But the moment receded. And again, Maureen was gone forever, gone from this earth with a suddenness I promised I would never understand. And again, Tanya disappeared from my life, not knowing that her mother wouldn’t be here for her if she ever chose to return. I felt each loss as if it just happened, realizing that the one thing I might have in unlimited quantity was sorrow.
In the past few months, there had been so many dreams. So many moments when they were right here where I could touch them and let them know that they were the absolute essence of my life. Where I could lay my forehead against Maureen’s and we could allow our eyes to have hours of conversation for us. Where I could stop time before I floundered with Tanya and give her something of me without taking away any of her. Where I could have said to them, “I’ll gladly accept the worst possible moments with either of you over any moment without you.”
I wanted to hold onto this dream, but I couldn’t any more than I could hold on to the dozens of others I had before. All I could hold onto was the increasing depth of understanding of everything I had lost. Like the insistent repetition of the chorus at the end of an epic song, with every new visit from Maureen and Tanya in my dreams, I came to feel what I had with them just a little bit more – and by extension feel what I could no longer ever have again.
Neither the birds nor the daffodils or any of the other harbingers of the season I loved most could elevate me. Spring was nearly here. And the thought that I would live it without Maureen and Tanya was heartbreaking.
I closed my eyes. Let me dream again. Let me visit with them for just a little longer. It never happened before and it didn’t happen now. Sleep didn’t come easily for me these days and it wouldn’t possibly come this way. No matter how much I wanted it.
Reese made his first morning sounds. He never cried right away when he got up. For the first couple of minutes of every day, it was as though the world was just so fascinating to him, so absolutely new to his eyes, that his rediscovery of it took precedence over his hunger. Then the crying would come. Crying that always reminded me, perhaps would always remind me, of the sound of his crying the night I came home to find Maureen.
I didn’t want him to have to cry today. And so before his empty stomach imposed its will upon him, I went to his room, picked him up, and held him to my chest. After a moment, we walked toward the kitchen. Past the framed painting of a hobbyhorse, posted outside Reese’s door, that Maureen found at the last antique store we visited together. Past Tanya’s empty room. Down the staircase lined with photographs of my wife and daughter and even a couple of the new baby.
As we got downstairs, Reese started to fuss a little. We were probably a minute from full-blown bawling. I heated the bottle quickly, using the microwave though I knew that wasn’t the best thing to do, rubbing his back, and humming to him in the time this took. I tested the temperature on my arm and brought him into the family room. Almost immediately, he sucked contentedly.
While he drank, I lost myself in the image of the antique quilt on the opposite wall. Maureen and I bought it a month before we were married. It was an extravagant expense at the time, but she wanted it so much. “It will hang prominently in every home we ever have,” she said. And it did. From the drafty walk-up in Coram to the needy starter three-bedroom in St. James to this, our family home for the past twelve years in Port Jefferson. “This quilt is you and me, Gerry. Woven from separate parts and joined together forever.”
Reese stopped sucking and I glanced down at him. He looked at me with fascination in his eyes, maybe even a bit of confusion, and his hand reached up toward my face. I bent toward him, kissing his hand and rubbing my cheek against it. It was only then that I realized I was crying. I let Reese’s hand stray over my face, drawing the line of tears down toward my chin. He had no idea what I was going through, just as he had no idea how much his touch meant to me.
I pulled the baby closer and adjusted the bottle. He began to suck again, secure in the simplicity and wonder of his world.
A new season was coming. A new day was beginning. I held fast to the only thing that made it possible for me to face either.
Crossing the Bridge
Crossing the Bridge is a novel that leapt into my head all in one piece. I had the idea of writing about two brothers in love with the same woman with the added complication that one of the brothers had died tragically ten years earlier. It added all kinds of nuance to the present-day story and gave me a great opportunity to write about both family relationships and the weight of desire. Chase is probably the darkest protagonist I’ve created, but I hope you’ll find that he’s worth getting to know.
Russet Avenue is designed for foot traffic and browsers. There’s parallel parking on the street and a couple of municipal lots around back. Among other things, there’s an inn, a craft shop, a print gallery, a few restaurants, a jewelry designer, and a chocolatier for the tourists, and a bank, a drug store, and my father’s store for the locals. I’m not sure which category of consumer I fit into at this point, though I certainly hadn’t returned to Amber for its quaint New England flavor. As the morning turned into afternoon, I spent a lot of time watching pedestrians out the window from behind the counter. I remembered quiet afternoons such as this when I felt shackled to the store and believed that every other teenager in Amber had something more interesting going on.
It was while daydreaming that I saw Iris entering the gourmet food shop across the street. As I watched, my thoughts ranged from wondering if it was actually her, to how I would respond if she walked in here, to considering going to the stockroom until the moment passed.
When I saw Iris come out of the shop and head down the street, I decided it was foolish to pretend (or even wish) that I hadn’t seen her. I told Tyler I’d be back in a few minutes and went out the door. I was crossing the street and she was about to walk into the bakery when I called out her name. She turned in my general direction, but didn’t make eye contact for several seconds. When she did, she seemed stupefied by the sight, as though we were standing on a street in Bali rather than in the town where we both grew up.
“What are you doing here?” she asked as I walked up to her. I noticed her eyes scanning me from head to toe. She didn’t seem to be appraising me; it was as though she was taking inventory.
“I read about this place in a guidebook and decided to check it out,” I said.
“You look good. You seem – taller.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot.” She looked stunning to me. I was surprised at how my memory had failed to do her justice. Her hair was shorter than I remembered, but her eyes seemed even more cobalt, her skin smoother, her posture even more approachable.
“So what are you doing here? Last I heard, you were off wandering the globe.”
“Yeah, moving from suburb to suburb in search of thrills. I finally got tired of the fast lane and decided to stop by for a little small town calm.” As I said this, I rolled my eyes to make sure that she understood was being ironic. “Actually, my dad’s sick and I’m here to check up on him.”
Concern darkened her expression. “Is he okay?”
“I think so. I’m gonna watch the store for him for a few days.”
“Wow, things have changed.”
“Well I guess you can do anything for a few days, huh? So what are you doing here? You haven’t moved back, have you?”
“God, no. I live in Lenox now. I come down every month or so to see my mom. My dad died a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. He seemed like a good guy.”
Iris nodded and looked up the street. I couldn’t tell if she was thinking about her father or feeling uncomfortable about seeing me.
“Do you want to go grab a cup of coffee?” I said.
She wrinkled her nose. “I can’t. I’ve got a few more stops to make and I told my mother I wouldn’t be gone long.”
I shook my head and looked down at my shoes.
“That just sou
nded like I was blowing you off, didn’t it?”
“No, your mom doesn’t like to be alone. I get it.”
“Actually, my mom is fine being alone. She just gets irrational if I tell her I’m only going to be gone a short while and then I come back a few hours later. Even if I call her.” She chortled. “Mothers. You’re here for a few days?”
“Yeah, three or four probably, assuming everything turns out okay with my father.”
“I’m going to be here until the weekend. Do you want to get a drink sometime?”
“That would be good,” I said, disproportionately cheered by the fact that she wasn’t blowing me off. “Tomorrow night?”
“I’d like that. I’ll meet you at the Cornwall at, say, 8:30?”
“The Cornwall. Yeah, absolutely.”
“It’ll be nice to catch up. You can tell me about all of your adventures.” She smiled and touched me on the arm. “This was a nice surprise. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
She headed into the bakery and I returned to the store. It was no more active there than when I left and I again found myself looking across the street from the window. When Iris came out of the bakery, I saw her take a quick glance in my direction before walking away.
For a reason that wasn’t entirely clear to me at that moment, I found this extremely satisfying.
The Journey Home
The Journey Home has a very special place in my heart because it was inspired by my parents’ love story. The way they filled each others’ lives is one of the foundations of my life. This novel also posed a unique challenge for me. I wanted the dishes that Warren attempts to replicate to be true originals, not knockoffs of classics. This requires a great deal of imagination and more than a few less-than-successful meals before I came up with the ones in the novel.
“Come join us, Antoinette. You know you love the music.”
The nurse had been insisting for minutes now, in spite of Antoinette’s quiet, continued refusal. Again, she shook her head no, tightening the collar of her house coat.
“Jeffrey will be there,” the nurse said, teasingly. “You know he’s really into you, right?”
Antoinette shuddered at the thought of Jeffrey, or anyone, being “into” her. She was sure Jeffrey was a perfectly pleasant man — she couldn’t recall his face right now — but the last thing she wanted was that kind of attention. It was better if she kept her distance from everyone. She wasn’t sure what would happen if she tried to get to know someone at this point.
Antoinette still liked her room. Her pictures were here, along with other things she recognized. She didn’t like the other side of the door anymore, though. Too many confusing things. Too many things she wasn’t sure if she knew. Too many people who were friendly to her but might just be trying to take advantage of her in some way. She had everything she needed right here. The nurses would bring her food after a few minutes of trying to get her to eat in the dining room, and she had all the company she could want right here.
“Maybe tomorrow, Diane,” Antoinette said quickly.
The nurse tipped her head to one side. “Now, Antoinette, you know my name is Darlene. And you say, ‘maybe tomorrow’ every day.” The nurse moved toward the calendar attached by a magnet to the refrigerator. “Now let me see — yes, it says right here that ‘tomorrow’ is today!” Darlene or Diane, or whatever her name was today — Antoinette was certain they kept changing it on her — held out her hand. “Come on, Antoinette, we’ll dance together. Everyone loves to watch you dance. You’re so graceful.”
Antoinette stood from the couch and sat on her bed. “Maybe tomorrow. I mean it. I need to rest now.”
The nurse let out a huge sigh, her shoulders rising and slumping in exaggerated fashion. “Okay, Antoinette. I’ll leave you alone this time. I’m not going to leave you alone tomorrow, though. Ice cream social tomorrow — and I want to see you there eating a huge sundae. I’ll put the whipped cream on it myself.”
She left after that, which made Antoinette feel much, much better. She always felt so much pressure from this nurse. The other one — Jane, Judy, Angela, something like that — was much nicer and much more understanding. For a long time after the nurse left, Antoinette stayed on the edge of the couch, thinking a little about tomorrow’s ice cream social and all the people who would be there that she didn’t recognize, and then not thinking about much. Finally, she stood up, removed her house coat, and slipped into bed. The sheets hugged her and she warmed to their embrace. As she did, she let her mind drift, knowing it would take her someplace she truly wanted to go.
…Today they were walking on a New York City street. Antoinette recognized it as the neighborhood near their first apartment, the place they rented after they married sixty years ago. It was late spring, the sky was clear, and pedestrians bustled around them as Antoinette and her husband walked at their own, very steady, very relaxed pace.
“It’s a beautiful day for a walk,” she said, “don’t you think, Don?”
He took her hand, kissed the back of it lightly, and kept them clasped as they strolled. “It is most definitely a beautiful day, Hannah.”
Virtually from the moment they met, they called each other “Don” and “Hannah” after the couple played by Fred Astaire and Judy Garland in “Easter Parade,” the movie they saw on their first date. Antoinette was already in love by the time she went out with him for the first time — they’d been flirting for weeks — and when he took her dancing after the movie and called her “Hannah,” Antoinette was pretty sure that he felt the same way. From then on, he was her “Don” and she was his “Hannah,” and they never used their given names to address each other except on the rare occasion when one of them was very, very angry.
They stopped at a store window so Antoinette could admire a blue chiffon dress. “It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?”
Don slipped an arm around her waist and put his face close to hers. “It is, and you would look remarkable in it. But I’m afraid it’s too expensive.”
Antoinette turned to face him, which put their noses inches from each other and made her chuckle. “Too expensive? But we don’t even know what it costs.”
Don kissed the tip of her nose and then took a couple of steps backward. “I’m afraid I do know what it would cost. You see, the price of the dress itself wouldn’t be the issue. The issue has to do with the neckline.” He gestured toward the store window. “Do you see how much of your shoulder would be left exposed? As you well know, Hannah, I become senseless with desire around your bare shoulders. That means that, to the price of the dress, we would have to add the fine I would pay for lewd public behavior if you ever wore it out of the house.”
He grinned boyishly at that point, and Antoinette shoved him playfully. “That is the worst excuse ever devised to avoid buying me a dress.”
“I’m just being practical, darling,” he said, still smiling and taking her hand to continue their walk.
They stopped at an electronics store where Don ogled a new radio the way she had ogled the dress. Antoinette tried to come up with an excuse for not buying the radio that was as sappy and romantic as Don’s had been for not buying the dress, but her cleverness betrayed her. They left the store without the radio, anyway. In this case, Don really was being practical. They had a comfortable life, but they certainly didn’t have he luxury of purely frivolous expenses. The radio in the living room was a perfectly good one, certainly good enough to dance to.
After a cup of coffee and a slice of blueberry pie at Horn & Hardart, they started back toward their apartment. The afternoon had left Antoinette feeling very much at ease. Her muscles felt smooth and her skin warm. Their pace, which had never been rapid, slowed even further, as though they were wading through a pool of the chocolate sauce Don loved for her to make for his ice cream.
Don again raised her hand to his lips and kissed it softly. “I think a nap might be nice when we get home.”
She squeezed their
hands, which he still held to his face. “Mmm, sounds inviting. Let’s stop to get groceries for dinner now so we don’t need to go out again later.”
“A nap sounds better.”
“Now it sounds better. When we wake up afterward and you’re famished, you’ll wish I started dinner.”
She turned him toward the market a block from their apartment. She wanted to cook something scandalously rich tonight. A gift for Don. Something to assure him that afternoons like the one they’d just spent were unspeakably precious to her. She chose leeks, cream, and chicken. She remembered noticing that they were low on butter, so she put some of that in her basket as well. Wild rice would be a surprising accompaniment, something that even seemed a little on the naughty side. And the asparagus looked very good.
When they got back to the apartment, Don took to opening the mail while she melted leeks in butter and seasoned the chicken. She was browning the chicken in another skillet when Don came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.
“Smells delicious,” he said, kissing the side of her face.
She turned the chicken with a fork. “It’s going to taste even better.”
He kissed her again. “Do you know what would be even more delicious?”
“What’s that?”
“The nap we were talking about.”
Antoinette could tell from the feel of him that Don’s mind was on anything but napping. “Are you so sleepy that you can’t wait for me to finish getting this in the oven?”
He kissed her neck now, which left Antoinette feeling like one of the leeks. “I’m very, very sleepy.”
“Dinner won’t be as good if I leave it now.”
“I can live with that,” he said, as he began to unbutton the back of her dress and Antoinette began to forget about dinner….
The memory faded, but not the sensations that had accompanied the memory. The wonderful, deeply satisfying sensations. Antoinette pulled the sheets up around her neck. Feeling the warmth of his presence in the place she had created for them, she drifted off to sleep. Today had been a very good day.
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