CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
SYLVIA
Sylvia lit the candles on the dining table, stood back, and surveyed the spread. It was a far cry from the sturdy walnut table that sat fourteen in her last dining room. At the old house this table sat in the corner of her patio—but at the new house it was the only thing that would fit. With the sage-green tablecloth, her floral china, matching napkins folded and perched atop the plates, and a few small vases with wildflowers from her overgrown yard placed in the center, it looked quaint and cozy. She opened the wine, placed three glasses next to their table settings, and brought the salmon spread and crackers to the table. She’d leave the chicken salad casserole and green beans in the kitchen until they were ready to eat, she thought, realizing she was actually a little nervous.
She hadn’t cooked a full meal, unassisted, for years, maybe not ever. She was so used to having Maria by her side doing most of the work and all of the cleanup, she just hoped she hadn’t messed this up. It was important to her that Milly and especially Adele, if she came, felt that she’d put forth her best efforts to try to make amends.
Milly arrived first, looking pale and windswept, as if she hadn’t had a chance to fix her hair and had quickly pulled it into a loose bun instead.
“It beautiful, and it already has your touch,” Milly said as she walked through the tiny living room, looking around. “Warm and inviting.”
“I’m getting used to it,” Sylvia said. “But it feels cramped. None of us want to be in the same room with each other, and there’s nowhere to escape to.”
“You’ve still got the club, those big open tennis courts,” Milly said.
“For now.” Sylvia walked to the back of the house. “Can I pour you a drink?”
“Yes! I could use a stiff one,” Milly said.
“I have gin.”
“Perfect.”
Sylvia poured a tall gin and tonic and sliced a lemon. This she had plenty of practice in; it was the dinner she was worried about.
When Adele knocked, Milly answered and brought her back to the dining room.
“I’m so glad you came,” Sylvia said, walking over to give her a hug. Adele tensed in her arms.
“I’m not a hugger,” Adele said, standing stiffly.
“I know, but I am,” Sylvia said, “so get used to it.”
Adele handed Sylvia a small bouquet of roses, their stems beautifully wrapped in paper and dusty-pink ribbon. “From my garden,” she said.
“They’re gorgeous.” Sylvia took them from her, surprised by the gesture. She inhaled their sweet scent and placed them in a vase on the table.
“Your front yard needs some work,” Adele said. “It’s a wilderness.”
Sylvia suppressed a smile. Classic Adele. “Maybe you can give me some gardening tips,” she said.
Adele shrugged. “Start by pulling up all the weeds and plant some roses.”
“I’ll do that,” Sylvia said, laughing. “Cocktail or wine?”
“Wine, thank you.”
“So, Sylvia,” Milly said as she took a seat at the table, “how are things with you and Walter? Any improvement?”
Sylvia shook her head. “Honestly, I can barely look at him. I’m still so sick—about the money, the house, but also that he’s made it impossibleto save the club. And he had no excuse for missing his part in the Bathing Beauty Contest. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to let all of this go.”
“You have to,” Milly said emphatically.
Sylvia looked up, surprised.
“He messed up, but he’s a good man, Sylvia, and he loves you so much—anyone can see that. And you love him.”
“I know,” Sylvia said, though she barely believed herself when she said it. How could he love her and be so reckless with her life? How could he be so stupid?
