Mary Ann Minetti’s farewell luncheon begins at noon on a hot day in August. Tova arrives at the Elland Chophouse ten minutes early. Unrelenting sunlight assaults her eyes, and she squints as she climbs the restaurant’s front steps in the poshest section of Elland’s waterfront district. Her ankle is still tender and shriveled from its weeks inside the boot.
“Mrs. Sullivan!” A familiar voice calls from behind as a steadying arm clasps her elbow.
“Laura, dear. How are you?” Tova inclines her head at Mary Ann’s daughter, a trim woman in her forties, accepting the younger woman’s assistance as she summits the staircase.
According to Mary Ann, Laura had arrived last week to help her mother make preparations. And it was Laura who organized this luncheon, who chose this fancy restaurant. Tova’s not convinced that Mary Ann herself wouldn’t have preferred coffee at her home, although maybe that’s not possible now that the house is being packed up and prepped for the realtors.
“Good, good.” Laura nods, holding the front door for both of them. “And I’m glad to see you’re on the mend! Mom told me about your fall.” She arches a brow at Tova’s foot.
“It was only a sprain.”
“I know, but at your age . . .”
A chipper greeting from the young lady behind the hostess stand spares Tova the need to respond. Hoisting an impossibly tall stack of menus, she leads them through the
restaurant to a long, empty table abutting a bank of windows overlooking the water. The view, at least, is lovely.
“Your server should be over in a couple minutes. I can grab you a drink in the meantime,” the hostess offers as she circles the table, placing a menu at each setting. There must be at least thirty places. Good heavens. How many people did Laura invite?
“Hell yes. Gin and tonic, please.” Laura drops her purse onto the table and sighs. “I’ve spent all morning helping my mother pack up the house she’s lived in for half a century. Better make it a double.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
Tova lowers into a chair near the end of the table, picturing the menagerie of porcelain figurines and polished crosses that have always lived on the shelf over Mary Ann’s kitchen sink wrapped in tissue and loaded into a cardboard box, where they’ll likely stay for years until some unfortunate younger family member happens upon them and must decide how to get rid of them. She forces a smile at the hostess, who seems to be waiting for her drink order. “Just a coffee, please. Black.”
The hostess whisks away with a nod, leaving the two women in the sort of silence that makes Tova wish she’d brought her knitting along. Finally, she asks, “How are the girls?”
Laura’s daughter, Tatum, and young granddaughter, Isabelle, live with Laura in Spokane. Now Mary Ann, a great- grandmother at only seventy, will live with them, too. Of course, the situation with Tatum and her baby hadn’t been planned, but Tova can’t help feeling wonder at how it’s shaken out. Four generations of women under one roof.
Laura nods. “The girls are good. Great. Isabelle’s walking now.”
“Wonderful,” Tova says.
“Yes.” Laura smiles, but doesn’t elaborate, in the way that people often don’t elaborate when it comes to
discussing children around Tova, which is sometimes a mixed blessing.
The uncomfortable silence descends again, so Tova asks, “How’s work, dear?”
“It’s . . . work.” Laura lets out a genuine chuckle before launching into a tale about the technology update happening over the summer at the state university, where she teaches psychology. Tova nods along. It does, indeed, sound like a nightmare. Laura sighs sympathetically, then explains, “So that’s why we had to get Mom moved so quickly. Before the start of fall term, anyway. I feel terrible that you ladies don’t get much of a goodbye. I know how close you’ve all been. For decades.”
“There’s always the telephone.”
“We’ll get Mom set up with a tablet. That way she can virtually attend your Knit-Wit meetings!” Laura beams, looking very pleased with herself at this solution, whatever it means. “And what about you? When will you go back to work at the aquarium?”
Tova straightens and recounts to Laura her recent conversation with Terry. He agreed to allow her to come back and “help out the new guy,” as he put it. Tova couldn’t be more pleased with this arrangement, which allows her to mentor him in the proper way to do things, and she should have plenty of time to do that before her move to Charter Village at the end of the month. She doesn’t mention that she also rather likes spending time with the boy.
“Mom! Over here!” Laura hollers to Mary Ann, who waves from across the restaurant, trailed by Barb Vanderhoof and Janice and Peter Kim.
“Yoo-hoo!” Barb flutters her hands as they approach the table. She’s wearing a sequined top that’s far too snug across her chest. “Look at this! How fancy!” She wraps Laura in a hug.
Janice slips into the seat next to Tova. “How goes it, Tova?”
“How’s that ankle?” Peter Kim sits next to his wife.
“Very well, thanks,” Tova replies, hoping her injury won’t be the topic of conversation this afternoon.
“Excellent news. But what happened to your arm?”
Tova tugs at her sleeve, trying to cover the newest line of sucker marks. “That’s nothing at all. Must be from the sun.”
Peter frowns, and Tova can tell he’s putting on his doctor hat, about to push the issue, but he’s mercifully interrupted by the guest of honor.
“Oh my. Thank you all for coming!” Mary Ann lets out a girlish giggle and takes her designated seat at the center of the table as more people filter in. Tova recognizes several parishioners from St. Ann’s, where Mary Ann was on the board for years, along with neighbors. In a matter of minutes, most of the seats are filled, leaving only the two on Tova’s other side empty. Relieved to be next to the no- shows, she places her purse on one.
“Well, doesn’t this look like a rowdy bunch!” A young man with deep brown skin and sparkling eyes approaches with two pitchers of water. Omar, according to his name tag. “Glad I wore my sneakers because I can tell you all will keep me on my toes!” An approving laugh moves across the crowd.
“We came to party!” Barb Vanderhoof shimmies.
Omar makes finger guns and aims them at her. “That’s the spirit!”
“Our dear friend Mary Ann is moving away.” Barb gestures at Mary Ann, who is blushing. “To Spokane.”
“Yikes! Spokane! I’m sorry.” Omar makes a face like he just ate a lemon, but his eyes are still twinkling.
“Hey now! I live in Spokane!” Laughing, Laura lofts her empty highball glass.
Tova’s coffee finally arrives, via a harried-looking busboy. She studies the thick black liquid before taking a sip. It’s hot and strong. She picks up the menu and studies it, clicking her tongue at the descriptions, things like basil cream foam
and heirloom turnip reduction. Where are the soups and salads? A cup of corn chowder would do nicely.
“These seats taken?” A deep voice, vaguely familiar, breaks her focus on the menu. She looks up at a tall figure. He doesn’t look so strange without his bike shorts and space-age sunglasses and helmet, but it’s Adam Wright, the fellow who helped her with her crossword down at Hamilton Park a few weeks ago. “Oh! Hello.” He breaks into a smile, recognizing her as well.
“Nice to see you again,” Tova says, moving her pocketbook from the chair. On Adam’s other side is a short woman with curly auburn hair.
“This is Sandy Hewitt,” he says, giving his companion’s arm a squeeze as they both sit. “Sandy, meet Tova Sullivan.”
“How do you do,” Tova says with a nod. The busboy returns with two martinis on a tray. Carefully, he sets them in front of the couple.
Adam takes a long gulp, which reminds Tova of that day when he chugged her bottle of water in the park. “Laura and I went to Sunday school together at St. Ann’s,” he explains. “She heard I’d moved back to town. And somehow roped me into helping out with her mother’s move. And now I’ve roped in my better half, too.” He winks at Sandy.
“They’re lucky to have him.” She grins and squeezes Adam’s bicep. “And I’m always happy to help out, not that I’m much for heavy lifting. But Laura was nice enough to include me in lunch. It’s great to meet so much of Sowell Bay, all at once.”
“Yes, Laura really went above and beyond with the guest list, didn’t she?” Tova sips her coffee.
“I guess so.” Sandy tilts her head. “So, how do you and Adam know each other?”
Tova clears her throat, then says quietly, “Adam was a friend of my son’s.”
Adam flattens his lips. Then he leans down to Sandy’s ear, and most of the whispered explanation is inaudible to Tova, but she catches the words there was this kid who . . .
Sandy’s eyes widen, and she shoots Tova a sympathetic look before turning her attention to intensely studying the menu. Smoothing her hair, she straightens in her chair and clasps her hands. “Well,” she chirps, addressing the table at large. “Who’s decided what they’re having? I’ve heard the skirt steak is to die for!”
CORN CHOWDER, AS it turns out, is not available at the Elland Chophouse. But Omar recommends a curried squash bisque that, to Tova’s surprise, is lovely. She sops every last drop with the accompanying hunk of sourdough while Adam Wright and Peter Kim complain across Tova and Janice about the Mariners and their losing streak, a subject that doesn’t interest Tova in the least.
“Baseball. Who cares, right?” Janice says.
Tova smiles, then dabs a napkin on the corners of her mouth. “The only thing more tedious than watching it is talking about it.”
Peter Kim gives his wife’s shoulder a playful squeeze. “Sorry to bore you, darling.”
“Hey, maybe I’m cursed.” Adam Wright laughs. “I move back to town and suddenly they start sucking. Should’ve stayed in Chicago.” He drains his martini, then smiles at Sandy as he plucks one fat green olive from the sword- shaped plastic spear and offers her the other, slinging an arm across the back of her chair.
Janice leans toward Sandy. “Any news on the house hunt?”
“Oh yes!” Sandy beams. “We decided on one of those new builds. That subdivision on the south end of town.”
“How perfect. You can finish things exactly how you want them.”
“Exactly! Adam’s planning to build a man cave in the basement. For baseball-watching.”
Peter Kim lights up. “Excellent! I’ll be over on game day!” The four of them share a laugh.
Sandy turns to Tova. “What about you, Mrs. Sullivan?” “What do you mean?” Tova lifts a brow.
“Your house? Have you had any offers?”
Janice drops her fork and turns to stare at Tova.
“Jessica Snell mentioned it at closing. That your house had just come on the market. Not a good fit for us, of course. We need at least five bedrooms for when the grandkids come visit.”
“Eventual grandkids,” Adam corrects her. “Theoretical grandkids.”
Tova twists her napkin in her lap.
“Such a gorgeous house, though,” Sandy yammers on. “Jessica said she didn’t think it would last long. Someone will snap it up.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Tova says quietly.
“Tova.” Janice’s voice is sharp. “What is she talking about?”
“Oh. Is it not . . . ? I mean, did you all not know . . . ?” Sandy’s cheeks turn as red as the pimento in Adam’s fresh martini.
“It’s quite all right.” Tova clears her throat. “Sandy is correct. I’m selling my house. I’ve applied for a suite up at Charter Village in Bellingham.”
A silence falls over the table. “What?” Mary Ann gasps.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Barb demands. “What about the house?” Janice leans forward. “That beautiful house! Your father’s house!”
“And all of your things, Tova!”
“You have so many beautiful things! You’re not going to get rid of it all?”
“Where will all of your things go?”
“So many things to go through!” “That attic, I can’t imagine.”
“Those trunks of your mother’s, the cedar ones. What a shame!”
“I’m perfectly capable of dealing with my belongings,” Tova says, her voice taut. This puts a stop to the volley of comments. How can the Knit-Wits cast judgment on her possessions, anyway? Mary Ann with all those statuettes, and Janice’s house has a whole room dedicated to computer equipment, much of which seems to serve no actual purpose. Barb, for some reason that has never been fully explained, has been collecting elephants since she was a bachelorette, for heaven’s sake. Her whole guest bedroom is full of elephant keepsakes. Who are they to cast stones?
Janice lays a hand on Tova’s shoulder. “You don’t need to do this, you know. Peter and I have always said you could live with us, that you could—”
“Absolutely not. I would never burden you in that way.” Janice shakes her head. “You’re never a burden, Tova.”
AS THE DISHES are being cleared, Mary Ann makes a trip around the table to thank everyone for coming. Janice and Peter Kim bid goodbye, explaining that they’ll be late for their pottery class. Barb Vanderhoof and her too-tight sequins shimmy out of the room on their way to her weekly therapist appointment. Omar brings the check for Laura to sign and makes a joke about Mary Ann causing trouble in Spokane. Adam Wright swallows the dregs of his third martini and clasps his hands around Mary Ann’s forearm. “Thank you for having us!”
“This was so lovely!” Sandy chimes in, seeming to have forgotten about the bomb she dropped earlier. Thankfully, the rest of the table seems to have shrugged it off, too, although Tova caught Janice and Barb whispering about changing her mind.
Mary Ann’s smile is tight as she perches on the empty chair next to Tova. “I’ll see you before I leave this weekend, won’t I?”
“Certainly. I’ll stop by.”
“I’d like that.” Mary Ann’s voice shakes a bit. Laura hurries over and stands behind her mother, winds an arm around her shoulders.
“It’s so great of you to take your mom in.” Adam turns to Mary Ann, leaning back in his chair. “Man, I’m glad I had kids, even if it means I’ll never be rid of my ex-wife. Because it would be hell to get old alone. Isn’t that why anyone has kids?”
Sandy jabs him. “Don’t be ridiculous, babe.”
Laura eyes him sharply, offering no response other than to reach in front of him to pick up his not-quite-empty martini glass and hand it off to a passing waiter.
“I’m an idiot.” Adam raises his hand and then lowers it. “Tova, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You won’t get old alone. Even with Erik gone.”
“It’s quite all right,” Tova says quietly. “It was a long time ago.”
“I remember it like it was yesterday.” Adam’s voice is clearer now.
Mary Ann claps a hand over her mouth, and Laura plants her hands on her hips, shooting a glare that could shatter stone. But Tova turns to Adam, suddenly aware of her heart throbbing under her blouse. “I always welcome what people remember.”
His drags a hand over his face. “I mean, nothing you don’t already know, I’m sure. I remember the last time I saw him. We grabbed nachos at the snack bar that afternoon, before he started work. We were planning to go out to my family’s cabin the next day. He was going to sneak some beers from your fridge, as usual.” He cringes. “Uh, sorry about that.”
Tova waves a hand. “No matter.”
“Anyway,” Adam goes on, “he wanted to impress that girl, whatever her name was. He was going to bring her to the cabin.”
Tova lets out a stony chuckle. Stealing beer from the fridge? That sounded like her son. But the rest, was it possible? She shakes her head. “I don’t remember Erik having a girlfriend at that time.”
“I don’t know what she was, technically, but they were a thing.” Adam frowns and furrows a brow. “Damn. What was her name?”
Laura lays a hand on Tova’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” “Tova? Dear?” Mary Ann echoes her daughter.
“I’m perfectly fine.” Tova’s voice sounds like it’s coming from inside a cave. She stands and thanks Laura for the luncheon while giving Mary Ann a brief hug, then hears herself bid goodbye to Adam Wright and Sandy Hewitt.
Click-clack, click-clack. The sound of her sandals on the restaurant’s hardwood floor seems to propel her away from the table. Outside, late-afternoon sun assaults her, and she shields her face with a hand as she beelines across the Elland Chophouse parking lot toward her car. Only once she’s sitting in the driver’s seat with the ignition turned on and the radio playing does she realize she’s been holding her breath. It comes out, hot and fast, the blowback fogging her glasses.
So Will had been right. There was a girl.
