It had been Beth who had talked her parents into sticking with Grace because it was closer to home and friendlier. She couldn’t imagine her father dealing with the red tape at one of those mammoth urban medical centers, having to tolerate arrogant physicians, teams of residents, and crowded waiting rooms. Elsie agreed, mostly because she hated driving into the city.
After much debate she sided with Beth: Chat would have his tests at Grace.
Maddy was outraged.
Now, after all that wrangling, Beth wouldn’t be there Monday for the results and Maddy, helpless out in L.A., was urging Beth to reconsider the trip.
“This is our father,” she’d wheedled shortly after Beth returned home exhausted from cleaning out Lynne’s closet. “Our father. What could be more important? You know Mom’s not equipped to deal with bad news. You need to keep her on an even keel.”
Beth had to begrudgingly admit that Maddy was right, leading her to toss and turn all night debating whether to stay or go. Even as they were preparing to load the Highlander, she still wasn’t sure.
Marc picked up her suitcase and carried it out to the car. “You don’t want to stay home. Lynne was your best friend. If anyone should go on this search, it’s you.”
She followed with her box of cooking stuff, willing to be talked into a position. “But what about Dad? Like Maddy said, Mom can’t handle bad news alone. She’ll flip out.”
“You’re a cell call away, available around the clock. And if it makes you feel better, I’ll take off Monday and go with them to see your father’s cardiologist. Your parents trust me more, anyway.”
She slid the box of cooking stuff into the trunk and punched him lightly on the shoulder. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to get rid of me this weekend.”
“You don’t know better. I am.” He closed the hatch.
“Don’t get into trouble while I’m away,” she said with a smile.
“As soon as you get in the car, I’m planning to e-mail a query letter to each agent on my list. For all you know, by the time you get back I’ll be an author with a publishing contract.”
It was a nice thought, if a total fantasy. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she whispered, “I believe you will.”
He held her and smiled. “You’ve never lost faith in me, have you?”
“Not for a nanosecond.”
“Man”—he squeezed her tightly—“am I the luckiest guy or what?”
She kissed him on the nose. “Or what.”
The autumn fog after the rainy night had barely lifted from the deserted Danbury Station when Carol stepped off the train, towing her orderly black bag and matching computer case. She subdued a flutter of anticipation as she scanned the parking lot, checking for the familiar car. Not here yet.
Finding a wooden bench, she sat and applied a coat of neutral lip gloss to complement her ribbed cream-colored turtleneck and camel peacoat. Her blond hair, pulled neatly into a ponytail, was deceptively casual, since it was designed to show off her ultra-sexy hammered gold earrings that had cost Jeff a small fortune. A bit over the top for a Saturday morning at the Danbury train station, but so what?
She tried not to think about Scott in New York and how disappointed he’d been by her abrupt change in plans, though he rallied to her cause, as always.
“If Mohammed can’t come to the mountain, then the mountain must come to Mohammed,” he said when he showed up at her door after the funeral, an artichoke and olive pizza in one hand and a bottle of an excellent petite sirah in the other.
She was in nothing but old sweats and a towel, her face bare, but that didn’t stop her from throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him for being such a saint. Lesser men would have taken advantage of her vulnerability. Not Scott. He slowly removed her arms and took her in his instead, holding her with such quiet tenderness that she burst into sobs.
Then he led her to the couch, poured the wine, and handed her a glass, all the while listening earnestly as she recounted her day, from the joy of reuniting with Mary Kay and Beth to the sadness of seeing Lynne’s white coffin strewn with her own flowers. She related how making up with Michelle had been no big deal and how shocking it was to find Lynne’s letter and the secret that would upend their lives for at least the next few days.
The only thing she didn’t mention was Jeff.
“It couldn’t have been easy seeing him again,” Scott said, exposing the elephant in the room. “You were married for twenty years.” He passed her a slice of pizza on a paper napkin. She picked off an artichoke.
“It’s over,” she said. “He’s OK. I’m OK.” She shrugged and laughed, perhaps a little too loudly.
Scott said, “As long as you’re sure.”
“No question,” she said, and meant it. It barely even fazed her when Jeff called her after the funeral to say he had her shoes and asked if it would be better to mail them to her office or apartment.
“Why don’t you hand them over in person?” The offer surprised her as much as it shocked Jeff.
“What?” he asked, confused. “Really, it’s no problem for me to take them down to the UPS place.”
“I’m arriving on the eight a.m. train to Danbury to meet Beth and Mary Kay. There’s something we have to take care of. . . for Lynne. We could do a quick pass-off.”
So, they made an arrangement to meet in the parking lot and here she was, dressed to the hilt, proving she was as fine as frog’s hair. Never better.
Twenty years.
Jeff’s black BMW pulled up to the station. The passenger window lowered and he leaned over. “Hello,” he said.
“Hey.” She smiled.
He got out and opened the door. “Entrez-vous. There’s a triple venti latte waiting for you, light soy. I figure while you’re waiting for Beth and Mary Kay, you might as well get coffeed up.”
Coffeed up. Their term for their morning ritual of getting up before the kids and welcoming the day with French roast and The New York Times in the sunroom overlooking the lake.
Jeff took the bag from her hands and laid it in the trunk and then got back behind the wheel, parking so they’d have an unobstructed view of the station.
“Your shoes are in the back.” He gestured to a white plastic bag from which protruded two black stilettos. “I had no idea you’d be a pallbearer. It was a touching choice on Lynne’s part.” He sipped his own coffee and fiddled with the heater.
“You didn’t show up at the graveyard. How come?”
“Amanda.” He seemed slightly embarrassed by this. “She insisted on making the noon train, so we had to hightail it out of there. Midterms.”
This was a white lie and they both knew it. The truth was Amanda couldn’t stand to be around her mother. Carol glanced out the window, resolving not to let this latest rejection get to her. If only there were a way to reach her daughter.
Jeff touched her coat lightly. “Don’t give it another thought. You know how kids are.”
Changing the subject, he said, “You look good, Carol. Healthy.” If he noticed the earrings, his fifteenth wedding anniversary present, he chose to keep that to himself. “How’ve you been?”
“OK. Considering.”
“It was a nice funeral.”
“Yes. Lynne gave it a lot of thought.”
“Nice flowers. Were they from her garden?”
“I think so.” God, this was awful. She didn’t know how to hold a decent conversation with her own ex. Why must they always be so stiff and formal? She wished they could talk, really talk.
But all she could say was, “I’m glad it stopped raining.”
Jeff checked out the window. “Me too, except it’s been a pretty dry fall. Lots of fire warnings.”
“Jeff. . .”
“Carol . . .”
Carol blushed. “Sorry. You go.”
He breathed in and out deeply. “Look, I know this is probably not the best time, coming on the heels of Lynne’s death.”
She gr
ipped her latte so tightly the thin cardboard began to buckle.
“But ever since the divorce, I’ve been thinking.”
“Yes?”
“There are so many memories I have, so many great memories of our family.”
She felt her stomach stir and chalked it up to the fact that she hadn’t eaten yet.
“I hate to leave, but. . .”
She blinked in confusion. Leave?
“How do I say this? I thought you should know that I’ve taken steps to sell the house. Already we have two offers and I haven’t officially put it on the market.”
The coffee nearly slipped from her hand. Sell the house?
That house represented their entire family history, from the gardens where Amanda and Jon had hunted for Easter eggs in their adorable spring outfits to the backyard where they threw the annual neighborhood Fourth of July party with greased watermelon races in the lake and fireworks over the waters of Kindlewah.
Together, they’d stripped the wallpaper and repainted the kids’ rooms and knocked down a wall to build a nursery for Jon. They’d added a balcony for Amanda and repainted every inch of that molding. That house had been their labor of love. Their home.
She replaced the coffee in the cup holder, afraid her unsteadiness would lead to a spill that might ruin the camel coat. “Why now?”
“The judge wanted us to do it a year ago. The only reason we held off was because of the kids.”
“And now they’re OK?”
“I’m sure they will be. They’ve already moved out. Jonathan’s clear across the country in Portland and Amanda keeps talking about going back to France after that incredible junior year she had.” He ran a hand through his straight blond hair. “As hard as it is to believe, they’re adults now.”
“But it’s our house, Jeff.” Carol searched for concrete arguments as to why he shouldn’t sell it and, much to her distress, couldn’t think of one. “Where will everyone go for Christmas?”
He shrugged. “How about your place? Carol, think about it. With your half of the money from the sale, you’ll be able to put down a sizable deposit on a pretty decent Upper East Side co-op.”
She didn’t want a “pretty decent” co-op on the Upper East Side. “What will you do? It makes no sense selling a house here and then buying a smaller one. And it’s not like Marshfield’s overrun with apartments.”
“Well, that’s the thing.” He studied his gloved hands. “Like I said, I’m ready to leave.”
This took a second or so to comprehend. Oh my God, she thought, quelling a wave of alarm, those weren’t euphemisms. He was actually talking about going away. Away from the kids and their home—away from her.
“You mean, you want to leave Marshfield.”
“Yes. That’s the idea.”
She thought back to that sultry summer afternoon when they stumbled upon the village that would soon become their home, the glow of the setting sun on Jeff’s handsome face as he talked about Marshfield being a place where they could grow old together, where their grandchildren could run through fields and catch butterflies.
“I might come back. Someday. But look, I’m only fifty, Carol, and there’s so much I want to do. Murray Schwartz has been working with Doctors Without Borders in Africa, and this winter he’s going to Haiti. He’s asked me to come along, and. . . you know, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
Carol’s mind suddenly went black. All she heard was that Jeff was selling their house and leaving her alone in New York. Their family truly was shattered, as Amanda said.
And it was Carol’s fault.
There was a beep and they both startled. Beth and Mary Kay were a mere few feet away, waving at them from the Highlander. “I better go,” she said, grabbing her shoes from the back.
“So I have your OK to take the best offer?” He hustled out to fetch her bag from the trunk.
“I’m not sure.”
“You’re not sure? I don’t mean to be pushy, but you’ve been grousing for months about not having enough money to start your new life. Now’s your chance.”
“I know, but. . .”
“But what, Carol?” He wasn’t mad as much as mildly annoyed, which was about as agitated as Jeff ever got. “This is the final part of the divorce agreement you requested. I didn’t want to get divorced. I was perfectly satisfied with how we were.” Though increasingly upset, he kept his voice appropriately low. “You were the one who felt trapped, remember?”
Carol winced. Had she said that. . . really? What had she been, a 1970s housewife?
“Do you know how hard it’s been adjusting to life after you split for no reason? How depressed I’ve been? Now, when I finally find something that’ll let me put my talents to productive use and go forward, you’re holding me back.” He gave the trunk a hard slam. “That’s rich.”
She hadn’t realized the suffering she’d caused Jeff, her entire family, by simply pursuing her own dreams. And she couldn’t help but resent him, slightly, for making her feel guilty.
Even if he was right.
It was so confusing. She missed their life together. She loved her work. She loved her children. She longed for the peace and quiet of Marshfield, and yet she relished her independence in the city, too.
And then there was Scott, so fantastic in his own right.
It was too much at once. She couldn’t think straight.
“I apologize,” she said, racking her brain to come up with a stall tactic. “Let’s talk to the kids before we make any rash decisions. Even if we overrule them, at least they’ll have a chance to register their opinions.”
Jeff mulled this over. “Good idea. I’ll get in touch with Jonathan. Should I call Amanda, too?”
She wasn’t certain he was aware that Amanda refused to take her phone calls. But this would be a legitimate reason for them to talk. “I’ll handle Amanda. I’ll call her this evening and get back to you.”
“How about six p.m. Sunday night?”
Carol pulled out her iPhone and made a note. “Six p.m. it is.”
“And then?. . .” He cocked his head gently.
“If Amanda agrees, you can sell the house. If that’s what you want.”
“Thank you.” He held out his hand and they shook. “Have a safe trip.”
They said good-bye and she watched him get into the car and pull away, feeling as if a coffin were closing once and for all on the life she’d left behind.
Chapter Seven
“Wow! Can you believe we’re actually doing this?” Mary
Kay riding shotgun gave Beth behind the wheel a little pinch.
Beth rubbed her arm, feigning pain. “Ow!”
“Sorry, it’s just that I’m so excited to get away. Think about it. No men or bosses. Only the open road and the three of us.” Mary Kay spun around, her black curls bouncing to keep up. “Aren’t you excited, Carol? Two years we’ve been apart and now we’re together again like nothing’s changed.”
Carol was staring out the window in a daze, her laptop open before her.
Beth flashed Mary Kay a knowing glance. Carol had been lost in thought all morning, ever since she said good-bye to Jeff at the train station. Supposedly, he’d stopped by to drop off her shoes, but Beth wondered if there was more to the story.
Switching lanes, Beth said, “You know what happened to me this morning? I woke up and realized this would be my first day without doing something for Lynne. I didn’t even want to get out of bed.”
Carol closed her laptop and put it aside. “They say that’s the hardest phase of grief, when everyone goes home and life gets back to normal.”
“Except, then I remembered our trip.” Beth held up her finger. “And I thought, aha! Today won’t be so bad after all.”
“Because we’re anything but normal, right?” Mary Kay said.
“Exactly.” Beth smiled. “Leave it to Lynne to know exactly what we’d need. Could you imagine what it’d be like if you went back to New York, Carol, and Ma
ry Kay and I got on with our same routines? It just wouldn’t feel right.”
“And this way,” Mary Kay said, “we can toast Lynne every night.” She patted the red Igloo cooler.
Carol leaned forward. “You didn’t.”
“Sure, I did. Lynne told us to. Didn’t she, Beth?”
Beth agreed. “Right there in the letter. Martinis are a must.”
Carol opened the cooler and examined the extensive collection of oddly shaped bottles, a copy of DeeDee Patterson’s cookbook, and Mary Kay’s hand-painted martini glasses. “It’s an entire bar.”
“Only the essentials,” she said matter-of-factly. “Gin. Vodka. Vermouth. Though where would we be without Domaine de Canton and limoncello, not to mention good old Cointreau? And Framboise, of course.”
“Of course.” Carol removed a dark bottle of Godiva chocolate liqueur. “And this?”
“For chocolate-raspberry martinis. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?”
“I love those,” Beth gushed. “Marc and I make them every Valentine’s Day.”
Personally, Carol thought they were way too sweet, even if it was hard to resist the hard dark chocolate coating around the rim of the martini glass—a technique that set the professionals apart from the amateurs. “Maybe I should try one on Scott.”
“Yes, do tell us about this Scott,” Mary Kay said, replacing the chocolate liqueur and closing the Igloo securely, as if it were carrying precious cargo.
“There’s not much to say.” Except there was. “We’ve known each other since forever, before I met Jeff even.” This, in Carol’s mind, exempted him from the status of home wrecker. “He’s about five years older than I am, and he’s a widower. His wife died long ago from a brain aneurysm.”
“His résumé is fascinating, I’m sure,” Mary Kay said, resting her chin on the back of her seat. “But what about the guy himself? Does he have a good sense of humor? Is he cheap? Extravagant? Eats crackers in bed?”
Carol’s lips twitched. “Gee, Mary Kay, why don’t you come right out and ask if the sex is good.”
“All right. Is the sex good?” Her gray eyes twinkled.
Kindred Spirits Page 8
