by Nancy Thayer
She knew her Hot Flash friends would scoff. They’d tell her there are no such things as miracles. Life doesn’t give you miracles, they’d remind her. You’re a scientist, for heaven’s sake, they’d adjure. Be rational. Be skeptical. Be logical.
Her sensible side took over: Don’t dream of a future with this man, this Ian. He lives in Scotland, you live in the United States. The past week was lovely; be grateful for that much. Don’t expect anything more. For heaven’s sake, you know nothing about the man, really. For all you know, he has a wife tucked away back home, or a mistress or two.
Marilyn idly watched the sleeping dark water as her mind tempered the past week’s sensual richness with the astringency of common sense. In a lecturing way, her mind presented the facts: She’d been fortunate all her life. She had a healthy son, and now a healthy granddaughter. She had wonderful friends and work that fulfilled her. She was middle-aged, too old for miracles.
Why was she suddenly so greedy? She’d never been greedy before. She’d settled for a lackluster marriage, believing it was the best she could do. She’d accepted her junior position at the university with gratitude, not dreaming of anything more. Perhaps it was the influence of her Hot Flash friends, who got her to change her hair and clothing (when she remembered to), assuring her she could be more than plain, she could be actually pretty. Pretty, even at her age. Yes, it was her Hot Flash friends who caused her to be greedy—why, it was Shirley who said these should be the days of Dreams-Come-True.
But of course, they couldn’t really mean that. At their advanced years, they knew that life could disappoint as much as it could thrill, and they were lucky if life didn’t bring hurt or even grief.
But still, a small voice in Marilyn insisted, still good things can happen. We can change ourselves for the better. We can meet men and fall in love, and they can fall in love with us. We can—
Something moved in the water.
Marilyn blinked.
Perhaps twenty yards out, in the middle of the loch, the water stirred, sending concentric ripples with a shushing sound to the shore.
Above, a cloud passed over the moon, dimming the night, and then it floated off, and the loch stretched away, exposed in the clear air.
A swelling bulged from the surface of the water.
Marilyn held her breath.
Gradually, in a stately, steady manner, the shape broke through the water to reveal itself as a heavy, almost equine, arrow-shaped head supported by a narrow neck. Up it rose, one foot, two feet, three, four—
“Oh!” Marilyn whispered, trembling with excitement.
—ten, twelve feet at least, the neck extended from the long humped body that breached the water’s surface, sending waves rolling to the land. With infinite grace, the neck turned, dipping the head this way and that, as if the creature were scanning the area. For a moment, Marilyn saw the liquid gleam of an eye.
The creature tilted her head back, exposing her throat to the sky, bending slowly to the left and right like a sun-bather soaking in the rays. A low hum emanated from her, a satisfied sound, almost a purr. Then, in one sudden movement, like a duck or a bird, she bent her head to brush intently at her side, as if she were any kind of normal beast scratching an itch.
Tears streamed down Marilyn’s face.
The beast, at least forty feet long, slowly swam a few feet, stopped, and turned its neck warily. Again it navigated down the middle of the loch, as if out for a stroll.
I should do something! Marilyn thought. I should take a picture or call someone!
But she couldn’t take her eyes off the creature. She was paralyzed with awe.
Then, across the loch, the double lights of a moving car glittered, and with a smooth, fluid plunge, the creature dove, disappearing beneath the loch’s surface.
The car passed, its red taillights flickering, then vanishing. Marilyn waited, but the water was smooth now, as if a hand had passed over it, leveling all wrinkles.
Marilyn was trembling all over, and after a few moments, she realized she was freezing cold. The night air was cool, and she was, she knew, in shock.
Still, she waited, watching.
She waited over an hour, hugging herself while her teeth chattered, but the creature did not return. Finally, reluctantly, she went back to the hotel.
In her room, her mirror reflected her face, flushed with excitement. Using the little in-room service, she brewed a cup of hot tea and drank it down without tasting it. The tea warmed her and brought her to her senses. She looked at her watch. It was almost four in the morning. She felt as exhausted as she had just after giving birth to her son. She fell on her bed, pulled the spread over her, and sank into a dreamless sleep.
LABOR DAY
16
ON A STEAMY AFTERNOON AT THE END OF AUGUST, the Hot Flash Club, plus Marilyn’s mother Ruth, gathered at Polly’s house. Polly handed out glasses of iced tea sprigged with mint, then asked, “Is everyone ready?”
“Ready!” Marilyn, Ruth, Alice, and Shirley chorused.
“Behind door number one!” Polly waved her arms like Vanna White. “Our first design!”
The double doors between the living and dining rooms flew open. Faye stepped out. She posed, one hand on her hip, the other at the base of her neck. Her thigh-length russet jacket covered a pumpkin shirt over a tank top inset with leaves embroidered in emerald and garnet.
“Oh, my God! It’s gorgeous!” Shirley cried.
Alice applauded. “Double wow.”
Ruth held out her hand. “Let me feel that material. Is it Velveeta?”
“Washable velour.” Faye walked around the room so everyone could feel the fabric.
Polly hurried into the dining room. She returned, pulling a rack of clothing.
The others jumped up and sorted through the selection.
“The colors are all autumnal because they’ll go on sale in September,” Faye explained. “If they sell well, we’ll start on Christmas and winter colors right away.”
“How many sizes did you make?” Marilyn asked.
Polly answered. “We’ve got twenty finished, in all. Three each of size twenty down to size ten, and one each of size twenty-two and twenty-four.”
“Hey,” Shirley protested. “Then they’re all too big for me!”
“You don’t need to wear this style,” Alice told her. “You don’t have any bouncing blubber to cover up.”
Faye and Polly signaled each other with their eyes. Faye whisked into the dining room.
“But you should wear one of these ensembles,” Polly said, “because you’re the director of The Haven, and it would be great advertising, so—”
“TA—DA!” Faye came out with her arms full. “We’ve made one for each of you.”
Polly lifted two of the garments from Faye and helped distribute them to each woman.
“Oh!” Shirley clapped her hands in delight. “You made mine purple!”
“It’s Panting Pansy, actually,” Faye told her. “We’re naming each color. With a Hot Flash Hyacinth shirt and a Melted Mallow tank top.”
“Here, Ruth.” Polly approached the older woman. “This is yours.”
Ruth tottered to her feet, beaming. “You girls didn’t have to make one for me. I’m past the hot flash stage, after all.”
“But of course we had to make one for you! You’re the one who came up with the idea!” Polly reminded her.
“Let’s just try the jacket on for now.” Marilyn helped Ruth slide her arms in.
“This is just lovely.” Ruth smoothed the sea green material over her hips. “This Friday I’m going to a lecher. I’ll wear it then.”
“Lecture,” Marilyn enunciated in a whisper over Ruth’s head.
Alice slipped into her jacket. “Feels like butter. And the color’s delicious.”
“Mad Marigold jacket,” Polly announced. “With Sizzling Scarlet shirt and Crazy Carrot tank.”
Alice went out into the hall to check herself in the long mirror. “Goo
d grief, Gertrude, this flows like water!”
“That’s because we made a yoke across the shoulders and lots of little tucks.” Faye ran her hands along the back stitching.
“I predict these will be a raging success!” Alice said.
Polly disappeared, returning with a chocolate cake. “ Now we have to make a few business decisions. We thought we should have a little nourishment to help our brains.”
“What a beautiful cake!” Ruth said. “Did you make it, Polly?”
“Oh, no. Haven’t had time to bake, with all the sewing. I bought it at The Haven’s bakery.” Polly and Faye bustled around, bringing out teacups, coffee cups, spoons, and napkins.
Marilyn reached out for a plate. “Alice, your party for Jennifer and Alan was a great success.”
Alice smiled. “Thanks. I enjoyed meeting their friends.”
Faye spoke around a mouthful of cake. “And Alan and Jennifer look so happy!”
Polly turned to Shirley. “How’s Justin’s book coming?”
Shirley lit up. “It will be published in October. Speaking of parties, we’re planning a huge event.”
Alice cast a worried glance Shirley’s way. “Have you read his manuscript yet?”
Shirley bristled. “Not a single word. Justin says he wants it to be a surprise.” Defiantly, she added, “The publishers swear it’s going to be a bestseller.”
“Lovely,” Polly smoothly interposed. “Now.” She set her empty plate on the table and clapped once, briskly. “Time for business. We agree these outfits are fabulous, right? Show of hands? Okay, we want to have these outfits in The Haven’s gift shop in September. First, we have to have a name for our business.”
“So we can sew in the labels,” Faye explained.
“What are the possibilities?” Alice asked.
Shirley waved an enthusiastic hand. “Havenly Yours! Heavenly, Havenly, get it?”
“I was thinking Wisely Woven,” Polly suggested.
“But they aren’t woven,” Marilyn pointed out.
“Hot Flash Fashions?” offered Alice.
“Mmm . . .” Faye tilted her hand back and forth in a so-so response.
Marilyn had an inspiration. “What about Crones’ Crafts?”
“No!” Polly objected immediately. “Crone has too much of a negative connotation.”
“So does ‘hag,’ ” Shirley reminded them. “And ‘hag’ comes from the early Greek phrase ‘Haggia Sophia,’ meaning goddess of spiritual wisdom.”
“What does ‘crone’ come from?” Faye asked.
Ruth spoke up. “It’s from the Scottish for ‘withered old ewe.’ ”
“Eeeuuwe!” cried Polly.
“Ancient wisdom has divided the life cycle of a woman into three parts: Maiden, Mother, Crone. Crone’s wise, and possesses knowledge of ancient secrets.” Shirley stirred sugar into her tea as she spoke. “Crone is definitely associated with old age and death. The crone’s colors are black. She’s sometimes called ‘The Dark Mother,’ because she knows the secrets of passing over into death.”
For a moment, everyone in the room was quiet.
Faye said, thoughtfully, “We’re all going to be crones someday.”
“With all the advances in technology and medicine,” Marilyn added, “we’ll probably live different lives from the older women before us.”
“True,” Alice said, “but still, if we’re lucky, we’re going to get really old.”
“And not necessarily really wise,” Shirley added, with a grin.
Faye turned to Ruth, clearly the oldest among them. “What do you think?”
Ruth deliberated. “I think ‘Crones’ Crafts’ is cute.” As she spoke, she turned the rings on her liver-spotted, wrinkled, bony old hands. “But technically, girls, you’re none of you crones, not yet. I’m a crone.” She held up her hand in a “stop” sign. “Please. I’m eighty-three! It’s been a couple of decades since I’ve had hot flesh. I’m not sad, scared, or embarrassed, so please don’t you be. I’m just saying, I vote for ‘Hot Flash Fashions,’ not ‘Crones’ Crafts.’ ”
“But I’d like to get the word ‘crone’ back into our vernacular. If we use it, it will become something people won’t dread,” Shirley protested. “I mean, look at you, Ruth. You’re old, as you said, but you’re not shriveled, toothless, and scary.”
Ruth laughed. “You haven’t seen me naked!”
Shirley continued, “I think part of the mission of The Haven is to present new ways of looking at all the ages of womanhood.”
“Well put,” Alice said. “I’m impressed by your argument, Shirley.”
Shirley blinked, thrilled to have Alice compliment her.
“And,” Alice continued, “I still think your suggestion, Havenly Yours, is the best. It’s clever, and it advertises The Haven.”
“Let’s take a vote,” Polly decided. “All in favor of Hot Flash Fashions, raise your hands.”
Ruth raised her hand.
“Crones’ Crafts?”
Shirley raised her hand.
“Havenly Yours?”
Marilyn, Polly, Faye, and Alice raised their hands, and then Ruth said, “Can I change my boat? I choose Havenly Yours, too.”
“Then Havenly Yours it is,” Polly told them.
17
“IT’S AMAZING,” SHIRLEY SAID TO JUSTIN ON LABOR Day as she looked out the kitchen window at the green grounds of The Haven. “Sometimes I actually believe there’s hope for humanity.”
Justin plunged a corkscrew into a bottle of wine. “And that would be because . . .”
“Well, look.” Shirley waved her hands toward the window. “Alice has made Jennifer sit on the recliner, while she and Gideon help Alan set up the tables. Not to mention that everyone decided to make this a potluck, so I wouldn’t have so much work to do.”
“Doesn’t take much to thrill you, does it?” Justin smiled to take the edge off his words. He’d had his teeth whitened, and he was tan from playing tennis, so his smile was like a million watts.
Shirley was too happy to let the tone of his voice bring her down. As the publication day of his book drew near, Justin was becoming nervous, short-tempered, and cranky. She didn’t blame him. He was, after all, an artist, naturally sensitive, and worried about the event of a lifetime.
“Here come Carolyn and Hank and their baby. I know Carolyn’s father is bringing Faye! I just wish Carolyn would get it, that Faye and Aubrey are a couple. Faye and Polly spent all summer sewing together. They’re such good friends now. Polly—”
“Your name should be Polly,” Justin growled. “Pollyanna.” Carrying the wine bottle and his glass, he went through the door.
Poor Justin, Shirley thought. Then she brightened. “Oh, my gosh! Here’s Marilyn with her Scottish lover!” She raced outside.
The summer heat lay heavily across the day, frizzing hair, driving everyone into the shade of the patio where the tables were set out. Shirley fluttered from person to person, kissing, hugging, loving them all.
She wondered, just a little, in her secret and critical mind, just what it was Marilyn saw in this Ian fellow who had come to visit her for a couple of weeks. He was bound to be brilliant, but gee, he was a funny-looking guy, all elbows and knees and Adam’s apple. Shirley thought Faraday had been much handsomer, and sexier, too.
“I’m verra pleased to meet you,” Ian told Shirley. “I apologize for not shaking your hand, but as you can see, both hands are full.” With his chin, he motioned to the large bowl he carried.
“Mother made her famous hot potato salad.” Marilyn was absolutely glowing with happiness. And she wore a darling frou-frou filmy yellow dress that made her look divinely feminine. “And I made curried chicken salad.”
“I’ll take your bowl,” Shirley told Ian, “and you can help Ruth get settled.”
Ruth chuckled. “I like the division of labor. You girls take the food, I’ll take the man.” She fluttered her eyelashes flirtatiously, looking adorable in a dress covered wit
h hummingbirds, with a hummingbird hairclip in her white curls.
“Madam.” Ian held out his arm. “May I?”
Ruth clutched it and winked at Shirley. “Little does he know, I’m as stable as a horse.”
“Your mother looks good,” Shirley whispered to Marilyn as they carried the food to the long table.
“She has good days and bad,” Marilyn said. “Some days she’s really foggy and forgetful. Today she’s in great shape.”
Polly and Hugh appeared with plates in their arms.
“Cold paella salad,” Polly announced.
“Tuna tonnato,” Hugh told Shirley, setting a brightly colored dish on the table. “We’ve got an apple pie in the car. I’ll just fetch it.”
Faye strolled up. “My gosh, look at all the food! No dieting today.”
“It’s a holiday,” Shirley reminded her. “It’s illegal to diet on holidays.”
“Is that a Hot Flash Club rule?” Polly asked. “If not, I move that we vote it in!”
It was too hot to play badminton or even croquet, so everyone lolled around chatting until Shirley announced that all the food and guests were there. Alice told Alan to move the sun umbrella to the left, so it would more completely shade Jennifer, and Jennifer told Alice to put her feet up on the end of her recliner.
We’re a lucky group, Alice thought now, surveying her friends over the rim of her gin and tonic. We’re an unusual group—five women of a certain age, each with her own beau. Polly and Hugh. Faye and Aubrey. Alice and Gideon. Marilyn and Ian.
Shirley and Justin.
Justin was the youngest, and by far the handsomest. He had all his hair, and no belly sagged over his belt. Alice looked around the party for him and spotted him in fervent conversation with Carolyn. Carolyn’s husband Hank, who was pretty cute himself, was busy taking their daughter for a toddle on the grass, and Justin had pulled his chair so close to Carolyn’s that their knees were just an inch away from touching. As Alice watched, Carolyn smiled, blushed, and shook her hair away from her face demurely, as if Justin had just paid her a compliment. Which, no doubt, he had. Justin knew Carolyn was wealthy. He was probably buttering her up. But Carolyn was a businesswoman, not an easy mark. Alice wasn’t worried about Carolyn.
