people love to eat.” She nodded toward the doorway that led into the house. “So tell me about the other people living here. Please tell me no one’s going to be knocking on my door at two A.M. wanting to chat.”
“The truth is,” Kim said as she took a long drink of water, “I don’t really know all the details. I hadn’t been out here in years until I started trying to get the apartment. Right now Mrs. Wingate is in her shop in town, and—”
“What does she sell?”
“Heirloom clothing.”
“What’s that? Vintage clothes?”
“Oh no,” Kim said. “It’s a type of sewing. I don’t know much about it, but . . .” She lowered her voice. “There’s a woman named Lucy in the apartment across the hall from you, and she sews all day long. She makes nearly all the clothes Mrs. Wingate sells.”
Jecca leaned forward. “Why are you whispering?”
“Lucy is very reclusive. I think she may be agoraphobic but no one mentions it.”
“Scared to leave the house?” Jecca asked, also whispering.
“That’s my guess. Even though I’ve been here several times in the last couple of weeks, I’ve never met her, never even seen her. I think she stays in her apartment nearly all the time.”
Jecca leaned back in her chair. “Sounds good to me. The last thing I want is to get involved with people this summer. I have enough to do in my real life with Andrea.”
“Speaking of which, how’s your boss’s honeymoon going?”
“You think she’d tell me ?” Jecca asked. “The fact that I’m the one who got her gallery out of debt and started showing artists who actually sell, is that a reason to let me know what’s going on? And there are the three times she kept me at the gallery until dawn as she cried about yet another boyfriend dumping her. Are those enough reasons to send me a postcard?”
Kim laughed. She loved hearing Andrea stories and knew they were an outlet for Jecca’s frustration with thet iion wit woman. “Is there a possibility that she might close the gallery permanently?”
“I hope not, but her father swore that if she did, he’d get me a job in another one.”
“I could use some help,” Kim said, her tone hopeful.
“Two artists in one small shop? I don’t think so. Tell me about Mrs. Wingate. Sweet old lady?”
“Not so old. Fifties, I guess. Very sweet, but she’s also good at business. This house needs a lot of upkeep. Tris says the only money she has is from the shop and the apartments she rents. Not an easy task.”
“You said there are three apartments. Who’s in the third one?”
“No one at the moment. I think it’s reserved for someone, but I don’t know who. I’m sure Mrs. Wingate would tell you if you asked. Actually, I’m hoping . . .”
“Hoping what?”
“That Reede would like to use it while he’s here.”
“Well, well, well,” Jecca said as she popped an olive in her mouth. “Is this something you didn’t tell me about?”
Kim grinned. “I purposefully hid it from you—for a whole twenty-four hours.”
“That long?! I think you broke the sisterhood code. Why would he need an apartment in his own hometown? Not that I’m anything but politely interested in what your world-traveling, beautiful brother is up to, but I’m willing to listen.”
They smiled at each other in complete harmony based on years and years of late-night talks, of crying together over men-are-slime, of giggling and deep laughter that came from their hearts. And more than once, Kim had said that she wished Jecca would become her sister-in-law.
In the seven years since Jecca had made a play to get Kim’s brother’s attention, they’d talked about him often. Kim always passed on any information her family received from Reede. He’d finished his medical degree, and as a single man with no family to tie him down, he was free to roam the world. He’d worked for Doctors Without Borders, set up a clinic in a remote part of Africa, and went to many world disasters.
“The truth is,” Kim said as she took a long drink of water, “I don’t really know all the details. I hadn’t been out here in years until I started trying to get the apartment. Right now Mrs. Wingate is in her shop in town, and—”
“What does she sell?”
“Heirloom clothing.”
“What’s that? Vintage clothes?”
“Oh no,” Kim said. “It’s a type of sewing. I don’t know much about it, but . . .” She lowered her voice. “There’s a woman named Lucy in the apartment across the hall from you, and she sews all day long. She makes nearly all the clothes Mrs. Wingate sells.”
Jecca leaned forward. “Why are you whispering?”
“Lucy is very reclusive. I think she may be agoraphobic but no one mentions it.”
“Scared to leave the house?” Jecca asked, also whispering.
“That’s my guess. Even though I’ve been here several times in the last couple of weeks, I’ve never met her, never even seen her. I think she stays in her apartment nearly all the time.”
Jecca leaned back in her chair. “Sounds good to me. The last thing I want is to get involved with people this summer. I have enough to do in my real life with Andrea.”
“Speaking of which, how’s your boss’s honeymoon going?”
“You think she’d tell me ?” Jecca asked. “The fact that I’m the one who got her gallery out of debt and started showing artists who actually sell, is that a reason to let me know what’s going on? And there are the three times she kept me at the gallery until dawn as she cried about yet another boyfriend dumping her. Are those enough reasons to send me a postcard?”
Kim laughed. She loved hearing Andrea stories and knew they were an outlet for Jecca’s frustration with thet iion wit woman. “Is there a possibility that she might close the gallery permanently?”
“I hope not, but her father swore that if she did, he’d get me a job in another one.”
“I could use some help,” Kim said, her tone hopeful.
“Two artists in one small shop? I don’t think so. Tell me about Mrs. Wingate. Sweet old lady?”
“Not so old. Fifties, I guess. Very sweet, but she’s also good at business. This house needs a lot of upkeep. Tris says the only money she has is from the shop and the apartments she rents. Not an easy task.”
“You said there are three apartments. Who’s in the third one?”
“No one at the moment. I think it’s reserved for someone, but I don’t know who. I’m sure Mrs. Wingate would tell you if you asked. Actually, I’m hoping . . .”
“Hoping what?”
“That Reede would like to use it while he’s here.”
“Well, well, well,” Jecca said as she popped an olive in her mouth. “Is this something you didn’t tell me about?”
Kim grinned. “I purposefully hid it from you—for a whole twenty-four hours.”
“That long?! I think you broke the sisterhood code. Why would he need an apartment in his own hometown? Not that I’m anything but politely interested in what your world-traveling, beautiful brother is up to, but I’m willing to listen.”
They smiled at each other in complete harmony based on years and years of late-night talks, of crying together over men-are-slime, of giggling and deep laughter that came from their hearts. And more than once, Kim had said that she wished Jecca would become her sister-in-law.
In the seven years since Jecca had made a play to get Kim’s brother’s attention, they’d talked about him often. Kim always passed on any information her family received from Reede. He’d finished his medical degree, and as a single man with no family to tie him down, he was free to roam the world. He’d worked for Doctors Without Borders, set up a clinic in a remote part of Africa, and went to many world disasters.
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