The Cottage

“I can't believe this.” He looked absolutely shattered. The day had become instantly disastrous for him. He didn't even remember he was about to rent out his gatehouse and his guest wing. He didn't care about that now, only about losing Liz. “When are you actually marrying him?”

“In two weeks, right after I leave here.” She started crying again as soon as she said it. It suddenly seemed like a terrible idea, even to her.

“Do you want to do it here?” he said generously.

“We're doing it at a friend's house in Napa,” she said through her tears.

“It sounds awful. Are you having a big wedding?” He was truly stunned. He had never expected this.

“No. Just us and his daughters and the couple whose house we're getting married at. If it were any bigger, I'd have invited you, Coop.” She hadn't had time to plan a wedding. She was too busy taking care of him. And Ted didn't want to wait any longer. He knew if he did, she'd never leave Coop. She felt responsible for him.

“When did you decide all this?”

“About a week ago.” Ted had come down for the weekend and put a lot of pressure on her. And their decision coincided perfectly with Abe's decision to fire everyone. In a way, she knew she was doing Coop a favor. He couldn't afford her either. But she knew it was still going to be hard for both of them to say goodbye to each other. She couldn't imagine leaving him, and it broke her heart to do it. He was so innocent and so helpless—in his own inimitable way. And she had spoiled him over the past twenty-two years. She constantly worried about him and mothered him. She knew she would lie awake nights in San Francisco, fretting about him. It would be a tremendous adjustment, for both of them. Taking care of Coop had replaced the children she'd never had and finally stopped wanting years before.

He still looked shell-shocked when she left the house, and before she did, she answered the phone. It was Pamela, his latest romance. She was twenty-two years old, young even by his standards. She was a model, and aspiring to be an actress. He had met her at a shoot he had done for GQ. They had hired half a dozen models to stand beside him adoringly, and she had been the best looking of the lot. He'd only been dating her for about a month and she was totally infatuated with him, although he was old enough to be her grandfather, but he didn't look it fortunately. He was taking Pamela to The Ivy for dinner, and Liz reminded him to pick her up at seven-thirty. He gave her a big hug before she left, and reminded her to come back to him if she hated being married. And secretly, he hoped she would. Coop felt as though he were losing his younger sister and best friend.

Liz started crying again as she drove away. She loved Ted, but she couldn't imagine what life would be like without Coop. Over the years, he had become her family, her best friend, her brother, her son, her hero. She adored him. And it had taken every ounce of courage and strength she had to agree to marry Ted, and then to tell Coop. She hadn't been able to sleep for the past week, and she had felt sick about it all morning before Coop came home. She was grateful Abe had been there to distract her. And as she drove out the main gate, she nearly hit a car driving by. She was totally unnerved. Leaving Coop would be like leaving the convent or the womb. She just hoped she had made the right decision in the end.

Coop was still standing in the library when she left, and poured himself another glass of champagne. He took a sip, and then, still holding the glass, he walked slowly upstairs to his bedroom. He passed a small woman in a white uniform on the way. There was a large stain on the front of her dress that looked like tomato sauce, or soup. She was wearing her hair in a long braid down her back, and she was wearing sunglasses, which caught his attention, as she vacuumed noisily on the stairs.

“Paloma?” he asked cautiously, as though seeing her for the first time, and wishing he hadn't. She was wearing leopard sneakers, which made him wince.

“Jess, Mr. Weenglow?” There was something very independent about her. She didn't remove the sunglasses, but stood staring at him from behind the dark lenses. It was impossible to guess how old she was, but he assumed somewhere in her middle years.

“It's Winslow, Paloma. Did you have some sort of accident?” He was referring to the spot on her uniform, which looked as though someone had thrown a pizza at her.

“We had essspagghetti for lunch. I dropped my spoon on my juniform. And I don't have another one here.”