Read Online The Secret of Joy by Melissa Senate - Free Book Online
Authors: Melissa Senate
Ads: Link
again?
Maybe. If she were very honest.
The jogger finally stopped talking long enough for Rebecca to ask directions to Route 1. Rebecca made her left, then right, then left at the pink Victorian, then right at the picket fence with the ornate trim, and found herself back in the center of town, the road out stretching in front of her.
She had no idea where to go. She couldn’t leave, but she couldn’t stay, either. What was she supposed to do? And why hadn’t she considered that Joy Jayhawk might close the door in her face?
Should she try again? Go back to Joy Jayhawk’s house and say, “Look, I realize this must be quite a shock, but we are sisters”? There had been nothing in Joy’s face, not a hint of Oh my God, I know who you are! Just a dulled anger.
She was about to turn the car around and go back, but go back and what? Ring the doorbell like a lunatic until Joy answered? And then what?
For starters, for an immediate plan, she pulled into the parking area of a small white restaurant—Mama’s Pizza, accordingto the sign featuring a cartoon of an old woman in a chef’s hat tossing a pizza in the air. She could sit and think, decide what to do, over a slice and a Diet Coke.
She headed inside, the jangle of a bell on the door announcing her arrival. The place was cozy and sweet, and reminded Rebecca of an old-fashioned candy shop. The long counter was lined with jelly jars full of penny candies and chocolates, and silver scoops hung from a post on the wall. There were pastries—cannolis, Rebecca’s favorite—neatly wrapped whoopie pies with red-and-white-polka-dotted ribbon ties, and baskets of green apples and yellow-green pears. Ten or so round tables covered with red and white cloths dotted the room. The walls were lined with paintings for sale by local artists, of lighthouses, the ocean, houses, lobster. There was no one in the restaurant—or behind the counter.
“Can I help you?”
A tall woman, about fifty years old, with remarkable green eyes, appeared from a doorway and stood behind the counter. Her hair was much longer than Rebecca’s and completely gray, but appeared to be lit from within by different shades of gray, from a pale charcoal to silver to almost white. She wore a fabric sling around her body, and if Rebecca wasn’t mistaken, there were two furry gray-and-black-spotted ears poking out. A cat? Or maybe it was a tiny dog, like Charlotte’s toy Chihuahua. Was the woman attachment-parenting a pet?
A hand with silver and gold rings on every finger patted the furry head. “Poor baby is recovering from surgery. Her right ovary almost exploded. If I hadn’t brought her to the vet just when I did, poor kitty would have died.”
Rebecca burst into tears. She had to stop doing that. She covered her hands with her face and tried to stop, but she was hundreds of miles away from home, and home suddenly seemed a nebulous nowhere.
The woman came around the counter and patted Rebecca’s shoulder. “There, there, dear,” she said. “Suzy will be just fine. Won’t you, Suzy.” The woman nuzzled her nose into the gray fur, then led Rebecca to a table, under a painting of a yellow house. “Sit, dear. I just made a pot of Earl Grey.”
Which was how Rebecca came to be drinking Earl Grey tea, real lumps of sugar and all, in the kind of old-fashioned china cup she’d inherited from her mother’s mother. As the woman went back and forth between the kitchen and Rebecca’s little table, bringing a silver cup of cream and a plate of tiramisu, she learned the woman’s name was Arlene Radicchio, and she was German, but had married an Italian man.
“I assume you’re not in tears over Suzy,” Arlene said, setting a box of tissues on the table. “If you want to talk, I’m known for being a good listener.”
Rebecca thought of telling this woman everything, but this wasn’t a city of eight million; it was a town of six thousand. She was in Joy’s territory. “My dad died last week. We
Maybe. If she were very honest.
The jogger finally stopped talking long enough for Rebecca to ask directions to Route 1. Rebecca made her left, then right, then left at the pink Victorian, then right at the picket fence with the ornate trim, and found herself back in the center of town, the road out stretching in front of her.
She had no idea where to go. She couldn’t leave, but she couldn’t stay, either. What was she supposed to do? And why hadn’t she considered that Joy Jayhawk might close the door in her face?
Should she try again? Go back to Joy Jayhawk’s house and say, “Look, I realize this must be quite a shock, but we are sisters”? There had been nothing in Joy’s face, not a hint of Oh my God, I know who you are! Just a dulled anger.
She was about to turn the car around and go back, but go back and what? Ring the doorbell like a lunatic until Joy answered? And then what?
For starters, for an immediate plan, she pulled into the parking area of a small white restaurant—Mama’s Pizza, accordingto the sign featuring a cartoon of an old woman in a chef’s hat tossing a pizza in the air. She could sit and think, decide what to do, over a slice and a Diet Coke.
She headed inside, the jangle of a bell on the door announcing her arrival. The place was cozy and sweet, and reminded Rebecca of an old-fashioned candy shop. The long counter was lined with jelly jars full of penny candies and chocolates, and silver scoops hung from a post on the wall. There were pastries—cannolis, Rebecca’s favorite—neatly wrapped whoopie pies with red-and-white-polka-dotted ribbon ties, and baskets of green apples and yellow-green pears. Ten or so round tables covered with red and white cloths dotted the room. The walls were lined with paintings for sale by local artists, of lighthouses, the ocean, houses, lobster. There was no one in the restaurant—or behind the counter.
“Can I help you?”
A tall woman, about fifty years old, with remarkable green eyes, appeared from a doorway and stood behind the counter. Her hair was much longer than Rebecca’s and completely gray, but appeared to be lit from within by different shades of gray, from a pale charcoal to silver to almost white. She wore a fabric sling around her body, and if Rebecca wasn’t mistaken, there were two furry gray-and-black-spotted ears poking out. A cat? Or maybe it was a tiny dog, like Charlotte’s toy Chihuahua. Was the woman attachment-parenting a pet?
A hand with silver and gold rings on every finger patted the furry head. “Poor baby is recovering from surgery. Her right ovary almost exploded. If I hadn’t brought her to the vet just when I did, poor kitty would have died.”
Rebecca burst into tears. She had to stop doing that. She covered her hands with her face and tried to stop, but she was hundreds of miles away from home, and home suddenly seemed a nebulous nowhere.
The woman came around the counter and patted Rebecca’s shoulder. “There, there, dear,” she said. “Suzy will be just fine. Won’t you, Suzy.” The woman nuzzled her nose into the gray fur, then led Rebecca to a table, under a painting of a yellow house. “Sit, dear. I just made a pot of Earl Grey.”
Which was how Rebecca came to be drinking Earl Grey tea, real lumps of sugar and all, in the kind of old-fashioned china cup she’d inherited from her mother’s mother. As the woman went back and forth between the kitchen and Rebecca’s little table, bringing a silver cup of cream and a plate of tiramisu, she learned the woman’s name was Arlene Radicchio, and she was German, but had married an Italian man.
“I assume you’re not in tears over Suzy,” Arlene said, setting a box of tissues on the table. “If you want to talk, I’m known for being a good listener.”
Rebecca thought of telling this woman everything, but this wasn’t a city of eight million; it was a town of six thousand. She was in Joy’s territory. “My dad died last week. We
Similar Books
