Tim Wynne-Jones - The Uninvited

“Ah, the tranquillity of country living,” said Mimi.

Jay shrugged. “We never even used to lock the doors until last fall. We had a break-in. My mom lost some jewelry.”

Mimi shook her head. “What is this, the crime capital of Canada?” It was meant to be a joke, but from the expression on Jay’s face, it hit a little too close to home.

Inside was deliciously cool, a cool blond house. It was open and airy. There were maple floors and creamy yellow walls, butterscotch trim, and everywhere was light. The same honey-colored stone as outside formed a wide and impressive fireplace. It was comfortable, lived in. Mimi’s mother had hired an interior designer to make their apartment look lived in. Tastefully lived in. This was the real thing. As tired and freaked out as she was, Mimi was instantly happy to be here and slightly jealous.

She sat across a kitchen island from Jay while he started grinding up coriander seeds with a mortar and pestle. By turning, she could look out the front windows, which she did regularly.

“This is going to be worse than my interview at NYU.”

“Take it easy,” said Jay. “They’ll like you.”

So she stopped looking over her shoulder, but after a moment she sagged on the maple countertop and rested her head in her arms.

“Why don’t you take a shower?” he said.

“Do I smell that bad?”

“Uh-huh.”

She retrieved some clothes from the car, and he showed her to the guest room, where there was an en suite bathroom. She emerged fifteen minutes later in a sparkly silver halter top and a denim skirt and resumed her seat across the counter. Jay was rubbing a lemon against a zester. The smell made her feel cleaner still.

“How are we going to handle this?” she asked.

“How about I tell them you’re my muse?”

“Ha-ha.”

Then Jay got some salad things out of the fridge and put her to work.

Finally, a boxy, black SUV pulled up beside the Mini, and a slim woman in her mid-forties got out, gathered some groceries from the back, and came inside, singing “Hello” from the front door.

Joanne McAllister was wiry, probably a runner, Mimi guessed. She was wearing a dark gray pinstriped suit over an oxblood-colored blouse. Her chestnut-colored hair was shoulder length, her eyes bright and inquisitive, her smile puckish.

“Jo,” she said. “I’d shake your hand, but-”

“Let me help,” said Mimi, taking a bag of groceries from her. “I’m Mimi.”

“Thank you,” said Jo. She dumped the salmon in the sink and leaned on the counter facing them. “Well,” she said, “you two got everything under control?”

Jay glanced at Mimi and they shared a look. “We’re okay,” he said.

For a moment Jo held Mimi’s eye, then she smiled as if to say, Something is going on here, but I guess you’ll tell me when you’re good and ready. Then she turned back to the sink and washed her hands to get the fish smell off them. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, “until I am out of these clothes, I will not truly be able to get into a festive spirit.”

“Yeah, like we’re so festive,” said Jay.

When Jo had gone, Mimi asked, “What does she do?”

“She runs the town,” he said.

“She’s the mayor?”

“No. She hates the mayor. She’s an administrator. She says her job is to follow the mayor around with a trash bag, cleaning up after him.”

Jo joined them in the kitchen in mauve sweats, and soon everyone was busy.

Then Lou arrived in a vintage green Mustang, though when she emerged, she looked to Mimi like the last person who would ever tool around in a sports car. She was big. She wore a sharply pressed pale-blue button-down shirt with the tails out, pressed blue jeans, and Birkenstocks. Her one concession to femininity was a pair of dangly earrings. The giveaway was the stethoscope around her neck and the little black bag. A house call, thought Mimi. And who knows, a doctor might be needed.

Lou didn’t seem like Marc’s type, Mimi thought, apart from the fact that she was a doctor and he was always attracted to money. But when she met Lou up close, she saw a face as perfectly round as some doyenne from a Renaissance painting, with creamy-colored skin, chocolate-brown eyes, thick eyelashes, and a smile worthy of La Gioconda herself.

Lou took Mimi’s hand warmly and looked so frankly into her eyes that Mimi felt nervous as a kitten for a moment. Then, strangely, she felt all her nervousness fall away. She was afraid, suddenly, that she might cry again. Did the Canadian border guards mysteriously strip you of your chutzpah once you crossed over?

“I have the oddest feeling about you,” said Dr. Lou, standing back appraisingly. There was nothing discourteous in the comment. Her voice was friendly, but it was alarming nonetheless.

The three housemates stood around the kitchen island staring at Mimi in silence for a good few heartbeats. Her eyes darted from one to the other of them but always came back to Lou. She seemed just like a doctor coaxing a reluctant patient to elucidate her symptoms, explain more fully about the ailment that had brought her here.

“I hope that doesn’t sound rude,” said Lou.

“No, it’s okay,” said Mimi. Then she swallowed hard and asked, “What do you see, Doc?”

And Lou looked closer still. “It’s your eyes,” she said. Then she smiled. “And maybe something about your license plate?”

“What’s this all about?” asked Jo, but nobody paid her any attention.

Mimi clutched at her skirt, a little frantically. “Did you… did you know about me?”

Lou shook her head very slowly. Then she reached out and gently smoothed a wet fringe of hair back from Mimi’s forehead. “No, honey, I didn’t know about you. But I’d know those eyes anywhere.”

They ate on the screened-in porch overlooking the Eden. Salmon grilled on the barbeque, mango salsa, a salad with goat cheese and dried cranberries, washed down with cool glasses of white wine.

Mimi caught them up-to-date on her infamous father.

“They just bought something of his for MOMA,” said Mimi.

Jay didn’t say anything, but he was impressed and a little weirded out, as if somehow he should know this.

Then Mimi told them what she knew of Marc Soto’s marriage to her mother, which had lasted less than four years. She had been two when he moved out and didn’t connect up with him again until she was eleven and became curious about this man whose name cropped up now and then in the Sunday Times.

“And you read the New York Times when you were a eleven?” Jay asked.

“Not cover to cover,” she said without missing a beat. “Just the parts about my father.” She was very smooth.

“Mom and I were squabbling a lot in those days,” she said. “Marc became my go-to downtown connection. Not ‘go-to’ in the sense that he would actually solve things.”

She laughed and glanced at Jay. She looked tired to him, a little nervous, as if she was hungry for acceptance. Big-city girl to waif in a New York minute.

“I mean it was easy to tell he wasn’t good for much but painting pictures,” she said. “That and finding rich patrons to pick up his bar tab.”

“He had the beginning of a drinking problem way back when,” said Lou.

“Well, he’s been working on it,” said Mimi. She screwed up her nose. “Not that he’s a drunk. I mean he’s real disciplined when he’s painting. But…” She shrugged and sipped her wine. Put down her glass. She’d barely drunk any. Barely touched her food.

The conversation stalled in the cooling night air. Jay watched her-couldn’t take his eyes off her. Such an exotic creature. She was looking out at the lawn as if it were an exhibit. He followed her gaze to the lively shadows. A breeze rustled the leaves.