Page 3 of The Change
Celeste stayed put. She was calculating the distance from 256 Woodland Drive to the car she’d left parked downtown. It was almost walkable, she thought. But not quite.
“Celeste?”
She didn’t want to know what had happened to Harriett. She wanted to remember Harriett as the person she’d been. She couldn’t bear to see another woman brought low. Alone and abandoned. Depressed and defeated. If it could happen to Harriett, it could happen to anyone. Celeste was terrified that when the front door opened, she’d see her own future.
“Let’sgo,” Brendon ordered.
And she went.
Brendon rang the doorbell and Celeste held her breath. A bee touched down on Brendon’s back. Celeste watched as it walked in circles and willed it to sting.
“May I help you?”
The tall woman standing in the doorway bore little resemblance to the woman Celeste had chatted with at holiday parties. Harriett’s hair hadn’t been touched by a stylist in months, and its natural waves were no longer ironed out. The gray had grown in, and silvery strands mingled with blond. A smear of rich black dirt stretched from her right cheekbone to the ear. She wore an army-green mechanic’s jumpsuit, its sleeves rolled up past her elbows and the zipper pulled down just enough to reveal the top of a black sports bra. Her arms looked lean and strong. One of her hands held a half-eaten apple.
“Celeste Howard,” Harriet said, her smile exposing a significant gap between her two front teeth. It was such a distinguishing feature that Celeste was amazed she hadn’t noticed it before. Together with eyes that seemed unusually focused and a mouth that stretched from ear to ear, the gap gave Harriett a feral, hungry look. “What a pleasure to see you.”
“Harriett.” Celeste hadn’t expected to be remembered, and found herself at a loss for words. “You look so different.”
“Yes,” Harriett readily agreed. “I’ve really let myself go.”
“That’s not what I meant!” Celeste rushed to clarify.
Harriett placed a hand on the younger woman’s shoulder, sending a wave of heat down Celeste’s arm. “I know what you meant,” she said.
Brendon stepped forward. Celeste noticed he seemed less sure of himself. Whatever he’d been expecting wasn’t at all what he’d found. “We’d like to have a word with you, if you don’t mind. May we come in?”
As Harriett’s attention migrated slowly to the man, the smile remained on her face. “Do I know you?” she asked, her head cocked, like a cat contemplating a roach.
Brendon offered a hand, which Harriett regarded with amusementbut didn’t deign to touch. “My name is Brendon Baker.” He let his hand drop. “I’m president of the Mattauk Homeowners Association.”
“Ah,” Harriett replied, as if that were enough and she didn’t care to know any more. “So how have you been, Celeste? You certainly look well.”
Celeste blushed. It felt like it had been ages, she realized, since anyone had given her their full attention. “I am well. And you?”
“I’ve been busy.” Harriett took a bite of her apple and chewed leisurely before continuing. “Very busy, in fact. I’ve been catching up on my reading. There are so many fascinating subjects I never had time to explore. Botany, primarily, but also—”
“Excuse me, Mrs. Osborne—” Brendon cut in.
“Ms.,” Harriett corrected him, without glancing in his direction.
“Of course.Ms. Osborne. We’re here to talk to you about the state of your property. I’m afraid we’ve had multiple complaints. I’m aware you’ve suffered some setbacks lately, but you will need to resume maintenance of your house and lawn or we will be forced to impose fines.”
Mortified, Celeste turned her gaze to the porch, where a colony of black ants was following a twisting trail up a railing. Then she heard Harriett laugh, and looked up to see that the amusement appeared genuine.
“How about that? We’ve only just met, and yet you know so much about me.” Harriett leaned lazily against the doorframe. “How do you do it, Mr. Baker? Are you psychic? Have you hacked into my accounts? Or are you just one of those men who thinks he’s an expert on women?”
Celeste had made other house calls with Brendon. She’d heard terrified owners plead with or praise him. Harriett was the first to belittle him. She must have known Brendon had the power to make her life miserable, but she wasn’t going to kneel down before him.
“I apologize if my assumptions were incorrect,” Brendon saidflatly, his true feelings revealed by the flush creeping up past his shirt collar. “Regardless of your financial situation, something must be done about the state of your lawn.”
“No.” She said it firmly, without anger or urgency.
“No?” Brendon repeated, as if he weren’t familiar with the word.
Harriett swept an arm toward the horizon. “This is the way it wants to be,” she replied.
“Less than a year ago, this property was the pride of Mattauk.” Brendon tried trading vinegar for honey. “Your gardeners were here twice a week.”
