tone of her voice, the clack of her long manicured nails against the console and the way she kept insisting that they had to stop at some design studio to pick out something for Thursday’s home. “I know you don’t care,” Jaimee said in her abrasive voice, “but they need to have a center to the room. Something unique that sets them apart and brings the room together.”
No chuckles from Mason this time, except when he mentioned the proposed stop at McConnell’s. You’d think he was proposing we stop for arsenic. Jaimee looked back over the front seat and gave me the once-over. I felt very self-conscious and tried to suck everything in. “You’re going to eat ice cream?” she said making a tsk-tsk sound. “Mason, I guess your taste in women has changed.”
I said nothing and took in the view of Santa Barbara from the window. The small city was draped over the hills at the base of the tall green Santa Ynez Mountains. The hills sloped down to a sparkling bay. I could see why people called it the “American Riviera.”
Mason pulled off the highway and parked by the beach. I looked out at the water while the two of them headed across the street to the hotel they’d come to check out. It was a classic white stucco building with a red-tiled roof, surrounded by lush landscaping.
When they returned I could tell by their expressions that it hadn’t gone well. The mood in the car was tense. Jaimee insisted if Mason had let her handle it, they would have been offered a better space. Mason looked like a pressure cooker about to explode.
“How about we go for that ice cream,” I said, hoping to lighten the mood. Mason pulled away from the curb and headed into the city. We parked in front of a cat hotel.
While Mason and I crossed the street to the small ice cream store, Jaimee went in the other direction to a health food emporium and said she was getting a shot of wheat grass juice. Mason and I surveyed the ice cream offerings. To make up for everything, he insisted I get two scoops and I chose strawberry cheesecake and he got Vermont blueberry. We took our ice cream and sat at one of the wire tables outside.
“I’m sorry for her and thank you again for coming,” he said. “You said you wanted to be included in my family,” he joked. I took a spoonful of the ice cream and at last savored the creamy flavor. There were just inches between our arms and I moved mine against his and leaned my head on his shoulder.
“At least I understand why you got a divorce,” I said. He settled his free arm around my shoulder.
“Who knew all those years I was so busy working what she was really like.” He paused. “Or maybe she became this way.” He shook his head and grumbled about the situation of the wedding. “We’ve got two hundred people and still no place to put them.”
“Would it be so hard to make it two hundred and one?” I said. I hadn’t meant to, but it slipped out.
Mason hung his head. “You really want to come?”
“If Samuel was getting married, I’d invite you. It makes me feel like I’m in the shadows of your life,” I said. Jaimee showed up at that moment with a tiny cup of bright green liquid and the conversation ended. I caught the scent of her drink and it reminded me of newly mown grass.
“Cheers,” she said lifting the cup as she gave our ice cream a disgusted look, and then she chugged it.
We made another stop at a hotel under renovation. They said they could do it outside, but the Amtrak tracks ran right through the property. “So it’s not a wasted trip, let’s go to that design studio,” Jaimee said as we walked back to the car.
We drove up State Street, which was the main drag in town. It was lined with attractive stores and eateries, and was crowded with people. Jaimee directed Mason to turn on a side street and park. I think Jaimee was hoping I’d stay in the car, but I followed them into a low building around a courtyard filled with plants and a fountain. The moisture in the air here mixed with the sunlight and gave it an iridescent sheen.
I was surprised to see the proprietor of the design studio was a familiar figure. “Rexford Thomasville,” I