In the fish market parking lot, Liz said, “Are you okay going in alone?”
“For heaven’s sake,” Mr. Bennet said. “I’m not a boy in short pants.”
“I didn’t know if you’d need help carrying stuff.”
As Liz watched him walk in the rear entrance of the store, she called Jane and said, “Gone where?”
“To Los Angeles.” Jane sounded more confused than upset. “Remember when I told you Eligible is doing a reunion show? He decided to be on it after all.”
“Did the hospital let him take a leave?” Liz asked.
“I don’t know. He only sent a text.”
An unpleasant recognition was spreading within Liz that Jane’s worst fears about Chip were wholly justified. “What a flake,” Liz said. “I’m sorry, but who bails on their job—their job as an ER doctor—after less than three months? Will you forward me the text?”
“Hang on.”
A few seconds later, the gray bubble appeared on the screen of Liz’s phone: Hi want to let u know I’m headed to LA today 4 eligible fan favorites reunion show. Been wondering if dr right fit. Great getting to know u, u r really special person.
Raising the phone back to her ear, Liz said, “Is this a joke?”
“He must have been in a hurry,” Jane said.
“I don’t care if his hair was on fire. This is appalling.”
“I want to feel compassion for him.” Jane’s voice was firmer. “I don’t like being angry.”
“Jane, even a yogi can be pissed when her boyfriend turns out to lack basic communication skills.” Liz could see their father emerge from the store carrying a plastic bag.
“I know I can,” Jane said. “I just don’t want to.”
“Well, you’re definitely better off without him.” How rapidly Liz’s once-favorable opinion was curdling, what unflattering details, previously ignored, could be marshaled as evidence for a contrary view: Chip had been nice enough, yes, but clearly narcissistic and immature; he had never been serious about medicine or her sister. “Dad and I will be home in five minutes,” Liz said. “Want to go to Graeter’s and drown our sorrows in mocha chip ice cream?”
As Mr. Bennet opened the passenger-side door, Jane said, “I hope you know how much I appreciate your support, Lizzy. But now I think it really is time for me to leave Cincinnati.”
LIZ HAD SCHEDULED Shane Williams’s visit to the Tudor for one o’clock; meanwhile, her father had, albeit without good humor, agreed to ask Mary to drive him to the Mercantile Library; and under the guise of sisterly thoughtfulness, Liz had scheduled a prenatal massage for Jane. Though Lydia and Kitty were unaccounted for, they were the least likely to be home in the middle of the day.
Shane remained much as Liz remembered him: fit, preppy, cheerful, and loquacious. After she opened the front door of the Tudor and he leaned in to hug her, she stole a glance at his ring finger and noted that it was bare. In light of Shane’s profession, there was a decent chance he was gay. Yes, he’d been the prom date of her friend Rachel in 1993, but back then, even at progressive Seven Hills, students hadn’t exactly been bursting out of the closet.
“If anyone comes home, we can pretend we’re just catching up,” Liz said. “I know I mentioned this on the phone, but my dad hasn’t told my mom they need to move.” Such candor about her family’s financial predicament would, Liz knew, particularly displease her mother, but Liz didn’t see how she had the luxury of discretion.
“It’s a beautiful house,” Shane said.
As Liz led him into the living room, she said, “How have the last twenty years treated you?”
Shane laughed. “Can’t complain.” He gestured toward the large water stain on the wall. “What’s up with that?”
“It looks awful, doesn’t it? I keep meaning to call a contractor and figure out the problem.”
“As long as you’re at it, you could think about painting this room. If you went a few shades lighter, it would really brighten things up. Maybe a pale gray or ecru.”
As he spoke, Liz noted—how had this fact never registered with her?—that the walls were an uninviting mustard shade.
“If you replace the painting over the mantel with a mirror, that’ll also help lightwise,” Shane was saying.
Liz pulled her phone from her pocket and typed in his suggestions as they moved from the living room back through the front hall to the den, then the dining room. In the kitchen, Liz said, “Unfortunately, since the goal is to sell quickly, I can’t see them doing a full renovation here.”
“At least this is really open,” Shane said. “Buyers like that now.”