Madly (New York 2)

“My dad helped me a lot getting the building into shape, organizing, thinking about how to build a business. I got a certification as an estate appraiser after I finished college, and became an estate agent, so I sometimes value estates and run the auctions for a commission. I’ve got, you know, tenants now, a floor of apartments and a first-floor restaurant that’s pretty popular, and some office rentals, and I have the antiques on the top floor, which I photograph and list online and ship out when they sell. I’ve got a few other properties, pretty diverse, too, that my friend Elvira told me to buy. She’s a financial advisor.”

He knocked his knee against hers, and when she looked at him, he was grinning. “You, madam, are rich.”

There was nothing in his voice but delight, and nothing in his face but respect. Other than her dad, he was the only person who had ever guessed how well she did, had done, especially so young, especially with her history. People didn’t talk about money in Wisconsin—especially not young people, and definitely not girls, and absolutely never young girl entrepreneurs. Pretty much everyone she knew, including her mom, May, her casual circle of friends, assumed she could pay her rent but was basically “junk rich,” as Matt had once put it.

Her first impulse was to join Winston’s laughter and brush away his observation. Except, he was the mailman. And he wasn’t dumb. He had been through a lot—hard things. She bet he’d been underestimated once or twice himself.

“Yes, actually. I am rich. Manitowoc-rich, not New York rich, but you know, Wisconsin has a lot of secret ridiculously rich people, and let’s just say I wouldn’t be kicked off their picnic blanket.”

It felt good. She felt the full measure of her accomplishments, maybe for the first time.

“I admit, I am having a very hard time not demanding that you come back to my office, right now,” he said, “so I can see what you have in your portfolio that I might offer to clients.”

“You can demand all you want, but I’m not slutty with my portfolio. It’s got its knees pressed pretty tight together.” Although she thought she’d let him see it, if he asked. It might be fun. Money-nerd fun.

“I should’ve guessed right off when you complained about paying seven dollars for a Popsicle.”

“Ah, the old ‘rich are tight’ stereotype.”

“My experience, yes. You did say that you intended on selling the very outfit you’re wearing.”

“Not the shoes. I love these shoes. And they cost, like, twelve dollars at the Designer Shoe Warehouse, so it’s not as if anyone would want them.” She knocked her knee against his. “Can I ask you an intrusive personal question?”

“I suppose you can.”

“Was the money part of things really bad when you got divorced? Because when Matt and I were going to get married, the money was a big part of why I didn’t pull the trigger. I never told anyone, not even my sister, but I’d been to see Elvira, and Wisconsin is the kind of marital property state where half of everything you have is assumed to belong to your spouse unless you have a prenup.” She shrugged, not quite sure why it seemed important to ask him. “Did you guys have one, or something like that?”

He looked out over the tops of the buildings, then back at her. “No. My family’s well off, but I didn’t have any personal wealth to speak of when we married, and neither did Rosemary. She’d spent all those years restoring our house and taking care of Beatrice. I didn’t begrudge her whatever it was she decided to ask from me. What she asked was to sell the house and keep all the proceeds for herself, and for me to pay Bea’s way going forward. So she has the settlement she wants, and whatever she brings in through her own efforts, which I know Rosemary well enough to suspect are lucrative. We’re both comfort

able enough.”

“It must have been some house.”

“It was a manor house in the country—too big for us, and too expensive, and halfway to falling down when we purchased it. She spent an enormous amount of time and effort managing the restoration, and it sold for a small fortune. But I think in hindsight, buying that house was the worst decision I ever made for our marriage.”

“How come?”

“It wasn’t what Rosemary wanted. I wanted it because I wanted us to…to be properly settled, in a proper house, and me in my proper job. I think I understood it to be what was expected of me. I expected it of Rosemary.”

“Expectations, man.”

“Yes. Well. She’s quite given up on them now. Did I tell you she climbs mountains? She’s gearing up for an attempt on Everest.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

She smiled at what his accent did to crass words. “That’s pretty badass of her.”

“It is. It’s…good. The Rosemary I met at university wanted nothing more than to climb mountains and write about it. It reassures me that nothing I did, or that we did together—that she wasn’t ruined by it. Only delayed.”

She’d watched Matt for similar signs, and looked for them in herself—signs that she was still here, delayed from living the life she might have pursued without Matt, but not damaged by her years with him. Not ruined.

Allie picked up Winston’s coat from where it lay on the grass between them. She laid it over her lap, admiring the light, expensive wool. He spent his money on very beautiful things, and she had a weakness for that.

She had a weakness for Winston.

It scared her on some level, but not nearly as much as everything else in her life did. Compared to how she felt when she thought about her parents, her sister, or Matt, Winston was a balm.