Inside, Iris smiled in welcome, throwing her arm around Alex. Apparently the shopkeeper made a point of visiting her daughter some weekends. “Mia’s down in the studio with her dad, Al. You know the way.”
Alex flew out the back door, Swiftriver’s screen door flapping behind her.
Alone with Iris, Meg felt uncomfortable. The two had barely been introduced in April. To cover her awkwardness, she moved toward an antiques-covered table. “You have some beautiful things here,” she said, stroking the teapot of a silver tea set.
“I’ll give you a good price. I’m cleaning things out.”
Meg smiled. “Thanks. I’ll think about it.”
They sat at the store counter, sipping seltzer Iris offered. Meg was hearing all about Mia’s move to Manhattan when the two girls returned to the store, Mia bubbling over with stories about her new life in the city.
“Can you tell how much she misses us?” Iris deadpanned.
“Stop, Mom. We have a plan, remember?” Mia ticked off the itinerary for Iris’s December visit: a stroll on the High Line, Chelsea Market, a new modern hotel nearby with an ice-skating rink outside. “Oh, Mom, did you tell Alex’s mom who we—”
“Nope. No need.” Iris refilled Meg’s glass. “Two months in New York and she’s the guide now. Mia, what was that new Asian fusion place you liked?”
Listening to the easy banter flowing between mother and daughter, Meg couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. Would she and Alex ever get to that place? To her daughter’s credit, Alex’s time in New Hampshire was such a leap—progress she might not have made without Mia’s help. Meg turned to the young woman. “You know, we’re not far from Manhattan,” Meg heard herself saying. “If you ever need a home-cooked meal while you’re at school, I can come get you, or you could take the train and . . .”
“Home-cooked meal? You, Mom?” Alex teased.
“You know what I mean. A break from the city.”
Mia smiled. “I’d love that, Mrs. Carmody.”
“Please. Call me Meg.”
“Watch out. Jack will drive you crazy,” Alex warned.
“I spent an entire day with you, remember? Jack should be a piece of cake.”
At the mention of her son, Meg stood and checked her watch. “I’ve got to get you back, honey. I promised your brother I’d be home before he goes to bed.”
It would be a beat-the-clock ride back to Riverport, but Meg was trying to keep her promises to Jack these days.
There were more thanks and hugs all around. Meg and Alex were almost to the car when Alex stopped. “One sec, Mom. BRB.” She ran back inside, returning with a crumpled paper bag.
“What’s that?” Meg leaned over, sniffing unobtrusively.
“Crack, Mom.”
“Ohhhh.” Meg struggled for nonchalance. “Enough for the whole dorm?”
“Chill, Mom, it’s nothing. Just snacks.” Alex shoved the bag down by her door.
Meg’s stomach lurched. Was Alex’s joke a screen to cover Mia giving her something to take back to school? Using at The Birches would get Alex kicked out. Her daughter seemed too happy there to risk that. Then again, she was barely seventeen. Meg snuck a sideways glance. The bag was too bulky for pills; it must be wine, then. Or hard alcohol. Meg’s mind raced with the possibilities.
Beside her, Alex chattered about meeting Mia in New York one day. “She said I could stay in the dorm with her, Mom. That would be sick.”
Sick, all right: fake IDs, staying out ’til all hours, Alex locked in a cell with common street criminals and drug dealers in a filthy city police precinct.
Stop, stop, STOP. Meg slammed the brakes on her runaway thoughts. She had to leave things up to Alex now. And to Jacob. Allow them to experience the natural consequences of their actions. There was little point in worrying about things that might never happen. She and Alex had just had a lovely day together, and Meg was determined to enjoy its remaining moments. The thought of saying good-bye summoned a lump to Meg’s throat.
At her dorm entrance, Alex thrust the bag at Meg. “This is for you.”
“Snacks? For me?”
“They’re not snacks, Mom. Open it.”
Meg unrolled the bag; inside was a silver sugar bowl, part of the set she admired back at Swiftriver. “Honey, that’s so sweet.” She held Iris’s bowl up in the fading afternoon sun filtering through the overhead pines.
Alex beamed. “Do you like it? I saw it the day you picked me up. I bought it out of my school allowance. Which kinda means, you bought it? Anyway, Iris is putting the other pieces aside for me.”
“It’s lovely.” Meg tilted her head. “But why . . . ?”
“I know you have Grandma’s tea set. But after the house party . . . well, I know it got messed up. I thought maybe this could be the start of our special set.” Her eyes glowing against golden skin, a testament to The Birches’ healthy living, Alex permitted Meg to hug her.
“I love it, honey. I really do.” Meg sniffed. “And now I have to go.”
“Please, Mom. Don’t cry.” Alex rubbed her mother’s arm. “I’ll get you the rest. I promise.”
“You know what, Al? I believe you will.” Meg tugged Alex’s cobalt braid. “I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
It was a phrase Alex and her friends exchanged carelessly, a stock sign-off, yet hearing it again from her daughter made Meg’s tears flow, despite Alex’s objections.
“And make sure Dad comes next time.”
“I’ll do my very best, honey.”
As she navigated the school’s rocky winding drive, Alex’s wave receding in the rearview mirror, Meg acknowledged that her best was all she could do—and all anybody should expect.
Turning onto the Kancamagus, Meg readjusted the mirror and focused on the winding road ahead. There was no longer a need for the GPS. She knew her way home by heart.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am indebted to the following individuals for their contributions during the writing of this story:
My instructors and fellow fiction writers at Gotham Writers Workshop in New York for kick-starting this journey;
The Book Doctors, Arielle Eckstut and David Henry Sterry, whose Pitchapalooza award propelled me to write this story;
My beloved book club, for coming out of retirement expressly to read my novel: Angela Flarity, Susan Kuper, Lisa Muir, Patty Nolan, Ginny Stewart and Nancy Swanson. Your heartfelt support around my dining room table reminded me our book club always was as much about friendship as it was about literature;
My cadre of early readers, whose thoughtful feedback added dimension to these characters, including: Deborah Albury, Karen Cassano, Mita Chatterjee, Jennifer Clark, Teresa Cooper-Kislik, Maurice Donovan, Molly Donovan, Ellen Easton, Judi Feldman, Denise Harkness, Lori Hartman, Barbara Lyons, Mary McNeill, Deirdre McGuinness, Cheryl Miller, Jenifer Morack, Austin O’Malley and Lisa Vlkovic;
Sherry Anderson of USA Guides for insight into the transporter experience;
My agent, Elisabeth Weed of The Book Group, for nurturing this manuscript and finding the ultimate home for Deliver Her;
My editors: Susan Breen for her astute early evaluation, and Marianna Baer for her keen-eyed final review and judicious suggestions. Both made this book better;
Danielle Marshall, Gabriella Dumpit and the entire Lake Union Publishing team for making my first publishing experience so seamless and enjoyable;
My parents, who had faith I’d eventually get around to doing this, and my extended Irish family for their encouragement and support;
My daughters, Molly and Nora, whose souls and individuality inspire me every day;
And finally, to Maurice, whose bottomless love and encouragement empower me to indulge my passion and navigate all of life’s journeys. This word picture is for you.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2015 Benjamin Russell
Patricia Perry Donovan is a journalist who writes about health care. Her fiction has appeared
in Gravel Literary, Flash Fiction Magazine, Bethlehem Writers Roundtable and other literary journals. The mother of two grown daughters, she lives on the Jersey shore with her husband.
Learn more at patriciaperrydonovan.com.
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