night at the Figtree in Wellesley. At the car, he opened the front door for me and tried to stick Max in the back with Dolores.
“Max is too tall for the back. He should sit in front,” I said.
“It’s okay,” Max said.
“No it isn’t.” I insisted that he take the front seat. He and Guy made small talk on the way back to the inn where Max was staying. The rain was letting up. When Max got out of the car and waved goodbye, I told Dolores to get into the front. Guy looked back at me. He obviously thought that the seat beside his was my rightful place.
Too bad I didn’t want it.
Chapter 32
I didn’t tell anyone about Max’s book signing because I wanted to go alone. I dressed carefully—cargo pants, a white blouse, and sandals with a small heel. It was still raining, but it looked like it might be letting up. I hooked my Burberry raincoat into the crook of my arm and tiptoed downstairs. It was a stealth operation.
Guy was visiting, as usual. The whole family was sitting around the fire in the living room, and to get to the front door, I had to slip past the open French doors that led from the living room to the front hall. I could try the back kitchen door. That was a possibility. I went into the dark kitchen. Our habit was to lock it from the inside and leave the key in the door, but the key wasn’t there. I fished around in the closest drawer and found nothing. I checked my watch. I didn’t want to be late. My sandals made clicking sounds on the tiles of the kitchen. I should have worn sneakers. I turned and started toward the front hall.
I was almost at the door when I heard “Jane, where are you going?” It was Miranda.
Guy stood up and came toward the French doors.
“You look very nice,” he said.
“Thanks.” I turned to go out without saying anything else, then Miranda came up behind Guy. She put her hand on his shoulder.
“Where are you going?” she asked me again.
Since this group wasn’t the type that would rush to go to a book signing in the rain, I might still be safe even if I told them. In ordinary circumstances, they wouldn’t be quick to follow me. But they’d been lounging around all day and almost anything would be better than more lazing about.
Even Teddy left the stifling living room and followed Guy and Miranda out to the front hall, where I stood with my hand on the doorknob.
“Jane, for a minute there you looked just like your mother.”
This compliment, probably the highest my father could give, was bittersweet, but I had no time to get tripped up on emotion. I had a mission.
“I’m going to a book signing,” I said.
“That’s so boring,” Miranda said. She turned and started back toward the living room.
“I don’t think it’s boring. Not at all. Jane, if you can wait just a minute, we’ll go with you,” Guy said.
“I don’t know,” Miranda said.
“I’m going,” Guy said.
“Well, then.” Miranda was on her third martini. One more and it might have been impossible to pry her from the house. Oh, for one more martini.
“You know,” Teddy said. “I think I’d like to join you. Veronica mentioned something about a book signing when I saw her the other day. It’s that Max Wellman, isn’t it? Our tenant’s brother?”
“Yes,” I said. I looked at my watch, a thin diamond heirloom I’d inherited from my mother. Why did my family choose this, of all times, to be interested in books?
“Oh, him,” Miranda said. “He’s very attractive. Didn’t we see him at the pub the other day?”
I kicked one foot against the other. “Look, I’ll go on ahead and save seats. You can meet me there.”
“We’ll be ready in a minute,” Guy said. “In fact, I’ll come along with you and the rest can come when they’re ready.”
“I don’t want to rush you. Take your time and I’ll see you there.”
Before he could say another word, I was out the door, and despite the strappy sandals, I walked at a brisk pace toward Main Street. Usually when I enter a bookstore, I feel immediately calm. Bookstores are, for me, what churches are for other people. My breath gets slower and deeper as I peruse the shelves. I believe that books contain messages I am meant to receive. I’m not normally superstitious, but I’ve even had books fall from shelves and land at my feet. Books are my missives from the universe.
This time, when entering the Bunch of Grapes, I was far from calm. I must have looked like a bird pecking for feed, head turning here and there in short nervous bursts. Then there he was. He was sitting at a table at the back, signing extra stock.
He looked up when he saw me and smiled. I gathered my nerve, took off my coat, and hung it over my arm. The storm was ending in a soft drizzle that probably left me looking bedraggled after my sprint up the street. Still, I walked straight toward Max. There were other people milling about who looked like they might want to talk to the famous author, but his literary escort, a small woman with a linebacker’s shoulders, blocked the way. I lifted my chin and said in my most Miranda Fortune voice—haughty and dismissive—“personal friend.” The little spark plug of a woman moved aside.
“Will you sign one for me?” I asked.
“Signing’s later, Miss Fortune. You’ll have to wait in line like everyone else,” Max said. I was stunned. The little lady smirked at me. Then Max broke into a smile and laughed. “Just kidding. Jane, you used to know when I was kidding.”
“You haven’t been so funny lately,” I said.
He reddened. “I suppose not,” he said.
The little woman sidled up to the table.
“Everything okay, Mr. Wellman?”
“Fine, Janice. This is the woman who gave me my start. Jane Fortune.”
Now, Janice turned the same fawning expression on me that she used on Max. It was as if I were suddenly someone important.
“Oh, Miss Fortune,” she said, “you’ve done so much for the new writer. It’s an honor to meet you.”
“Call me Jane,” I said.
I picked up a book from the table and handed it to Max. He wrote in it, closed it, and handed it back. I wanted to know what he’d written but didn’t have the nerve to open it right there.
“We can get that book comped for you, Miss Fortune,” Janice said.
“Jane. Please call me Jane. Thank you, but I’d be happy to pay for the book.” I already had a copy, of course, but buying extra books never bothered me. Buying a book is a vote for the author—a direct contribution. Max didn’t need my contribution, but nonetheless, it can be awkward to go to a signing without buying a book.
“No, no. We couldn’t let you pay.” She took the book and disappeared toward the front of the store.
I turned and looked behind me. The room was filling up, and if I didn’t choose a seat, I might not get one. Max looked up also, and just as he did, Guy, Miranda, Teddy, and Dolores came in. I hadn’t saved seats for them and now seats were scarce.
Guy saw me and smiled. He came up to us, put his hand on my upper back, and kissed me on the cheek. He always staked his claim in the way climbers put flags on the top of Mount Everest. It infuriated me, not only because he had no claim but also because since he’d come to the island, I’d given him no reason to think he did. I stepped away from Guy, hoping that Max would see and understand my feelings, but I was not good at communicating in general, and I was, apparently, worse at communicating through body language. Max greeted Guy with a calm, distant smile, then went back to signing books as if I weren’t there.
“Did you save seats?” Guy asked.
“I forgot.”
“I’ll get us some.” Guy was airy and pleasant as always. “Looking forward to your reading,” he said to Max,
