Friends and Strangers - J. Courtney Sullivan Page 0,95
and mixing and matching until everyone had ten dozen assorted cookies to give as gifts.
It’s like a chain letter, but with cookies, she had explained in a text to Nomi. Given that I have never baked one dozen cookies, let alone ten, I think I’ll pass…
When she repeated this to Andrew later, he said, “I know the people around here are a bit much. But you have to admit, they’re great neighbors.”
It was true that Stephanie’s husband had snowblown their driveway when the first winter storm hit without warning. And when Gil spiked a fever and Elisabeth got home from the store with the Tylenol, a total wreck, Karen happened to be walking by and got her sister, a pediatric nurse, on the phone.
After the cookie exchange, Pam showed up at her house with a pretty tin, and Elisabeth actually gasped upon opening the lid to find twelve perfect cookies—beautifully iced snowmen and presents; chunky rounds bursting with cranberries and white chocolate and nuts. She was glad then that she had not attempted to bring ten dozen slice-and-bakes and pass them off as her grandmother’s recipe.
Maybe Andrew was right. Maybe the Laurels weren’t as bad as she had originally thought. But despite their small kindnesses, Elisabeth was standing alone in Stephanie’s living room right now, hoping none of them would join her. She didn’t think she would ever fit in here. She felt melancholy in the midst of everyone else’s apparent ease and merriment.
She checked the time. She was wondering whether they could leave yet when she heard voices. She turned to see Gwen with a handsome guy. He had shaggy hair that made him look more boyish than he was, even though it was gray.
Elisabeth was so excited to see her. “Gwen!” she shouted, with a tad too much enthusiasm. “Elisabeth,” she reminded her, in case. “We met here. At book club.”
“I remember,” Gwen said. “The unlikable Mary McCarthy.”
“When did you get back from Hong Kong?” Elisabeth asked, even though Debbie had already told her.
“Last week.” Gwen put a hand on the man’s sleeve. “This is my husband, Christopher. Chris, this is Elisabeth. She and her family moved here from Brooklyn not too long ago.”
“I recognize you,” Elisabeth said. “Where do I know you from?”
He shrugged. “It’s a small town.”
She thought he sounded defensive, as if she had accused him of something.
Andrew came in then, looking for her. Elisabeth made introductions.
They moved on to other topics—the trip to China, how quiet this town felt when the students were gone. Elisabeth kept working the thought over, like a piece of spinach stuck between her teeth. Christopher was so familiar.
“What do you do at the college?” she asked him.
“I’m an adjunct right now. I teach in the art department.”
“Do you know Sam O’Connell?”
“Sure,” Christopher said. “She was one of my best students a couple years back.”
Elisabeth felt proud to a degree she was sure wasn’t earned.
“She’s our babysitter,” she said. “Isn’t she great?”
“She’s a senior now?” he said, without answering her question.
“Yes. Ugh, don’t remind me. I’ll be lost without her next year. She’s like a member of the family at this point. She might move to England to be with her boyfriend after graduation. Go live in the country, that’s their plan. But deep down, I think she really wants to work in a gallery.”
He didn’t reply. It made Elisabeth uneasy. His eyes wandered down to her breasts and then up again, as if someone was pulling a string attached to the top of his head.
She kept talking.
“We can’t let her, right? She’s too talented. I don’t even know why she wants to work in a gallery. She should just paint.”
“You’ve seen one painting,” Andrew said.
“No, it’s true,” Christopher said. “She has natural talent.”
“I’m so glad to hear you say that. She doesn’t think anyone at the college thinks she’s good,” Elisabeth said.
“Sam’s one of the best in the department at the moment, technically speaking,” he said. “Unfortunately, she doesn’t take risks. She doesn’t have anything new to say.”
Annoying. What did he know?
“We saw her final project for the semester,” Elisabeth said. “The portrait of her grandmother.”
She paused to discern whether he knew what she was referring to, but he gave no indication one way or the other.
“Were you at that art show last Sunday?” she asked.
Maybe that was where she’d seen him.
Christopher let out a sound somewhere between a scoff and a cough. “I wasn’t. I try to avoid those things.”