Simple Riches (11 page)

“Why would you think he’s alone?” She thought of Chuck Lubovich’s sage comment about Nick’s prowess.
Just because he doesn’t bring a girl to Sunday dinner, doesn’t mean he isn’t happy…or that there isn’t a girl waiting at home for him.

“There’s alone and then there’s alone,” Norman said. “The one alone means you don’t have anybody but yourself, maybe family, but not that special someone.” He rubbed his stomach in a wide circle, leaned against the edge of his desk. “The other kind of alone is worse. You might
be
with somebody and people might actually think you’re a couple, hell,
you
might even think you’re a couple.” He pointed a finger at her. “But you’re not, you’re still alone. And that’s the worst kind.”

She couldn’t help but ask, “Is that what you think Nick’s doing? Being alone with somebody?” He didn’t seem lonely—on the contrary, he seemed content, happy.

“Nah. Not really. But if he hooks up with that rent a doc he sure as hell will be.” He pursed his thin lips together. “I think she’s trying her damndest to snag him—brings him some fancy new fishing pole from Pittsburgh, and a new watch, very expensive, which he never wears, sweaters, cologne.” He leaned toward her, lowered his voice, “Doesn’t do any good.”

“How do you know all this?” She couldn’t imagine discussing her love life with her ex-father-in-law, or Uncle Walter, for that matter. “Does he tell you?”

“Doesn’t have to.” He lifted his left hand, moved his wrist around. The bright face of a watch shone under the fluorescent lights. Then he pointed to a far wall where a fishing pole lay propped in the corner.

Alex burst out laughing. “You’re going to be awfully sad when he breaks up with this girl. No more presents.”

Norman grinned. “I’ll take them while I can.” His smile faded. “I like you, Alex. I like what you’re trying to do. You’re going to tell people about this town, show them that everybody doesn’t need to crowd into a city to survive. There are places like Restalline all over the country, where you can raise a family, start a business, be happy. That’s the key, here. Be happy. I want to help, any way I can.” He paused, took a deep breath. “Caroline loved this town. In a way, it would be like honoring her.”

Blood rushed to Alex’s head, so fast and hard she grew dizzy.
Please stop, Norman. I don’t want to hear anymore. I’m not your friend. If you only knew
…

“…so if something were to happen between you and Nick, I would be the first to congratulate both of you.”

No, no you wouldn’t
. She pressed her fingertips against her temples. “We’ve only just met… we hardly know each other.”
And he’s already suspicious of me. Besides, the last thing I need in my life right now is a man.

“I met my wife on a Thursday and proposed the next Wednesday.”

“Are you talking about me again, Norman?” A woman stood in the doorway, her small frame swallowed up by the loose dress she wore. It was at least two sizes too big, the short-sleeves cupping her elbows, the hem dipping to mid-calf. Her gray-brown hair was pulled into a tight bun, stretching her nose, cheeks, eyes, across her face. She wore no makeup or lipstick, no adornments of any kind.

“Ruth.” There was a note of surprise, and something else in Norman’s voice. “What… what are you doing here?”

The woman eyed Alex, took a step forward, then another. She was wearing white slippers, stained around the toes. “Am I not allowed to visit my husband?” she asked, her brown eyes darting from him to Alex. “Is he too busy to see me?”

“No, dear, of course not.” Norman rushed forward, kissed her on the cheek. “I’m just surprised.” He lowered his voice. “How did you get here?”

“How else?” She whisked past him, plopped herself into the overstuffed chair behind his desk.

“You… drove?” It was part question, part dread.

She burst out laughing then, a loud, rude sound that bounced between them. “Of course, I drove. Do you think I could walk the three miles into town?” She shook her head, tapped her slippered-foot against the linoleum floor.

Norman’s face turned a dull red. He cast a quick glance in Alex’s direction, started to speak, hesitated, then pushed on. “You know Nick said you shouldn’t be driving.”

“And why in heaven’s name not?” she shot back.

“Ruth,” Norman gentled his tone. “You know why.”

She started to crumble, right before Alex’s eyes. Her lower lip quivered, her shoulders sagged forward in pitiful defeat, head bent forward. “It’s that damnable medicine, isn’t it?”

Norman came to her, placed a hand on her back, moving it in small, even circles. “It’s okay.”

“But I think I’m getting better. Really, I do.” She lifted her head, eyes wet, tears streaming down her face. “Don’t you think so? Don’t you think I am?” It was the voice of a child, afraid and uncertain, seeking help, shelter, love.

He stroked the side of her face, trailing his fingers over her hair. The gesture was so tender, so personal that Alex had to look away. “Let me take you home,” he said. “I’ll fix you a cup of chamomile tea. Would you like that?”

“Yes. Yes, I could use a cup.”

“Good. That’s very good.”

“Who’s the lady?”

“That’s Alex. Alex Chamberlain. She’s come to write about our town.”

“Oh.”

Silence. And then she spoke again and Alex understood why Norman had hesitated when he’d seen her standing in the doorway, understood why he was stroking her face and hair as though she were a child. With one sentence, she understood it all.

“Maybe Caroline will come today, and then she can meet this young woman and tell her how wonderful this town is and just how much she’s missed Restalline.”

***

“She’s loony, poor thing.” Edna shook her head, lowered her voice. “He can’t even trust her to go to the grocery store by herself.” She clucked her tongue, “All that money, that beautiful house, and for what? Nothing will bring Caroline back, not all the money in the world.”

“Edna, tell me about Caroline. What really happened to her?” Alex couldn’t get the sight of Norman Kraziak or his wife out of her mind. She’d tried, but Ruth Kraziak’s pathetic words kept coming back to her.
But I think I’m getting better. Really, I do. Don’t you think so?
And then, the shocker.
Maybe Caroline will come today..
.

Edna pushed back her chair. “Hold on a sec.” She peeked out the window. “He’s out back, trimming the hedges. It’s safe for a little while. Chuck says I need to mind my own business, not talk about other people.” She waved a hand in the air. “Says it’s gossiping. I said, heck no, it’s not. It’s just transferring information, like the newspaper does, no difference. Right?” She looked at Alex, hands on hips. “Right?”

“Right.”

“That’s what I tell him, but you know men,” she said, moving to the stove and lifting the lid off of a big pot, “they don’t listen.” She stirred the contents of the pot, “You ever hear them talking about their male parts the way we women talk about our female parts?” Edna shook her head and the yellow bow in the back bounced up and down. “Never. Don’t talk about the fight they have with their wives or girlfriends, either.” She grabbed a teaspoon from the drawer, dipped it in the pot, tasted it. “Mmmm. Beef stroganoff tonight, Alex. Needs caraway, maybe a little more pepper.”

“I don’t want to cause a problem between you and Chuck—”

“Pshaw! Don’t you worry about Chuck.” Edna sank onto the yellow cushion and lowered her voice. “Somebody should tell you about Caroline… and Dr. Nick. Who’s gonna do that if I don’t?”

“Thank you.” Edna Lubovich was proving to be Restalline’s version of Dear Abby. The woman knew everything about everyone.

“No problem. It’ll help your book, right?” She stirred her tea. “No way to say it except to say it. Caroline died in a fire when Dr. Nick was finishing medical school. It’s been almost eight years now, hard to believe it. She’d just had Justin, it was her first night home and thank God the baby had to stay in the hospital. Dr. Nick was working. The fire started and she… she never made it out.”

“How horrible.”

“You can’t imagine the way this town grieved. Or Dr. Nick. He blamed himself, thought he should have been able to do something to help her.”

“What happened? How?”

Edna took a sip of tea, set the cup down. “There was talk,” she said, her voice falling to a hint above a whisper, “a lot of it.”

“What kind of talk?”

She shrugged. “People said Caroline took a bottle of pills, that she was depressed, that things weren’t so good between her and Dr. Nick.”

“Do you think that’s true?”

“Some of it. Dr. Nick never talked about it, still won’t. And poor Ruth, she just fell apart, like a pumpkin smashed on the road, splattering everywhere. She lost it, couldn’t accept that her baby was gone, that she’d died such a horrible death. So she started to pretend. At first, we were all sympathetic, didn’t say nothing, just acted like we didn’t hear her when she talked about Caroline coming home. But it got worse—she used to go sit at the bus stop every day, waiting. Now she only goes once a week. And she’d go to the grocery store and buy up all of Caroline’s favorite foods—canned peaches and pears, cottage cheese, strawberry ice cream. Poor Norman. He finally had to take her to see Dr. Endson, the psychiatrist two towns over and get her on some medication.”

“Has it helped?” Alex thought of the thin woman in the oversized dress and stained slippers standing in the doorway of Norman Kraziak’s office.

“Some. She gets out a little, not much. Dr. Nick keeps an eye on her, goes to visit her every week, sometimes more. Stella says he’s always torn up when he comes back. She hates what it does to him.”

“What about the boy? Justin?”

“He’s a good boy. He’ll be eight, let’s see, July twenty-second. Dr. Nick’s done a fine job, but he’s had a lot of help from the rest of the family—Stella, Frank, Gracie, even Michael.”

Alex didn’t recognize Gracie, maybe it was his sister or an aunt, but she had heard of Stella, Michael, and Frank. Definitely, Frank. “Is Frank, Uncle Frank? The man who didn’t show up for his own birthday?”

Edna threw back her head, laughed, revealing a fair amount of bridgework. “That’s just Frank. He’s really an old softy, loves the kids, and they love him.”

“Aren’t they… afraid of him?”

“Because of his face? Nah. They’re used to him. Anyway, they’re too busy listening to his stories to think about being afraid. You know, he made the kids a tree house with two ladders, a trapdoor, and windows with shutters. Half the town wants to buy one for their kids, but Frank’s not interested.”

How could he not be interested? Alex would love to meet him, ask him how he could turn away business opportunities for his woodworking when it was obvious there was a demand for his work. Didn’t he know about supply and demand? He could name his own price. People were always willing to pay exorbitant amounts for their children’s pleasures. “Seems like he’s sitting on a gold mine and all he has to do is dig at it a little.”

“Maybe. That’s just not Frank’s way.”

“I’d like to meet him.”

“You will. Soon enough.”

“Alex! Where have you been?”

“Hi, Uncle Walter.” She traced the edges of the glass jewels on the hand mirror. The colors were still bright and vibrant.

“You don’t return phone calls? I told Eric if I didn’t hear from you by tomorrow, I was coming to look for you.”

The thought of Uncle Walter driving into Restalline in his Audi and Armani suit unsettled her. “No,” she said, a little too quickly. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. I’ve just been very busy.”

That seemed to calm him down. “Oh? What did you find out?” There was an eagerness in his voice, the kind that always crept in when they were discussing acquisitions or new ventures.

“I think you’ll be pleased. The backdrop is perfect, lots and lots of trees, and there’s the lake I told you about, Sapphire Lake. I thought it could be a focal point of the resort, maybe build a lodge or a club close by, or a restaurant overlooking the lake.”

“I like the restaurant idea. What about the skiing?”

“I think it’ll work. It looks to have the same land slope as the one in New York.”

“Good. Good.” He paused. “And the people? Do you think they’ll be amenable?”

“Of course.” The mirror winked against the light when she turned it in her hand as though it had spotted her for the lies she was about to tell. Alex thought of Nick Androvich, whom she hadn’t seen since he’d dumped her at the Restalline Millworks. And then there was Norman Kraziak, the poor man hadn’t even been able to make eye contact with her after his wife promised to invite her over when Caroline got in.

So, there were a few hurdles, nothing insurmountable, and certainly nothing Uncle Walter needed to hear about. She’d handle it.

“How are the two principles? Kraziak and what’s the other man’s name? Androski?”

“Androvich.”
Nick
.

“That’s right. Androvich,” he corrected himself. “How are they?”

“Fine. They’re fine.” That wasn’t quite true. Nick Androvich was avoiding her and no matter what his nurse said, Alex knew he couldn’t possibly be with a patient
every
time she called. And Norman… Well, Norman was battling the humiliation that an outsider knew about his wife and her problems. Maybe if they moved away, left the reminders behind, it would help Ruth Kraziak deal with her pain, get on with her life. It could be a very good thing for them. They might actually welcome an opportunity to leave Restalline behind.

As for Nick, from what she’d seen so far, he had his feet buried in Restalline soil like all of his ancestors before him. Persuading him to sell might be more difficult than moving Mount Saint Helens.

“You know I really want this deal,” Uncle Walter said. “The whole thing, Alex. Can you get it for me?”

There was a ring of challenge in his voice. “I’ll get it,” she promised, clutching the mirror.
One way or the other, I’ll get it.

***

“Who’s coming to dinner tonight, Grandma? Who’s the lady?” Justin pulled the salt and pepper shakers out of the corner cupboard and waited.

“Curious little bugger, aren’t you?” Stella Androvich laughed, stirred the pot of pierogies she’d made that morning, potato and onion, Nick’s favorite. “Her name’s Alex.”

“Huh?” He scrunched up his nose. “That’s a boy’s name.”

“It’s really Alexandra, but people call her Alex for short.”

“Oh. Does she look like a boy?”

“No.” Stella smiled. The boy asked more questions than any other child she knew. Michael’s kids only talked when someone asked them a direct question, and then it was iffy whether or not they’d answer. Of course, what could anyone expect from children whose mother had run off to Buffalo with a pharmaceutical salesman, leaving them with a father who was too angry and sometimes too caught up in self-pity to notice they hadn’t changed their shirts in two days? And Gracie’s crew, Cecily and Sophia, well they just talked all the time, words flying out of their mouths, one trying to outdo the other, so loud and fast that nothing made sense.

Stella pushed back a lock of hair. Children were a blessing; she’d felt that since the second she held Nick in her arms, beet red and wailing, thirty-eight years ago. She’d wanted to keep her babies young forever, their boundaries clear, their homes secure. Safe. That’s what she’d prayed to the Blessed Mother for every night.
Keep my children safe. Safe from bullets and knives, speeding cars, and cancer, safe from people who will use them and mistreat them and break their hearts. Please, please, please, take my happiness, but keep them safe
. She knew better than to use prayer as a bargaining tool, but these were her
children
. And just when she thought the Blessed Mother had heard her prayers and granted them, Caroline had died. And then Michael’s wife ran out on him, and he started drinking. And then Nick and Michael had a horrible argument… It went on and on, the worrying never stopped. She’d gone to church and lit another candle today. This one for Nick, asking the Blessed Mother to help him find his way, see more clearly. Give Alex Chamberlain a chance. She seemed like a nice girl. Nick and Michael needed to settle down, find women to care about them—women who weren’t their mother.

And that’s why Stella had taken it upon herself to invite Alex to dinner tonight. Nick wasn’t responding to his mother’s innocent promptings that maybe he should invite that nice young girl to dinner and didn’t he think she was pretty? He’d done no more than shrug and change the subject.

“Grandma?” It was Justin again. “Does this Alex like to play baseball?”

Stella turned to her grandson, “Well, I don’t know Justin, but she might.”

“Do you think I should ask her when she gets here?” His eyes were the color of a September sky, just like his mother’s.

“I think that would be fine. All of you can play. Dad, Kevin, Sara, maybe even Uncle Michael, if he comes.” Stella tried to keep her voice even. Michael had a habit of dropping Kevin and Sara off and then disappearing until their bedtime. When he came back, he was never full-blown drunk, just … loose, relaxed. And sometimes it seemed, well, she could swear he hadn’t touched a drop, though she couldn’t guess, or maybe she didn’t want to guess, what he’d been doing for all those hours. Those were the nights he’d pull in the driveway, honk the horn, and yell,
Let’s go! Now
. She’d tried to talk to him, as a mother, as a grandmother—so had Nick and even Gracie, bless her innocent soul.

But Michael wasn’t interested in what any of them had to say.
If I want a sermon, I’ll go to church
, he’d told them. There just was no give to the boy, at least not any that he was willing to let his family see. Somewhere deep inside him there was a pain that needed healing, a wound that kept opening, bleeding, threatening to spread. And the worst part of it all was that Stella could do nothing more than watch and pray.

But she could help her other son. Nick was more approachable, less antagonistic, more
likeable
, than his younger brother. Perhaps it was because he’d taken over when his father died, blamed no one for being the oldest of three children, and therefore, the figurehead, the one who must forge a plan, set an example. Nick had done what he’d needed to do, no apologies, no excuses. Stella put the colander in the sink, lifted the boiling pot from the stove. He deserved a little happiness. She poured the pierogies into the colander, the heat of the steam smacking her in the face. Alex was smart, pretty, and she was not
oohing
and
ahhing
all over Nick like a lot of other women did. That said something for her. The woman had spunk, and she had Stella Androvich and Edna Lubovich rooting for her.

***

“This is delicious.” Alex forked a piece of pierogie. “What did you say was in this?”

“Onion and potato,” Stella answered. “I made them this morning from scratch. You can buy them in the grocery store, in the frozen section where they sell other things like spinach and crab appetizers and shrimp cocktail”—she threw Nick a pointed glance—“but there’s nothing like homemade.”

“Do you like to cook?” This from Gracie, innocent, unintentional.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nick saw Alex’s left hand ball into a fist. She cleared her throat, said, “Uh, I don’t get much of an opportunity with traveling and all.”

“So you probably depend on boxes and the freezer section?” He met his mother’s gaze from across the table.

“Yes,” Alex said, shrugging in half apology, “I do.”

“Well, don’t you worry, dear,” Stella chimed in. “You’ll be here plenty long enough for me to teach you a few things. We’ll make bread, and every woman should know how to make pasta—long, short, stuffed—pierogies, too. And of course, stuffed cabbage and babovka, our coffee cake.” Her dark eyes lit up. “What are you doing tomorrow morning, say around nine?”

There was a breath of hesitation, then, “I don’t have any plans. I’ll be here.”

“Good.” Stella nodded. “Good.” This with more force, as though they’d agreed on some heretofore unknown pact. “Isn’t that great, Nick, that Alex is interested in learning to make things from scratch?”

Great. “That’s great, Mom.” Could she be any more obvious? Why not just grab his hand and put it on top of Alex’s and tell them to go out on a date? Why not tell him to lean over, give her a kiss while he was at it? Wouldn’t that be easier than all the innuendos, all the sly looks, the nudges under the table? He hated this matchmaking his mother was hell-bent on. It wasn’t enough that he’d had to hear about blasted Alex Chamberlain for the last few days, how intelligent, how sophisticated, how charming, even though his mother had come to that conclusion after a mere ten-minute conversation with the woman, but now he was face to face with her and it was so much worse. In truth, Nick hadn’t wanted to see Alex Chamberlain again—there was something about her that bothered him, left him questioning himself and her. He didn’t know what it was, only that it rubbed him raw like a blister rips the flesh off a person’s heels when they walk a mile in a new pair of shoes. He stuffed a whole pierogie in his mouth, chewed hard. The woman disturbed him and the hell of it was he couldn’t even say why.

“Mom says you’re from around D.C.,” Gracie said, her brownish-gold eyes warm, welcoming. She reached over, wiped the apple juice dripping down four-year old Sophia’s mouth.

“Yes.”

“Hmm. I went there once when I was a senior in high school. It was our class trip. I’ve always wanted to go back.” She turned, smiled at her husband, Rudy. “Maybe after the baby comes, we can take a trip there.”

Rudy lifted his crew-cut head, reached out and brushed a ham-sized hand over Gracie’s hair. “Maybe after the baby comes, Stella will watch the kids and we can take a second honeymoon there.”

“My grandbabies are welcome anytime.” Stella smiled at the children seated around the table. “Each and every one of you.” She pointed to Sophia who was stuffing a piece of bread in her mouth. “And that means you too, pumpkin.”

Gracie picked up Cecily’s empty glass, poured more milk into it. “Thanks, Mom.”

“The more the merrier,” Stella laughed. “I’d take another two, three, four grandchildren anytime, any way I can get them.” She turned to Alex. “Are there any little people in your family, Alex?”

“No. I’m an only child.”

“Oh.” The clatter of silverware on dishes filled the room. “Well, all the more reason you should marry and have a big family yourself.”

Nick coughed, cleared his throat. His mother could be about as blunt as a bulldozer in a flower patch. “Mom”—he shook his head—“I’m sure Alex can deal with her maternal needs by herself.”

That didn’t stop Stella from putting in another fifty-two cents. “I know that, Nick. I’m just reassuring her that just because she’s an only child doesn’t mean she won’t be a good mother.” She smiled at Alex, who was sitting like a deer frozen in headlights. “Meeting the right man, that’s the key. If you do that, the rest comes naturally. Look at Gracie and Rudy. Married seven years, have Cecily, who’s six, Sophia who’s four and in two months, there’ll be another one. Girl or boy, who knows?” She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, so long as the partner’s the right one.”

“Mom, would you pass the stuffed cabbage?” He had to stop her.

“Alex, has Nick taken you to Sapphire Lake, yet?” Grace’s voice softened. “That’s where Rudy proposed.”

“I showed her the other day,” Nick cut in. “She needed to see it for her research.” He knew his family, knew how nosy they could be, straightforward when it came to family and family business. Nothing was private.

“Isn’t it romantic?” Gracie said, her words gushing. “Oh, and have him take you to the Cliff.” She and Rudy exchanged glances. “That’s a perfect couples spot.”

Alex nodded, dipped her head low and stabbed at a pierogie.

“Thanks for the advice, Gracie.” Nick narrowed his gaze on her. Kid sister or no, enough was enough.

Gracie shrugged, threw him a small smile.

“Alex, uh, do you know how to play baseball?” Justin hadn’t said a word through dinner, but now he was eyeing their guest, pulling his lower lip through his teeth, once, twice, three times, waiting as though her answer would be the most important words he’d ever hear.

“I… I kind of know how. It’s been a long time.”