Ah, stress: the most effective appetite killer there is. At this rate, her New Year’s resolution will be to gain enough weight to fit back into her jeans.
She pulls away from the curb, winding back through the streets and around the traffic circle toward the Mundy’s Strip Mall on Colonial Highway. It was built shortly after she and Jake moved back to town, on the site of the old Caldor discount department store where her mother used to buy all their back--to--school clothes. The boys and Rowan never minded much, but even as a little girl, Noreen longed for the designer brands they couldn’t afford.
Noreen.
“I think you’re blowing this whole thing out of proportion,” she said when Rowan told her about the burnt cookies. “It had to be Rick who sent them. Of course he’d deny it.”
“But why would he do it?”
“Who knows? Because the sky is blue? Because his wife died and he’s lonely?”
“Ex--wife. And she died on the same day that—-”
“I know, but the odds of that happening aren’t really all that astronomical. Maybe he took it as some kind of sign that you and he were meant to be together.”
“I doubt that. And I wish I knew how she died.”
“Does it matter? The fact that she died was added stress for him. -People get crazy enough when they go through a divorce. Believe me—-I’ve seen it all.”
“So you think it was Rick.”
“Of course it was Rick. Who else could it have been?”
Well, it wasn’t Vanessa, and it wasn’t Noreen. And it wasn’t Kevin, even though he knows what happened.
She shouldn’t have been surprised when her sister admitted she’d shared the secret with her husband immediately after Rowan told her. After all, she herself has shared plenty of secrets with Jake.
Other -people’s secrets, anyway.
Her trustworthy, honorable brother--in--law is no more likely to taunt her or sneak around sending anonymous packages than her sister is. If Kevin is the only person Noreen told—-and she swears that he was, and that no one could possibly have overheard the conversation—-then Rick himself is guilty, or he lied about having kept what happened to himself.
“Can you just make sure Kevin never mentioned it to anyone else?” she asked Noreen before they hung up.
Noreen promised that she would, though she reminded Rowan that Kevin works long hours and she sometimes goes for days without seeing him.
Rowan refrained from warning Noreen that that’s how she got herself into trouble back when she and Jake were living in Westchester. Her sister isn’t a young stay--at--home mom pining away for her husband or fantasizing about the stay--at--home dad next door. Even twenty years ago, she would never have fallen into that trap.
Doing the right thing has always come so naturally to Noreen.
It must be nice, she thinks, sliding into the left--hand turning lane at the intersection in front of the large shopping complex.
“You need to tell Jake,” Noreen advised. “Then your problem will be solved. This Rick guy will have nothing over you.”
“You’re kidding, right? If I tell Jake . . .”
“What? He’ll leave?”
She hesitated. “I don’t know.”
“Jake isn’t going to walk out on you because you kissed the neighbor fourteen years ago.”
Noreen is probably right, she concluded. About that, and everything else.
Rick must have sent the package of cookies. Without a spurned wife in the picture, he’s the only person who would possibly have the motive to go to such lengths.
As she inches the minivan forward, her sister’s words continue to ring in her head.
“You’re lucky, Ro. Rejected men are capable of pulling a lot worse than this.”
“But how is he rejected? I mean, maybe he was years ago, but . . . it just doesn’t add up.”
“He’s nostalgic. It comes with age. He probably thinks of you as the one who got away.”
“So he sent me a box of burnt cookies, because God knows that’s the surefire way to a woman’s heart.”
“Maybe it seemed like a grand romantic gesture when he thought of it.”