The Restoration of Celia Fairchild - Marie Bostwick Page 0,116
said. “Becca was raised by nannies and shipped off to boarding school when she was fourteen. She wants something different for her baby, a real home and family, a neighborhood where people know each other. Anne said she was very impressed that so many friends and neighbors had pitched in to help with the house.
“Oh! And she loved that I was already knitting a blanket for Peaches and that my girlfriends come over for crafting parties every week. She told her parents that’s what she wanted for her baby, to be raised in a place where people take care of each other.”
“Well,” said Calvin, “her parents might be narrow-minded jerks, but Becca is one very smart cookie. Peaches is going to be a genius. And you, Miss Thang, are going to be a mommy.”
“I am!”
“I know!”
Calvin hooted and cheered again, then immediately switched gears. “We need to start making plans, cupcake. So much to do! How does ‘Lullaby of Broadway’ strike you as a baby shower theme? Or maybe ‘Broadway Baby’?
“Calvin, it’s still August. The baby isn’t due until mid-November. Do we really need to worry about this now?”
“Are you kidding? Pulling off a really good baby shower takes months of planning. I won’t have my honorary niece welcomed to the world with stale cupcakes and grocery-store flower arrangements. We’ve got to get on this now.”
I wanted to laugh but Calvin was dead serious. Clearly, baby shower planning would be our primary topic of conversation over the next several weeks. However, at that moment, we were mercifully interrupted.
“Calvin, somebody’s at the door. I’ve got to run.”
“Fine, but give some thought to the theme. How do you feel about omelet stations?”
The bell rang again.
“Calvin. I’m hanging up now.”
“Fine,” he huffed. “But we’re not done with this.”
“I’m sure we’re not.”
I ended the call. The bell rang a third time. Somebody was very persistent.
“Coming!” I called, and jogged out to the foyer, smiling and thinking about Calvin. But my smile fled when I opened the door and saw the look on Pris’s face.
“What’s wrong? You and Happy aren’t fighting again, are you?”
She shook her head. “It’s Polly. She didn’t want me to say anything because she’s afraid you’ll think it’s your fault.”
“What will I think’s my fault?” I said. “Come on in and tell me what happened.”
Pris stepped across the threshold and pulled her blue crocheted beanie off her head, smoothing a hand over her braids. “Trey must have gotten somebody’s attention at City Hall. The local news says that an investigation is being launched into corruption in the building department. I don’t know exactly how it went down but the report said that a nephew of developer Cabot James had been hired with almost no experience. Brett was fired this morning.
“Somebody must have told Cabot James that Polly had tipped Trey off about Brett being his nephew, because he fired her. Which means she’s lost her job and her apartment. And James says she has to be out by Monday morning or else. Polly didn’t want me to say anything but I had to.”
Pris looked at me with pleading eyes. “Celia, she’s got nowhere to go.”
Chapter Forty-One
Lorne hopped out of the rental truck, grinning when he saw Polly coming down the piazza steps behind me.
“Polly, darlin’, we have got to stop meeting like this,” he said.
She smiled. “Hey, Lorne. Thanks for doing this. I really owe you one.”
“Yes, you do.” He propped a booted foot onto the curb and gave an exaggerated nod. “You do realize that in some indigenous cultures, moving a lady twice within two months is practically an engagement, don’t you?”
“Never heard of that one,” Polly said.
“Well, neither did I. But it sounds about right to me.” He winked at her and swiped his brow with the back of his hand. “Dang, but it’s hot today!”
Lorne stretched out his arms and peeled off the sweat-stained chambray shirt he’d worn over his sleeveless white undershirt revealing broad shoulders and muscled biceps. I rolled my eyes. If he tried just a little harder, could he be even more obvious? Obvious or not, it seemed to be working. Polly’s cheeks were bright pink and I didn’t think it was because of the heat.
“I’ll just run and get the iced tea out of the fridge,” Polly said, and trotted off toward the house.
“Hurry back, darlin’!” Lorne planted his hands on his hips, which made his shoulders look even broader.