SEAL the Deal (4 page)

“Here’s to love that lasts,” she said
quietly, and watched two seagulls rise from the water and fly into the
distance.

Still holding hands definitely. Indefinitely.

A gentle breeze blew off the water causing
sections of the newspaper to scatter to the floor. She sighed and let them lie on
the ground. She wasn’t moving a muscle for anything right now. She was just
going to relax and enjoy the sun as it drifted lower in the sky.

This was the best Maeve had felt in
months. She finally had both of the extra rooms of her house rented. She had a
Baltimore client with a stunning property in Canton and a boatload of cash to
decorate it.

She had even found a neighborhood kid to
mow her lawn weekly for a song.

Life was good.

“A little early to be drinking, Maeve,”
noted a voice over her shoulder.

Maeve didn’t even turn around. She just
balled up a page of the Style section and tossed it over her shoulder at the
voice.

Lacey caught the wad right before it hit
her face. “Good aim. Sure you don’t have eyes in the back of your head?”

“I saw your reflection in the wine glass. Grab
a glass and pull up a chair. I picked up a new Cab I’ve been aching to try. Cabernet-of-the-year
according to
Wine Connoisseur
.”

Lacey went back into the kitchen and
re-emerged, glass in hand. Kicking off the stilettos, she let out a sigh.

“From that sigh, I’m guessing they were
pretty boring funerals.”

Lacey smiled slyly. “Then I guess your
instincts aren’t as good as you think.” She pulled a section of newspaper
toward her. “Are these the obituaries?”

“I circled a couple that you might find
interesting,” Maeve answered and gave a careless wave to Lacey’s murmur of
thanks. “So what happened?”

Lacey set the newspaper down and gazed dreamily
out to the Bay. “Well, the first interesting thing that happened was falling
and hitting my head.” She raised her eyebrows for emphasis. “Bad.”

“You okay?”

“Definitely. Think it only hurt my pride. I
blame these stupid shoes you made me wear.”

“You just need more practice in them,”
Maeve said, reverently touching one of the shoes as she bent over to retrieve
her scattered newspaper. “Sexy little things. And with that dark suit, it’s
just the perfect mix of sex kitten and real estate guru. I need them back for
Saturday, you know.”

“Of course.”

“And the second thing that happened?”
Maeve prodded.

“I met the hottest man I’ve ever seen in
my life.”

“At a funeral? You’re kidding.”

“Nope, not kidding.”

“Were you drinking?” Maeve narrowed her
eyes at her friend.

“God, no! What’s the matter with you?”

“At a funeral.” Maeve repeated, a
statement this time, not a question. “Wait a second. It’s not some old guy or
something, right?”

“Oh, please. Of course not. He’s probably
my age. So way too old for you,” she noted. It was a well-known fact Maeve
preferred the younger set. “Total muffin, as you would say.”

“A muffin,” Maeve said appreciatively, the
same way an art connoisseur might say “A Monet.”

Lacey gave herself a small shake as if to
break a spell. “So anyway, that’s it. Bumped my head. Met a man. End of story.”

“What do you mean, ‘end of story’? Didn’t
you get his number?”

“Of course not. I was there on business.”

“Oh. Family member of the dead guy?”

“No. But definitely too close for me to
mess with, not that I’m looking for that right now anyway. The widow’s property
would be worth a ton, and she’s already got my business card in hand.”

“That’s pathetic. You need a good date. Well,
you need more than that. But let’s start with a date. That woman won’t be looking
to sell that property for months. Maybe years.”

“So, I’ll be patient. It panned out for
the Miron listing, didn’t it? And for yours, for that matter.”

“I didn’t sell.”

“No, but I got a cheap room to rent.”

Maeve laughed. She always thought it
ironic that it was Lacey who had convinced her to keep the waterfront home she
inherited from her late grandmother. It would have been a nice commission for
Lacey, and Maeve had been ready to sign on the dotted line. “Well, I still say
you should have asked for his number. Do you know his name?”

“No.”

“Where he works?”

“No.”

Maeve rolled her eyes. “Did you find
anything out about him at all?”

Her grin wide, Lacey leaned forward and
took a leisurely sip of Cabernet. “Well, from the feel of his arms around me,
he probably bench presses 425 pounds.”

Maeve nearly dropped her glass, jostling
it just enough that the red wine splashed over the side and onto her cream silk
slacks. She didn’t even give the stain a second glance as she eyed her friend. “Okay.
You owe me details. Now.”

As the sun completed its path toward the
sparkling blue horizon, Lacey filled her in on the details, then rested her feet
on the café table in front of her.

“425?” Maeve sighed. “That’s Greek god
material.”

Lacey grinned.

“Well, you should at least have gone to
dinner with him. At least. Your whole time-off-from-dating thing is just
unnatural. Use it or lose it.”

“It worked for Vi.”

“Honey, I’ve seen Vi on TV, and she
doesn’t look nearly as sexually frustrated as you do. She’s getting it somewhere.”

Lacey frowned. “Then she never lets it get
serious enough that it might distract her from her career. She must just use
them for sex and then toss them out the door.”

“Here-here!” Maeve toasted, raising her
glass enthusiastically.

“I’m not very good at that,” Lacey
grumbled, shrinking further down in her seat.

Maeve shook her head as she refilled her
friend’s glass. “I just wish you wouldn’t take it all so damn seriously, Lacey.
You can reinvent your career years from now. Look at me. Thirty-six years old
and I’ve finally started getting paid for what I love.”

“Dating younger men?”

“The other thing I love,” Maeve clarified.
“Interior design.”

“Well, this is it for me. I’m sick of
being the
unsuccessful
daughter.”

Maeve rolled her eyes, unable to relate to
the freakish dynamics of Lacey’s family of habitual over-achievers. Maeve had
won the lottery when it came to her own family. Of course, she’d paid her dues
in other ways, she remembered sadly. Leaning back, she indulged in a
therapeutic gulp of wine. “Vi is Vi. Lacey is Lacey. Stop trying to be more
like her and just be who you want to be.”

“And who would that be? A thirty-year-old
who has no clue about what she wants to be when she grows up? Or grows old, in
my case.”

“No, a thirty-year-old who lives for
today. Look at that view, Lacey.” Maeve extended her arm to the Chesapeake. “You’re
sipping a Cab enjoying a view of the Bay while Vi is probably in some crowded
financial district crammed in a windowless office getting yelled at by some
producer.”

“Or flying to Paris to cover the European
Banking Symposium.”

“Paris? Really? That bitch.”

Lacey jumped at the sound of a door
slamming inside the house. She darted a startled look at Maeve.

“Oh I forgot to tell you—I found a
renter for the third room. She seems really nice. Quiet type. Perfect renter,
as far as I’m concerned.” Maeve emptied the last wine from her glass and
finally started blotting the stain on her pants.

“Where is she from?”

“I didn’t ask. She’s still in college, I
think. Cleans a few houses in the neighborhood. That old couple in the split
foyer on the corner uses her.”

“You didn’t even run a credit check on
her?”

“What do I need that for? I’m a good judge
of character.”

Lacey raised her eyebrows.

“Okay. With women. I’m a good judge of
character when it comes to women. With men, my record’s a little sketchy.”

***

SLAM!

Bess cringed at the sound of the door
behind her. She hadn’t meant to let it slam. She didn’t want anyone to think
she was going to be a loud tenant.

Stepping hesitantly into the room that was
now hers, she was greeted by a spindle-framed twin size bed and a dresser with
worn-down varnish. The walls were painted a light shade of pink, with grey
smudges from years of gentle abuse and a smattering of nail holes from pictures
that had been removed. One framed photo remained with a black and white image
of a couple sitting together on the steps of a back porch. It looked like it
had been taken in the 1950s, though she couldn’t be sure. The couple’s hands
were intertwined as though they would never part.

The man was gazing at the woman—his
wife, Bess imagined. And the wife smiled at the camera, not in an overly happy
way that would make a person think that the smile was for the sake of the
photograph. Just a subtle, warm smile as though she always wore that
expression. Bess indulged in a brief fantasy that the woman was her own
grandmother, who was right now making cookies from scratch downstairs. For a
moment, Bess could swear she smelled them baking.

The daydream dissolved with the sound of
laughter coming from somewhere in the house. It must be Maeve, talking to her
other housemate. Bess wondered if she should introduce herself. She didn’t want
to seem rude.

Better not. The less she talked to them,
the fewer questions they’d ask.

She stretched out on the bed and felt safe
for the first time in days, gazing up at the watchful face of her imaginary
grandmother.

Mick juggled the casserole dish under one
arm, fumbling with his keys till he found Mrs. B’s. Funny how he still carried it
attached to his key ring after all these years. She and Doc were like family to
him, so keeping the key on hand made him feel as though he had a home to return
to no matter where he was deployed.

Still, he probably should have called first.

“Mrs. B! It’s Mick,” he called out in the
foyer. “Thought I’d surprise you with dinner and…” He stopped mid-sentence when
he saw her in the living room among stacks of papers and photos, with tears in
her eyes.

“Oh, Mick. You should have told me you
were coming. I could have made something.” The old woman blotted her eyes with
a nearby tissue.

“Why are you crying?” He sat beside her,
putting the Pyrex on the coffee table. Mick rubbed her back. “Sorry. Dumb
question. Of course you’re going to cry. I just hate to see it.”

“They are happy tears. We got old and we
were too busy to notice. But we had a wonderful time together.” She gazed down at
some photos in her hands. “It’s something I hope you are blessed to have one
day.”

“It’s a rare thing, what you and Doc had. I
think I’d rather just steer clear of love entirely than be disappointed that it
wasn’t as real as yours was.”

“You’re cutting yourself off from life
then,” she said tenderly as she returned to sorting the photographs. “How
ironic. A man who risks his life every time he is on a mission. And you enjoy
every minute of it, I might add. But you won’t risk your heart.”

Mick didn’t bother to argue. He picked up
a photo of Doc and Mrs. B in front of the Eiffel Tower. “When was this?” he
asked, hoping to change the subject.

“1966. Maybe ’67. Is there a date written
on the back?”

He flipped it over. “No.”

She shook her head. “I always meant to be
more organized with my photos. Even back then. But I couldn’t even remember to
write the date on the back. That’s why I’m doing this now. I just want to put
them in some kind of order as best I can. I want to remember all the places
we’ve been and things we’ve seen.” She reached for a photo she had set aside. “And
people we met,” she added with a gleam in her eye, handing Mick the photo.

Mick’s jaw dropped an inch. “Is that
Nixon?”

“Yes. That came as a surprise to both of
us. When Don first began cancer research, he earned some kind of award for the
hospital. The President was at the luncheon.” She clucked her tongue. “Look at
that. Don wasn’t even wearing his best suit, and he’s all rumpled. But he was
always a bit rumpled. I loved him for it. And he knew that. He knew it every
day of our life together.” She touched the photo to her lips thoughtfully. “Never
let the people you love wonder how you feel. It’s a waste of precious time. You
remember that.”

Reaching for another photo, she looked
down at her much younger self. Doc’s arm was around her and a cigarette was in
his hand, surprising Mick. Everyone smoked back then, it seemed, even Doc.

She smiled. “I was young. You’re so young
right now, and you don’t even know it. You’ll only know it when you’re my age
and looking back.” She took another handful of photos from a pile. “Well, my,
my. Who is this lad?”