I sat on an Adirondack chair in the midst of the butterfly bushes in the garden behind Nettie’s. I drew my knees to my chest and draped the skirt of my dress down to my ankles. No missed calls today, but two from Annie from yesterday. I exhaled as a monarch flitted by.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t talk yesterday. Things are a bit crazy here. Was it important?”
“Taken care of. Rescheduled Arturo for the tux shoot.”
“The what?”
“The tux shoot? The designer who’s using La Jolla as their set for the shoot for his spring collection? Arturo. You gave them the tour of the property, Teddi. What’s up with you?”
“Oh, right. Nothing.”
“Something’s up. In the five years I’ve known you it has never taken you two hours to return my call, let alone twelve. Can I help?”
“Did you send my clothes? It’s important that I have my clothes.”
“They will be there, pressed and ready to go.”
“And if they aren’t?”
“They will be.”
“Did you—”
“Yes, I packed two of everything in case some tipsy Aunt Eloise bumps into you and spills her cosmo.”
“I’m going to ask you something but you can’t tell Simon I asked.”
“My lips are sealed.”
“Has Simon said anything about me while I’ve been gone? I’ve only talked to him once.”
“You mean like ‘It’s quiet around here’?”
“Very funny.”
“No, really, he misses you. You two spend a lot of time together.”
Do we?
“He said you two make a great team.”
“Why did he say that?”
“He was buzzing around his office, the door was open, and I walked by. He called me in.”
“He never calls anyone into his office.”
“He asked me if you were happy here.”
“Here where? Here meaning Hester Hotels? Or here meaning him?” Annie and I had never outwardly acknowledged that I was sleeping with Simon, but it was understood after the first time he and I returned from a three-hour lunch and then ordered takeout.
“I wasn’t sure. He said he’s left-brain bossy and you’re right-brain bossy and that makes you two a great fit.”
Were we?
*
I just wanted to drive, but wished I had a convertible, a head scarf, a pair of cat-eye sunglasses, and my best friend.
I headed out of Chance anyway.
The sky was blue with few clouds. The landscape was peaceful, flat, and green in this part of the county. It wasn’t filled with landmarks or anything notable, and I found it inviting, but not in the let-me-post-it-on-Instagram way. The farther I got from Chance the more familiar it seemed, as if bits of the past had scattered and I was gathering them.
I turned and headed back to town, for no other reason than I didn’t want to run out of gas in the middle of the country where there was spotty cell reception and no gas stations. Then, as if by chance, yet not at all, I ended up on the most western end of West Avenue, heading toward the cemetery. I pulled into the parking lot facing the grounds. I looked across, my line of vision skimming the tops and around the edges of headstones. There was Cameron, walking toward me, scribbling onto a notepad, turning away from the sun to shade his face and guard his words.
I lifted my hand. He turned as if to look behind him, and then turned back toward me. Yes, I’m waving at you, not the dead people.
“We really have to stop meeting like this.” Cameron pressed his forearms onto the open window.
“Did you find the story you’re going to write? The dash you want to fill in?”
“I think I have.”
“I’m glad.”
“What brings you here, Teddi? This isn’t your usual hot spot.”
“I was looking for you.”
I pulled on the door handle and Cameron stepped back two paces. He walked closer and stood in front of me. I should’ve shut the door. My heart pounded. The breeze had died down but I pushed back my hair, in case it was thinking of going anywhere. If I stepped forward I’d bump into Cameron; if I stepped back I’d be in the car. I’d confined myself. I had no one else to blame. Or thank.
“Why were you looking for me?”
“You make me laugh.”
Wow, it was that simple. And not simple at all. He made me laugh. And that’s what I’d missed as much as Celia herself. The laughing.
“That’s a lot of pressure.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that…”
“I’m kidding, Teddi. Take a walk with me. I can’t promise a stand-up routine but I might be able to take your mind off whatever’s bothering you.”
“How do you know something’s bothering me?”
“You’re parked at the cemetery?”
I smiled.
“Well, I can’t walk in there,” I said.
“We can go wherever you like.”
That sounded nice. A walk, maybe back at the park or around the square. What was I doing? Nothing. Walking was nothing.
Until it wasn’t.
I shook my head. “I’m not sure where I want to go. I’m not sure of anything. Cammy, you’ve been so nice to me.”
“A second ago I made you laugh and now I’m Cammy and I’m nice? Ouch.”
“You are nice!” I took Cameron’s hands. “I guess … I guess I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about anything. I think I’m almost engaged. And you live here in Chance. And I, I don’t.”
“You think you’re almost engaged to who? Beck?”
“No. Simon Hester.”
“Well done.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I just think it’s a little strange that we’ve had two or three intense conversations in less than a week and you’ve never mentioned a millionaire fiancé, Teddi.”
“I don’t have a fiancé.”
“Oh, right. An ‘almost’ fiancé.”
“It’s a long story.”
Cameron walked around the car and opened the passenger door. “I’ve got all day.”
*
I pretended the last five minutes hadn’t happened and I drove around Chance like a tour guide, espousing history I’d learned at Chance Elementary and on every Fourth of July during the reenactment of the town’s founding and important scenes from Chance’s history.
I turned onto Fern Street at the edge of Chance’s downtown. The street was partly residential and partly commercial, as if it couldn’t decide if it wanted to be home to people or things. The grandest Victorian in Chance was on Fern Street, painted now in deep grays, soft whites, and muted pinks. I’d heard the home had been sold to a family from New York. Simon had moved from New York to San Francisco as a child. I wondered how he’d have fared in Chance, if he’d still have grown up to build a hotel mini empire. The people inside those walls, though? I wondered if they knew the house was rumored to have been a speakeasy during Prohibition, while masquerading as a dancing school. It was probably why my mother never let me take ballet, even though in the eighties, lessons were across town in the basement of Chance Hall, and even though liquor was legal and the house had been home to respected Chance families since 1933. No one in Chance talked about the 1920s’ speakeasy history, though everyone talked about the World War I history when the house doubled as a rehab hospital for army officers and was staffed by local nurses. I prickled with pride I’d forgotten. My great-great-grandmother had been one of those nurses. Still, when Celia and I were in high school, we turned down the coveted roles in the Fourth of July play. We regretted it by the time we turned twenty.