Piper, who delights in delivering breaking household news, is shocked to hear that. Ordinarily, Nora might experience a prickle of smug satisfaction. But she has other things to worry about, like the long cab ride to Lower Manhattan with Keith, who still seems quiet and distanced.
Then Jules texts to say they’ll go together, with instructions on when and where to meet the taxi van out front. Ordinarily, Nora might take exception to the fact that it isn’t a suggestion, but under the circumstances, welcomes the directive.
The conversation in the cab flows, and by the time they get to Mulberry Street, Keith seems like his usual self again. He grabs her hand to help her out of the back seat, and casually holds on to it as they enter Nonna Della’s Osteria, a sleek, modern restaurant tucked in to the bottom floor of an old brick tenement.
“When I heard Little Italy,” he says, “I was picturing a red sauce tourist trap with checkered tablecloths.”
Here they’re white, as are the flickering votive candles on the tables, tin ceiling, and fairy lights strung along its perimeter.
“No tourist traps if you stick with us, my friend,” Jules assures him.
Tony Bennett sings about leaving his heart in San Francisco as they settle in at a round table for four. A waiter arrives with menus, a pitcher of water, and a basket of hot bread. He’s an older gentleman, heavyset and balding, and greets both Heather and Jules with a bow and hand kisses.
“Fernando, these are our new friends, Keith and Nora,” Jules tells him. “They just moved here from California.”
“California! If the fires don’t get you, the earthquakes will,” he says in accented English, and turns to Nora. “Beautiful lady. I’ve seen you on TV, no?”
“Me? No.”
Keith puts his arm around her. “My wife may look like a movie star, but she’s not an actress.”
“A model, then? You look so familiar.”
“No.” Nora’s smile stretches thin.
“You never said that to me when we met, Fernando,” Jules says with a fake pout.
“Because you, you’re a rock star.”
“You knew that just by looking at her?” Keith asks.
“Ah, no, she told me. She tells everybody. Everybody who comes through that door.”
Even Nora has to laugh at his comical expression.
It turns out Fernando has known Jules since she was a little girl. He used to work at an Italian restaurant in Brooklyn. When it closed, he came here.
“And this one, she followed me,” he says with an exaggerated gesture at Jules. “She tells me she’d follow me anywhere, and I say that’s fine, as long as you stay out of the men’s room.”
Fernando presents a wine menu, but Heather tells him they don’t need it. “I think we’ll have a bottle of the Vermentino, Fernando.”
“What? No Barolo tonight?”
“No, we’ll stick with white, right, Jules?”
“White,” she agrees. “We’re having seafood. I’ve been telling our friends about the tagliatelle with grilled calamari and clams.”
She probably has, but Nora missed it. She’s never been crazy about calamari, and Keith had sworn off carbs for the rest of the week. She waits for him to say that, and that he and Nora prefer red wine to white, but he doesn’t, leaving his menu untouched on the table.
“You don’t want to hear about the specials?” Fernando asks. “Because the veal Milanese is—”
“No, thank you,” Heather says. “We’ll do the tagliatelle, family style.”
“And we’ll start with the arugula and shaved fennel salad. Thanks, Fernando.”
If they’d agreed that Heather would be ordering everything for the table, Nora missed that, too.
Fernando lingers, asking how the school year’s going for the kids.
“Courtney loves it, Lennon hates it,” Heather says.
“Ah, then everything is normal. And his heart, it’s still broken?”
“Not anymore, thanks to their daughter.” Jules points at Nora and Keith.
Fernando claps his hands in delight at this news. Keith is obviously taken aback, but says nothing until the waiter has ambled away.
“Our daughter? You mean Piper and Lennon are—”
“Not Piper, Keith.”
He gapes at Nora. “Stacey? So you knew about this? Jesus, do you tell me anything?”
“I do, when I see you. You’re the one who was out late last night, and—”
“Are you going to get on me for that?”
“No, I’m not going to get on you.” She clenches her mouth, biting back her fury, and then turns to Jules. “Can you please tell him that you and I had coffee together yesterday, and Ricardo canceled at the last minute?”
“Yep. That’s what happened.”
“Well, wait. He didn’t cancel at the last minute,” Heather amends. “You asked him at the last minute, and he couldn’t make it.”
“That’s true. I’m really sorry, Nora. I completely forgot about it until that morning.”
“It’s fine,” she murmurs, focused on Keith.
“You went back there this afternoon, Nora. You said you had too much to do, yet you were hanging around in a café.”
“With Stacey.”
“She just happened to run into you there. You didn’t tell her you were going. Or me.”
“You didn’t ask me! If you had, I would have told you. Is that what this is about?”
“It’s not just . . .” Keith pauses, lowering his voice, leaning toward her. “Lately it just seems like I’m the last to know anything. Even that crazy picture of the dead girl on the stairway . . . Stacey told me about it. You didn’t.”
Her heart pounds. “I didn’t tell Stacey, either. I didn’t want to scare her, or Piper. I have no idea how she knew. It’s not like I’m confiding in everyone but you, Keith.”
Jules speaks up. “I don’t want to get into the middle of this—”
“Then don’t,” Heather cuts in. “Let them work it out.”
“All I wanted to say is that I’m the one who told Nora about it, when I was over at the house on Tuesday afternoon. I saw it and I said, oh, memento mori, and she was like, what’s that. So I told her. No big deal.”
Nora nods, tight-lipped.
Keith clears his throat. “Look, it’s fine. It’s not about that. I didn’t mean to . . . it’s just been a long week. New house, new city, new job . . . I’m stressed out, and I guess I just . . .”
“Happens to the best of us,” Heather says brightly, and looks around. “Where’s that wine? And I’ll get a second bottle. I think we all can use it.”
Nora sees Jules gazing at her and Keith from across the table, wearing a thoughtful expression.
Stacey
Stacey is in the kitchen, famished and rummaging through the cabinets for something healthy to eat for dinner, when Piper appears in the doorway. She’s wearing tall boots with high heels, a short skirt, black leather jacket, and oversize hoop earrings. Her face is overly made-up, even for her.
“I’m going.”
“Where?”
Piper gestures at the floral quilted overnight bag over her shoulder. “To Courtney’s.”
“You’re looking pretty bougie for a sleepover.”
“I like to look bougie for everything.”
Stacey can’t argue with that, but something tells her that a sleepover isn’t all that’s on her sister’s agenda for tonight. “Are those new boots?”
“Yep.”
“Jacket, too?”
Piper nods. “Do you like it? It’s nice, right? Oh, don’t tell Mom and Dad.”
“Why? Did you steal it?”
Piper is indignant. “No, I didn’t steal it.”