Market Street (12 page)

Alexis knocked on the door. “Aidan sent another care package.”

“Should I call him and tell him I can’t eat a gallon of soup every day?” Cassie shook her head.

Aidan had been delivering thermoses of soup with notes written on yellow Post-its. “Clam chowder and no one to share it with.” “Split pea with snap peas from your garden.” Half a counter in Alexis’s kitchen was filled with thermoses and Tupperware containers.

“He sent pizza.” Alexis handed her the cardboard box.

Cassie opened the box and took out the card. “‘I tried to make our favorite pizza but I’m missing the most important ingredient: you. I’ll wait as long as I have to.’”

“I think Aidan’s been watching daytime soap operas.” Alexis took out a slice of pizza. “This is pretty good. Your husband is quite the chef.”

Cassie turned back to the piles of clothes so Alexis couldn’t see her crying.

“You’re crying again, aren’t you?” Alexis finished the piece of pizza. “Come on, we have to get you out of here. I’m taking you to Fenton’s today.”

“I can drive myself.” Cassie wiped her eyes.

“I don’t trust you. You’ll drive around the block and sneak back upstairs to read
Anna Karenina.
I’m taking Poodles to ‘puppy and me yoga’ anyway, we’ll drop you off.”

*   *   *

Cassie felt
better the minute she walked through Fenton’s double glass doors. The front of the store smelled like Sarah Jessica Parker’s perfume Lovely. White lilies announcing a January white sale were placed on counters, on top of display ads, behind cash registers. Women jostled one another to grab one-thousand-count Egyptian cotton sheets and terry bath towels.

She had forgotten the thrill of being in the midst of so much activity. The buzz in the air was intoxicating. Cassie found herself stroking a white silk robe, though she had no intention of buying one.

“Good afternoon, Cassie. It’s wonderful to see you.” Derek wore a black suit and a crisp white shirt. He had a white lily pinned to his suit pocket.

“Hi, Derek. I came to see my mother.”

“She went to lunch at Waterfront with the sales rep for Estée Lauder.” Derek held Cassie’s hand to his lips.

“Oh.” Cassie frowned. “Maybe I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“Your mother told me you’re going to head the food emporium. She’s been telling everyone you’re going to inject the store with new life.” Derek kept her hand in his. “Why don’t you go downstairs and see how it’s coming along?”

Cassie took the escalator down to the basement. Workers were everywhere: hammering, painting, carrying industrial-sized fridges. James was standing in the middle of the space, staring at a marble bust of a Greek god.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” she said, and immediately wished she hadn’t. James blushed a deep red and took the glasses off to rub his eyes.

“I don’t wear them for business meetings because they make me look like I’m twelve years old. But contacts make my eyes water.” He smiled.

Cassie turned to the statue. “Let me guess. Dionysius, god of excess?” The marble figure was in a semi-reclining position, nibbling a bunch of grapes and holding a marble goblet.

“I prefer to think of him as god of wine and food. I want the customer to have the feeling of abundance and decadence,” James replied earnestly. “What do you think?”

“It’s too bad there isn’t a female god who represents those things. But I guess Hera was always in the kitchen with a needle and thread.” Cassie walked around the statue.

“You studied Greek mythology?”

“I attended the Convent of the Sacred Heart. The classics were an important part of the curriculum,” Cassie replied.

“At St. Ignatius we sang hymns every morning. In senior year there was a required trip to the Vatican.” James dusted the bust with a white cloth.

“I traveled to Italy a couple of years ago,” Cassie said.

“I haven’t been back since a post-college backpacking trip. Next time I want to stay in a hotel, not on the floor of a youth hostel.” James motioned for her to follow him.

One section held a brick pizza oven, a panini press, and a large fondue pot. A floor-to-ceiling wine rack took up another wall, and a corner of the store was built out to resemble an English library.

“I’m going to put a fireplace in here and fill the bookshelves with jams and jellies. I thought we could have toasters on the tables so shoppers could toast their own bread.” James moved his hands when he talked.

“How about scones with clotted cream? I always envied the British their afternoon tea because it’s an excuse to eat jam and whipped cream before dinner.” Cassie walked over to the bookshelf.

“I like that.” James pulled up the cuff of his shirt and looked at his watch. “I haven’t stopped for lunch. Will you join me in the café upstairs? I can tell you my ideas for lighting and artwork.”

Cassie rode beside him on the escalator to the fourth floor. James wore a yellow collared shirt and khaki pants. His hair was brushed to one side and smoothed down with gel.

“You’re very good at what you do,” Cassie said as they waited for a table.

James blushed and smiled at the same time. “I love that people have the confidence to turn over a space and let me create something magical. Your mother is so passionate, it’s contagious.”

Cassie laughed and followed the waiter to a table by the window. “She’s like a gale-force wind. You can’t be running the other way or you’ll be blown over.”

“I think our mothers are similar. Mine is a corporate attorney.” James pulled out Cassie’s chair. “It’s probably why I picked a fiancée from the South: someone who knew how to relax and drink peach daiquiris.”

“You’re engaged?” Cassie consulted the menu. It was the first time she had eaten out since she was sick and the choices looked too filling: gnocchi in Alfredo sauce, steak tenderloin with roasted potatoes. She glanced out the window at Union Square and suddenly felt exhausted. She wanted to be in bed with a bowl of Aidan’s chicken tortellini soup and a stack of plain saltines.

James adjusted his glasses and stared at the menu. “We’ve been together since Northwestern. Emily is from Atlanta and she’s an interior designer in Chicago.”

Cassie ran her fingers over the entrée selections. The French onion soup looked the easiest to swallow. She seemed to have a permanent lump in her throat that made it impossible to eat steak or chicken.

“We planned a summer wedding at her parents’ home in Atlanta. A giant tent, dance floor over the pool. Swans floating on a man-made lake.” James took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “But we hit a bump in the road at Thanksgiving.”

“What happened?” Cassie asked.

“I got the job designing Emerald in September. It was a big deal for me: once you start designing in different cities you get a national reputation.” He paused and took a sip of water. “I asked Emily to join me but she was in the middle of a project. In the beginning I’d go home every weekend or she’d come here and we’d play tourist.” James stopped and signaled the waiter.

“I met her in Atlanta for Thanksgiving; her parents host a huge dinner. I had to get back here, so Emily stayed on for a few days,” James continued after the waiter took their order.

“A few days later I saw some Thanksgiving weekend photos posted on her Facebook page. There was a whole album of her and Percy Bingham. They went to elementary school together. He’s head of an accounting firm in Atlanta, belongs to the same tennis club as her father.”

“Oh,” Cassie mumbled.

“She called me frantically apologizing. Said someone else posted them, they were just kidding around like when they were children. I don’t think Percy had his hand up her shirt and his tongue down her throat in the first grade.”

“I’m so sorry.” Cassie sipped a glass of water.

“We’ve patched things up, but it’s not easy to gain back the trust. I check her Facebook page every day. I watch her cell phone bill to see if she calls any numbers in Atlanta. She keeps telling me she loves me, that it will never happen again, but I can’t erase the image of Percy sucking her face.”

“You’re still getting married?” Cassie scraped butter on a piece of Melba toast.

“The wedding is not till August.” James smiled. “Hopefully by then the image will have faded. Sometimes I feel like a fool, but Emily has a lot of wonderful qualities. Long-distance romances are hard and I blame myself for taking this job. I hope when we live in the same city things will return to normal.”

Cassie let the waiter put the bowl of French onion soup in front of her. The smell of onions made her stomach turn. She pushed the plate away and nibbled another piece of toast.

“If you don’t like the soup, you can share my salmon,” James offered.

“No, thank you. I’m just not hungry these days.” Cassie shrugged.

“Your mother told me you were sick. You’re staying in the city while you recover.” James ate another bite of salmon.

“My husband had sex with his student.” The words came out before she could stop them. “Her boyfriend jilted her. Molly asked Aidan to come to her apartment to read a paper and they did it on the futon.” Cassie stared out the window.

“I’m sorry.” James put down his fork.

“I shouldn’t be telling you. Please don’t say anything to my mother. Aidan has never been her favorite person. I haven’t been out in public since it happened, and I just feel…” She stopped. Her hands were shaking and her lips trembled.

“Like everybody knows,” James finished. “When I went back to Chicago at Christmas I thought the whole town read Emily’s Facebook page.”

“That’s it.” Cassie nodded. “All these women have perfect lives and they see through me like an X-ray.”

“You didn’t do anything. You’re the same person.”

Cassie smiled. “I’m trying to be the same person. I keep thinking I’ll run into Molly, which is silly. She lives in Berkeley and she’s not the type to shop in Union Square. But she’s like Hamlet’s ghost, hovering over my shoulder.”

“Are you going back to your husband?” James cut a piece of salmon.

“I want to go back to him, I miss him.” Cassie dipped her spoon in the soup. “We’ve been married for ten years. He has a sixteen-year-old daughter I’ve helped raise, not always a pleasurable experience.” Cassie laughed.

“But you don’t know if you can trust him?”

“I don’t know if I can trust myself to trust him.” Cassie frowned. “Even if he is a choirboy now, I’ll wonder why he’s home late, or who he sees at the gym. I found a cupcake doily in his lunch box and I went crazy.”

“You’re protecting yourself from getting hurt again.” James ate a bite of salmon.

“I want things to go back to the way they were.” Cassie nibbled Melba toast. “Nothing tastes good. I used to love French onion soup.”

“The solution is to eat dessert first.” James grinned. “Why don’t I ask the waiter to bring Fenton’s lemon custard soufflé?”

Cassie pushed the soup bowl away. “I’m sorry to ruin our business lunch. Tell me about the art you commissioned. My mother said it’s fabulous.”

“I found an artist in Sonoma, he uses the side of a barn as a canvas.” James signaled the waiter. “He paints murals of outdoor markets. I’m driving up there on Monday. Why don’t you come with me? I could use another set of eyes.”

“Could we visit a dairy I’ve been talking to?” Cassie watched the waiter replace her bowl of soup with a fluffy yellow soufflé.

“Of course, and there’s an antique store I’d like to visit. I’ll pack a picnic.” When James smiled he looked like a schoolboy.

“You’re right.” Cassie ate a spoonful of soufflé. It tasted sweet and slipped down her throat. “It’s much easier to eat dessert.”

*   *   *

Alexis was
standing in front of the Fresh counter on the first floor, spritzing her wrist with perfume. She waved as Cassie and James descended the escalator. “We just finished yoga and I thought I’d see if you’re ready to go home. Derek is sweet enough to hold Poodles while I sample these delicious new scents.” Alexis wore orange tights and a purple leotard. She had taupe ballet slippers on her feet and her hair was pulled into a ponytail.

“Only you could walk into Fenton’s half-naked and look better than any other woman in the store.” Cassie grinned. She studied herself in the makeup mirror. Her eyes were puffy and her cheeks were pale but she felt a little better. The lemon soufflé had been the first thing that tasted good all week.

Alexis took Poodles from Derek. “We should go home, Poodles needs his nap. Unless you’d like to stay.” Alexis looked pointedly at James.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce you.” Cassie blushed. “This is James Parrish, the interior designer.”

“I heard you’re a boy genius.” Alexis smiled.

“Hardly a genius,” James replied. He turned to Cassie. “I better get back to work. Shall we say ten o’clock on Monday? I’ll pick you up.”

“That would be great.” Cassie nodded, avoiding Alexis’s questioning gaze.

*   *   *

“You didn’t
tell me he wears glasses,” Alexis said as they drove home.

“I didn’t remember.” Cassie gripped the dashboard as Alexis took a sharp turn onto Sacramento Street.

“He reminds me of Hugh Grant in
Four Weddings and a Funeral,
before he got soft and middle-aged.” Alexis pulled into the garage. “Getting out was good for you. You have a little color in your cheeks.”

“Thanks.” Cassie nodded. “The emporium is coming to life.”

“Did I hear you planning a date with James?” Alexis asked casually, scooping up Poodles and opening the car door.

“A business trip. We’re going to drive up to Sonoma and look at some art.” Cassie slammed her door. “I’m married, Alexis, and James has a beautiful southern fiancée.”

“I’m just saying”—Alexis opened the door to the kitchen—“you have a little color in your cheeks.”

*   *   *

Cassie climbed
up to the third floor and collapsed on the bed. She missed her own bedroom, her view of the garden, her sock drawer with socks of every length and fabric. She wanted to slip on fuzzy slipper socks and climb under her down comforter.

It had been fun to go to Fenton’s, to see the emporium take shape, but suddenly she felt like there was a weight flattening her chest. She picked up her cell phone and saw six missed calls from Aidan. She dialed his number and was about to hit
SEND
when the phone rang.