Cape May (22 page)

“No. Bad plan. You need to keep something in the bank, for emergencies, and retirement. It’s not like a B&B is going to rake in the money. You ready to hear my idea?” Joanna nodded. “I’ll make a deal with you: I’ll lend you the money, and you’ll pay me back with interest. It’ll be less than any bank would charge you.”

“Cynthia, are you sure?”

“I loved that house, too. If I ever lose my mind and leave New York, I’ll have a home.”

“Really?” Joanna whimpered.

“Yes. You know I’m loaded. The shop is thriving. We’re probably going to expand, or open another one in Tribeca. Maybe in Cape May someday. But even though I’m your sister, we’ll treat this as a business deal, and sign papers, and they’ll be legal and binding, okay?”

“Yes. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Get better, Jo. You’re my only family. That’ll be enough. You being sane again.”

“I can’t promise anything. It’s not that easy.”

“I know. First you’ll eat my delicious breakfast, then I’ll contact Brian and find out when he won’t be there so we can move you out.”

“Be nice to him, please. He didn’t deserve any of this, you know.”

“I know, and I’ll continue to be like a sister to him. And honestly? He deserves someone who loves him. I don’t think you ever have. I told you not to marry him.”

“Please don’t kick me when I’m down.”

“I don’t mean to kick you, honey, but if we’re starting a business together…”

“No,” Joanna interrupted. “This is my business. You’ll be a silent partner with an open wallet, or I’ll take my business elsewhere.”

Cynthia was surprised and silenced.

Joanna downed her coffee. “I’ve worked hard towards this, and it’s everything now. My whole life. I have to finally do something right.”

“I’m impressed.” Cynthia smiled, “You deserve more coffee.”

CHAPTER 19

In stages, Cynthia and Joanna went to Brian’s apartment and packed up Joanna’s possessions. They were careful to adhere to the schedule Brian set. Even so, anytime Joanna heard the elevator doors open, she tensed, thinking Brian might walk in any minute. Part of her wanted to see him, to see if he was okay. A larger part was afraid of seeing him, not ready to face his hatred. Would she ever be? Would he ever not hate her? She needn’t have worried: he never showed up. And every time he didn’t show up, she was sad, and missed him, his friendship, their history. She was mourning the death of their life together. Or perhaps more accurately, her assassination of their life together.

One night, Cynthia said, “Want to go see a play? Before you move away from the theater capital of the world?”

“Maybe not tonight.”

“Want to call Michael and invite him over for a glass of wine?”

Joanna paled, and opened and closed her mouth, unable to answer.

“Thought I’d try. Want to play Scrabble?” Joanna flinched and again didn’t say anything. Cynthia tilted her head like a quizzical dog, “Okay, there’s something I don’t understand, but I’m guessing that’s a ‘no’.”

Joanna nodded. “Something else? Boggle? Cards?”

The sisters half-heartedly played Gin Rummy and split a bottle of wine. Cynthia was quiet and tried to ooze receptiveness, kindness, nonjudgmentalness. She basically tried to look like a big pair of ears. That, plus the wine, loosened Joanna’s tongue: “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t want to hear what you think. I don’t want advice.
I just want to get this out in the open, so maybe you’ll understand more.”

Cynthia nodded.

“Whether you think I am or not, I’m damaged. I feel damaged. For too many reasons for me to ever explain to you. Not good enough. Certainly not good enough for him. I can’t ask or expect someone…
him
…to…to love me if I don’t love myself. I think part of me couldn’t respect Brian when I realized he loved me.” She took another sip of wine. “People expect more from someone they love. If we, if Michael and I tried to make a life together, eventually I’d mess it up, and he’d see the real me, and my inner demons, and they’d rip him apart, and I couldn’t take that. Ending it now, as awful as it is, is the better way.”

Cynthia, true to her word, didn’t say anything, and just hugged her sister, for a long time.

***

Too many boxes later, they hired a moving company to haul everything to a storage facility about two miles from the Tea & Scones. Although the boxes could’ve fit in the inn’s large unfinished basement, Joanna wanted the house as empty as possible for ease of renovations and repairs.

In stages, too, the sisters drove more precious or breakable items down to Cape May. Joanna was taking only a few pieces of furniture from the apartment. The house in Cape May was furnished, and anyway Joanna didn’t want to unsettle Brian’s apartment any more than necessary—he deserved as little upheaval as possible. Strange: she had lived there twenty years and it was still “Brian’s apartment.” That said a lot about her, or their marriage.

Life appeared normal from the outside. Joanna woke up, did things during the day, ate, went to sleep, and started the whole process over again. She was on automatic pilot. The immense changes, and losses—her husband, her apartment, her city, even her job—numbed her, but she kept moving forward. It helped that she nurtured the newly discovered businesswoman inside of her. Absolutely determined to make her inn a success, she read about the hospitality industry, subscribing to
Inns Magazine
,
Business &B&Bs
, and took online courses. She learned about head hunting, interviewing, and managing employees. Studied books on architecture, landscaping, and interior design. She channeled all her energy into the Tea & Scones.

When thoughts of Michael came, and they still did, all the time, she stuffed them down. They hurt too much and if she let them they’d ruin her hard-won progress.

The overall plan was to get Joanna’s living space on the top floor of the Tea & Scones in order, so she could move in and supervise the work being done in the rest of the house. Until her space was finished, she rented a room on the outskirts of Cape May, where it was much cheaper. She visited Cynthia every other weekend, staying at her apartment in Manhattan. When in Cape May, she continued her new exercise regime and every morning walked the two miles from her hotel to the Tea & Scones. She got up early, and tried breakfast at a different restaurant, café, or even fast food place. Her “Places to Eat” notebook was coming along. Staying and working in Cape May, she was starting to feel like a new person. The slower pace suited her.

One afternoon, sitting in a coffee shop nursing a latte, Joanna looked up to see a woman walking towards her. “You’re Joanna, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” it took Joanna only a moment to recognize the well-groomed woman. It was the tour guide at the Woodline estate. “Madeleine, how are you?”

“Doing well. You?”

“I live here now. I own…”

Madeleine finished the sentence, “the Tea & Scones.
Yes, Michael told me.” The walls blocking out thoughts
of Michael immediately crumbled. A thousand questions
deluged Joanna’s mind, but she didn’t ask any. She couldn’t say anything. There was an awkward pause, then Madeleine
continued. “Every time we talk on the phone he asks if I’ve seen you.”

“Oh?” Joanna’s face was burning.

“Any message for him? I’ll probably be talking to him tonight.”

Hadn’t Michael told Madeleine that it was over between them? Joanna stood up with her latte and looked at her watch. “No. No message.”

Madeleine looked at Joanna as if she had three heads. “Michael did tell you we were finished long ago, didn’t he?”

Joanna nodded.

“You seem uncomfortable with me. I thought maybe that was why.”

Joanna had no reply.

Madeleine continued, “You know he’s a great guy, yes?”

“Yes.”

“And they come around as often as unicorns?”

Joanna smiled, despite herself. Her phone buzzed and she read the text. “I’ve got to go meet with the carpenter.”

Madeleine’s refined face instantly registered a combination of disappointment and annoyance. “Well, best of luck with the inn.”

“Thank you, Madeleine.” Joanna exited the café.

***

Joanna researched proper Victorian colors for the outside of the house—she envisioned a pale yellow house, with creamy deep brown tones and cranberry accents—and met with officials to get the colors approved. She had a long list of things to be done, which needed prioritizing. A dividing wall, added to a private area of the house in the 1960s, was scheduled to be torn down. That would need to be done before any painting. Energy efficient but period-specific windows were going to be installed. Molding needed to be replaced. The original oak flooring needed a few new boards, and sanding and finishing.

Everything took longer than she anticipated. A workperson’s promise of “I’ll be there Monday” turned into a Friday arrival. An “It’ll all be done by mid-September” project wasn’t even started until the first week of October. Oddly enough, Joanna didn’t mind. The work was being done, and being done well. She had done her homework and found the best plumbers, painters, and renovators she could afford. Fortunately, the main kitchen had already been updated with a new stove and appliances, and only
needed painting. The sage color she picked, with pale orange trim, filled Joanna with joy every time she walked into the kitchen. It was just what she wanted. She was also doing some sweat-equity projects: removing all the wallpaper from the bedrooms and first floor, even attempting some furniture refinishing in the garage, and other minor improvements. When it came time to choose a color to paint her bedroom upstairs, she went for a deep Victorian iris that fed her soul. Brian would never have allowed that color on the wall of his bedroom. Too girly or too dark. Basically, “It’s not white” would’ve been his complaint. As it was more than likely no one would ever share that bedroom with her, iris it was.

Cynthia visited often, sensing her sister needed her, even though Joanna still was frequently uncommunicative. During one visit, they were having a morning cup of tea at the house when the door bell rang. Joanna opened the door. “Hi, Rich. Thanks for coming.”

A handsome middle-aged man walked in carrying his huge toolbox, wearing jeans and a ripped T-shirt. “Starting to look good in here.”

“Thanks. There’s a few things I’d like you to look at. The crack in the west wall of the Earl Grey room, and a stuck window and closet door in the English Breakfast. Also, I’d like another lock on the basement door. That one’s a little iffy.”

Rich said, “I’ll take a look. Probably can fix some stuff now. I’ll come back for the rest, Ms. Matthews.” He glanced at Cynthia. “Hi.”

“Rich, this is my sister, Cynthia.” Cynthia waved. “And I told you, please call me Joanna. You’re in my house practically every day.”

“Will do,” and he headed upstairs, but not before looking
admiringly at Cynthia.

Cynthia watched him walk up the stairs. “Nice.”

Later the sisters were having lunch in a Chinese restaurant half a mile from the Tea & Scones. “Next time I visit I’ll bring Archie.”

“Oh yes, please! I miss him more than almost anything else in Manhattan.”

“I figure the way you’re headed, you’re very likely going to be a Cat Lady. Archie is your starter cat.”

“There are worse things than being a Cat Lady.”

Cynthia decided to risk her life. “You going to call Michael today?”

“These dumplings are good. Light.”

“Joanna!”

“I thought you finally understood! How I feel. I thought I explained.”

“Jo, he’s no saint. He’s human. He’s not perfect and he’d never expect you to be perfect.”

“I don’t want to talk about it!”

“Are you punishing yourself for Brian?”

“Probably.”

“But why are you punishing Michael?”

“Punishing? I’m doing him a favor. Cynthia, I...” Her sister waited. Joanna thought a long moment, was about to say something, and her eyes filled with tears.

“Don’t you still love him? I know you still love him.”

Joanna blinked away her tears: “Cynthia, shut up and eat your dumplings or I’ll throw them down your $300
silk blouse,” and walked out of the restaurant.
When Cynthia finished her lunch and exited, her sister was sitting on a bench right outside the restaurant. Joanna stood sheepishly, linked arms with her, and they walked to the Tea & Scones.

***

One day, in an interior design shop, the sisters picked patterns for chairs being reupholstered, and then chose a paint color for the walls that perfectly complimented an inch of burgundy in the fabric. They left the shop and walked to the Tea & Scones…

…to find Michael sitting on the front steps. Joanna saw him first, and froze in her tracks.

Cynthia said, “What?” and looked in the directon of Joanna’s gaze. “I take it that’s not one of your troupe of handymen?”

Michael looked up, then stood. “Hello,” he said, his eyes transfixed on Joanna.

She and Cynthia walked down the path to the steps. Cynthia couldn’t stand the silence and immediate tension so she walked to Michael, hand outstretched. “I’m taking a wild guess that you’re Michael. I’m Cynthia, Jo’s sister. Nice to meet you, finally.”

He shook her hand. “You too, Cynthia.”

Joanna couldn’t talk. Michael took the initiative: “I’m here, helping Madeleine. She hurt her knee, and her husband’s in Florida. Thought, since I was already here, I’d come see the house.” More silence. “Can I see the inside?”

Relieved to have something active to do, Joanna walked up the steps and opened the unlocked door. “Workmen are coming in all the time, so I don’t bother to lock it,” she explained, unnecessarily. She moved aside, he walked in and looked around. On the one bare wall there were four squares of paint samples, all perfect for the room.

“You’ve done a lot already. The floors are perfect, and you’ve started picking colors? I like the top left, by the way.”

“Rookwood terra cotta.”

“Nice. Warm.”

Cynthia said, “I’ll make some tea,” and left for the kitchen.

He continued looking around the house, stepping into the
dining room. “It’s going to be a grand house again.”

“Well…the workmen…and I’ve been at it night and day, too.”

“I know. You were so busy you didn’t even call me,” Michael said. “It’s good to see you. I missed you.”

“Michael, no. Please don’t.”

“I rushed you. Was that it?” She didn’t answer. “We hadn’t known each other long enough? You weren’t sure about us, like I was?”

“No. It wasn’t any of that. It’s me. And I was married.”

“But you’re not with Brian any more.”

About half of the wallpaper had been torn down in the dining room. Unable to face him, Joanna plugged in the steamer, waited for it to get hot, and held it to the wall. He watched her, getting more frustrated with her behavior. Finally he pulled the plug out of the wall and took the steamer out of her hands. He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward him. “Joanna, talk to me.” She felt his touch everywhere and almost weakened but Cynthia entered, and Joanna jumped away from him.