“You were there when your husband needed you most. Nobody could have been more loyal. And I admire you for that, Grace, I really do.”
Ava pushed herself off the desktop and into a standing position and put out her hand. The meeting was over.
“Good luck to you, Grace.”
Chapter 21
Grace
The pouring rain had softened to a steady drizzle. Walking toward the front door of my building, I spotted an enormous yellow sunflower sitting on the front steps. As I got closer, I realized that it was only a picture of a sunflower printed on an umbrella. Monica was underneath it, shivering, her feet wet, holding a foil-covered pan in her lap.
“What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you. I brought you some cannoli. I’ve been experimenting with some new recipes.”
“And you couldn’t wait until Monday to share? What’s the matter with you? You’re getting soaked. Come inside.”
I unlocked the door, set about turning the lights on and the heat up, then greeted Maisie, who wriggled in rapture over my return.
“Oh, yes. I know,” I cooed, squatting down to Chihuahua level. “I’m glad to see you too. How about a biscuit before dinner?”
Maisie let out an approving yip. I picked her up and started toward the kitchen but stopped short when I realized Monica was still standing by the front door.
“Aren’t you going to come in?”
“Maybe not. I’m worried about getting water all over your wood floors.”
“Oh, Monica. Hang on a sec.”
After making a quick side trip to the kitchen for Maisie’s biscuit, I grabbed an armful of towels from the bathroom, exchanging them for the pan of cannoli. While Monica dried off, I went into the kitchen, filled Maisie’s bowl with kibble, and started making tea.
“Shouldn’t you be at the restaurant?” I called across the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room.
“Soon. Ben can handle things by himself for a bit.”
Monica walked into the kitchen in her stockinged feet. The bottom few inches of her pants were damp, but she wasn’t dripping anymore.
“You got caught in the rain too?” she asked.
I reached a hand up to my hair. After my unexpected ouster from Spector, I’d gone for a long drive, taking my anger and anxiety out on the twists and turns of Portland’s West Hills. Without the benefit of a blow-dryer and styling products, my hair had dried into an unruly, frizzy mess.
“I forgot my umbrella when I left the office,” I said, lifting the foil off the cannoli.
“There are a couple missing from the pan,” Monica said as she pulled up the counter stool that was my only kitchen seating. “A homeless woman came by asking for money. I didn’t have any cash so I gave her some cannoli.”
“Dishwater blond hair and rhinestone nose piercing?”
“Uh-huh.”
The microwave beeped. I pulled out the mugs and tossed a teabag into each.
“Must have been Sunny. Did she look okay? I’ve been worried about her.”
“She looked pale. And skinny.”
“That’s normal,” I said, and pulled two mismatched dessert plates out of the cupboard, then placed two pastries on each one. “Sad, but normal.”
“She was starving,” Monica said. “I gave her a cannoli and she wolfed it down while she was standing there, so I gave her two more. I thought she might be high.”
“Probably.”
“Hey,” Monica said, frowning as she looked around the apartment, “when are you going to finish unpacking the boxes and actually move into this place? It really does look like a refugee camp. I mean, do you think you could invest in more than one stool? Or maybe even a table? Possibly some plates that match?”
“I’m not too certain about the investment part, but, as of today, I’ll have plenty of time to unpack boxes.” I dug two forks out of a drawer and handed one, plus the mug of tea, to Monica. “They fired me.”
“You’re kidding,” she said, sounding surprised, but not quite as surprised as I’d have supposed. “Oh, Grace. That sucks. If there ever was a time that you needed a high-fat dessert, now is that time.”
“How true.” Standing at the counter, I picked up my fork, took a bite of cannoli, and groaned. “Oh, Monica. Oh, wow. This is amazing.”
She beamed. “Pretty good, right? I’ve been tinkering with the recipe.”
“Good? It borders on a religious experience. What’s in here?”
“Besides the ricotta and sugar? Marsala, slivered almonds, and a lot of lemon peel. Try the chocolate one,” she urged. “That’s got hazelnuts and candied orange.”
She didn’t have to ask twice.
“Oh, wow,” I said, closing my eyes in rapture. “This one is even better than the other. How is that possible? And how did you know I needed this today?”
How did she know? Okay, sure, I was just back from the funeral, but why would she be sitting on my front stoop in the rain at five thirty when she knows I’m lucky to get home by eight?
“I just had a feeling,” she said quickly when I asked her, shrugging and looking very guilty.
“You just had a feeling? Come on. What aren’t you telling me?”
Her eyes darted away from mine and she licked her lips.
“Monica,” I said in a warning tone.
“Okay, fine. I didn’t have a feeling. Luke called me. He told me all about bringing you flowers, and having coffee with you, and then how his ex-wife showed up.”
“And?”
“And after you left, it started to rain so he stuck around and finished his coffee, waiting for it to let up. But it didn’t, so, finally, he ran out to his truck. That’s when he saw you, crossing the street without a coat, getting wet and carrying a box, and looking really ticked off.”
“He was watching me!” I gasped.
“Oh, stop it. You act like he’s some kind of stalker. Okay, sure,” Monica said, spreading her hands a bit, “he showed up in your coffee shop unexpectedly a couple of times. But that part was my fault. Really, Grace, he wasn’t watching you. He happened to see you, put two and two together, then
