“Really, everyone should,” I say, fighting off the urge to scrunch up my own face. “Studies show that the biggest complaint interviewers have is that candidates don’t show enough enthusiasm. Sitting toward the edge of your seat will make you seem eager.”
By the time the session wraps up, the guy looks bored out of his mind, and I’m pretty sure my annoyance is obvious. Adding to my frustration is a cryptic text from Sam, saying something has come up and he’s not sure when he’ll be back from the city.
I’m grateful when it’s finally time to dress for dinner with Ava. I strip off my shorts and Zoom-appropriate blouse and slip on one of the cotton dresses I packed. My mood instantly lifts. Before locking up the house, I circle the first floor for a few minutes, inhaling deeply, but all I pick up is the scent of freshly cut grass wafting in through the open windows I’m about to close. At least I can have dinner without worrying about it.
Though I went to the tennis and swim club a bunch of times with Jamie, I’m not a hundred percent sure how to get there from here, so once I’m in the car, I program the address into my phone and pop it into the dashboard mount. I realize with a pang that I’ll be traveling the same route Jamie did when he rented this house.
I feel another pang almost thirty minutes later, when I cross the club parking lot toward the main building, a large white clapboard structure that manages to be elegant and understated at the same time. Jamie always said that his parents loved this place because of its relaxed vibe and lack of snootiness, and the fact that membership wasn’t super exclusionary. That’s partly why Jamie decided to continue to belong as an adult. During our two summers together, we enjoyed Saturday lunches here, followed by a swim in the pool or the lake. Jamie also came on his own to play tennis with Sam or Vic or another willing partner.
After giving my name at the entrance to the dining room, I’m led outside to the wraparound porch, where Ava is already seated at one of the wrought-iron tables in a French café–style chair. She’s wearing a sleeveless, mango-colored top, and her hair grazes her shoulders, though she’s clipped her side bangs off her face with a small barrette.She rises to greet me, offering a warm hug. My shoulders relax just from ten seconds in her presence.
“So wonderful to see you, Ava,” I say.
“Same here. And Vic sends his best.”
That’s a relief to hear. I wouldn’t want to think he was still upset with me or, worse, blamed me for Jamie’s death.
Before settling into a chair across from her, I let my gaze follow the wide expanse of lawn as it slopes downward toward the colorful border gardens, then thickets of trees, and finally the edge of the small blue lake. Though the light is fading, I can make out the dock and the furled sails of the boats the club uses mostly for lessons.
“It’s as lovely as I remember,” I say. “Have you been coming here on your own—I mean without Vic?”
“Now and then. I’m not much of a country club person, as you know, but there are some Black families with memberships now, and partly I come to support them. But beyond that, I love how this porch—and the view from here—remind me of my grandparents’ place.”
“The farm in Virginia?”
“Yes, I adored visiting them, and they had amazing peach trees that I raided in the summer.” With elbows on the table, she clasps her hands together and rests her chin on them, smiling wistfully.
“How nice the porch makes you think of them. Jamie loved this view, too.”
Ava’s smile fades. “I hope it’s not hard for you to be here, Kiki. I wanted to cheer you up, but maybe this wasn’t the best choice.”
“No, no, this is fine—and besides, I’m dying for one of their Chicken Caesars.”
Despite my assurances to Ava, it does feel strange to be here again. It seems both the same and weirdly unfamiliar, like I’ve been gone for years.
The waiter approaches, and we each order a glass of rosé and a Chicken Caesar salad.
“So, tell me about Boston,” I say. “How was Vic’s event?”
“He had a very good turnout and sold plenty of books—though between the two of us, I wasn’t impressed with the author they recruited to interview him.”
“Did he try to hog the limelight?”
Ava takes a sip of her wine, which has just arrived, and shakes her head. “Not that so much. His questions were just incredibly long-winded, and sometimes there were two questions packed into one. Vic lost his place a couple of times, which didn’t seem to bother anyone in the audience, but I know it botheredhim.”
“Did it concern you as well?” I ask softly.
“Oh, Kiki,” Ava says and offers a wan smile, “thank you for reading between the lines. Yes, it did. I hated that Vic felt embarrassed, especially during such a special evening.”
“Mature adult audiences are pretty forgiving, I’ve found.”
“Right,” she says.
“Are you worried about Vic’s memory?” As the words spill from my mouth, I pray that the answer is a negative.
“Not at all,” she says with a wry chuckle. “The man generally forgetsnothing. But last week is still really eating at him. And though it was good to have Dan with us, he kept harping on the subject. I know he’s been badly shaken by what happened and is trying to make sense of it, but all his questions only added to our stress.”
I feel a glumness overtaking me. I, too, wanted our time together to be a brief respite from thoughts about Jamie’s death, but neither of us can seem to escape those. Beyond that, I wish I could share everything I’ve learned with Ava, but I don’t dare breathe a word yet.
