by Elena Graf
“Cherie, I can continue in a therapeutic role if you wish, or we could talk as friends. Your choice.”
“You offered that before. I don’t know if you’d hold my feet to the fire as my friend instead of my therapist.”
Lucy laughed. “You really don’t know me very well, do you?”
Cherie smiled in return. “No, but I’m getting the idea.”
“I promise to hold your feet to the fire until your toes curl, but if you want the formality of sessions, we can do that too.”
“Yes, I think I need the discipline.”
“Okay. We’ll do it your way.”
“But I don’t want to be a burden. I know you have a lot of clients and other people, who have needs greater than mine.”
Lucy gave her a direct moment. “At this moment, and whenever we are working together, you are the most important person in my life. No one has needs greater than yours. Is that understood?”
“Yes. And thank you.”
Through the camera lens, Lucy adjusted her position in her chair. “So, give me a little preview of what we’ll be discussing in our sessions.”
“Well, there’s the guilt for one thing. I’m full of it. I just can’t get rid of it. I absolutely believe I am the cause of my father’s illness. What if something happens to him?”
Lucy sighed. “Someday, something will happen to him. No matter how well you care for him and protect him, someday, he will die, and that’s how it is. It’s part of life.”
“I know, but I can’t help but feel responsible. I followed all the protocols in the office. I was so careful in the supermarket. I’ve been wiping down everything in the house like crazy.”
“You’re trying your best, but there are things you can’t control. You know that.”
Cherie nodded.
“So, guilt. What else?”
“My own racism. Sometimes, I hate white people. Not you, of course, but those angry white men you see at political rallies. Of course, if I hate white people, I hate myself too. I’m mostly white.”
“Yes, you are. And race is a myth. It’s so superficial. We are more alike than we are different. But you already know that too. Okay, racism is another topic. Anything else?”
“Sex.”
“Sex,” Lucy repeated. “Is that something you want to talk to me about? Is it something medical? If it is, you should talk to Dr. Stolz. She’s great on that topic.”
Cherie thought but didn’t say that Liz was the last person she’d ask about sex. “No, not medical. And why not talk to you? You’re a lesbian married to another woman…It doesn’t make you uncomfortable to talk to me about sex, does it?”
“No, not at all. I talk about sex a lot in marriage counseling before and after the wedding. Is there a specific issue you want to address?”
Cherie took a moment as she wondered if talking about sex with Brenda would be a betrayal.
“In my present relationship, I can’t bring my partner to climax.”
Lucy nodded. “We’re all so vulnerable in that moment. Do you think it’s a trust issue?”
“It could be.” Cherie sighed in frustration. “I’ve tried everything.”
“Maybe you just need to give it time,” suggested Lucy. “You’ve just begun your physical relationship. Keep trying. Maybe you need to get used to each other.”
“That would be nice, but I can’t even touch her. Right now, I can’t even be in the same room with her.”
“I know, Cherie. That must be so hard for both of you. When Erika and I first got together, I couldn’t keep my hands off of her. I can’t even imagine what you and Brenda are going through.”
Cherie sighed deeply. “You must think this concern is so trivial and selfish. My father is in the hospital and may die, and I’m worrying about orgasms.”
“It’s not selfish. Sex is an affirmation of life. It’s probably more important now than ever. Have you asked Brenda to show you how she makes herself come?”
Cherie felt her face flame. “That sounds almost as kinky as undressing her while she’s in uniform.”
Lucy smiled. “Then ask her to tell you. Talk to one another.” Lucy looked like she just had an idea. “You can still talk to one another even if you can’t touch.” Lucy cocked her head to one side, and her red hair fell over her shoulder. “Maybe this strange situation will present some interesting opportunities.”
“Phone sex?”
Lucy shrugged.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lucy looked down the table where nine people sat—four generations, including lively children and a man in his nineties. As an only child, who’d come from a small family, Lucy had never experienced raucous multigenerational holiday gatherings. Someone else might be put off by the noise, which sometimes made it hard to focus on any one conversation, but Lucy savored the energy of this extended family.
Maggie and Liz, who entertained a houseful during the summer were in their element. Mealtimes were organized and efficient. They rotated responsibilities. Erika had been the cook tonight. She’d had no classes that day, so she’d volunteered to prepare dinner. They were still working off the defrosted food from their freezer. Erika had made Liz’s recipe for chicken cacciatore. Lucy had special memories of that dish because it was the first dinner Erika had cooked for her in the beach house.
Before dinner, Liz had made the rounds of the families they were providing with meals from their sudden abundance. She dropped off dinner for Cherie too. Despite dipping into Maggie’s stores of frozen tomato sauce, it didn’t look like they would run out any time soon.
“We should feel lucky that Lucy and Erika have brought us so much food,” said Liz. “There are shortages in the supermarket. No chicken. Very little meat except expensive cuts no one can afford. You can’t find toilet paper anywhere. I can’t figure that one out. The virus doesn’t usually cause intestinal problems.”
“People are never rational in a crisis,” pronounced Erika in her crisp English accent. “Shortages bring out the worst in human beings.”
“But really? Toilet paper?” said Maggie in a disapproving voice. “Good thing Liz was already stocking up for our summer guests every time BJ’s had a sale. We’ll need it with all the women in this house.”
Stefan made a little face. “It’s like a convent here. I have taken to Facetiming Tom Simmons just to see someone who can grow a beard.”
Everyone laughed.
Lucy was glad to hear that Stefan had maintained his friendship with his former student. Stefan had been Tom’s dissertation advisor in graduate school in the era when Tom and Erika were pursuing doctorates in mathematics. Like Lucy, Tom had come to his vocation later in life.
Although they chatted everyday by Facetime, Lucy wondered how Tom was faring in the rectory. When she’d moved in with Erika after the renovation of the beach house, she had vacated the comfortable rector’s apartment and had encouraged Tom to move into it. She was glad he had agreed to move into the larger quarters. In this lockdown, being shut up in one of the tiny curate’s studios, each with only one window, would have been like solitary confinement.
“Do you talk about math with Tom?” Lucy asked, leaning over so she could see Stefan at the other end of the table.
“No, I have enough mathematics with your Emily. Tom and I play chess.”
“How long has this been going on?” asked Erika, looking surprised.
“Since you forced me to move to Maine.”
“I did not force you, Papi,” Erika protested in a mild voice. “Don’t spread rumors. You came willingly.”
“Yes, I did, but my version has more drama.”
“And who is winning this virtual chess game?” asked his daughter.
“I am, of course.”
“Tom’s probably throwing it to make you feel good,” Erika said and reached for the
salad bowl.
“How dare you say that!” Stefan protested. “He is a priest. He would never cheat!”
Lucy chuckled. She was used to the sparring between father and daughter, but she would not put it past Tom to throw the game to make his old mentor feel good.
“We could have a chess tournament,” suggested Emily. “Aunt Liz, do you have a chess board?”
“I do. Several, in fact. Some of my summer guests are avid chess players. What did you have in mind, Emily?”
“We could set up pairs, the winners play winners, until someone wins. I could play Stefan. Erika could play you. Mom could play Tom.”
“What about me?” asked Maggie. “I know I’m not a big brain like the rest of you, but I like to play too.”
“You can play me, Mom,” said Alina.
“That sounds like fun,” said Maggie, “but I also vote for a movie night. Any suggestions?”
“That new Tom Hanks movie, the one where he plays Mr. Rogers,” Lucy said.
“I’ll put the kids to bed first,” Alina said. “I hear it’s not a kids’ movie.”
“I don’t know if it’s available for streaming yet. I’ll check after dinner,” said Liz.
“And I vote for planning a talent night,” Maggie said, gesturing to Erika to pass the salad bowl.
***
Maggie and Liz cleaned up the kitchen while their guests relaxed in the living room. Lucy scanned her phone for messages. The virus might be on everyone’s mind, but Lucy knew from past disasters that a mental health crisis would follow. Her parishioners were as stressed as everyone in this strange situation, and she wanted to be available to them.
Nicki, Alina’s youngest, leaned her elbows on Lucy’s thigh. “Mother Lucy, can I sit on your lap?” At three, Nicki’s speech still wasn’t completely clear, but Lucy could usually understand what she was trying to say.
Lucy put her phone away and lifted the girl into her lap. Out of the corner of her eye, Lucy saw Emily watching the scene with a little envy.
“Are you Emily’s mommy?” asked Nicki. The girl’s dark eyes were curious.
“Yes, I am Emily’s mommy.” Lucy glanced at her daughter and gave her a warm smile.
“I can tell,” said Nicki.
“You can?” asked Lucy with exaggerated surprise. “How can you tell?”
Nicki picked up a handful of Lucy’s hair. “This. She has orange hair too.”
Lucy laughed. “People usually say it’s red, but Emily’s hair is still orange. It will probably get darker as she gets older.”
Katrina insinuated herself between Erika and Lucy and leaned heavily against her.
“You’re very popular tonight,” Erika observed, moving over to make room for Katrina.
“Everyone loves Mother Lucy,” Alina said.
Nicki made herself small by curling into a ball. Lucy gave her a little hug. “I love you, Mother Lucy,” Nicki murmured. Her sister repeated it like a chorus.
“Can I sleep with you tonight?” asked Nicki, snuggling closer.
“You can have them, Mom,” said Emily. “They’ve moved in with me, and now I can’t get rid of them.”
“Are they bothering you?” Alina asked anxiously. “I’ll take them back. I was happy they were giving Mom and Liz a break.”
“No, they’re not bothering me,” Emily admitted. “It’s kind of nice. They keep me warm at night. Like living stuffed animals.”
Katrina evidently liked that. She sprinted across the room and leaned against Emily. “I love you, Emily.”
Erika looked up from her iPad. “Now, aren’t you sorry you said that, Emily, dear?”
But Emily didn’t look sorry or seem to mind. A moment later, Nicki followed her sister and climbed into Emily’s lap.
“All right, you two, you can have some ice cream and then bedtime. Say goodnight to everyone.” The girls made their rounds of the room, wishing everyone goodnight and turning their faces up for a kiss.
Alina turned to Emily. “Thank you for putting up with the kids. I’ll put them to bed in my room. Maybe they’ll leave you alone tonight. They’re so spoiled having all this adult company.”
“Their stuffed toys are on my bed,” said Emily.
Alina nodded and herded her brood into the breakfast room for ice cream.
“You’re very good with the children,” Lucy said to her daughter. “Very kind. Do you mind them taking up room in your bed?”
Emily shook her head. “When I dreamed of finding you, I always hoped I might have brothers and sisters too.”
“It’s not easy being an only child,” said Erika. “Yes, you have all of your parents’ attention, but it’s a bit lonely at times.”
Emily looked at Erika with cool, green eyes for a long moment before saying, “It was especially lonely because I couldn’t invite any of my classmates home. My parents thought they were a bad influence and didn’t want them playing with me.”
Whenever Emily spoke about life with her adoptive parents, Lucy felt a twinge of guilt. Not only had she missed her daughter’s young childhood, she’d unwittingly left her to be raised by religious fanatics. It was a miracle, and a testament to Emily’s resilience and resourcefulness that her daughter had turned out as intact as she was, especially given her autism.
Alina shepherded the girls upstairs while Katrina talked non-stop. Her poor sister could hardly get in a word. No wonder she was having trouble with her speech.
Erika said in a voice intended for Lucy’s ears only. “I dearly hope they don’t find their way across the bridge to our place. For selfish reasons, of course.”
Maggie came into the living room to offer dessert.
“Thank you, dear, but I think I shall decline,” said Erika, “I’m growing rather fat sitting around here with little exercise. I understand why they closed the beaches, but was it really necessary?”
“They closed the beaches to keep the summer people from coming up on the first warm day,” said Maggie. “We have so few cases here. They want to keep it that way.”
Erika sighed. “I know, but I so miss my walks along the ocean. I walk even on the coldest days. I can’t tell you how much I miss it.”
“You could park in our driveway and walk along Ocean Road,” Lucy suggested.
“The last time, the police drove by giving me dirty looks. Good grief! I was on my own street, parked in front of my own house!”
Liz came into the room. “Anyone for an after-dinner drink?”
“What are you offering, Elizabeth?” asked Stefan. “I may have something tonight. Everyone is so bloody glum.” Stefan seldom used the British expletives he’d acquired when he was a tutor at Cambridge, but when he did, his German accent made them sound almost laughable. No one laughed this time. His message was clear.
“I’ve opened a bottle of German brandy. Unfortunately, my stash of alcohol is running low. I’m leery of going to the New Hampshire liquor store, although I have no idea how they intend to enforce the fourteen-day self-quarantine if I cross the state line.”
“How can they know?” asked Erika. “Are they stopping cars at the border?”
“I don’t think so,” Liz said, “but they have cameras all along 95. Who knows?”
Lucy felt a vibration in her pocket and took out her phone. The screen showed that Cherie Bois was calling. Lucy looked at the time. 7:55. Late for a call, but not overly so. She went into the kitchen for privacy.
“Hello, Cherie,” said Lucy. “How are you?”
“Oh, Lucy, I need you to pray for my father. I just got a call. They had to intubate him and put him on a vent. Just yesterday they were talking about sending him home!”
“Oh, dear. That’s not good news, but at least he’s there where they can help him. Certainly, I will pray for him, but you should too. Your prayers are just as powerful as mine
.”
“I know, but I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“I’m glad it’s a comfort to you. Would you like me to pray with you?”
“Yes, please.”
Lucy took a seat in the breakfast room and recited the Lord’s prayer with Cherie. She added her own benediction. “Dear God, please bless Jean-Paul and hold him safely in your arms. Comfort him in his distress. Breathe hope into him in this, his hour of need.”
“Thank you, Lucy,” said Cherie. Lucy could hear that she was close to tears.
“You’re welcome. Is there something else I can do for you? Do you want to talk?”
“Is Dr. Stolz there?”
“Yes, she is. Would you like to talk to her?”
“Please.”
Lucy went into the living room and signaled to Liz with her phone. She mouthed Cherie’s name. Liz instantly jumped up. Lucy handed her the phone and returned to her seat beside Erika.
A few minutes later, Liz returned to the room. Her grave expression told Lucy all she needed to know.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Maggie saw Liz’s face and instantly knew something was wrong. She got up and went to her. “What’s wrong, honey?”
Liz shook her head, but that wasn’t good enough for Maggie. She knew Liz tried to avoid sharing the burdens placed on her by her medical practice. Maggie was grateful she didn’t tell her everything. Maggie had no context to understand all the horrible things Liz experienced as a doctor or the terrible secrets she had to keep. But she recognized when the sorrows Liz kept bottled up inside needed a release. This was one of those times.
She took Liz by the arm and led her into the kitchen. “What’s wrong? You look like you lost your last friend.”
“I’m sorry. I thought I was covering it up well.” Liz grinned the off-centered grin that Maggie found so endearing.
“Your face is so expressive when you don’t think anyone is watching. Besides, you could never fool me.” Maggie encircled Liz’s waist and gave her a squeeze. “Honey, what is it? Please tell me.” Liz made a sad face. Maggie didn’t push. She knew that sometimes it took Liz a long time to find words to express her feelings, so she’d learned to be patient. “Let’s go to your office for privacy.”
