Page 126 of Just Like Starting Over
“Sierra is the one with the greenhouse on the roof,” I explain.
“Ah! The one you want to encourage. I thought she was Luke’s daughter.”
“So did I, but she’s mine.”
Elke straightens the cutlery at her place, which already perfectly aligned. “Would her mother be the Sylvia you talk about when you have had too much beer?”
“It wasn’t the beer that got me drunk.” I sound grumpy and I know it, but I don’t like being reminded of my weaknesses. No one does. “It was the schnapps.”
“And I am to meet her?”
I look up to see Sylvia closing fast, her expression grim. “Probably soon.”
“Is this a secret?”
“No.”
“But you are reticent, undoubtedly because there are details yet to be arranged, so we avoid the subject. I respect complication.” Elke nods with her usual purpose. “I would like to see this greenhouse, if it can be arranged.”
“Of course. It’s right upstairs. We can ask Sierra for a tour afterward.”
“It has electricity? It will be dark by the time we are done.”
I nod once. “Sierra wants to change it over to use solar panels.”
“Ah, I may be able to offer assistance.” Elke smiles. “When you mentioned the greenhouse, I meant to tell you that we have a new watering system designed specifically for smaller facilities, which may have greater temperature variations due to their dimensions.”
“They’re more vulnerable to the influence of the weather and wind.”
“Exactly. So, the automations have to be more responsive and also more complex. They may need to open or close vents, for example, or even trigger heaters or lamps. It is an interestingchallenge. What are the precise dimensions of this greenhouse? It might be a good size to experiment and refine this new system…”
I look up and it’s not a mystery what Sylvia has concluded about Elke’s presence.
How exactly is it that things between us keep getting more complicated?
And how will I ever sort them out?
One thing is for certain: I’m not expecting Elke to help.
38
SYLVIA
The woman with Mike could be a model. She’s perfect. She’s poised. She looks like twenty million dollars, give or take, and is dining alone with Mike. When I saw his name on the reservation list, I thought he would be bringing one of his friends from Havelock.
Not this gorgeous woman who has eyes only for him.
I, in contrast, am hot and flushed. I check my reflection in the door of the stainless-steel fridge. In contrast to Ms. Every-Hair-in-Place, I have loose hair that has worked free of my simple updo and curled in the steam. My lipstick is probably gone and I never have had eye makeup so artfully done. Instead of a chic suit, I’m wearing a plain white shirt and black pants. And an apron. What would I give for Daphne Bradshaw’s silk dress and jacket now?
Worse, Mike shaved his beard – for her. He’s wearing a shirt that had to be ironed (and has been). He’s wearing chinos, for godsake.
It’s adate.
Serving their table on their date is my worst nightmare come true.
That I’m the one who pushed him away is icing on the proverbial cake.
“She’s everything I’ll never be,” I mutter to Merrie as she slides a salad of mixed greens and a pâté appetizer across the counter.
