Chương 10
“You could use the garage entrance.”
“I know.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“I am tired of entering my own life from the back.”
Helen studied her.
“That sounded rehearsed.”
“It did, didn’t it?”
“A little.”
Evelyn took the coffee.
“I thought of it in the elevator.”
“That explains it.”
They went upstairs to review grant applications for neighborhood food programs.
For two hours, Evelyn listened to people discuss refrigeration costs, volunteer shortages, and a church kitchen with a broken exhaust fan. The work was unglamorous and specific. It required attention rather than performance.
Near the end of the meeting, one applicant mentioned that Carter Meridian had withdrawn promised funding from a culinary training program because of the leadership transition.
Evelyn looked at the budget.
“How much is missing?”
“Eighty thousand.”
Helen glanced at her.
Evelyn resisted the instinct to solve it personally.
“What happens if they do not receive it?”
“They cut the spring cohort.”
“How many students?”
“Twenty-four.”
“Can the foundation cover half if they find another partner?”
Helen nodded slowly.
“We can consider it.”
The applicant exhaled.
Afterward, Helen said, “That was better.”
“Better than what?”
“Writing a check because you feel guilty.”
“I was not going to.”
“You were reaching for your purse.”
Evelyn looked down. Her hand was, in fact, inside her handbag.
She removed it.
“Old habit.”
“Expensive habit.”
The divorce moved more slowly than the scandal.
Nathan’s resignation did not make him cooperative. Some days he offered concessions. Other days his attorneys challenged every valuation. He moved into a suite at the first Carter Meridian hotel, an arrangement that generated rumors and made Margaret furious.
Evelyn stayed in the furnished apartment longer than she intended.
She began cooking again because restaurant food made her feel temporarily homeless. At first she made simple things: eggs, soup, pasta with too much garlic. Then she bought cherries.
Black cherries were out of season and expensive. She stood in the grocery aisle comparing frozen brands while an elderly man reached around her for peas.
“Those are all bad,” he said.
“The cherries?”
“The peas.”
“Oh.”
“My wife bought the cheap ones once. Forty-two years ago.”
“You remember the brand?”
“I remember the argument.”
He took a bag from the upper shelf.
“This one.”
Evelyn bought the peas too.
In the apartment kitchen, she made the tart from memory.
The first crust cracked. The second shrank. The third came out close to her grandmother’s version, though the filling was too sweet.
She took it to Tessa’s apartment.
Tessa ate one slice standing over the sink.
“This is terrible,” she said.
“It is not.”
“It’s excellent. I’m trying to make sure you don’t put it in a hotel.”
Evelyn leaned against the counter.
“I used to think I would open a place.”
“You did open places.”
“For Nathan.”
“You opened them.”
“His name was on everything.”
Tessa cut another slice.
“Put yours on the next one.”
The idea frightened Evelyn enough that she dismissed it.
“I do not want a restaurant.”
“Good. Restaurants are financial emergencies with chairs.”
“I could do a small kitchen studio.”
Tessa stopped chewing.
“You have thought about this.”
“Not seriously.”
“That means constantly.”
Evelyn looked around the apartment. The dead basil plant had been replaced with another basil plant already beginning to fail.
“I don’t know whether I still have the skill.”
“You made a tart good enough to ruin my dinner.”
“That is not a business plan.”
“No. It’s dessert.”
Evelyn smiled.
The first time Nathan asked to see her after his resignation, she refused.
The second time, she agreed to meet in a public café.
He arrived early and chose a corner table. Without the title, schedule, and constant interruptions, he seemed restless inside his own body. He stirred coffee he did not drink.
“I started therapy,” he said.
Evelyn removed her gloves.
“That was fast.”
“Margaret gave me three names.”
“Of course she did.”
“I chose one she hated.”
“Then perhaps there is hope.”
Nathan smiled faintly. It disappeared when he saw she was not joining him.
“I am not going to give you a speech,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“I have been writing speeches in my head.”
“That sounds more like you.”
“I keep trying to find the version that explains me without excusing me.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
A server came to the table. Evelyn ordered tea. Nathan asked for nothing.
When they were alone again, he said, “Chloe was not the first woman I used to feel admired.”
Evelyn’s fingers tightened around one glove.
“Did you sleep with someone else?”
“No.”
“What does that sentence mean?”
“There were women at events. Messages. Flirting. I let things continue because I liked being wanted.”
“How many?”
“I do not know.”
“Try.”
“Four. Maybe five.”
Evelyn stared at him.
“Maybe?”
“One was mostly in my head.”
“That must be comforting.”
“It isn’t.”
“Did you kiss them?”
“No.”
“Did you tell them we were separated?”
“No.”
“Only Chloe received that privilege.”
Nathan looked down.
“I let myself believe the marriage was failing because that made what I was doing feel less like a cause.”
The server brought tea. Evelyn waited until she left.
“How long have you been unhappy?”
Nathan rubbed his thumb along the coffee spoon.
“I don’t know whether I was unhappy.”
“That is convenient.”
“I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“That everything would stop growing.”
“The company?”
“Everything.”
Evelyn waited.
Nathan looked toward the window, where people crossed beneath umbrellas.
“My father used to say maintenance was another word for decline. If a hotel was stable, he wanted another hotel. If a year was profitable, he wanted twenty percent more. If my mother was calm, he found a reason to leave.”
“And you believed him.”
“I hated him.”
“That is not the opposite.”
Nathan’s mouth tightened.
“I know.”
Evelyn removed the tea bag and placed it on the saucer.
“Why did you ask to meet?”
“To tell you I will stop contesting the rights to your original work.”
May you like
She looked up.
“Why?”
