“That’s right,” Cherry said lightly. “But all right, class, time to switch sides.”
Everyone made little groaning noises of relief as they came out of the position and pulled right legs up and slid left legs straight back.
“What did you need to talk to me about?” Helga said a while later as they rolled over onto their backs for shivasana—the final position of simply resting, face-up, hands at sides, eyes closed, breathing deeply.
“Shh,” murmured Vivien as she took inventory of her body while stretching long and low on her mat. She was a little achy but felt energized deep inside as well. This last hour of simple, easy movement had almost enabled her to put away what had happened yesterday morning at the theater.
Almost.
But now that class was over, it all came back.
She’d decided she had to tell someone, and Helga, being a cop, a very practical person, and Vivien’s oldest and best friend in Wicks Hollow, was the obvious option.
“Tea shop?” asked Helga as they retrieved and put on their shoes in the foyer of the yoga studio. “I’m in the mood for one of auntie’s cinnamon scones. She’ll give us a table in the back.”
“Mmm,” said Vivien. The last thing she wanted or needed was Maxine Took to catch wind of what had happened. “How about we get a glass of wine on the patio at Trib’s instead? You’re not on call tonight. Besides, I owe you for picking up my tab yesterday.”
“Wine after yoga?” Helga looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Don’t you want to at least bask in the wholesomeness of listening to your body’s wisdom before you contaminate it with the wickedness of alcohol?”
“Yada, yada,” Vivien said, flapping a hand at her friend. “Like you don’t snag a chocolate bar half the time after yoga instead of drinking a liter of water like you should.”
“Chocolate after yoga?” They both turned to see Cherry standing there with a bemused look on her face. “I hope it’s at least seventy-five percent cacao.”
“Of course it is, Aunt Cherry,” said Helga with an innocent grin. Cherry wasn’t her aunt, but she’d always used the term for each of her Aunt Orbra’s friends. “And fair-use-sourced and stone-ground and in limited, recycled packaging and everything else that makes it okay for consumption.”
“Whatever it is, if it requires wine after yoga, make sure Trib pours you some of that Sancerre he keeps in the back. It’s by request only,” Cherry told them. Then she leaned closer so none of her other students could hear. “If I didn’t have a hatha class right now, I’d invite myself to join you. It’s been a hell of a week.”
“But it’s only Wednesday,” said Vivien with a laugh.
“Tell me about it!” Cherry clapped her on the back, then turned to speak to a student who’d just come in the door.
“Oh, hi, Melody,” said Helga as they turned to leave.
It took Vivien a moment, but then she remembered the woman from high school. Melody Carlson had been her name back then; Vivien had no idea whether it still was. They hadn’t been friends, but it was a small school, so they’d known each other.
“Oh, hi, Helga. I’m glad to see you here—I wanted to thank you again for helping me with that little fender bender the other day. I was late going to see my daddy up at the assisted living place, and I was just so out of sorts, and— Vivien Savage? Is that you?” Melody removed her sunglasses. “You’ve not changed a bit. Bella mentioned you were coming back to town.”
“Yes, I just bought the old theater—she was my realtor,” Vivien said proudly. “Maybe you can do a stint there someday. I’m trying to keep locals involved as much as possible.” She didn’t remember thinking Melody was all that talented back in high school when she had the lead in every play, but she was part of the community, and Vivien was definitely going to be building relationships with as many people as possible.
“Oh, how sweet of you to think of me. It’s beenyearssince I’ve been onstage,” said Melody, adjusting her yoga mat. “Well, I’d best get in so I can grab a spot in the front—it’s easier for me to see up there. Ta-ta!”
“See you later,” Helga said as they walked out.
“Was she a little…chilly?” Vivien muttered as they walked down the street. “Or did I imagine it?”
“Oh, she’s always like that—kind of brittle. I think it really upset her when she had to put her father in the assisted living home a while back. He was only sixty. She’s nice, though, once you get around her and she relaxes. I’ve been out with her and Bella and some of the others a few times.”
“Maybe I can tag along next time,” Vivien said.
“I’ll let you know,” said Helga.
Although they were both dressed in yoga pants and tank tops, their attire wasn’t a problem for Trib’s, even though it was the fanciest place in the surrounding area. Tourist towns like Wicks Hollow didn’t stand on ceremony, and certainly didn’t require dress codes. Why would they, when their patrons might be coming in from fun in the sun at any time of day, starving and ready to relax—and spend money?
It was barely four o’clock in the afternoon, however, and so the restaurant was in the lull between lunch and the dinner rush, as the tourists were swimming, boating, fishing, shopping, or napping.
“Darling Vivien Leigh!” Trib himself swooped down on them the moment they stepped over the threshold into the restaurant.
He was a neat and fashionably groomed fifty-ish man with hair styled in a modern version of a flat-topped buzzcut. It was salt-and-pepper around the sides and ears, blending into a stark platinum white on the brush top. He wore a closely trimmed, mostly gray goatee and mustache. Today his attire was a summery lime-green shirt with a bowtie of orange and cobalt in Harlequin-style diamonds. His crisp, pleated trousers were probably bespoke, if Vivien knew Trib (and she did), and they were charcoal gray with the faintest of blue pinstripes. He looked, as always, utterly smashing.
