My Year of Casual Acquaintances (South Bay #1)

31.

Michael is manning the grill while Heather stir-fries vegetables in her copper wok. Knowing I’m next to useless in the kitchen, she puts me in charge of entertaining Benny during the dinner preparations. The two of us are working on a farm animal jigsaw puzzle. Though I’m a whiz at word games, my jigsaw skills are about on par with my culinary abilities, and Benny has figured this out.

“GrandMar, why are you so slow?”

“I’m not a visual person. I’m verbal.”

“Fur ball? Like kitty cats get?”

I laugh. “No, VER-bal. A verbal person is someone who talks a lot or writes a lot.”

“Which do you do?”

“Both, I guess.”

“All done,” he says, dropping the last piece of the puzzle into place. “I want to do another one.”

“How about this jungle puzzle? It looks fun.” I reach for the box.

Benny grabs the box from me and clutches it with both arms. “By myself,” he says.

“Self” has always been one of Benny’s favorite words. As a toddler, he’d point to his own chest and say “self” whether I was trying to feed him, guide the water bottle into his mouth, or fasten the Velcro strip on his shoe. It’s not a term of selfishness with him; it’s a declaration of independence. “You can play by yourself, but put away the farm puzzle first,” I tell him.

I walk over to the kitchen island to find some way to be useful to my daughter-in-law.

“Can I top off your wine? That I know how to do.” Heather laughs and nods in the direction of her stemless glass, which I refill along with my own. “This is a pleasant way to begin the weekend,” I say. “Was dinner tonight your idea?”

“Yes. Michael’s been perfecting his grilled salmon recipe for a couple of months now, and I told him I thought you’d enjoy it.”

“And he was okay with that?”

“He—Michael is still struggling with what happened the day of Henry’s surprise party. But he wants to get back on a better footing with you.”

“That’s good.”

“Why don’t you bring him a glass of wine and keep him company while he’s grilling?” says Heather. “Oh, and you can take this serving platter out for the salmon.” She hands me a clean glass and I pour some chardonnay before placing the wine bottle back in its snug collar. Slipping my jacket on, I balance both glasses on the platter and head out to join Michael.

“Mmm. That smells great,” I say, inhaling the aroma of the thick-cut salmon steaks on the barbecue. “What’s your recipe?”

“I start with a sweet bourbon sauce I buy from the fish market, then I add fresh lemon juice, soy sauce, and crushed garlic.”

“Sounds yummy.” We stand in silence for a couple of minutes as I watch him turn the salmon on the grill. “How’ve you been doing?” I ask.

“Oh . . .” He sighs. “For a while, my main emotion was shock. Then anger. Then confusion. Now, though, it’s . . . relief.”

“Relief? How so?”

He hesitates. “I was really shaken when you and Dad separated and then divorced. It felt like the whole foundation of my family had—I don’t know—crumbled, or something like that. The two of you split up, then my childhood home was sold—”

“The foundation of your childhood family did crumble. But you have a wonderful home with Heather and Benny now,” I say gently.

“Of course, I know that. But the whole thing was still traumatic.”

“So, in what way do you now feel relieved?”

“When Dad took up with Alice – and led me to believe you’d been in another relationship for years as well – I felt like both my parents were serial adulterers. This may sound stupid, but . . . ever since the divorce, I’ve been worrying that some infidelity gene was passed down to me. That I would eventually cheat on Heather and ruin our marriage. I love her so much, but I felt like it was out of my control. Like—like I felt guilty of a crime I hadn’t committed yet. So it was reassuring to me when I found out you were innocent in all this.”

“I’m glad we set the record straight. But you learned something pretty upsetting about your father at the same time.”

His expression darkens. “I’m still pissed at how Dad misrepresented the situation. What he did makes me sick. But when I think about Heather, I can’t imagine being unfaithful like he was. So that’s reassuring too.”

“Have you discussed this with him?”

“I’ve tried. But Alice always seems to get in the middle, and it’s not helpful. She wants to minimize the problems by talking about how wonderful everything is. She’s a lot like Dad that way.”

“How do you mean?”

“They’re all about appearances. Better to avoid the truth than face conflict or unpleasantness.”

I give him an understanding nod. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all this. But I’m also relieved that we can work on restoring your trust in me.”

“I feel guilty about being mean to you, taking Dad’s side the way I did.”

“You and Dad have always been close. And he’s your boss. You see the man every day. It’s not surprising you would line up on his side.”

Michael shrugs.

“I won’t deny you were mean to me at times, but I haven’t been a perfect angel this past year either,” I say. “I made some dumb mistakes about Benny’s care that eroded your trust in me. So you’re not the only one who feels guilty. But you know what? I am sick and tired of guilt. It’s such a useless, exhausting emotion.”

“Heather keeps telling me to put aside guilt and blame.”

“Your Heather is a wise lady. You know, it’s easy for me to blame Dad for everything too. But I’ll tell you something that’s going to sound weird – I honestly think he couldn’t help himself, spinning that yarn about me and my boss.” I’ve been wondering how many other yarns Henry has spun over the years. Like the time he confessed about his one-night stand at the hotel. Did he really sleep with that woman to comfort her as she grieved over losing her parents, or did he concoct that story to make his own behavior less despicable?

Michael says, “It does sound weird for you to be defending Dad. Heather says you and Dad are such different people, she’s convinced in the long run you’ll both be happier apart than together.”

“She said that?”

“Yes, and not just recently. Long before you and Dad split up, she talked about your differences.”

I nod. “Hmm. My friend Audrey says it’s easier to figure out other people’s problems than your own. I guess Heather is proving the theory. She saw what I couldn’t see myself for twenty-eight years.”

Seconds later, I receive a text from Audrey.

Audrey: Thanks again for covering on Wednesday. Did everything go OK? I’ve been in endless meetings.

It’s true Audrey hasn’t had time to come up for air. When she picked up Petey Wednesday afternoon from my place, she was on a business call the whole time and couldn’t do anything other than wave to me and mouth “thanks” as she guided the dog into the car.

Margaret: Petey and I had a great time. Everything went fine.

Well, everything except my brief and unresolved contact with Charlie, which has left an even bigger ache than before.

Audrey: More meetings next week. Hate to ask, but can you take him again next Wed?

I check my calendar before replying.

Margaret: Yes, I’ll do it.

She also asks if I can walk Petey on Monday and Friday. I agree.

Audrey: You da best, Margaret. I promise to make it up to you.

. . .

I’m on my hands and knees on the side lawn of Seaside Fitness, a grassy area where they hold yoga classes in good weather, and a forty-pound goat is balancing on my back. Heather and Benny stand on the sidelines holding hands, and the little boy bounces up and down on his feet. His grin is so wide it nearly bisects his face.

When I learned the club was offering a special first-come, first-served goat yoga class, I figured, why not? Yoga, hiking, and even partying with goats are the hot new trends in California, and I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. I’ll admit, I’ve also been trying to find an excuse to lure Benny and Heather back to Seaside Fitness, and I figured this was a great way to accomplish my goal.

Besides, maybe Charlie will attend.

He doesn’t. Surveying the vast group, I see one or two familiar faces, and I now understand this event has not attracted the serious yogis. But it’s a sell-out crowd of fifty participants, with only two trained goats. I’d hoped for a more favorable goat-to-human ratio, but the handlers do an efficient job of leading Goldie and Sparky around with enough speed that nobody is neglected.

As thrilling as it all is, an hour of yoga cannot hold a small boy’s attention, even when it involves goats standing on his grandmother’s back. Heather gestures to let me know she’s taking Benny to explore the area, and she’ll bring him back by the end of class when there will be an opportunity to take photos and pet the young animals. Once they’re gone, I focus on the breathing and the various positions – it is a real yoga class, after all. Though it’s shocking at first to have goat hooves teetering on top of me, I get used to it in time. I can’t honestly claim, however, that the goats are helping me with my yoga as they are purported to do in the promotional literature. They’re more of a novelty. But they bring smiles to everyone’s faces and a palpable spirit of joy and energy to the group.

At the end of class, Goldie hops up on me one last time. I glance over at Sparky, the black-and-white goat, who is perched on the back of another woman two rows down. There’s something familiar about her profile, and when she turns her head in my direction, the big green eyes are unmistakable.

Sunny.

She runs in my direction and I meet her halfway, closing in for a strong hug. “I can’t believe you’re here,” I say. “Why didn’t you tell me you were in town?”

“I didn’t think I’d have time to see anyone. Then I decided to stay longer.”

“It’s great to see you.”

As I say this, Heather walks up with Benny. “Sunny, this is my daughter-in-law, Heather. Heather—my friend Sunny.” Benny hides behind his mother’s legs during the introductions.

Sunny and I exchange hesitant glances. I have no idea what Michael told his wife about that day, months ago, when he rebuked me for leaving their child in the care of “a homeless woman.” Has Heather identified Sunny as the notorious babysitter? And if that’s the case, are we all in for an awkward scene right now? No doubt, Sunny is asking herself the same questions. But Heather steps forward to give Sunny a firm handshake and a warm smile.

“Nice to meet you,” she says. “Benny spoke to me about you.”

“He did?” says Sunny, her eyes darting back and forth between Heather and me.

“He told me you made a happy face out of banana slices and gave it to him on a plate. It made a big impression.”

“Oh, I’m glad. It’s always been one of my go-to strategies to get kids to eat.”

“Worked like a charm with Benny.”

Sunny grins, then crouches down. “Nice to see you, Benny. Do you remember me?”

He sticks his head out from behind his mother’s legs long enough to give Sunny a shy nod.

“Sunny lives and works in Northern California now.” I want to make sure Heather knows my friend is no longer homeless – if she even knew in the first place.

“I manage a day spa up in Mill Valley. The owners are thinking about opening a second spa in this area, and they sent me down here to scout locations.”

“I didn’t know you were promoted to manager,” I say. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you like it up there?” Heather asks Sunny.

“Mill Valley’s a great little town, and I love San Francisco, but I’m a Southern California girl at heart. I have to admit I miss the beach, not to mention all my favorite haunts in the South Bay.”

“Will you have any free time while you’re here?” I ask.

“Absolutely. Text me.”

After Benny pets Goldie and Sparky and we snap a few selfies with the goats, the three of us head to the car. We walk past the Seaside Kids building. “Benny and I came over here during your class, and he showed me the bounce house and some of the play equipment,” says Heather. “What a great kids’ club. We’ll have to bring him back here sometime soon.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Heather tosses her head and says, “Don’t worry; I’ll handle Michael. I can’t fathom why he got so freaked out about Benny going there in the first place.” As we get into the car, she says, “By the way, your friend Sunny seems lovely. I like her. Again, I don’t understand why Michael had a meltdown over her babysitting.” She sighs. “Actually, I do understand.”

“Because that’s our Michael?”

“That’s our Michael.”

“But we love him just the same?”

“We love him just the same.”

. . .

“I hate it when we go off daylight savings time for the winter. It’s five o’clock. and we’re already losing the light,” I say. It’s the following evening, and Sunny and I are relaxing on my balcony, observing the post-sunset skyline.

“I know.” She shivers and yanks the zipper up on her fleece hoodie. “I’m getting a little chilled.”

“Me too. Let’s go inside.” I open the sliding door and we carry our wine into the living room.

After I’ve replenished the wine and brought out paté and crackers, and we’re seated on the couch, Sunny says, “I had a long chat with Charlie Kittredge yesterday.”

I try to act nonchalant. “That’s nice. I’d forgotten you two were friends. How’s he doing?”

“Busy. His new book is coming out next week.”

“That soon?”

“Yep, it’s a sequel to Bicoastal. It’s called Second Chance,” she says. “He told me the main character is Nomi, the New York wife in Bicoastal, and the story is about her new relationship after the divorce. Oh, wait—you haven’t read his books, have you?”

“I read them a few months ago. They’re brilliant.” I bury my face in both hands.

“What’s wrong?”

“Charlie and I were seeing each other back in June. It didn’t go on for long, but it was intense while it lasted. I broke it off because I wasn’t ready for a relationship like that at the time.”

She looks surprised by this revelation and pauses, as if trying to regain her composure. “Understandable so soon after becoming single.”

“Right, but now I regret what I did. The problem is, Charlie’s made it clear he’s not interested anymore—and besides, I think he’s seeing someone else.”

“Why do you think that?”

I tell her about spotting him with the little dark-haired woman at the movie theater.

“He isn’t seeing anyone,” she says.

My heart rate accelerates. “How do you know?”

“He said so himself. Listen, I’m gonna repeat what he told me about the two of you.”

“He told you about us?” I take a couple of deep breaths.

“Charlie said he was seeing a woman last June, someone he had deep feelings for. He told me, ‘I fell pretty hard, pretty fast.’ But he said it didn’t work out with her. He didn’t name names. I had no idea it was you.”

“Maybe it wasn’t.”

Sunny gives me a get real look. “Margaret, come on. He told me the woman ended the relationship because she didn’t want to get involved. You think he had two serious affairs in the same month?”

“I suppose not.”

“He also said he’s dated a couple of other women since then, but nobody who meant anything to him. He’s decided to go it alone and focus on the new book launch.”

“Oh.” The “go it alone” part fills me with despair.

I tell Sunny about my recent efforts to reach out to Charlie: the inquisitive text messages about his novels, the invitations for coffee, and how I arranged for him to meet with Vincent at the board and care. “He’s never outright rude to me, but he’s chilly,” I say. “I’ve tried acting friendly and flirty with him, but I don’t think he wants anything to do with me.” I lean towards her, my eyes pleading. “I don’t know what to do next. Do you have any ideas at all? Please?”

Sunny clutches her wine goblet in both hands and stares into it as if consulting a crystal ball for the answer to a burning question. “The thing is . . . you really hurt the guy. So if all you want to do is act friendly and flirty, Charlie’s gonna run away from that. It only spells more trouble for him going forward.”

“That’s not what I want.”

“Then what do you want? Because he’s been through a lot and he doesn’t deserve more heartache. Charlie is one of the rare good men out there, Margaret.” Sunny’s voice shakes a little and her mouth twists into an odd expression, as if we were discussing her problem instead of mine. “Be sure you know what you want from him before you go ahead with this. Don’t mess with him to satisfy your own vanity or maybe just to get laid.”

I nod as I mull over her advice. “But how do I make him believe I’m serious when he won’t even agree to see me? Send him a snail-mail letter? Hire a sky-writing plane?”

“I can’t answer that for you. You’ll have to find a way.”

“But what if Charlie agrees to see me only to tell me he’s not interested?”

“Then you won’t be any worse off than you are now, will you?” says Sunny. “And at least you’ll know the score, and you’ll move on once and for all.”

“I guess. Oh God, it’s so hard to figure this whole thing out. Are you headed back north soon?”

“Two more days. But I’m always reachable. You know me – my phone is attached to me like another limb.” She gives her phone an affectionate pat.

“Will you be coming back?”

Sunny shrugs. “It depends on whether my cousin goes ahead with this expansion plan. If she opens a spa in the South Bay, she might send me back to run it.”

“Wow. That would be fantastic,” I say.

“But don’t count on it.”

“I don’t count on anything these days. Believe me.”