Market Street Read online

  “Noble, to take over the family store”—Aidan flipped open his textbook—“but to grow, first you have to be true to yourself. What’s your passion?”

  Cassie’s pen froze midsentence. When she looked up, Aidan was underlining words in the text.

  “My passion?”

  “What you wake up in the morning thinking about.”

  Cassie gazed past him, at his framed doctorate on the wall and a print of Monet’s Haystacks.

  “I want to grow organic vegetables,” she said. “I love everything to do with cooking and gardening.”

  “Then that’s what you should do with your diploma.”

  * * *

  It was a few weeks after graduation, when Cassie saw Aidan in the frozen-food section of the Berkeley Co-op, that she admitted to herself he was part of the reason she decided to spend one more summer in Berkeley.

  “Cassie Fenton.” His face broke into a smile when he saw her. He was holding hands with a small girl of about seven, with the same dark eyes and black curly hair. She was pointing stubbornly at a box of frozen pizza and stamping her feet like a young bull.

  “Hi.” Cassie avoided running into an elderly woman with her shopping cart. Her roommate had mentioned Aidan was divorced, but she never said anything about a daughter.

  “I thought you would have decamped back to San Francisco and taken up your position on the fourth floor of Fenton’s.”

  “I’m interning for Alice Waters at Chez Panisse for the summer,” Cassie replied.

  “Well that sounds interesting.” Aidan nodded approvingly. “This is my daughter, Isabel. We come to the co-op for fresh, local produce and Isabel wants frozen pizza.”

  Cassie glanced at Isabel, whose eyes flashed like a gypsy. “You could make pizza, it’s really easy.”

  “That sounds like a terrific compromise. Why don’t you come over and show us? Tonight, eight o’clock?”

  Cassie hesitated. She wasn’t sure if she was being invited to dinner or to perform a cooking demonstration. “I don’t want to intrude.”

  “Isabel and I have lots of time together since her mother is gone for a month this summer. I’ll get a couple of bottles of wine. What should we put on the pizza? Eggplant, yellow peppers, green olives?” His hair was damp as if he’d been running and he wore shorts and a plain white T-shirt.

  “Heirloom tomatoes.” Cassie avoided looking at Isabel, who was scowling and peeling price tags from bags of vegetables.

  “I love heirloom tomatoes.” Aidan pulled Isabel away from the frozen foods. “We’ll see you at eight.”

  * * *

  Aidan’s house was at the end of a long gravel drive, behind an impressive plantation-style mansion. Aidan answered the door wearing an apron, shorts, and rugby socks.

  “It’s the smallest house on Professor Row, but I just got tenure.” He shrugged, guiding her through a small living room and an adjoining dining nook. The table was covered in papers, and more papers were piled on the floor and on the chairs. The sideboard had been converted into a bookcase with two bottles of wine serving as bookends.

  “It’s lovely.” Cassie had never been in a professor’s house. She didn’t know if she expected dark wood and the smell of pipe tobacco, or a modern bachelor pad with black-and-white cubic sofas. Aidan’s house was like a toy house: it had the correct number of rooms but in miniature proportions.

  “My wife left me a couple of years ago, so it’s just me and Isabel every other week.” He opened swinging doors to the kitchen.

  “I’m sorry,” Cassie replied awkwardly.

  “She remarried a dot-com guy. His summer cottage is twice the size of this place”—Aidan motioned her to sit on a stool—“but some guys have to make money so their wives can shop at Fenton’s.”

  Cassie blushed. “You shouldn’t judge it,” she said clearly. “Fenton’s provides their customers with great quality and service. It’s been in my family for sixty years. It brings pleasure to many people.”

  Aidan put his hand on Cassie’s shoulder. She instinctively flinched; he had never touched her before. “You’re right, Fenton’s does contribute to society. I asked you over to make pizza, not talk ethics. Would you like an apron?”

  Cassie nodded and he pulled an apron from a drawer and tied it carefully around her waist. They stood side by side at the counter, rolling out dough, slicing tomatoes, sautéing mushrooms. He poured them each a glass of wine and asked her to set the table, as if they knew each other intimately and had done this dozens of times before.

  “Come out back and see the garden. It’s nothing much yet but I’d love to grow some tomatoes and some broccoli,” he said when the pizza was in the oven.

  Cassie was a little drunk and the night air felt suddenly cold after the cramped kitchen. The fog had settled over the bay and the sky was without stars.

  “There’s not much to see.” She peered off the deck into the black space that held the garden.

  Aidan put his hand on her back and pulled her close. He stroked her hair and tipped her face up to his. She could smell wine and olive oil, garlic and Parmesan cheese. “I just wanted to kiss you.” He brought his lips down on hers. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time.”

  When they went inside, Isabel was sitting on the stool, covering the counter with tomato sauce handprints. Aidan’s face turned to stone. He wiped the counter and put the plates in the sink. Finally he turned to Isabel and said in a strained tone, “Isabel, if you want to join our dinner party you will behave like a young lady, not a little barbarian.”

  Isabel brushed off her father’s words and jumped down from the stool. “I turned off the oven, your pizza was burning.”

  Isabel smoothed her white appliqué skirt and slipped pink clogs on her feet. She sat demurely at the kitchen table, placed her napkin in her lap, and asked her father politely for a glass of water and some garlic bread.

  Cassie watched her performance, saw the small gypsy eyes flash as Aidan poured Cassie another glass of wine, and wanted to put her arms around Isabel and hug her. But it was as if the child put a moat around herself, eating her pizza with small delicate bites, wiping her mouth with her napkin, folding her hands in her lap. When Aidan put three bowls of ice cream on the table, Isabel pushed back her chair. “I’m not hungry. May I be excused?”

  * * *

  “Aristotle says to be a good person it is important to have a happy childhood.” Aidan finished his ice cream and took a bite of Isabel’s. “But she fights me every step of the way. God help me when she becomes a teenager.”

  “Maybe I should go”—Cassie pushed her bowl away—“so you two can be alone.”

  Aidan put down his spoon and moved his chair closer to Cassie. He traced her lips with his fingers and picked up her hair and let it fall down her back. “People think ethics is about deprivation but that’s incorrect. Aristotle and Plato believed someone who leads a balanced life could achieve the greatest good. Pleasure and friendship are integral to that balance.” He rested his hands on her shoulders and kissed her softly on the lips.

  “I remember that reading,” Cassie replied weakly. He tasted like cinnamon and vanilla bean.

  “Let’s listen to some music.” Aidan took her hand and led her into the living room. He turned on the CD player and sat on the sofa, tucking Cassie under his arm like a bird. They listened to Miles Davis and the Beatles. He found an old Jefferson Starship CD and then played Train and some Cars. He opened another bottle of wine and sang into her hair, drumming his fingers against her skin. When Cassie started dozing off, he pulled her up, locked his arm around her waist, and climbed the stairs to his bedroom.

  Isabel’s door was closed and it was almost midnight, but Cassie hesitated at the top of the stairs. It was their first date, Aidan was more than a decade older, and he had been her professor just weeks ago. But when Aidan unbuttoned her cotton top and pressed her body into his, she felt an electric force binding them together. He led her to the bed and slid her skirt past her
ankles. He stripped off his shirt and shorts and lay gently on top of her. His body was so hard, so commanding, she dropped her legs open and waited, straining, reaching, for him to push inside her. When he came, rocking back and forth, his hands cupped behind her head, she felt her whole body tremble and her eyes fill with tears.

  “I should go before Isabel wakes up,” she whispered into his back.

  “Cassie Fenton, you’re an angel that fell into my bed.” He pulled her tighter against him. “I want you to stay.”

  * * *

  Cassie pulled the Prius down the long driveway and parked in front of Aidan’s ancient Toyota. She was glad Isabel’s MINI Cooper, a birthday present from Isabel’s stepfather, was missing. Isabel at sixteen was like the heroine of a daytime soap opera: raging around the house slamming doors or prone on her bed sobbing, and Cassie couldn’t face her today.

  She walked straight to the kitchen and put on the kettle, sifting through colored tea cartons for something that promised to soothe and relax. The downstairs was quiet; she could hear the shower running upstairs. Aidan had probably just returned from the gym. She imagined him peeling off his boxers and stepping into the shower, and she suddenly felt like a stranger in her own home.

  When Aidan came down the stairs, she was cutting a piece of pecan pie left over from Christmas and was covering it with a puff of whipped cream.

  “That looks delicious. Can I have a piece?” He walked over to the counter and kissed her on the cheek. He wore a terry robe and he smelled of avocado shampoo.

  Aidan’s hair was peppered with gray and his waist had grown thicker over the years, but he still had the presence of a lion. Cassie often watched him correct his students’ papers with fierce red strokes. Sometimes he’d crumple them into balls, moaning that no one taught these kids how to write anymore.

  “You can have mine; I’m not hungry.” She pushed the plate toward him.

  “Long lunch with Alexis? Did Carter buy her a private jet for Christmas?” Aidan finished the pie and cut himself another slice.

  “Just some really nice jewelry.” Cassie felt the words stick in her throat.

  “Lucky that Alexis has a long neck or she’d tip over with all the jewelry she owns. Did you tell her your miserable husband only bought you socks and vegetable seeds?” He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed the side of her mouth.

  “And a cashmere scarf.” Cassie gulped her tea quickly, burning the tip of her tongue.

  “I thought we’d stay in tonight. I’ll cook pasta with some of your tender shiitake mushrooms. You can inspire me by modeling the scarf and the socks.”

  “You want me to sing for my supper?” Cassie tried to smile.

  “I was thinking more a striptease. Maybe we could play with some whipped cream after dessert.” Aidan held up the bottle of whipped cream.

  Cassie took a deep breath and took the Fenton’s box out of her bag. She snapped it open and placed it on the counter.

  “What’s that?” Aidan put down the can of whipped cream.

  “It’s a pendant from Fenton’s.”

  “More presents?” Aidan frowned.

  “It was a return from a young girl with short blond hair wearing a bomber jacket. I didn’t get her name but she said it was a gift from Professor Aidan Blake.” Cassie’s whole body trembled.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Aidan looked at her blankly.

  “Yes, you do.” Cassie’s voice rose. “She didn’t pull your name out of a hat. Some young girl, some student, received a present from you and I want to know how, when, and why.”

  Aidan was silent. Cassie thought she could see his mind turning over the problem. “You’re an ethics professor,” she wanted to scream at him. “You can’t lie.”

  “Molly Payne,” he said.

  “Why did you give Molly Payne a pendant from Fenton’s?”

  “I didn’t give Molly that pendant,” Aidan replied. He opened the fridge and took out pesto sauce, chives, mushrooms, and two large yellow tomatoes.

  “Stop what you’re doing and look at me.” Cassie tried to keep her voice level.

  Aidan took olive oil, oregano, basil, and pine nuts from the pantry. He arranged them on the counter and searched for his favorite chopping knife. He wiped the blade and sliced mushrooms, tomatoes, and chives with the concentration of a conductor leading a symphony.

  “I gave her a cash refund in case you’re interested.” Cassie slumped on the stool.

  Aidan stopped slicing and poured the vegetables into the pesto sauce. He tasted it with a mixing spoon and added a splash of salt and some pepper.

  “Try this, you’ll love it.” He put the spoon to Cassie’s mouth.

  “Aidan, please.” Cassie pushed the spoon away.

  Aidan put the spoon down and wiped his hands on a paper towel. “I bought the pendant for you. I went to Fenton’s to get you a cashmere scarf, because you can’t live without them. I thought I’d buy something special, something you didn’t expect. I picked out the pendant and on the way home I stopped at the Peet’s on Shattuck. Molly Payne was sitting at a table crying like a child who just discovered Santa isn’t real.”

  “She’s not a child,” Cassie interrupted.

  “She’s a child to me. What is she, twenty-one, twenty-two? Christ, Cassie, what are you thinking?”

  “Your students fawn over you like you’re the Messiah. I’ve seen them line up for office hours, carrying home-baked cookies and Starbucks coffees. You’re like a Greek god on your podium channeling Plato and Aristotle.”

  “I’m glad you think that.” Aidan put his hand under her chin. “My students think I’m a harsh grader who doesn’t cut them any slack.”

  “How did Molly Payne end up with my Christmas present?” Cassie grabbed the Fenton’s box and threw it on the floor.

  Aidan’s face turned cold like it did when Isabel came home past curfew. He turned back to his sauce, stirring it over the stove, adding garlic and Parmesan cheese.

  “Molly’s boyfriend left her a week before Christmas. He took the money they had saved to buy each other presents and hopped on a train to Seattle. Molly was crying over the letter he sent her. It was a classic ‘Dear Jane,’ that he wasn’t good enough for her; she shouldn’t waste her time on him. And a neat little P.S. saying he was traveling with their friend Kate, and they were going to open an organic bakery together.” Aidan stopped stirring.

  “Poor thing,” Cassie murmured.

  “I preach about doing good every day in class, but when do I get the opportunity to do good? You spend half your time at the Edible Schoolyard teaching kids how to grow their own vegetables. Sometimes I’m jealous.”

  “Jealous?” Cassie repeated.

  “You’re teaching them something that will serve them always. You’re helping form a healthier generation. I’m proud of you, Cassie, but sometimes I’m frustrated standing in front of a bunch of students who want to intern at a Fortune 500 company.”

  Cassie blushed. She loved working with Alice Waters, but she was a volunteer. She thought anyone could do what she did: teach kids when to plant certain seeds, how often to water them. Often the kids were more interested in worms and snails than red peppers and yellow asparagus.

  “Molly started sobbing that she was going to quit school, that nothing worked out for her. Her boyfriend ran off with her best friend because she baked awesome pumpkin muffins. I reached into my bag and handed her the Fenton’s box. I didn’t even think about it, I just wanted to help someone.” Aidan put his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry, I should have told you.”

  Cassie felt her shoulders relax. She closed her eyes and let Aidan kiss her neck. He put his arms around her and hugged her against his chest.

  “It’s okay,” she said when he released her.

  “I’ll ask your permission the next time I want to be a good Samaritan.” He smiled. “I did get a late Christmas present from another professor in the department, a male professor. A 2002 Pengrove
Chardonnay. It will go perfectly with this pesto pasta.”

  Cassie got the wine out of the fridge and set two glasses on the counter. She sat on the stool and watched Aidan toss a Caesar salad. Watching him prepare dinner was like observing an artist in his studio. He wasn’t satisfied unless each plate was a riot of color, smell, and taste.

  “I have outdone myself.” He put a sprig of spinach on each plate. “If my love will join me at the table, dinner is served.”

  After dinner they shared a piece of pecan pie and two glasses of Drambuie. Aidan took their brandy glasses in the living room and put a Beatles CD in the disc player.

  “It’s been thirty years since John Lennon’s death but their music never gets old.” He put his arm around Cassie and traced a path from her chin to her breasts.

  “All you need is love,” Cassie mumbled. Her cheeks were warm from the brandy and the pie left a sweet, cinnamon taste in her mouth.

  “All I need is your love.” Aidan took Cassie’s hand, kissed her fingers, then placed her hand in his lap.

  Cassie felt him grow hard inside his robe. He pressed her hand against him, and bent down and kissed her breasts. She leaned back, closing her eyes, feeling her nipples pucker.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” Cassie whispered.

  “No, let’s do it here.” Aidan laid her down on the sofa, tossing the cushions on the rug. He unzipped her pants and lifted her shirt over her head. He threw off his robe and entered her quickly, cradling her head in his hands. They came at the same time, like two teenagers afraid their parents would come home. Aidan gathered her against his chest, breathing deeply into her hair, and fell asleep.

  Cassie slept too. When she woke, Aidan was snoring, and she felt stiff and thirsty. She took his arm off her stomach and got up and went into the kitchen. She poured a glass of water and opened the freezer and took out two ice cubes. She saw her phone buzzing on the counter and checked her texts.

  “How was the make-up sex?” It was from Alexis, signed with two smiley faces.

  Cassie grinned and texted back: “None of your business.” Then she went back into the living room and slid onto the sofa beside Aidan.