“What I said,” Claire offered.
“Hello, Porter.”
“Olivia, what on earth?”
“My thoughts exactly,” Claire said. She patted Olivia’s shoulder, silencing her best friend’s response. “First the girl eats, then we interrogate.”
The stew was, in a word, fabulous. There was of course no gopher. Olivia knew because Claire described how Arnaud grilled cubes of tofu, then slow-cooked a delicate casserole with a marrow base that twice each year he simmered for an entire day. The veggies were all supplied by local hothouse growers.
“Since these two took over, the quality of this place has gone through the roof, sure enough,” Porter said.
“Doesn’t stop the old-timers from moaning,” Claire said. “Loudly.”
When the plates were empty and fresh mugs steamed in front of them, Claire said, “Okay, we’ve been patient long enough.”
Olivia asked, “What about all the customers out front?”
“Guess they’ll have to starve a while longer,” Claire replied. “Bad joke.”
“Terrible,” Porter agreed. “You should be ashamed.”
Claire demanded, “Girl, tell us about life in La-La Land.”
“It was great,” Olivia said. Somehow it felt okay. Revealing her fresh wounds here. In the company of friends she left behind. People who didn’t fit into the dreams she had chased so hard. Not to mention the other reason she didn’t come home for so long. “Fabulous. Everything I’d ever wanted for myself and more. Until it wasn’t.”
Porter said, “So things fell apart.”
“Oh no. That doesn’t go nearly far enough. What’s the name of those missiles they shoot from battleships?”
“From destroyers,” Arnaud corrected. He leaned against the tiled wall, listening. “Tomahawks. City killers.”
“Those,” Olivia said. “A lot of them.”
Claire’s voice was softened by very real concern. “So that man who swept you away. Took you to the big city. Promised you a lifelong love. I forget his name.”
Arnaud offered, “Gareth.”
“Him. He left you?”
“Twice.”
There was a silence, a sharing of looks, then Porter said to the others, “Why are you making me be the one to ask?”
“You’re the cop,” Arnaud replied. “It’s your job. Asking the horrible questions.”
Porter said, “Olivia, you took the man back?”
“No. Never.” She found genuine comfort in how easy this conversation was going. As if she needed to be back here again. After all those years. “I think maybe that was what Gareth wanted. After his lollipop of a fiancée ran off with the stuntman and Gareth’s company went bust in the strikes. But my ex never had a chance to ask, on account of how Gareth had a heart attack and died. So that particular request was never uttered. The best thing I can say about that chapter is Gareth’s former new flame, Little Ms. Lollipop, didn’t show up for his funeral.”
Olivia found a distinct comfort in being surrounded by the friends she’d left behind. Watching them struggle to hide their smiles.
Claire managed, “I’m so sorry.”
Arnaud said, “No you’re not.”
“Well, sure I am. Not about the LA louse, though. Him I might never forgive. Even if he is toast.” To Olivia, “I’m sorry for all you’ve been through.”
“Thanks. To get it all out in the open, just to round out the sorry tale. That same strike demolished my business. Last month I filed for bankruptcy. I’ve spent the past five weeks tearing down my life. Selling the house. Watching the lawyers turn my savings into party hats. I haven’t watched the news or read a paper since forever. Longer.”
