Riverside Park (34 page)

THE CHANGES IN
their relationship were not magical but were, as Amanda expressed it, indelibly wonderful. Their progress as a couple seemed to go two steps forward, one step back, two steps forward, one step back, but with a closeness and energy that felt new.

As for Howard, he felt as though he was falling in love all over again. “The better you feel about yourself,” one of the pop psychologists he represented had written, “the more capable you are to love others.”

Yeah, well, whatever.

Even worse than having to list the debts for Amanda had been fully recognizing the sacrifices he was asking Amanda and the children to make in order to clean up his mess. Putting the Woodbury house on the market had felt like death to him. But Amanda being so excited about moving back into Manhattan made the process that much easier. They had also found a summer soccer program the kids could get into, and since
Mickey-Luck had moved to Greenwich, anyway, Teddy and Emily didn't feel they were missing as much now by moving. (There would also be a week of science camp, music camp and art camp.)

“Howard,” Gretchen announced from the doorway of his office, “Amanda's on two and I've got ten thousand people waiting for you to call them.”

He snapped up the phone. “Hi, darling.”

“I've got a surprise,” Amanda said, sounding happy.

If Howard wasn't mistaken he could hear the theme song of
I Love Lucy
in the background. “Where are you?”

“We're on our way in.” There were shrieks of laughter from the children. “Lucy and Ethel are in the chocolate factory.”

He laughed. “So what's the surprise?”

“Celia Cavanaugh left us a Christie's catalog at the desk.”

“Oh, right, the vulture and the camel.”

“Howard, you'll never believe what she said the estimate is.”

“I thought she said seven to ten thousand.” Although they weren't counting on the money it sure would come in handy right now.

“Celia said they listed it for fifteen to seventeen!”

“You're kidding.”

She was laughing. “Can you believe it? I just talked to her. They had a number of people look at it and that's the estimate now. I must go to that auction. Celia and her mother are going so I want to go with them. Anyway, Celia's coming out with us next week to see what we have in Woodbury we want to get rid of.”

“They're your things, Amanda. I hope you're not selling them because—”

“We need to get rid of it, Howard. Remember, someday
the children are going to get all of my parents' stuff, too. How much stuff can one family possibly need?”

Gretchen was back in the doorway. “Kate Weston. She says it's very important she speak to you.”

He held up one finger. “Don't you think we need someone other than a bartender handling your antiques?”

“I can't think of anyone else I would rather handle it. She's eager, grateful and she's working her derriere off.”

“Whatever you say.” Howard hung up with her and changed to the other line. “Kate,” he said brightly, shifting his headset slightly in an attempt to veer his thoughts away from vultures, debts and pretty bartenders.

“You better go over to your fax machine, Howard,” Kate said, “because I'm sending over a contract. So if you don't want anyone to see it—”

“That fast? A contract that fast?”

“And not to pressure you, but I need an answer before the end of Monday.”

“Monday,” he repeated.

By four-thirty Howard had sent everyone in the office home early for the weekend so that he was alone when the accountant came in. “Thank God you've dealt with everything,” the accountant said as they went over the latest set of agency numbers. “It makes it all the less likely you will get into this position again.”

Howard felt his dander rise but said nothing except what he needed to say, which was “I have to know by Monday if the deal can work.”

 

Howard, Amanda, Emily and Teddy made homemade pizza and salad and played Pictionary on the floor in front of the fire in the living room. Howard was not sure if he had ever
been happier in his life. It was going to work out. He really knew that for sure now. They heard the children's prayers, put them to bed and kissed them good-night. Only then did they pour a glass of wine and return to the living room to talk. “I've got news, Amanda,” Howard said almost immediately.

“You sold something,” she guessed.

“It's what I'm thinking of selling. I'm thinking about selling the agency back to the Hillingses, for their grandson.”

She frowned.

“The whole thing.”

It took a moment for Amanda to recover. “But you've worked so hard, Howard. It's called Hillings & Stewart for a reason.”

“After this restructuring I don't think I want to do it anymore. It won't be the same.”

Amanda took a sip of her wine. “So what would you do? Stay on as an agent and let their grandson run the business?”

“Well, that's just it.” He smiled. “I've been offered a job, Amanda. To be an editor again. To take Kate Weston's place as editor in chief of Bennett, Fitzallen & Coe.”

“Editor in chief!” Amanda cried. The light that appeared in her eyes told Howard what he needed to know. “Oh, darling!” She hastily put her glass down to throw her arms around him. She kissed him several times and then sat back a few inches to ask, “Are you going to accept this position?”

“The salary falls right down the middle of my best year and worst year,” he said.

“Howard, you made negative I don't know how much last year,” Amanda pointed out.

“My best year I made nearly four hundred.”

She did the math. “A hundred-sixty?”

“They've offered two hundred. A regular paycheck, profit sharing and full major medical for all of us. And Kate's
offering me a three-year contract. I brought it home for us to look over together.”

She hugged and kissed him again. “So you'll be the editor in chief and Kate will be publisher?”

He nodded. “We're fairly like-minded, editorially, but she's going to be wrapped up with a lot more administrative tasks now. That's why she offered it to me.”

“But it's been such a long time since you worked for anyone, Howard. Are you sure you're going to be happy?”

“I'm sure going to like Kate better than the boss I have now,” he joked.

She put her hand on his arm. “I'm serious, darling. I don't want this episode in our life to push you into taking a job that will make you unhappy.”

“Amanda, honest to God, I miss being an editor. And with the restructuring of the agency—”

“You'll have much less time working with the writers,” she finished for him.

“At Bennett, Fitzallen & Coe I'll be overseeing the editors and overall list, but I still get my own list. And frankly I have a few writers I'd like to bring there. I know exactly what to do with them, how to break them out.” He rattled on for a while, discussing his ideas about what he could do and what might happen down the road if Kate Weston ever left.

“I think it sounds as though you've already come to a decision, Howard.”

He smiled, wrapping a strand of Amanda's hair around his finger. “I love you so much.”

“And I, you.” Her eyes were sparkling. She raised her glass. “May you always be happy in your work, Howard Stewart, and may your wife always be hopelessly in love with you.”

“Hear, hear,” he said.

“
I THINK THAT'S
the last of it,” Cassy said to Howard Stewart, pointing to the boxes by the door.

Howard wheeled the handcart over. “How's Rosanne doing?”

“Once this is finally out of here, I think she'll be fine,” Cassy said. “She and Jason are sleeping over at the other apartment tonight.”

Howard nodded. His job was to take Mrs. Goldblum's clothes and shoes to a charity in the morning. “You know that Amanda would have helped tonight, but seeing Mrs. Goldblum's things—”

“I know,” Cassy said. “I wish Rosanne had just let me take care of it. It was very hard on her.”

“Whispering about me again, Mrs. C?” Rosanne said, coming down the hall with her arms full of sheets and blankets.

“Cassy was just saying this is the last of the boxes,” Howard said.

Rosanne continued into the kitchen and Howard said
good-night. Cassy headed into the kitchen to find Rosanne standing by the double-decker washer-dryer. She had dropped the bedclothes in a heap on the floor and was just standing there. “I wish you would leave that for now,” Cassy said. “I think we could both do with a little rest.”

“Almost twelve years,” Rosanne said. “Do you know that's the longest I've ever lived in one place?”

Cassy finally persuaded her to leave everything and when they emerged outside it was to find it eerily warm. “You can't tell me we haven't messed with the weather,” Rosanne said, craning her neck to look up at the night sky. “It feels weird, doesn't it?”

They saw streaks of lightning over New Jersey and then heard thunder. They walked down the Drive, each in her own thoughts. When they turned the corner of 88th Street they ran into Jason coming out of 162. With a girl. “Mom, this is my friend Allyson from school.”

Rosanne extended her hand. “Hello, Allyson.”

“This is my mom,” Jason added. “And that's Mrs. C.”

She was a sweet-looking girl with reddish hair pulled back in a French braid. “Hi.”

“So where might you be going at this time of night?” Rosanne said, sounding remarkably like Mrs. Goldblum.

“I'm walking Allyson home. We had to do an Asian studies paper.”

After the young people continued on their way Cassy remarked that Jason's friend seemed like a nice girl. “She did seem nice,” Rosanne said. “I wonder if she's going to college.”

They went upstairs to the old Cochran apartment. As tired as they were, they started walking around the apartment, taking inventory of things Cassy was willing to leave if Rosanne wanted them. “We have to think down the road, Rosanne,”
Cassy said, opening the cabinets in the kitchen. “Someday there will be a new place for you and at some point Jason's going to need things for an apartment.” They went through flatware, pots and pans and dishes.

They eventually made their way to Henry's old room. “Are you sure he's not going to want this?” Rosanne asked, running her hand over the top of the faux-Stickley headboard.

“It doesn't seem to hold any particular significance for him,” Cassy said. “And it would cost heaven and earth to ship across the country. You're welcome to the dresser, as well.”

“This is great,” Rosanne murmured, walking over to the dresser. “I knew there was a reason why I was careful to use scratch cover on it for all those years.”

They laughed.

“I really oughta pay you something.”

“Rosanne, honestly, I will only give it to someone else. Besides, it would give Henry enormous pleasure to know that you or Jason liked it.”

“It's really great,” she said, opening a drawer.

Cassy crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the door frame. “Rosanne, there's something I've been wanting to talk to you about.”

“Are you taking the rug?” Rosanne asked, surveying it.

“Please, it's yours. I got it cleaned not long ago.”

Rosanne squatted to examine it more closely.

Cassy hesitated. “I guess you've heard that Jackson and I have separated.”

“Only me and the rest of the civilized world,” Rosanne said, reaching over to pull up the edge of the rug to look at the flip side. “I should definitely pay you something for this.”

“I'm not living next door anymore, Rosanne,” Cassy added.

“And you're getting divorced,” Rosanne said, standing up. She glanced over. “I know that's not for public consumption yet, Mrs. C. I haven't said anything to anyone.”

“How did you know?” Cassy asked as Rosanne crossed the room to the closet and opened the door.

“Henry told me.” Rosanne closed the door and turned around, planting a hand on her hip. “I'm sorry Mr. D turned out to be such a dirty rat.”

Cassy had to laugh. “He's not a dirty rat, Rosanne, though I do appreciate your loyalty.”

“You know you can't leave the neighborhood or Mrs. G will come back from the grave to haunt you.”

“We'll see.”

Rosanne pointed at the picture hanging over the bed.

“Absolutely,” Cassy said, “if you like it.” She pushed off the door frame. “Let me show you the desk I was talking about.”

“Waaait a minute,” Rosanne said, turning fully around. “You just skipped, like, the whole thing.”

“What whole thing?” Cassy said, coming back.

“Like how Henry knew it was Alexandra Waring.”

Cassy felt herself blush. “Oh,” she said, sagging against the doorway.

“Well, do ya want to know the story behind Henry knowing or not?”

Finally she nodded. “Yes, I would.”

“Well, ya see, Mrs. C,” Rosanne said, crossing her arms over her chest, “way back when, in ancient olden times, there was a boy who came to me who was scared his mother might run away with her friend.”

Cassy was thunderstruck. “
What?
” she said, straightening up.

Rosanne nodded. “He knew without really knowing what it was that he knew. Does that make any sense?”

Cassy gripped the doorway with her left hand. She felt as though the world was turning upside down.

“He was scared that if you left Mr. C then something really bad was going to happen to his father because he was so sick and you were the only one who ever cared. And you were the only one who was ever there. Except for the boy.”

Cassy could only look at Rosanne.

“He was also scared you might make him leave with you, which would mean leaving Mr. C by himself.”

Cassy finally found her voice. “Where does Alexandra come into it?”

“He heard her asking you to move in with her.”

Cassy dropped her face into her hand. Finally she said, “Good Lord, I had no idea.”

“That's when he came to me. But it all worked out,” Rosanne added brightly. Cassy raised her head. “Because I guessed right. I told him he had nothing to worry about because you'd never walk out. And that Alexandra just wanted to make sure you guys knew you always had somewhere to go if things got really bad.” Rosanne shook her head. “He never put it together, Mrs. C. Not until you talked to him a couple weeks ago.”

Cassy looked down at the floor for a long moment. “What must you think of me?”

“Don't tell me you'd really like to know because I just might tell ya.”

“Then perhaps you should.”

“I'll tell ya this much, it's about time you picked someone you know is right for you instead of someone you think you're supposed to think is right for you. If you know what I mean.”

Cassy's head kicked back a little, a slight smile emerging on her face. “Yes. I do know what you mean.”

“And you know what they always say, Mrs. C, don't you?” Rosanne continued.

“No. What is it that they always say, Rosanne?”

She grinned. “Third time's a charm.”