The Next Best Thing (Gideon's Cove #2)

The Next Best Thing (Gideon's Cove #2) Page 25

Carol would not be deterred. “I understand you not wanting to date Bobby McIntosh, but you are looking for a husband, aren’t you? Your grandmother said you are.”

“No, no. Not really. Well...sort of, but, no.” Faith shot her grandmother a look, but Goggy was busy discussing the delicacy of Norine Pletts’s lemon bars and making the argument that pastries that good could only be from Lorelei’s Sunrise Bakery while Norine simply smiled in enigmatic silence. And dang it! Cathy Kennedy had just walked out the door.

“Well, my son’s brother-in-law is single. You want his number? Want me to have him call you? He has a glandular problem, so he sweats a lot, but he’s very nice. So I’ll tell him to call you. Good! Okay, bye.”

“That’s all right, Mrs. Rob—” But Carol was gone, power-walking efficiently away.

Faith approached Goggy, who was still drilling Norine about her baking techniques. “Well, if you didn’t use baking powder, Norine, then how are they so flaky? Answer me that.”

“Family recipe,” Norine said, smiling at Faith.

“Goggy? I’m gonna start unloading the car, okay? See you when you’re done here. But take your time.”

Goggy’s face took on a tragic expression as she turned to her fellow Lutherans. “Oh. That’s right. She’s leaving me, you know. She’s...moving out. She could’ve stayed with us, but, no, these young people, they all need their space.” She sighed mournfully, invoking a Greek chorus of disapproving murmurs.

“Bye, ladies! Thank you for letting me sit in.” The disapproval turned to hugs and pats and admonitions to watch herself crossing the street and to lock her doors at night so her throat wouldn’t be slit.

She made her way out of the church basement and blinked in the bright sun.

It was one of those perfect, late-September afternoons, clear and cool, the air tart with the smell of changing leaves and pumpkin soup from the little lunch place down the square. A line of preschoolers, all holding onto (or tied to) a rope, made their way across the street. It was a Wednesday, and while a few folks wandered up and down the street, peering into the windows of Presque Antiques and Unique Boutique, it was mostly quiet.

Two days ago, Faith had asked Honor if she knew of any apartments that might be available. Five seconds later, Honor had Sharon Wiles on the phone. Not only was there an apartment available, it was the model, the only one in the building still not rented and furnished, when would Faith like to move in? Faith had to hand it to her; Honor knew everything and everyone in this town.

In the back of the car were two suitcases, a few boxes of miscellaneous kitchen stuff Goggy insisted she couldn’t live without, and Blue, sitting up, disgusting tennis ball in his mouth, head tilted as if trying to use mind control so she’d throw him the ball.

“Hi, sweetie pooch!” Faith said. “Do you love your ball? Is it so slimy and delicious? It is?” Blue chuffed agreeably, wagging his tail. Sharon Wiles hadn’t been crazy about the idea of Blue, but she couldn’t deny that he was beautiful, well behaved and, yes, technically a therapy dog. Hey. It got him into restaurants.

Faith heaved a box out of the back and made her way over to the Opera House, the dog on her heels. Her new domicile was very conveniently located just off the square and directly across from Lorelei’s Sunrise Bakery. Also, there was a new chocolatier that Faith very much wanted to support. But first, she’d settle in, put a set of new sheets on the bed, make some coffee, unpack her clothes. Goggy would be coming over, too; she wanted to make sure the new apartment was clean enough.

For a second, Faith pictured her mom helping her move. In Faith’s mind, Connie Holland had aged beautifully, wore jeans and a T-shirt and Converse sneakers. They’d laugh and rearrange the furniture, something Mom had loved to do. Then they’d get some cookies from Lorelei’s and just talk. Maybe about Jeremy. Faith had wondered a thousand times if Mom would’ve been able to tell.

And all that might’ve been possible, Faith reminded herself, if it hadn’t been for her own self.

“Come on, Blue,” Faith said, opening the door. Up the wide staircase to the third floor, her dog following, ball in mouth. Her apartment was 3A, which overlooked Lorelei’s. Thank you, Jesus, she’d wake up to the smell of bread. She shifted the box and fumbled in her pocket for the keys.

The door to 3C opened, and there stood Levi Cooper in uniform. His forehead crinkled in a frown. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

Blue leaped over to Chief Grouchy and dropped the ball. When Levi didn’t understand, the dog picked the ball up again and dropped it. Repeated, not caring that Levi was staring at Faith like a python eyeing a mouse. Whatever little bonding nanosecond they’d had at the shooting range was obviously a figment of her imagination.

“Levi. What a lovely surprise. Are we neighbors?” Faith kept her tone bright and chirpy, but a blush was prickling its way up her chest. Granted, housing options were limited—the Opera House was the only apartment building in town, but come on.

“Are you moving in?” Levi asked.

“You can tell that? It’s astonishing. How did you know? Here, hold this.” She didn’t wait for an answer, just shoved the box at him.

“You’re moving in.”

“It’s like you’re psychic. Thrilling, really. You should stop scowling. You’ll need Botox before you know it.”

Blue was still dropping and redropping the ball, trying to clue in the dopey human. Faith had the door open now and reclaimed the box. “See you around, neighbor.”

She went into the cute little apartment, set the box down and then looked out the peephole. He was gone.

So Levi Cooper lived in 3C. That was okay. Free country and all that. They’d probably never see each other. Which was fine. Okay, yes, they’d see each other sometimes.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

Blue was sniffing the corners. The dog had a point. This was their new place, at least for a while; Sharon had let her do a month-to-month rental, since some income was better than no income.

And the apartment was lovely. The floors were the original, narrow birch planks, soulfully scuffed from a hundred and fifty years of use, now polished to a high gloss. The actual theater part of the opera house was on the fifth floor; Faith imagined the third floor had been a workspace for set-making or costume storage or the like. From the front windows, not only could she inhale the glorious smells coming from the bakery, but she also had a glimpse of Keuka and a very nice view of the green.

The kitchen had granite countertops and an island, as well as a built-in wine rack. There was a tiny study where she could set up her computer and stalk potential mates for both her father and herself. And work, of course. In addition to the barn and the library courtyard, she’d had a request for a design from another vineyard across the lake, and two private homes.

The door opened and in came Goggy, holding a tiny box, and Levi, holding two much larger ones. “Look who I found!” Goggy crowed. “Levi Cooper, our chief of police!”

“I know who he is, Goggy,” Faith said. “Thanks, Levi.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, setting the boxes on the table. “Anything else I can do, ladies?”

“Oh, you’ve been wonderful!” Goggy said. “Hasn’t he been wonderful, Faith?”

“So wonderful.”

“Have a good day, then,” he said, smiling at Goggy. Not her, of course. Then he was gone.

“Thank you for doing this with me,” Faith said, giving the old lady a hug.

“Oh, honey, I love being needed,” her grandmother responded, her soft, wrinkled cheeks flushing a lovely shade of pink. “Thank you for asking me. I never had a girl, you know.”

“I do know.” Faith’s smile widened; Goggy often dropped well-known facts as if she was revealing them for the first time. “So you and Pops will be okay without me?”

Goggy turned the hot water on and began filling the sink. She didn’t believe in dishwashers. “We’ll be fine,” she said. “It was nice, having someone break up our routine.”

Guilt cartwheeled merrily through Faith’s heart. “I’ll stop in every day,” she said.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I understand,” Goggy said. She opened the first box and started setting glasses in the hot, soapy water. “I envy you. I wouldn’t mind having a nice new place like this and living by myself, either. Starting over.”

Faith looked at her, surprised. Not something you’d expect from an eighty-four-year-old woman. Or maybe it was exactly what you’d expect.

“What’s it like, being married for so long?” Faith asked, opening another box.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Goggy said. “Sometimes I feel like your grandfather has no idea who I am. I’m sure he thinks he learned everything there was to know in the first week we were married, and there’s been nothing new since. But there is! Sometimes I want to tell him about a book I’ve read or something someone said in church, and he barely listens.”

Faith made a sympathetic noise. “You got married when you were so young,” she said. Her grands had known each other only a month before they got married. Back when you did stuff like that.

“Don’t I know it,” Goggy said.

“You must’ve fallen in love right away.”

Goggy snorted. “Hardly, sweetheart. He had land, we had a little money, he’d just come back from the service, and our families approved.”

“Did you love him?”

Goggy’s face hardened. “What’s love, anyway?” She scrubbed a glass so hard Faith feared for its future.

“Want to sit down, Goggy?” Faith asked. “Let’s have some coffee and talk.”

Her grandmother looked at her, her eyes soft. “That’d be nice, honey. No one thinks I have much to say these days. Just you.”

Faith made the coffee, grateful for the Keurig and its speed. She set Goggy’s cup down in front of her and sat down next to her grandmother.

“I was engaged to a boy who died in the war,” Goggy said, and Faith choked, she was so surprised. Goggy patted her idly on the back. “His name was Peter. Peter Horton.”

Peter, Goggy said, was the boy from down the street, the milkman’s son. His mother was British, which made him seem very glamorous. They’d had an understanding—Peter would go off to war, “because that’s what people did back then, Faith, no matter if you were rich or poor. Even Hollywood actors went to war.” Upon his return, they’d marry.

He died in France, and Goggy hadn’t much cared much after that. John Holland, why not? She did want to have children. And there weren’t so many options for women back then.

“But I still think of him, Faith,” Goggy said now, her voice quiet and gentle. “Sometimes, I’ll be doing laundry or going up the stairs, and I wonder if he’d even recognize me. I wonder if we’d have been happy. I think we would have. He’d bring me flowers he’d picked in a field, and write me poems, and sneak looks at me in church.”

“He sounds wonderful,” Faith said, wiping her eyes on a napkin. Her chest ached, knowing Goggy had once been so sweetly courted, so in love.

“He was.” Goggy was quiet for a minute. “Your grandfather, he never tried very hard. I was a done deal.” Goggy glanced at Faith and reached over to squeeze her hand. “So I understand how you must feel about Jeremy, in some ways. The love of your life won’t be the man you end up with, and you’ll always compare the two.”

“Well, I hope not,” Faith said. “But, Goggy, I’m so sorry. That’s such a sad story. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”