At Wave's End: A Novel

by Patricia Perry Donovan

  David questioned the subterfuge. “Why are we hiding? We’re both adults.”

  “I know. It’s just a bit weird with my mother here,” she whispered one night after she had snuck down the hall to his room. They lay side by side, sharing his headphones to listen to his music. Connie was only an excuse; in truth, it had been so long since Faith had experienced the heady rush of blossoming romance that she wanted to draw it out and savor it.

  “I feel like I’m back in high school,” David mock-complained.

  “When I was in high school, my mom was the one who brought the guys home.”

  They shared a laugh over that, and Faith’s love of rap, which David found hysterical. Over that night and the next, they talked into the wee hours, discovering each other. Faith adored action films; David loathed them. As a kid, David blew through books about boy detectives; Faith preferred biographies and cookbooks.

  David propped his head on his elbow to face her in the dark. “You did not read cookbooks.”

  “Yes, I did. My mother sold them door to door at one point. There were quite a few around the house.”

  And on and on.

  “So . . .” David stretched, rolling over on his back. “Are we doing this?”

  “You mean the campaign?” Faith deliberately misunderstood him. “We certainly are. We’re already three days in.”

  “No. I mean this.” He wagged his finger inclusively. “Us. I like you, Faith. And judging from the last week or so, I’d say you like me, too.”

  “Of course I like you. But you have to admit: this is a weird setup.”

  “You mean the fact that we’ve barely advanced beyond kissing, and we’re already living together?”

  Faith laughed. “I hadn’t thought of it quite like that. But yeah, that does make it hard to figure out where we go from there.”

  “How about . . . here?”

  While Faith would have preferred to seal herself away in a bubble with David, reality interfered. Another week passed, during which the Save The Mermaid’s Purse online thermometer barely budged, and the mail yielded only a handful of checks amounting to a few hundred dollars. Also, the bank had yet to render a decision about the loan extension.

  “I can see why they call it ‘forbearance,’” Faith complained to David one afternoon as he left to pinch-hit in his friend’s pizzeria. “I’m so fed up with worrying and waiting to see what will happen to this place I seriously could lose my mind.”

  “Please don’t,” David said, kissing Faith good-bye. “Everyone’s already lost enough around here. Just try to think good thoughts.”

  Later, Faith, Connie and Roxanne had tea in the living room following yet another subdued supper. Painfully aware of their hosts’ distress, the boarders had stopped asking about the fundraising campaign, albeit preparing for a possible foreclosure in their various ways.

  Should that scenario occur, Faith was least worried about David. Philosophical about his business loss, he traveled light and landed on his feet. Bruce had repeated his offer of letting him stay at his place, David told her, although he appeared in no rush to take him up on that. Her main concern about David in the event of a move was whether he could maintain the connection he’d forged with Gage, which would depend heavily on where Roxanne and Gage ended up, Faith realized.

  She had overheard Roxanne making a housing inquiry or two. But because strong post-storm demand quickly ate up the area’s subsidized lodging, Roxanne’s efforts had turned up only a couple of rooms in a sketchy motel in a neighboring town.

  “How can I take Gage to a place like that?” Roxanne complained to Faith now as they sat on the couch. “And even if we did move there temporarily, he’d have to change schools, since it’s in a different district. I can’t do that to my kid again.” Leaning forward, she kneaded her forehead with the heels of her hands. “It’s hopeless,” she said flatly.

  Faith placed her hand on Roxanne’s knee. “It’s not. There must be something out there besides a crummy motel. What if you just paid for the housing outright instead of using the town subsidy? Would that give you more options?” she asked.

  “Maybe, but I can’t do that, because my ‘loving husband’”—Roxanne’s tone dripped with venom—“is restricting my cash flow.”

  “What? Can he do that? I’m sure a lawyer could—”

  Roxanne sat up and faced Faith. “Don’t you think I’ve thought of that? I will call a lawyer. But right now, I’m just trying to make it through the day without . . . Honestly, I’m overwhelmed.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” Roxanne’s hair could use a washing, Faith noticed, as could her stained Metallica sweatshirt.

  “I doubt there’s anything anyone can do,” Roxanne said, getting up. “I’m going to bed.”

  Faith stared after her, concerned about the woman’s state of mind. Roxanne herself said she hadn’t lost all that much in the storm, comparatively speaking. And surely she could find a temporary living arrangement by making a few more phone calls. But listening to her tonight, Faith realized Roxanne wasn’t up to even that simple task.

  “I’m worried about her, Mom.”

  Connie looked up from her tea. “I am, too.”

  “I think Roxanne is depressed, and that the uncertainty of the inn’s situation is making things worse.”

  “What do you think we should do?” asked Connie.

  Mother and daughter looked at each other across the salon. With Ellie’s help, Faith had knocked herself out trying to resurrect The Mermaid’s Purse, but perhaps now it might be prudent to concede they had run out of time. And options.

  “I hate to say it, but I think we have to admit that this campaign failed dismally,” said Faith.

  Her mother paused before replying. “I think you’re right,” she said softly. “I’m sorry, Faith. I should have listened when you tried to warn me about this lottery idea.”

  Rare as these acknowledgments were from her mother, Faith derived no satisfaction from this admission as she took in her mother’s slumped shoulders and downturned mouth. “Maybe so, but a lot of good came from it.”

  “I appreciate that, coming from you. And I meant what I said: never again. I promise.”

  Faith held her breath, anticipating her mother’s next words, but Connie only drew a little X over her breastbone with her thumb.

  “Cross my heart. No more contests,” Connie finished, getting to her feet. “I guess I’ll start researching flights back home. What’s another ten years packaging potatoes?”

  “Please, you two. Don’t give up hope,” Ellie said hoarsely as she entered the salon. “Not yet.”

  “Sorry, El,” said Faith. “If nothing else, the campaign collected some lovely memories for Maeve. And chipped away a bit at that line of credit.”

  As she watched her mother head toward the stairs, Faith felt her phone vibrate in her back pocket and pulled it out to look at it. “Mom, wait. I missed a call from Merrill. Maybe she’s calling to say she and Grace are ready to come back!”

  A return visit by the upbeat sisters certainly would lift spirits around The Mermaid’s Purse, Faith thought, retrieving Merrill’s voice mail.

  But upon hearing the message, Faith could only cup her hand over her mouth, replaying the recording on the remote chance she’d misunderstood, holding up a finger to quiet the chattering Ellie and Connie.

  “Will Grace and Merrill come for Christmas?” Ellie demanded as Faith set her phone in her lap. “They have to. It’ll be the last time we’re all together. And tell Grace I promise the Slugger and I will make it through the entire meal this time.” She laughed.

  “I can’t, Ellie. They won’t be here for Christmas.”

  “Okay. Then we’ll get them to come before.” Connie came and sat beside Faith. “It will be nice to celebrate early.”

  “No, Mom. You don’t understand. They can’t come. It’s . . . Grace. She’s gone.”

  76

  Her sister had gone quickly, and with little discomfort
, succumbing to a low-grade infection that Grace’s compromised immune system couldn’t fight, Merrill had said in a voice numb with shock. She apologized for conveying the news via voice mail, but hoped they would understand there were many people still to be contacted.

  “How can that be? Grace seemed fine.” Ellie’s tears splashed onto her rounded belly as the three huddled to listen to Merrill’s message.

  “Her resistance must have been pretty low after her treatments,” said Faith.

  “Then why did she wear herself out in Wave’s End instead of staying home and taking care of herself?” Ellie blew her nose hard.

  “Because that wouldn’t have been Grace.” Connie spoke softly. “Doing for others gave her a great deal of joy. Consider her life’s work.”

  “All those babies,” said Faith.

  “I wanted Grace to meet mine.” Ellie gulped.

  Faith put her hand on Ellie’s knee. “She would have loved that.”

  Per Grace’s wishes, there would be only a simple, private memorial, but Merrill promised to get in touch with Faith as soon as possible after the service.

  Stunned, Faith wiped her tears from the screen with the hem of her shirt. In Faith’s two brief porch encounters with the late midwife, Grace had exhibited a quiet strength, a profound perception of the human spirit. How she would have enjoyed more opportunities to speak with the midwife to ask how she and Connie might move forward as they prepared to close the Mermaid’s Purse’s doors forever, to tell her how right she’d been about David.

  “I swear Grace was with me today,” Connie said quietly. She had moved to the armchair by the fireplace, the spot they had come to think of as Mona’s.

  “Mom.” Faith’s voice splintered. Over the years, her mother sometimes claimed to feel the presence of the departed. Usually, Faith tolerated it, but this loss hurt too deeply. All the visions and crystals in the world wouldn’t bring Grace back.

  “What do you mean, Connie?” Ellie asked.

  “I was on my way to visit Maeve. I had been dreading the visit, feeling bad I didn’t have better news to bring her. And then suddenly, the oddest thing happened: I was stopped at a traffic light, and something made me look up. And there, right in front of me, a mob of seagulls was headed straight toward the ocean.”

  Ellie sat up. “You think they were a sign from Grace?”

  “All I know is, the birds were such a big part of the reason the sisters came here in the first place. You weren’t here their first morning, Ellie, but Grace explained that when a disaster drives the birds away, it’s a sign things have gone horribly wrong.

  “Anyway,” Connie continued, “as the seagulls took off this afternoon in this lovely V formation, a wave of hope washed over me. A feeling that whatever happened in the future, things would be okay. We would be okay,” she clarified, looking at Faith. “Where else could that have come from but Grace?”

  “That’s beautiful, Connie,” Ellie said.

  “I know it’s difficult, but we have to focus on moving forward. To the next season. It’s what Grace would want.”

  Connie got up, went to Ellie and crouched in front of her. “I believe Grace will watch over you. She’ll see you through this pregnancy and delivery. We’ll see you through it. You’ll have an easy time of it. You’ll see.”

  The three sat a while longer in silence, finishing fresh tea Connie made for them. Finally, Ellie rose to go to bed, tearfully embracing each of them. Watching her friend head up the stairs, Faith took in Ellie’s distinct waddle, her need to pause on the landing to knead the small of her back with her fist before tackling the rest of the stairs. Her friend would give birth in less than two months, Faith realized with a shock—one more reminder that if all else failed and The Mermaid’s Purse shuttered its doors, the boarders would not be the only ones impacted; Faith and her mother would face their own housing crises, too.

  Time marched boldly on, no matter how desperate the desire to slow it. Each day had to be savored.

  Finally, Connie went to bed, too. Faith remained on the couch, giving her mother time to fall asleep. Then she headed upstairs, passing by her own bedroom and heading straight for David’s, slipping inside to wait for him.

  77

  The news of Grace’s passing further blackened the mood at The Mermaid’s Purse, where the approaching foreclosure deadline had already overshadowed any thoughts of the coming holiday. In the kitchen, December’s bull’s-eyed date taunted Faith each time she passed it, until she could stand it no longer and tossed the calendar into a drawer.

  In the days following the midwife’s death, no one but Faith bothered to check the fundraising’s site donations thermometer, where the temperature remained frozen at the five-thousand-dollar mark. Finally, she set up an e-mail alert for updates on any new donations and forgot about it, focusing instead on the two boarders most vulnerable in the event of a foreclosure: Fred and Mona.

  At least Pastor Wilkins was keeping his promise to look in on the couple while he searched for another place for them to live, accepting Faith’s invitation to dinner that evening.

  “They’re in the dining room, all ready for you,” Faith heard her mother greet the cleric.

  Roxanne and Gage had graciously agreed to dine a little later in order to give the elderly couple some privacy with their pastor.

  “How soon do you think their pastor will find something for them?” David asked Faith, ripping a hunk of bread from a loaf on the counter. Her kitchen boundaries happily falling by the wayside, Faith had granted him carte blanche to invade her space as he liked.

  “I have no idea. I hope it’s soon, because if we have to close this place, those two will have nowhere to go.”

  “It’s not as if The Mermaid’s Purse is a safe haven for Mona.”

  “I know, but at least it’s somewhat familiar. We’re familiar, most of the time. And we’re support for Fred. If they have to transition somewhere else in the interim, where no one knows them, I . . . I don’t want to think about what might happen.”

  David’s response to this was unintelligible, his mouth stuffed with bread he had soaked in the bowl of beef daube Faith offered. For the pastor’s visit, Faith had decided comfort food was in order: a time-honored recipe of marinating inexpensive chuck overnight in Beaujolais, then bringing the mixture to a simmer the next day with garlic, carrots and celery, copious amounts of fresh black pepper, a Provençal bundle of bay leaves, thyme and rosemary, and a drizzle of olive oil.

  The stew never failed to please—even this shortcut version, with dried spices substituted for fresh, and supermarket egg noodles filling in for homemade pappardelle. Faith set the cover back on Maeve’s Dutch oven, which performed nearly as well as Piquant’s heavy enameled cocottes.

  “What will Ellie do if Fred and Mona leave?” David asked when he’d finished chewing.

  “Head back to Brooklyn and get ready for the baby, I guess. She said she and Dennis would come for Christmas.”

  “And you?”

  Faith glanced up in surprise. Since the night of their first kiss, they’d avoided any discussion of the future, falling into a comfortable rhythm, like playing house.

  “That’s the million-dollar question. I guess I need to figure out the answer before then.” Faith opened the kitchen drawer and jabbed at the December 31 foreclosure date on the calendar. “What about you? Any plans for after?”

  David set his bowl in the sink. “Trying to cobble some things together. I’ll stick with the catering while I see how it all plays out. But in the meantime, there’s Christmas.”

  “I know. I wanted to plan a lovely send-off for everyone. But after Grace . . .” Faith covered her face with her hands.

  “You still need to do that.” Speaking softly, David gently pried Faith’s hands from her cheeks, his touch buoying her, his warm brown eyes brimming with compassion. “Everyone needs this send-off. For closure. What if we did something simple, like an open house?”

  “Right. With zero funds
.”

  “Who needs funds? We’ll tell people to bring a plate of something. Or a bottle.”

  “What people? We barely convinced the guests to post a photo, let alone—”

  “I’m not talking about the inn guests. I meant people here in Wave’s End. Maeve’s friends, neighbors, fellow business owners. After the story my dad wrote about that accountant screwing her, they’ll want to see her. Say good-bye to the inn.”

  “But Maeve’s not well enough to come.”

  “Then she’ll be here in spirit.”

  “Still, there’s invitations—”

  “Evites are free. Ellie could manage those. And with so many people present, it might turn up some housing possibilities for Roxanne and Gage. Maybe even for Fred and Mona.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  Faith’s neck flamed at David’s throwaway use of the possessive. “So this is happening.”

  “Yes, it is. Wave’s End needs a party. And The Mermaid’s Purse should go out with her head held high.”

  78

  In spite of Faith’s trepidation, Connie embraced the idea of a final gathering. “Why not? Eat, drink and be merry. We’ll be like the orchestra on the deck of the Titanic: we’ll keep on playing, even as the ship is sinking.”

  With Bruce’s help, they composed the list of invitees: neighbors, friends, business associates, church members. Affirmative responses to Ellie’s whimsical Evite poured in immediately.

  And then one morning during breakfast cleanup, Connie added a last-minute guest: Maeve Calhoun, now permitted to leave the rehabilitation facility for several hours at a time. Maeve’s first social outing would be a return to her beloved Mermaid’s Purse for the farewell party.

  “It’s bound to be an emotional day for her. It might be her last visit here.” Draping a damp dish towel over the oven handle to dry, Faith heard her phone vibrate and went to check it.