’s a wonderful young man. Calls himself a landscape designer…I think of him as a creative gardener. And he’s probably my best chance for grandchildren because the other two insist they aren’t interested.”

They bused their table and walked out into the chilly night air to Ellis’s car. She’d been tempted to trade her Lexus for something downmarket, but the boys had convinced her to hold onto it since it was already paid for. It was well built, Jonathan said, and good for another ten years at least. Perhaps by then she’d feel financially secure again.

“You remember how to get home from here?” Summer asked.

“I think so. Don’t let me miss any turns.”

“So now that I’ve introduced you to Julio’s, do you forgive me for last night?”

“I suppose.” Ellis chuckled. “And I guess this would be a good time for me to confess that I might have misjudged you.”

“I’d like to think so, but I don’t blame you for having your doubts. I freaked out too when I saw those blue lights. Next right.”

She signaled and turned simultaneously. “And that was your ex-girlfriend?”

“Of twenty-one years…give or take all the times we split up and got back together. That’s why she keeps coming around, I guess. Because I’ve always ended up taking her back. Not this time though. I’m done. In my lifetime, I’ve quit drinking, I’ve quit smoking. But Rita’s always been the hardest to quit. Sometimes it feels like one step forward, two steps back.”

That was a dynamic Ellis couldn’t understand at all. If they’d broken up over and over, they must have fought with each other all the time. How could anyone live that way?

There were many aspects of her life with Bruce that were less than ideal, but very few had led to serious fights. Even disagreements were rare, since he didn’t believe in overlap of responsibility. He handled their finances and made all the decisions about the house, while she managed their children and social life. That was their deal, and it settled potential conflicts before they could erupt.

While it had spared them the usual sources of friction for couples, the end result was in fact cliché—a wife left behind with little skill in managing money and a mountain of turmoil. It would have been far better had they shared responsibility for their finances through the years. Maybe then she wouldn’t have been blindsided.

Ellis would have bet the farm the deep male voice outside her cubicle belonged to Rex Brenneman. It was serious, confident and even a touch acerbic. Just like his political columns, which she’d digested over the past three days.

He was chiding Angie about a change one of the assistant editors had made to his recent submission. “All I’m saying is her official title is director of the Lottery Commission, not commissioner. So it wasn’t a correction. It was an
in-
correction.”

“That isn’t a word, Rex.”

“Well it should be.” He slapped the side of Ellis’s cubicle in obvious frustration, and then swung around to look inside. His angry look faded instantly, replaced by an unmistakably flirtatious smile. He looked exactly like the small photo next to his byline, ruggedly handsome with brown hair parted on the side and a neatly trimmed mustache. He wore a tie with a brown leather bomber jacket, and in his hand was the trademark suede trilby from his photo. “Sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was in this cubicle. You’re new.”

“I started on Monday,” she said, rising from her chair.

“Please don’t get up.” He held out his left hand to shake and made a point of turning hers over as if checking for the presence of a wedding ring. “I’m Rex Brenneman, political writer. And you are?”

“Ellis Keene, assistant editor. And no, I wasn’t the one who
in-
corrected your piece.”

“I would have forgiven you anything,” he said smoothly. Lowering his voice, he went on, “Nice to see they finally hired another adult. How did you end up in our merry little crew?”

“I wrote for
Vista
in San Francisco for years. Freelance…mostly features.” She handed him one of her temporary business cards, on which the receptionist had typed her name and extension.

“I’m not seeing a cell number on this.” His green eyes twinkled with anticipation.

She was hardly a stranger to men’s come-ons, but this was the first time in nearly thirty years she found herself without a foolproof way to deflect their interest. It was unnerving to realize she was free to respond any way she wanted. Right now, that was with apprehension.

“I, uh…I check my messages regularly on that extension.”

“Fair enough, then.” He held her gaze for several seconds before finally stepping away.

Within moments, Angie came in to take his place, her eyes wide with dismay. “I can’t believe he was flirting with you!”

She decided to take that as a commentary on his behavior rather than an assessment of her appeal to the opposite sex. “Is he always like that?”

“Never. The only time he ever talks to any of the lowly assistant editors is to complain. You must be his type.”

Clearly he liked women his own age, and she was practically the only one in the office who fit that bill. The thought of dating again hadn’t crossed her mind until this very moment. It would be crazy to go out with someone from her office, let alone a man who had her coworkers walking on eggshells.

“Do us all a favor and go out with him,” Angie said. “Maybe he’ll realize we’re people too and start treating us with a little respect.”

“Or we could have a terrible date and it could be worse.”

“True dat.”

Angie had softened over the past week, apparently convinced by Ellis’s first assignments that she was more than capable of doing her job. In fact, she was making it a regular habit to ask Ellis’s opinion on the other editors’ work as well.

That goodwill wouldn’t last long if her peers thought she was getting special favors just because Rex found her worthy of his attention. Roxanne always said it was harder to work with women than men because they were prone to focus more on the personal than the professional. Ellis had no desire to test that theory.

* * *

By virtue of seniority, Summer had an office with a window. Granted, it was the smallest office—and smallest window—on the entire third floor of the Health and Human Services building, but it was her own space. Best of all, it had a door to close out the hubbub of chatter and clacking keyboards. She’d decorated in a Southwestern motif with a Zapotec rug, two Gorman prints of Navajo women, and by her coveted window, a dreamcatcher. The space was cozy but serviceable for the mountain of paperwork that crossed her desk.

After five on a Friday afternoon, the third floor was a virtual ghost town. With her work put away until Monday, she passed the time searching Google for Bruce Keene’s obituary. And feeling guilty for it. If Ellis had wanted her to know how her husband died, she would have told her. Not that it mattered. She’d found only one Bruce Keene in San Francisco, and he was very much alive.

The night before, she’d researched Ellis’s bylines, getting literally dozens of hits on the
Vista
website alone. Her Facebook and Twitter accounts were purely promotional, linking only to her articles, and they hadn’t been updated in over a year. Perhaps about the time her husband died. Something like that would upend a person’s whole life.

Hearing footsteps in the hallway, she closed the search screen.

Alythea Cooper, her immediate supervisor and closest friend at work, appeared in her doorway. With her short Afro and vibrant jewelry, she looked at least a decade younger than her fifty years. “I’m giving you one last chance to back out of this, Summer. No questions asked.”

“No way, I’m psyched. Bring it on.”

A whistle brought the sound of a small stampede and the excited arrival of Alythea’s grandchildren, six-year-old Nate and his sister Bree, four. A few steps behind was their mother, Nemy.

Summer opened her desk drawer to reveal a modest stash of candy, inviting the children to serve themselves.

“You’ll be sorry you did that,” Nemy said. “I’ve just gotten them down from their Halloween sugar highs. They’re going to keep you up all night.”

“We’ll manage,” Summer said. She’d known both kids since they were born and had babysat before. This was their first overnight stay, a plan to allow their mother and grandmother to go Christmas shopping. “I’m fixing sloppy joes for dinner, and I’ve got
The Princess and the Frog
set to go on Netflix. We’re going to have a great time.”

“If you hear an echo during the movie, it’s Nate. He knows Prince Naveen’s lines word for word.”

Truth be told, she wasn’t as enthusiastic as she let on, but there was nothing she wouldn’t do for Alythea. The woman had seen her through tough times with Rita—several of them over the last ten years—serving not only as a sounding board, but as a well of courage and wisdom. If not for her support, Summer might still be stuck in that punishing cycle.

In the parking garage on the lower level, they moved Bree’s booster seat into Summer’s Mazda sedan. After repeated admonitions for both children to behave themselves, Alythea and Nemy left.

And Bree began to cry.

“Is something wrong? What is it?”

Her sobs worsened to wailing with still no explanation, and soon turned to hiccups. Nate tried to calm his sister, but she refused to be comforted.

The ten-minute ride to River Woods felt more like a week. As they exited the car, Summer spotted Ellis on her way to the fitness center.

“Do an extra couple of miles for me, will you?”

“Looks like you’ve got your hands full.” Ellis approached beneath the streetlight, no doubt curious about the small visitors.

“This is Nate.” She held out a hand to coax Bree from the car. For the moment, the girl had gotten her tears under control. “And this is Bree. Their grandma is one of my best friends—and coincidentally, my boss. She and their mom needed some private time to discuss a few things with Santa. I’m sure they’ll be calling later to double-check on how good these two are being so they can let Santa know.”

Emotional blackmail of a child. Probably a criminal offense, but it was better than having Bree work herself into an anxiety attack.

Ellis stooped low in front of the little girl. “Where did you get those beautiful pink shoes?”

“My mama bought them for me at the Payless.”

“Mine are black and purple,” Nate interjected, planting his foot forward to show off his sneakers. He was uncommonly patient with his sister most of the time, but not willing to let her have the spotlight all to herself when a stranger was passing out compliments.

“Wow, those are nice too.” She pointed to Summer’s boots. “Yours, on the other hand, could use a shine.”

“Ouch. Are you guys going to let her pick on me like that?”

From the way they were giggling, the answer was yes.

“Just for that, I’m going to make sloppy joes and eat them all by myself.”

Nate made the motion of zipping his lips.

“Well, okay. I guess you can have one.” She turned back to Ellis. “There’s plenty if you want to join us.”

Ellis scrunched her nose. “Not my favorite, but thanks.”

Summer was surprised by how disappointed she was. And how giddy just from sharing a two-minute casual conversation with her new neighbor.

* * *

Only one week into the exile of her children, and Ellis already was wishing one of them would drop by. Why had they picked now to start being so obedient?

She’d taken a couple of hours each night to arrange her apartment and was satisfied it was the best it could be. There wasn’t nearly enough storage space, forcing her to part with household items and clothing she wasn’t absolutely certain she would use.

The apartment wouldn’t have felt so cramped had it not been packed with oversized furnishings she’d selected for a three-story home with spacious rooms. The china cabinet that had belonged to Bruce’s grandmother. The sectional sofa from her family room. If only she hadn’t brought the king-sized bed. New furniture wasn’t an option and wouldn’t be for several years.

The oven chimed, and she scraped the last batch of oatmeal cookies from the sheet. She hadn’t made these in years, but something told her a certain boy and girl in the next building would appreciate her effort.

The sight of Summer with two African-American children had been a pleasant surprise. She appreciated diversity in her friends and liked knowing Summer did too. Her deer-in-the-headlights look was hilarious, probably brought on by the little girl, whose face had been swollen with tears. Separation anxiety, if she had to guess.