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  Maggie shrugged. “To be pretty.”

  “To be more attractive to men?”

  Maggie shook her head. “No, for themselves. Women like to be pretty for themselves and for other women. They know other women are judging them.”

  “So it’s about status. I’ve read that the Chinese noble class began growing their fingernails to prove they were wealthy and didn’t need to do manual labor.”

  Maggie looked pensive. “Maybe status is a tiny part of it, but for me, it’s really about being pretty for myself. Like wearing a favorite dress or a revealing negligee. It makes me feel more attractive. Sexy.”

  “Affirming your self-image.”

  Maggie looked up. “Liz, you think too much. Just sit back and enjoy it. Doesn’t it feel good?”

  It was relaxing to be touched by Maggie’s gentle hands, and if Liz was willing to admit it, very stimulating. Then Maggie poked a little too hard at her cuticle with the orange stick, and Liz jumped.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pinch you.” Maggie smiled. “That really didn’t hurt that much. You’re just out of your comfort zone, aren’t you?”

  “A little. I doubt I’d let anyone else do this.”

  “So why are you letting me?”

  “I must trust you. I’ve let you do other things to me—put your fingers inside me and your tongue on my clitoris.” Liz grinned. She knew she was being fresh throwing Maggie’s words back at her. “I even gave you my virginity.”

  “Technically speaking, you didn’t,” said Maggie, focused on shaping the cuticles. “Have you ever slept with a man?”

  “See? I told you touching feet was too intimate. Now you’re invading my privacy.”

  “Well? Have you?”

  Maggie’s hazel eyes were full of curiosity, but she was hiding it well.

  “Yes, I slept with a couple of my male friends…for the experience.”

  “And...?”

  “It was disappointing.”

  Maggie nodded. “I know what you mean.”

  “I thought if I did it enough, it would get better, but it never did. So I stuck with women.”

  “At least you figured that out. I never did.” Maggie frowned. “Well, I did, but I wouldn’t admit it to myself.”

  “I don’t want you to put polish on my nails,” said Liz to change the subject. They were getting in a little too deep.

  “Oh, I will, but it will be a natural color.” Maggie smiled her cat smile. “One step at a time.”

  “Here we are like two female primates bonding through a grooming ritual. Among female bonobos, that can lead to sex, which they use to cement relationships and define status. Or sometimes for no reason at all except pleasure.” Liz wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

  “Is that so? First, I’ll ask you to reciprocate on the grooming. My roots need a touch up.”

  Liz rolled her eyes.

  “Don’t roll your eyes at me, Liz Stolz. It’s hard for me to do because I can’t stand on this stupid leg in the shower. And if you want sex, you’ll have to do your share of the grooming.”

  “I don’t want sex, Maggie.”

  Maggie gave her a hard look. “Sometimes, you’re such a liar.”

  “All right, I do want sex, but not just sex.”

  Maggie sighed. “Other foot.” Liz switched and put her other foot in Maggie’s lap. “It would be too easy to fall into bed with you and wreck everything. I want to do it right this time.”

  “This time?”

  “Yes, if that’s where this is heading, and I think it is.”

  “Then maybe we should stick with the grooming part.”

  “That works for now. You can do my roots after your polish dries.” Maggie raised her eyes from Liz’s toes and gave her a little smile. “I’ll take a rain check on the sex.”

  Chapter 13

  From the window over the kitchen sink, Maggie watched Liz come out of her woodworking shop with her phone pressed to her ear. In the sharply focused September sun, her gray hair shone like a silver halo around the head of an unlikely saint. Sitting on the stone wall that ran along the path from the barn, Liz was animated as she talked. She hardly ever talked with her hands. The one exception was on the phone, as if she needed the emphasis of gestures to make her point to a person she couldn’t see. The broad smile on Liz’s face, as she headed toward the house, told Maggie she was happy to hear from the caller.

  “So, you’ll be here by dinner,” said Liz, coming into the kitchen. “See you, then.” She ended the call with a tap. “We’re going to have a house guest.” She plucked a nectarine from the fruit bowl. “Jenny Carson is coming.” Grabbing a paper towel to catch the juice, Liz leaned over the sink as she bit into the nectarine. “These nectarines are delicious. We need to get more.”

  “I’ll put it on the list.” Maggie wondered why the quality of the nectarines was suddenly more important than a visit from Liz’s ex.

  “She’s four hours away, so I suppose we should plan something for dinner other than leftovers.”

  “Does she come here often?” Maggie asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “She comes every summer for a few weeks. And she does this from time to time…decides she needs to get out of Dodge, so she jumps into her car and heads to Maine.”

  “And she assumes she’s welcome?”

  “She does call first. Unlike your friends.”

  “That’s good. Otherwise, she might get shot,” said Maggie, not to be outdone.

  Liz ignored the barb. “She knows she’s always welcome. As you know, there’s plenty of room here for guests.”

  Maggie glanced at the little trail of sawdust footprints behind Liz. “Ellie will kill you for dirtying her kitchen floor. She just washed it yesterday.”

  “I know.” Liz took the last bite from her nectarine. “I’ll sweep it up.”

  “Try taking your shoes off first.”

  “Good idea.” Liz flung the nectarine pit into the compost pail under the sink. She took off her shoes and carefully swept up the sawdust.

  “What are you building out there?”

  “A Chippendale highboy. It was supposed to be a wedding gift for my niece. At this rate, it might be finished by the time her daughter gets married, but it’s coming along. When you can walk better, I’ll take you down to see it.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Liz nodded. “I might need some time alone with Jenny to talk about business. She wants to sell the land we bought in North Carolina.”

  “Why would you buy land there?”

  “Jenny always said Asheville was an oasis in the land of the Philistines. We’d talked about building a house there when we retired. I don’t know what I was thinking. I could never live in the South. Too fucking hot.”

  “So why buy it?”

  Liz shrugged. “At the time, I thought Jenny and I would go on forever, and the land seemed like a good investment.”

  “That’s how you make decisions? Whether it’s a good investment?”

  Liz compressed her lips and looked pensive as she considered the question. “Most of the time, but not always. Sometimes I do things for no other reason than I want to. Like moving to Maine.” She grabbed another nectarine from the bowl and headed back to her shop. Maggie watched as she walked down the path.

  She was both overwhelmed with curiosity and nervous at the idea of meeting Liz’s ex. Liz wasn’t the kind to have photos around the house, so she had no idea what Jenny Carson looked like. Other than saying Jenny was a successful gynecologist in her early fifties, Liz had provided few details. Supposedly, their relationship was in the past, but it was beginning to sound like there were plenty of loose ends.

  ***

  It was close to seven thirty when Jenny came through the door. “My God, what a trip!” she complained, dragging an enorm
ous rollaboard over the threshold. She flung her arms around Liz and kissed her on the mouth. “I’ve missed you so much!” She glanced at Maggie. “Is this your friend? When you said you went to college together, I always assumed you were the same age.”

  Maggie winced at the remark, despite Liz’s warning that Jenny could be blunt. She gave her a critical look and Jenny returned the inspection. Jenny’s short hair was fashionably gray. Her figure was trim except for her prominent breasts. She had a pretty face, but her eyes were unmistakably her best feature. They were the most amazing shade of blue Maggie had ever seen. She wondered if Jenny wore tinted contacts to enhance the color.

  Jenny’s warm smile after the thorough once-over made her seem almost maternal. She was an OB/GYN and mothers were her business. Maggie wondered if motherly behaviors had rubbed off on her, especially when Jenny opened her arms wide and caught Maggie in a full-body hug. “Hello, Maggie. Welcome to the family.” Maggie glanced at Liz for an explanation, but she just shrugged and rolled her eyes.

  “Liz, I’ll just take my things upstairs. I need a few minutes, if you don’t mind. I desperately need to get out of these sweaty clothes.”

  Liz gestured toward the hallway that led to the elevator.

  “I hope you put me in the seashore room again,” said Jenny. “It has the best view!”

  “Take any room you want,” said Liz. “The linens are clean on all the beds.”

  “Not that it matters,” said Jenny with a wag of her hip.

  What was that supposed to mean? Maggie wondered. She didn’t dare ask.

  Once the elevator door closed, Liz’s eyes pleaded for understanding. “I know she can be a bit much, but she’s harmless really and very funny once you get to know her.”

  “How long did you say you lived together?”

  “Fifteen years.”

  “There must have been something between you to last that long.”

  Liz looked thoughtful. “Well, she didn’t mind my ridiculous hours because hers were worse. She’s wicked smart, and she likes toys.”

  “Toys?” asked Maggie, puzzled.

  “Yes, you know. Sex toys. Dildos?” Maggie tried to modulate her shock but her eyes widened and Liz laughed. “I wasn’t kidding about the dildos in the night stand, but no sex doll under the bed. I promise.” She winked.

  “You like sex toys?” asked Maggie, horrified but consumed with curiosity at the same time.

  “With Jenny, I did. She’s very inventive, and she knows a lot about female anatomy. The sex was amazing.”

  Maggie glanced toward the elevator door where Jenny had disappeared and wondered about the “amazing sex” part. How could she ever compete? Her experience was women was so limited. Would Liz find her lovemaking quaint and naive? And toys? Maggie had to admit she found the idea titillating, but did Liz need toys? That’s not what Maggie had imagined. Not at all.

  Liz had gone into the kitchen to put the pizzas together. Maggie followed her in to help, but Liz seemed to have everything under control. Liz always laid out her cooking utensils and pans beforehand, almost like she was preparing a surgical tray. She cut everything with precision—meat, vegetables, fruits. All the ingredients for the pizza were lined up in careful rows, making a rainbow on the plate.

  Jenny’s favorite wine was open on the counter, an aerator in the neck of the bottle. The label was all in French. Maggie pointed to the papal tiara and the keys of Peter molded into the brown glass.

  “What’s this?”

  “That’s the seal of the Avignon popes. That wine comes from the former papal estates,” Liz explained. “That’s why it’s called Châteauneuf du Pape.”

  “Is it any good?”

  Liz handed her a wine glass. “Taste it and tell me.”

  Maggie poured a few dribbles into the glass and sipped it. It was so dry it made her mouth pucker, and it smelled like feet after a heavy workout in the gym. “Jenny likes this stuff?” She screwed up her face and stuck out her tongue for emphasis.

  Liz laughed. “It’s her favorite. I’m not a big fan of French wines myself.”

  “How much does it cost?”

  “About fifty dollars a bottle. Sometimes I can get it on sale in New Hampshire for less.”

  Maggie tried not to look shocked, although she couldn’t imagine spending that kind of money on a bottle of wine. “An expensive habit,” she said casually.

  Liz shrugged. “Jenny can afford it.”

  Jenny returned wearing cotton capris and a snug, low-cut T-shirt that revealed her considerable cleavage. She was barefoot and moved around the kitchen as if she lived there. She opened the correct cabinet on the first try and took out a wine glass.

  “Did you try the wine?” she asked Maggie. “What did you think?”

  Maggie puckered her lips. “A bit dry for my taste.”

  “Oh, but it’s divine. Love that dirty socks smell!” Jenny sidled up to Liz and put her arm around her waist while she watched her arrange the ingredients on the pizzas. “Looks amazing. Liz makes the best grilled pizza.” Jenny glanced over Liz’s shoulder. “Have you had it yet, Maggie?”

  “Yes, she made it the first week I was here.”

  “Did she make it with goat cheese, arugula and caramelized onions? Oh my God! That’s my favorite!”

  “Sorry, Jenny, that’s not on the menu tonight,” said Liz impatiently. “I didn’t have any goat cheese. Be glad for something to eat.”

  “Oh, I am. I’m always happy when you cook for me.” Jenny planted a quick kiss on Liz’s cheek. She turned around and leaned against the counter. “I can cook, Maggie, but I don’t unless I have to. Liz loves to cook.”

  “That’s because I love to eat,” said Liz, arranging the pizzas on a tray. “I only wish what eat didn’t love me back.”

  “Yes, dear, you’re getting quite a little beer belly.” Jenny patted it affectionately. Watching Jenny casually touch Liz as if she owned her irritated Maggie more than she was willing to admit.

  “If you liked beer, you’d understand,” said Liz.

  Jenny grimaced. “Swill. All of it.”

  “You just lack appreciation for the finer things in life,” called Liz over her shoulder as she headed out to the grill on the deck.

  Their banter was rapidly giving Maggie a headache. She looked for a way to escape.

  “We should keep her company while she cooks,” Jenny suggested. “She likes that.”

  “No, thanks. I’ll let you two catch up. I want to ice my ankle and put it up.”

  Jenny frowned with concern as she studied the leg. “Still swelling? That shouldn’t be. You should let Liz take a look at it.”

  “She looks at it every day. I’ve never had such an attentive doctor.”

  “Yes, she can be a little overbearing at times. But I’ll leave you to your ice and elevation,” said Jenny with a little condescending smile that Maggie found extremely annoying.

  Maggie passed on the ice because it had merely been a ploy to get away from Jenny. In the media room, Maggie closed the door. It had a lock that she was momentarily tempted to engage but decided it was not her place to lock doors in someone else’s house. Grateful to be alone, she put her leg up on the hassock.

  She sighed and sat back to assess her situation. She felt like she’d been hit by a speeding truck. For a moment, she considered packing her bags and calling a cab to take her to a hotel. No, she told herself, Jenny Carson wasn’t going to force her out of Liz’s house. She had every right to be there. What she needed to do was pace herself and limit her exposure to Jenny. But how dare that woman call Liz overbearing!

  A few minutes later, Liz opened the door and poked her head in the room. “We’re ready to eat.”

  “I’ll be there shortly,” said Maggie sullenly.

  Liz came into the room and closed the door behind her. “Are you
all right? I’m glad to see you have your leg up. Is it bothering you?”

  “It’s not the leg…”

  Liz nodded. “Yes, I know. Jenny is quite a character.”

  “She certainly has you figured out,” replied Maggie in a tart voice.

  Liz compressed her lips. Maggie could tell she was trying very hard not to say something. “Come get your dinner before it gets cold.”

  After a few minutes, Maggie became anxious that it would look rude if she didn’t come to the table, so she got up and went out to the porch. As she sat down, Liz shoveled a brightly colored pizza on to her plate.

  “Is your leg feeling better?” asked Jenny. “Liz, you need to look at it. It shouldn’t still be swelling.”

  “What the hell do you know about fractures?” snapped Liz.

  “Very little beyond what they taught us in medical school,” Jenny admitted.

  “Then stay out of it.”

  Maggie gave Liz a wary look. She could see that Liz was tired from working in her shop all day and having to hold dinner. Her effort to be sociable was paper thin.

  Jenny began talking about some new painkiller. Soon, she and Liz were deep into a discussion of its properties. Liz apologized for leaving Maggie out and tried to steer the conversation toward plans for the weekend, but Jenny kept circling back to medical topics. Bored silly, Maggie offered to clean up the kitchen.

  She wondered as she undressed for bed if Liz and Jenny would sleep together. She slept fitfully, waking to the vague recollection that there was a stranger in the house. She forbade her mind from imagining Jenny in Liz’s bed, but the more she tried to block mental images of them intertwined, the more vivid the scenes became.

  She was irritable the next morning and desperately needed a cup of coffee. When she came into the kitchen, she found them hip to hip in front of the coffee machine. Jenny’s hand lazily rubbed the small of Liz’s back. They spoke in murmurs, chuckling from time to time. It was clearly a conversation between two people who had been physically intimate. The question was, how recently?

  “Good morning!” said Maggie brightly to alert them to her presence.

  Liz turned around and smiled. “Good morning. Would you like a cup of coffee?”