suitcase in each hand, Rose Fiorello Smith swept into my house. A short woman with a solid build, dark bun and tidy appearance, she radiated authority despite her small stature. I wasn’t sure whether her entrance reminded me more of Mary Poppins or Napoleon.
“H-how did you get here?” I saw neither a flying umbrella nor mounted cavalry.
“Plane, rental car. Who are all these people? I hope it’s a packing party, you don’t look nearly ready to go. There they are, my beautiful babies!” She’d spotted her grandchildren, not that they were hard to pick out of the crowd since Sara was rushing toward us.
Ben hung back, quietly watchful in contrast to his sister’s running narrative.
“Nonna!” Sara tugged at the sleeve of Rose’s red blazer. “Come watch my movie with me. You can hear my favorite song, only we hafta rewind because I missed it when I went pee-pee and there was a snake in the bathroom. Mommy said a dirty word. I can’t say which one, because it was real bad.”
And there went all my motivation for ever encouraging Ben to talk.
“It wasn’t a snake, just a lizard,” I said. “Harmless gecko. Gone now. Um, Rose, can I offer you something to drink?”
With her eyebrows arched toward her dramatically white-streaked hairline, Rose moved farther into the house—a good thing, since the prospective buyers looked as if they would shove her out of the way to escape this loony bin.
Except for the boy. I distinctly heard him mutter, “Cool,” one last time as his parents hurried down our sidewalk. The Realtor followed, making assurances that the next home would better suit their needs.
“They were looking at the house,” I said weakly.
Rose drew the obvious conclusion. “I believe they’ve decided to pass. You know, dear, your living room would appear a lot more spacious if it weren’t full of folding chairs and whatnot.”
Mrs. Winslow glared at me. Apparently, I was testing the limits of her graciousness with the constant interruptions to her business venture.
“Rose, this is Gladys Winslow. We were in the middle of showing the ladies some of ZirStone’s fine merchandise. Mrs. Winslow, my mother-in-law, Rose Smith.”
The two women shook hands and Rose stepped forward, Sara still at her side. “Lovely to meet you. Would you mind if I took a look at those earrings, Gladys? Oh, these are fabulous. Do you take out-of-state checks? I hate to cut your party short, but I haven’t had the chance to visit with my grandchildren in almost a year. I’m sure you ladies understand. Oh, did you see this pendant?” she asked a woman sitting to her left. “It would be beautiful on you. Such a graceful neck.”
She somehow ushered my neighbors out of the house and made four sales for Gladys at the same time. “Did you see how this brooch is the same style as your bracelet, dear? You should splurge on yourself. We all should, before the busy holiday season starts and our time and energy is devoted to others. Goodbye, it was wonderful to have met you ladies.”
I just stared, belatedly moving into action as Gladys closed her jewelry case and turned to gather up her dishes. My business partner was whistling cheerfully when I shut the front door behind her. And then it was just me, Rose and the kids.
My mother-in-law was seated on the couch, Ben nestled in her lap as Sara sat next to her, showing off one of her favorite books. Rose glanced up with a reproachful smile. “If I’d known how much you needed my help, dear, I would have arrived sooner.”
“Tell me again,” Dianne urged, grinning over the rim of her mimosa. She was dappled in the sunlight spilling through mini-blinds we’d half closed because of the glare off the water and sand.
“So glad to provide the entertainment,” I said dryly.
The original plan had been for the kids and me to take Dianne to breakfast before she left this afternoon. With Rose unexpectedly available to babysit, Dianne and I had grabbed the rare opportunity for a more elegant brunch in the restaurant of a five-star beachfront hotel. We didn’t often get to sit down just the two of us, adults only, without being interrupted or having to dice someone else’s food. When we were done here, we’d go to the house so Ben and Sara could say their goodbyes.
Between Dianne’s interruptions and unfeminine snorts of laughter, it had taken me almost forty minutes to relay the full story of yesterday’s events.
She cut off a piece of Belgian waffle. “I’m just glad we got this chance for a girls’ morning out before I left. Although it is weird not to have the munchkins here.”
“‘Weird’ is relative. After yesterday, this hardly qualifies. I still can’t believe she showed up out of the blue like that.”
At least Rose had tempered her declarations that I clearly couldn’t handle the move by myself with the admission that she’d been so excited about seeing her grandbabies, she just couldn’t help herself.
Dianne raised an eyebrow. “Showed up and took over, from the sounds of it.”
It was true that Rose had assigned Sara packing tasks within half an hour of arrival, but I was too tired to resent offers of help.
“It’s her way. You know how she is.” They’d only met on a few occasions, but it didn’t take long for Rose to make an impression.
“Yeah. That, I know. What I don’t know is whether I feel less worried about you because you’ll have her help in Boston or more worried about you and whether or not you’re going to end up needing strong prescriptions for anti-psychotics.”
I laughed and we managed to joke our way through the rest of the brunch. Neither of us wanted some weepy, sentimental goodbye, even though we both knew that our friendship wouldn’t be the same after today. Driving separately back to the house kept me from saying anything that would sound like a badly written greeting card. I parked next to Rose’s rental car, Dianne behind it. When my friend stepped out onto the driveway, she held packages in her arms.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Dianne teased. “Neither of these is for you.”
“Somehow I suspected as much.” I nodded toward the Disney-themed wrapping paper featuring some of my kids’ favorite animated characters.
The kids met us in the foyer, Sara’s cries of “Aunt Di” quickly changing to “Presents!”
Rose hung back in the living room, her lips pursed. “Now, Sara, that’s hardly good manners. Let the ladies at least get into the house before you bombard them.”
“Oh, I don’t mind the bombardment.” Dianne hugged the children close to her. “I’d better stock up while I can!”
This reassurance didn’t really help with the lip-pursing. One of the sources of tension between my mother-in-law and me was that Rose had never warmed to Dianne. When I’d first heard Tom’s co-worker was dating a woman half his age who danced in skimpy costumes at a club on the weekends, I’d formed a premature impression, too—and learned a valuable lesson about rushing to judgment. But no matter how much the kids and I raved about Dianne, Tom’s mother had always seemed annoyed that the children’s closest “family” was the off-Broadway version of a Vegas showgirl. Deep down, though, Rose was probably envious of how little she got to see the kids in comparison.
Either
