“What do you mean?”
“‘Hey, you,’” Nell says, doing a credible imitation of Lizzy’s sexy voice when she picked up the call from Sean. “That kind of greeting means there’s something going on.”
“Because you’re the expert in relationships?” Lizzy lets out a bark of laughter.
“C’mon, Lizzy. I’m concerned.”
“Don’t be. I know what I’m doing.”
“You have a husband who loves you and a small child who loves his parents and wants them to be together. I know this because I know what it’s like when parents divorce.” She turns her head to look at Lizzy in the darkness.
“Well, I certainly know what that’s like too,” she snaps. But then she turns to look out the window. “I don’t think James loves me anymore,” Lizzy says quietly. “I don’t think I love him. Mostly when I look at him I think that I hate him.”
“Jesus, Lizzy. That’s awful. What about Connor?”
“Why do you think we’re still together? That’s exactly it. What about Connor? I don’t want to do to him what was done to us.”
“You mean, have an affair, then have your husband find out about it and leave you, then basically check out of mothering because you’re too focused on your career to be there for your kid—or kids?”
“Fuck. You don’t have to put it like that.”
“I was talking about Mom.”
“Oh.” There is a long silence. “Jesus.” Lizzy lets out a long sigh. “I have no idea what I’m going to do.”
“Maybe it starts with ending the affair.”
“I’ve done that. Multiple times.”
“You have to end it for good. It puts too much in jeopardy. Not just your marriage and your relationship with your child, but your business. He’s your partner. I don’t see any version of this that’s good for you. You cannot focus on what you need to focus on when you’re romantically linked.”
“You’re right. You’re right. I know you’re right. It’s just so hard.”
“No, it’s not. It’s just sex. It’s not that hard at all.”
They are silent as they turn off the Merritt and go along Sport Hill Road, then turn, turn again, and again, until they reach an old wooden gate. Lizzy jumps out to open it and then pull it shut behind the truck. She pauses before climbing in to smell the sweet country air.
“I haven’t been here since I was a teenager,” she says, rolling down the window so she can keep smelling the air. “I had forgotten how lovely it is. Twenty minutes away from Mom’s house, but it feels like it’s the middle of nowhere.”
“It is the middle of nowhere.” Nell slows down as she steers the truck around the large pothole caused by a delivery truck the week before. “That’s why I love it.”
“It looks completely different.” Lizzy squints out the window, making out the new barn and outbuildings, noting that it is manicured in a way it wasn’t back then. They pull into a cobblestone courtyard, with large square wooden planters filled with hydrangea trees.
“This is gorgeous,” Lizzy says, stepping out of the truck and stretching. “We use planters just like that for our supper clubs.”
“Yeah? Nice. Can you manage your bag? I’m going to put you in the room next to mine, if that’s okay.”
“I can manage.” Lizzy pulls her bag out, well used to hauling heavy things around. “God, this is lovely,” she says, walking up the steps to the porch of the farmhouse. “If I lived here I’d never leave.”
“I never do,” says Nell, pushing open the front door.
twenty-six
There is some kind of clattering in the kitchen, which starts off as clattering in her dream, and it’s only as Nell starts to swim up into consciousness that she realizes it is actually in her house. She has overslept. Hugely. It is 7:23 a.m., and there is so much she already hasn’t done, her heart starts palpitating. She never sleeps this late! And what is all that noise coming from downstairs?
Lizzy, she thinks, remembering that she brought her sister home last night. Lizzy must be looking for coffee. Shit. Why has she overslept? Pulling on yesterday’s jeans and grabbing a clean T-shirt from the closet, she rushes downstairs and into the kitchen, expecting to see Lizzy.
Except it isn’t Lizzy in her kitchen, but a woman she doesn’t recognize, in denim cutoffs and a white T-shirt, with an apron tied around her waist. She is pouring milk from a measuring cup into a white bowl.
Who on earth is this? Nell’s first thought is that it must be an intruder, but what kind of an intruder breaks in, ties a floral apron around her waist, and proceeds to whip up a batch of muffins? Pancakes? Scones? Whatever it is, it looks like she knows what she’s doing.
The woman must be around her own age, Nell thinks, watching her. She’s so focused on what she’s doing she apparently doesn’t realize the owner of the house is now standing in the doorway. She has strawberry blond hair, caught up in a clip, and unusually wide-set eyes. She frowns as she pours, biting her lower lip in concentration, before taking the milk back to the fridge and opening cabinets, looking for, Nell presumes, a pan.
“A skillet? They’re in the cabinet next to the stove,” Nell says eventually. “Or muffin pans? If that’s what you need they’re in that thin space on the other side.”
The woman looks up at Nell, startled, then smiles. Nell is instantly disarmed by her smile. No, it’s more than that. She’s kind of mesmerized by the radiance of the woman’s smile.
“You must be Nell,” she says, putting down the bowl and wiping her hands on her apron.
“I am, but I have absolutely no idea who you are.” Nell walks into the kitchen, taking a large ceramic coffee cup from the shelf as she turns to the woman.
“Oh no!” The woman’s hand flies to her chest as she laughs. “You didn’t know we were coming early?”
“We?”
“The kids. River said he’d call you.”
Nell puts down the coffee cup, her face lighting up. “River’s here?”
“They’re asleep upstairs.” She shakes her head. “I told him to call you and let you know we were coming early. He wanted to surprise you, but I said it wasn’t a good idea. If I’d known he hadn’t told you, I would never have started baking in your kitchen.”
“You’re Daisy’s mom!” Nell finally understands.
“Greta Whitstable.” She extends a hand for Nell to shake. Greta’s eyes are too wide apart, her cheekbones too rounded, and her chin too pointed, but put together there is something compelling about her. She is not beautiful, but arresting, with her strawberry blond hair pulled back, a few tendrils around her face. It is an interesting face. Nell stares, trying to place her. There is something familiar about her, but she can’t figure out what.
“Have we . . . met before?” she says finally.
“I doubt it,” Greta says. “Unless you’ve made your way to St. Louis?” She turns to grab the coffeepot. “Why don’t you sit down and I’ll make you some breakfast. I’m just putting these muffins in. They’ll be ready in a few, now that I know where the muffin pans are.” She laughs. “Sit. How do you take your coffee?”
“Black. Nothing in it.”
“You’re easy,” says Greta Whitstable with a smile, as Nell unexpectedly finds herself flushing.
She is suddenly very aware of sitting at her own kitchen table, in front of a stranger, with bedhead hair and unbrushed teeth. She doesn’t mind treating her sister to terrible hair and morning breath, but she’s suddenly uncomfortable appearing this way in front of this woman. Her chores are forgotten. “I’m just going upstairs for a couple of minutes,” she says, clearing her throat.
Greta just smiles and nods, seeming completely at home in Nell’s kitchen, as if she has been there many times before.
“I’ll be right back,” says Nell, moving toward the door.
Greta Whitstable, sh
e thinks, walking up the stairs. What an interesting name. What an interesting woman. Alone in her bathroom, brushing her teeth, washing her face, and making sure there is no sleep left in her eyes, Nell whispers it to herself, just once, surprised. What is it that is so familiar about her?
“Greta Whitstable,” she mouths. “What kind of a name is that?” She smiles as she brushes her hair and pulls it back in its customary ponytail.
She pauses outside River’s door, wondering whether to wake him, but decides to let him sleep before walking back down the stairs to the stranger who feels like she belongs.
• • •
“River!”
It is an hour later when River finally emerges from his bedroom, sleepily walking into the kitchen to wrap his arms around his mother.
Nell has been sitting at the kitchen table as Greta Whitstable buzzed around, baking muffins, then scones, explaining that River had told her Cheryl the caretaker was away and that anything she baked would be needed and appreciated.
She refilled Nell’s coffee cup several times and brought over a muffin, then a scone, before wordlessly cutting up an orange and laying it out on a plate like a small sun and placing it in front of Nell without asking if she’d like it. Nell ate it, thinking it might have been the most delicious orange she had ever tasted.
Greta Whitstable is completely at home in this kitchen, thinks Nell, wishing she were a better cook, more of a homemaker. I wonder if I would look as good in denim cutoffs and a floral apron. Maybe I should clip my hair up like that, with tendrils falling around my face instead of pulling it back into such a severe ponytail all the time.
Greta Whitstable catches Nell staring at her and blows a strand of hair out of her eyes, then laughs. Nell is so charmed by the attention of Greta Whitstable, so distracted by this feminine energy that has blown in out of nowhere seemingly to take care of Nell (who didn’t, up until an hour ago, know she needed taking care of), that she has completely forgotten about her mother, and her sisters, and why she slept right through her alarm and was only woken up by the clattering of Greta Whitstable downstairs.
“Well, good morning!” Lizzy wanders in, her eyes half closed, yawning and stretching. “Nephew!” She spies River at the table and leaps over, snaking her arms around him and squeezing as he laughs.
“Hello,” she says, turning to Greta. “I’m Lizzy. Errant younger sister. Are you the chef?”
Greta laughs. “Hardly. I’m the mother of the girlfriend. Daisy, that is. River’s girlfriend. I’m Greta.” She shakes Lizzy’s hand.
“And you made all these?” Lizzy looks at the trays of muffins and scones.
“She made far more. The rest have already been sent over to the coffee shop,” Nell explains.
Lizzy turns to look at Nell, noting how smiley she is this morning, an unfamiliar sparkle in her eye.
“May I?” She picks up a muffin, feeling how light it is, noting the poppy seeds evenly sprinkled throughout, then tearing off a piece and holding it in her mouth before chewing slowly. Her mouth fills with an intense lemon flavor. “Jesus, these are good.” She sighs. “These are actually insanely good.”
“Thank you.” Greta pours her some coffee and hands it over. “My mother’s recipe.”
“What are the scones? They’re an interesting color.”
“Coffee chocolate chip.”
Nell raises an eyebrow. “Mom’s recipe too?”
Greta smiles. “This one is mine. Here.” She breaks one in pieces and hands them around the table.
“I told you Daisy’s mom is an amazing baker,” River says, his mouth full of scone as Lizzy chews thoughtfully.
“I didn’t remember,” says Nell.
“Do you cook professionally?” Lizzy turns her focus to Greta, who shakes her head. “Would you cook professionally?”
“I don’t think so. I love doing it for fun, but there are too many other things I have going on.”
“I would love you to bake some of these for one of my supper clubs. You could be the guest baker.”
Greta frowns. “Supper club? What is that?”
Lizzy smiles. Since her television show, it feels like everyone knows who she is. Even when they don’t mention anything, even if they pretend she is a stranger, at a certain point in the conversation they reveal their awareness of her. Sometimes it’s with a throwaway comment, but they always know. Usually.
“Do you watch the show?” River grins.
“I don’t watch television really,” says Greta. “What show?”
“My aunt has a big food show. The Supper Club. And she hosts supper clubs, like, pop-up restaurants on rooftops in New York that people pay a fortune to come to.”
“You’re a chef?”
Lizzy bows her head in false modesty. “I am.”
Greta blushes slightly. “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Lizzy says, surprisingly delighted at this unexpected anonymity. “Be happy. I’m not sure I’ve ever tasted a scone quite like this.”
“It’s all in the ingredients,” Greta says modestly. “Nothing to do with me.”
“You and I both know that’s not true. If you won’t bake for me, you know I’m going to have to try and figure out this recipe.”
“Be my guest,” says Greta. “But I’ll give it to you. I’m not precious.”
“I like this woman,” Lizzy says, turning to River and grinning, then sitting down and reaching for another scone. “I approve.”
Nell frowns. What does Lizzy mean?
The doorbell rings as they all jump. Who on earth is ringing the doorbell so early in the morning? Nell goes to the back door and sticks her head out. “In here,” she calls. Turning to the others, she says, “It’s Meredith.”
“What’s she doing here?” asks Lizzy, as Meredith walks in with a sigh, lighting up temporarily when she sees River and is introduced to Greta.
“Bad night?” asks Lizzy, once Meredith is settled with a cup of coffee.
“The night was fine, but the veil is on today. I had to get out of there.”
“Oh, God,” groans Nell, suppressing a small smile. “I’d forgotten about the veil. I see her so rarely she’s usually on her best behavior. The veil!” She buries her head in her hands for a second. “We’re supposed to be going there for lunch. I can’t deal with her when the veil is on.”
Greta leans forward. “I hope this isn’t presumptuous, but what does that mean, the veil is on?”
“Our mother can be enormously fun and charming and sweet,” says Lizzy.
“And when the veil is on, it is as if she is possessed by the devil,” says Meredith. “She is angry and vicious and punitive.”
“When we were children we used to be able to tell, as soon as she came into the room, what kind of mood she was in,” Nell explains. “Her eyes would be different when she was in one of the moods. It was as if there was a veil covering them, and if the veil was on, we would get out of the way.”
“When we were old enough,” Meredith clarifies. “There were plenty of times as children when we didn’t have a choice but to take it.”
“God, she could be awful,” says Lizzy. “Remember when she used to scream at you that you were fat and would never have a boyfriend?” She turns to Nell. “And she used to say you looked like a lesbian.”
“Thanks, Lizzy,” says Nell, coolly. “As I recall, you were the only one who escaped it.”
“Baby of the family,” says Lizzy. “What can I do? I didn’t escape it entirely, but she could never think of suitable insults because I’m perfect.”
They all laugh and shake their heads.
“That doesn’t sound like a lot of fun,” says Greta. “How could any of you have felt safe?”
Meredith smiles. “We didn’t. Hence my moving to London to get away. God, I hope it passes.”
<
br /> “I’ll tell you this much,” Nell says, getting up to clear the plates, “I’m not going over there for lunch if she’s like that.”
“Me neither,” says Meredith. “I may move my stuff in here. I can’t believe I haven’t even been here twenty-four hours and she’s like this already. It makes me want to get straight back on a plane and go back to London. I told Lily I’d check in later.”
“It’s so typical.” Nell sighs. “Look at how lovely it was just yesterday, how happy she seemed to have us all back together again at home. And then she has to sabotage it. She always has to sabotage it.”
Nell stands at the sink as Lizzy brings over the rest of the plates and then rubs her back gently. Nell startles, unused to being touched unexpectedly, unused to affection from . . . anyone. She abruptly excuses herself for the bathroom and quickly leaves, and Lizzy quietly washes up.
Nell’s phone buzzes as she stands in the bathroom looking at herself in the mirror, unsettled, and unsure why. It is her mother, but she ignores the call. A text comes in, then another.
Urgent, says the third text. Call. Nell sinks onto the edge of the bath and makes the call, promising herself she will hang up at the slightest provocation.
“What is it, Mom?”
“I need to see you,” says her mom. “Now.”
“Mom, I have stuff to do on the farm. I don’t know that I can make it this morning.”
“It’s an emergency,” says her mother imperiously. “Don’t tell your sisters. Be at my house in half an hour.”
Nell goes back into the kitchen. “I have been summoned,” she says drily. “And told not to tell you.”
“You’re going?” Lizzy is impressed.
“She says it’s an emergency. Lily isn’t picking up the phone. Let me just go and get it over with. If she’s a bitch, I’ll leave.”
“Want me to come with you, Mom?” River pushes his chair back.