by Elena Graf
They went back to the main dining room to have quiche and grilled sausage for breakfast. Erika felt like she’d come home again. When Liz had first moved to Maine, she’d often invited Erika and her partner to spend time with her during the summer. The house was always full of people. Liz’s niece and her children came every summer. Liz’s ex, Jenny brought her nieces and nephews. Liz’s old friends from Yale came for long weekends. As much as Erika liked her privacy, she found the communal living stimulating and comforting. Like a summer camp for adults.
Over the babble of conversation at the table, Liz tapped Erika’s hand to get her attention. “We need to get your father out of that senior residence.”
“Why?”
“If this thing spreads, those senior communities will be a hotbed of contagion. Nursing homes, especially.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Stefan can stay in the downstairs guestroom. He’ll have everything he needs there.”
“Except his library,” said Erika.
“He’s already read all those books.”
“I know, but he likes to have them near.”
“So put some of them in boxes and bring them over. I’ll clear off the bookshelves.”
“Are you sure, Liz? You already have all of us here. That’s a lot of people.”
“I’d rather have you all here where I can keep an eye on you.” She tapped her temple and pointed to Erika. “Verstehst du?”
Erika nodded. “After we finish eating, I’ll go down to Ocean Terrace to pick up my father.”
“Good.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
When Lucy opened her eyes, she had to remind herself of where she was. She glanced at the pine branches outside the enormous window and imagined she was in a tree house. The queen-sized bed was as comfortable as any in the Grand Lux European hotels where she’d slept while on tour as an opera singer. Sometimes, it seemed she slept in a different city every night. She vividly remembered those days, learning new blocking and stage gestures for the same role in each production, a new tempo for each conductor. She always told herself she didn’t miss singing, but if she were completely honest with herself, she did. She still missed pouring out sound into the darkened theater while the lights blazed overhead.
She’d wondered how she would get in her daily morning practice, but Maggie had explained that the media room was sound-proof, and Lucy could exercise her voice to its capacity. The only thing that could escape from that sound trap was the bass vibrations when Liz was watching a superhero movie on full volume.
Lucy turned and gazed at Erika sleeping. Her blond hair was now nearly white. Her lashes were so pale they were almost transparent. Her eyelids fluttered delicately as she dreamed.
Lucy wanted a playmate, so she kissed Erika’s shoulder and teased her nipple with fingertips. “Good morning, Professor,” she whispered into Erika’s ear.
“Good morning, Mother Lucy,” Erika replied. The sound of her English accent with that little hint of German still made Lucy smile. It was the same voice that whispered sexy suggestions when they made love and explained complex philosophical concepts whether Lucy wanted to hear them or not.
Erika raised herself on her elbows to look at the bedside clock. “It’s still early!”
“Yes, but it’s Sunday, and Liz is going to help me set up for a virtual morning prayer service.”
Erika flopped down on her pillow. “Then you and Liz go play, and I’ll come watch when you’re all done.” She rolled over and took all the covers with her.
“Please get up and have a cup of coffee with me? Please….” Grinning wickedly, Lucy gently reached between Erika’s legs.
Erika jumped. “Lucy!”
Lucy, overcome with laughter, hugged her sides.
“You are a beast! An absolute and utter beast!” declared Erika.
Lucy stopped laughing long enough to say, “But you love me.”
“Yes, I do, although sometimes, I wonder why.”
Erika flung off the covers and headed to the bathroom. Lucy lay back on the pillow and admired the pine trees outside. How lucky Maggie and Liz were to live deep in the woods, away from all this virus madness.
When Erika returned, they sat in the little kitchen alcove to drink their coffee. Erika was grouchy after being awakened, but the caffeine eventually made her friendlier.
“Will this be a full service with communion?” she asked. Since the first time Erika had wandered into a worship service, she had come a long way in understanding the rituals of the Episcopal Church. She now had an appreciation for the rhythms of the liturgy and Lucy’s role as a priest. Lucy loved her for making the effort. She still despaired about converting Liz, but Erika had potential. Lucy wasn’t ready to give up on her. Not yet.
“I think the morning prayer is enough until we have more of these under our belt. Did you know that morning prayer was the usual Sunday service and the Eucharist was celebrated only once a month?”
“No, I did not know that, but really, it’s too early for a lesson in church history.” Erika got up to prepare another cup of coffee.
“I’m going to shower and dress so I can get in some practice before everyone gets up.”
“You wake me up to keep you company, and then you abandon me?” Erika complained in a dramatic voice.
Lucy kissed her. “You’ll be fine.”
After showering, Lucy took time with her hair because something in the water at Liz’s house made it softer, and it wasn’t as cooperative. A few more grays seemed to have appeared, but she told herself it was the lighting in the bathroom. It was excellent for makeup, however, and Lucy made quick work of that. She decided that she looked presentable. The video camera slightly distorted color, and she didn’t want to frighten her congregation.
Lucy began her vocal practice, as she did every day, with the exercises her mother had taught her. Her mother had briefly been a principal soprano at the Boston Lyric Opera. After Patricia Bartlett died, the memories had brought on terrible grief. Now, Lucy saw the ritual as a daily tribute to a woman who had given up her own dreams so her daughter could become a success. Lucy was glad her mother hadn’t lived to see her quit the stage.
Lucy was just finishing up when she saw she had company. Liz was the first to stumble in with a cup of coffee. Lucy wondered if it was her imagination or was Liz looking a bit more put together than she would usually be on a Sunday morning. She had attempted to give some order to her iron-gray curls. She was wearing a very nice polar fleece zip-up and knit pants.
Liz bent to give Lucy a kiss on the cheek. “Good morning, Lucy.”
“You’ve given up on the social distancing?” Lucy asked reaching up to give Liz a hug.
“We’re all breathing the same air, cheek to jowl, as they say. For better or worse, we’re all in this together now.”
“How long does it take to get this virus?”
Liz shrugged. “We suppose it’s a week to fourteen days.”
Lucy studied Liz’s handsome face. It was becoming more sculptural as she aged. The character lines were becoming firmly etched. Scars from childhood cuts were emerging as like hidden items on a photographic plate exposed to light. There was a permanent furrow between her brows.
“You’re very worried about this, Liz. Aren’t you?”
Liz flopped into one of the home theater seats and nodded solemnly. Lucy sat down beside her and reached for her hand. “Liz, you are a superb doctor, brilliant and caring. You are so good with your patients. I can say that because I’m one of them. I trust you.”
Liz squeezed her hand, then let it go to pick up her coffee cup. “Thank you, Lucy, but this is something we’ve never seen before. I’m flying blind. I have no fucking idea what I’m doing.”
“You’ll do the best you can. That’s all God asks of you.”
“Th
en maybe he has lower standards than I do.”
“Liz, be good to yourself. God loves you and you should too.”
“Are you preaching to me, Lucy? I’m immune to that, you know.” Liz gave her a look that indicated she was trying very hard to be patient.
“Not as immune as you think.” Lucy bent her head a little and mimed giving Liz’s face a careful inspection. She tapped Liz’s forehead. “Right there…I can see it…just a little inkling of faith.”
Liz sat back in her chair. “I do believe in something…a higher power or whatever you call it. Sometimes when I was in a difficult surgery, and everything was going wrong, I prayed for help.”
“And did it come?”
“Yes, it usually did.”
Lucy nodded. Maybe Liz had potential too. One step at a time.
The door opened and Maggie came in with a cup of coffee. She sat down next to Liz. “I thought we could use a rehearsal.”
Liz threw her head back and groaned. “Of course, you do!”
“Emily volunteered to watch the kids during the service,” said Maggie. “She’s very good with them.”
Lucy was disappointed that Emily had found an excuse to avoid the prayer service. “I understand. The poor girl had an overdose of religion from her adoptive parents.”
“She’ll come around,” said Maggie. “Right now, the kids are a novelty, and they worship the ground she walks on.”
Alina came in with a cup of coffee. “I knew I’d find you all in here.”
“I thought we could use a brief rehearsal, so we know everything is working right,” said Maggie.
“I’m used to setting up for video on the fly,” Alina said, sounding slightly defensive. “Of course, it works right.”
“Alina, don’t argue with your mother,” said Liz. “She’s a very directive director.”
Lucy was used to their affectionate banter and knew it was in good fun. She was more worried about Alina’s response. From counseling sessions, she knew the young woman’s difficult history. Her young childhood in a Romanian orphanage was bad enough, but as an adult she’d had to flee an abusive husband. Medication controlled her PTSD, but she still had panic attacks.
“Let’s all just relax and get in the right spirit for worship,” Lucy suggested.
Lucy turned to Liz. “Liz, would you mind giving a brief update on the medical aspects of the virus before the homily?”
“Wait a minute,” protested Liz. “I’m the audio technician. I didn’t sign up for this.”
“Please…” said Lucy.
“Well, all right. Dammit, Lucy! You can make anyone do anything!”
“Yes, it’s my superpower.”
“All right, people,” said Maggie, clapping her hands. “Let’s get to it.”
Lucy got to up to stand behind the table Liz had moved onto the stage for Lucy to use as an altar. Liz had built it for the sitting room on the second floor. She often made period furniture, but this piece was shaker inspired and made of perfectly matched, quarter-sawn, white oak. It was simple and perfect for this purpose.
“Do you mind standing for the service?” Maggie asked. “We could bring in a smaller table and a chair and go for a tight focus.”
“Listen to her,” said Liz. “Like she knows something about shooting video.”
“I do know something about it!” Maggie protested.
“Maggie, I think we should let Alina direct,” suggested Liz. “She does this for a living.”
Alina looked pleased. Maggie opened her mouth to speak but Liz shot her a warning look.
“Okay. This is not for transmission,” said Alina. “We’re going to record an introduction you can post on Facebook. We can record it as many times as you like until you’re satisfied. Then you can watch it and make improvements.”
“I’m used to doing live performances,” said Lucy. “I don’t need a rehearsal.”
“Ready?” asked Alina and began to count. While she did, Lucy prayed. She begged God to comfort her people, ease their fears, and envelope them in her grace. She opened her eyes just in time to see Alina’s signal.
Lucy beamed her warmest smile. “Welcome, everyone. I’m Lucille Bartlett, rector of St. Margaret’s Church. I invite you to join a livestream prayer service that we’ll be having here at nine o’clock. The information on how to download the app to join an interactive meeting is on your screen. We’ll be able to see one another and interact, including during our fellowship. I have a few friends with me to join us. Of course, it would be better to meet in person, but in this dangerous situation, it’s wonderful to be able to get together this way. Please call the number below if you have any trouble connecting. Dr. Stolz is standing by to help you with any technical questions.”
Alina gave her the cut sign. “It’s a take, I think.”
Maggie, who’d been watching on the monitor, nodded in agreement.
“You want to watch it to see if you need to make changes?” asked Alina. “You have ten minutes before going live.”
Lucy shook her head. “No, I’m ready.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
From the door of the screen porch, Maggie watched Liz’s science class with her granddaughters. They sat at the mahogany table Liz had originally built for al fresco meals on the deck. She later decided to bring inside to avoid the bugs. In the summer, it was their favorite place to eat. Now, it was the foundation of a makeshift classroom.
Maggie was surprised to see how patiently Liz worked with the girls. When she was doing a project she enjoyed, like building model rockets, she could sit with them for hours. Maggie suspected the children were Liz’s excuse to revisit her childhood. What she was witnessing today looked different. Liz seemed to be taking her role as a teacher seriously. She had drawn pictures of the coronavirus to explain what it looked like and how it worked. Then she encouraged the girls to draw their own pictures. They were completely absorbed in the lesson.
Instruction was going on in other parts of the house. Erika was teaching her Colby philosophy class, and Emily was working on a complicated math theorem with Erika’s father, the famous mathematician who had once been short listed for the Fields Medal. Maggie was also back to teaching online. She reflected that there were enough advanced degrees in that house to open a college.
She thought of all the poor parents with no teaching experience who were now forced to homeschool their children. Many of those parents were also trying to work remotely. How did they do it?
“What are you thinking about?” asked Lucy’s voice behind her. Maggie turned to see Lucy dressed casually in yoga pants and a sweatshirt. Maggie could instantly tell she wasn’t wearing a bra. Of course, hers weren’t the only unsupported boobs in that house. Maggie focused her eyes on Lucy’s smiling face.
“How nice to see you! Getting bored over there in your little garret?”
“Not bored exactly, just disconnected. I’m used to being very social and busy. I can’t do hospital visits or my grief counseling group. Suddenly, I have so much time on my hands. I finished my Sunday sermon early, believe it or not. I even miss my counseling clients. I can only call them, not see them. It’s not the same.”
“You could use Facetime or Skype.”
Lucy shook her head. “There are privacy issues with that, and many of my clients are poor or elderly. They don’t have the wonderful technology we have here.”
“Tea before you go back to work?” asked Maggie.
Lucy smiled with delight. “Oh, Maggie, that sounds wonderful! I need a break. Listening to Erika teach her philosophy class makes my head hurt.”
“Listening to Liz and Erika talk always makes my head hurt,” said Maggie, commiserating.
Lucy leaned against the countertop while Maggie heated the water in the electric kettle and put loose tea into the infuser of an elegant china teapot. When the w
ater was hot, she filled the pot and put it on a silver tray with matching china teacups, sugar bowl, and cream pitcher.
“How civilized,” observed Lucy.
“At least we can pretend, virus or no.” Maggie gestured toward the breakfast room.
As Lucy sat down, she threw her hair over her shoulders and out of the way. “Everything seems so off with this ‘stay-at-home’ order. I feel strange and disconnected. Like I’m in the twilight zone.”
“Everyone does. Americans aren’t used to following orders, and they’re certainly not used to being told when to come and go.” Maggie poured a little tea into her cup to make sure it had reached the proper strength. She filled Lucy’s cup. “You’re not even in your own home. That must feel really strange.”
Lucy reached for the sugar bowl. “I’m used to being a vagabond and living wherever I land. I think it’s’ harder on Erika. She misses her beach.”
“I can’t tell you how many times, I’ve thought, ‘What a nice day. I think I’ll drive to the beach for a walk.’ Then I remember I can’t because the beaches are closed. I miss the outdoors.” Maggie gazed out the window, noticing that the snow pile off the deck was finally beginning to melt.
“What were you thinking about so hard before?” Lucy blew on her tea before she took a sip.
“Alina tells me my fairy tale readings on the station’s website are a big success. There must be other things we can do to entertain kids during the lockdown. You’re a priest. Maybe you could tell Bible stories.”
Lucy’s auburn brows tipped toward the bridge of her nose. “Why does it have to be so religious? Why not sing together? Or skits? Puppet shows with sock puppets? There are a lot of opportunities, especially with all the technology Liz and Alina have in this house.”
“But I want it to be educational to support all the parents suddenly homeschooling their kids. And I want it to be meaningful. Everyone’s giving away free content. People are overloaded with it.”
“Oh, but some of it is wonderful! Erika and I are watching the livestream from the Met every night.”
