Chapter Eleven
For the first time in days, Sophie woke up without that churning combination of irritation and fear in her stomach that had haunted her ever since Greta had driven off. Late yesterday afternoon, Hayley Stone had called with the news that there was no news. No accidents had been reported with unknown female victims. No wandering amnesia sufferers had been admitted to any regional hospitals. Wherever Greta was and whatever she was doing, she appeared to be okay.
Of course, Sophie was still vaguely irritated that she’d taken off in the first place. If she’d stayed put, she could have helped out. She could have done…something, although Sophie wasn’t entirely sure what that something would be. Answered the phone maybe. The phone that was still ringing with annoying frequency.
Today it was Alma Martinson from the hardware store, checking to see how Sophie was doing. How do you think I’m doing? Sophie wanted to ask. How is it any of your business how I’m doing? Instead she said she was doing just fine, thank you for asking, and hung up.
She hadn’t let herself think much about Owen’s suggestion for a brief escape. Greenbush Island. Spa treatments. Golf. She hadn’t played golf for years, not since her husband had died. Getting away from Promise Harbor for a week or so suddenly seemed really appealing. No Alma Martinson. No Bernice Cabot. No one calling every morning on the off chance she’d heard more devastating news and needed someone’s shoulder to cry on.
She wondered if she and Owen would have adjoining rooms, then felt her cheeks flush. Of course not! What are you thinking?
Sophie was still blushing when she heard the doorbell. She sighed. Probably another neighbor or friend or acquaintance checking to see if she’d gone over the edge yet. At least she’d have the satisfaction of seeing their disappointment when they realized she was just fine.
Not that she really was fine, exactly. But she was…okay. Surprisingly okay.
She peeked through the front door peephole to see Ryan McBain standing on her doorstep. All dark, curly hair and broad shoulders, dressed in a light blue knit shirt and khakis, as if he’d just stepped out of a J. Crew ad.
Her heart promptly began to thump in panic. Greta! She threw open the door. “Ryan. What are you doing here? What have you heard?”
Ryan’s forehead furrowed attractively. But then Sophie had always thought he was a handsome man. Just not a very nice one. “Heard? About Greta? Nothing. That’s why I’m here. I thought maybe you’d know something more.”
She took a relieved step backward, and Ryan walked into her living room, glancing toward the kitchen. “Is Josh here?”
Whatever good opinion of him she might have been considering promptly disappeared in a puff of angry steam. “No. I’m here by myself. What do you need, Ryan?”
His forehead furrowed again, as if he were considering Deep Thoughts. “I’m concerned about Greta. I thought maybe Josh had had some news about her.”
“Why would Josh be the one to have news?” Sophie folded her arms, knowing full well what the real answer was. Because Josh is the responsible male in the house rather than the irresponsible female.
Ryan shrugged. “No particular reason. So have you heard anything new?”
“The police checked for accidents. None have been reported. I’m sure Greta will let us know where she is when she’s ready.” She managed a thin smile.
Ryan sighed. “Well, that’s good, I guess. Not as good as a message from Greta would be, but good. I’m glad to hear it.”
Sophie’s heart softened somewhat. At least he was concerned about her daughter. As he should be. Her good manners gave her a quick kick. “Would you like something to drink? There’s fresh coffee.”
“Coffee would be great, thanks. Black.” He followed her into the kitchen, slumping into a chair at the table.
She poured two cups from the percolator, stirring milk into hers. At least she might be able to pump Ryan for a few more details about the divorce. “When was the last time you heard from Greta?”
Ryan frowned slightly. “A couple of weeks ago, I guess. When the final decree came down.” His ears turned faintly pink. Apparently, the subject of the divorce was still sensitive.
Sophie nodded, as if she heard her daughter’s final divorce decree discussed all the time. “Did you realize she was coming here for Josh’s wedding?”
“No.” He frowned. “Josh got married?”
“Not exactly,” she said quickly. “Greta was supposed to be the matron of honor.”
“Oh.” He shrugged. “I thought maybe she came back here to be with her family after…everything.”
“Everything.” Sophie sat down opposite, stirring her coffee, trying not to sound like a prosecuting attorney. “Just what does everything include?”
Ryan licked his lips. “Well, the divorce. The separation. All of that.”
“So Greta was upset about all of that?” She took a sip. “I only ask because she didn’t seem particularly upset when she got here, but I might not have noticed. There was a lot of confusion surrounding the wedding.” And a lot more surrounding the fact that it hadn’t taken place after all.
Ryan’s gaze darted around the kitchen. Sophie got the distinct impression this wasn’t a topic of discussion he was enjoying much. “She seemed okay the last time I spoke with her. But, as I say, that was a couple of weeks ago.”
“How long were you separated before the divorce?” she asked flatly.
He licked his lips, staring down at his hands. “Around three months. It didn’t take long to reach our property settlement and get the filing done.”
“So you and Greta have been separated for four months now?”
“About that.” He finally looked directly at her.
Sophie noted the tightness around his jaw, the slightly narrowed eyes. Something was obviously making him feel very uncomfortable indeed. She considered the possibility that it might be something Greta had done and then dismissed it. Only someone with a guilty conscience would bother to drive from Boston to Promise Harbor to find out what had happened to his ex-wife.
“Do you mind my asking what happened between you? Since Greta didn’t get a chance to tell me herself before she left?” She managed to keep her voice pleasantly noncommittal, but she’d already begun considering just what choice expletives she could use on the good-looking weasel before she tossed him out. By now, she was beginning to have a very good idea what might have produced the guilty conscience that had brought him to her door.
Almost as soon as she’d had that thought, she heard the front door open. “Sophie?” Owen’s voice called. “You here?”
Oh wonderful, somebody else to put their two cents in. “We’re in here,” she replied. “In the kitchen.”
Owen stepped through the door, then paused, frowning slightly in Ryan’s direction. “Hello.”
Ryan blinked, then glanced at Sophie, clearly waiting for an introduction, which she regarded as another mark in his disfavor. How much energy did it take to say hello, for Pete’s sake? Plus he should remember Owen from when he was married to Greta. “Ryan, this is Owen Ralston, a family friend. Owen, you remember Greta’s ex-husband, Ryan McBain.”
Ex-husband. Funny how much easier it had become to refer to him that way now.
Ryan nodded in Owen’s direction. “Hello.”
Owen nodded again, then took the chair next to Sophie. “Something up?”
“Not exactly. Ryan was just telling me about the divorce.” She turned her best eagle-eyed stare in his direction.
Ryan glanced at Owen again, clearly unhappy with the idea of discussing his marriage in front of a stranger. Sophie found she really didn’t care whether Ryan was happy or not. “About the divorce?”
“It was…” Ryan licked his lips. “It was sort of a misunderstanding. My fault, really. Just incompatibility. Sort of.”
Sophie decided that was the lamest excuse she’d ever heard. But she also decided she really wasn’t interested in hearing much more from Ryan McBain, particularly since she doubted he’d tell her the truth. “Well, I haven’t heard anything more from Greta, as I said. I can have her call you when she comes back.” Assuming she does come back. Sophie pushed that thought from her mind.
“I’m not leaving town just yet. I thought maybe I’d talk to people around Promise Harbor a little before I left. See if I could find out any more information.” He was looking uncomfortable again.
“Any more information about what?” Sophie felt a slight sting of exasperation. The man made no sense at all. And she didn’t much care for the thought of him stirring up more gossip in the harbor. “We’ve already asked the people who were at the wedding and they haven’t seen her.”
“Look, this is my responsibility.” Ryan pulled himself up so that he was sitting very straight, the model of a responsible male. “If Greta’s done anything…”
“Done anything?” Sophie stared at him. “What do you mean ‘done anything’? She just drove away. She didn’t knock over a liquor store.”
“Suicide,” Owen said flatly, staring at Ryan. “You think she’s killed herself.”
Ryan’s face turned pink, his lips narrowing to a thin line. “I don’t know what to think.”
Sophie’s exasperation instantly morphed into full-blown rage, with perhaps a slight tinge of fear. Had he heard about her depression after Dave had died? Was he assuming like mother, like daughter? Maybe Josh had thought she was suicidal, but he’d been wrong. She’d never come close to suicide, even when she was at her lowest. And Greta hadn’t even seemed depressed. Suicide? The very idea made her want to slap him across that smug, WASPy face.
“You think my daughter would hurt herself? Over you? You conceited ass! My daughter would never kill herself over you. Or over any other man. She’s got too much good sense to do something like that.” She pushed herself to her feet, her hands shaking. “Get out of my house. Right now.”
“Sophie…” Ryan looked scandalized.
“I’m serious, Ryan. You get out. If you think Greta would hurt herself over you, you obviously don’t know her at all. Which is maybe why you’re not married to her anymore.” Sophie closed her hands into fists at her sides. She didn’t really think she’d sock him, but she wasn’t entirely sure.
Ryan rose stiffly to his feet, his expression grim. “I hope you’re right, Sophie. Believe me, I’d prefer that. But I’m still going to look for her.”
Owen put his hand on her arm. “Better leave now,” he said to Ryan. “Sophie wants you to go.”
Ryan opened his mouth again, then closed it abruptly. He started toward the front door, then turned. “Honestly, Sophie, I’d rather be wrong.”
“Then you’re going to get your wish,” she said through gritted teeth as she watched him walk away.
Owen rubbed his hand across her shoulders after the front door had shut behind him. “Okay?”
She closed her eyes. “Yes, now that he’s gone. The nerve of that man. The iron-plated nerve.”
“Any news?” Owen raised an eyebrow.
“Just what Hayley said—no accidents, nobody unaccounted for at the hospitals.”
“Checked your phone today?”
Sophie frowned. “She’d call on the landline, and there aren’t any messages there. She knows I don’t like the cell.”
He shrugged. “Better check anyway.”
She frowned again, but dug the cell phone out of her purse, flipping it on as she did. And saw the flashing icon.
“There’s a call.” Her throat felt tight all of a sudden.
“Voice mail. Click on it.”
Sophie clicked, then put the phone to her ear. The voice was the one Greta used when she was trying to pretend she didn’t feel guilty. Sophie recognized that voice from a long series of teenage catastrophes. “Hi, Mom. Just wanted to let you know I’m staying at a hotel up the road for a couple of days. They needed a cook. Don’t worry, please. I’ll be home by the end of the week.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. Then she put the phone on speaker and played the message again.
Owen shrugged. “Sounds okay.”
“Yes, she does.” She tried to keep her voice from rising. “And when I see her again, I will tell her just what I think of her little adventure. In detail.”
“So she’s cooking.” He shrugged again. “That makes her happy.”
Sophie took a breath, ready to tell him just how angry she was. But a picture of Ryan McBain’s clueless face floated through her mind. Happy. Had Greta been happy lately? She’d always really enjoyed cooking. Maybe she was enjoying herself now. “Yes,” she murmured. “It’s probably making her very happy.”
“Going to tell her ex?” He raised an eyebrow.
She shook her head. “No. Let him wander around and make a fool of himself. I think that would be good for him. Or anyway, it would be good for Greta.”
Owen nodded. “Sounds fair. What about Greenbush Island?”
She turned to look at him. With his blond hair and green eyes, he looked a little like Allie. But he looked more like Owen. Dear Owen. Such a good man.
“I think it would be a wonderful idea,” she said slowly.
Greta made three dozen muffins for breakfast, leaving two dozen of them for Alice to sell in the general store. Greta was a little curious about how much Alice would charge today, but not curious enough to brave whatever sarcastic comments Alice might have about her activities the night before.
Activities. Nice way to put it, Greta.
Nadia came in while she was rolling out dough on the kitchen table.
“Pie?”
Greta nodded. “I got some blueberries at Merton.”
“We have some growing in the backyard. Hyacinth could pick some—she’s quite good at it.”
Greta wondered briefly if Hyacinth was speaking to her again. She was betting on not. “Maybe for the next one.”
“Of course.”
One of Nadia’s penciled brows arched as she smiled, and Greta braced herself. Maybe she could head her off at the pass. “How was the movie?”
“Oh, all right I suppose. Some sort of cartoon. Hyacinth liked it.”
“Good.” Greta kept her gaze on her piecrust, willing Nadia to go away.
“And how was your evening?”
“Fine,” Greta said flatly.
“Did you have your picnic?”
“Yes.”
“And where did you go?”
Greta considered not answering, but she doubted that would be enough to shut Nadia off. “Tompkins Lake.”
“A pleasant spot.” Nadia readjusted the pink pashmina around her shoulders. “Did it work?”
Greta bit her lip. So not what she wanted to have a conversation about right now. “We had a good time. Thank you for suggesting it.”
“You’re welcome. I’m also going to suggest something else. Why don’t you take Hank some lunch at his dig or his hole or whatever it is? I don’t know what he eats normally, but I’m willing to bet it isn’t particularly healthy.” She picked up one of the leftover muffins, peeling off the paper sleeve. “I’m sure we could spare you for lunch. Also dinner, assuming you make something that can be warmed.”
Greta leaned back against the sink, drying her hands. “Okay, Nadia, what exactly is going on here? Are you a total romantic or what?”
Nadia shrugged. “I’m sure Alice would say that I am, but she’d be wrong. I don’t believe in pairing everybody off. Life’s not like Noah’s Ark, after all.” She adjusted the pashmina again. “On the other hand, when I see two people who seem compatible and who could both benefit from the relationship, what’s the harm in doing a little matchmaking?”
Greta gave her a dry smile. “For the record, I sort of started this particular match myself.”
“So you did. Although rescuing Hank from a hole could hardly be regarded as a strategy.” Nadia’s eyebrows arched again. “Unless, of course, you contrived to put him there in the first place.”
“Nope.” Greta picked up her dish towel again. “I’m not that forward thinking, I guess. I’m still not ready to be matched up by somebody else, though. I’d rather think it was my own idea, all in all.”
“Could I ask why you’re resisting? Do you object to Hank or do you object to the idea itself?”
Greta bent over the sink, washing the last of the coffee cups and very deliberately not looking at Nadia. “I just wonder…”
“Wonder?” Nadia prompted.
“If this is some kind of rebound thing,” Greta finished in a rush. “I mean, I’ve only been completely divorced for a couple of weeks. And we were only separated for two or three months before that. It hasn’t been that long since I was married.”
“Do you miss your husband?”
Greta frowned, considering the possibility. “Not really. I sort of miss being married—I mean, I liked having somebody to talk to every day or so. But I could have gotten that with a roommate instead of a husband.” And the sex might have been better. She pushed that thought to the back of her mind rather quickly.
“Companionship is an important quality,” Nadia agreed. “Still, there are more important considerations, at least in my experience.”
“You were married?” Greta tried not to sound surprised.
Nadia nodded. “Twice, in fact. I outlived both of them, which wasn’t entirely unexpected but still not what I’d hoped for. I came to live here with Alice after my second husband died.”
“And Alice was married too, or at least I assume she was since Hyacinth is her granddaughter.”
Nadia nodded. “Married for over thirty years. Divorced for a decade or so now. Her daughter Annette is Hyacinth’s mother. She’s currently on tour with the Boston Symphony. Plays viola.”
“Oh.” Greta wasn’t sure what to add to that, so she settled for nothing.
“But none of this has anything to do with this rebound nonsense,” Nadia continued. “If you don’t miss your ex-husband for anything other than a sounding board in the evening, I’d say you’re not really suffering from a broken heart.”
Greta sighed. That much was definitely true. “No. My heart is bruised but intact.”
“Then a nice affair with Hank should be perfectly okay with everyone, I’d say.”
Greta opened her mouth to object to the “nice affair” thing but stopped. It was a nice affair. Very nice, in fact. And she couldn’t really think of a single good reason not to go ahead with it. “Thanks, Nadia.”
“Don’t mention it. I like to think the two of you would have stumbled into a relationship even without my prodding. I merely speeded up the process.” She smiled again. “But I’d still suggest taking him a sandwich around noon.” She flipped the pashmina over her shoulder and swept out of the kitchen.
Greta stared down at the dish drainer. Surely she could make another ham sandwich or two. And surely Hank could spare her a few minutes at the dig.