A book about Meadow Beauvais, the woman I came to find, a woman who found a way to achieve big goals, just as I hope to do.
I shower luxuriously with all the best-smelling travel-size sundries Augustus kept in a bin in the linen closet, using a fresh towel I’ll take downstairs with me. There are so many, no one will notice. As I wash my hair, I mull over how to find out where Meadow came from. It feels like she’s hiding something. Maybe just a lackluster childhood, but most people don’t walk entirely away from their parents. Maybe she, like me, was a foster child. Maybe that was one of the reasons I was so drawn to her, sensing a lost little girl who was much like the one I carry around inside me.
I was a foundling child, left at a fire station in Pittsburgh. In the years between then and the time I aged out of the system at eighteen, I lived with seven families. One lasted nearly six years, and I would have stayed forever if I could have, but after that I was shuffled around a lot. No one likes to foster teens. I kept my focus on getting out.
And I did. Full-ride scholarships, always working, plus classes and homework and whatever jobs would keep a roof over my head. Restaurants were a bonus because they fed their employees, so I could be sure of getting one good meal a day anyway.
I really thought I was over that part of my life. That’s what you get when you let down your guard, start to depend on anyone but yourself. I knew better.
I dress and dry my hair, then carry my things down the hallway. The doorway to one of the girls’ rooms is open, and a suitcase lies open on the floor. For a moment I pause, then drop my stuff in the doorway and poke around. It’s Meadow’s stuff. She likes embroidered peasant blouses and bright colors. A pair of magazines populate the bedside table, Saveur and a journal for organic farming.
Don’t underestimate her. Which I did for a while, lost as I was in the intensity of my connection to Augustus. She dropped from being a fascinating person I felt a connection with to the rather dismissible position of ex-wife to the man I was in love with.
The first time we met, she’d brought bags of produce to the house. I’d been living here for only a month or so, and when I saw her sitting in the kitchen, talking to Augustus as if they were still married, still deeply connected, my stomach twisted hard.
Living as I had in so many slightly and not-so-slightly hostile environments, I had learned to take the measure of human interactions very quickly. The mood between two parents in a family could influence every single aspect of my life, and I needed to be able to read them fast. It was my superpower.
What I saw as I came into the kitchen was Augustus focused entirely upon Meadow. His body was turned directly toward her, his shoulders back and chest forward like a bird puffed up for mating, and just as I entered the room, he shoved his hands through his hair, leaving tousled curls. He touched his beard, smoothed the hairs, then touched her hand with his other fingers. Something she said made him laugh, vividly, in a way that was deep and smart.
She, too, was completely engaged. Her upscale peasant blouse showed off a remarkable amount of cleavage, and she was positioned just below him on the barstool to give him an unobstructed view of all that flesh. Her lips were slightly parted.
If these had been my foster parents, I would have expected them to make an excuse to go somewhere and screw like bunnies.
A cold sweat broke over my skin. It had never occurred to me that they might still be lovers, that he might have more women in his life than me, but the evidence here was hard to ignore. In that moment I was so vividly in lust with Augustus that I couldn’t bear to let him go, not yet. I squared my shoulders and wandered into the room casually, wearing only my bikini and a kimono I’d found that probably belonged to her.
She saw me before he did. “Hello,” she said. “You must be Norah.” Not a single note of jealousy marred her expression, which showed only slight amusement, as if I were a toy he’d brought home.
To my relief, Augustus held out one arm and I flowed to his side. He dropped his arm around me. “Norah is a writer,” he said. “As a matter of fact, she’s quite interested in your work, both as a farmer and a writer.”
She gave me a Cheshire cat smile, which I knew right then meant I’d never get anywhere with her. “Is that right? We’ll have to have a chat sometime.” She stood. “Right now, I’ve got to go. Walk me out?”
Augustus dropped his arm and followed her, his body fairly shouting his attraction to his ex. My throat was hot and something stung my lungs. She was twenty years older than me, and if not exactly fat, definitely not thin. I touched my flat belly to reassure myself as she swayed out of the kitchen with her ample hips. At the door, they exchanged something more, and she pressed a hand against his chest, making a point I couldn’t hear. I picked up a cracker and put it in my mouth, feeling stupid and too young. Augustus bent down and kissed her full on the lips, then patted her ass.