Patricia Dooley. Born October 29, 1922. Died May 1, 2016. Came from a family of seven girls. An OB nurse, delighted by the birth of every baby, no matter what. A rank sentimentalist. Had one of those plaques in her kitchen that said, “No matter where I serve my guests, it seems they like my kitchen best.” Liked the snow. Loved the snow. Made snow angels in every first snowfall until she was ninety.
And now: Arthur Moses. Born April 3, 1931. Died December 29, 2016. Maddy’s eyes fill. Mensch. Dear friend. Dearest friend. She lays a creamy white Full Sail rose on his grave, then bends down to inspect Mr. and Mrs. Hamburger, who are also resting there today. They’re fine. Tomorrow they’ll move to Nola’s grave. For today, Maddy lays a coral-colored Eternal Flame rose there. Maddy brought three roses from Arthur’s garden to the cemetery today: one for Arthur, one for Nola, and one for someone else.
She stands and looks out over the acres of land. All the lives. All the whispering she hears! It really is true that cemeteries are busy places. I lived! I lived! I lived!
There is a thumping sound and Maddy looks over. “Did you fall down?” she asks.
The toddler nods.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Well, get up,” Maddy says, and holds out her arms.
“No!”
Getting into the terrible twos, as people call them, but Maddy doesn’t think they’re terrible. She thinks two-year-olds are incredibly interesting. And loving. You just need to take the time.
She gets out her camera and takes a few shots. There’s a photography exhibit that she’s having mounted next week at school. It’s called Old, and that’s what it’s about: her appreciation of old people, old things. The prints are done in silver gelatin. The contents of Arthur’s kitchen drawer is one of the shots. He and Lucille at the kitchen table, the sun streaming through the window behind them, that’s another one. Maybe she’ll do a show featuring children next. Other end of the spectrum. She looks at her own child’s rumpled brow, the pooched-out lips. The toddler looks like Winston Churchill, deliberating.
Maddy’s instructor thinks she will show in New York City someday. And last week she learned that two of her images were bought by Popular Photography magazine. Her instructor submitted them without asking her, but she forgives him. She certainly does.
“Nola!” Maddy says. “Get up and come to Mommy.” Again she holds out her arms, and now her daughter pushes herself up and runs to her.
When Nola reaches her, Maddy enfolds her in her arms. “Show me a happy girl,” she says.
Nola steps away, smiles, then throws back her head and spreads her arms wide.
Maddy laughs. “Should we go now? Want to go and see Grandma Lucille?” Her tenant. And the self-appointed grandmother who is teaching Nola to bake. Already Nola has mastered monkey bread.
They walk hand in hand toward the exit, and Maddy drops the last rose on a stranger’s grave, because he is not a stranger at all. It’s a Sweet Afton, pearlescent white with a pale pink reverse; she knows its strong scent will last and last. Truluv taught her that.
For my daughters, Julie Krintzman and Jennifer Berta
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many people have gladdened my heart by their warm embrace of The Story of Arthur Truluv. Julie Bolton was one of the early readers, and she offered insightful analysis. Kate Medina, my longtime, greatly loved, and highly esteemed editor at Random House, understood this book from the get-go, and told me, “I need an Arthur in my life!” (To which I responded, “Me, too!”)
Gina Centrello, thank you so much for your belief in this one.
To vital others on the Random House team—Erica Gonzalez, Anna Pitoniak, Avideh Bashirrad, Paolo Pepe, Joe Perez, Jo Anne Metsch, Leigh Marchant, Andrea DeWerd, Barbara Fillon, Christine Mykityshyn, Beth Pearson, and Susan Brown—please accept my gratitude for your talent and goodwill.
Suzanne Gluck, thank you for your suggestions early on that made the book better. I love that voodoo that you do so well.
To my writing group: Veronica Chapa, Arlene Malinowski, Marja Mills, Pam Todd, and Michele Weldon. Your honest and enthusiastic response to this material meant everything. Thank you for putting up with my reading such long passages every single week until the thing was done.
Phyllis Florin: You must know how much your words about this book meant to me. But just in case, here it is in black and white.
Last but most, thank you to all the people who read my books and make it possible for me to make a living doing what I love. It still feels like a miracle. May it always.
BY ELIZABETH BERG
The Story of Arthur Truluv
Make Someone Happy: Favorite Postings
The Dream Lover
Tapestry of Fortunes
Once Upon a Time, There Was You
The Last Time I Saw You
Home Safe
The Day I Ate Whatever I Wanted (stories)
Dream When You’re Feeling Blue
The Handmaid and the Carpenter
We Are All Welcome Here
The Year of Pleasures
The Art of Mending
Say When
True to Form
Ordinary Life: Stories
Never Change
Open House
Escaping into the Open: The Art of Writing True
Until the Real Thing Comes Along
What We Keep
Joy School
The Pull of the Moon
Range of Motion
Talk Before Sleep
Durable Goods
Family Traditions
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ELIZABETH BERG is the author of many bestselling novels, including Open House (an Oprah’s Book Club selection), Talk Before Sleep, and The Year of Pleasures, as well as the short story collection The Day I Ate Whatever I Wanted. Durable Goods and Joy School were selected as ALA Best Books of the Year. She adapted The Pull of the Moon into a play that enjoyed sold-out performances in Chicago and Indianapolis. Berg’s work has been translated into twenty-seven languages, and three of her novels have been turned into television movies. She is the founder of Writing Matters, a quality reading series dedicated to serving author, audience, and community. She teaches one-day writing workshops and is a popular speaker at venues around the country. Some of her most popular Facebook postings have been collected in Make Someone Happy. She lives outside Chicago.
elizabeth-berg.net
Facebook.com/bergbooks
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