Left to Chance Read online

  He was gone.

  Chapter 6

  I HAD NO REASON to dislike Violet. I had no reason to dislike Violet. I had no reason to dislike Violet.

  Say it enough times, Teddi, and you might believe it.

  I stood on the porch in front of Nettie’s and glanced at my phone. I hadn’t responded to Violet’s dinner invitation. My mother would cringe at my bad manners.

  I walked down Lark, turned left onto Main, crossed Chance Square, and detoured down streets where my childhood friends had lived. I wandered a few blocks too far west, photographing lilac bushes and white picket fences, cracks in the sidewalk and more trellis-climbing clematis. Most houses in Chance were small, but they loomed large in my memory—trees I’d climbed, porches I’d sat on, sidewalks I’d scraped my knuckles on playing games of jacks. As I grew older there had been bar mitzvah brunches, sweet sixteen luncheons, graduation barbecues. The tables full of home-cooked food were a beloved Chance tradition, my mother’s baked contributions a regrettable one. The images pushed through in a way they hadn’t when I’d still lived there. My gait wobbled. I felt as if I’d been gone for decades.

  I turned onto Grand Street—Celia’s street—and looked up through the tall oaks and let the leaves frame the summer-blue sky. Click. Was the sky better here? Brighter? Or did it just seem so because things on the ground seemed a little dark and daunting? I’d leave these scenes as my naked eye saw them and the lens captured them. No enhancements. No calibrations. No retouching. They’d be honest and imperfect. Maybe just right for a little contest? Or maybe, just right for me.

  I switched to work mode and imagined the light, the best bench in Chance Square to take photos before the wedding ceremony, and how the sun would filter through the trees and dance atop the chuppah. I loved the art of my work. And I was beginning to like the management of it as well. Simon had encouraged me to become somewhat corporate in addition to being creative. He included me in planning meetings for all the hotel’s marketing materials and Web sites. I’d started to compile a manual for new photographers. The hotels were known for their four-star restaurants and wine cellars, so I suggested we hire someone just to take food photos for social media. That wasn’t my specialty.

  But, noticing how the sky was an unbroken shade of blue, so wide and uninterrupted by clouds that it seemed right above me—that came naturally to me, as it always had. I held my breath for a moment and waited, as if it would float down and wrap itself around me. As if it should.

  Minutes later, I stared at the numbers nailed next to the door: 304. I saw Celia at the window, the door, in the garden, with the stroller, wearing a big, floppy straw hat that hung past her shoulders as if she were Droopy Dog. God, we loved those old cartoons and spent many Saturday mornings watching them with my dad. I hadn’t thought about that in years. We’d sit on the floor, much closer to the television than either of our mothers would have allowed, eating bowls of Rice Krispies. My dad always turned up the volume, playfully blaming Snap, Crackle, and Pop that he couldn’t hear. When was the last time I’d eaten Rice Krispies not mixed with melted marshmallows and butter? The hotel chefs made monster-sized krispie squares dipped in chocolate, who could blame me?

  Next thing I knew, I had grabbed the doorknob. The doorknob. I yanked back my hand as if I’d been burned. I couldn’t move. Chills ran through me even though the temperature was likely high eighties, with ninety percent humidity. Then I started to sweat.

  This was no longer Celia’s front door.

  I dropped my hand to my side and then grabbed my knees. My heart pounded in my chest. With the back of my hand I wiped the sweat from my forehead, but then everything started to tilt. I shut my eyes and blindly reached for the ground. I folded onto myself and inhaled as much air as I could hold. I couldn’t pass out. I’d never passed out. I wouldn’t cry.

  Celia always left the door unlocked for me—the same door that now rattled and then opened with a swish. I glanced up to see a woman wearing crisp white cotton shorts with a belt and a pink Polo with the collar turned up. She aced the country-club-catalog vibe, which was in direct contrast to my crumpled-catalog-on-the-floor-of-the-car vibe.

  I looked up and forced a smile. “Hi,” I sang. “Just taking a little rest.”

  Violet reached out her hand toward me and helped me stand.

  “Thank you.”

  “I told Miles he should have driven over to get you. It’s hot out here.”

  “It’s not his fault. I wanted to walk.”

  I followed Violet into the house and stood on the same Oriental rug that had been there since Celia had found it at a thrift shop halfway between Chance and Columbus. The air smelled like Thanksgiving, or maybe like a lit pumpkin spice candle. The house smelled the way I felt—out of sync, out of sorts, and out of touch.

  “I know this must be hard for you,” Violet said. “Do you want to sit down?”

  I nodded.

  Violet half stepped into the powder room and emerged with a box of tissues. I plucked two, unsure of what to do with them, as the sweat ran down my back and inside my bra.

  “Are you going to be okay?”

  “I’m fine.” I dabbed my face and the back of my neck. Evaporation would take care of the rest. Now it was my turn to extend a hand. “Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

  * * *

  Clearly, someone had been reading bridal magazines. Dog-eared copies stacked two feet high sat on a corner chair under a folded sheath of ivory satin. Someone had also been playing table-dress-up. The dining room table and chairs were adorned in Tiffany blue and chocolate brown. I guessed Vera Wang place settings and Waterford crystal. The flatware was sterling. Tall vases filled with a blue-colored gel held curly willow branches, white orchids, and balls of moss.

  “I had them set it up here so we could just make sure. Live with it a bit. You don’t think it’s too much, do you?”

  “No. It’s lovely.” And it was. “Do you want to look through the photos? I can get an idea of what you and Miles like, and how you envision your special day.”

  I said the last three words with my Hester Hotel lilt firmly attached to the lump in my throat.

  “Let’s wait for Miles.”

  I didn’t want to remind Violet that he’d been through this already—he’d stood under a chuppah, a wedding canopy; he’d broken the glass. He’d had a wife. I had no doubt Miles loved Violet, but the bridal bedlam—chair covers, for instance—didn’t seem to fit the guy I’d known. When Celia and Miles had married, it was casual to the point of embarrassing their mothers. The couple had preferred a picnic at the Jasper Pond Pavilion to the typical Jewish wedding at one of the local synagogues with a live band, passed hors d’oeuvres, and a crushed rendition of the hora.

  Shay bounded into the room, earbuds draped around her neck, which I assumed was not a choking hazard for a twelve-year-old. One day Celia and I replaced all mini-blind cords with wands, when Shay was a toddler, after Celia had read about an eighteen-month-old who had died after getting caught up in the cords.

  Shay’s hair was pulled to a loose ponytail over one shoulder. She stood with her feet apart, hands on hips, reminding me of Peter Pan.

  “How was class?” Violet asked.

  “Fine,” Shay said without looking at her. “Aunt Tee!” She threw her long arms around me and hugged.

  “Dad and I are going to talk with Teddi about all the wedding photos. Do you want to stay?”

  “No, my shoes are ready! The store just called while we were in the car. Can we go get them? Please?”

  “You want me to take you? I should really stay here with your Aunt Teddi.”

  “Daddy can stay here with Aunt Tee and you and I can go get the shoes. Don’t you want to see them? What if they didn’t dye them the right shade of Tiffany blue?”

  Miles stepped inside the room. He looked like the other half of Violet’s catalog page, wearing khaki chinos and an untucked Oxford-cloth shirt with rolled-up sleeves, not the suit he’d w
orn this morning. “What if what’s not the right shade of blue? Because we can’t have that now, can we? You know, I’m thinking of getting my shoes dyed. Periwinkle would match my eyes. Don’t you think?” Miles batted his just-about-periwinkle eyes at Violet.

  I’d only ever seen him fuss and flirt with Celia. I hated that for that second, his happiness pinched my heart.

  “Daddy!” Shay tried to sound annoyed, but the hint of a grin gave her away momentarily. “I told Violet my shoes are ready. We need to get them. The store’s only open till five today. Shouldn’t Vi take me to get them? Please? We’ll be right back! She doesn’t want to leave Aunt Tee, but you’ll be here.”

  “We can do this another time,” I said. Maybe next time I could avoid a panic attack. “I just thought if we got it out of the way now, you wouldn’t have to worry about the lists and the details, but we have until the end of the week. I’m not going anywhere.” Just a reminder.

  “No, I was looking forward to it. And you walked all the way here. Plus, my parents are coming in a few days, and cousins, and my college friends,” Violet said. “I was hoping—I mean—you’re such an expert on weddings and we did all this ourselves without a planner. I’d just love your professional opinion—if it’s not too much to ask.”

  Shay fiddled with the tablecloth, smoothed a napkin, and ran her finger round and round the rim of a goblet. If it had been filled with water, she’d have played a song.

  “Sure, not a problem,” I said. “I’m happy to help.”

  “So you’ll wait here? With Daddy? We won’t be long,” Shay said. “Promise you won’t leave?”

  “I promise.”

  Miles exhaled with a sigh. “I’m sure Teddi has other things to do today.”

  Had he meant to insult me? You should always be nice to the person serving your food, and you should always be nice to the person taking your photograph. Especially when she’s doing it for free.

  “Nope, I don’t have anything else going on for the next few hours.” Miles would just have to deal with me on his own.

  “It’s settled then,” Violet said. “We’ll be back in a flash.” Violet kissed Miles on the cheek. She lingered—just for a second, but it was a loving linger nonetheless. “Ha. Back in a flash to talk about photography. Get it?”

  I did.

  Shay hugged me again and kissed her dad before following Violet through the house toward the garage.

  “Have fun while we’re gone!” she shouted as they left.

  Without talking, Miles and I moved into the kitchen, where the table was set with cotton placemats dotted with embroidered pineapples.

  “Shay said you had a nice breakfast.”

  “It’s a nice little café.”

  “That it is.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  Miles looked at me, in want of more information.

  “A group of girls walked in and made fun of your banner.”

  “I’m sure you’re overreacting,” Miles said.

  “No, it was like they knew Shay and were being mean because she was there. I don’t know, and Shay wouldn’t talk about it…”

  “She’s a teenager.”

  “She’s twelve!”

  “Well, you know what they say, twelve is the new sixteen.”

  “I don’t know what they say, actually. And I don’t know what that means, Mi.”

  “It means she’s not spending her days playing with dolls anymore.”

  “I didn’t think she played with dolls. How did the fitting go?”

  “For my tux? How did you know about that?”

  “No. Shay’s dress fitting? For the wedding?”

  “Vi and Shay’s dresses have been ready to go and in the upstairs closet for weeks. Vi is amazingly organized.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I guess I misunderstood.”

  Miles pulled out a box of saltines and pressed two into his mouth. “Cracker?” he mumbled, crumbs escaping.

  “No thanks.”

  He nodded. “Did you sleep okay?”

  “I did.”

  “Is it strange to be back?”

  “It is.”

  “Do you miss the fancy hotel digs?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Teddi, are you going to ever answer with more than two words?”

  “Perhaps.”

  I wanted to ask him about the necklace and the wine. I wanted to ask about the nonexistent dress fitting and if they were selling the house. I wanted to ask if Miles almost fainted when he turned the doorknob.

  But today was about Miles and Violet. And Shay. It wasn’t about me and it wasn’t about Celia. How I longed for the distance and detachment I felt from my usual wedding couples, their history and lives revealed only in reenacted sweetness and photo montage videos.

  I sat in what had been Celia’s chair at the table. I didn’t know who sat there now, or if no one did. I pulled my tablet out of my bag, turned it on, and slid it toward Miles. “Why don’t you look at these photos and show me which ones you like, and which ones you think Violet would like.”

  Miles scrolled through the photos with hardly a glance, as if swiping away losers on a dating app. He stopped on a photo of a couple under a tree. His eyes traced the couples in the next few photos as well. Was he thinking about himself and Celia standing amidst the trees at Jasper Pond? About the wedding where he was the groom and I was the maid of honor? About his life with Violet where I was an interloper? Maybe he was not really looking or thinking anything at all. Most likely.

  “Will you be on the hook with Simon Hester for doing a side job?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want me to pay you? Will Hester be mad? We’re not exactly ‘high profile’ here.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I do not want you to pay me. And who do you think Simon is? The godfather of the hotel mafia or something?”

  “I just know he’s a serious businessman.”

  “He’s a really nice guy.”

  “Nice guys don’t build mini empires. And they’re not named eligible bachelors in national magazines.”

  Miles was wrong again.

  “You stopped at a photo back there. What caught your eye?”

  “Nothing, but I think this is really Violet’s area of expertise. I’m in charge of the bar.”

  “Great, because I could really use a drink.”

  “Nice.”

  “I was only kidding, Miles. Did you have to pack up your sense of humor to hit the campaign trail?”

  He grimaced and pushed the tablet toward me. “It’s not easy raising a daughter alone, Teddi. And working full time. And trying to have a life. And planning a wedding.”

  Or having me here.

  “Sometimes it’s all just a lot. Can’t you just take the pictures? Do we really have to discuss it?”

  “It’s protocol.”

  He cocked his head and lifted one eyebrow.

  “Okay, so it’s usually protocol to have the bride and groom look through photos and let me know what they like, what they don’t like, what they want their photos to be like. Violet wants to do this, I can tell. And I think Shay would like it too.”

  “I know. Can you just make sure the three of you do it together? No one gets left out, okay?”

  “Sure.” I tapped the tablet and opened another online photo album. This one was headshots for Hester executives, all except for Simon. “I can take some headshots while I’m here. If you want. For your campaign, or just for work. I have a lot of time between now and the wedding.”

  Miles stared at the tablet.

  “We don’t have to.”

  “Let me think about it?”

  “Sure. What made you want to run for office anyway? I don’t remember you ever having political aspirations.”

  “Things change. Now I just want to make a difference. Leave a mark. Improve what goes on in the county for future generations. Bring in more commerce, attract tourists.”

  “To Union County?”

&nb
sp; “Why not?”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “A hotel by the outlets would be perfect. It’s near the airport and close enough to Chance to attract some shoppers and history buffs. West End Cemetery is the oldest in the county, did you know that? Real estate is doing well because of the jobs in the area.” And with that he changed the subject.

  “You don’t like San Francisco?”

  “I love it. But I’m not there for more than a few days at a time. And when I’m there I’m living out of a suitcase.” Or one drawer at Simon’s.

  “So rent an apartment. Or buy a house. You must make enough money. You don’t—”

  Miles stopped.

  “What? I don’t have any responsibilities? Attachments? Yes, I know. I also travel all the time.”

  He tucked the box of crackers back onto the shelf. He closed the cabinet door without making a sound, as if a baby were sleeping nearby. Then he lowered his voice, certain not to wake the nonexistent baby. “You should have a place to call home, Teddi. Even if it’s not Chance. Especially if it’s not Chance.”

  I clamped my lips to hold everything inside. Miles turned away, unable, unwilling, uninterested to know more. I watched as he puttered, wiping the counter, turning on the dishwasher, watering a windowsill plant in a painted terracotta pot I recognized from a Web chat with Shay. I envisioned Simon, and how his condo with the waterfront view could be the home where I could putter and water plants. My clothes would hang in a walk-in closet as big as a hotel room, but without dry cleaner bags. Nothing would stay folded indefinitely inside the Samsonite suitcases my parents had given me for college graduation. Simon’s condo that could be “our condo” had four bedrooms—each one with a view of the Bay Bridge.

  I would have it all.

  “Teddi, did you hear me?”

  “Huh? Oh. Sorry.”

  “Are you staying for dinner?”

  “Do you think Shay could visit me in San Francisco instead of us meeting in Chicago? I mean, if I ever did end up making that a more permanent home? Like one with a guest room?”