Page 13 of The Attic on Queen Street
It wasn’t that I resented the new additions to my life. I treasured each and every one of them and wouldn’t trade a single moment I’d spent with my new family. But the last month had taught me that my ego and my confidence were as firm as warm Jell-O. My job was the one thing I knew I was good at. Maybe even great at. More than that, it bolstered me enough to handle the other failures in my life.
I pulled open the door, and put my finger to my lips before Jolly could speak and alert Catherine that I was there. It’s not that I didn’t likeCatherine, because it was impossible not to. She was warm, kind, enthusiastic about everything, and very energetic. She also brought me an endless supply of home-baked goodies, which I appreciated, since I was denied them at home.
But I found Catherine exhausting. She had four children, as was evidenced by all the sports and school stickers on the rear of her minivan and all the framed photos on her desk and scattered around her office like confetti. She’d retired from her job in the tech world to stay home with the kids and had only recently received her Realtor’s license. I’d felt sorry for her at first, wondering where she’d find the time to be an effective Realtor, but that was before she’d started making big sales and attracting lucrative listings.
It had taken her only two months to install her name firmly at the top of the board, while mine lingered near the bottom until it had finally fallen off completely sometime in December. I no longer felt sorry for Catherine and did my best to avoid her, or at least stay out of her way so I wouldn’t get run over. She reminded me of a hurricane, sucking up all the air in a room and then swirling it around before you realized what had happened.
It also didn’t help that she was the consummate mother and community volunteer, achieving more in her day with four kids and a flourishing career and no nanny than I did. It was depressing and demoralizing and I could take her only in small doses, and only after I’d had enough coffee to keep me on my toes.
Jolly shook her head in disapproval (since she—and everyone else—adored Catherine), her dragonfly earrings shimmying from her earlobes. She slid over a small stack of pink message notes clipped together by date. We had an automated system for messages, but Jolly understood that I preferred mine in paper form, and she’d instinctively known that I liked them organized in date order. It’s why I’d voted for a generous Christmas bonus for her.
I nodded in thanks and began to tiptoe back to my office, thankful to hear Catherine talking on the phone.
“Did you forget someone outside?” Jolly whispered loudly.
“What?” I swung around to look through the glass door of the office.
Jolly stood staring out at the street with a frown on her face. “There was a woman there—she was walking right behind you, but she didn’t come inside.” She settled her eyes on me. “She seemed... wet. Like she’d just been caught in a storm.”
I moved toward the door and opened it, looking up and down Broad Street, but besides a passing jogger, there was no one close enough to have just been in front of our building. And definitely nobody wet. I looked up at a clear blue sky with thin and wispy white clouds. But when I glanced down on the sidewalk, the unmistakable wet footprints of a woman with about my shoe size could be seen coming from around the corner, but no footprints appeared to be returning. They’d simply stopped at the front door.
Ignoring the tingling at the back of my neck, I reentered the lobby, shaking my head. “Not sure what you might have seen, but there’s nobody there.”
I smiled brightly as I passed her, ignoring the questioning look in her eyes as I said a silent prayer that she wouldn’t go outside and see the footprints. Keeping my voice just above a whisper, I said, “I’ve got Mr.and Mrs.Longo here for a meeting at nine o’clock. Please send them right in. And don’t offer them coffee—I don’t want them staying longer than they need to.”
Jolly gave me a thumbs-up, her green eyes serious behind the dark frames of her glasses.
I’d opened my office door halfway when I heard Catherine call my name. “Melanie! So glad you’re back in the office. We’ve missed you around here.” She winked at the receptionist. “Hope you don’t mind that Jolly spilled the beans. She wanted to make sure you had a warm welcome back.”
I looked into Catherine’s wide blue eyes, her blond hair expertly styled without a strand out of place. She smiled like the majorette she’d once been at Georgia Tech, her customary fit and flare dress showing off still-enviable legs.
“Oh, thank you. It’s good to be back.”
She held up a Tupperware container. “We had a family bake-a-thon last night—something Javier and I like to do with the kids. We made pralines, and since I know how much you love sweets, I brought you some.”
Despite feeling guilty that I’d been avoiding her, I accepted the Tupperware. “Thanks, Catherine. That’s very kind of you.”
She smiled. “It was our pleasure. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got six showings today and a closing, ballet and soccer practice, plus a DAR meeting. Busy day!”
I nodded as she said good-bye, creating a draft in her wake as she headed out toward the lobby and exit.
I had just settled myself at my desk when my office door opened. I looked up in surprise, my mouth open as I tried to think of an appropriate response between passing out from happiness and pretending to be calm and collected.
“Good morning, Mellie,” Jack said, closing the door behind him with his foot. He held two large coffees from Ruth’s Bakery, one with a tall clear plastic bubble on top to accommodate all of the whipped cream. “I thought you might like some coffee.”
He placed both cups on my desk while he shrugged out of his leather jacket—a gift from me our first Christmas together—before sitting casually in a chair on the other side of my desk.
I quickly closed my mouth, then tried to think of something nonchalant to say without giving away the acceleration of my heart rate or the sudden dryness in my mouth.
“Thank you,” I managed. I picked up my cup and pried off the top, lowering my face to taste the cream if only so I’d stop staring at him like a drowning person might eye a floating stick. When I’d recovered enough of my composure, I straightened and said, “Why are you here?”
He took a sip of his coffee. “Aren’t you meeting with Marc and Rebecca this morning?”
“Yes, but I thought you said you weren’t interested in attending.”
He paused, his eyes drifting to my mouth and making my insides do funny things.
“I did, but then thought better of it. You shouldn’t have to face them on your own. Marc and Rebecca need to see a united front.”
