Whispers and Lies Page 7

  “You were a receptionist,” I reminded her.

  She laughed. “Yeah, but I watched and I learned, and I’m really pretty good. You want me to give it a try after dinner?”

  I thought of the improvised bob I’d given Myra Wylie earlier in the week. Was I as brave as she was? “Where are you taking me?”

  “It’s this new place right across from the Lorelli Gallery. I already called them and said we’d be a bit late.”

  The restaurant was called Barrington’s, and like many restaurants in South Florida, it was much bigger on the inside than it appeared from the street. The main room was decorated like a French bistro, lots of Tiffany lamps and leaded-glass windows, along with Toulouse-Lautrec posters of dancers from the Moulin Rouge suspended from pale yellow walls that were an exact—and unfortunate—match with my dress. Were it not for my ample cleavage, I might have vanished altogether.

  The waiter brought over a basket of bread, the wine list, and two large menus, before reciting by heart the list of the night’s specials. His eyes moved back and forth between Alison’s face and my chest. Together, I remember thinking, we could rule the world.

  “Dolphin!” Alison wailed in horror at one of the waiter’s suggestions.

  “Not Flipper,” I explained quickly. “This dolphin’s a fish, not a mammal. It’s sometimes called mahi mahi.”

  “I like the sound of that much better.”

  “How’s the salmon?” I asked.

  “Tasty,” the waiter said, looking at Alison. “But kind of boring,” he said, looking at me.

  “What about the swordfish?” Alison asked.

  “Wonderful,” the waiter enthused. “They grill it in a light Dijon mustard sauce. And it comes with sautéed vegetables and little red potatoes.”

  “Sounds great. I’ll have that.”

  “I’ll have the salmon,” I offered, risking the young man’s scorn, daring to be dull.

  “Some wine?”

  Alison motioned to me with her hand, as if giving me the floor. “Some wine?” she repeated.

  “I think I’ll skip the wine tonight.”

  “You can’t skip the wine. This is a celebration. We have to have wine.”

  “Remember what happened last time,” I cautioned.

  She looked confused, as if she’d forgotten all about her recent migraine. “We’ll have white wine, not red,” she pronounced upon reflection. “That should be all right.”

  The waiter pointed out the choice of wines, and Alison followed his recommendation. Something from Chile, I believe. It was good, and it was cold, and it quickly gave me a pleasant buzz. Service was slow, and I’d already finished my glass by the time the food arrived. Alison poured me another, and I didn’t object, although I noticed she’d only taken a few sips of her own drink. “Ooh, this is yummy delicious,” she enthused, biting into the swordfish. “How’s yours?”

  “Yummy.” I laughed at the sound.

  “So, did you see your friend this week?” Alison asked suddenly.

  “My friend?”

  “Josh Wylie.” Alison stole a look around the crowded restaurant, as if he might be there, as if she might recognize him if he were.

  The salmon stuck in my throat. “How do you know about Josh Wylie?”

  Alison swallowed one forkful of swordfish, then another. “You told me about him.”

  “I did?”

  “Dinner at your house. I asked if you were interested in anyone, and you said there was this guy”—she lowered her voice, her eyes doing another slow spin around the room—“Josh Wylie, whose mother is one of your patients. Right?” She popped two small potatoes into her mouth, speared another forkful of fish.

  “Right.”

  “So, did you see him?”

  “Yes, I did. As a matter of fact, he’s taking me to lunch next Friday.”

  Alison’s eyes widened with delight. “Way to go, Terry!”

  I laughed. “It’s not a big deal,” I cautioned, as much to myself as to Alison. “He probably just wants to talk about his mother.”

  “If he wanted to talk about his mother, he’d do it in the waiting room. Trust me, he’s interested.”

  I shrugged, hoping she was right. “We’ll see.”

  Alison waved my hesitation aside. “You’ll have to tell me all about it.” She clapped her hands together, as if congratulating me for a job well done, then finished off the last of her swordfish in three quick swallows. “This is so exciting. I can’t wait till next Friday.”

  I don’t remember much else about the meal, except that Alison insisted on ordering dessert, and that I ate more than I should have.

  “Come on,” I remember her saying as she pushed the large piece of banana-cream cake toward me. “You only live once.”

  After dinner, Alison was eager to show me the Lorelli Gallery. She grabbed my hand and all but pulled me across the busy street. I heard a car whiz by behind me, felt its exhaust on my bare calves. “Watch where you’re going, lady,” the driver yelled out.

  “Be careful,” Alison admonished as if I’d been crossing the street all by myself.

  On weekends, the gallery stayed open till ten o’clock, hoping to attract tourists and passersby. I counted four people inside the well-lit store, including the spike-haired young woman behind the counter. The walls were covered with colorful paintings, mostly by artists I didn’t recognize, although there was a typical Motherwell painting of a woman with large red lips and a prominent nipple, and three paintings of pears were stacked one on top of the other, by an artist whose name I could never remember no matter how many times I saw his work. I found my attention drawn to a small, rectangular painting of a woman, her face hidden behind a large hat, as she sunned herself on a pink, sandy beach.

  “That’s my favorite,” Alison said, then lowered her voice. “It would go great in your living room, don’t you think? On the wall behind the sofa?”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  Alison pulled me toward the center of the room, almost knocking over a sculpture of a large fiberglass frog. “Whoops.” She giggled. “Isn’t that the most hideous thing you’ve ever seen?”

  I agreed it was.

  “Fern says she can’t keep the damn things in the store, they sell so fast. Can you believe it? Denise, hi,” she continued in the same breath. “This is Terry Painter, my landlady. My friend,” she added with a smile.

  The girl behind the counter looked up from the fashion magazine she was perusing, extraordinary violet eyes overwhelming the rest of her small face. “Nice to meet you,” she said, her voice surprisingly husky, the words emerging slowly from between small but full lips, as if she weren’t quite sure whether meeting me was nice or not. She was dressed all in black, which made her look thinner than she already was, although her breasts were high and disproportionately large for her narrow frame.

  “I don’t think they’re real,” Alison would later say.

  “I’m wondering how much that painting is,” I said, glancing toward the painting of the girl on the pink, sandy beach, her face hidden by her wide-brimmed hat.

  Denise raised bored violet eyes to the far wall. Then she reached under the counter and pulled out a plastic-covered sheet of paper to scan the typed list. “That one’s fifteen hundred dollars.”

  “The wall behind the sofa in your living room,” Alison said again. “What do you think?”

  “I think you don’t start work till Monday,” I reminded her.

  Alison’s face broke into a wide smile. “I’m gonna be great at this, aren’t I?”

  I laughed, directing my attention to the display of jewelry in the glass counter that occupied the middle of the store. I found myself staring at a pair of long silver earrings in the shape of cupids.

  “Aren’t those great?” Alison knew exactly what pair I was looking at. “How much are these?” She poked at the glass above the earrings.

  Denise opened the back of the case, lifted the earrings out, held them toward me. Deep p
urple nails protruded over the ends of long, tapered fingers. “Two hundred dollars.”

  I backed away, lifted my hands in the air. “Too rich for my blood.”

  Alison quickly scooped up the earrings. “Nonsense. She’ll take them.”

  “No,” I countered. “Two hundred dollars is way too much.”

  “My treat.”

  “What? No!”

  “Yes.” Alison gently removed the thin gold loops I was wearing and replaced them with the long silver cupids. “You gave me a heart,” she said, patting the tiny gold heart at her throat. “Now it’s my turn.”

  “It’s hardly the same thing.”

  “I won’t take no for an answer. Besides, I get an employee discount. How much with my discount?” she asked Denise.

  The young woman shrugged. “Take them. They’re yours. Fern’ll never miss them.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, immediately preparing to take them off.

  “She’s just kidding,” Alison said, already returning several loose $100 bills to her purse. She quickly ushered me to the front of the store. “Fern’s her aunt,” she reminded me, as if this should be explanation enough.

  “Does she know her niece is a thief?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll settle with Fern on Monday.”

  “You promise?”

  Alison smiled, tucked my hair behind my ears to better admire my new earrings. “I promise.”

  SEVEN

  “Don’t you look lovely!” Myra Wylie lifted her head from the pillow, gnarled fingers, like turkey claws, beckoning me toward her bed.

  I ran self-conscious hands across the front of my yellow dress as I approached. Myra had asked to see what I’d be wearing for lunch with her son, so I’d used her bathroom to change out of my nurse’s uniform and into my street clothes. I’d decided on the same dress I’d worn to dinner with Alison the previous week.

  “Thank you, dear.” Myra lowered her head back to the pillow, although her eyes remained on me. “It was very sweet of you to show me your dress. I get a taste of what I missed by not having had a daughter. That former daughter-in-law of mine was for the birds. She was no fun at all. But you …”

  “Me?” I prompted, eager to hear more.

  “You’re very good to me.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “People aren’t always kind,” Myra said, her eyes on some distant memory.

  “You make it very easy,” I told her truthfully, pulling up a chair and sitting down beside her, stealing a glance at my watch. It was almost twelve-thirty.

  “Don’t worry,” Myra said with a knowing smile. “He won’t be late.”

  I leaned forward, pretended to be tucking in the blue cotton sheet that served as a bedspread.

  “Those are lovely,” Myra said. “Are they new?”

  Her bony fingers were twisting toward the dangling cupids at my ears. “Yes, they are. A friend gave them to me.” I wondered if Alison had settled with her boss, as she’d promised.

  “A boyfriend?” Worry clouded Myra’s eyes, like fresh cataracts.

  “No. Actually, they were a gift from my new tenant.” Again I pictured Alison. She’d started work on Monday, and except for one quick call to say she was loving every minute of her new job, I hadn’t spoken to her all week. “Besides, I’m a little old for boyfriends, don’t you think?”

  “We’re never too old for boyfriends.”

  “What’s this about boyfriends?” the male voice boomed from the doorway.

  “There he is,” Myra said, all girlish flutter. “How are you, darling?” She held out her arms. I stepped out of the way and watched Josh fold inside them.

  “Perfect,” he said, looking right at me.

  “Was the traffic bad?”

  “It was miserable.”

  “You should take the turnpike.”

  “Yes, I should.” He straightened up and smiled at me. “We have this same discussion every week.”

  “You should listen to your mother,” I told him.

  “Yes, I should.”

  “Doesn’t Terry look beautiful?” Myra asked.

  I looked to the floor to hide the blush I could feel spreading across my face. Not because I was embarrassed by the compliment, but because I’d been thinking exactly the same thing about her son. I don’t think I’d realized before how deep were the dimples at his cheeks, how pronounced the muscles that bulged beneath his short-sleeved shirt. It was all I could do to keep from crossing my legs and screaming out loud. I hadn’t felt this way in years.

  “She looks very beautiful,” Josh dutifully replied.

  “Do you like her earrings?”

  Josh lifted his fingers to my ear, his hand grazing the side of my cheek. “I like them very much.”

  I felt a rush of heat, as if he’d struck a match, held it against my flesh. “You’re a troublemaker, you know that?” I told Myra, who looked inordinately pleased with herself.

  “You ready?” Josh asked.

  I nodded.

  “I expect a full report after lunch,” Myra called after us.

  “I’ll take notes,” I called back as Josh ushered me into the hall.

  “How would you like to have lunch by the ocean?” he asked.

  “You read my mind.”

  * * *

  WE WENT TO LUNA ROSA, an upscale eatery located on South Ocean Boulevard, directly across from the beach. The restaurant was one of my favorites, an easy walk from my house, although Josh had no way of knowing that. He’d reserved a table outside, and we sat along the narrow sidewalk, soaking in the ocean air, and watching the constant parade of people pass by our chairs.

  “So, tell me, when did all this happen?” Josh’s voice rose easily above the conflicting sounds of surf and automobiles.

  “When did what happen?” I watched a young woman in a turquoise thong bikini as she ran barefoot across the road, then disappeared into a burst of sunlight.

  Josh waved large, expressive hands into the air. “This. The Delray I remember was all pineapple fields and jungle.”

  I laughed. “You don’t get out much, do you?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Delray’s changed a lot in the past ten years.” I felt an unexpected surge of pride. “We’ve just been awarded our second All-American City designation by the National Civic League, and a few years back we were named ‘the best-run town in Florida.’ ” I smiled. “How do you like them pineapples?”

  He laughed, his eyes on mine. “Looks like I should visit more often.”

  “I’m sure your mother would like that.”

  “And you?”

  I grabbed my ice water, took a long sip. “I’d like that too.”

  The waiter approached with our orders. Crab cakes for Josh, a seafood salad for me.

  “Your mother’s quite a character,” I said, taking a mouthful of calamari, seeking safer ground. I’d never been a good flirt, and I was even worse when it came to playing games. I tended to blurt out whatever thought was on the tip of my tongue.

  “Yes, she is. She’s filled you in on the sordid family history, I take it.”

  “She told me you’re divorced.”

  “I’m sure her description was considerably more colorful than that.”

  “Maybe just a little.” I took another sip of ice water. Sensibly, I’d declined Josh’s offer of a glass of wine. It was important to keep a clear head, to stay in control. Besides, I had barely an hour before I had to be back at work. I leaned back in the uncomfortable folding chair, listened to the sound of the waves somersaulting toward the shore, echoing the tumult taking place inside my body. God, what was the matter with me? I hadn’t felt so overwhelmed, so smitten, so damn girlish, since I was fourteen years old.

  I wanted to grab Josh Wylie by the collar of his white linen shirt and yank him across the table. I haven’t had sex in five years, I wanted to shout. Can we just skip all this verbal foreplay and get on with the real thing?

  But of co
urse I didn’t. I just sat there smiling at him. My mother would have been proud.

  “She tells me you never married,” Josh said, cutting into his crab cakes, unaware of the more interesting conversation taking place inside my head.

  “She’s right.”

  “Hard to believe.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “Because you’re a beautiful, intelligent woman, and I would have thought some guy would have snapped you up long ago.”

  “You would have thought,” I agreed with a laugh.

  “You have something against marriage?”

  “Not a thing.” I wondered why I always seemed to be explaining my single status. “As I told Alison, it wasn’t any conscious decision on my part.”

  “Who’s Alison?”

  “What? Oh, my new tenant.”

  “Any regrets?”

  “Regrets? About Alison?”

  Josh smiled. “About life in general.”

  I released a long, deep breath. “A few. You?”

  “A few.”

  We finished the rest of our meal, talking easily, laughing often, as the waves swept our unspoken regrets back and forth along the water’s edge.

  AFTER LUNCH, Josh removed his socks and shoes and rolled his black linen trousers up around his knees, while I slipped off my sandals, and we walked along the beach. The ocean repeatedly rushed toward us, only to pull away upon contact. Like an eager lover tormented by second thoughts, it charged only to retreat. It seduced you with its monstrous beauty, then abandoned you, breathless and alone, on the shore. The eternal dance, I thought, the water cold as it licked at my toes.

  “Aren’t we just the luckiest people alive?” Josh said with an appreciative laugh.

  “We are.” I pushed my face toward the sky, squinting into the sun.

  “I remember when I was a kid,” he continued. “My father used to take me to the beach every Saturday afternoon while my mother was having her hair done.”

  “You’re from Florida originally?” I wasn’t sure why I asked that. I already knew everything there was to know about Josh’s background: that he’d been born in Boynton Beach, weighing a hefty nine pounds, two ounces; that his parents had lived at 212 Hibiscus Drive all their married life; that his mother had continued to live there after her husband’s death a decade ago; that she’d refused her son’s offer to move her down to Miami so that she could be closer to her grandchildren; that she’d continued to live in that little house she loved until she got too sick to look after it anymore; that she’d personally selected Mission Care over fancier facilities in Miami, insisting that she got nosebleeds south of Delray; that her son drove up at least once a week to see her; that he was still reeling from his divorce after seventeen years of marriage to his college sweetheart; that he was the single father of two lovely but confused children; that he was lonely; that he deserved a second chance at happiness; that I was more than prepared to provide him with that chance.