Who Needs Cupid? Read online

  He knew from experience that cool places appeared when the cool kids started hanging out there, creating a unique kind of drawing power. The Chess Club was a start. And the Wifi would help, once word got around.

  “Hey, thanks, Max. I think I can make rent now,” Elle said softly, sitting down at his table.

  His students were making a lot of noise, but it was good noise. Happy noise. Elle didn’t seem at all put off by it. “They’re pretty neat kids. Smart and ambitious—just like you were in high school.”

  “Me? I wasn’t the one who wanted to be the first female president of the United States,” he reminded her.

  Her blush made her look seventeen. “Oh, man, I forgot about that. I believe I used that slogan as part of my campaign for Student Body President. ‘First step to the White House.’” They looked at each other and laughed.

  The kid-noise eased slightly. Max could practically hear the little wheels and cogs in their brains turning. On the drive back to school there would be plenty of hissing and pssts as they discussed his love life.

  Elle sobered and glanced over her shoulder. “Well, ambition only takes you so far when you’re breast-feeding a baby because you’re too poor to buy formula. After Nora, I decided running the country wouldn’t be enough of a challenge, anyway.”

  Her smile held a bittersweet edge. Max was certain she’d never looked lovelier. “Elle, would you like—”

  “Hey, Coach, your bee-aach is lookin’ to date other dudes in this Valentine thing,” Morgan Myers yelled. “That just ain’t right, man.”

  Morgan was forever trying to sound cool by using slang that he never quite managed to pull off.

  Elle stood up, her chair making a screeching sound against the tile floor. “Hey, who are you calling a beast?”

  Morgan, who was a foot shorter than Elle, slumped down to toddler size. “Um…sorry. But I heard that lady talking about a party, so I checked it out.”

  The rest of his students pressed closer to see what Morgan had found. Elle, who’d moved close enough to see where Morgan was pointing, said, “The dateathon is for singles over the age of twenty-one. I qualify but you don’t.”

  “But you don’t need some loser off the Net,” Morgan said. “You could hook up with Mr. M. He’s single,” he added in a loud whisper.

  “I know,” Elle replied. Nothing in her tone implied that she might be interested in dating the man in question.

  Max, whose face was burning, put his middle and index fingers on his bottom lip and whistled. Loud, piercing. “Time to go, Geek Squad. Do you want to get your off-site passes revoked?”

  The mass exodus pretty much distracted Elle from the fact that his students were trying to play Cupid.

  “Mr. Maxwell,” she called out as he hustled the last team member—Kyla, who could never stop talking on her cell phone to her college-age boyfriend—out the door. “Weren’t you about to ask me something?”

  He’d been about to ask her out before his students reminded him that in the game of chess, like in love, it was usually better to stick to your plan. “My…um…team is doing timed matches at the mall tomorrow morning. I thought you might like to see them in action.”

  Her expression looked thoughtful. “I promised Becca I’d run interference with her mother tomorrow. Becca needs the time to work on her cards. Her mother thinks she’s going to the office. I volunteered to take Jane to do something sisterish.” She rolled her eyes. “What that is, I have no idea. But if it involves shopping, and I can drag Jane along, we’ll be there.”

  Max nodded, but he didn’t have a chance to say anything more because several horns started honking. He threw up his hands and dashed away. Coming here was probably a mistake. Young people, although often ridiculously egocentric, were also amazingly astute. He might have blown his grieving widower façade all to heck.

  Not that he wouldn’t miss his wife for as long as he lived, but she would have been the first to berate him for not making more of an effort to find someone new, someone he could love again—or someone he’d never stopped loving.

  THE BEST THING about Saturdays, Elle thought as she cleaned the snow off her windshield, was having help. Three college students who attended school in Chicago during the week but came home every weekend because their significant others lived here had jumped at the chance to make money peddling coffee. Elle used the opportunity to do all those things she couldn’t do during the week, like sleep in, run, work out, play.

  Shopping for a Valentine’s Day outfit with her sister didn’t fall under any of those headers—well, except maybe the exercise one, she thought an hour later as she carelessly thumbed through the spring collection of underwear at the lingerie shop. Jane had most immodestly held up three or four peignoirs that had made Elle blush.

  If Jane is still having sex and she’s five years older than me, then I need to rethink this menopause thing, Elle told herself. Too bad none of the men who had visited her site had shown the least bit of potential. Too old, too young, too needy, too strange.

  “Ellenore, can you come here a minute?” a voice called from the dressing room area.

  Elle’s throat closed up and her mouth went dry. She coughed delicately. “Sure.” Holding her breath, she peeked around the corner. “Which room are you in?”

  “First on your right, but you don’t have to come in. I just need you to see if you can find this style in a large. The medium just doesn’t work for me.”

  There was something very un-Jane in her sister’s tone. Defeated. Almost tearful. Rather than question the reason behind the tears, Elle snatched the royal-blue scrap of material that appeared through the gap in the dressing room curtain and ran to the racks.

  “Large, large, large,” she murmured under her breath. “She sits at a desk all day, what does she expect? I run my little tush off from dawn to dusk and my butt isn’t getting any smaller, for heaven’s sake.”

  After way too much scrutinizing, she found the size in question and dashed back to the changing area. “Here it is, Jane. I bet it’ll look great on you. Blue always has been your color.” Liar. Jane needed subtle, not garish.

  A faintly mumbled, “Thanks,” filtered past the thick pink curtain.

  Elle hesitated, rocking back and forth on her thick-soled walking shoes. With a stifled groan, she took a step closer and wiggled one finger between the curtain and the wall of the booth. She put her eye to the opening.

  Jane was sitting on the pink patent leather stool, fully dressed, crying. Elle clawed her way into the room and squatted in front of her sister. “Jane, what’s wrong? Is it Phil? Is he having an affair?”

  Her sister stiffened as if shot. “Of course not. Why would you say such a thing?”

  “I don’t know. Statistics. Men in their mid-fifties go a bit crazy, right? I’m sorry. I’ve never seen you cry. Even at Mom’s and Dad’s funerals you were such a stoic. I was a blubbering idiot, but you held it together.”

  Jane reached into her purse and took out a small package of tissues. She withdrew one, carefully refolding the package and returning it to its designated spot. After a deep inhale, she blew her nose. “Well, it’s not Phil. He and I are fine. A little distracted by work, which is to be expected in the weeks leading up to April 15, but this will help in that department,” she said, lifting the crumpled silk teddy in her lap. “No, it’s Rebecca. She’s been like a stranger lately. Head in the clouds. Mumbling under her breath. I swear if I didn’t know better I’d think she was using drugs.”

  “Drugs,” Elle exclaimed, moving back so quickly she lost her balance and wound up on her bottom. “That’s ridiculous. How could you think that? She’s a freaking CPA, for heaven’s sake. You double-check all the tax returns she does. Wouldn’t there be glaring mistakes if she was strung out on something?”

  Jane dabbed the corner of her eyes. “I…I guess so. I didn’t think about that. But she’s always been a high achiever. She might be able to do both.”

  Elle wanted to slap her sister
. The woman was obtuse. If something didn’t fit into Jane’s world, it wasn’t of value. Like Rebecca’s art.

  “You’re right, Jane,” Elle said standing up. “Rebecca is an overachiever. She’s got the most amazing brain. It lets her do things with both hemispheres.”

  Jane’s brows scrunched together in a most unflattering way. She wasn’t dumb. She knew about right brain, left brain. “Are you talking about her cards? That’s a hobby. Gives her a little money on the side. Nothing more.”

  “She’s an artist, Jane. Your daughter may work numbers during the day, but at night she’s an art slut.” Elle knew exactly what she was doing by using that term. She was tripping a few of the mommy-issued landmines Becca so carefully tip-toed around. Jane could overlook “dabbling,” but Becca’s cards had become a business, and Elle’s support, however benign, would be viewed as a betrayal.

  “Jane, before you go off all half-cocked and indignant, could you, just once, look at this from your daughter’s point of view? Denying her art is like closing off one part of who she is.”

  “Don’t tell me about my daughter. I know my daughter. I know where she is. I know that she’s safe. I might not approve of her hobby, but at least she’s not sleeping around on some floating brothel.”

  “‘Floating brothel’? Where the hell do you get off calling an internationally chartered cruise ship a red-light district on water? You don’t know—”

  Jane stood up, letting her elegant underwear choices fall to the floor. “I read, Elle. There was an article in one of our church magazines recently about the sins that get committed on pleasure cruises. Phil and I thought about taking a cruise for our thirty-fifth anniversary, but once I read up on the subject…”

  Elle had no words. Her sister had always been rigid and narrow in her views of the world, but when had Jane become so sanctimonious?

  “But what your daughter does or doesn’t do with her life is not my concern. Rebecca, however, is my concern and I want you out of her life.”

  “She’s my niece.”

  Jane crossed her arms like a tin soldier ready to draw a weapon and fire if Elle said another word. That had never stopped Elle before. “She’s an adult, Jane. She can pick her friends, even if she can’t account for her family. Plus, she pays me rent.”

  “What?” Jane said, nearly choking on her gasp.

  “For the upstairs. Her paints smell, and this way she has room to spread out. I get a percentage of the sales from her cards, plus Becca works for me when she’s not lashed to your counting-house desk. It’s fun work. She can interact with people—men—her own age. Who knows? She might even meet someone and fall in love.”

  Jane’s eyes narrowed and she said something Elle hadn’t heard in years, but with every bit of antipathy she’d used in the past. “I hate you.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ELLE MEANDERED through the small mall that had been built a few years after she’d left Fenelon Falls. As in other towns across the country, there had been a big push to move shopping away from the old, established downtown core to a centralized, indoor enterprise under one roof. Also like other towns, the plan hadn’t been a complete success. New warehouse stores came in and further divvied up the spending dollar. More people drove into Chicago for their “big” purchases. Hence, both the mall and the downtown suffered.

  But Fenelon Falls’ downtown had experienced a recent rebirth. Outside grant money, which Jane’s Downtown Association had been responsible for getting, had been used to refurbish the infrastructure. The facelift had attracted shop owners like Lucky.

  The mall, in contrast, looked dim and frumpy, like an aging aunt who never dressed well. The few randomly placed skylights merely added to the grayness, given the high clouds and icy wind that had blown in overnight. Elle was thankful for the protection the roof afforded but little else.

  She was downright miserable. Fighting with her sister always made her blue. And not being able to reach Nora was compounding the problem.

  She spotted an empty bench across from Betty’s Hallmark shop and sat down. She punched in Nora’s number again. Still no answer. Not surprising, she told herself. Nora usually called when she was in port, but they might go weeks without talking.

  She left a message, then tried the other number she’d been calling. Her niece. Poor Rebecca deserved a heads-up. Her sister was on a rampage. Not that Jane would storm into Cup O’ Love and create a scene. That was not Jane’s style. But she would track down Becca eventually with a long list of reasons why Rebecca should give up her art and focus completely on the life her mother had in mind for her.

  Rational. That was Jane.

  Irrationally Elle wanted to scream, rant and kick something or somebody. But that was her.

  Too bad the weather is so crappy, she thought, getting to her feet. I need a run.

  Three women a few years older than Elle walked past, arms pumping, Nikes squeaking on the tile. Mall-walkers. She’d heard about them. Dodging shoppers seemed like a silly way to exercise, but maybe she should give it a try.

  She looped her purse strap so it lay across her chest and started marching. She felt silly, particularly when she reached the middle rotunda where five card tables were set up with chess sets between two players.

  She’d forgotten about Max’s team’s exhibition. She made a wide detour, hoping to avoid their coach. She was too upset to talk to anyone.

  “Hey, what’s your rush?” a deep voice said from just behind her.

  “I’m walking the mall. Which Jane would probably compare to street walking,” she muttered. Grow up, Ellenore. You are not blubbering about your fight with your sister to Max.

  “Elle.” He put a hand on her shoulder.

  She stopped dead. Touch. She’d been craving touch. Max’s touch, actually. In her night dreams. In her daydreams. Whenever she read one of the silly bios that showed up on her dateathon page. She was pretty sure this need was hormone related, but since she hadn’t gotten around to making an appointment with a doctor, she didn’t know whether or not to blame menopause.

  “What?”

  “That’s a good question. Something is wrong, but what? Since you’ve got that stubborn look on your face, which I can recognize because my wife was the queen of stubborn, I can only assume that your outing with your sister was a bust, which means you need an outlet for your frustration but mall-walking isn’t the answer.”

  She’d never heard him talk that fast in her life. “So what is the answer?”

  “Come with me.”

  Forty-five minutes later, she was standing at the locked door of the high school, shivering so bad her teeth chattered. “Am I going to detention?” she asked, trying to be a good sport.

  He’d apologized repeatedly for taking so long to wrap up the Chess Exposition, but the members of the team turned out to be very talkative. And they’d introduced her to their parents and friends, with sweet little comments, like, “Wait till you try her mochas.”

  Although this cut into Elle’s pouting time, she found that her bad mood was so altered she didn’t really need whatever cure Max had in mind. “Maybe we should go to the Cup for some hot cocoa,” she said. And warn Becca.

  “Patience. This will be good for you. I promise.”

  Good for me? She knew he hadn’t meant that as a double entendre, but her heart heard it as such. With just the tiniest of prompting, she could imagine them sweaty and breathless after sex, asking the question that nobody actually asked after sex.

  “Are you coming?”

  Elle startled. A hot blush clashed with the icy cold of her cheeks. The door was open and Max was waiting. “Sorry,” she said hurrying inside. “I think I left my mind at home this morning.”

  “No problem. What I have planned doesn’t require brain power.”

  She followed him a few steps then stopped and inhaled deeply. “My gosh, this place smells just like it did when I was a student here.”

  He grinned. “I know. It’s weird, isn’t it? A mi
x of gym clothes left in lockers, bubblegum, wet tennis shoes, raging hormones…it never changes.”

  The sounds their rubber-soled shoes made against the pristine floor seemed to echo and made Elle feel guilty about being there. “Should we be here? Will you get in trouble?”

  Max grinned and motioned for her to follow as he headed toward the gym. The school had expanded some since she was a student here. New classrooms had been added, but the extralarge gym appeared to be the same.

  Max opened the double doors. To her surprise, they weren’t alone. A dozen or so joggers, two or three groups of walkers and even a guy in a wheelchair were making the round on the second-floor gallery. “There’s a street entrance on the other side of the building,” Max said. “On weekends and every evening, except for game nights, the public can use the facility. Much better feng shui than the mall, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Feng shui?” she repeated, laughing. “Don’t let my sister hear you say that. She’ll accuse you of letting my Californianess rub off on you.”

  He snatched her wool cap from her hands and started up the steps. “I knew Jane was behind your bleak look. Want to tell me about it as we run?”

  They found an empty spot on a bench to drop their coats and gloves. Elle was glad she hadn’t dressed up for her shopping excursion. If she’d been in Santa Rosa with her friends, she’d have been wearing girlie shoes and hose. And she wouldn’t have been so glum. Only Jane could make Elle feel small and stupid and…bad.

  “We had a little tiff. Sisters. Can’t live with them, can’t kill them for a bigger piece of the inheritance,” she said, trying for flippant. She took off jogging before Max could comment, but he caught up with her without a problem.