She put down her phone and shakily reached for her bag. The packet of cigarettes was buried at the bottom, but her grandfather's antique lighter was floating near the top. It was an awful habit and she hated herself every time she smoked, but after that call she needed one.

Seriously, Jess! she thought. Why did you have to tell me that?
It was a strange feeling to know that her problems where of such a nature that relationships, or lack thereof, could be her biggest worry.

This is crap, she thought shakily lifting the cigarette to her lips and inhaling deeply. There are children dying of AIDS and starving in Africa and I'm upset over a man?

She stood and walked out onto the deck; she hated smoking indoors. Leaning against the railing she contemplated the stilted conversation she'd just had.

He was into her; Jess confirmed it. He'd called Jess up and told her all he'd been keeping in for months. Things had not been going well at home with Marielle. Things had not been going well for a while, it seemed. Jess stressed their problems predated his meeting her. It was little comfort.

Marielle had been in his life a number of years now, but they'd moved in together only recently. She was an established part of his life, however. His friends knew her, his family; it was actually Leanne, one of their mutuals, who first mentioned Marielle to her by name. Before that it was just his passing mention of "my girlfriend". And Leanne had nothing but great things to say about Marielle. It was awkward.

Marielle's existence was admittedly the reason she never thought about him in all the time they'd worked together. She was not in the habit of considering men with wives or girlfriends. To be completely honest, she saw little need for romance when you can just have good friendships. Sex, in all honesty, could be obtained elsewhere with varying degrees of enjoyment. This was her default sentiment mainly because she had yet to find both in one person. Men in general were a giant disappointment in her life.

But this man... oh, this man. What a difference from every other man in her life. Generally they were loud, exciting, flamboyant - in a hetero way, insecure, brash, hysterical, lewd, crass, impulsive, horny, self-centered jackasses. But this man, not this man. He was 'none of the above'.

She thought about him slowly and positively. He was tall, dark, handsome in an unconventional way - just the way she liked her men. But he wasn't silly, he wasn't ignorant. He was educated. He was into dorky things like H.P. Lovecraft, Shakespeare, Roald Dahl. He was into theater and music. He was wanting to pursue a PhD in his field. He liked working with kids. He was pleasantly dark humored and had read things like Kierkegaard and watched dumb shows like 'Freaks and Geeks' and loved the movie The Squid and the Whale just as much as she had. He wasn't afraid to use words like 'verbose' with twelve year olds and not explain the meaning unless they asked and encouraged them to ask.

She inhaled again. The tobacco tasted terrible and the dizzy feeling was uncomfortable, but it took the edge off.
He liked her. He liked her a lot.

It had been a while since a man had liked her. Ok, not that long. It had been about a year since a man she liked liked her for something other than sex. Even then the ones she didn't like, she was sure, were only into her because they thought she was hot.

What attracted men to her, she wondered. What was it? More importantly, what the hell did she do to attract him? She wasn't even trying to make him like her.

Shit. That made it even more exciting. She didn't have to do anything or be anything to have him be interested. She just had to be herself and there he was -- all conflicted about life.

Scary to have been able to do that to someone by just being yourself.

Jess shouldn't have told her anything. If he wanted her to know he would've called her himself and told her, had the long conflicted conversation with her. He clearly wasn't ready to tell her all about Marielle and his feelings for her. But now she knew -- some of it anyway. Jess wouldn't tell her everything. She wished Jess hadn't told her anything.
Her girlfriends she would tell later about this uncomfortable development would admit that they too would've told her had he called them. To which she would sigh and debate either another cigarette or a shot.

It was quite stressful having that information. Even more stressful, yet probably better in the long run, that she wasn't seeing him on a regular basis anymore.

She'd just confided to her journal that "His having a girlfriend is probably the best possible thing. I can stay friend with him and not let my imagination or carnal urges get the better of me because even though I've never met her she's always there in the back of my mind. I'd like very much to get over this dumb crush, and get on with the business of being friends." Then Jess called and shattered that dream.

Not it was a reality. His feelings for her. Her crush was bound, now, to take an uncomfortable turn.
Inhale, hold, exhale.

She watched the smoke curl and drift and tangle in the wind. It was beautiful. The lie of advertising: the glamour of cigarettes. Was he such a product? Glamorous, enticing, heady, seductive, secretly fairly horrible for you, blacken your lungs and give you emphysema. Was Jess his advert? Were the words of their mutuals, "Oh, you two would be so good together!" "You two? I'm so on board with that!" "If only he didn't have a girlfriend, the two of you would be great together!" "He is so perfect for you!"

Gag me.

If she let it stew like this she'd go insane. He was there and she was here and that was all she would focus on. She wasn't going to not talk to him, but she was certainly going to keep Jess' breach in the dark. At least until he brought it up. She'd learned a lot about dumb things like propriety and discretion from some of her less public exploits and felt that finally she was seeing the purpose of some of those affairs. Here she would use the tips she'd picked up for a good use.

Someday, maybe, he'd get around to telling her; maybe he wouldn't.

Entirely irrelevant, she figured. He's my pal and I love him and there's nothing else to say. I wonder if there's any coffee left?

This is the piece I have been working on since January 2008.  I previously posted the Introduction; Prologue Pt. 1.; Prologue Pt. 2.; Prologue Pt. 3.; Prologue Pt. 4.; Prologue Pt. 5.; Prologue Pt. 6.; Prologue Pt. 7.; Prologue Pt. 8; Chapter One; Chapter Two; Chapter Three; the Prologue provides some background, sets the stage for what's to come, fills in some of what happened between what you read previously and where our story actually starts -- sort of.  This is where our story actually starts.  If you have any thoughts when reading this drop me a comment.  Thanks.

xx r.

“Make new friends,

But keep the old;

One is silver and

The other’s gold.”

- Make New Friends

 

 

There was much to do before the party that weekend and the travelers were tired.  Olivia politely turned down Madeleine Prescott’s invitation to stay for supper and quickly made her way back to Cambridge.  As she turned off Massachusetts Avenue she thought about her younger sister, her Rosie.  The twenty seven year old woman would probably be silly all her life, but she did have a good head on her shoulders.  She had two darling children; had been accepted into that lovely family, the Prescotts; and a great husband who loved her.  In that Olivia took comfort.  David was an upstanding man who would never hurt her sister.  She had nothing to fear.

“Except the Taylors, of course,” she added to Danube as she dropped her keys on the counter and kicked the door shut. 

“They’re going to be staying in the Prescott’s guest house above the garage,” she continued, scooping up the hungry cat.  “I’m going to meet them at brunch the morning of the party.”  Olivia dropped Danube on the counter and started opening a can of his food.

“I’m sure they’re nice people.  Her brothers are very nice people.  At least they used to be.  I have nothing to worry about, right cat?”

Danube just meowed.

 

 

The day of the party arrived.  She stopped on her way at the Starbucks down the road to manage her caffeine fix until she arrived at the Prescotts’ where there would be a very strong pot awaiting her.  She’d talked with her sister on the phone the previous evening and discovered that the Taylors were eager to meet her.  They had been examining the photographs in the Prescott’s front hall and were anxious to meet the “sweet-looking” girl in the brass frame.  Olivia blushed as she recalled the photograph in question.  It was of her on the beach when she was around twenty six years old.  She had set out to build the largest sandcastle she could.  The picture was of her, all of five feet four inches standing next to an elaborate sandcastle that came up to her shoulder.  That was to be the Taylors’ first impression of her.

 

Olivia ordered a mocha latté with three shots of espresso.

 

“Olivia!  You’re here!” cried Eloise Prescott running out to meet her.  Olivia drained the remaining drops of coffee from the paper cup as she rose to greet the girl.

“Do you need any help?”

“Yah, could you grab those?”  Olivia pointed to the packages in the backseat.  “I’ll take these.  Have you been waiting long for me?”

“No, Henry and Sofia just came over from the garage.  And Rosie just got up about half an hour ago.”

“I see.  What are the Taylors like?  Do you know them well?”

“No.  Apparently they’re old friends of Mama’s.  She’s known him for years apparently.  But she hasn’t seen them since they moved out to . . . where was it?”

“Chicago,” Olivia supplied without thinking.  Luckily Eloise didn’t notice.  Both the Prescott girls considered Olivia as much a part of their family as themselves that it would not faze them that she knew as much, or more, about their family as they did.

“That’s right,” said Eloise opening the door and passing through into the front hallway.  “They’re very nice.  I think you’ll like them a lot, actually.  They seem like your kind of people.”

“Thanks, Lou?” said Olivia unsure of what the young woman meant.

“You’re welcome.  Mama she’s here!” Eloise called through the house.

“Oh, Olivia, there you are!  I was just telling Gaby she ought to call you and see if you were on your way.  Come back through here.”

Madeleine Prescott took the packages from Olivia and placed them on a table in the living room and led her through the kitchen to her Entertaining Room.  There, seated around Madeleine Prescott’s long, antique dining room table sat Gabrielle Prescott, her fiancé Jacob Bennet, David and Rosie, their children and a man and a woman Olivia had never seen before.  The woman’s features were so familiar that there was little doubt they could be anyone other than Mr. and Mrs. Taylor.

Gaby sprang up from her seat and embraced Olivia.  David and Rosie called their greeting across the table.

“You’ve met Jake, of course,” said Gaby.

“Yes, how are you?”

“Fine, thanks.  How was the drive out here?” he asked pleasantly.

“There was very little traffic, actually.”

            “And this is my old friend, Mr. Henry Taylor and his wife, Sofia.  This is Rosie’s sister Olivia Granger.”

            “It’s very nice to meet you,” said Olivia as pleasantly as she could, shaking each hand in turn.

            In something of a whir, Olivia found herself settled into a seat by the Taylors and a steaming mug of very strong coffee in her hands.  Madeleine Prescott had left her guests to socialize and was back in the kitchen tending to something or other.

            “So, Olivia, Madeleine tells me that you are a graphic designer,” started Sofia Taylor.

            “Yes, that’s correct,” she started nervously.  “I work with a firm in Cambridge called ‘Beneath the Surface Design’.”

            “Oh, I’ve heard of you!” she exclaimed.

            Olivia choked on her coffee.  “Me?”

            “Yes, your company.”

“Oh.  Really?” she coughed, immensely relieved. 

“You did the advertising campaign for that restaurant opening in the North End.  What was it called?  Do you remember, dear?” Sofia Taylor turned to her husband who was intent on his rashers and playing with little Matthew.

            “Remember what, love?” he asked affectionately.

            “The name of that restaurant where Anastasios took us.”

            “Anastasios?” said Olivia startled.  Not even five minutes; looked like Stephanie won.

            “Yes, my wife’s brother, Anastasios Christopoulos.  You may have heard of him?”

            “I may have?” she questioned, worrying again.

            “Yes, Madeleine tells me you’re into classical music.  Symphonies and the like.”

            “Oh, that, yes, I am,” said Olivia, relieved.  “My firm does much advertising for the Boston Symphony Orchestra.  We get free tickets periodically.”

            “My brother is a violinist.  Currently he’s back with the Philharmonic,” Sofia Taylor said with some sisterly pride.  “But your BSO have been courting him for years.  Henry and I are relocating to Boston and I would love for my brother to join us here.  If only he would accept their offer!”

            “Yes, it’s nice to have family close to you.”

            “You must be so thrilled to have Rose back.”

            Sofia Taylor’s smile was so kind and genuine.  Olivia’s apprehension about meeting her was quickly being replaced with a strong affection for the woman.

            “I am.  I’ve missed her greatly these past few years.”

 

            Brunch having passed extremely pleasantly segued smoothly into an intimate and delightful Welcome Home party.  Friends and relatives gathered in what Madeleine Prescott referred to as her “Back Garden”, despite it being her only garden, behind the house.  They socialized, played croquet and listened to the missionaries tell stories about their escapades in Peru.  Olivia found herself mostly a companion of Sofia Taylor. 

Olivia had to admit she liked their company, Sofia and Henry’s.  But she could not summon the courage to tell her new acquaintances that she had once associated with their younger brother, the famous violinist.

            She left the Prescott’s having promised to arrange a trip to Nantucket before the end of the summer at her cousin’s house for mid August.  In Olivia’s mind the worst was sure to be over.  She would visit with her new friends, the Taylors, and hopefully avoid the beloved brother entirely.

 

            She could not have been more wrong.

This is the piece I have been working on since January 2008.  I previously posted the Introduction; Prologue Pt. 1.; Prologue Pt. 2.; Prologue Pt. 3.; Prologue Pt. 4.; Prologue Pt. 5.; Prologue Pt. 6.; Prologue Pt. 7.; Prologue Pt. 8; Chapter One; Chapter Two; the Prologue provides some background, sets the stage for what's to come, fills in some of what happened between what you read previously and where our story actually starts -- sort of.  This is where our story actually starts.  If you have any thoughts when reading this drop me a comment.  Thanks.

xx r.

“Home is where the heart is,

It’s where we started,

Where we belong.”

- McFly

 

 

Five days later Olivia met her very tired sister, brother-in-law, and nephew and baby niece at Terminal E of Logan Airport.  Little Matthew, who had actually slept most of the trip, was full of energy and came running to meet his godmother.  His parents straggled behind the five year old, one carrying a tired, fussy baby, the other pushing a carriage full of luggage.

“Aunt ‘Livia!  Aunt ‘Livia!” the sweet boy shouted as he leapt into her open arms.

“Oh, Babycakes, how I’ve missed you’re sweet face!” she cried holding the child close to her.

“Liv, I cannot tell you how happy I am to see my big sister.  You’d think I was the five year old!” cried Rosie.

Olivia put down her godson and embraced her younger sister tightly, then held her at arms length to get a good look at what about Rosie had changed.

“You look exactly the same!” she laughed, hugging her once again.

David was carrying the baby Emily Magdalena.  He shifted her to one arm and hugged his sister-in-law warmly.

“David!  I’m so glad you guys are back!”

“So am I,” he declared.

“Let’s get you guys back to Waltham.  You’re mother has been cleaning her house like a mad woman for the past week and a half.  I went to pick up the van the other day and she was washing the walls!  That woman is so excited to have you guys back!”

“How are the girls?” asked David meaning his sisters.  “Have you seen them much?”
            “Occasionally.  Lou comes out and stays with me sometimes.  Gaby is engaged, but you know that!”

“Yes, we heard,” said David buckling his daughter into the car seat.  “What can you tell us about him?  Jacob Bennet?”

“I met him at Lou’s birthday party.  He seems like a good man.  He was nice anyway.”

“I’m sure he’s lovely, Dave” said Rosie.  “Your mother really seems to like him.  I don’t think Madeleine would gush quite as much about him if she didn’t like him.  You should see her letters when she talks about this wedding, Olivia!”

“I’m sure,” said Olivia noncommittally.  David gave her a look as he buckled his seat belt, all the while, thankful his wife had no idea what Olivia meant by that.

 

Olivia had meant something by that.  Madeleine Prescott had been more forthcoming with her than she had been with her daughter-in-law.  She didn’t want Rosie, sweet as she was, to say anything accidentally in the wrong company.  Olivia on the other hand was a steady kind of girl, in Madeleine Prescott’s mind; she could be relied upon to have good sense and give good advice so she had confided in her at her older daughter’s birthday party.  She certainly liked Gabrielle’s fiancé, but she wasn’t entirely thrilled with him.  Gaby seemed happy enough with Jacob, but Madeleine Prescott felt that something wasn’t quite right – and she liked to be sure.  She did not believe in divorce.  For what it was worth, neither did her daughters.  She wanted to make sure her daughters chose men who would see their worth and act accordingly.  More importantly she wanted to make sure her daughters, too, saw their own worth.

Olivia gave David a look telling him to back off . . . for now, and he heeded her request.  It took them forty minutes to get from the airport to Madeleine Prescott’s home in Waltham.  Matthew chattered the entire time, asking his Aunt ‘Livia what the sights were while his mother and baby sister slept and his father, taking in the sights along with his son, sat deep in thought in the front seat.

 

Gaby and Eloise Prescott were waiting to greet the missionaries when they arrived.  The two girls so young and fresh were frivolous and capricious.  They leapt on their brother, twirled their niece and nephew in the air and embraced Olivia as tightly they did Rosie.  Madeleine Prescott, whom they found in the kitchen was less remiss in her duties to her daughter-in-law and greeted her more warmly than Rosie’s sister. 

Olivia left them to get reacquainted and went to get the rest of the luggage out of the van.  There she found David intent upon the same task.

“David, you must be exhausted.  Let me do that.”

“No, I can handle it.  I’m not that tired.  I actually got a nap in on the plane.  There was one magical moment toward the end where both the children were asleep and Rosie was too.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t just relish the moment?” Olivia joked.

“Um, I did, but then it was so peaceful I fell asleep.”

Olivia laughed appreciatively and sat on the stone wall next to the driveway.  David laughed with her.

“Was it a long trip?”

“Excessively.  While I’m glad to be back, I think I’m really going to miss Peru.”

“You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t, Dave.  What was it like where you lived?”

“Oh, it was beautiful.  You would have loved it, Liv,” he said dreamily.  “We were near the orphanage on the edge of the town.  And we had a view of this kind of hilly region from the back of our house.  That was my favorite.  I’ll show you pictures.  That’s really what you would have liked; the hills and the mountains in the distance.”

He smiled at Olivia warmly.  Olivia broke eye contact with the young pastor and looked at the black tar driveway.
            “Your sisters tell me that you have a position at a church in Danvers all lined up,” she said breaking the tension, perceived or otherwise.

“Yes, a friend of mine used to be the associate pastor there, but his wife has this opportunity at work that would move them to Seattle.  Luckily there is a church in the area that is in need of an associate pastor.  So I will be taking his place.”

“Do you know the people there already?”

“Oh, yes, they’ve been great supporters of our mission team for years now.  I’m very happy to be working with the senior pastor there.”

“That’s good.”

“Yes.  And there’s a Christian school nearby where we can send Matthew.  I don’t think Rosie is too keen on the idea of homeschooling the children.”

“Probably not.  Rosie went to college up there.  I’m sure she could find a job.  Put that Business Degree to work.”

“She hasn’t mentioned working yet, but I think she’d like to be doing something.  She did mention that Matthew’s school has a preschool program as well.  We could put Emily into it when she turns three.  That would free up most of Rosie’s day.”

“Funny how she’s always had good business sense.”

“Yes, I know.  That was quite an asset in Peru, let me tell you.  She reworked the budget at the orphanage as easy as flipping a switch; like it was nothing!”

“Yah, she’s good that way.”

“She’s a fine woman.  A little silly.”

“A lot silly.  But smart nonetheless, my little sister.”

“Yes.  Yes she is.  My wife.”