Dolly All the Time(84)

“He sent me a check by messenger.”

“As his mother, I’m sorry.”

“One thing I’ve been thinking about lately is not letting people off the hook so easily,” I say.

She raises her eyebrows at me.

“I kind of want to yell at him.”

“Me too,” she says over her teacup. “But you go first.”

I raise my cup in agreement, and she smiles.

We sit quietly and watch the fire for a bit. I ask, “So what do you have planned for the spring?”

“I’ve agreed to more hours at the ER and at the clinic because one doctor is going on maternity leave. And I’m opening the chapel for a string concert in April. I love that chapel, I wanted to get married there.”

“So did I,” I say with a sideways smile. I don’t know why this is so easy, and also so healing. It’s like I’ve gone and told on Stewart to his mother. Or maybe it’s just having a mother to talk to.

“Would have been beautiful. Henry’s mother had her heart set on a huge affair, and I went along with it. You pick your battles.” She gets up and puts another log on the fire. “Shall we switch to sherry?”





Chapter 37





At breakfast the following morning, I announce that I’m going to Boston for the day to see the Bad Teachers and to show my tenant where to kick the hot water heater to make it go.

This is not true. I’m going to do whatever the opposite of letting Stewart off the hook is. I’m going to tell him off. I dress in the same clothes I wore yesterday because I liked who I was yesterday in Victoria’s library. In jeans, boots, and a gray wool sweater, my official Dolly Brick costume, I climb into the passenger side of Naomi’s station wagon. The makeover was one thing, but I am not doing this without Naomi.

“You’re sure about this?” she asks as we cross the bridge.

“I am. I mean, I’m terrified, but I’m more terrified of carrying this around. I’m going to say it, all of it.”

“Okay,” she says. “We get it done, and we leave nothing on the table. That means thanking him for the sleeping porch.”

“Why?”

“Because you have manners, and if you don’t thank him, this won’t be over.”

“Fine,” I say.

I practice my matter-of-fact voice as we drive. What I want to say isn’t that complicated, but I say it out loud to Naomi over and over, just to make sure I can get it out without a quiver. Naomi practices saying his name the way Jerry Seinfeld addresses his nemesis, Newman. “Stewart,” she spits over the steering wheel.

We drive straight to the Whitfield building. I pay eighteen dollars for one hour of parking and I don’t even blink.

We walk into the lobby, and I place my hands on the reception counter. “Dolly Brick to see Stewart Whitfield.”

“Damn,” Naomi whispers behind me.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“I do not,” I say.

She picks up the phone and announces me. “Yes, really,” she’s saying. I’m picturing Smithers racing into Stewart’s office to deliver this news. “Okay.”

“Mr. Whitfield will be right down,” she says.

Heat moves from my chest to my face. I turn around to Naomi with wide eyes. I had rehearsed storming into his office. It was going to be a surprise rage attack. I was not anticipating being fetched from the lobby and then riding an elevator with him for thirty awkward floors.

There’s a ding and then footfalls, and I look up to see Stewart walking briskly toward me. He’s in a blue suit and a blue-and-white-striped dress shirt. He looks magnificent, but I’m prepared for that. He stops a foot from me and looks over my shoulder at Naomi and then back at me.

“Is everything okay?” he asks.

“I want to talk in your office.”

He nods and turns back toward the elevator, and Naomi and I follow him. Stewart presses the button. “Is this about Gus?” he asks.

“Gus is fine. Everyone is fine.” The doors open and I get in first, then he presses thirty.

The ride up is an eternity of noisy heartbeats and irregular breaths. I swear I can hear the blood swooshing through my veins. I can smell the leather and grass of his skin. I cannot believe I didn’t account for the elevator.

The silence breaks him before it breaks me, and I feel like that’s a small win. “How’s Sully?” he asks.

“Fine,” Naomi says, and then adds, “Stewart,” the way she’s practiced.

When the doors open, we follow him past the receptionist and along the wall of packed cubicles to his office. Smithers stands and I see him take in the bounty of Naomi in her tight pink sweater, but he doesn’t have time to say hello before I close the door behind us.

“Sit,” I say, motioning to his desk.

Stewart raises his eyebrows at me. “Okay. Can I get you anything?”

“Yes, water, please. We want water. Both of us.” Now that we’re in his office, I’m back to the scene I rehearsed. I promised myself I’d take a drink if he offered me one. Even if it was scotch.

He hands us each a glass of water from the wet bar and sits behind his desk. He gestures to the leather club chairs across from him. Naomi sits and looks around at the floor-to-ceiling windows, leaning forward to get a better view of the seaport. I don’t sit.