Double Happiness by Mary-Beth Hughes Page B

gin rummy on rainy afternoons. Poor sad Jorge, remember? His cheeks would swell and that stood for a smile. I remembered the two of them, Brad, a neat stack of pennies—
    Stolen.
    And Jorge beaming, if you could call it that. Remember?
    Of course. And that was precious when Brad peed into Jorge’s Thanksgiving dinner. Remember? said Patty, as she leaned over to spoon jam on a toast point.
    Really?
    You had to calm Jorge down, he wanted to sue!
    Oh, come on.
    You come on, Patty smiled. Try this toast.
    I’m not so hungry.
    Patty sighed, You will be. Let me take charge of you this first day.
    May I have some more coffee?
    Patty peeled out of her teak armchair, scraped it across the stone.
    Wait! Don’t bother. I thought there was more right here.
    No bother.
    Coren sighed, looked out at the long meadow. To the right, walnut trees shivered in a breeze, the slender trunks wrapped in a gauzy fog. It was autumn. Ocher underwrote every othercolor. There must have been flowers in the pergola; their empty pods still reached toward a shrouded sun. Coren snuggled closer into her blanket. Everywhere at this house, it seemed, the high din of flies twisted nearby. A sour manure smell came and went, then Patty was back with a French press glass coffeepot on another enameled tray. I made a ton! But really you shouldn’t be drinking it. Anyway, let’s table Brad.
    But I’m all for a raise! smiled Coren.
    Of course you are. Look at those ugly things. In the middle of the meadow, birds too big for the landscape gathered at the top of an old dead tree and cawed. Patty poured the new coffee to the very brim of Coren’s cup. Careful! she said, it’s boiling.
    In many ways the first week was an enormous success. Guy Theirry the retired Swiss pilot flirted with concentration and poise. Patty swore she saw a flicker of interest after the long walk to the nearest village where an atelier boasted a potter of some talent. Guy explained the firing of a certain local clay that required no glaze. The color bursts from within, and no one can predict its beauty. Coren smiled and didn’t catch Patty’s eye once. Well done, thought Patty. And then watched Guy’s large head bob closer to view the squat sphere balanced so carefully in Coren’s hand. See the rings, and here, the tiny jabs of flame? he said, All natural.
    On Friday, Guy took Coren to dinner. Patty complained of a small headache and used the time to gather her thoughtsand make private phone calls. First to Brad Jr.: She was very sorry but completely strapped. She told him, it was funny, his father had made his first million when he was even younger than Brad was now. Amazing, right? What would they do without him? Brad said he loved her and that he had a terrible cold.
    Then she called Preston Boll, a funny man who’d always carried a torch for her. She insisted he visit the Dordogne! What in the world was he waiting for! And then they agreed that Brad’s trust was best conserved. Unless, of course—Preston Boll reminded her of the terms—Brad wanted to buy a house. There were some nice bargains right outside Vancouver.
    Oh, she said.
    I know, said Preston, I know. And she could hear the smile in his voice as he said, Just like his old man, head in the clouds.
    The stars! And you listen to me, old man, not another peep until you’re calling to say you’re on your way.
    Lonely?
    Yes, she said. And she put down the phone. She made a toddy and snuggled under the covers and dropped off before she could even find her book. Again, Patty was awakened in the dark by the bang of the kettle, but this time laughter floated up the curved walnut staircase. The wood was slick from decades of bees wax rubbed into the planks and if she went down in bare feet she might slip. She hunted around for her slippers with the grippy soles and then realized she’d look like someone’sgrandmother tottering down to scold about the rules. And