Elissa Ambrose – A Mother's Reflection (страница 9)

“The inn isn’t far from here, but I would have drowned in this storm,” she said, looking out the window.

He shifted into gear and pulled out of the lot. “When do you plan on looking for an apartment?”

“I thought I’d scout around this weekend. As charming as it is, I can’t live at the inn indefinitely.”

“If you want charming, I know of an apartment you can sublet. The tenant is a friend of mine. He’s away on a one-year sabbatical in France, and the landlord is willing to sublet on a month-to-month basis. Why not take a look at it? Living there temporarily would give you time to get to know the different neighborhoods before making a commitment to any one place.”

“Is it furnished?”

“Yes. Is that a problem? Of course it’s a problem. You’ll want to have your own things with you.”

“No, actually I would prefer it furnished.” She opened her purse and took out a pad and pen. “What’s the landlord’s number? I’ll give him a call when I get back to the inn. I’d like to see the place tonight, if I can.”

Adam rattled off the number. He wanted to know what she was planning to do with her own furniture, but he kept silent. Unlike some people, he wasn’t nosy.

As if she could read his mind, she said, “Since I won’t be staying in the apartment permanently, it would be silly to move all my things twice, don’t you think? For now, I’ll just leave my things, uh, stored where they are.”

“Rachel, why don’t you come over for dinner?” Megan asked. “The apartment is practically around the corner. Dad could drive you over there after we eat.”

Adam caught a glimpse of Rachel’s face. She was looking at him expectantly. He didn’t want her to get the wrong idea, especially after the way he had confided in her at the arena. Sure, she was attractive, and he couldn’t help but notice the concern in her eyes when they had talked about Megan, or the way her cheeks had flushed when he’d complimented her suit, or the way she’d crossed and uncrossed her legs when something seemed to bother her. But his life had enough complications and he sure as hell didn’t need another one. “I’m sure Rachel already has plans.”

“Puh-leeze! What plans could she have? It’s not as if she knows anyone in this town. And Paula is making chicken potpies. Paula takes care of us,” Megan explained to Rachel. “I bet her food is a lot better than the food at the inn. Don’t eat there, Rachel. What if you get food poisoning? Who’ll replace you at the center?”

Rachel laughed. “Actually, I’ve heard that the food there is pretty good. But your father is right. I have plans. I already made reservations.”

Adam pulled into the circular driveway outside the inn, and Megan made one last stab. “Won’t you change your mind, Rachel? I want you to meet Cinnamon. She’s my very best friend in the world, even though she’s a messy eater.”

“Sorry, Megan. I’ll have to meet your friend another time.”

“Cinnamon is her dog,” Adam said. “I think our Grace Farrel has an ulterior motive. She probably wants your opinion about Cinnamon playing Sandy, the mutt that befriends Annie and follows her everywhere. I, for one, think it’s a terrible idea. Cinnamon may be sweet, but she’s as dumb as a box of rocks. Completely un-trainable. What if, during the performance, she gets it in her head to do her business?”

Megan looked mortified. “Cinny would never do that!”

“And isn’t Sandy supposed to be male?” Adam pressed on. “As in, ‘Here, boy!’”

“Dramatic license,” Megan said. “We can make our own rules.”

“You mean poetic license,” Rachel said, laughing, “but you have the right idea.”

“She’s not even the right color,” Adam persisted. “Shouldn’t she be bright orange?”

“That’s the comic strip,” Megan said. “It’s supposed to be wacky. This is a play. More like real life.”

Rachel glanced at Adam. “We wouldn’t have to change a thing.”

“You see, Dad? Rachel thinks that Cinny should be Sandy.”

The way those two connected, you’d think they’d known each other forever. Adam felt like a heel. He knew that Rachel had declined Megan’s invitation to dinner only because he hadn’t backed it up. An idea occurred to him. “Why don’t you stop by for coffee after you’ve seen the apartment? Paula makes a mean batch of brownies.” What was the harm in one cup of coffee? Coffee wasn’t dinner. Besides, he was doing it for Megan.

“Say you’ll come,” Megan said excitedly. “Please, Rachel? I could show you my scrapbook. It’s got clippings of every performance I’ve been in. My mother started it when I was four years old, and Dad’s been keeping it going.”

“I’d love to see your scrapbook,” Rachel said. “And I’d love to meet Cinnamon.”

Looking at Rachel’s bright smile, Adam began to doubt the wisdom of his invitation. What if she were entertaining ideas about him? He didn’t want to lead her on. He liked his life the way it was. After Cathy died, it had taken a while, but he’d finally managed to pull himself together. There were still times he found it hard to get up in the morning, to go about his day as if his heart hadn’t been ripped from his chest, but for the most part, he was fine. Content. He had Megan, he had his mother, he had his job. And then there was Erika.

Erika was a good sport. He knew how much she had sacrificed. When the council had offered him this position, she’d given up her administrator’s job at the musical theater in Ridgefield to work for him at the center. He also knew how difficult for her these past two years had been, helping out with his family. He owed her so much.

He waited until Rachel had disappeared into the inn before he drove off. The rain was coming down harder now, and even though he’d switched the wipers to max, the windshield remained foggy and he couldn’t see clearly.

Rachel followed the landlord up the two flights of stairs. “This house is over a hundred years old,” he said. “It was split into six apartments and remodeled about ten years ago by Logan Construction.”

“The firm that built the community center,” Rachel said.

The small landing featured an octagonal etched-glass window high in the wall. The landlord nodded toward one of two white doors. “Your neighbor is in Alaska for the summer, so it’ll be plenty quiet.” He opened the other door and reached inside to flick on a light switch, then stood back for Rachel to enter.

Simply furnished with a daybed, bureau, dinette set and bookcase, the apartment was tiny, but the exposed roof beams that soared overhead created an illusion of spaciousness. The ceiling, walls and wide wooden floorboards were painted creamy white, and light from the track fixtures spilled across the satiny surfaces. Rachel walked across the room toward a pair of French doors leading out to a small balcony.

“Lots of light during the day,” the landlord said. “Pretty garden in the yard.” He opened two doors near the entrance. “Closet and bathroom here, and over there—” he motioned across the counter “—the Pullman kitchen.”

Everything was small in scale, yet efficiently planned. A range and half-size fridge were set into the wall, tucked next to the cabinetry. The closet was fitted with wire baskets, racks and shelves. Rachel walked into the small blue-and-white-tiled bathroom, where there was even a claw-footed tub. A stacked washer and dryer were next to the sink.

She rejoined the landlord. “I’ll take it.”

On the short drive to Adam’s house she marveled at her luck. The apartment was welcoming and airy, and it was furnished. Although the rent was higher than she’d planned on, it was within her budget. But most important, even though the apartment was three miles from the community center, it was just a hop and a skip from Adam’s house. A hop and a skip from Megan.

Rachel was smiling as she rang the bell. She heard a dog barking inside the house, over the din of a TV. “Will someone turn off that idiot machine?” Adam shouted. “And someone get the door!”

“I’ll get the door!” Megan called back. “And you’d better be talking about the TV, not Cinny. She’s not an idiot!” She swung the door open and beamed at Rachel. Behind her, a chestnut-brown cocker spaniel was running back and forth, yapping noisily.

Adam came into the foyer. “Rachel, hi. Sorry about the mayhem. Come on in. How did you like the apartment?”

“It’s wonderful! In fact—”

“I’ll get my scrapbook,” Megan said, and ran down the hallway toward the narrow staircase, which in traditional Colonial style divided the house in two.

“Who turned off the TV? Did I tell anyone to turn off the TV?” A woman about Doreen’s age appeared in the foyer, wearing an old bathrobe and floppy slippers. “Where’s that old bat?” she grumbled. “I have a good mind to fire her. Paula!”

Adam took the woman’s hands in his. “Mom, this is Rachel Hartwell. She’s going to be teaching at the center. Rachel, this is my mother, Evelyn Wessler.”

Evelyn Wessler bore a strong resemblance to her son. Her eyes were the same piercing blue, her cheekbones high and angled. She carried herself with the same pride, but Rachel was convinced that this was more the result of environment than heredity. Megan held that same pride.

Another older woman was just a step behind Evelyn. Her eyes were gentle and understanding, her smile warm. “It’s time for your medication,” she said to Evelyn, “and then it’s off to bed.”