Green Stone Ring Page 11

  “Rockport! They have a place in Rockport?”

  “Yes, and I hoped you could go with me. You would love their place, perched up on the cliffs looking down on the ocean.”

  “How wonderful. Don’t tempt me.”

  He looked at her and smiled. “Don’t worry, we’ll go there sometime, I promise.”

  What if he had asked her to the Westcotts’? Would she have agreed, knowing that she would be seen as his date—a married woman? No, he would just be there with his friend, right? Why was she getting so anxious; she wasn’t going with him—at least not this time. And what if he went to Sacramento? They’d all think he was there visiting his hometown and his second mother. Of course, it was just by chance they were both there at the same time. Stop thinking. We aren’t going to be together for Thanksgiving.

  They walked the shops in Kennebunkport, and Gini bought a few things for gifts. They both bought chocolate and penuche at the fudge shop. The air was cool, with just a slight breeze as they walked along the protected small beach area close to town. Gini walked lazily kicking the stones, and occasionally, she leaned down to examine a shell.

  Ric was deep in thought about how upset Gini was over her mom. He knew Cindy was involved with Mama Elizabeth, but as far as Ric was concerned, the brothers were all worthless.

  “Ric, look! An unbroken shell. Look how delicate it is.” She looked him straight in the eyes. “You don’t find many of these.”

  She held the shell up to show him and their eyes locked. Ric felt she could see straight into his soul. He felt suddenly anxious—or was it euphoria, Cupid’s arrow piercing his lovesick heart. His feelings for her were starting to control him. He couldn’t fight it any longer. She was his first and last thought of each day, and he was constantly trying to strategize ways they could be together. Look at those eyes… He almost reached out to grab her and kiss her, but managed to stop before she noticed anything. She wasn’t ready to hear of his love for her— Of course she isn’t ready, you jerk; she’s married.

  “Look, isn’t it beautiful?”

  He took her hand and pulled the shell closer so he could take a good look.

  “It’s beautiful and delicate just like you.”

  She took his hand and opened his palm. “Here, you keep it. It will remind you of me.”

  He closed his hand around the shell, took her hand to his lips, and gently kissed it.

  “I will treasure it forever.” He put the shell up close to his heart, closed his eyes, and swayed back and forth.

  “Oh, Ric. You’re so funny. I love being with you. I have forgotten all my troubles in this wonderful piece of New England. Thanks for bringing me here.”

  It was nice to be somewhere beautiful, somewhere timeless, and beyond human problems, thinking of nothing but the sounds of nature, keeping a sharp eye out for the perfect shell. The beach completely cleared her mind and renewed her senses. She felt like her old self again, the Gini she had almost forgotten.

  She needed his humor. No one made her feel so at ease—not ever, she thought. This dear friend had arrived back in her life just when she needed someone to uplift her.

  “Always the chauffeur. Your wish is my command.”

  They walked to a small restaurant that was open for business. It was off-season, and a lot of places were closed. They went up to the second floor, which had a great view out over the water. The sun was low in the southern sky, and there was just a wisp of cloudiness making the sheen on the water glaring and haunting.

  “The daylight is so short this time of year. It makes me feel sleepy.” She sighed.

  “The water looks pretty, doesn’t it?”

  After lunch, they walked around a little longer and went back to a shop they had been to so Gini could buy the hat she decided earlier not to buy. On the drive back, they stopped at several places to enjoy the scenery. At the last stop, they sat down on a rock and watched the waves come in and go out.

  “I love the water,” she said.

  “Gini, you have to go to Florida with me. It’s so nice there. The beaches are white sand, and the water is so warm. And I know you would love to ride in Val’s yacht. It’s like a house.”

  Gini looked at him with wide eyes. “Really?”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it. There was a living room inside and one outside. Of course, he has a captain, so Val fixed us a drink, and we just sat and enjoyed the journey up the canal. We even docked at a fancy restaurant, ate, and then took the boat back to the house. It was like a pretend life, for sure.”

  He looked back at her. She was leaning back, resting on her elbows. She had her eyes closed, and she was breathing deeply. “Sounds wonderful.” She didn’t change her position. “If you close your eyes, you can smell the sea air, taste the salt on your lips, and the sounds—you can hear the wonderful sounds of the water, the birds, the breeze. Ah, I could stay here forever.”

  He sat and watched her. He would never get tired of looking at her.

  The sun was about to set as they walked up the rocky slope back to the car. Just as Ric started the engine, Gini’s phone rang.

  “It’s Michael.” She stuck her earpiece in her ear.

  “Hi, Gini. Sorry I didn’t call you earlier. It’s such a beautiful day, and the girls have been sick all week. They are much better today, so we took them to the park.”

  “That’s okay. You’re right; it’s a beautiful day. Ric and I drove up to Kennebunkport.”

  “Rick? Rick who?”

  “Santini,” Gini answered, realizing she may have opened a can of worms.

  “Ric Santini. Okay… well.”

  Michael had first met Ric at Harvard. He had seemed to be a nice guy, helpful in many ways. And he had noticed the strong friendship between Ric, Gini, and Franco, although he never really cared for Franco, too macho or something. He remembered the way Ric had looked at her at the gala. Even though Michael and Gini had remained friends over the years, he recalled he hadn’t seen Franco for some time.

  He found it hard to say the right words without being insulting. “Is Franco with you?”

  “No,” Gini said slowly and looked at Ric with a “what do I do now?” look on her face. “Franco’s still in China. We just thought it would be good to get out of town like we used to do when we were in college together.” Her speech began to increase rapidly. “You know, cabin fever from the cold weather.” She stopped and took a deep breath.

  “A drive along the water sounds nice, too,” Michael said, concerned. “So when will Franco be back in town?”

  “I’m not sure. He hasn’t given me a definite date. He’s working on a big project over there.”

  “Anyway, I guess we won’t be doing much work today.”

  “No,” she said, relieved the subject had changed. “Listen, if you want, I can call you when I get home.”

  “I just have a few questions. I’ll email them to you. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

  “Thank you, you too.”

  She thought the call ended rather abruptly.

  “Michael trying to steal you away from me?” Ric asked in a joking manner.

  Gini put her phone in front of her and looked at it, then looked at him.

  She wasn’t sure how she felt about the call. “He’s going to email me some questions. Don’t laugh at me, Ric, but could we stop on the way home and get Burger King?”

  He chuckled. “You crack me up with your Burger King.”

  “Remember, we used to stop at that one just on the other side of the bridge going into Boston?”

  “Yes, yes, I remember.” He smiled to himself. “I remember, Gins.”

  When they pulled into the parking lot, it was full, and young children were running all around. Ric looked at Gini, thinking, Are you sure you want to do this?

  She looked up at him and smiled with her beautiful glowing smile. “I can smell a Burger King from a mile away.”

  Chapter 7 – Mixing with the Wealthy

  They walked back
out to the car.

  “Gins, tomorrow the football party is at Ms. Quinley’s house. It’s the early game. Are we going?”

  “Ms. Quinley? Do I know her?”

  “She lives in one of the large brownstones on the corner facing Spruce Street. All those mansions, old money.”

  “I guess that would be fun.”

  Ric slid in behind the steering wheel. “She has been coming to the football parties for the last couple of years. We didn’t know her and her husband until he became ill a few years back. They walked down our block daily; he was using a cane. Then he went to a walker and finally a wheelchair.”

  “Oh, that’s sad.”

  “After he had died, she was out in her side yard one day, and the water was spraying everywhere. David saw her and went to help. The pipe had broken, and he fixed it for her. He became her friend forever.”

  “David’s a bit strange, but a nice guy, I think,” Gini said.

  “He is.” Ric winked. “One weekend he invited her to the football game party at their house. She came dressed in a nice dress with jewelry, high heels, and her purse. We were all on our best behavior, but you know how it is when the score is close. At moments, we were a bit rowdy. When it was over, she stood up and said, ‘Thank you for inviting me. I had a good time.’ She was so serious. We thought we had made fools of ourselves. Then she turned and said, ‘David, you must come to my home and teach me this game of football. I want to know all the rules, the scoring, and the object of why these men make a point of knocking the other one down.’”

  Gini looked at him. “Seriously?”

  “Oh, she was very serious. So David taught her the game. She came every week after that until the end of the season. Eventually, she dressed down, to a nice pantsuit, but never lost the jewelry or the purse.

  “Her house is so beautiful. It has been in the family for generations. It was never cut up into little condos as so many were. You’ll enjoy seeing it.”

  “I love those beautiful old homes, so much history.” Gini settled deep into the warm seat.

  Sunday was a dark, cloudy day. Ric and Gini walked from his house to Ms. Quinley’s. When Ric went to pick her up, he saw she had set out some dip and chips, and she had made her favorite recipe, dark chocolate cookies with chocolate chips and walnuts. He informed her there would be plenty of food at the mansion, but after she tried to hide her disappointment, he said the cookies would be good to take. They walked up to the big double doors and rang the bell.

  An older woman in a maid’s uniform answered. “Mr. Santini, please come in. Let me take your coats.”

  “Eleanor, this is my friend Gini.”

  “Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Eleanor said, making a slight curtsy.

  A sweeping imperial staircase caught Gini’s eye, its two branches encircling the large foyer.

  Eleanor motioned with her right hand. “Please, the group is up in the entertainment room. You know where it is, Mr. Santini?”

  “I do. Gini made some cookies.” He handed them to the maid.

  “I’ll add them to the dessert assortment.”

  Gini was in complete awe of the entrance and didn’t absorb any of the conversation between Ric and Eleanor.

  At the top of the stairs on the left-hand side was a long wide room. Inside were a large screen TV, couches, chairs, and a walk-in bar at one end. A couple of tables were near the bar with many fancy hors d’oeuvres set out. Gini laughed at herself, thinking how embarrassed she would have been setting her dip and chips on such a beautiful table. She was glad Ric had saved her. His polite and refined demeanor—his superb mastery of social graces—made him even more attractive than his good looks.

  “Hey, guys, come on in,” Markus said as they entered.

  The room was full of neighbors Gini had come to know.

  David took the opportunity to give her a bad time after she ordered a light beer on ice. She was getting used to his humor and rather enjoyed his attention.

  The game was just getting started, and everyone gathered around the TV. A stately woman entered the room with a distinguished gentleman, his arm lightly draped around her shoulder.

  “Oh good, Charles, the game’s just starting,” Ms. Quinley said.

  They were about the same height. She was tall, slim and square-shouldered. Older, but attractive and well dressed. Gini guessed this was their hostess. Somehow she looked familiar.

  “Ric,” Ms. Quinley said, walking toward them. “You snuck in without me seeing you. Welcome.”

  “Hello, Ms. Quinley, Mr. Schmitt.” Ric leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, and shook his hand.

  “This is my friend, Gini Anderson.”

  “Ms. Virginia Anderson, I’m glad you could come today.”

  “Thank you.” Gini realized she had met her before.

  “You know Gini?” Ric asked.

  “She and Ms. White were gracious enough to come and speak at our women’s auxiliary group.”

  There was a loud cheer when the Patriots took off with the ball. The four walked farther in and joined the others.

  At the end of the quarter, Gini and Ric refreshed their drinks and went to the food table.

  “This is such a beautiful place,” Gini said, looking all around. “It’s so big.”

  “Dear,” Ms. Quinley said from behind them. “If you want to stay a few minutes after the others leave I will be glad to show you the rest of the house.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I would like that very much.”

  Gini had dressed a little nicer than for the other games, but she still wore her hair in the high ponytail. It had become her signature football party hairdo. She found it kind of ironic to be watching a game in such a luxurious place.

  Gini couldn’t help but see the compassion in Mr. Schmitt’s eyes for Ms. Quinley—his arm around her or holding her hand. It was the way Franco had looked at and touched Gini; with him next to her, she had always felt she was in a safe place. Emotion filled her mind. Gini knew Franco would never let anything happen to her. As the game went on, Gini became envious of Ms. Quinley and Mr. Schmitt’s relationship. Several times she almost snuggled up close to Ric, but each time caught herself, knowing she mustn’t. He wasn’t her husband; Franco was, and he loved her… or did he? She had loved him all her life. How was it she now felt she didn’t know Franco at all?

  The Patriots ran a kickoff back, scored and took the lead. “Hot dog!” Ms. Quinley said jubilantly as she stood up. “That’s the way to play, right, David?”

  “Right,” he said proudly.

  At the half, the two tables that had the hors d’oeuvres were now set for dinner. After they ate, a few lingered over coffee, then one by one filtered back into the seating area around the TV.

  Ric noticed that Gini’s interaction with the game wasn’t as intense as before. At the beginning, she had been bouncing around on the couch and cheering, but as time went on, the cheers had diminished, and a somber emotion emerged. He wanted to hug her to him and ease her sadness… no, he couldn’t; he was her friend and only a friend. She would confide in him if she wanted him to know, if she wanted help. He had to wait for her move.

  He looked around the room at his neighbors. Every single one of them had a partner, someone to share the fun of the party, the ups and downs of life. How he missed that—the love he had shared with Margarita. For a moment, he was caught in the same melancholy Gini was, remembering the early days of his marriage, the dreams talked about late into the night, the familiar warmth of Riti’s body, all of it knit into a confidence that he was with his life partner, no matter what.

  And then she left him.

  But he’d been down that road and knew it led nowhere good. The past was over. He had a good life, and it would get better.

  The end of the third quarter, everyone once again walked back to the bar area. The two tables now had a spread of desserts. Gini’s cookies were arranged on a beautiful crystal serving plate.

  Ms. Quinley was very fond of the c
ookies Gini had brought and asked for the recipe.

  “And the DC lady can cook,” David blurted out. “A woman of many talents.”

  Gini could feel the heat going into her face. She was sure she was bright red, and she wanted to crawl away but smiled graciously. Thankfully, the game restarted and everyone went back to watch it.

  Gini had lost all interest in football; she was fixated on Mr. Schmitt’s affection toward Ms. Quinley.

  At one point, Ric put his hand on her shoulder with concern. “Everything okay?”

  She sat forward on the couch. “Yes… I hate the Patriots are losing.”

  After the game, little by little, the neighbors left.

  “Ms. Anderson, are you ready for the tour?” Ms. Quinley asked.

  “Elaina, Ric and I will meet you two ladies down in the living room for an aperitif when you are done,” Charles said.

  As the two women walked out the double doors, Ms. Quinley directed them with her hand.

  “To the right.” She pointed down the hall past the large room. “There are four guest bedrooms and two full baths to share.”

  Ms. Quinley led Gini through the whole house, showing each room and telling her about the rich history of her late husband.

  “My husband’s great-grandfather was a well-known glass blower.” She pointed to two tall handblown gas lamps sitting on the mantel.

  “He was known for his art. His pieces sold for top dollar back in his day. That’s his portrait above the fireplace.” She raised her eyes to the picture. “In the 1850s, the bay was filled in, and many homes were being built in Back Bay. That was when he expanded his business into window glass. He commissioned this house to be built after he amassed his fortune in the late 1870s.”

  Gini noticed two panes in the windows were purple.

  In the mid-1800s, many of the brownstones built on Beacon Hill and in the Back Bay had ordered their window glass from France. The glass was crystal clear when it had been installed. But after being exposed to the sun over the months, the glass had started to turn purple—lavender. The homeowners weren’t happy about the purple tint. The phenomenon was due to excess manganese oxide in the glass. Some later had equated the color with royalty. It’s a part of Boston history still told today.