Isabella Moon (3 page)

No matter what her state of mind was, she couldn’t help but smile when she saw Francie and Lillian together. Like a pair of carefully altered copies of a single person, they had the same high forehead and finely etched cheekbones. Lillian’s clear mahogany skin was almost as unlined as Francie’s lighter skin, but Francie’s nose and cheeks were dotted with freckles that made her look even younger than thirty-two. The freckles were a constant bone of contention between the two women: Lillian insisted that Francie had brought them on herself by not wearing a hat or sunblock when she went out during the day; Francie said that they were the one permanent thing her father had given her, a part of him that no one could ever take away.

“Will you please tell my daughter that if she doesn’t eat something besides burgers she’s going to end up with saddlebags on those size six thighs?” Lillian said, looking up at Kate. “Sit down, honey. You all look like something the cat dragged in.”

Kate leaned over and brushed Lillian’s cheek with a kiss. Lillian smelled of Coco and lavender. Kate slid into the chair across from Francie.

Francie looked up from her menu and rolled her eyes at Kate. “
Soy
burgers, Mother,” she said. “No one gets fat from soy burgers.”

Lillian touched the bun high at the back of her head. Despite her hair’s severe style and her sixty-plus years, she looked stunning and carried herself more like a well-preserved fashion model than the schoolteacher she had been for most of her life.

“Everyone gets fat from eating fried foods,” she said. “And those burgers are fried in something nasty.”

“Francie’s the nurse,” Kate said. “She knows what’s good for her.” She grinned at Francie, who shut her menu and slid it to the edge of the table.

“You should listen to Kate, Mother. She’s a smart girl.”

Francie took in Kate, who was studying her own menu. Smart girl or no, Kate looked a few beats off, not quite as put together as she usually was. Her skin, always fair, was paler than ever, and the whites of her hazel eyes were red and heavily veined, as though she’d been weeping or staring too long at a computer screen. A worn smear of lipstick covered her lips, which looked rough and bitten. Concerned, Francie reached out and lightly touched Kate’s arm.

“You still not sleeping?” she asked. “You
do not,
as my mother says, ‘look like something the cat dragged in.’ But you do look tired.”

Kate smiled. She didn’t want to offend Francie, but there were times when Francie seemed to want to get too close to her. She knew that she was a difficult friend to have, and she was grateful that Francie had hung in with her the past couple of years, ever since they’d met in a book group at Carystown’s small public library.

And they
were
close, but how could she tell Francie that a little girl who’d been missing for two years and presumed dead had appeared outside her bedroom one night, wanting her to come out, to follow her into the darkened town? How could she tell her about the cloying odor of decay—
and had there been honey as well?
—that had filled her nostrils so that she thought she’d never breathe clear air again?

“Construction at the antique mall,” Kate said. “They start those saws at six in the morning, like no one lives around there.”

“That porch has been a disgrace as long as I can remember,” Lillian said. “I don’t know what they’re thinking, restoring more of that place. As though it’s not already just fine to sell people old junk. It’s a firetrap if you ask me.”

“Right,” Francie said, ignoring her mother. “If you say so, Kate.” She had learned not to press Kate too hard, particularly in front of other people. Kate had confided something about her life before Carystown, but not much. Francie knew that Kate was pretty much alone in the world, and she, who’d had the love of both of her parents for at least a time and had been treasured her whole life, felt protective of her.

As they ate, Kate also updated them on the construction of Janet Rourke’s new house west of town. With its six chimneys, horse pastures, and iron gates salvaged from the demolition of one of the grandest houses in the area, it was the talk of Carystown. Kate had become the job’s unofficial foreman, and as a result, was having a hard time keeping up with the office paperwork. Francie and Lillian were thrilled to have inside information about it, especially Francie, who entertained the other nurses on the second shift with stories of Janet’s tantrums.

“The granite for the countertops in the kitchen and the granite for the bar didn’t quite match, but I thought they looked fine,” Kate said. “Janet was so pissed off that she took one of those huge chisels they use and threw it so hard that a big chunk came out of the bar piece and it’s going to cost her an extra two thousand to get another one.”

It was a relief to Kate to be able to talk about Janet, even though she knew it was gossip and that she shouldn’t gossip about the woman who signed her paycheck. She needed the paycheck more than she cared to admit. The money she’d brought with her to Carystown had covered her rent for a while and the purchase of her car, but there was very little left. But everyone talked about Janet. She was a bitch, and a bit of a joke with her better-than-you attitude toward even the moldering town mothers and fathers. Then again, as the sheriff had said, she knew how to get things done.

A few minutes before one, Kate signaled for the check. She had to get back to the office.

“No, you don’t,” Lillian said. “It’s my turn to treat today. You girls need to save your pennies.”

The three of them argued politely for a few moments, but when the check came, it was brought not by the waitress, but by someone else.

Like every other attractive woman who spent more than a few weeks in Carystown, Kate had had a date with Paxton Birkenshaw. They were about the same age, and Paxton had the Birkenshaw name to recommend him. (She’d seen it on Carystown street signs, an office shingle, and on a plaque on the front of the historic Episcopal church building.) She hadn’t been much interested in dating at all, but the other woman in the office, Edith, who had worked for Janet for years, was a fellow garden club member of Paxton’s mother.

“Old, old family, you know,” Edith had said. “And Paxton went east for prep school and some college. I don’t know that he actually graduated, mind you. I think he didn’t get along well with the dean or some such nonsense.” She paused a moment. “There was something about a frozen turkey and a broken television. But I don’t think anything was proved.”

Kate had wanted to laugh, but covered her mouth so as not to offend Edith, who was kindhearted and seemed not to want to see her lonely. (Lonely was just what she was looking for then. But that was before she’d met Francie, who cheered her, and Caleb, a man whom she was just beginning to trust.) She had imagined Paxton as a giant, spoiled child, perhaps wearing plaid pants and glasses and a shirt with a tiny embroidered figure of a man on a polo pony on it.

But Paxton himself appeared neither to be an eternal frat boy nor a preppy nerd. Paxton Birkenshaw was a damned good-looking, muscular charmer of a man.

Their evening together was pleasant enough, but they hadn’t clicked. Kate was still uneasy about her new life and didn’t have much to share as far as the details of her past went. But it didn’t matter because Paxton contented himself with telling her tales of the county where his family had lived since before the Civil War. Watching him speak, his blue eyes animated with amusement at his own stories, Kate could see that, confident as he appeared, what he really wanted was an audience. He might have been a movie actor, with his shock of blond hair and extraordinarily white teeth that seemed to emanate a subtle glow in the dim restaurant in which they ate. She relaxed, finally, and let him talk on until nearly midnight.

At her door, they shared a friendly handshake (
that
had been a surprise—she thought she rated at least a peck on the cheek), and Kate watched him drive away in his vintage Mercedes coupe. He never called her again after that night, and she never expected him to. Now they exchanged hellos on the street or in restaurants, but that was about it. She had since come to the conclusion that while Paxton Birkenshaw was attractive, he was not particularly bright. With his bounding gait and effusive manner, he reminded her of an overbred Labrador retriever.

“It would be my pleasure to take care of this for you ladies,” Paxton said, standing over them. “Particularly you, Mrs. Cayley.”

The waitress hovered uncertainly behind him. Francie waved her away.

“I was sitting over there at my little table in the corner and saw the three of you and thought: ‘Now, there’s a table of goddesses.’ It was as if Dido, Oshun, and Ala were chatting about how to wreak havoc in the lives of us mere mortals.”

Kate glanced across the table at Francie, who was shaking her head and wearing a look that Kate could only describe as one of disgust. She wasn’t sure who Dido, Oshun, and Ala were. These days, though, she wasn’t feeling like much of any sort of goddess.
More like god-cursed.

Lillian, though, seemed willing to play along. At least for the moment. “That’s very kind of you, Paxton,” she said. “Please give your mother my best.”

She turned back to the table as though Paxton might just wander away to the cash register.

Paxton instead took her words as an invitation. As he sat down in the chair beside Kate, he folded the check in half and tucked it into the inside pocket of his sport coat. His skin wore a healthy-looking tan and there were faint, whitish lines at his temples where his sunglasses had been. Kate wondered briefly if he would remember to pay the check.

“Sick as she is, she’ll outlive all of us, ma’am,” he said. “I just brought her back from Hilton Head—”

Kate had been trying to look interested despite the fact that she was due back in the office right at that moment. But at his words, her arm gave a reflexive jerk and she knocked over her iced tea glass.

Lillian and Francie immediately took to the mess with their napkins. Within seconds the waitress was there with a towel.

“I’m sorry,” Kate said. “I’m such a klutz.”

As they cleaned up, Paxton continued as though nothing had happened. “She had plenty of time to relax by the water and had us all waiting on her hand and foot.”

Abruptly changing the subject, he said, “Kate, I hear you’ve really taken our favorite insurance agent’s new house in hand. Contractors around here aren’t much used to taking their orders from a woman, but I guess most of them are down here from Louisville or Cincinnati. Things are different there, I believe.” He leaned close to her, as though he would speak confidentially. “Or maybe it’s because you’re a woman—a darned good-looking woman—that makes them say ‘how high’ when you say ‘jump.’”

Kate blushed, something that aggravated her but that she was prone to do. She went on the defensive. “Actually, they’ve all been very nice.” (This was just a little white lie—some of the men, particularly the subcontractors, had been downright rude and she’d had to have them fired.) “And so far, none of the contractors, not
even
the local ones, have said anything about a penis being required for the job.”

“Ha!” Francie said.

Paxton laughed, too, but his had a hint of uncertainty about it.

Kate did not look at Lillian, afraid that she had offended her.

“Now, I don’t think we would have heard anything like that kind of language back in Mrs. Cayley’s classroom, would we have, Mrs. Cayley?”

Lillian sat up straighter in her chair. “I do believe that I have even said the word ‘penis’ myself in the classroom, Paxton. I’ve always taught that we should use the proper words for things.”

Kate smiled with relief.

“Paxton, I think the goddesses have wreaked havoc with you today,” Francie said.

“Touché, Francie,” Paxton said. He turned to Kate. “Mrs. Cayley is all about teaching me lessons. You know, she once smacked my hands so hard with a ruler that I couldn’t hold a baseball bat for a week.”

“You might have whacked
me
with a baseball bat, Paxton, if you hadn’t been kept in line,” Lillian said. “You were that mean.”

Kate was embarrassed for him, but Paxton just laughed.

“I was a boy with a temper then, ma’am,” he said. “I had too much icing on my cupcake and you taught me how to be respectful. I needed that.”

“I wonder if that lesson will ever stick with you,” Lillian said. “Respecting your elders’ opinions.”

“Mama,” Francie said quietly.

Paxton laughed again, but this time seemed ill at ease.

There was an awkward moment when no one spoke. The waitress noisily bused the table beside them, dropping glasses and plates into her tub as though they were made of something sturdier than glass and porcelain.

“I need to get back to the office,” Kate said, pushing her chair back.

“Well, a man’s got to respect
that,
” Paxton said, flashing her a smile. His teeth were so perfect, Kate wondered if they were capped. “I’ll move on,” he said. He stood up and gave a curt bow. “Ladies. It’s been a distinct pleasure.”

“Paxton,” Lillian said.

Kate gave him a polite nod.

When he was safely at the waitress station paying the bill, Lillian rapped her knuckle lightly on the tabletop.

“Strangest boy I ever knew to teach,” she told Kate. “Generous to a fault one minute—you remember, Francine, when he had his mother bring ice cream for the whole school every day for a week during that heat wave?”