“This is truly bittersweet,” Nick said as they watched the van make a right turn onto Second Avenue. “Okay! That’s it! It’s all gone!” Nick turned to Olivia and found the same quizzical sadness in her expression that he was feeling. “Gosh, I feel so weird about this all of a sudden.”
“Me too. I have a sinking feeling. Well, we have our pied-à-terre, thank goodness, or I think I’d weep.”
“Amen. Olivia? I think the pied-à-terre was a good idea.”
“I know you had your doubts.”
“Not any longer. I realize I need to be weaned from Manhattan. If I just jumped on a plane to Charleston, never to return, I think I’d feel like I was missing a limb.”
“Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it? You love this city, you hate this city. When the cab’s right there or you can get that eight o’clock table at La Bernardin or can snap up those two tickets in the orchestra to La Traviata at the last minute, you wouldn’t want to live anywhere else on earth.”
“Yes, that’s true. And heaven forbid some terrible disease gets you, the best medical care in the world is at your fingertips.”
“But!” Olivia was about to launch into a litany of complaints against New York City.
Insane cost of living. Fierce winters. Gridlock. Tourists. Terrorism. Crimes of every kind. Overcrowding. Potholes. Pollution. Competition at every turn, whether it was for a promotion at work you landed over your best friend or successfully grabbing that last Hass avocado at Citarella. People have been killed for less in New York. It was a coldhearted jungle.
“Yes, indeed. I know those buts all too well! Well, for a time we’ll have the best of both worlds.”
“I’m actually looking forward to this new chapter in our lives.” Olivia said. “It’s going to be very interesting to see how we settle into Dixieland.”
“Dixiela . . . Olivia! Okay, darling girl, you know how I adore you, so I’m going to tell you this because I adore you . . .”
“What?”
“In its best interpretation Dixieland is a reference to a particular kind of New Orleans jazz music. In its worst, it’s pejorative, referencing the South during slavery. Mammy and pappy standing by?”
“Oh no! I did not know that! I’ll never say it again!”
“And we are moving to the Lowcountry. A very different animal.”
“Center of the universe. Got it.”
“Exactly!”
“Would you like to get a bite to eat? And then we can check out the apartment?”
“Sure! Let’s walk over to Magnolia’s.”
Over a BLT and a western omelet that bore no resemblance to the tender omelet she had enjoyed on Necker Island, they struggled to define their feelings. There was no question about it. Olivia was feeling morose, but so was Nick, and that was surprising to both of them.
“I have a theory about this,” Olivia said. “Would you like a french fry?”
Nick reached across the table and took two enormous french fries from Olivia’s platter.
“I don’t know why I always say no when the waiter wants to know if I’d like to have fries on the side. Maybe it makes me feel virtuous.”
“Please,” Olivia said and grinned. “Then you wind up eating mine!” She pushed the ketchup toward him.
“Well, this way we both indulge somewhat less. So? Your theory? Does it involve pillowcases?”
“No, Dr. Smarty Pants. It’s relative to the concept of retirement.”
“I think I see where you’re headed. This stage of life means there’s a lot more road in our rearview mirror than there is through the windshield.”
“Mortality. I hate to even think about it.”
“Yes. I thought I would be—I don’t know—thrilled about retirement and relocating. I thought I’d feel like doing cartwheels! And while I’m profoundly happy to return to the island of my youth, I’m somehow sad too.”
“We have to find something for you to do. Besides cartwheels. You’ll break a hip, and then what?”
“Funny. Well, I actually rang up the South Carolina Historical Society and had quite a nice chat with the executive director, a lovely woman named Faye. Jenson is her last name, I think. I offered to, you know, volunteer—cataloging or whatever they needed. She suggested that I come in first and see what they have in the collection, spend a few afternoons reading. So that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Nick! That is an ingenious idea!”
He brightened up then.
“Yes. I think it is too. I mean, I’ve spent decades teaching history, and I’d bet you money that there are all sorts of stories in South Carolina’s history I’ve never heard about. I’ll bet they have old Civil War diaries and maybe even Revolutionary War correspondence. Who knows what all they’ve got?”
“Well, if I know you, you’ll get in there and find the scandals and the secrets,” Olivia said, and saw the sparkle she loved return to Nick’s beautiful eyes. “And then we’ll have things to talk about at every dinner party in Charleston! We’ll be the new darlings in town.”
“I certainly hope so! And maybe I’ll write a book about my discoveries and become famous in my . . .” Nick was loath to use the words old age in reference to himself.
“How about sabbatical years?”
“Yes, I like the sound of that much better.”
The waiter unceremoniously slapped the check on their table.
“Nick?”
“Hmmm?” Nick was checking the math and calculating the tip.
“Everything is going to be all right.”
“Yes. I know. It’s a new chapter, not the final chapter.” Nick slipped a five and a one-dollar bill under the saltshaker. “This omelet and sandwich just cost us thirty-six dollars. Including the tip. I won’t miss that!”
“You and me, Nick, just we two. I love you so.”
Nick looked up and smiled so warmly at Olivia that she felt the warmth inside her heart.
“I love you too,” he said. “Olivia?”
They had probably professed their love for each other thousands of times over the years, but neither one of them ever tired of hearing it said.
“Yes?”
“I miss the submarine.”
“Oh, my dear sweet man. You can’t say I didn’t warn you. Their life is very addictive.”
“You know the whole Gatsby ‘the rich are different’ thing?”
“Of course!”
“Well, they are. And Bob is a handful. But it’s not necessarily a bad thing all the time.”
“Well, the nice part is that Bob is fiercely loyal to his friends and colleagues. From where I sit, I don’t particularly care if he’s arrogant or bombastic. I’m not his wife. I’m his interior designer.”
“That’s right, missy. Let there be no confusion about that!”
“Very funny. I’ve had clients who were just as arrogant and bombastic and they didn’t pay their bills or they reneged on their contracts. Bob pays his bills.” Her stomach began to hurt.
“An important feature in the relationship.”
“You have no idea.”
They paid their check and decided to walk down Park Avenue toward the office just to see the flowers. The medians were planted with thousands of pink begonias at their peak. The air was warm but surprisingly pleasant for a June day that could have been sweltering. They held hands and crossed the side streets. A breeze laced with the sweet smell of summer greens mixed with a trace of something more elemental drifted from east to west in a whoosh the whole way across the island.
“I’ll miss this,” Nick said, taking a deep breath and sighing. “I’ll wake up in the night longing for this!”
“What? The look of Park Avenue in bloom or the smell of fuel emissions?” Olivia said.
“Is that what I’ve smelled all these years? Dear Lord!”
They reached the office and Roni was there waiting for them.
“Welcome to Le Petit Château! I had a set of keys made for you, Nick,” she said, toss
ing them in his direction.
He caught them and said, “Thanks! I hadn’t even thought of that yet.”
“That’s why I’m here!”
“Come see what Roni and I have done,” Olivia said.
“I haven’t been over here in ages!” Nick said. “It’s smaller than I remember.”
They were standing in the living room that served as Olivia’s showroom/office. There was a love seat with an armchair by the window. Two glass desks on chrome bases with matching white leather desk chairs stood on opposite walls. A small round conference table with four chairs that would now double as a dining table. Roni had put a bunch of flowers in a vase in the center. There was also a lovely bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket with two tall stems.
How thoughtful, Olivia thought, and Nick nodded to her in agreement, another small example of their synchronistic thoughts.
“Well, you needed something to mark the moment!” Roni said. “It’s a big day for you two!”
“Roni Larini? You are the sweetest woman alive!” Olivia said.
“Get a third glass and share it with us!” Nick said.
“Oh, no, no. But thanks. I have to get going in a few minutes.”
Nick took a peek at the kitchen, which was a small galley tucked away. Olivia had furnished it with extra pots, pans, glasses, and dishes from their co-op so that now it was fully functioning. He smiled, thinking that he could easily prepare a simple meal in there.
The bedroom had a new queen-size bed with a tailored upholstered headboard and was made up with white linens trimmed in a Wedgwood-blue Greek-key design. Olivia loved white linens. Two end tables veneered in a blond wood stood on either side of the bed, and a chest of drawers of a similar finish stood against the wall, with a rectangular beveled mirror suspended above it. The end-table lamps resembled tiny chandeliers. The walls had been painted a pale smoky blue-gray color.
“It’s amazing what paint can do,” Olivia said. “This room is transformed.”
“I know,” Roni said. “It’s like a miracle.”
The other bedroom, painted a similar transforming hue, held a tan linen sofa and a large television on the opposite wall atop a low-slung entertainment center, another chest of drawers, a small narrow coffee table, and two floor lamps. Framed New Yorker covers hung above the sofa. There was a walnut and wrought-iron industrial-looking bookcase that held some of Olivia’s favorite reference books, a few personal photographs, and stacks of architecture and design magazines. It was cramped and Spartan at the same time, Olivia thought, but it would have to do. Some of the things that Nick thought went to auction—the netsukes, the puzzle balls, her tiny French clock—all those treasures Olivia refused to part with, she and Roni wrapped, placed in boxes, and tucked under the bed. She would reintroduce them into their lives in South Carolina one at a time and Nick would never know the difference. She hoped.
“Where’d you find the bookcase?” Olivia asked. “It’s wonderful!”
“Crate & Barrel—fifty percent off because it has a ding on the back you can’t even see.” Roni said. “Hey, Nick? When I get to Charleston, are you going to give me the grand tour?”
Nick flipped on the bathroom light, scanned the room, and flipped it off.
“You bet!” Nick said. “I’ll take you all around and turn you into a belle!”
“Ha! Roni’s driving our silver and jewelry down and the skeleton clock.”
“Yes, I don’t trust movers with things like that glass dome. Never mind sterling silver. Besides, I can help you get unpacked and organized,” Roni said.
Olivia and Nick were flying to Charleston the following day. Roni would arrive Tuesday with their car, the day the movers were scheduled to arrive.
“I see,” said Nick. “Well, that’s awfully nice.”
“Thank goodness! I’m going to need help. So what do you think of the apartment, Nick?”
“I think this will be just fine!” he said. “It reminds me of my old bachelor pad in the Village, which wasn’t much more than a monk’s cell. This is very charming.”
Olivia smiled and remembered sleeping there with him in his tiny bed and falling out, hitting the floor in the middle of the night. The floor, she recalled, was a commercial grade of tile glued to cement, hard and cold. A bruising and memorable detail.
“It kind of reminds me of that place too. Roni? Where are all the samples and swatches?”
“In the closet in the second bedroom and in the closet by the front door. Don’t open the door too quickly!”
“Say, by the way, how’s your mother getting along?” Nick asked.
“Well, she’s about the same as she was last year, only crankier. Thanks for asking,” Roni said and sighed heavily. “She’ll probably outlive us all. I’ll only be gone for a few days, and the nurses have promised to take extra special care of her. And they have my contact information if they need me.”
“Yes,” Olivia said. “It’s getting harder and harder to be unavailable these days.”
“Isn’t that the truth? Well, I’ll leave you two kids now. Behave yourselves!” Roni said, and gave Olivia a hug. Then she hugged Nick. “Okay then! I’ll see you in Charleston.”
“Watch out for the eighteen-wheelers on I-95!” Nick said.
“Yes! Be careful!” Olivia said.
Roni left, and Olivia turned to Nick and said, “If she doesn’t move to South Carolina with me, I’m going to die.”
Nick had popped the cork and poured for them. He handed Olivia a glass.
“No, you won’t, but she is really wonderful. Cheers!”
Over steaks and salad in a favorite neighborhood haunt later that night, they went over their plan for the next day. Of course Nick was nervous about flying.
“I have a car picking us up at eight in the morning. We’re flying JetBlue out of Kennedy at noon. I got a fabulous price on the tickets.”
“Great! But do we need to leave so early?” Nick said.
“Yes, sir. Rush-hour traffic.”
“Oh, right. Okay. Are you packed?”
“Yep, and so are you. I shipped most of our clothes with the movers. We just have one bag each. Don’t worry, babe. I’ve got this one handled. And I’ve got the flight for Roni’s return too.”
There was a bit of decent news. Roni and Olivia were advised that the entire move was tax deductible because technically she was relocating her business. It wasn’t much, but she’d take it.
Olivia had a difficult time sleeping that night. The lights of the city somehow made their way into the bedroom, casting just enough brightness into the room to make it feel like dusk. She could see the windows of the apartments across the way. People were still awake and moving around. Typical, she thought. It seemed to her that every time she had to get up very early the next day, she would toss and turn the night before. Besides, they were using a new mattress and in a new location. Nick, however, slept like a great redwood, falling into the forest of dreams.
Olivia left the bed to get a drink of water and looked at the neon face of their alarm clock. Four-twenty. If she could get back to sleep, she could still get another two hours. She needed it. Money worries were really getting to her. Nothing had come from the Necker Island trip except flamingo-trimmed curtains. Right now, she had about ten thousand dollars in their personal checking account and another thirty in their money market. She used half the money from the sale of their co-op to reduce the mortgage payment on their beach house and most of the balance in renovations. She had a couple of very small jobs going besides the work she was doing for Maritza and Bob, but barely enough was coming in to maintain their lifestyle. The business account was almost empty. Besides the mortgage, insurance, taxes, and monthly maintenance on the beach house, she still had the rent and utilities on the New York apartment to cover and Roni’s salary. Nick’s retirement was not a lot of help in the big picture, but it covered their day-to-day expenses. Something had to give in the next six weeks or she would have to start soliciting
business, something no one in the field at her level would ever do without suffering a tidal wave of snickering and elevator whispers. She might as well put up a notice on the bulletin board in the lobby of the D&D Building that she was dead broke and desperate.
How ridiculous! she thought, and punched her pillow into submission. If the world thinks you’re in trouble, they avoid you like a leper. If they think you’re too busy, they beat down your door.
It was critical to keep the mythical beast fed.
Nick turned over, forcing Olivia to move toward the edge of the bed. Suddenly she heard the chime of her French clock from under the bed. Had she wound it by accident? Oh no.
“What’s that?” Nick said in a sleepy voice.
Olivia panicked. “It’s the apartment next door, sweetheart. Go back to sleep.”
He threw his arm over her side and pulled her close to him. “Nope,” he said. “It’s your clock. It’s okay.”
In the complete darkness of that tiny bedroom, she smiled and snuggled up against him. He knew her that well and he loved her still. She guessed he had some understanding of their financial situation as well. In a way she hoped he did. It would mitigate her guilt and fear. The facts weren’t exactly buried. He could’ve picked up a bank statement from her desk any time over the past six months and given it a look. Had he done so? She could not presume to know the answer to that or anything else at four-thirty in the morning. It didn’t matter so much then. His muscular arm around her torso and his gentle regular snoring took her away into a peaceful sleep.
The flight to Charleston was quiet and smooth, except that the seats were oversold and there was a lengthy struggle to coerce two passengers to give up their places in return for a travel voucher. The value of the travel voucher increased every ten minutes until the pot was sweet enough for two folks to relent.
Their flight was on a somewhat larger plane and Nick seemed slightly less nervous than usual. But it also seemed as if every single passenger had brought more on board than they were allowed. Every seat and overhead compartment and the space under every seat was jammed to capacity.
“How are you doing?” Olivia asked.
“I flew in a helicopter, you know. This is nothing.”