44 Charles Street

“It’s mean. She’s a wonderful woman, and she’s nice to you. We’re her friends. Why would you say something like that about her?” He had called Eileen a dummy, repeatedly, which she certainly wasn’t, except maybe about him. And he hadn’t said it affectionately.

Francesca and Brad had an encounter at the coffeepot a few minutes afterward, when he grabbed it away from her, still angry about what she had said to him. He felt humiliated. And a little bit of the hot coffee splashed onto Francesca’s hand, which he had intended. She gave a sharp shout as it burned her, and gave the coffeepot up to him.

“Oh, did it burn you?” he asked sarcastically with a grin. “Sorry, dear,” he said as he poured it into a cup and started back to the table, and walked right into Chris, who stood looking at him with murder in his eyes.

“Don’t ever do anything like that again. Don’t even think about it,” Chris said to him. “This is a family. We stick up for each other, and you’re lucky to be here. So you’d better be nice to everybody while you’re here, and that includes Eileen. Got that, mister?” Francesca was stunned when she saw the look that passed between the two men. Chris was shaking with anger, and Brad took one look at him, threw his napkin down, and stormed out of the kitchen. Eileen stayed just long enough to apologize to everyone, and then ran after him. They could hear him shouting at her at the front door, and a moment later his motorcycle roared off.

“I don’t like that guy,” Chris said through clenched teeth. “He’s dangerous. I don’t know what she’s doing with a guy like that.” No one did, but he was sexy and she was young, and so was he. The bad-boy syndrome. Maybe she was going out with him just because she could, and she figured she could handle it. Francesca was thinking about asking her not to bring him to the house again, but it was Eileen’s home too. She wondered if Chris’s outburst might keep him in line, or maybe he wouldn’t want to come back either. She was touched by what Chris had said, and she loved the family feeling they now shared.

Francesca started dating someone too that month. She had only been out with him three times, and he seemed nice enough, although she wasn’t in love with him. But he was nice to go out with.

He was an artist, but not one she represented. She had a good time with him, although she wasn’t serious about him. He had very left-wing ideas, and he thought her father was a sellout for becoming successful and charging big prices. He thought artists should do their work for the people, which was a little too out there for her. But he was intelligent and fun, and slightly irresponsible. In some ways he reminded her a little of her father when he was younger. He had something of his looks and charm, and he was a little vague the way her father had been in his youth. There was something very familiar about him. She knew the type, although she didn’t have Avery’s patience with it. She had no desire to reform him. Dinner with him was enough. More than that would have been too much. But he was really the first person she had dated since Todd. It was good practice, but she knew she’d never be serious about him. He made her laugh, which was nice, and feel like a woman again, which wasn’t bad either. But she had no chemistry for him whatsoever. He was naïve and unrealistic and seemed like a child to her. She didn’t want to date a boy, she wanted to go out with a man, if she took that step again with anyone. She knew the type, a lot of the artists she knew and represented acted like children. She didn’t want to mother him.

The day after Chris’s run-in with Eileen’s new boyfriend in the kitchen, Marya was going to try out a new recipe on them. They had all promised to be home for dinner, and they were looking forward to it. And just before they sat down, Eileen called Francesca on her cell phone and said she had a terrible cold and a fever. She hadn’t come down that day at all, and Marya was concerned.

“Poor thing, I’ll send up some soup,” Marya said. She put together a nice tray for her, which Francesca carried up to her room. She knocked on the door and was surprised to find it locked, and Eileen wouldn’t let her in.

“Marya made you some food,” Francesca explained through the door, and Eileen said she was too sick to eat. “I can’t take it back downstairs, it’ll hurt her feelings,” Francesca said through the locked door.

“Just leave it outside,” Eileen said from the distance. “I don’t want to make you sick.”

“You won’t. I’m as healthy as a horse.” But Eileen still wouldn’t open it. “Hey … are you okay?” Francesca persisted. “You’re worrying me. Let me in. I’ve got some Tylenol for you too, for the fever.”

“Just leave it outside on the tray. I’ll get it in a minute.” Francesca could hear that she was crying, and she was panicked.