A Comforting Lie: A Novel - Hardcover

Ashour, Linda Phillips

9780684818344: A Comforting Lie: A Novel

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0684818345 ISBN 13: 9780684818344

Publisher: Simon & Schuster, 1999

Helen Patterson, a lonely single mother who runs an interior design shop, begins a relationship with customer Ray Richards, refusing to recognize the distrust her teenage son feels for him and blind to Ray's aura of potential violence

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About the Author:

Linda Phillips Ashour, author of Speaking in Tongues, Joy Baby, and Sweet Remedy, has been published in The Paris Review, North American Review, and The New York Times Book Review. She teaches writing at UCLA Extension and has been a fellow at Yaddo. She lives in Los Angeles, California.

Chapter One

The week had been nicked by gray mornings and a nasty, uncommon wind. It began teasingly, tossing a straw hat straight into the ocean, leaving a redheaded divorc�e from Atlanta unhappily clutching the guardrail on a narrow dirt path. Hours later, an unsecured parasol flew up from a beach table, knocking over a heat lamp and a low picket fence.

The wind didn't stop there. A Chihuahua, slipping out the doggy door early the next morning, was sucked from the edge of its own yard to the beach below just before the wind began to die down. Puzzled gulls circled the fallen dog as the owner scrambled down the hillside, grabbing a heavy rock to clip a bird that was taking the first hesitant peck.

But Helen Patterson wasn't thinking of those things as she stood at the end of the narrow path. She watched the water skid in and out of the dark blue cove below and resented the rough invitation of the tide, the way it pulled at her wrists and arms. Her true home was here, on a high, protected cliff that no wave could disturb.

Helen had almost filled a large plastic sack with garden debris collected from the elaborate grounds behind her. She turned to cross the lawn, then dropped the heavy sack and cleared away a patch of thistle at the base of a stone fountain. Her cheeks reddened at the sight of the weed. The gardener's carelessness stung more than the slap of cold wind against her face.

She looked up at the gray stone building that housed Alice Nash Design. The two-story structure was a memory in miniature, designed to evoke sweet details of the French ch�teau where Alice and Jack Nash had once honeymooned. High, narrow windows looked out from both levels, and Helen's breathing slowed as she watched a light switch on upstairs. Alice appeared in a second-story window. From where she knelt in the grass, Helen could just see the bright scarf at her neck. Alice settled a client into a plump down chair, offered tea. Another light flipped on at the opposite end of the store.

The new girl was upstairs. The plastic sack bumped heavily against Helen's leg as she trudged up the middle of the walk. She frowned as something sharp poked her. The wind split her hair from the back and she imagined a stiff finger running down the crooked white line of scalp. So much had changed since Alice had taken the new girl on. Before the girl had been hired, Helen could slip away to the pleasing hidden room on the second floor, to the ceiling pitched and perfect with beige and white striped paper, a real fireplace just across from the footed tub. Since Patricia's arrival, the glossy door to that room was likely to be locked.

Helen sighed and pressed the garbage sack into the bin by the side of the building. She walked around to the front, checking the two tightly tended green squares that introduced the shop to the beach community that lay beyond. Lemon trees lined the path that led to the sidewalk. They were planted in plain clay pots that sometimes burst from the pressure of the roots.

Helen felt a thump of excitement inside her chest as she closed her hand over the brass knob at the entrance to the store. She stood for a moment imagining Jack and Alice, the way they must have looked on their approach to the country ch�teau where they would spend their first night together. A first night that would last the rest of their lives. Alice! Clever enough to want things early, right from the beginning of the marriage. Helen peered through the tall window, her breath smoking a round O of delight and desire onto the glass as she guessed how she might have sounded. Jack, I want that so much. Oh, would you? I wonder if we should take this, too. Alice sweeping through shop after Paris shop, making a purchase here, a purchase there with Jack only too happy to oblige.

Helen knew this version of things was imaginary, a comforting lie. She didn't like to think of how things really were. The zoning battles and the outraged cry that, for once, united commercial and residential interests in the sequestered coastal town. This isn't France. If that Nash woman is bound and determined to copy something, she ought to choose something that fits in. Helen knew how Alice toiled, hunting down elusive, one-of-a-kind items, scouted out remote resources, badgered and begged for names and addresses of suppliers. Helen knew Jack had borrowed on everything they owned to launch Alice's business venture and even that wasn't enough. He accepted a partnership in a bigger investment firm when he'd been all too content where he was. The store had succeeded wildly thanks to Alice's hard work and Jack's capital. Even so, Helen clung fast to part of her vision: Alice Nash Design was a honeymoon come true -- a honeymoon of luxury and harmony that had never really ended.

She pushed through the front door into the greenhouse Alice filled with rustic dining tables set formally for ten or twelve. Fruit trees shivered near the windows as Helen firmly closed the door. Candles burned at a wide side table loaded with plants and herbs, racks of vintage wine subtly supporting the whole display. Helen breathed in the sharp, stinging smell of citrus and perfume, then tied a fallen strand of ivy back into place. Ivy wound through the candelabras. Ivy had even twisted its way toward the spiral staircase, startling customers who supposed it was plastic. The waxy green introduction to Alice Nash Design was all too real, slipping and slithering its way to the second floor. Helen nearly tripped over Poor, the sheepdog who snored at the bottom of the stairs. After Alice bought him, the clumsy, indolent dog was stepped on so often that his registered name soon vanished. He became Poor.

Helen made her way upstairs and felt her spirits rise as she climbed. The polished wooden steps led straight into the master bedroom, and she paused there for a moment. How many times had she felt just this way, happy and jarred by the sudden intimacy? An ornate Italian bed stood in its center, claiming most of the space. Aubusson pillows were heaped at the head of the bed, and a satin comforter strewn with worn embroidered flowers lay in the center. The room was flirtatious and gay. A price tag dangled easily from the edge of a gilded mirror. It fluttered slightly in the breeze as Helen glanced at the small writing table with spindly wooden legs. Two ivory-colored chairs with needlepoint cushions stood to either side of the window facing the front garden. Even paying bills would be pretty and painless in a room like this. Helen paused over a heap of antique silk tassels that lay in a basket. She ran one lightly over her cheeks, then carefully returned it to the pile.

A greenhouse on the first floor and seven small rooms clustered directly above...which story told the true tale? Helen knew the impediments had been carefully designed. The tight, narrow climb to the second floor was meant to protect the real treasures from the merely curious. Though there were always exceptions, most serious clients stepped straight over Poor and tackled the steps without hesitation.

Helen moved down the hall. Her desk was tucked at one end of the long corridor. On her right two narrow sitting rooms faced the street; a formal dining room and a child's bedroom opened on the opposite side of the hall. There was even a small kitchen here. A bottle of Jack's favorite whiskey stood in the center of a handsome tray set for two with biscuits and cheeses. Jack and Alice. Alice and Jack. Their names filled Helen's mouth like a dense, complicated flavor.

Symmetry prevailed in these small, crowded rooms. Lovely pairs of lamps and chairs triumphed over clutter. Sunlight settled on rich fabric and bubbled hand-blown glass. Sounds were muted and hushed here, absorbed by beautiful things. Alice thickened the long hallway with heavy cushions and sofas. She set deep chairs that were good

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