Until There Was You

Chapter ELEVEN



“HI. WHERE WERE you?” Gretchen asked. She tore her eyes off the television screen—one of her rivals from the Cooking Network—and gave Posey a fake smile, running her eyes up and down in the Scan of Judgment Posey so well remembered.

“Gretchen! What are you doing here?” Posey asked. Shilo lumbered over to greet her, then, getting a whiff of popcorn, began inhaling her clothes for leftover molecules. “How did you get in?”

“Your parents gave me a key. I thought it would be nice for us to spend some time together,” Gretchen said. “I’ve missed you.”

“Seriously, Gretchen.”

“I figured I’d crash here for a while. It’ll be fun! Like a big slumber party or a sorority. Come on, Pose! We haven’t hung out in ages.”

“By hang out, do you mean…you’re staying with me? Really?” Posey asked, sitting down.

“Sure. I love Max and Stacia, but they can be a little too interested, you know?”

“Uh, yeah, I do. Since they’re my parents and all.”

“And they were so happy when I told them how I wanted us to catch up and spend some real time together.” Another smile. “So. Where were you?”

“The movies.”

“Alone?”

“With friends.” She’d rather cut out her eyeball than let Gretchen know she’d been with Liam. You don’t just hand a loaded weapon to an assassin, after all. With a sigh, Posey sat in the bishop’s chair, Shilo’s nose glued to her knee.

“Cool. Cute place, by the way,” Gretchen gestured around the great room. “You have such…interesting taste.”

“So you just decided to move in, huh?” she asked.

“I’m hardly moving in, Posey. It’ll just be a few days. Maybe a week. I thought it would be fun.”

If Posey knew Gretchen, she was just about to whip out the Parents Pity Card.

“After all,” her cousin said, “we haven’t really hung out since my parents died.”

Bingo.

It had been a horrible year for everyone, but, of course, mostly for Gretchen. However, she’d taken her misery out on Posey through constant jabs and insults, minor thefts of Posey’s treasures—the little heart necklace from her dad, Oma’s blue crocheted blanket. Posey understood, but it hadn’t been easy.

But family was family.

“You’re right,” she said, albeit reluctantly. Shilo put his massive head on Posey’s lap, commiserating. “Sure. You can stay for a while. I do know what you mean about Mom and Dad.”

“Great!” Gretchen clapped her hands and turned the sound back on. “Is there anything to eat?” she asked. “Other than ice cream?”

“Um…you’re the chef, Gret,” Posey said.

“And the guest,” she replied, not looking away from the TV.

Posey paused. “Okay. I’m sure I have some cheese and crackers or something.”

“That’d be fantastic,” Gretchen said. “If you have some extra virgin olive oil and French bread, bring that too, okay? But only if it’s extra virgin.”

“I have a frozen French bread pizza,” Posey said sweetly. “Close enough?”

Gretchen gave her another once-over. “It’ll have to do.”





A WEEK LATER, POSEY was ready to burn down the church with Gretchen inside.

“Seriously? It’s really that bad?” Elise asked on Day Six of the Barefoot Invasion.

“Well, the restaurant’s only open Thursday through Sunday until Memorial Day,” Posey answered. “She has a lot of time on her hands.”

“So what does she do all day?” Mac asked in a rare complete sentence.

“She looks at magazines, takes long showers and makes a big mess in the kitchen. But there’s still never anything to eat.” Posey took a sip of her coffee. “She leaves towels on the bathroom floor, tissues on the coffee table, glasses everywhere. Supposedly, she’s making plans for renovating Guten Tag, but I never see any sketches or anything. Oh, and she’s started calling my parents Mutti and Papa. That might be the last straw.” Especially since Gretchen had reminded Posey—twice—that Stacia was genetically identical to her own mother. As if Posey didn’t know that already.

“Does she, like, know Derek Jeter?” Elise asked. “They lived in the same building? In New York? Susan Lucci, too. I love her? From All My Children?”

“According to Gretchen, she knows every celebrity ever born, and they all want to date her.”

“I don’t think I’d want to date a famous person,” Elise said, giving Mac a doe-eyed look. “I’m, like, drawn to the blue-collar type?”

Mac muttered something and fled to the back room.

“Posey, what did you do to that man? Beat him with a stick? He’s like an abused dog.”

Both Posey and Elise turned as Vivian Appleton came in. “Hi, Viv! I was going to pick you up!” Posey said.

“I took a cab. I’m allowed to do that, am I not? The Vultures wouldn’t approve—there go six more dollars of their inheritance, and still I refuse to die. Well. What’s the matter with you, young lady?” She sat in the leather chair next to the front desk and put on her glasses to better stare down Elise.

“That guy? The abused dog, right? Mac. I totally love him,” Elise whispered.

“He’s rather old for you, dear.”

“I don’t even care. From, like, the first day I came in here? I just fell so hard, right? I mean, sometimes you just can’t help it? But he hardly even talks to me?”

“Perhaps it’s because you end all your sentences as a question,” Viv observed.

“Do you think so?” Elise bit her thumbnail.

“No. Don’t bite your nails.” Vivian surveyed the interior of Irreplaceable. “Older, unattractive men are generally good husbands,” she said regally. “The gratitude keeps them in line. Keep trying, my dear. Wear something a bit more form-fitting, too. That looks like it’s made out of a trash bag.”

“Seriously? You think?”

“I’m always serious.”

“You’re like this wise old woman or something?” Elise said. “Oops, I mean, you’re like this wise woman. Not a question, right? Posey, tell her about your cousin! I bet she could totally help you out!”

Posey rolled her eyes and gave Viv the nutshell version.

“You lack gumption,” Vivian pronounced when she was done. “Kick her out. She sounds like a parasite.”

“Right?” Elise said, her mouth half-open in admiration. “I totally agree.”

“It’s not gumption,” Posey said. “It’s my parents. They have this fantasy of Gretchen and me being close as sisters, and they’re thrilled that we’re bonding. Except we’re not. She just lays around like a big blonde slug with giant boobs.”

Vivian snorted. “Yes, she was blessed in that department, as I recall.”

“Don’t tell me you watched her show.”

“Once or twice. Not that I like German food. Does anyone?”

“I do,” Posey said, just in case her mother was lurking. One never knew with Stacia.

“How loyal of you. Are you taking me to lunch or not?”

“I am. Where would you like to go?” she asked.

“To L’Auberge,” Viv answered. “I’m in the mood for French after all this talk of Germany. I lived through that war, you know. Your parents may be nice people, but I will never eat at their restaurant.”

“L’Auberge. Okay.” Posey hesitated. To get there, they’d have to take Route 149, which led right past The Meadows. Did Viv want to see her old home? It might be just the thing for her to see it again, and see how much Posey loved it, too.

“We’ll go the long way,” Vivian said, reading her mind. “It’s a nice day for a drive.”