The Matchmakers of Minnow Bay (19 page)

“Well, a constitutional in the freezing cold did seem to greatly improve my night's rest, if you ever find yourself in that situation again.”

Colleen smiles. “I'll keep that in mind, though I suspect having a Hutchinson man to gaze upon is the real trick.”

My shoulders slump and I heave a mighty sigh. “This town. There are eyes everywhere. My secret's out.”

“It was never in. When I went to buy the paper this morning, Simone Wajakowski said Richie Meier saw you and Ben in the alley behind River Street while he was locking up the bookstore, and he told Andy Kielholtz at the diner ten minutes later, and he went straight to Hutch's bar to spread the news, and Davie Barnes told Simone when he brought the egg delivery to the café.”

“I cannot
stand
it.”

“Jenny's on her way over for a debriefing.”

I shake my head violently. “There will be no debriefing. It was a polite and dignified conversation. I'm signing the divorce papers, um, again, and mailing them posthaste. Then I'm headed back to Chicago.”

“What?” says Colleen, genuinely shocked. “Why are you going back
there
?”

I smile at her. She is sweet to take such an interest, but hardly unbiased. “My life is there. And my boyfriend, which is why I'm not eager to relive my, ah, polite and dignified conversation.”

“Your boyfriend the art gallery dirtbag?”

I shake my head. “I think that was the Bloody Marys talking. I just got off the phone with him. This whole affair is nothing more than one big misunderstanding.”

Colleen levels me with a look that I find very intimidating. “A …
misunderstanding
?”

“Uh huh.”

“That he has consistently defrauded you on the sales of your artworks over the last two years?”

I hold my tongue. I can't possibly tell her what Mitchell told me about other galleries saying whatever it takes to sign me. It would hurt her feelings and malign her best friend. “I think, maybe…” I trail off, try out some words in my head. “Jenny might have slightly overestimated the value of my work…”

Colleen presses her lips together. “Hmm,” is all she says.

“The truth is,” I continue, a little desperately, feeling every bit as naïve as Mitchell suggested earlier, “I don't really know my way around the business side of art dealing. I have to trust the people I work with, and trust my own instincts about what I'm worth—”

“Hmm,” says Colleen again, before I've finished talking. Then, without another word, she picks up my empty coffee cup and saucer and backs into the swinging door of the kitchen and pushes her way through, leaving me to sit out here and ponder her opaque response.

Well, there's no better way to ponder than over a bowl of citrus salad covered in sweet candied lime zest. I help myself to seconds from the bowl on the buffet and wait for whatever delicious main course Colleen's whipped up.

But when the kitchen door finally swings open again, it's Jenny, in an ankle-length down coat, a big gray handknit scarf trailing behind her.

“Oh, hi Jenny,” I say as casually as possible. “Going to be another cold one?”

She is silent as she unwinds and unwinds the scarf. Then she slowly takes off the coat and makes a production out of hanging both garments on the coatrack. Finally she pulls a chair out right next to me, too close, even, and sits herself down dramatically.

“So,” she says, with a tiny twist of her eyebrows.

“Good morning,” I try again.

“You're going back to Chicago?”

I nod. “As soon as possible. I mean, after breakfast.”
Colleen is still in there cooking breakfast, isn't she?
I wonder. Or did she just walk out on me when I told her I was going back to Mitchell?

Jenny stands up, very deliberately. She goes to the sideboard and pours herself a cup of black coffee, and slowly, slowly, adds three sugars. Then she sits down at the table even closer than she was before.

“I want you to stay here a bit longer,” she says. I notice it's not phrased as a request.

I smile nervously. “That's very sweet, but I have a life waiting for me back home in Chicago.”

“It's a stupid life,” Jenny tells me.

I cut her a sharp look. “Well, it's my life, stupid or not.”

“Where are you going to live?”

“I'm going to rent a new place. I mean, if you're still comfortable with my taking the advance you gave me—”

She waves her hand dismissively, as though discussing the dispensation of a thousand bucks is beneath her. “And Mitchell Helms?”

I cough nervously. “I was wrong about him. It was all a big misunderstanding.”

When she says nothing in reply, I fold like a five-dollar umbrella. “He got me hooked up with a traveling exhibition company,” I blurt. “It's going to change everything. I'm going to have works in a museum exhibit!”

Jenny leans back in her chair and takes a long sip of hot coffee.

“Hmm,” she says at last.

“Oh my God. How are you not impressed by that? This is my wildest dream, coming true!”

She raises her eyebrows. “Lily, Coleen and I have discussed this at some length, and we think you should not return to Chicago.”

I blink at her. “What, and stay here in Minnow Bay?”

“That's right. Not permanently, at least not at first. But for a few weeks, until you have time to see where this thing with Ben Hutchinson is going.”

“What thing with Ben Hutchinson?” I say, feeling like I've fallen into the Twilight Zone. “There is no thing. As I'm sure you've heard from six different people by now, we shared a civil discussion last night by the river. That's it. No ‘thing.' I have a boyfriend back in Chicago, and Ben and I have a divorce pending. That is all that is between us.”

“I heard your discussion looked
extremely
civil,” she says.

“Is that all you heard from what I just said?” I ask, my voice rising. “Nothing about the boyfriend or the divorce?”

She waves her hand again, just the same way she did when I brought up the advance. “You seem a little high strung. I think another week relaxing in the North Woods would do you good.”

It is hard not to snort at this. “Are you going to break my legs if I try to leave?”

“Probably not,” says Colleen, as she reappears at the door with a quiche—oh, sweet heaven, it smells like bacon and mushrooms, and it's warm from the oven. “But we might withhold breakfast.”

I am grateful for the lightening of the mood. Jenny is pretty intimidating when she wants to be. “You wouldn't be so cruel,” I tell Colleen, trying to sound breezy.

She puts the quiche on a trivet right between me and Jenny. The warm smoky smell wafts straight to the back of my throat. “Wouldn't I?” she says. And then, before my greedy eyes, she serves up an enormous slice for Jenny, another for herself, and then pulls the pie plate and server out of my reach.

“I'll crawl over the table and eat it with my fingers,” I say, not even remotely joking.

“Just stay for one more week. Ben is such a good guy,” says Colleen. “But he is a bona fide hermit. As far as we can tell, he hasn't gone out with a single eligible woman since he moved here five years ago. You're the first one. We want him to be happy and, more to the point, we like you. Can't you hang out and see if there's anything there?”

“I really can't,” I say, and as I speak I realize I genuinely regret saying no. When was the last time one of my friends back home expressed some actual endearment to me? Or set me up with a friend of theirs, for that matter? “Minnow Bay is charming, and you've been delightful hosts, but Mitchell needs me back in the city. And I need to get back to my real life.”

“Such as it is,” says Jenny dryly.

“Such as it is,” I say to shut her up. “Now, slice me up some quiche before I drool on myself.”

She and Jenny exchange a long, meaningful look. It makes me genuinely nervous. Then, finally, Jenny reaches over to Colleen and puts her hand out for the pie server. Colleen passes it to Jenny, and Jenny passes it to me. “Eat your quiche. I've gotta go,” she says, though there is still an untouched slice of quiche on her own plate. She scoops up her plate and fork in one hand, and offers me her other hand for a good-bye shake. “Best of luck to you in Chicago, Lily. Make sure you leave a forwarding address so I can mail you a big fat check when I sell those paintings for you.”

“Of course,” I say. “And if you can't sell them for as much as you hoped, it's no hard feelings, I promise.”

She raises her eyebrows. “I'll keep that in mind,” she says blithely as she walks out with Colleen's dishes still in hand. “Take care, now.” She does not sound like she cares if I drive off a bridge into a flaming pit of lava.

Colleen and I watch her go quietly. “You let her just wander off with your place settings?” I ask Colleen, after I chew and swallow the most perfect creamy, fluffy bite of shiitake and bacon quiche.

“She's not going far,” Colleen says, unconcerned. “How's the quiche?”

“You know how it is. Stunning. Perfect. I want to eat it every day for the rest of my life.”

“Wait until you see what I'm making tomorrow,” she says, apparently undaunted in the face of reality.

“Believe me,” I tell her. “There's a real part of me that wishes I could. But the rest of me, the adult part of me, knows I've done what I came here to do. More. I dealt with Ben—and no, that's not what the kids are calling it these days—”

“That's exactly what I was going to say,” she laughs.

“Somehow I had a feeling,” I laugh back. “Anyway. I
dealt
with Ben, and I got to meet you and some of the other lovely if slightly eccentric citizens of Minnow Bay, and had some of the world's best breakfast food, and avoided my problems for a few days. And, on top of all that, I found a home for a few homeless paintings, including one of my favorites,” I say, gesturing through the arched opening to the fireplace mantel. “And now I'm going to drive home to Chicago, find a nice apartment near my old one, go apologize to my boyfriend for thinking the worst of him, pay down a few credit cards, and maybe have a glass of wine to celebrate my divorce-from-the-husband-I-never-knew-I-had. I've got a pretty full docket.”

Just as I'm finishing this speech, Jenny comes back holding a now-empty plate and wearing a smile that looks almost deliriously smug. “If all these delightful-sounding plans involve driving that little hatchback of yours anywhere, you may have to reconsider,” she says even as she's serving herself up a second slice of quiche and sitting back down as though she never left. “Apparently we're not the only ones who think you should stay here. Destiny seems to have provided you with a nail in the left rear tire.”

 

Eleven

 

She's right. My tire is flat. All the way, can't even drive it to the service station flat. And I don't have a spare. The car didn't come with one when I bought it secondhand, and I figured if the point of a spare is to be able to put it on and drive to the tire store to get a real tire, then it was pointless to have one, since I have no idea how to change a tire.

“I think we better call Hutch,” says Colleen when she sees the extent of the situation.

“Wait,” I say. “Hutch, Ben's dad Hutch? The guy with the bar?”

“That's him,” she replies.

“Why?”

“To get you a new tire.”

“Does he sell tires?” I ask, mystified.

“No, but no one else does either. Not in Minnow Bay. However, Hutch goes to Duluth on Sunday to get stuff for the bar, and he can pick up a new tire for you at Sears. Lot faster than waiting for someone at Hutchinson Auto to order one.”

“Hutchinson Auto?” I ask, sort of sadly.

“Hutch's brother's place.”

“Ben's uncle,” I say in defeat.

“Well, it used to be. Erick works there now, when he can be bothered to show up.”

“Let me guess. Erick Hutchinson.”

“Yep. Ben's youngest brother.”

“I hate this town.”

Colleen just laughs. “Do you want me to call Hutch, or not?”

With a mighty sigh I confess. “I was hoping to just sneak out of town without having to face Ben again. After last night.”

Colleen looks a little hurt on Ben's behalf. “You didn't even want to say good-bye?”

“I very nearly cheated on my boyfriend of two years last night, Colleen. I made a mistake. A series of mistakes. I need to stop the hemorrhaging.”

Colleen locks eyes with me. I'm a little ashamed, but I try not to avert my gaze.

“Fine. Look, I'll call the bar, tell Hutch it's my car that needs the tire. Then, when he gets here, I'll tell him the truth and persuade him to keep his lips zipped. Hutch isn't a gossip, but his bar is … conducive to discussion. Even at nine
A.M.
on a Sunday, someone is usually coming and going.”

“Thank you, Colleen,” I tell her. “I really appreciate it.”

“You're going to have to stay inside if you don't want to run into Ben or someone who knows Ben.”

I nod gratefully. Any more cable TV might kill me, but it's only an hour or two.

“It's going to be at least half the day before he gets back.”

Or half a day. “That's fine. I mean, it has to be, right?”

“Unless you want to pay for a tow to Duluth,” says Colleen. “How badly do you want to get out of town?”

I think that question over.

“I don't know,” I finally answer. “Will the bistro deliver those steak frites?”

She smiles. “I can arrange that. And um, hey. Since you have to stay today anyway, I am wondering…”

“Yes?”

“I have a little favor to ask. Nothing big. Won't take more than an hour, two at most. It would mean a lot to me.”