More Than You Know

by Nan Rossiter

  Will teased, “Maybe we’ll even throw in some Chinese for good measure.”

  Rumer frowned. “All that eating out won’t be good for your precious budget,” she said with a hint of sarcasm, but as soon as the words slipped out, she saw Will’s smile evaporate and she regretted it.

  “Whatever.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “Just take care of yourselves. I’ll call when I get there.”

  Will nodded. “Say hi to your sisters.”

  Rumer slung her backpack over her shoulder and turned to walk away but suddenly remembered their two-year-old black Lab. She turned around and realized her two men were still standing there, watching her go. “Don’t forget to feed Norman,” she called, “and, Rand, walk him when you get home from school. Pam said she’d take care of him if you decide to come. And, Will, please try to get Rand a haircut.”

  Will nodded and Rand waved. Rumer smiled wistfully, waved back, and realized that a tall man wearing a Red Sox shirt was holding the door for her. She turned and hurried inside.

  Standing in line, she rifled through her backpack, making sure she had everything—license, money, boarding pass, phone. She handed her pass to the attendant, slipped off her Keen mocs, dropped the shoes and the contents of her pockets into the bin, and walked through without incident. On the other side, she retrieved her belongings, slipped on her shoes, and looked around for a Dunkin’ Donuts. Will had been so early picking her up, she hadn’t had time for a cup of coffee—and she knew he wouldn’t have wanted to stop, so she didn’t even ask. Rand, on the other hand, who was now fully awake, would press his father until he gave in. In fact, her growing son was probably already wolfing down an Egg McMuffin and a carton of milk—because Will would say the OJ was too expensive.

  Rumer spied a Dunkin’ Donuts at the end of a line of storefronts and waited in line. When she finally reached the counter, she’d decided on her usual, a medium hazelnut with cream, and, gazing at the donuts, asked for a plain cruller too. She found a seat, put her backpack between her feet, and broke off a small piece of the donut. Taking a bite and a sip of her coffee, she decided that plain donuts were, by far, the best to have with coffee; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had one. She looked up at the departure board, realized her flight had been updated, and groaned. It was three hours late—What happened? She pulled her phone from her bag and texted Beryl. Then she leaned back in her seat, watched the cargo handlers loading a plane with luggage, and wondered what she would do for the next three hours. She looked out at the clear blue sky, watched the shimmering dots in the distance evolve into landing silver planes, and thought about Will. She shook her head sadly. Things had certainly changed—he didn’t even hug her good-bye anymore.

  Rumer had met William Josiah Swanson III at a frat party when she was a freshman at the Rhode Island School of Design and he was a sophomore at Brown. She’d been watching him from across the room as he manned the keg at the Alpha Epsilon Pi luau, and he glanced up and caught her looking. Carrying two red plastic cups overflowing with foamy beer, he’d walked over and held one out. She’d hesitated; her experience with drinking up until that night had been passing around a bottle of Boone’s Farm with Isak and her friends in the woods at the end of their road—and the next morning, she’d had such a wicked headache she’d sworn she’d never drink again. But on that mild autumn night, the handsome undergrad with the friendly smile and dark eyes had caught her attention, and she didn’t want him to think she was just a kid—who didn’t drink—so, ignoring the alarms going off in her head and feigning nonchalance, she’d accepted, and then followed him out onto the porch where she continued her ruse by leaning against a railing that felt like it might give way at any moment.

  They’d talked easily, the beer quickly having its effect; she discovered he was from New Hampshire, too, but was only in college to please his parents who were alums of the Ivy League school. She told him she had just started her foundation year at the art school down the hill and she hadn’t declared her major yet, but she was leaning toward illustration. She vaguely remembered that he’d replenished her cup once … twice? And then he’d started talking about going to the beach. In her tipsy state, she thought he meant the RISD beach—which was the grassy area in front of the freshman dorms where everyone hung out on sunny days—so she wondered why they would need a car to get there.

  As they drove out of Providence, the mild, breezy air and swirling lights reminded her of the county fair back home, and the wind that drifted through the open windows of the car smelled like the cool, gray ocean. The next morning she woke up—uncertain of where she was or how she’d gotten there. Bleary-eyed, she’d looked around and noticed that all the furniture was draped in white sheets—except for the bed on which they lay—which was covered in a blue quilt. The smooth tan skin of Will’s back was uncovered and she realized she was wearing his shirt—thankfully, it was over her shirt. She wondered how much more of him was exposed under the quilt and tried to remember. When he woke up, he teased her for not remembering; but finally, with a long sigh of regret and a heart-melting grin, he revealed that she didn’t need to worry—nothing had happened.

  Later, they’d closed up his parents’ beach house, stopped at Box Lunch for breakfast wraps and coffee, and walked along the deserted beach, watching the sandpipers being chased by the waves and listening to hungry seagulls begging for handouts. As the sun slipped from the sky, they’d finally made their way back to Providence and he’d kissed her good night under a streetlight on Benefit Street and promised to call.

  The next several months had been a whirlwind. As the attraction between them grew, their strong-willed personalities surfaced—and the results were often tumultuous and tearful. So when Will proposed to Rumer three years later, on the night she graduated from RISD, everyone who knew and loved them held their breath and wondered if their fiery relationship could last.

  Well, it had lasted, Rumer thought, sipping her coffee, for almost twenty-three years; but it hadn’t been easy. And now it looked as if the naysayers might have been right after all. Maybe they didn’t have what it takes to make it. The only thing holding them together was Rand. Tears stung Rumer’s eyes. At least her mom hadn’t lived to see them fall apart. She would’ve been heartbroken.

  3

  Beryl was lost in thought when she turned onto Route 3, and at least ten minutes passed before she realized that the last remnant of the day’s bright sky was over her left shoulder, and not her right. She groaned. “What did I do?” Anxiously, she searched for the next highway sign and, sure enough, she was headed north toward Manchester. “What’s the matter with me? I’ve traveled this road a thousand times.” She shook her head; even though she was just shy of forty-five, ever since her mom’s diagnosis, she’d become increasingly aware of her own mental blunders and “senior moments”—and the more aware she was of them, the more they seemed to happen. “I’m going to be right behind you, Mum.” She pulled off the next exit, praying it wouldn’t take her around Robin Hood’s barn. “Thank you,” she murmured, turning off the ramp and immediately seeing a sign for 3-South.

  Her thoughts turned to Rumer and she prayed her sister’s flight would be on time. She looked at the setting sun, now on her right side, and knew that was the direction from which Rumer was coming. Suddenly, she caught herself beginning to imagine tragic scenarios; then she heard her mom’s voice echoing in her head: “Beryl, why don’t you allow yourself the joy of looking forward to someone’s visit instead of worrying that something bad is going to happen while they’re traveling?” It was true—her mom knew her too well. It was almost as if she could read her mind. She glanced at the clock and realized she had plenty of time but felt bad knowing the lost minutes could have been spent stopping by the shop to feed Thoreau. She pictured the gray tiger curled up on the armchair alone and recalled how often he’d nestled on Mia’s lap, purring contentedly. Somehow, that wise cat had sensed the quiet change taking place i
n his old friend, and although he’d always been affectionate, he’d become increasingly attentive during those last several months.

  After her diagnosis, Mia had continued to manage at home with Beryl keeping a closer eye on her, but her forgetfulness had become increasingly worrisome. Isak and Rumer had flown home in the spring, and together they’d visited several facilities, but the one they’d liked best didn’t have a room and it had a long waiting list. Surprisingly, Isak and Rumer had agreed it would be better to wait than confuse Mia by moving her twice. They’d helped Beryl move some of her things back home, and Beryl had felt as if she’d been given a reprieve and been anxious to prove that caring for their mom at home was the best solution.

  But Mia’s health had deteriorated quickly and her care became all-consuming, just as Isak had predicted. It was almost as if her diagnosis had accelerated her decline. Bathing, feeding, and keeping tabs on her kept Beryl busy all the time. She never told her sisters how many times she found Mia walking down the road—talking about going home, but headed in the opposite direction. One time, she was missing for more than an hour before Beryl found her sitting by the pond.

  “Oh, Mum,” Beryl had cried in thankful relief. “I’m so sorry you got lost. You really scared me.”

  “I was going to our cabin at MacDowell,” she said, “but I couldn’t remember the way.”

  “Mum, you haven’t worked at MacDowell in years—and we never owned a cabin.”

  Mia’s eyes had clouded over with confusion.

  On top of everything, Tranquility in a Teapot’s hours had become sporadic at best and business suffered. Everyone in town knew about Mia’s decline and they’d tried to rally around the Grahams, but it had still looked like the little shop might close. Beryl had been beside herself. She’d wanted to hire help, but she hadn’t even had time to interview anyone. She’d tried to open every day, at least for a couple of hours, and on good days, Mia had seemed to enjoy being at the shop; but most of the time, she’d just sat in her armchair, gazing out the window with Thoreau on her lap. Beryl had missed the old days, when they’d cheerfully worked side by side, laughing and helping customers select and sample specialty teas; and she missed pulling down the shade at the end of the day, sitting at one of the café tables, chatting with her mom over a freshly brewed pot of Darjeeling tea, and munching on raisin scones or almond biscotti. Mia had no longer wanted tea; its heat surprised her and made her wince with discomfort.

  So it was a somber day, ten months later, when the nursing home called to say they had a room for Mia, and Beryl, in spite of her deep commitment to care for her mom at home, had felt sadly relieved. The burden had been much more than she’d imagined, and she was physically and emotionally exhausted. On top of that, she’d felt utterly hopeless because nothing seemed to slow the steady progress of the awful disease that was stealing her mom away. She’d called Isak and Rumer to let them know, and they’d each asked, hesitantly, if she thought she could handle the transition alone. Beryl had said she could—after all, it was just a suitcase and some pictures.

  But, as it turned out, it wasn’t just a suitcase and some pictures—it had been the most heart-wrenching thing she’d ever done. Tears had filled her eyes as she promised she’d come every day, and Mia had nodded trustingly, trying to understand. Beryl had clung to her and Mia had held her daughter close, trying to be a comfort. When Beryl left, she’d turned around at the end of the hall, and Mia, looking lost and small, had smiled, trying to be brave and waving uncertainly. Beryl had waved back, tears streaming down her cheeks and feeling as if she had just betrayed the one person she loved most on earth.

  There was very little traffic headed into Boston that early May evening and Beryl breezed down 93 onto 90 and zipped off the airport exit without incident. She found a spot in short-term parking, hurried into the terminal, and scanned the arrival /departure screen. Immediately, her heart sank—Rumer’s flight was delayed by three hours! She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and realized she’d missed two calls and one text. She read the text and realized that her sister had written to tell her she was going to be late. That’s what I get for not checking this stupid phone, she chided herself.

  She sat down in a chair and listened to her first message. It was from Isak: “Hi, Ber. I’m catching an earlier flight tomorrow, but don’t worry—you don’t have to pick me up. As much as I’d love to ride up to New Hampshire in that cool Mini, I’m just gonna rent. Love ya!” Beryl smiled, picturing her oldest sister—tall, feisty, and redheaded. Of course she was going to rent; she had points, money, miles—she traveled all the time—Beryl was sure the Hertz guy would be waiting for her, holding her keys when she got off the plane. That’s how life was for Isak—if she told the earth to stop, it would come to a shuddering halt, its axis swaying with the unexpected pressure.

  Rumer, on the other hand, was not as worldly as Isak, but she’d definitely seen more of it than Beryl. Like Beryl, she didn’t have points, money, or miles, but she had spent a semester of her junior year traveling abroad, and she’d finally broken the bonds of home and moved to Montana. But Rumer never cared about having a car when she was home. She was a free spirit and went wherever the road took her or, in this case, wherever her little sister drove her—and she loved being met at the gate by someone more dear to her than the Hertz guy.

  Beryl sighed and pushed the button to hear the second message. “Hi, Beryl, it’s Micah—Micah Coleman. I know—I probably don’t need to clarify that—how many Micahs could you possibly know? Anyway, I’m sure you’re wondering how I got this number. Well, I tried to call the shop, but there was no answer and my mom saw this number on an old Tranquility business card. She told me about your mom and I’m … I’m so sorry. Your mom was a wonderful lady. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you … and find out if there are any plans for her service. Listen, I’m home, and by home, I mean New Hampshire. You have my cell number now so—if there’s anything you need—anything at all—call me. All right—talk to you soon.”

  Beryl pushed replay to listen to Micah’s message again and smiled at his question about how many Micahs she could possibly know—it was true, she only knew one. She hesitated, her finger hovering over the button with the green phone icon—it was serendipitous that he should call when she’d just been thinking of him. She hadn’t seen him since that fateful day three years ago and, ever since, she hadn’t had time to think of anyone but her mom. She’d been overwhelmed with—well, life! She stood and slipped the phone into her pocket. She’d call him when the arrangements were set. Her stomach growled and she realized she hadn’t eaten lunch or dinner. She wandered through the terminal, looking for someplace to grab a bite, and wondered what she was going to do for the next three hours. She could almost go home, feed the cat, and come back before Rumer arrived. She saw a Dunkin’ Donuts and bought a small black coffee and an egg-white veggie wrap, found a seat near the window, and stared out into the darkness.

  The last several months of Mia’s life had been a blur of despair and uncertainty. “I just don’t know if she’s going to pull through,” Beryl had told her sisters on the phone. They’d been through it all before: Mia had had an undiagnosed urinary tract infection in October, and she’d been so sick and unresponsive that the aides had started giving Beryl consolatory hugs. Beryl, in turn, had tearfully reported to her sisters that it didn’t look good and they’d flown home immediately. But by the time they’d arrived, the antibiotics had kicked in and Mia was rebounding. “I’m sorry,” Beryl had said. “If you’d seen her, you would’ve thought she was at death’s door.” Isak and Rumer had insisted it was okay; they knew she was carrying the lion’s share of their mom’s care and they were just thankful she was there.

  A mild winter had followed, bringing nagging colds to the nursing home, and although Mia only ended up with a cough, it had lingered annoyingly. In early spring, the respiratory ailments had resurfaced. Everyone had been coughing and sneezing again—so much so that Beryl had started
carrying a bottle of Purell in her pocket. She’d sat with Mia in her room, carefully trimmed her nails, rubbed Purell on her hands, and then smoothed them with Curel hand lotion. “They should combine these two products,” she’d said with a smile, gently rubbing the cream into Mia’s hands. “Cu-Pu-Rel!” She’d laughed and Mia had gazed at her with a half-smile, not understanding. Beryl had gently rested her forehead against her mom’s, gazed into her blue eyes, and whispered, “I love you so much, Mum.”

  Slowly and softly, Mia had murmured back, “I love you—more—than—you—know.” Tears had filled Beryl’s eyes. She hadn’t heard her mom say those words in a long time. She left that day feeling lighthearted, but when she returned the next day, her heart filled up with fear—Mia was still in bed, her breathing labored and raspy, and her gaze unseeing. The nurse said she hadn’t eaten anything and, within hours, she was rushed to the hospital with possible pneumonia.

  Beryl had sent another cautionary alarm out to her sisters. “She’s on antibiotics, but I don’t know if she’ll respond this time. She’s very weak and she doesn’t open her eyes. It’s almost like there’s something else going on …” She hesitated. “I hate to make you fly home again for no reason, but I just don’t know …”

  Beryl had called her next-door neighbor to take care of Flannery and stopped by the shop to feed Thoreau. When she’d returned to the hospital, there was little change. A nurse had offered to wheel in a cot, but Beryl had declined.

  “She can hear you if you talk to her,” the nurse had said gently, bringing her a cup of coffee and a sandwich. “Their hearing is the last to go… .”

  Beryl had looked up in surprise. “The last to go?”

  The nurse had searched Beryl’s eyes. “Hon, if there’s anyone you think would want to see her, you’d better give them a call.”

  “Isn’t there something we can do?”