He poured me a glass of Riesling. I slumped in one of the kitchen chairs, put my feet up, and gave a sigh of thanksgiving that he accepted my one-word response without question.
Dear Joe.
I sipped the wine and watched him cook. He sloshed some sesame oil into a wok and when it was hot, added pieces of chicken. Next came fermented black beans and red pepper powder.
I had to monitor Joe with the spices because sometimes he got carried away if we were talking and would forget he already added the menu’s required allotment. And like the home repair purchases, he bought exotic ingredients that he’d probably never use again. There was a new bag from the hardware store on the table, too.
Joe and I would need to have a discussion about his spending habits, but not tonight.
Tonight I was too tired to say anything.
I thought about Harriet’s house and all those rare, expensive collectibles and wondered where my little dollhouse would have fit in. It wasn’t in the same league at all.
Joe gaily threw piles of green peppers, bamboo shoots, carrots, and celery into the sizzling wok. He finely chopped some fresh garlic and ginger, and then added soy sauce, vinegar, and wine.
I knew Birch Kunes was numero uno on Serrano’s list, and while I had also been more than ready to blame the good-looking but slightly nerdy doctor, too, he didn’t seem to have any real animosity toward Harriet. He didn’t even seem that concerned about how much she’d spent. More like simply worn out by her obsessions, and consumed by a desire to get on with his life.
Of course, now he was infatuated with Bettina.
Birch had said that if he and Harriet had had kids, things might have been different. When they couldn’t, that was the turning point, and she’d become addicted to miniatures. Before Sarah, I’d miscarried our first child and I’d become just as neurotic about our only daughter, trying to control every inch of her life until I learned that she could manage quite well on her own.
It took both of us nearly getting killed this past summer for me to realize just how strong she really was.
I drank more wine. Martha was obsessed with Cyril, Serrano was gunning for Birch Kunes, Sam Brown was passionate about his pumpkins, and the wine club woman was crazy about the hot detective. And me? I couldn’t stop thinking about Chip Rosenthal and the future of my store.
I shook my head.
“You okay, babe?” Joe glanced at me as he stirred some cornstarch into the mixture in the wok.
“I’m just sad for Harriet, I guess.” How many other women were out there, my age, whose husbands cheated on them with younger women?
There, but for the grace of God, go I.
And here I was, worrying about Joe buying some fermented beans, for Pete’s sake. I was an ungrateful wretch, that was for sure.
I got up, put my arms around him, and held him as tight as I could.
• • •
On Thursday afternoon, after a long day of looking at balance sheets and not much else, I decided I was sick of worrying. Some fresh air would do me good. I hung a CLOSED sign on the front of the store, went home and picked up Jasper, and drove to Ringing Springs Park.
Maybe I’d run into Bettina Waters and have a chance to chat. However beautiful and nice she seemed from a distance, she certainly had the motive to get rid of Harriet, the woman who had spitefully obstructed her future. She’d also had the opportunity to slip away from the medical conference, but what did she know about wiring a dollhouse?
I’d make those other snotty women say hello to me this time, too, including the terrifying Virginia Axelrod.