‘There’s more to it, isn’t there?’ Tizzy said. ‘You’re staring at that woman like you’re a pointer dog who just spotted a fallen bird.

  ‘I didn’t realize it was that obvious,’ I said, realizing my gaze had gone back to the woman from my appointment that wasn’t. ‘It has to do with a client. Too bad you don’t know who she is,’ I said.

  ‘I could probably find out,’ Tizzy said, checking out the crowd as she considered her plan of action.

  ‘The artwork is out of our price range and dinner awaits. Let’s go,’ Theo said, coming up behind us and slipping an arm through each of ours. Tizzy looked at me with a question in her eye.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘Theo’s right. Let’s go.’

  ‘I hope you don’t mind walking,’ Theo said to me as we exited the building. He said something about it wasn’t cost-effective to have to park twice. It was fine with me as it gave us a chance to check out State Street. Now that so many people were living downtown, the stores stayed open late every night and there was a lively atmosphere. Some street musicians were still on the street corners. Theo kept it interesting by adding background information on everything from the permits the street musicians had to have to how State Street had changed over time.

  ‘Don’t mind him,’ Tizzy said, leaning into me.

  Theo is fascinated by how everything fits together and works, but that’s the life of an English Literature professor with an insatiable curiosity. When we got to the former Carson Pirie Scott store, Theo had to stop to admire the metalwork on the entryway and go on about how Louis Sullivan had designed the building. The department store had closed a number of years ago and been replaced by a two-story Target store.

  ‘As long as we’re here, let’s go in,’ Theo said, opening the door for us.

  Tizzy looked at me with a question in her eye. ‘Do you mind? I could pick up a few things.’

  ‘I could too,’ I said as we all went inside. Target was a bright and cheerful general merchandise store, kind of a toned-down version of the department stores that used to line State Street. And they had something the department stores never had – shopping carts.

  ‘That’s why he wanted to come in here,’ Tizzy said, pointing to Theo, who was pushing a red shopping cart toward the escalators. ‘He just loves the way they have a cart escalator.’ He pushed the cart onto the moving belt and then rode the regular escalator beside it. A moment later he and his cart were on the way back down. I’m assuming he kept repeating it while the two of us did our shopping.

  ‘That was fun,’ he said. He added his opinion that having shopping carts was a subtle way to make people buy more. ‘It’s human nature to want to fill up available space.’ As we continued on our way, he described his take on the reception. ‘I don’t know if you noticed, but not everything of Michael Angel’s was so pricey. There were prints of some landscapes with random nudes that were almost something I might have considered if I’d liked them. They seemed,’ he hesitated while he thought of a word, ‘nothing special.’

  ‘I didn’t even notice them,’ I said, remembering my trip through the gallery. ‘But I loved the Scotty pictures.’ I pulled out the postcard to show them. ‘This was all my budget would cover,’ I said with a laugh.

  ‘And the prices will probably escalate if he wins that national prize. It comes with a nice cash award, too. No matter that he said all that humble stuff, I think he expects to win,’ Theo said as we continued down the street.

  ‘At last,’ Tizzy said when we turned on to Adams Street and the Berghoff came into view. ‘I forgot you were a vegetarian when we decided on the Berghoff. It seems like German meat is their specialty.’ She sounded apologetic and asked if it was OK with me. The restaurant was 128 years old and served German fare and lots of beer. Tizzy was interested in the place for her time-travel book and Theo just liked the food.

  I assured her it was fine. It was never my way to make a point about what I ate or didn’t. I always worked it out without making a fuss. It had gotten a lot easier lately as it seemed to have become stylish to be a vegan or vegetarian, and plant-based protein was all the rage.

  Tizzy looked around the wood-paneled dining room of the restaurant as we walked in and sighed with pleasure. ‘They haven’t changed a thing. I bet this place looks about the same as the day they opened.’

  It was busy and noisy and the décor did have an old-time feeling to it. The tables were close together and the service best described as brusque, which was supposed to be part of the appeal. Theo and Tizzy ordered Sauerbraten and braised oxtail to share. I chose a newer addition to the menu of a grilled portobello panini with spätzle on the side. They got steins of the special beer, while I stuck with the house-made root beer.

  Theo had more to say about the reception while we ate. ‘You know that artist, Michael Angel, lives in Hyde Park. And, by the way, Michael Angel is his painting name. His real name is Michael Wolinski,’ he said. ‘But he signs his work with unintelligible initials anyway.’

  ‘Do you know anything about those two women who were with him?’ I asked as the server dropped off our food.

  He shrugged. ‘One of them was probably his wife.’ He looked at the plates piled high with food. ‘We can talk about them later. For now, let’s enjoy the feast.’

  When it got to dessert, we shared apple strudel with ice cream, and were all glad for the walk back to the garage where Theo had left the car after the big meal.

  They dropped me in front of my building and I thanked them for the fun time. I wanted to thank them for something else, too. I hadn’t looked at my phone once to see if Ben had texted me.

  FOUR

  I’d barely gotten into my place and kicked off my shoes when there was a knock at the door. Sara came upstairs requesting a cup of sugar or something like apple cider vinegar practically daily. It was usually just an excuse to leave Mikey with her husband for a while and get some adult conversation. Though sometimes she did actually need the ingredients.

  She was holding a measuring cup when I opened the door, but if she actually needed something she forgot and just said she had news. She noticed I was more dressed up than usual and had that glow people get when they’ve been out somewhere and had a good time.

  ‘Were you on a date?’ she asked, sounding uneasy.

  ‘No, unless you call going out with Tizzy and her husband a date,’ I said. My neighbor’s face relaxed as she took it to mean I was still available for her brother. She had told me that one of the reasons she kept trying to push us together was that in her ideal life I would be her sister-in-law. I could understand her feeling. My parents had both been only children, and whatever cousins or relatives they’d had had never been part of my life, so I was open to any connections I could get. I hoped I could sell her on the idea that we could be like sisters without really being family.

  She went into the living room and sat down fidgeting with the measuring cup. ‘How about some cooking wine?’ I said, and she nodded an enthusiastic yes. I called it cooking wine because that was how I used it, but since it had become a drink of choice when anybody came over, I’d started buying a good-quality merlot.

  I wasn’t sure if she’d come up for a change of scene or because she knew something about Ben. I was really curious about him, but didn’t want to let on how much. If I’d been hesitant to let her know that Ben and I had been on some actual dates before, I really didn’t want her to know about that now, as I was sure it would make her more likely to interfere. One truth about me was that I didn’t want somebody who didn’t want me. The last thing I wanted was a third party to get in the middle of it and try to patch it up. I would have preferred more of an explanation than him saying that he couldn’t do this, whatever ‘this’ was, before rushing out the door. But I would let it be.

  She took a couple of sips of wine and set the glass down, letting out an unhappy sigh. ‘I called Ben,’ she said. ‘I tried to make it just like a normal call to see how he was doing. He kept saying he was fine and asking if you’d said something. I started to say you hadn’t, but I’m a terrible liar. I repeated all the good stuff you’d said about his writing and how far he’d come. I said you were concerned he was going to quit the group and hoped he wouldn’t.’

  ‘What did he say?’ I asked.

  ‘He was quiet for a long time and I asked him if it was something about work. He always gets annoyed when I ask him anything about being a cop. He usually snaps at me and says he doesn’t want to talk about it. This time he didn’t get angry. All he said was “sure, that’s what it is” and changed the subject. I would have expected better of him. He should have realized I’d see right through that and know he wasn’t telling me the truth.’ She shrugged. ‘He finally said he would try to keep coming to the group, but he wasn’t doing the food delivery anymore. He tried to hide it, but he sounded miserable.’

  She drank some more of the wine. ‘I know he’s being difficult, but I hope you can give him some slack. No matter what he said, or didn’t say, something’s bothering him.’ She was being serious now and it didn’t seem to be about matchmaking.

  ‘Everyone in the group is difficult, except Tizzy, and even she has her moments. I want him to stay in the group. You can tell him that.’

  She seemed relieved at my attitude and asked about our evening. It was fun having someone to tell about everything.

  When she left, it was too late to go to my computer. I’d found that working late left me too wide awake and it was hard to fall asleep. I was already keyed up from the evening out and Sara’s visit and needed to wind down.

  Rocky had come in and curled up on the couch beside me. And once again, I thought of how glad I was to have adopted the big black-and-white cat. He was my first ever pet and I’d had a stereotypical view of cats. I had always thought that they were aloof and kept their distance, but he was all about the cuddles. He slept wound around my head or nestled next to me and he usually settled next to me when I sat on the couch.

  He was an older cat and his chances of getting adopted had been pretty close to nothing. In addition to my paid work, I did some pro bono work. I called it that even though it was technically meant to refer to legal work for people who couldn’t afford lawyers. Over time the meaning had blurred to cover free work done by any professional. The recipient was a downtown pet store that brought in animals from shelters and made them available for adoption. My job was to write up personality pieces that would make someone want to take them home. In Rocky’s case, that person had been me. I’d like to think it was my high-quality writing skills that brought me to tears, but it was really just his story. For some unknown reason, his owners, who’d had him for years, had coldly dropped him off at a shelter. I’d heard that cats chose their humans and it seemed as if he’d picked me. As I went to leave the pet shop the day I met him, he stared at me with big eyes and held out his paw as if to say ‘take me with you, please.’

  I teared up just thinking back on it. I gave him a hug and reminded him that this was his home forever before going back to the kitchen and making myself a cup of chamomile tea. I took it into the living room and pulled out the square I’d been working on. With Ben clearly gone I was back to being a single woman with a cat who calmed her fragile nerves by drinking herbal tea and crocheting.

  I cheered myself by remembering that at least I had another chance with the memoir client. I really, really wanted that gig more than ever now.

  FIVE

  After the visit from Sara, I felt even more convinced that Ben had broken things off with me, but I also believed there was a reason. Something had happened. It was frustrating not knowing what it was. I really wanted an explanation, but there was no way to make him tell me. For a moment, I thought of sending one of the kind of notes I was writing for Caleb along with a box of cookies or something. But what was I going to say? Please oh please tell me the backstory of why you decided we’re done. I understood now why people were always talking about needing closure. I was going to have to let it go and act the way I’d said I would when he came to the group. Act like everything was fine.

  There was still time before my meeting with my memoir client. I hated to even think it, but what if she stood me up again? I didn’t know anything about her. I stopped myself from rehearsing what I would say. When, and if, I was face to face with her, I’d just let whatever was supposed to happen, happen. What good had it been for me to be so nervous the first time? I blew out my breath and simply put it out of my mind.

  I opened the Derek Streeter Book 2 folder and clicked on the file marked manuscript. I wondered what my character would have to say about my situation with Ben. Out of nowhere I heard Derek start talking in a Humphrey Bogart voice. Dames are just a diversion. Better to be a lone wolf, than one with a foot in a trap. Ewww, really? I stopped writing, unhappy with what Derek was saying. I erased the line and told Derek he needed to come up with something better.

  At last, it was time to go. I checked the messenger bag to be sure I had everything and then tucked in some more of the love notes I’d created for Caleb. I’d gotten a frantic call from him and was set to see him after hopefully meeting the memoir client. If I was looking for omens, it didn’t look promising. A light rain was falling and the sky was a dull yellowish-gray.

  The cool air made me glad I’d worn a jacket and I opened my umbrella as I stepped onto the sidewalk. The coffee shop looked like a port in the storm on the drizzly day. The weather didn’t stop the students from their jogging. A group of them went by in matching maroon T-shirts like a herd of gazelles. They looked so young to me now.

  A sudden thought hit me: if they noticed me at all, they probably thought I was old. Not that being in your late early thirties was old. It seemed like the time when you started to know who you were. In my case, a long-ago-divorced orphan. I considered if that sounded any better than the singleton with a cat. The marriage had been so short that it almost seemed like it wasn’t. The orphan part was true. Both my parents were dead, but I was an adult and I wondered at what age the term orphan no longer applied.

  This time I went directly to the house. I marched up the stairs with calm determination, my blue messenger bag loaded with samples of my work. I was ready for anything.

  I punched the bell and when no one answered immediately thought it was a repeat of before. I felt a pang of anger starting to rise, but then I heard noise coming from inside. The inner door opened and a moment later the outer one did the same.

  A woman wearing jeans and a worried expression looked out at me and then glanced up and down the street with a nervous gesture. ‘Veronica?’ she said in a tense tone. As soon as I nodded in acknowledgment, she waved me inside. We only got as far as the entrance hall before she stopped short. I noticed a couple of chairs in an alcove to the side of the door, but she didn’t offer me a seat.

  ‘And you are Maeve Winslow?’ I asked. ‘I just want to make sure after last time.’ I smiled, trying to soften the moment.

  She responded with a sharp nod of her head and stayed anchored to her spot. It seemed a little odd to do our meeting standing up, but she was the client. It was almost funny the way we both looked each other over.

  I guessed she was older than me but not by that much. The burnt orange poet’s blouse contrasted nicely with her shoulder-length brown hair. The jeans looked comfortable rather than high fashion. She was cute more than pretty, and there was a hint of dimples in her cheeks which probably blossomed when she smiled. I waited to see how she wanted to handle our meeting.

  ‘What did you tell the person you spoke with when you came here before?’ she asked, sounding uneasy. The question caught me off guard. I was expecting her to be more interested in seeing samples of my work, and for us to talk about her project. I had to take a moment to think back to the encounter with the unpleasant nameless woman. Since I had no idea of their relationship, it seemed best to say as little as possible.

  ‘I said I had an appointment with you,’ I said, waiting to see how she would respond.

  ‘Did you say what it was about?’ Her brow furrowed and any hint of the dimples disappeared. I suddenly wondered if she’d had me come over just to discuss what happened the other day.

  ‘I probably said it was about a writing project.’

  ‘Did you tell her what exactly it was?’ she asked. I decided to go with the truth, or most of it.

  ‘Honestly, I don’t remember if I gave her any details.’ I left it at that, not mentioning that I did remember feeling I had to satisfy the woman so she would pass along the message that I’d been there. There had been some other disparaging comments about Maeve that I recalled more by the tone of them than the content. I wasn’t about to go into that.

  In an effort to move on, I opened the blue messenger bag and pulled out a binder.

  ‘These are some samples of my work,’ I said, holding it out to her, but she shook her head.

  ‘Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself first,’ she said.

  I had some basic information on my website, but it was really about my writing experience rather than anything personal. If someone was hiring me to write a bio or some promotional copy, did they really care where I grew up or what my hobby was? She sensed me hesitating.

  ‘The job will require us to spend a lot of time together,’ she said by way of an explanation. ‘Will our personalities jibe?’

  I would have preferred to do this sitting, but she made no move to another room, so there was no choice but to do the best I could in this awkward situation. ‘I grew up in the neighborhood and I live nearby.’ I waved my arm in the vague direction of my place. I gave her a rundown of the schools I’d attended and told her that my father had been an English professor at the university. I didn’t know how personal I should go and finally added that I was single, was a vegetarian, and liked to crochet. ‘Just in case eating meat is involved,’ I said, trying to make it sound like a joke.