“No,” Clara said dully. “Sometimes I think it’s having the opposite effect. Sometimes . . . Sometimes, Bella, I just can’t see the future.”
“You mean, the future without Marc?” Bella asked.
Clara shook her head and didn’t reply.
It probably wasn’t helping, Bella thought, that Clara’s room was a virtual shrine to her ex-boyfriend. Clara would never get past her sadness if everywhere she looked there was a vivid reminder of what she had lost. Bella thought of her own room back in Massachusetts, purposely bare of any images of her father and sister. Was the absence of visual reminders of what she had lost helping her to embrace her own future? Was it? No, Bella thought. Not really.
“Look,” she said abruptly, “let me pay you for the soda. You can give the money to your housemate.”
“That’s okay,” Clara said. “Like I told you, she won’t mind.”
“Are you sure?” Bella asked.
“Yeah.”
Bella wasn’t in the mood to argue; sweat was still pouring from her and she felt almost dizzy from the heat. “I have to go,” she said, getting up from the old lawn chair.
Clara remained in her chair and shrugged. “Okay. Call me?”
Bella nodded and walked around to the front of the cottage where she had left her bike. And as she began to pedal in the direction of Kinders Lane, she realized that she felt slightly unsettled. The conversation with Clara that afternoon had been a strange one. It was almost as if they had been talking in parallel lines. Only days ago Bella had thought that revealing her thoughts and feelings to a virtual stranger was a good thing, but now . . . It would be nice if Clara actually heard some of what she said. But had she really heard what Clara was saying? Yes, Bella thought, she had. Sort of.
It was an odd sort of relationship, Bella thought, turning onto her grandmother’s street, not at all like what she had shared with Kerri. Or like what she had shared with Ariel. But that was okay.
Things changed. It was okay.
Chapter 31
When Jack had suggested they spend the afternoon at the annual Bay Town Fair Frieda had said yes immediately. There was something so basically pleasing about a summer fair. Young and old and everyone in between gathered to eat fried dough and take their chances at winning oversized stuffed animals and shop for homemade crafts and foods. Frieda would have treated herself to the hand-dyed silk scarf that had caught her eye at one of the craft booths if she could have afforded it, but she did have enough money to buy a jar of blackberry preserves for her mother and a small box of maple sugar candy for Bella.
“You’re sure you don’t want me to win you a toy?” Jack asked. “I’m thinking a giant purple gorilla might look nice in your mother’s living room.”
Frieda laughed. “You sound pretty sure of yourself. Don’t you mean try to win me a stuffed animal?”
“I hate to brag, but my aim is pretty good,” Jack told her. “I was on the archery team in college and I guess whatever I learned about hitting a target stayed with me.”
“Thanks anyway. My stuffed animal days are over.” But if Ariel were alive, Frieda thought. Ariel had loved stuffed animals. At the time of her death she had amassed thirty-two, including a zebra, a sloth, and a fawn. All were in a storage unit not far from the house in Warden. Frieda hadn’t been able to part with the toys, but neither had she been able to live with them.
As Frieda and Jack strolled past booths selling hamburgers and cotton candy, past jugglers and musicians performing for a delighted audience, past parents herding their overly excited children before them, Frieda couldn’t help but feel a deep pang of nostalgia for the days when she and Aaron and the girls would take daily excursions to fairs, museums, concerts, and, of course, amusement parks. Ariel had preferred the carousel to the other rides while Bella could never get enough of the biggest roller coaster and those awful rides that turned you upside down and shook you like a can of beans.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Jack asked.
“Sorry,” Frieda said. “Just reminiscing. It’s so hard not to.”
“There’s nothing wrong with reminiscing,” Jack said gently. “Visiting the past is fine and a lot of times it’s healthy. The trick is not to live in the past.”
“Easier said than done. Hey, speaking of the past, I talked to my father again the other day. He wanted to know how Bella was getting on. And he told me something about his childhood. He told me he was bullied for a time and that his mother wasn’t exactly sympathetic. In fact, he made her sound downright cold.”
“How did it feel to hear that?” Jack asked.
“It made me uncomfortable,” Frieda admitted. “It . . . It humanized him a bit for me. Personalized him. I have to admit I’ve considered my father almost a cliché for most of my life. If that’s unfair I think I can be excused.”
“I agree.”
Frieda smiled. “About my father Aaron would say that we shouldn’t judge someone until we’d walked a mile in his shoes. All well and good in theory, but . . .”
“What about Aaron’s own father,” Jack asked, “and his mother for that matter? Was he close to them? Sometimes when people are very close to their birth families they have a difficult time understanding what it’s like for those who have a legitimate complaint against their own.”
“It’s interesting you should ask that,” Frieda told him. “Aaron wasn’t close to his parents. He was a surprise baby; his brother was almost twenty when he was born. Aaron believed his parents loved him. They took good care of him. He was never without plenty of food and clothing. They sent him to good schools and they went on family vacations every summer. But . . .”
“But what?” Jack asked.
Frieda shook her head. “But he said he always felt that something was missing. He never complained about his parents, but he would have appreciated a more warm and fuzzy home. Aaron used to wonder if his mother and father had used up all their warm and fuzzy emotions with his brother.”
“Sounds rough,” Jack noted. “But it also sounds as if Aaron was emotionally resilient.”
“He was,” Frieda agreed, “far more so than me.”
“Really? From where I stand it looks as if you’ve done a fine job of dealing with your father’s walking away. It didn’t put you off marrying and having children. It didn’t damage your relationship with your mother. And now,” Jack went on more softly, “it looks to me as if you’re truly dealing with losing your husband and daughter. That you haven’t let their deaths destroy you.”
Frieda pondered that. It was true. She hadn’t let Aaron’s and Ariel’s deaths destroy her. But there had to be a point at which a person simply couldn’t survive more pain and loss without going mad. She fervently hoped she would never find herself at that point.
“Thank you, Jack,” she said after a moment. “Whew, it’s hot. Let’s get into the shade for a bit.”
They left the main thoroughfare and settled on the grass under a leafy oak tree. “Here,” Jack said. “Have some water. I never leave the house without a few water bottles.”
“Were you a Boy Scout?” Frieda asked, accepting the water.
“No. I’m just too cheap to pay five dollars for something I can get from my sink for a lot less.” Jack paused. “It’s funny how people’s behavior toward you can change when someone close to you dies. See that guy over by the booth with the green sign?” he asked. “He’s one of my neighbors. It’s been four years since Veronica passed and he still isn’t able to look me in the eye. I don’t know if he feels embarrassed for some reason—he came to the funeral, so I don’t know what he could possibly be embarrassed about—or if he thinks that he’ll catch something nasty from me, like my grief or my loneliness. It’s disconcerting.”
Frieda smiled. “‘Disconcerting’ is right. Want to hear my tale in the same vein?”
“Sure.”
“Ariel had two very close friends since kindergarten,” Frieda explained. “Jessica and Juliana. Their mothers—M
addie and Eva—and I were friends, too. The six of us were a pretty tightly knit group through the years. I can’t tell you how many birthday parties and sleepovers we moms hosted, how many school plays we attended, how many Girl Scout meetings we led. But then—”
“But then Ariel died,” Jack said into the sudden silence.
“Yeah.” Frieda cleared her throat before going on. “Then Ariel died and everything changed. Suddenly all Maddie wanted to talk about was the accident. It was as if she thought that by endlessly talking about the accident it would eventually make sense to her and become something she could tuck away in a scrapbook and forget about. It was exhausting for me to be with her.”
“And the other woman?” Jack asked.
Frieda rolled her eyes. “Eva was the complete opposite. She avoided any reference to the accident, and whenever I mentioned Aaron or Ariel’s name, even in the context of a pleasant memory, she would change the subject. I’d say something like ‘I was thinking of donating some of Ariel’s books to the library,’ and she’d say, ‘I found this fantastic recipe for mushroom risotto.’”
“Ouch. I don’t know which behavior sounds more upsetting.”
“It became impossible for me to be with them at the same time, one wanting only to talk about the accident and the other wanting at all costs not to talk about it. After a while it became so strange it was almost amusing. I had to stifle more than one inappropriate giggle.”
“A giggle sounds a lot less inappropriate than a scream,” Jack pointed out. “Don’t waste your precious time trying to figure out those two. They’re the ones with the problem.”
“Oh, I don’t,” Frieda assured him, “not really. Anyway, the point is I realized I’d become defined by the car crash that killed my husband and younger daughter. I made other people uncomfortable; I suppose I still do. Like you might be for your neighbor, I’m a nasty reminder to those who haven’t yet been visited by tragedy of what they, too, might lose, suddenly and brutally.”
“So what happened?” Jack asked. “What did you finally do about those women?”
Frieda shrugged. “I simply began to fade out of their lives. Neither of them ever protested when I canceled a lunch date or turned down an invitation to a Saturday barbeque. I’d pretty much known they wouldn’t encourage me to keep up the friendship, but still, when the invitations slowly died off and months passed before I got the next text or e-mail I felt hurt. I had to keep reminding myself—I still have to—that this life I have now is the ‘new normal.’ I’ll go mad if I keep comparing it to what went before and pining for things to go back to what they once were.” Frieda smiled. “You know, some wise person once said something like: ‘Forgiveness means letting go of all hope for a better past.’ I’ve taken the liberty of changing that bit of wisdom to: ‘Sanity means letting go of all hope for a different past.’”
“I’ll have to keep that in mind,” Jack said with a smile. “Ask my mother to embroider it on a pillow or something. Hey, I suddenly feel an urgent need for sausage and peppers. Good old-fashioned Italian street food. At least, southern Maine’s version of Italian.”
“You know, that sounds like a plan. I haven’t had sausage and peppers since—” Since Aaron and I went to a Red Sox game two summers ago. But Jack didn’t need to know that. “Since forever,” she said.
“Then let’s go.” Jack rose easily to his feet and held out his hand. Frieda took it gratefully. It was a nice hand.
Chapter 32
“To what do I owe this lovely invitation?” Ruby asked as she took a seat at one of the surprisingly comfortable wrought-iron chairs at the round granite-topped table on Phil’s flagstone patio.
Phil shrugged. “I didn’t want to drink alone?”
“Ha. Well, all that matters is that I’m here.” And that, Ruby thought, was always a nice thing.
Phil’s house had been built to his specifications ten years earlier. If Ruby were pressed to describe it she would venture to say it could pass for something that a devotee of Frank Lloyd Wright had designed. It was nothing at all like her old farmhouse but every bit as beautiful. The back lawn spread out before them was rich and green. The hydrangeas were in bloom and there was a lovely smell of lavender in the air.
“Here,” Phil said. “Try this. It’s my own concoction. I’m still trying to come up with a catchy name for it.”
Ruby accepted the delicate wide-rimmed glass and took a sip. “Mmmm,” she said. “Lovely. I’m a sucker for fresh mint. What else is in this? I can’t quite identify the other flavors.”
“The ingredients are a deep, dark secret. Here, have a jalapeño cheddar cracker. I made them this morning.”
“Phil,” Ruby said, reaching for a cracker, “you spoil me.”
“Only as much as you spoil me.” Phil took the seat next to Ruby. “So, what’s Frieda up to today?”
“She and Jack went to the Bay Town Fair,” Ruby told him.
“I’m glad she’s found someone to have fun with,” Phil said. “All work and worry doesn’t do anyone any good.”
“I know. And Steve called again to talk to her. That’s two calls in the space of as many weeks.”
“How did it go?” Phil asked.
“All right, I suppose. She didn’t tell me much other than that he wanted to know how Bella was doing this summer. So, how is our Bella doing?” Ruby asked. “She must be fairly competent if you trust her to man the shop on her own this afternoon.”
Phil shook his head. “She still doesn’t know chintz from brocade and she’s still trying to get her head around the concept of French doors, but she works hard enough. I just wish she’d smile more at the customers, but hopefully that will come in time. I miss the old Bella, the girl who always had such an interest in what was going on around her.”
“They were alike in that way, Bella and Ariel, both so curious about the world.” Ruby smiled. “The only difference was that Ariel was interested in things that bored Bella and Bella was interested in things that left Ariel shaking her head in puzzlement!”
“Isn’t that the truth? Ariel with her love of history and Bella with no use for anything older than the number of years she can count on her fingers. Ariel cringing at the mere mention of soccer and Bella known for her ferocious head butts or whatever they’re called. And yet they were so close. It’s hard to think of one without the other. And if it’s hard for me—for all of us—how much harder must it be for Bella to think of herself as . . . I don’t quite know how to put it. Alone? Lost? Singular?”
“All of those. They weren’t twins, but they might as well have been.” Ruby sighed. “In some ways I’m sorry I didn’t give Frieda a sibling. But I guess not long after Frieda was born I knew that it wouldn’t be a good idea to bring another one of Steve’s children into the world. Still . . .”
“The past is the past,” Phil said briskly. “Leave it alone and have another cracker.”
“By the way,” she said, “I suggested to Bella that we try my old ice-cream maker again, but she said she had no interest.”
“I wouldn’t push her on it. Well, what do I know? You’re her grandmother, not me.”
“And,” Ruby said, taking the last sip of her drink, “grandmothers can’t have a second cocktail and expect to drive home safely. Good-bye, Phil. Thanks again for the snacks and conversation. Both were greatly appreciated.”
Phil raised his hand in farewell and Ruby walked around the side of the house to the street where she had parked her car. The ride back to Kinders Lane was a short one and Ruby knew it like she knew the back of her hand. This allowed her mind to focus on other matters in addition to squirrels darting under her wheels and pedestrians wandering off the narrow rough shoulder and into the road. Other matters like the evening that stretched ahead. It would probably be just Ruby and Bella for dinner. Ruby didn’t expect Frieda home early from the fair and George was attending a meeting of his choir. Though the choir typically disbanded for the summer, the director had been approached with a re
quest for a special performance at a private party Labor Day weekend and rehearsals were to begin immediately. George had apologized to Ruby for a schedule that might keep him from being readily available for the next few weeks. It was so like George, Ruby thought as she drove along watching for chipmunks as well as for squirrels and humans. He was always so thoughtful of her.
Frankly, Ruby was glad that George had something other than work to keep him occupied this summer given the fact that she was not exactly the steady companion she should be. It wasn’t that George was friendless. He got along famously with Phil, but Phil was her best friend and that put him out of the running as George’s confidant. George was popular with his colleagues and with the other members of his choir, but what dear friends he had from childhood were far-flung. He had been very close with his father, but Walter was no longer and Ruby knew George was still grieving. In so many ways George and Walter’s relationship had reminded Ruby of her own relationship with Frieda—warm, honest, and unshakable. To think of life without that relationship . . .
Ruby turned onto Kinders Lane with an unhappy feeling of guilt. By not engaging with George this summer, by virtually ignoring his proposal because she was letting her distaste for the state of marriage drown out the voice of love, she was effectively isolating the man who meant so very much to her. Ruby, she scolded as she pulled into her driveway. Remember what Phil said. The past is the past. Now leave it alone and get your act together. Fast.
Chapter 33
With supreme patience Frieda inched her car along Shore Road. Bumper-to-bumper traffic in downtown Ogunquit was normal in summer and there was no point in letting it get to you. Besides, something as inconsequential as traffic couldn’t spoil Frieda’s good mood. Though she had been with Jack only two days earlier, she was looking forward to this evening as if she hadn’t seen him in weeks.
Home for the Summer Page 13
