Tapestry of Fortunes A Novel - By Elizabeth Berg Page 0,13

worked.

Go and see him. Just get in the car and do it.

I hear it as clearly as if she has spoken it right into my ear.

Do it!

“I will!” I say. The people sitting at the table next to me look over at me, then away.

I FIND THE HOUSE WITH THE ROOM FOR RENT EASILY, WHITE stucco with a red lacquered door. It’s pretty, but the yard needs tending, and the house could use a coat of paint. There’s a big front porch with both a hammock and a swing, wicker chairs with faded floral-print pillows, the chairs angled toward each other as though they are having a conversation. Between them is a wicker table with a lamp, and anchored to the wall behind it is a long white shelf holding an assemblage of paperbacks. In a corner of the porch is an antique wrought-iron tea cart, seriously off-balance, but with coffee mugs and a few wineglasses turned upside down on a dishcloth anyway. Even with its imperfections—or maybe because of them—it’s a charming exterior, welcoming.

I take a quick walk along the side of the house to look at the backyard. It’s huge, much bigger than you’d think from the street. There’s a small garden there, but it’s ill tended. I think, If I live here and if they want to me to, I’ll fix it up. I’ll plant cosmos and bearded iris, hot pink roses, Stargazer lilies and tree peonies. Maybe a bank of Miss Kim lilacs along the back fence, and some climbing hydrangea to grow up the side of the house. I’d love to have forget-me-nots, too, and daisies, and the exotic purple globes of allium. There’s room for a big vegetable garden. There could even be a space for meditation, off in one corner.

More than the glorious bounty, I realize I’d like the gratification of doing the labor that a garden requires. I like nestling young plants into warm earth. I even like the sight of fat earthworms turning the soil inches from my hand. I like getting tired and dirty for a such a good reason.

Well. I’m getting a little ahead of myself.

I go back around to the front and knock on the door. I hear a dog barking and a voice telling him to hush. Then the door is opened by a woman in her late forties, early fifties, with wild blond curls and bright blue eyes. She’s wearing a long skirt, a lacy top, and hoop earrings. “Oh, hi, I’m Joni,” she says. “Are you Cecilia?” She’s out of breath and a little excited.

“I am!” I like friendly people like this who immediately make you feel welcome, and quite pleased to be yourself.

An ancient yellow Lab with a solid white muzzle races over to sniff at my pants leg. “No, no, Riley, don’t!” Joni says, grabbing his collar. Then, to me, “He’ll calm right down. He’s such a busybody, master of the house, you know.” She stands aside. “Anyway. Come in! We were just about to have lunch, will you join us? I made a cheese soufflé and a spinach salad with strawberries and candied walnuts.”

An interview with benefits, it seems. Why not. “Sounds great,” I say.

As we pass the living room, I see comfortable-looking furniture, a kind of shabby-chic look with an off-white sofa you just want to fall into. There’s a flat-screen TV, a fireplace with a blue stone surround that looks like lapis lazuli, and an overcrowded bookcase, my favorite kind. Nice artwork, which looks to be original, and a large, glass-topped oval coffee table holding oversize books and a tray with a vintage martini pitcher and glass. The pitcher has a bouquet of yellow tulips in it, and the martini glass holds jacks and a red rubber ball. I see jewel-tone pillows stacked in the corner, and assume they are used if people want to eat around that table. There’s a chaise lounge by the window, a reading lamp beside it. Two off-white overstuffed armchairs with hassocks.

“Come and meet the others,” Joni says. “They’re at the table. In the dining room. Right in here. Follow me!”

We go into the dining room, where the wooden floor is covered by a faded Oriental rug in tones of pink, blue, and cream. There is a beamed ceiling, those beams painted a soft white, and the room is well lit by a bank of high art-glass windows. The large round antique oak table has been nicely restored, and above it hangs a chandelier featuring