Part 15 (1/2)
Olivia was still reeling from the news about the audit, reeling to the point that she had yet to open the envelopes and read the letters. Most likely, she'd give them a glance and hand them back to Roni to send to their accountant and lawyer.
”And two, she wants to know if you and Nick want to go to Spain over the Fourth of July and sail around the Balearic Islands. Bob's son is getting married on board the yacht.”
”How could we say no to that? A family wedding? Of course we'll be there.”
”Anyway, you need to call her. She's hysterical.”
”Why? What's wrong?”
”Colette, Bob's ex-wife, Daniel's mother, is going to be on the yacht as well.”
”No! Oh, dear. Colette can be difficult. And Maritza didn't take the news well?”
”Are you serious? I got such an earful! Bob said to her something like how can we not invite her? She's his mother? Even so, I don't know if I could deal . . .”
”The only thing they have in common is that they call each other that b.i.t.c.h.”
”Well,” Roni said, ”given the facts, who could blame them?”
”True,” Olivia said. ”I'm going back to work on the closets. And I'm going to throw in a load of wash.”
Jason, true to his word, had installed the washer and dryer. She stood before the s.h.i.+ny new appliances, her left arm clamped around a load of bath towels on her hip, completely mystified by the numerous control k.n.o.bs and LCD display.
Now, how does this thing work? There's no coin slot, she thought. ”Roni?”
”Coming!”
After Roni showed her how to get the washer going, she returned to the kitchen and Olivia made her way back to the bedroom closets, pa.s.sing Nick in the room that would be his study. He was sitting on the floor; there was a lot of muttering and frustration coming from his direction. He was attempting to hook up the stereo and trying to ensure their computers could respond to their shared printer. For the moment, a shared printer was the most economical decision. Then there was the matter of the stereo, the fax machine, and their landlines, which had to be made to work. The wires looped around his arms and stretched across the floor would surely give him nightmares about being strangled by spaghetti.
”Maybe you should help Roni,” Olivia said. ”After all, you're the cook.”
”I think you might be right,” Nick said, looking very relieved. He got up from the floor, ran his hand through his hair, and wiped the dust from his khaki trousers. ”I'll just wash my hands.”
”Yes, you don't need to bother yourself with this technical nonsense. It's not the best use of your time. I'll ask Jason to help with the television and all this other stuff. Those young guys could rewire a whole house in their sleep.”
”Well, aren't they smart? Let them!”
He didn't exactly stomp off to the bathroom because Nick was not the kind of man who stomped off to anywhere. But Olivia knew by his exasperated expression that if not in the physical sense, mentally he was stomping off. And although he didn't say ”the young upstarts,” she could practically hear him thinking it.
By five o'clock that afternoon, everyone needed a break. The heat of the day was broken and the sun had traveled to the western sky, throwing off vibrant flashes of rose and purple. The sunset would be beautiful.
Roni and Nick appeared at her side with gla.s.ses of iced water.
”Why, thanks!” Olivia said, helping herself. She had just finished unpacking the third wardrobe box of their clothes and shoes and hanging them in the closet. ”I might sound like Joan Crawford from Mommie Dearest, but I'm so glad I went to Bed Bath & Beyond yesterday. I hate wire hangers.”
”Me too,” Roni said. ”The closet looks so much nicer when clothes are sorted by color and hung in one direction on the same kind of hangers.”
”But we're a bit a.n.a.l,” Olivia said. ”I got Joy's hangers.”
”I have her mop too,” Roni said. ”Nick, your stuff looks brand new!”
”We know my closet won't stay like this for long,” Nick said. ”I mean, let's face it. Right?”
”It's okay, baby boy,” Olivia said. ”You have other redeeming qualities.”
”You know what?” Nick said. ”Olivia and I have yet to put one foot on the beach. It's low tide now. So why don't we all take a ten-minute walk to stretch our dogs?”
Olivia drained her gla.s.s and considered the idea. It was a beautiful time of day, the sun not nearly as vicious as it had been when she ran out to pick up sandwiches for their lunch. But she definitely wasn't wearing the right outfit for the beach. She'd have to roll up the legs of her pants or put on a pair of Bermuda shorts, which she despised but accepted as a necessary evil in her new life. Let's face it, she thought, the back of my thighs have seen better days.
”Can we have a wardrobe consultation? Shorts? Sundress?” Olivia said, thinking that at some point she was going to have to cross the threshold of a Talbots and acquiesce in dressing like the natives.
”I don't own shorts,” Roni said. ”Or flip-flops.”
”Should I cover my hair with a hat?” Olivia said. ”I just had my color done and I feel like it will oxidize in five minutes.”
”You're probably right,” Roni said. ”The sun is still very intense. What about jewelry?”
”Let's put our jewelry in the vault,” Olivia said. ”And our wallets. Or I can just lock the house. Should I turn on the alarm?”
”Olivia! Stop! Ladies? This poor orange is not worthy of your pulverizing squeeze. Let's simply leave our shoes on the sand dunes, roll up our cuffs, and walk. Hmmm?”
”Do you think it's safe?” Roni asked. ”To just walk out like that?”
”Yes,” Nick said. ”I do. This is not Mumbai or Jakarta, or some place teeming with drug lords and disenfranchised desperadoes.”
”He's probably right,” Roni said.
Roni and Olivia exchanged skeptical expressions, and finally Olivia said, ”Let's throw caution to the wind. We're only talking about ten minutes.” She picked up her sungla.s.ses from the side table.
”Really. What's the matter with us? Let's go,” Roni said, taking her sungla.s.ses from her purse. ”We sound like old ladies in a Woody Allen movie.”
”A bit,” Nick said, smiling as he exchanged his regular eyegla.s.ses for his prescription sungla.s.ses. He held the door open for them to pa.s.s.
They stood on the porch for a moment and then descended the steps to the front yard on the ocean side of the house. It took a few moments for them to adapt to the salt and humidity and for their eyes to adjust as well. Nick opened the gate to the beach and they followed him.
”Just leave your shoes right here on the sand,” he said. ”It's what everyone does.”
”And no one steals your shoes?” Roni said.
”I've never heard of a single case of shoe theft,” Nick said, and laughed.
When they kicked off their sandals, they were surprised by the coolness of the sand. Then they rolled up the cuffs of their pants and began to walk close enough to the last ripple of the waves so that the water just barely washed over their feet. At first the ocean was chilly enough to startle them, but after a few more minutes it seemed warm enough to be a soothing bathtub.
”Good grief!” Olivia said, walking on ahead. ”If this was Southampton, my feet would be purple with hypothermia. This water is perfect!”
A dozen or so sea gulls were waddling around the water's edge. The birds scattered into low flight as they approached, only to land twenty or so feet away. Other tiny birds, sandpipers mostly, darted around and continued to peck away at the mud, finding some kind of treat below tiny bubbles in the surface.
”Would you look at these little birds?” Olivia said.
”They're adorable,” Roni said.