‘Rosa died when I was in the hospital. I didn’t find out until long after the funeral – can’t imagine dropping me a line was at the top of Joe’s to-do list. He was never the same without her, but you never are after you lose the love of your life.’
‘It’s very romantic,’ I said. ‘But don’t you think you might like to meet someone else?’
Myrna looked at me and laughed.
‘Oh, you sweet child. I found plenty of someones after Wally died. I was only twenty-three when he died – do you think I lived like a nun? It was the sixties and I was beautiful, it’s a wonder I didn’t catch something contagious.’
‘Good to know,’ I replied, rubbing a non-existent itch on my nose. ‘Sorry I asked.’
‘Men, women and everything in between,’ she said, exhaling happily. ‘Not a one of them understood me like my husband, it was never really love after him. But the sex was fantastic.’
‘Call me crazy but I’ve got a funny feeling you’re going to enjoy yourself in the retirement community,’ I commented as she pressed the doorbell for far too long with the head of her cane.
‘I’ve got a feeling you’ll take that back before I rattle your legs – oh, this must be Joe’s boy!’
The door opened and there he was, in olive-green carpenter pants and a snug grey T-shirt, already darkened with sweat. His face was shiny and he had a hammer in one hand which he quickly shoved into one of the deep pockets.
‘Hi?’ His eyes flickered between me and Myrna and he rubbed a dirty hand on the back of his trousers. ‘Phoebe?’
‘Is that a hammer in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?’ Myrna said with a seductive wink. ‘Don’t answer that, darling, nothing you say will be good for my ancient ego. May we come in? If I don’t keep moving, my hip will seize up and I’ll be forced to curl up and die in the corner of your garden. It’ll be no good for house prices, believe me.’
‘Ren Garcia, this is Myrna Moore,’ I said, mouthing an apology. ‘She’s the lady I mentioned, who knew your grandparents?’
‘And your father.’ Without waiting for an official invitation, she walked straight into the house giving it the same considered once-over she gave Suzanne’s. ‘Michael, wasn’t it?’
‘Still is,’ Ren replied. ‘Michael Joseph Garcia.’
‘We can go if this isn’t a good time,’ I offered.
‘Not at all,’ he said, beckoning me inside with a tilt of his head. ‘Good timing is overrated.’
Steeling myself, I stepped over the threshold and Ren closed the door behind me with a gentle click.
Somehow, the Garcia house managed to be the complete opposite of both Suzanne’s bright, white, open-plan villa and Myrna’s classic, elegant chateau. It was almost unbearably cosy, all warm dark wood and exposed brick with a huge fireplace at the heart of the room. The windows were small and leaded, peeking out onto the front and back gardens, and the whole place was surrounded with plants and trees and bushes. I half expected to see a deer wander by searching for Snow White and finding me, Myrna and Ren instead. What a disappointing day it would be for that deer.
‘It hasn’t changed one bit,’ Myrna remarked, eyes crinkling with joy, her cheeks barely able to support the breadth of her smile. She pointed across the room with her cane and nodded. ‘I used to sit in that rocking chair and read to your father when he was a baby, and over there in the corner, that’s where your grandmother would put the Christmas tree.’
‘You can still see the marks in the floor from the old metal stand.’ Ren took her arm and walked her over to the spot, poking at four small indentations, perfectly placed like points on a compass. ‘I still have it in the attic, but we haven’t put a tree up in years.’
‘That’s a shame. Your grandmother loved her Christmas tree, it was always the most beautiful one on the block.’ She slid the tip of her cane into the indentations, her smile fading a fraction. She turned to study Ren more closely, squinting into his face. ‘You don’t look much like your grandfather but I can see Rosa in there. You have her eyes, her hair.’
‘Everyone says I’m her double,’ he replied, helping her over to the sofa before choosing the chair nearestto her for himself. ‘Never was sure if that’s a good thing or not.’
‘Damned good-looking, that’s what you are,’ Myrna declared. ‘That face is a weapon. Tell me, have you ever thought about acting?’
Ren laughed and I sat in the chair closest to the door, keeping my eyes on Myrna instead of his hands or his lips or the spot where his T-shirt didn’t quite meet his trousers, allowing me a glimpse at the skin of his lower back.
‘You never met two people more in love than Joe and Rosa.’ Myrna eased back against the sofa cushions as though she were travelling back in time. ‘You were close with your grandparents?’
‘Very,’ Ren replied. ‘My mom and dad moved us to Maine when I was fifteen, but I spent all my summers here, a bunch of Christmases too. I can’t believe we haven’t met before; both my grandparents always spoke so highly of you.’
‘We most likely have but you would have been too small to recall, and I don’t acknowledge children until they’re old enough to make a decent martini.’ She knocked her cane on the floor and scowled. ‘I liked to travel in the summer before I had to rely so much on this thing and I’m ashamed to say I didn’t see so much of your grandfather in his later years. I am very sorry for your loss; he was a wonderful man and I don’t say that often.’
‘She really doesn’t,’ I confirmed. The highest compliment I’d heard her give anyone was when she told the man at the Polo Lounge her tea wasn’t as disappointing as she’d expected.
‘Thank you, that means a lot.’ He managed a smile, but I could tell it was still hard for him. I understood only too well. ‘It’s been a rough year without him.’
‘Why Maine?’ Myrna asked, looking around the room as though searching for an answer to her own question. ‘What possessed your parents to move so far away?’
