Page 75 of A Change of Location
When Hannah came downstairs to resume her kitchen tasks, Martin took note of her freshly scrubbed face and suspiciously red eyes. She placed the yeast rolls on a wicker tray lined with a tea towel.
“We need another place setting.” She yanked open a drawer.
“Feeling better?”
She shook her head. Her ragged breathing told him she was about to break down again.
“I’ve had an idea,” he said, in an effort to distract her. “I’d like to create a meal for your family. When I was in Italy, a cook from Chioggia taught me to make bigoli in cassopipa, a traditional pasta dish of the Veneto. All the seafood ingredients can be sourced easily round here—clams and mussels and squid. I sauté them in olive oil with garlic and leeks and carrots and celery. Add some herbs and spices. Then they simmer in a bath of white wine and tomatoes.”
“Ambitious.”
“I wouldn’t expect to find bigoli pasta round here. But I could substitute with parpadelle or tagliatelle. I’ll need you to be my sous-chef.”
“All right.” She removed pieces of cutlery from the drawer.
Using tongs, Chase pulled each red and steaming crustacean from the enormous pot and set them on a plate to be taken to the table. Each member of the party tied on a plastic bib and embarked upon the messy business of cracking claws and tails, extracting the meat and dipping it in lemony melted butter or aioli. As dusk fell, Neil lit the candles in lanterns hanging from the porch rafters. Gwen presented a blueberry pie decorated with a hissing sparkler. When the thunder of fireworks echoed from neighboring properties, the two shelties cowered under the table, and the border collie fled to a secluded region of the house.
Martin and his mother made themselves useful by carrying dishes and serving bowls to the kitchen. Hannah, her father, and her uncle inspected the ordnance that Arthur brought. They produced a brief pyrotechnic display on the strip of lawn between the flower beds.
“Say, Hannah-Banana, how about a game of checkers?” Chase asked.
“You’re on.”
Everyone gathered in the den, facing the television to watch or listen to the Boston Pops orchestra perform patriotic music. Neil and his father played cribbage. Gwen handed Isobel a book of paintings by members of the Wyeth family, Maine artists associated with the coast. Martin intended to read the shipwreck book but was attentive to the battle being waged over the checkerboard.
Arthur and Chase departed after the Boston Pops concert ended, the red truck following the white one down the sloping drive. Soon the others scattered to their separate rooms for the night.
In the morning, Martin, already showered and dressed, answered a soft rap on his bedroom door.
“The doctor rang,” his mother announced, an anxious quiver in her voice. “He scheduled an appointment for early tomorrow.”
“You let Gwen know. I’ll tell Hannah.”
“I feel bad about dragging you away. From here. From her.”
Positive news would probably have been communicated with a telephone call. As he knew from prior experience, bad results were given in person.
Hannah was meandering through the rose beds, choosing which blooms to cut for an arrangement in her mother’s favorite vase.
“I’ll drive you back to Copley Place,” she offered. “I need to head back to Boston anyway.”
“You can’t. Your uncle just came home. I’ll hire a car.” His forefinger traced her cheek. “I’m staying long enough for you to explain why you were upset last night. Was it because of Chase?”
“Seeing him again stirs up all the awfulness of ten years ago. I wanted desperately to be a character witness at his trial, to make sure that jury knew he’s one of the kindest people in the whole world. But Mum and Dad wouldn’t let me. Or take me to visit him after he went to prison. I was heartbroken—and furious. That’s the reason I started college a year before I was meant to. As soon as I got away from Bear Knoll, I contacted Chase and said I wanted to see him. He said no, without explanation. I guess because he knew my parents didn’t want me there. Then I did my study abroad in Bristol. After graduation, I chose a profession that keeps me moving all around the country.”
“I wish you’d told me.”
“I almost did. Before I left Stanwell. Only I... I just... couldn’t. It was important to me, protecting Chase. And you.”
He frowned. “That makes no sense.”
“When I saw that gossipy Posh article about you, and all your former girlfriends, I was afraid our relationship would become public. The Sterling Scandal was inescapable, a prime example of how your country’s press targets the privileged. You want positive publicity for the Milver Vale. I’m related to a convicted felon. Just imagine the consequences for you if the tabloids found out. And revealed to the entire world that my uncle stabbed his ex-girlfriend’s abusive husband in a bar fight. It would destroy Chase’s ability to rebuild his life.”
She hadn’t fled Stanwell because of his financial status. Or to find her next job. Her deeper, unacknowledged reason for abandoning him couldn’t be discounted, or easily resolved.
“Instead of trusting me with the truth, you ran away. You gave up on me. On us.”
Hannah winced. “Let’s not part in anger the way we did at Heathrow. That was a horrible way to say goodbye.”
