by Nan Rossiter
“Oh, no!” Beryl caught her breath. “Why? Why do you think that?”
“I don’t know,” she said, hot tears spilling down her cheeks. She shook her head. “I wouldn’t blame him …” She looked up and laughed. “Well, I would blame him.”
Beryl nodded.
“Sometimes I’m such a bitch, ya know—and, honestly, recently our love life sucks—so I wouldn’t blame him if he went somewhere else—but, damnit, he better not be!”
“Well, what makes you think he is?”
“I don’t know. He works long hours—he’s always at the hospital, or so he says. We never see each other—and when we do, it’s like we’re total strangers. Everything is different now that the kids are gone—we have nothing to talk about, nothing in common. At least, before, we had the kids and their activities—they needed us.” She shook her head sadly. “I don’t know for sure, but I’ve heard him talking a lot to a colleague—a young woman doctor—I know who she is—single and pretty—and their conversations are always so cheerful and friendly.” She fiddled with her phone, flipping through the songs without really seeing them.
“And this whole thing with Mum—I just can’t believe she was capable of having an affair with a married man. It’s like the one person on earth who I absolutely trusted and revered—who could do no wrong—has let me down.”
“Isak, Mum was only human—just like the rest of us. Look at her life—she was only twenty-six when Dad died, and there she was—with three little girls—all by herself. Do you think she would’ve ever met someone who’d be willing to step into Dad’s shoes and take on that kind of responsibility? Do you think she even wanted to take the chance of bringing someone new into our lives? There are all kinds of risks involved in that. She did the best she could. Besides, we haven’t even finished reading the story—we don’t know what happened, we don’t even know what the circumstances were … But I think you should give her the benefit of the doubt, and I think you should give Matt the same benefit. You need to talk to him—not shut him out.”
Isak wiped her eyes. “I know. I shouldn’t jump to conclusions—but for some reason, I always do.”
“I do it too.”
“No, you don’t.”
Rumer appeared in the doorway. “Oh, my goodness!” she said, rubbing her eyes. “Are you two crying again?” She shook her head. “I’m gonna have to keep you separated!”
“Like that’s ever gonna happen!” Beryl said, laughing and putting her arm around her sister.
Suddenly, Isak remembered the treasure she’d tucked in her pocket. “You guys have to see what I found!” She reached into the pocket of her jeans. “I was packing up Mum’s jewelry because you said you wanted to go through it later and I found this.” She held up a small, round yellow and red tag. “It’s the tag I cut off my Steiff toy when I was little—Mum saved it!”
“That is so Mum!” Beryl said, looking at the tag.
Isak handed it to Rumer and she read the name. “His name is Nagy?! What kind of name is that for a beaver? They should’ve named him The Beav … or Theo.”
Isak rolled her eyes. “Steiff is German, silly, not American.”
“Well, there’s the problem right there,” Rumer said, handing the tag back to her. “Did you find anything else?”
Isak looked around. “I found this box,” she said, reaching for a small, flat box on the bed. “The only thing in it, though, is a faded blue pillowcase wrapped in tissue paper.” She opened the box and lightly touched the pillowcase. “Oh, and I also found our old Canasta game,” she said, closing the box. “Remember how we used to play it for hours on snow days?”
Beryl laughed. “Yeah, we sat around in our pj’s all day long, drank cocoa, ate cinnamon toast, and played Canasta. Those were the good ole days!”
“Mum made the best cinnamon toast,” Rumer said wistfully. “I wish we could go back and relive one of those days.”
They all sat on the bed, remembering—until Beryl said what they were all thinking, “We should play Canasta today, for old time’s sake!”
“We should,” Isak agreed. “This afternoon, though. I don’t know about you guys, but I need to go somewhere and log back into the world. Being off the proverbial grid is driving me crazy!”
Beryl nodded. “How about the diner? I think they have WiFi and we could have breakfast.”
An hour later, they were sitting in a booth at the Peterborough Diner, looking over menus while Isak checked her e-mail. “Crap,” she murmured, half to herself. “I have a hundred and sixty-four new e-mails.”
“Wow! I had no idea you were so popular!” Beryl said, closing her menu.
A waitress bustled over to the table. “Can I get you ladies some coffee?”
They all nodded and Isak eyed Beryl. “You’re having coffee?”
“I love diner coffee. And the coffee you made last night was so good—what’d you do to it?”
“I sprinkled cinnamon on it.”
“Well, it tasted like Christmas!”
The waitress brought over three mugs of steaming coffee and a bowl of creamers. “Ready to order?”
Beryl and Rumer both nodded, but Isak shook her head as she quickly opened her menu. “You two go—I just need a sec.”
Beryl ordered blueberry pancakes with sausage, and Rumer ordered French toast with bacon. “Real maple syrup, please,” Beryl added.
“That’ll be a dollar fifty more,” the waitress warned.
“That’s okay,” Beryl said. There was no way she was contaminating her pancakes with the icky fake stuff.
Isak could feel the pressure of the waitress’s eyes. “And—I’ll—have …” she said slowly, “… the … uhm … I’ll have blueberry pancakes, too—with bacon and real syrup.”
“That’ll be a dol—”
“I know,” Isak interrupted. “A dollar fifty more.”
“Any OJ with that?”
“No, thanks,” she said, closing her menu. The waitress took the menus and hurried away as Isak grumbled, “You’d think that a diner in the heart of maple syrup country would only offer the real thing—and not charge extra! What is this country coming to?”
Rumer, who was sitting next to her, eyed her laptop. “Is that the new MacBook Pro?”
Isak nodded and Rumer peered over her shoulder. “Wow! Look at that display,” she teased. “My retinas have never been happier!”
Isak rolled her eyes and poked her with her elbow.
“Ouch,” Rumer said, grinning at Beryl.
Isak looked up. “So, Ber, want to set up your Facebook page?”
“No … I don’t think so,” Beryl said, sipping her coffee.
“C’mon, Ber,” Rumer cajoled. “You only have to post what you want, and you can set it up so that only your friends—and your sisters—can see it. Don’t forget, Micah’s on …”
“Oh, okay,” she said reluctantly.
Isak pulled up the Facebook Web site, clicked on Register, and typed in her sister’s name. “Password?”
Beryl eyed her suspiciously. “I’ll do it.”
Isak sighed and turned the laptop to face her.
Five minutes later, with her mouth full of pancakes, Isak asked, “Wannausethanicepicherathathreeaus?”
“What?!” Beryl asked.
Rumer interpreted, “She said, ‘Do you want to use that nice picture of the three of us—for your profile picture?’ ”
“Sure,” Beryl answered with an indifferent shrug.
Isak swallowed. “Okay, so now you’re gonna friend Rumer and me.”
“K,” Beryl agreed halfheartedly—more interested in her pancakes than in “friending” the people she was already sitting with.
“There!” Isak said triumphantly. She turned the laptop so Beryl could see her new page and Beryl nodded, trying to show the appropriate amount of enthusiasm.
When they finished breakfast, Isak clicked on the friend request icon. “Look!” she said, “You already have thirteen friend requests—
and one of them is Micah!”
“Where? Lemme see,” Beryl asked, her eyes lighting up. Isak showed her the requests. “What do I do?”
“You either accept or decline. You want to decline him, right?”
“No!”
Isak laughed. “Then click ‘Accept,’ silly.”
For the first time, Beryl looked at her homepage with interest. “Who’s James Dixon?”
“Did he send you a friend request?” Isak asked, elbowing Rumer.
Beryl nodded.
“That’s Jimmy Dixon,” Rumer said. “Click on his picture.”
Beryl clicked on his profile and her eyes grew wide. “No way!” she exclaimed, trying not to laugh. “He still has that gap between his teeth. How come he never got that fixed?”
“I don’t know, but I told you it’s fun to see how people have changed—or not,” Rumer said with a grin.
Before they left, Beryl had six posts on her wall from old high-school classmates saying how sorry they were to hear about her mom.
24
“Read ’em and weep,” Beryl said, laying down her last meld.
“Again?!” Isak said, slapping down a fistful of mismatched cards. “I’m done!”
“Me too,” sighed Rumer, dropping her cards on the table. “And I’m hungry—what are we having for dinner?”
“We just had lunch,” Beryl said, glancing at the clock.
“I know, I was just wondering.”
“Well, Micah should be here soon and we can stop at the store after we drop off the boxes. What do you feel like having?”
“We should try to keep it simple,” Isak reminded them, “since we want to finish the story tonight. We also need to think about what we’re going to feed everyone over the weekend—we should probably go food shopping tomorrow.”
Rumer nodded, remembering Rand’s appetite. “We could have wraps tonight; we have leftover chicken and lettuce and all the fixings,” Rumer said. “We just need the wraps.”
“That sounds good,” Beryl agreed.
“I know a good dip too,” Isak added, gathering up the cards. “I just need cream cheese, a can of chili, a can of chopped mild chili peppers, a package of shredded Mexican cheese, and some tortilla chips. And,” she added with a grin, “if you get a can of frozen limeade and some tequila, we could have margaritas with it.”
“I’m in!” Rumer said.
“Okay,” Beryl agreed, getting up to jot everything down.
As she pushed back from the table, there was a light knock on the screen door and Flannery, who’d been dozing under the table, let out a startled bark and scrambled to get up. Then she waddled over to press her nose against the screen, her hind end wagging. Beryl looked out and saw a small figure standing on the porch.
“Hi, Charlotte,” Beryl said, pushing the door open as Flan wiggled out.
“Hi,” Charlotte replied softly, putting her hand on Flan’s head.
“Where’s your dad?”
Charlotte pointed and Beryl looked over and saw Micah walking toward the house with a round plastic container in his hands.
“What did you guys bring?” she asked in surprise.
“Cookies,” Charlotte said with a shy smile.
“Chocolate-chip cookies?!”
Charlotte nodded and grinned, showing both dimples. “Those are my favorite! How did you know?”
Charlotte shrugged, still grinning.
“Did you help?”
She nodded again as Micah reached the bottom step. “Did you say hello, Char?” he asked.
She nodded. “I helped stir,” she said, finding her voice and her confidence—now that her backup had arrived.
“You did?!”
She nodded again and Micah handed the cookies to Beryl. “Hi!” he said.
“Hi! You didn’t have to do this!”
“I didn’t,” he said, “the bakers did.”
“Well, thank you, Charlotte,” Beryl said, kneeling down to give her a hug.
“You’re welcome,” she said softly.
Beryl stood up again. “And please thank your mom—and give her a hug too.”
“I will,” he said. “And be forewarned—this is just the beginning of the food that’s coming your way. My mom said to tell you not to go food shopping. She and some of the ladies have been cooking up a storm and they’re bringing everything over tomorrow. She asked me if I knew when your family was arriving, but I said I wasn’t sure.”
“Tomorrow,” Beryl confirmed.
“That’s perfect, then.”
“They really don’t have to do that, though—we were planning to go to the store.”
“They want to do it,” Micah assured her.
“Are you sure?”
He nodded and Beryl lifted the lid off the container. “Mmmm, look at these!” she said, smiling at Charlotte. “Can I share these with Rumer and Isak?”
Charlotte looked up at Micah and he nodded, and she turned back to Beryl and, clinging to Micah’s pant leg, nodded too.
“I don’t have to,” Beryl said. “If you think I should eat them all myself …”
Charlotte looked up at Micah again and he shook his head and mouthed the word nooo! Charlotte looked back at Beryl and shook her head too.
“Okay,” Beryl replied. “It probably wouldn’t be good if I ate them all! Besides, Isak and Rumer will be very happy too. Should we show them?”
Charlotte nodded, reached for Beryl’s hand, and followed her into the kitchen. “You guys,” Beryl said, “look what Charlotte brought us!”
Isak peered curiously in the container. “All right! Thanks, Charlotte!”
“Wow!” Rumer said with a big smile. “May I have one?” Charlotte nodded and Rumer picked out a cookie and took a bite. “Oh, my goodness,” she said, “this is the best chocolate-chip cookie I’ve ever had!”
Micah smiled and said, “Char, why don’t you tell them the secret ingredient?”
Charlotte gave him a puzzled look and he knelt down and whispered in her ear, and her face lit up. “Vanilla pudding,” she said shyly with a dimpled grin.
Beryl offered the container to everyone. “Would anyone like a glass of milk?” Charlotte raised her hand, then three more hands went up too. “Okay, a round of milk coming up! Char, want to help?”
Micah watched his little girl laughing with Beryl as they poured milk into glasses and, for the first time since Beth died, he wondered if maybe there was room for someone else in their lives.
25
“Who wants a margarita?” Isak called as she slid her Mexican dip into the microwave. Three hands went up, but this time Charlotte’s wasn’t one of them.
After Micah and Beryl had dropped the boxes off at the thrift store, they’d brought Charlotte back to his parents’ house, where Beryl had the chance to thank—and hug—his mom. While they were there, she also noticed a sour cream coffee cake cooling on a rack and two trays of lasagna under construction. “These probably won’t be as good as your mom’s,” Maddie had said with a smile, “but they’ll taste pretty good to a hungry crowd.”
“I can’t thank you enough, Mrs. Coleman,” Beryl had said.
“You’re welcome, hon,” Maddie had replied. “I’m not the only one cooking though, so I hope you have room in your fridge.”
“What’s the ratio of tequila to limeade?” Rumer asked, filling their old blender with ice.
“Oh, I don’t know—I usually just dump and taste,” Isak said, pulling the white strip of plastic off the limeade can and lifting off the top.
“Dump and taste—hmm, I’d like to see those directions in a cookbook.”
Isak laughed. “Well, sometimes I use a shot glass, but I don’t think Mum has one.”
“Yes, she does,” Beryl called from the porch.
“Where?”
“In the cabinet, behind the glasses.”
Rumer moved the glasses and found an old, tall shot glass in the back corner.
Meanwhile, Isak half-dumped,
half-measured the ingredients and turned the blender on high while Rumer ran a lime around the rims of four goblets and then spun the rims in a small saucer of salt. Isak tasted the frosty mixture, added a little more tequila, blended it again, smacked her lips approvingly, and poured. Then she pulled the hot, cheesy dip from the microwave and brought it out on the porch with a big bowl of chips. Rumer followed with two glasses. “It’s all right, Ber,” she teased, handing her sister and Micah each a glass. “We’ll just serve you.”
“That’s the way it should be,” Beryl said with a grin. She reached for a chip. “We’re not going to need wraps tonight. This dip could be dinner!” she said, taking a bite. “Mmmm, and I’m going to need the recipe!”
“It’s so easy,” Isak said, lighting the candles on the porch as Rumer brought out two more glasses and they all settled into chairs within easy reach of the dip.
Beryl took a sip, licked her lips, and looked around. “Ready?” They all nodded …
I continued to watch his eyes and I was amazed by his focus—it truly seemed that he really only saw curves and shapes … shadows and light. If he was aroused, I couldn’t tell—his jeans were loose-fitting and unrevealing, and I wondered if I was enjoying looking at him more than he was enjoying looking at me. I continued to watch him until he finally asked, “Want to see?” I nodded, pulled the robe around me, and walked over to stand beside him.
“Oh, David,” I said quietly. “I don’t know what to say. It’s exquisite.” I couldn’t believe it was me—lying there looking so seductive—but it was!
“Do you really like it?” he asked, searching my eyes.
“I love it!”
He looked away. “Oh, Mia, if you only knew …”
I stepped forward, standing between his legs as he sat on his stool. “Knew what?” I asked, touching his thighs. He gently held my face in his hands, and I closed my eyes and felt his lips brush lightly against my lashes and my cheeks, slowly searching until his warm mouth found mine.
When we pulled apart, he had tears in his eyes. “What’s the matter?” I asked, my heart pounding.
“Mia, don’t you know?!” he said, shaking his head. “I’m in love with you. I want you so much my whole body aches … but I’m married—married to a woman I don’t love—and who doesn’t love me. And nothing on this earth can change that. In the eyes of God, I will always be married.” He brushed back a tear. “What do I do?”
