by Grace Palmer
“Thank you.” Mae moved in for a hug, but before she could, a small figure broke from between Brent and Rose and sprinted for Mae, a blur of long hair and freckles.
“Happy birthday, Gramma!” Susanna wrapped her arms around Mae’s legs. Mae bent down and pressed a kiss to the girl’s head, pulling her close.
“Thank you, sweet girl. How can it not be happy now that you’re here?”
“Looks like we’re the first ones, too,” Brent said with a glance around the backyard, eyebrows raised. “Eliza will hate that I beat her here.”
Mae had been so busy all afternoon she’d forgotten she was expecting a call from Eliza earlier in the day.
“To wish you a happy birthday and tell you how my appointment went,” Eliza had said the night before.
“You can wish me happy birthday at my party,” Mae had insisted. She didn’t want to be a burden to her kids.
Eliza had tsked. “A birthday morning phone call is tradition.”
“From when you lived further away.”
“Still,” she’d said, “I’ll call you in the morning.”
The fact it was now late afternoon pushing into evening—with nary a peep from her eldest—planted a seed of worry deep in her gut.
“Well, Eliza can blame me for us being here on time,” Rose said, stepping forward to pull Mae into a quick hug. “I almost had to drag Brent out the front door.”
Mae laughed. “That sounds more like it. Brent has always moved at his own pace. Learned that from his father, despite my best efforts.”
“And we’re the first ones here, so clearly, I had plenty of time to spare,” Brent said with a smug smile tossed in Rose’s direction.
Rose spun around. “Would you rather be sitting in front of the ball game at home or standing here to lord this victory over your sister’s head?”
Brent wrapped a casual arm around Rose’s shoulders and grinned. “You know me so well. I do love to lord.”
Mae smiled and shook her head.
As the baby of the family, the older girls complained that Brent got special treatment, but it wasn’t true. Goodness know he spent a fair chunk of his childhood in timeout or grounded.
It was just that he’d always been able to make Mae laugh—even when she was steaming mad. It never lessened his punishment, but it made it awfully hard to stay stern.
Brent was still just as charming and funny as he’d always been. That little rascal never faded. But he was different, too. More mature.
Rose had something to do with that. A willowy, soft-spoken woman, Brent loved her with his heart and soul. Mae desperately hoped she felt the same way about him.
“Where should I put these?” Rose dangled the gift bags from her finger. One was pink, trimmed in silver. The other was blue, covered in dinosaurs wearing party hats. Mae didn’t have to wonder which gift belonged to her and which belonged to Grady.
She pointed. “The table to the left will be perfect, love.”
Brent plucked the bags from his girlfriend’s hand, pressed a kiss to her temple, and sauntered off towards the table in question. His route took him past the army of chairs arranged around the main table.
“Looks like we’re expecting half the island over, Mom.”
Dominic chuckled from where he sat and nodded. “I’ve been helping her all day, and it sure feels as if that’s the case.”
“She put you to work, Dom?” Brent asked, grabbing a handful of Chex Mix from the snack table as he passed.
“I didn’t ask him to do anything I wasn’t willing to do myself,” Mae cut in, narrowing her eyes playfully at Dominic.
“Gotta go easy on your fella. Not everyone can run around in high gear like you do, Ma.”
Rose snorted. “Who are you to talk? You went into work on your day off.”
“You did?” Mae asked in surprise.
“After he cleaned out the guest room upstairs and the workshop to make room for the things you need to store,” Rose continued. “He should be exhausted, but he’s as wound-up as ever.”
Mae turned to Brent. “You used your one day off to clean for us? You know you didn’t have to do that.”
He ran a hand through his blond hair, sending the right side of it sticking up at odd angles. “It needed to be done, anyway. I got rid of some junk furniture. And the workshop was full of scrap wood.”
Brent took a deep breath, casting his eyes quickly to Mae and then away again before adding under his breath, “…and old memories.”
Her heart tugged.
She’d cleaned out what she wanted from the rest of the house after Henry died, but she hadn’t been able to go into the workshop. The entire time she and Henry had lived on Howard Street together, the workshop was his space to do with what he would. Mae couldn’t stand the idea of going in there once he was gone and deciding which pieces of him to get rid of.
Though she shouldn’t have saved the task for her son, either.
She frowned. “You could have called me,” she said softly. “I would have come to help.”
Brent studied her for a second, his usually light expression weighed with something Mae couldn’t place.
But in an instant, it was gone, replaced by an easy smile, and she wondered if it had ever been there at all.
“And leave Dominic here to set up the party by himself?” he balked. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Thank you,” Dominic called over. “There’s a reason you’re my favorite, Brent.”
Susanna, having found one of the marshmallow shooters, streaked by and fired off a marshmallow at Dominic. “I thought I was your favorite!” she screeched.
“You are!” Dominic laughed, shielding himself. “Especially when you have a weapon in your hands.”
Rose went chasing after Susanna, laughing while also dispensing some motherly advice about never aiming marshmallow guns in anyone’s face.
Meanwhile, Dominic was scanning around, looking for his own weapon to retaliate with.
It was good to have company. The place felt alive when there was a bustle of activity and lots of happy chatter. Even though her children had been grown and gone for years now, Mae had never grown used to the quiet.
Brent sidled up next to Mae, hands in his pockets. “Anything left you need me to help with? It seems everyone else is busy waging marshmallow warfare.”
“You know me. There’s always something left to do.” She directed Brent inside and loaded his arms down with more food to carry outside.
Sara had volunteered to take care of the main courses—since, according to her, “No one should have to cook their own birthday dinner.” But Mae couldn’t keep herself from making a large serving bowl of her famous potato salad, a dish of Boston Baked Beans, and some coleslaw.
When she saw Brent helping, Susanna dropped her marshmallow shooter and wanted to help, too.
“I can carry lots of things,” the little girl boasted. “I’m very strong.”
“I know you are,” Mae said as she handed her plates, cups, napkins, and forks. She did her best to direct Susanna on how to set the table, but most of the settings ended up scattered haphazardly around the table.
Mae didn’t mind, though. This was a family affair, after all. It was only right all the family got to pitch in.
By the time she made it back to the party area, Dominic was no longer sitting at his spot at the table.
“Where’d Dom go?” she asked, spinning in a circle, more surprised that he’d stood up on his tired legs than anything else.
“Grandpa went inside.” Susanna pointed up at the second story window, and Mae could see Dominic standing in front of the open window fussing with something.
Dominic wasn’t Susanna’s grandpa in any technical sense of the word, but he had earned the title in every way that counted. Mae thought it was sweet that Susanna had taken to the two of them so readily. She was more than happy to add Susanna into the Benson clan mix.
She only hoped Brent would make it official by ask
ing Rose to marry him sooner rather than later. Another grandchild or two would draw no complaints from her, either.
“What are you doing up there?” Mae called up, cupping a hand around her mouth.
Just as she asked, the question was drowned out by the first strains of an Elvis song filling the warm afternoon air.
Brent clapped his hands. “Now it’s a party. Music!” He grabbed Rose’s hand and twirled her once before pulling her against his chest.
Dominic padded out onto the grass a moment later and winked at her.
“Wanted a little ambience?” she asked.
Instead of answering, Dominic bowed low and held out his hand. “May I have this dance?”
“The party hasn’t even started yet.”
Dominic leaned in close and smiled. “With you, life is always a party.”
She rolled her eyes as he took her hand and pulled her close. As Elvis crooned about falling in love, Dominic hummed along with the words in Mae’s ear.
Even with Brent taking turns twirling his two laughing girls across the lawn, it felt as though Mae and Dominic were the only two people in the world.
When she’d first met Dominic, Mae had expected him to be shy and introspective, with all the grace of most writerly types—that is to say, dexterous of fingers, not of foot. That was mostly true enough.
But my, the man could dance!
One morning, soon after they’d made their feelings for one another clear, Dominic had put on this same Elvis record in the front window of the Inn. A moment later, he’d appeared on the porch to ask Mae to dance.
“I love Elvis,” she’d said, resting her head on his shoulder. The King’s voice had purred over Mae’s skin like warm velvet.
“Of course you do. Everyone with taste does.”
The memory made her laugh, even now all these many months later.
When the song ended and Dominic still held her close, not yet ready to let her go, Brent whooped and cackled at the two of them. “Get a load of the lovebirds!”
Over Dominic’s shoulder, Mae saw Rose nudge her son. “Don’t embarrass your mom.”
But Mae didn’t mind in the slightest.
“I didn’t know you could dance, Mom!”
Mae turned and saw Sara in the doorway, her arms weighed down with bags and to-go containers. Her boyfriend, Joey, was carrying a stack of warming trays just behind her.
Brent gasped. “Sara is here before Eliza, too?” He made a big show of scanning the sky as he muttered under his breath, “There’s gonna be a pig flying past any second now.”
“Eliza isn’t here yet?” Sara asked, looking shocked and then pleased in quick succession. “Good for me.”
“If Holly and Pete make it here with the kids soon, then this could be a day for the record books,” Brent chimed in. “It’s never been done.”
The kids were just teasing, but it brought Eliza to the forefront of Mae’s mind.
Where was she?
It was funny—after so many years of Eliza living in New York City and only being able to reach her in pre-scheduled five minute increments—how quickly Mae had grown used to seeing and talking to Eliza every day at leisure.
“Have either of you heard from your sister?” Mae inquired.
Brent pursed his lips. “Not since last night. Well, I talked to Oliver. He texted me a video of a dad using a vacuum cleaner nozzle to put a ponytail in his daughter’s hair.”
Susanna’s eyes widened and she clutched at her hair in horror. “No way!”
“Not since Wednesday when I dropped off a lasagna,” Sara offered.
Brent stopped chasing Susanna and turned on his heel with a gasp. “Where’s my lasagna?”
“When you learn to play the piano and can fill in last minute if my Live Music Sunday slot falls through, you’ll get a lasagna,” Sara retorted.
“Or when you date her,” Joey said, wrapping his arm around Sara’s shoulders.
Brent wrinkled his nose. “I won’t be doing either of those things.”
Mae waved her hand, drawing attention back to the topic at hand. “Should we call Eliza?”
“Definitely not!” Brent practically shouted. “Not until Holly and Pete get here. Once everyone is here before her, then we call and remind her about the party.”
“You think she forgot?” Sara asked, extricating herself from Joey’s grip and moving to the food table. “That’s not like her.”
“Pregnancy brain,” Rose interjected. “I had it so bad with Susanna. I ruined two gallons of milk because I put them in the cabinet instead of the refrigerator. I also got to know the locksmith very well. I locked myself out of the house constantly.”
“You should’ve gotten one of those little turtles with the spare key,” Brent said.
“I did. But then I forgot where I hid it.”
Sara groaned. “I’m already a mess. I don’t want to imagined what I’d be like pregnant.”
Joey was next to Sara, spacing out the chafing dishes while Sara lit small flames beneath them, but he froze at her comment. “No plans for that, right?”
“Definitely not.” Sara shook her head and shivered dramatically.
“Good. Good deal. Because I just got my big break. I’m not sure I have time to pursue acting and raise a baby.”
Sara turned her head away, rolling her eyes so Joey couldn’t see.
Mae didn’t miss it, though.
“You’re an actor?” Dominic asked politely.
Joey puffed out his chest. “As of earlier this afternoon. The casting director for your movie was hiring locals.”
“Well, it’s not my movie,” Dominic corrected with a shudder. “But I did hear they were hiring locals as extras. Well done, Joey.”
Joey walked around the table to talk with Dominic about the movie, leaving Sara to set up the rest of the serving dishes by herself. Brent and Rose got pulled into a game of tag with Susanna that also included dodging flying marshmallows.
And Mae was distracted enough by all of it that her worry for Eliza slipped away.
Everyone would arrive soon enough.
10
Eliza
The Hospital
“Where is my baby?” Eliza asked again, her voice wavering. “Where is she?”
She tried to look at Oliver, but her eyes danced past him to the nautical wallpaper bordering the ceiling. Little sailboats breezed past red-and-white striped lighthouses and fish jumped between the waves.
She decided she didn’t like it at all. As if the wallpaper itself was telling her to calm down, to breathe, not to worry so much.
She’d had quite enough of the world telling her not to worry.
Oliver squeezed Eliza’s hand, smoothing his calloused thumb over her knuckles. “She’s okay, Eliza. The baby is fine.”
Wrong. She’d had a baby before and she knew what “fine” looked like.
This was not fine.
“Where is she?”
“She’s—”
“Oliver!”
He sighed. “She’s in the NICU.”
Not fine.
Not fine.
Eliza inhaled sharply and forced the air out slowly between her lips.
It didn’t make her feel any better.
The events of the day were still a jumble in her head. Eliza was usually good in a crisis, but it was difficult to handle a crisis when you were unconscious. When you didn’t understand the basic facts of what was happening.
Eliza needed to understand. She needed to fix this. She needed to make it fine.
“I had a C-section.” She said it as a point of fact, not a question.
Oliver answered anyway. “You did. Thankfully, one of your nurses, Ginny, knew you. She was able to track me down.”
Eliza faintly remembered Ginny from high school. A shy brunette who played the cello and sat behind Eliza in Senior English.
On the day of a book report, Travis Martin had knocked over Eliza’s water bottle with his football bag and dr
enched the front of Eliza’s pants and her notes. Ginny had volunteered to go in Eliza’s place when no one else would to save her the soggy embarrassment.
She hadn’t spoken to Ginny in years.
“I made it to the hospital just as they were wheeling you into the OR,” Oliver continued. “I barely had time to get the scrubs on.”
“You were in the room.”
Oliver nodded. “Holding your hand.”
“They gave me something to calm me down, but—”
“You can’t handle anesthesia,” Oliver finished. “Yeah, they picked up on that when you went unconscious. I confirmed it when I got here. Apparently, you were panicking in pre-op.”
Eliza couldn’t admit she didn’t remember his number. Even though the nurses had no doubt relayed the entire embarrassing ordeal to him when he’d arrived.
Maybe Ginny had told him.
Eliza pushed her embarrassment down. It wasn’t useful now.
“She is in the NICU,” Eliza repeated, finding a small scrap of comfort in stating the facts as she knew them. “Not in here with us.”
“She’s okay, though,” Oliver said.
Eliza was glad he hadn’t said ‘fine’ again. It felt like a lie.
He swallowed and continued, “I asked the doctor and he said she’s healthy. She, uh—shoot, what else did he say? You’ve always been better at remembering the details than me. I tried, but all of the technical stuff went right over my head. You were still unconscious, and…” His voice broke.
For the first time, Eliza realized how hard all of this must be for Oliver, too. The realization made her feel less alone, but not altogether better. She felt selfish.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“For what?” he asked. “For being unconscious?”
Eliza shrugged.
“How dare you!” Oliver said, wagging a finger at her before dragging a weary hand down his face. “I’m sorry. I should have come to the appointment with you.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“Neither could you,” he said quickly. “This wasn’t exactly the birth plan we discussed.”
“Well, I’m sorry I forgot my phone.”
