Allan slapped the table with his hand, and the plates rattled. “Absolutely not. I’ve known Clarisse for twenty years. There’s nothing that woman couldn’t face down. She adored Martin, they were two peas in a pod, but when he dropped dead right in front of her, did she fall apart? Nope, not even for a day. She had plenty of reason to, no one would have thought less of her, but no sirree, not Clarisse Chamberlain. She called 911, gave him CPR. And after the funeral, she went right back to work. Don’t get me wrong, she grieved in her own way, but she never felt sorry for herself or turned to drink or anything like that. She stood on her own two feet and kept on walking.”
Allan picked up the last piece of bacon on his plate, folded it in half, and devoured it in one bite. “Now,” he said, wiping the grease off his fingers with his napkin, “how else can I help? Can I sell you a used car?”
Ellie began clearing the table.
Allan grinned at his wife’s back. “I’ve been told more than once that I sound like a used-car huckster on TV. No one has meant it as a compliment. Ellie hates hearing it. Not me, though. I don’t mind one bit if people see me that way. It makes them underestimate me.”
Olivia remembered thinking used-car salesman when she’d first met Allan. And she had, indeed, underestimated him.
“You see, Livie,” Allan said, “when folks underestimate you, they tend to let down their guard. And when they let down their guard, you can get a good look at their strengths and their weaknesses.”
“Was Clarisse ever fooled?”
“Nope, not when it came to business. Martin, neither.”
“And when it came to her family?”
“Parents see their kids through a filter,” he said. “For better or for worse.”
“What is your take on the Chamberlain brothers?”
“Edward and Hugh?” Allan threw back his head and laughed. “Opposites. Hugh has the charm without the drive. Edward, he’s got the drive without the charm. Put ’em in a blender, you’d have a damn fine businessman.”
Ellie passed by close enough for Allan to reach around her waist and pull her to him. Ellie’s cheeks pinked up. Olivia tried to hide the fact that she still felt a vague discomfort at witnessing the affection between her mother and Allan. Maybe by the time she turned forty, the feeling would disappear, but she wasn’t holding her breath.
“Frankly,” Allan said, “I think it would have been better for Edward and Hugh if they’d gone off on their own, developed their own style. Martin, though, he wanted a family dynasty, and Clarisse, well, I suspect she wanted her sons nearby.”
“Jason should be here soon,” Ellie said. “We decimated the pancakes. I’d better start more bacon cooking.” Ellie squeezed Allan’s hand, removed it from her waist, and headed toward the stove.
“Oops, sorry I forgot the eggs, Mom. Jason will be hungry.”
“Jason won’t starve. He can have bacon and toast sandwiches.”
“One last question, Allan,” Olivia said. “Only this one is about Lucas Ashford.”
Ellie and Allan exchanged a quick glance. “Are you concerned for Maddie?” Ellie asked as she put bacon into a frying pan. “They must be getting serious.”
“No, it’s not about Lucas and Maddie, although if there’s anything I should know, I order you to tell me instantly.”
With her light laugh, Ellie said, “If I ever find out that Lucas is an ax murderer, I’ll be sure to let you know. As far as I’ve observed, he is a perfectly nice man, if a bit quiet for my taste.”
“Maddie can supply the noise,” Olivia said. “I was wondering, though. . . . Allan, maybe you know, is the hardware store doing all right?”
“As far as I know,” Allan said. “There’s no swelling demand for hammers and nails, but Heights Hardware seems to float along modestly. Why? Have you heard something?” His tone was casual, but Olivia sensed the businessman in him leap to attention.
“No, not in so many words.” Olivia wished she hadn’t brought up the topic.
Allan shrugged, but Ellie turned sideways so she could see the table and keep an eye on the spitting bacon at the same time. “I can answer that one, Livie. The hardware may be doing fine, but the Ashford family went through a rough patch.”
“I’ll be in my office, paying bills,” Allan said. “Give me a holler when Jason gets here.”
“Allan gets bored by too much talk about other families’ troubles,” Ellie said, without a hint of criticism. “Anyway, about the Ashfords, all this happened while you were busy in Baltimore, no reason you’d have heard about it. Although, I suppose a better mother would have emailed you regularly with all the Chatterley Heights news.”
“Thank you for not being a better mother.”
“You’re welcome, dear.” Ellie paused to move several strips of bacon from the pan to a length of paper towel she’d placed on the kitchen counter. She added raw strips to the pan, each landing with a sizzle.
“It all started about four years ago,” Ellie said. “Lucas’s father was diagnosed with colon cancer. He had surgery and chemo, and it looked hopeful, but the shock of his illness was too much for Lucas’s mother. She had a stroke, a bad one.”
“Poor Lucas,” Olivia said.
“Poor Lucas, indeed. He was trying to care for both parents and keep the hardware store running. His dad needed to be transported back and forth for the chemo, and then he’d be sick from it. His mom was . . . well, you probably remember her.”
“Do I,” Olivia said. “She terrified me when I was a kid. I’d wait outside the hardware store when Dad took me on errands with him.”
“Yes, well, the stroke seemed to make her even more of a tyrant. All of us tried to help out by staying with her while Lucas carted his father to and from treatments. But nobody lasted very long. I have to admit, Shirley tried my patience.”
Olivia began to scrape the dirty plates and arrange them in the dishwasher. “As I remember, not only did Shirley have a demanding personality, but she must have weighed at least two hundred and fifty pounds. If you were trying to help her to bed, she could have squashed you.”
“Illness did whittle her down considerably,” Ellie said. “Though she still possessed nearly two hundred of those pounds.”
“And you a wraithlike ninety-nine pounds,” Olivia said.
“Sadly, with the arrival of middle age, I’ve packed it on. I’m up to one hundred and four. Three digits.”
Olivia snickered. “I wonder how you can show yourself in public.”
“Loose clothing helps.” Ellie had finished frying the bacon and was pouring the grease into a Maxwell House coffee tin. From the rust, Olivia assumed it was the same tin her mother had used since she and Jason were kids. The thought comforted her.
“As to your question,” Ellie said, “Lucas had to hire caregivers almost around the clock, so he could keep the hardware store going. From what I heard, he had to mortgage the house, which they’d paid off years earlier, and also take out a hefty loan, using his business as collateral. Both his parents passed on shortly before you came back home, but the loan remains to haunt poor Lucas. That’s why I was surprised to hear he and Maddie are spending so much time together—for years he’s done nothing but work.”
“Is his loan with the bank here in town?” Olivia asked.
“Not a bank, dear. The loan came from Clarisse Chamberlain.”
“Hey, where is everybody?” Jason’s voice came from the living room. “Does he always walk in without knocking?” Olivia asked.
“Look who I found loitering outside our front door,” Allan boomed. He appeared in the kitchen a moment later, Jason following behind.
“Hi, Olive Oyl.” Jason gave Olivia a light tap on the shoulder and raked his fingers up the back of her head, causing unruly curls to poke out from her carefully smoothed hair.
“Hey!” Olivia grabbed Jason’s hand before he could strike again. Looking at his long, oil-stained fingers, she said, “Here’s a suggestion: why don’t you scrub your hands instead of cleaning them in my hair?”