Dolly All the Time(39)
“Nice to meet you,” my dad says. “I’ve been meaning to thank you for the roof.”
“That is my pleasure,” he says. “I would have paid more, but Dolly’s a terrible negotiator.”
My dad laughs. “She is, at that. She got three bids and went with the contractor who can’t start right away.”
“Hey! She had the best bid. And this guy won’t be able to pay me until August twenty-second,” I say. “It was a calculated decision.”
Stewart turns to me with his most earnest expression. “I could have paid you earlier. That would have been no problem.”
“Thanks, but no, this is fine. We can enjoy a little more porch time before all the mess. Christopher’s going to hate it.”
My dad asks, “You’re in construction. Want to come in and see the plans? It’s an asphalt roof and she’s using some newfangled insulation material under it. Going to cut my heating bill in half.”
Stewart’s about to say yes, but I’m not ready for him to be in my house. After the intimacy of the day, all that exposed skin and all the oversharing I did, I can’t walk him into my personal space. “That’s okay, Dad. Stewart should get back. We had a long day.”
“Yep,” Stewart says, and turns to the boys, who are sitting on their bikes, practicing their knots. “We did. I should go. But it was nice to meet you.” He shakes my dad’s hand again.
Stewart stops to say goodbye to the boys, and I watch. Gus unties his knot and reties it in record time. He smiles up at Stewart, who says something that makes Clay laugh. Gus is telling Stewart something, like multiple sentences in a row. I think today was good for everyone.
When he’s gone, my dad asks, “What’s going on here?”
“Image rehabilitation at its finest.”
“Was there press out on the high seas?” He’s eyeing me suspiciously. “You seem awfully familiar. In his hat.”
“Good, that was the whole point of the day. I can’t show up at the Whitfields’ pretending to be gaga over a guy I know nothing about. And he was really great with Gus and Clay, taught them to do whatever that is.” I gesture at them with my head.
He gives me his closed-mouth smile. It’s the one that says, Hey, I’m smiling so everything’s okay, but also I’m sorry about the world letting you down so many damn times.
“I love that you’re having fun, Doll. But let’s just remember what this is, okay?”
“Trust me, this is all just fun. We might even end up being friends,” I say. I should write those words on Post-its and put them on my bathroom mirror. They’re going to be my mantra for surviving this thing with Stewart without making a fool of myself. “Plus we’re probably a lock for the order for the Starlight Gala, right?”
His face brightens. It’s about the money for sure, but also about sticking it to Miller’s Seafood in Newport. “I hope so. I think now that Gus is a year older, we won’t be so shorthanded. And maybe his friend can help.”
I smile at him. “Yes. Nice about that too, right?”
“Just the best, honey. There’s nothing like having a friend at thirteen.”
Chapter 16
On Monday, I’m in the back room of the fish house making crabcakes when Stewart invites me to Eight Oaks. I stand there with crabby hands and stare at the message for a bit.
Stewart: My mom wants to meet you. Can you come for dinner tonight? Cocktails are at 5
On the west veranda. Dinner in the dining room with the coffered ceiling that Archie Whitfield had brought over from France in the late 1800s. I’ve read everything ever written about this house. Everyone in town has, but if you’re Georgia Brick’s daughter, it’s all tattooed behind your eyelids. I take a breath and wipe my hands. I will wear the dress with the pale blue ikat print and those strappy beige sandals. A ballroom with a bunch of strangers was one thing, but dinner at the Whitfields’, with the Whitfields, is next level.
Me: I could get there by 5:30
Stewart: That’s fine. I’ll come get you then
Me: No, I’ll drive, thanks
And then after a few seconds of staring into my phone, I text: I am extremely nervous about this
Stewart: Please don’t be. They’re really not so bad
I don’t reply. I don’t know where this hesitancy is coming from. I just rubbed all the richest elbows in Providence. But a family dinner. I just don’t know if I can pull it off.
Me: What kind of domestic help do you have in Boston?
Stewart: Why?
Me: I forgot to ask before. Arming myself with facts
Stewart: Helena is my housekeeper. She comes weekdays, does laundry and makes my breakfast. Billy’s my regular driver. There’s a landscaping team—Mike and Reggie—that deal with my yard. Damion deals with house maintenance for the most part
Five people. I do every single one of those things myself. I almost text that to him, but it would only put more distance between us when I’m about to walk into a situation where I’ll have to pretend I’m already part of his world.
Stewart: I texted Gladys. She’s making coq au vin and some kind of goat cheese appetizer. Does that help at all?
I smile at my phone. It helps that he went to the trouble to ask, actually. And I do love fancy chicken.