Amanda_A Contemporary Retelling of Emma Page 5

  Glancing at the cell’s screen, Nate’s assumption was proved correct. After the usual pleasantries, Gordon got to the point.

  “Bev and I are planning a trip to Highland in early November. Bev was wanting to get away with Amanda and do some Christmas shopping. She’s talking about leaving us with all four kids while she and Amanda shop. Then we’re supposed to find some brave baby-sitter and take Amanda and Bev out to dinner. As far as I’m concerned,” Gordon continued in an elevated tone, “these Priebe women act like they own the world since they’ve toured it.”

  A suspicious giggle tottered over the line as Gordon fell silent.

  Oh, brother, Nate thought and looked toward the ceiling.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Gordon’s yelp was followed by a full-fledged female laugh that resembled Amanda’s. “Get away from me, you wild woman!”

  Nate grimaced and pulled the phone from his ear. The last thing he needed was being privy to his brother’s marital celebration. He’d watched those two flirt for fifteen years. The way they acted, their marriage grew more fun every day.

  I’m glad somebody’s got a good marriage! Nate dropped into the rolling chair and the wheels whispered against the mat beneath them.

  “So what do you say?” Gordon said through a thick chuckle.

  Nate jabbed his fingers against his forehead. “Has Amanda already agreed to this?”

  “Agreed to it?” Gordon laughed. “The whole thing was her idea! By last Wednesday, she and Bev had everything arranged—right down to what they’re going to wear. I told Bev last night we ought to call you just to make sure you’ve got it on your calendar.”

  “That figures,” Nate grumbled. “She never even bothered to tell me.”

  “What?”

  “I said it figures.” He placed his elbow on the desk, rested his face in his hand, and stared at the neat pile of bills on the shelf underneath the computer screen.

  “What’s the matter? Did you have a bad night or something?” Gordon asked.

  “You could say that,” Nate replied and wondered if it was even possible to avoid Amanda when his brother was married to her sister.

  Five

  Within two weeks, Amanda could not have been more pleased. In Roger’s absence and Mason’s presence, Haley had blossomed. While Haley had not relinquished all reticence, she was at least learning how to re-create her new look. She was also walking with the assurance and grace of a woman who knows who she is. In all the years Amanda had known Haley, she had never acted so much like she belonged . . . really belonged. It was as if the orphan was fading away and the assured woman was finally budding forth. Mason had been so good for her.

  In the last two weeks, Haley had decided to skip the church she and Roger attended and go to services with Amanda. Every service Amanda made certain Mason spent ample time talking with Haley. Amanda had also invited Mason and Haley to her home four times. The three played board games, ate together, and chatted with her father. They’d also landed at Haley’s place five times for Amanda to work on the portrait, which was now complete.

  “The plan is working,” Amanda mumbled under her breath as she bent to retrieve a disposable cup. She placed the cup under the cooler’s water spout and pressed the lever that released a flow of cold water.

  “Good morning, Miss Amanda!” Betty Cates’s merry voice accompanied the crash and rumble of a mop bucket.

  Amanda turned to face the scrawny housekeeper who serviced Wood-Priebe International Travel as well as her father’s home and Nate’s beach house.

  “Good morning, Betty,” Amanda called.

  The housekeeper wrestled the industrial-sized mop bucket down the hallway and shoved at the thick glasses that magnified her soft brown eyes. “I told that woman at the bank this morning my arthritis was acting up so I knew it was going to rain today. But did she believe me? No!”

  Betty stopped and studied Amanda. At this closer vantage, Amanda detected a fine mist frosting the hairnet harnessing Betty’s scraggly, gray curls.

  The housekeeper’s gaze shifted to Amanda’s neck and the irritation diminished. “Love your jewelry,” Betty said.

  Amanda touched the thick strand of red glass beads Nate bought for her last year in Paris. Before she could express her thanks, Betty resumed her ranting.

  “She said it was too sunny to rain. I told her that didn’t matter; I felt it in my bones. ’Specially my backbone.” She rubbed at her lower back. “And there you are.” She gestured toward the front of the travel agency. A low rumble of thunder supported her claims.

  “When it comes to weather, you’re usually right, Betty.” Amanda smiled and sipped the cold water.

  “That’s what I told that clerk. But she persisted in arguing. I’ve never met such a stubborn person. . . . She’s new,” Betty said wrinkling her nose. Like a captain steering his ship, she passed Amanda and rolled the aluminum mop bucket down the hallway. The weak aroma of arthritis rub wafted in her wake.

  “I don’t think she’ll last long unless somebody tells her you don’t argue with customers,” Betty continued. “I’ve got to remember to buy some Swiss cheese at the market,” she added, and bent to scratch at her shin. One leg of her slacks was caught in her knee-high stocking, which was marred with holes.

  Amanda tuned out Betty and began a mental list of the things she needed to do this morning. Hiring the tour guide for the group of Canadian retirees who arrived next week topped her list. She calculated where the tour guide’s number was in the mile-high mix on her desk, and drank the rest of her cold water. The liquid left an icy path down her throat and sent a short-lived ache between her eyes.

  “And another thing,” Betty added and paused, “that Nate Knighton has started doing some strange things.”

  Amanda sputtered, coughed, and lowered the disposable cup. A spray of water showered her black jacket and trickled down the front of her matching slacks. Amanda hacked over the moisture lodged in her throat, stroked at the droplets on her clothing, and honed her focus on Betty.

  “When I say strange, I mean strange.” Betty nodded and picked at the front of her floral smock.

  “Oh, really?” Amanda queried and stopped herself from stepping forward. No sense appearing too interested.

  Amanda hadn’t heard one word from Nate in two weeks—except one terse email stating he wouldn’t be able to make lunch for a while. He hadn’t even bothered to call and end their lunches. He’d just sent that one-line email. The thing was so frigid it nearly froze her in-box. At the end of last week, she finally realized the man was purposefully avoiding her. Amanda wadded the paper cup into a tight ball.

  “He’s turning into a slob, I guess. That’s the best I can decide.” Betty dug her hand into her smock’s pocket.

  “A slob?” Amanda wheezed and tried to imagine Nate in such a mode. The man was the personification of organization.

  “Yes.” Betty nodded. “Last week I found all sorts of things crammed in his hall closet. She lifted her hand out of her pocket. “Well, would you look at that!” Betty exclaimed. “I’ve been looking for that pen for a week. And there it was all the time.” She pulled open her pocket and peered inside.

  Amanda stepped forward. “Exactly what was in his closet?” she queried and knotted her fingers.

  “You should have seen what fell out at me when I opened the door to hang up the leather jacket I found in the linen closet—the linen closet, mind you!” She extended her arm as if she were a Sunday-morning preacher on a tear. “Can you believe he’d shove something that nice under a stack of sheets in the linen closet?” Betty blinked.

  “No,” Amanda rasped and pressed her thumb against the crumpled cup. The paper wad bit into her palm. She’d bought Nate a leather jacket the year before last for his thirty-third birthday. He said it was his best present that year.

  “Did it have a lamb’s wool—”

  “And you wouldn’t believe what else I found in the closet even if I told you,” Betty continued.
Then she touched her temple and stared into space. “I’ve also got to remember to buy some mutton,” she said and turned back to her bucket. “I’m going to do the floors in the kitchen and bathrooms as usual. Let me know if there’s anything extra you want me to do, Miss. Otherwise, I’ll just clean as usual.”

  “Uh, Betty . . .” Amanda tossed the crumpled cup into the lined trash can and hustled toward the retreating housekeeper. She put her hand on Betty’s shoulder and hid her aching curiosity behind a mask of concern.

  “You mentioned something falling out on you in the hall closet. Did you get hurt?”

  “Nearly! A crystal candy dish the size of—” she extended her hands to the dimensions of a large saucer—“fell out and almost hit me smack on the noggin. I knocked my glasses off just trying to get out of the way.” She adjusted the wire-rimmed glasses. “And it’s a good thing I moved quick because a basketball fell out next. Landed on my foot.”

  “The basketball,” Amanda said, her throat tightening. “Was it autographed?”

  “Who knows!” Betty said. “I was so aggravated I just threw the thing back in.” Her bottom lip protruded. “It’s enough to make a housekeeper quit. I think being a cobra trainer would be less dangerous.”

  “And was the candy dish shaped like a leaf?”

  “I guess,” Betty grumbled and shifted the pen back to her smock pocket. “I was still too disgusted over the broken picture frame. That happened by accident when I tried to put the candy dish on the top shelf. Crack! There the picture was. You know, the one that’s usually in his room?” Betty turned up the hall, paused, and looked back at Amanda. “I think it’s your drawin’.” She jerked her thumb toward the hall wall where four sketches of Nate’s parrot hang.

  “Was the sketch damaged?” Amanda panted.

  “No. Just the frame was broken. One corner had come apart and the glass was chipped. Best I could tell, the crazy man had also rammed a brass clock into it.” Betty shook her head, bent, scratched her shin, and mumbled, “I need to remember to get some body lotion, too. My legs are so dry they look like they’re covered in feathers.” Betty shoved at the mop bucket.

  Amanda crossed her arms, hunched her shoulders, and hovered against the wall.

  The housekeeper stopped her trek and pivoted back to face Amanda. “Don’t forget about Janet coming next week.”

  “Janet?” Amanda raised her brows.

  “Yes, remember? My niece Janet French. I told you last week she’d be here next week.” The housekeeper abandoned her bucket and stepped closer.

  “No, I didn’t remember.” Amanda plucked at the large beads around her neck. That’s all I need right now, she thought and didn’t even bother to deny that being next to the petite Janet French made her feel like a gawking giant.

  “You don’t look so well, Miss Amanda.” Betty stopped a few inches away, placed her hands on her hips, and angled her head to one side.

  At this close range, Amanda realized that Betty’s pearl earrings didn’t match. One was a flat button, the other a cluster of seed pearls. Amanda, in need of some emotional release, nearly laughed out loud.

  “Are you getting ill?” the housekeeper questioned. “Because if you are, I’ve got some—”

  “No. No, that’s fine. Perfectly fine.” All temptation toward humor vanished. Amanda held up both hands and edged down the hallway. The last time Betty tried to cure her of an ailment, the concoction put her in bed with intestine problems for two days.

  “I’m—I’m okay,” Amanda stuttered. “I was just—just thinking. That’s all. Don’t worry.”

  “Good. Because I’d hate for Janet to get sick. You know how much she likes you. I’m sure she’s going to want to see you as much as possible.” Betty raised her index finger for emphasis and ambled back toward her mop bucket, then through the kitchen doorway.

  “Great.” Amanda groaned and covered her eyes. All she could see were images of a dark-eyed Asian beauty with satin hair that flowed down her back and a size-two figure. Amanda struggled to like that woman from the first time she ever saw her. Janet’s pending visit, added to Nate’s odd behavior, was enough to make Amanda plan a trip to Mars.

  Each of Nate’s things Betty mentioned were gifts from Amanda—right down to the basketball autographed by Michael Jordan. Amanda strained for a logical explanation for Nate’s odd behavior. Finally she deduced that he might be romantically involved with someone who was jealous of other women in his life. That would also explain his not having lunch with me, Amanda decided.

  “He’s probably having lunch with her,” she pouted and imagined the imposter looking much like Janet French. After all, Nate had mentioned how pretty Janet was the first time he met her.

  Amanda pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead and slid her fingers into her hair, only to encounter her sunglasses. They had been riding there since she arrived an hour ago. The sunglasses toppled from her head, and Amanda juggled the thick-framed, polka-dotted specimens before finally capturing them.

  She looked at the gaudy glasses and sighed. When she bought them, she and Nate had been investigating the new resort on Tasmania’s northwest coast. Nate playfully told her if she ever wore the fuchsia-and-navy glasses, he’d pretend he didn’t know her. Amanda had immediately put the glasses on and didn’t take them off the rest of the day.

  Her chin quivered. She’d never had an older brother, and Nate was as close as she’d come. Thoughts of losing him to some wife-sort really cramped Amanda’s agenda. If this unnamed Janet look-alike is causing Nate to hide all my gifts, I doubt the woman will tolerate his traveling with me.

  “Well, great, Nate,” she grumbled under her breath and stomped toward her office. “Go ahead, just get married, then, and don’t even ask me! Of all the nerve!”

  Amanda stormed into her office, tossed the polka-dotted sunglasses onto the window ledge, and attacked the mountain of papers on her desk. Layers of paid bills, old grocery lists, and a sprinkle of receipts had slid to the floor by the time Amanda got to the “Noah level.” And that’s where she found the business card of the new Tasmanian tour group.

  Refusing to think of Nate and the dreadful things he was doing to her gifts, Amanda reached for the telephone and prepared to take care of business. She had the receiver halfway to her ear when a gasp from across the office stopped her. She looked up.

  Haley stood in the doorway that connected the two offices. Even the rose blusher couldn’t camouflage her ashen complexion. She gripped a piece of paper and observed Amanda like a child who lost her mother in the market.

  “You’ve—you’ve got a terrible mess,” Haley stammered and glanced from the desk to the paper-covered floor and back to the desk.

  “So I do,” Amanda replied, “but I found it!” She held up the business card. “This is the phone number for Tasmanian Tours—that new group I was telling you about a couple of months ago.”

  “Why didn’t you just call information and save yourself the headache?” Haley walked closer, and Amanda noticed her thick-soled shoes. The atrocities looked like something Betty Cates would reject and did nothing for the secretary’s new classy pantsuit.

  She stopped herself from blurting an admonishment and decided to just answer Haley’s question. “It wouldn’t have been the same,” Amanda explained and kicked off the spike heels that would have made Marilyn Monroe wince. “I knew I had the card, and I wanted to find it. It would have driven me crazy for weeks just knowing I lost it.”

  “Oh,” Haley replied, her eyes narrowing, “I see . . . I guess,” she added and focused on the paper in her hands. Her pallid face tensed.

  “What’s the problem?” Amanda asked. Fully expecting some issue with the business, Amanda imagined all sorts of catastrophes. A fire in the Woltongong office. Flooding in the Newcastle branch. Her churning mind stopped just short of a space alien invasion.

  “Here!” Haley shoved the message into Amanda’s hands and stumbled toward the overstuffed love seat.

&n
bsp; Amanda glanced at the email printout and immediately dismissed any professional disaster. The note was from Roger Miller. Amanda looked back at Haley, who was hunched forward with her face in her hands.

  “What am I going to do?” Haley begged.

  “Uh . . .” Amanda read the brief email and tried to absorb every detail as swiftly as possible:

  Dear Haley,

  I’m back on the farm. The trip was very profitable. Father and I have ordered some new equipment. It was all very expensive, but we hope it will be worth the investment.

  But that’s not the reason I’m emailing. I’ve debated a thousand different ways to ask you what I’m about to ask. I don’t know if I’m doing this by email because I’m a coward—too afraid of being rejected in person—or because I just can’t wait another hour.

  Haley, will you marry me?

  Forever yours,

  Roger

  “For Pete’s sake!” Amanda exclaimed. “I can’t believe this!”

  “Neither can I,” Haley moaned.

  Amanda tossed the message onto the middle of her desk. “This is about as romantic as reading the back of a cat food box.”

  “I didn’t even notice that,” Haley rasped. “I was just too overtaken by—”

  “You aren’t actually considering him, are you?” Amanda prompted.

  “Well, I . . .”

  “Oh Haley, Haley, Haley.” Amanda hurried toward her friend and knelt in front of her. She wrapped her fingers around Haley’s unsteady fingers and looked into her rounded eyes.

  “I’d never interfere. You know that,” Amanda insisted.

  “Of course.” Haley nodded. “But I desperately need to know what you think.”

  “I think . . .” Amanda looked past Haley to the collage of photos covering the wall. Each shot was taken at a different place on the globe. Many of them included both Haley and Amanda. The one that held her attention the longest was an eight-by-ten of Amanda, Haley, and Nate. They were sitting at an outdoor café in Paris. Last year, Nate had been traveling to Paris for the grand opening of Knighton’s first European store. Amanda and Haley had decided to plan their trip to Paris to coordinate with Nate’s. He’d bought the red beads she now wore for her at Knighton’s, Paris. The two of them had been the jewelry counter’s first customers.