Now That You Mention It: A Novel

by Kristan Higgins

  She jumped up. “What are you doing? Don’t get weird, okay? Jesus.”

  I closed my eyes briefly. “You want to come to Boston with me today?” I said.

  “Why?”

  “I’m bringing Boomer to see Bobby. My ex-boyfriend. We could go shopping, maybe? Or see a movie?”

  “I’ll pass.” The sullen teenager was back.

  “Okay, but before I take you back to Gran’s, I want to show you something, okay?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “You do not. I was just being polite.”

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, we were in the car, Boomer in the back seat, crooning his joy, his enormous head out the window. Poe had turned down the chance to drive, so I did the honors. Down the bumpy, sandy road till we hit pavement, then into town. Already, traffic was starting to pick up a bit with weekend visitors. The line was out the door at Lala’s, I was glad to see.

  We went west of Penniman State Forest and up Eastman Hill, where Dad had brought Lily and me so many times. The Hill of Thrills, Dad had called it.

  It was steeper than I remembered.

  My little car automatically downshifted to a lower gear, lumbering up the hill, which was a good half mile long. At the top, there was the huge granite rock, surrounded by pine and oak trees. The oaks were just starting to bud out, and though the air was cool, the sun was warm.

  “You brought me to see a rock?” Poe said, hauling herself out of the car, Boomer on her heels.

  “This is a place your mom and I used to come. Our father would put our bikes in the back, and we’d come up here at night. We’d sit on this rock for a few minutes, and our father would give us a pep talk.”

  She glanced at me, interested against her will. “About what?”

  “About not being afraid. Having adventures. Living life to the fullest.” Had I done that? Fulfilled his hopes and expectations? Would my father approve of me as an adult? Or would Lily’s lifestyle be more what he’d had in mind?

  Not that he was a great role model, ditching his daughters the way he had. But love for him had been carved into my heart at a young age, and erasing that was easier said than done.

  Well. The point of this little trip was to show Poe that her mother and I had been close once upon a time, maybe give her a sense of a time when Lily had been...different. Boomer licked my shoe encouragingly. “It’d be so dark,” I said, “and we’d sit here and look down at the town and see the lights, and nothing ever looked cozier. But to get back home, we had to conquer the hill.”

  Silence from Poe.

  “So we’d get on our bikes—well, Lily would have to go with my dad, because she was too small—and we’d go down this hill as fast as we could.”

  More silence, then. “Did you ever crash?”

  “Almost.” But I’d been afraid every time, pep talk or no pep talk.

  Looking down the hill, I remembered how each time, I’d be terrified I’d lose control of the handlebars, hit a bump and go flying. Each time, the horrible flash of fear shot through me, the noise of the gravel scraping as I swerved, the sting of sand and rocks hitting my shins.

  The euphoria—and relief—when we reached the bottom.

  “Your mom loved it,” I said. “She would sit on our dad’s handlebars with her arms out, like she was flying.”

  “She likes speed, all right.”

  I wasn’t sure if the double entendre was intentional or not.

  “Is she a good mother?” I asked.

  “She’s in jail, Nora. What do you think?” But even as she said the words, her lips trembled.

  I wanted to put my arm around her. “Still, you must miss her.”

  “I need to do homework. Can you please end this journey down memory lane?”

  “Sure.” I sighed, and we got back in the car. The rest of the short trip was in silence. Poe got out the second I pulled into Mom’s dirt driveway.

  “Poe?” I said, getting out after her.

  “What?”

  “Wash that tattoo three times a day with warm water, and put bacitracin on it every time. You don’t want it to get worse.”

  She didn’t look back.

  * * *

  Four hours later, the Boston skyline came into view, and my heart leaped. Boomer, too, seemed to know we were back home; of course, he could smell Boston well before I could. His big tail wagged, and I smiled at him and rubbed his head.

  I’d miss him like I’d miss my right arm. But I’d be okay on my own. I had to be. As my father had said so many years ago, life was about taking on fear.

  As the ferry pulled up to the dock, I saw Bobby, his hair needing a trim, razor stubble on his jaw, looking like an ad for J. Crew. The guy won by Cute Nora, successful GI doc, the Perez Scholar and McElroy Fellow of Gastroenterology.

  He smiled when he saw me. “Hey, stranger,” he said. “You look a lot better.”

  Boomer leaped over to him, wagging, slobbering, molesting—the usual Bernese mountain dog greeting.

  I went over, too, and Bobby opened his arms for a hug.

  A long hug.

  He smelled so good. I could feel his ribs, and my cheek pressed against his shoulder.

  “Hey,” I said, and my voice was husky.

  “I hope you don’t have to go home right away,” he said, taking Boomer’s leash. “I thought we could have lunch.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “You really look fantastic.” He palpated my collarbone gently, and a ripple of attraction flowed down my side. “All healed?”

  “Pretty much,” I said.

  “No lifting over twenty pounds, okay?”

  I smiled. “Yes, Dr. Byrne.”

  “Where would you like to go?” he asked. “I have the whole day off.”

  Now, that was odd. He never took the whole day off. “I have dinner plans with Roseline, but...well, how about a walk? It’s a lot warmer here than it is on Scupper.”

  “Is your knee up for it?”

  “It is for now.”

  “Great.” He took my hand, and a warm, slightly nervous feeling wrapped around me. I was glad I’d worn a nice outfit—jeans and low-heeled suede boots, a bottle green cashmere sweater, brown leather jacket and the vintage Hermès scarf I’d found at a consignment shop for a fraction of its worth.

  “How are things at the hospital?” I asked, and he told me stories of patients and staffers and the kid who’d disappeared for twelve minutes because he hadn’t wanted a tetanus shot, causing a Code Adam and complete hospital shutdown. We wove through Boston’s crowds, dodging the ubiquitous Red Sox fans heading for Fenway, the clusters of students talking too loudly, horsing around.

  It was nice to be back.

  We stopped at a little café near the Contemporary Art Institute and just sat for a little while, watching the people, the wind ruffling my hair. The waitress came over and admired the Dog of Dogs, and we ordered lunch and wine.

  It felt so romantic, the sun shining, a breeze off the bay, Bobby smiling his flirty smile at me. Just like old times.

  “Tell me how things are on Scupper,” he said after our meals arrived, and I launched into a cleaned-up version of events. Told him about my houseboat and how beautiful it was, how my niece had slept over the night before, seeing old schoolmates, hanging out with my mom.

  And as I talked, events began to shape themselves to my words. My mom seemed friendlier, not distant; the noises of the Maine night beautiful, not a reminder of how exposed I felt on the houseboat. Poe was colorful, not angry.

  After all, I had never really let Bobby know the truth about my family. There was no reason to start now.

  The server brought us the check, and Bobby paid. I glanced at my watch. “You want to come back to my place?” he asked suddenly, reaching forward and tucking a strand of hai
r behind my ear. That gesture that had always irritated me. I could manage my own hair, thank you. “Our place, I mean?” he added.

  “We broke up, Bobby.”

  “I know. But I’m not with Jabrielle.”

  “You’re not with me, either.” I raised an eyebrow and smiled a little to take the edge off.

  “I miss you.”

  Good. You deserve to miss me.

  He leaned back in his chair, petting Boomer, who was attempting to climb onto his lap. “I mean, of course, I miss you. We were together for a long time. Friends for longer than that. But I guess I didn’t realize how empty life would feel without you.”

  He was always so good with words. My wine was gone, but I pretended to sip it, needing a shield.

  “Okay,” he said. “No answer is an answer, too. I’m sorry.”

  “I appreciate the sentiment. But I think...well. I think at the very least, we need more time apart.” I put down my glass. “I’m gonna go. Take good care of my boy here.” I bent down, wincing as my knee reminded me that I’d been dumb enough to get hit by a van, and kissed my dog. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

  “Text me when you get back to the island, so I know you made it safe and sound.” Bobby stood up and hugged me again, kissed me on the cheek.

  Then kissed me on the mouth. A quick kiss, but warm and firm. A reminder of life before the Big Bad Event.

  “Take care,” I said and walked away as fast as I could manage.

  For the first time, it occurred to me that maybe taking a break was exactly what Bobby and I had needed.

  14

  A few days after the Boomer swap, I was at the clinic, doing computer work. As Gloria had said, most of our cases were really basic stuff—I’d seen a girl for a sprained ankle, a teenager who’d been stung four times by bees and was hysterical (though not allergic) and now an elderly woman with severe stomach pains due to constipation.

  “I haven’t pooped for eleven days,” she growled. I suppressed a wince. It wasn’t uncommon in elderly people, but jeezum crow! No wonder she was snarling.

  “I’ll let you handle this, Dr. Stuart,” Dr. Ames said, beaming at the patient. Gloria and I strongly suspected her coffee was laced with alcohol, though I had to give it to her. Her lipstick was perfect. “I once had a patient with such severe impaction, she was seven pounds lighter when we discharged her! I have never seen so much stool in my life!” She smiled, pleased with the memory.

  “Thanks for sharing,” I said.

  “You’re welcome!” She raised her voice. “Mrs. Constantine, Nora is excellent at disimpaction. Aren’t you, darling? Very gentle hands! Well, I have calls to make. Let me know if you need me, Nora, dear!” She wobbled off to her office.

  “Why is she yelling at me?” the patient asked.

  “She’s a unique personality,” I said. “But she’s right, I’m good at this.”

  “Good,” she said. “The last time I had this done, it felt like the doctor used an elephant tusk.”

  “We got rid of all our tusks last year,” I said, smiling.

  I’ll spare you the details, but one gently administered enema later, and armed with some glycerine suppositories, Mrs. Constantine left, a happier woman.

  “Busy day,” Gloria commented as I finished the report and sent it to the insurance company. “Are you dying of boredom?”

  “Not at all. It’s kind of fun, seeing all different types of cases.”

  “Do you miss Boston?”

  “A little. Do you?”

  “Well, I’m not from the city proper, you know?” she said.

  “What brought you out here, anyway? Aside from the lobsterman fantasy, that is?”

  “I wanted a change. I like the slower pace on the island, and I like running this place. No offense.” She smiled. “My family’s pretty intense. Like every other day, someone’s having a first Communion or a christening or a baby. My mother calls me four times a day just to ‘catch up.’ I have to pretend the cell service sucks out here just to get some peace and quiet. I love them, but too much of a good thing, you know?”

  “Not really. Maybe we could trade families.”

  “You’re not close with yours, I take it?”

  I shrugged. “You’ve met my mom.”

  “She’s an impressive woman.”

  I felt an unexpected flash of pride. “She is. Not warm and cuddly, though.”

  The bell buzzed, letting us know we had another patient. “Four in one day,” Gloria said, pulling a face. “Grand Central Station here. I’ll go see what’s up.”

  A few minutes later, Gloria called me to the exam room. It was Mr. Carver, the man who’d occasionally given my father work. First name Henry, according to his chart. “Hi, Mr. Carver,” I said. “Nice to see you again.”

  “Oh, Nora,” he said, blushing. “Ah...I didn’t expect you.”

  “BP is normal, heart rate’s perfect, O2 sat 98 percent,” Gloria said. “Call if you need me.” She left the room.

  “What can I do for you today?” I asked.

  “Well... Is there another doctor I can see?” he asked. “A man?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  He sighed.

  “Everything you say will be confidential, Mr. Carver.”

  “You don’t seem old enough to be a doctor.”

  I always loved that comment. “Well, I’m thirty-five. Tufts undergrad, Tufts Medical School, fellowship at Boston City, partner at Boston Gastroenterology Associates, board certified in family practice and gastroenterology... Shall I go on?”

  “It’s just...personal.”

  “I assure you, I’ve heard everything.”

  He blushed.

  “Erectile dysfunction?” I guessed.

  He looked away, his face getting redder. “Bingo.”

  He’d been put on blood pressure medication, a classic cause of ED. I asked him some questions and did an exam. He was basically the guy for whom Viagra had been invented. I wrote him a prescription, went over the side effects and warning signs and recommended a pharmacy in Portland if he didn’t want it filled here.

  “This is great,” he said, clearly relieved. “Thanks, Nora. I mean Dr. Stuart.”

  “Nora’s just fine,” I said.

  “Your mom must be very proud of you.”

  “I hope so. Hey, I was wondering...do you know anyone who might be interested in...well, in dating my mother? I worry about her being too lonely.”

  His face colored again. “She’s... Well, I, ah, I’d have to give that some thought.”

  “I know, I know, I’m matchmaking, but what can I say?” I smiled. “Everyone deserves love, right? Let me know if you have any questions about the medication.”

  He left, still blushing. Too bad he was married. I wouldn’t have minded him for a stepfather.

  I hadn’t seen my mom for a few days, though I’d left a message on her landline; she didn’t have a cell. Poe had come over for supper on hug therapy night and made a few grunts as I tried to ask her questions. Progress.

  I stuck my head in Gloria’s office. “I’m off to see my mom,” I told her. “Want me to bring you any lunch?”

  “I’m eating a salad,” she said, pulling a face. “Kale.”

  “Your digestive track will thank you. Okay, see you in a bit.”

  The Excelsior Pines, where Mom had long worked, was a beautiful white, three-story hotel on the water with unrivaled views. It was a popular place for weddings in the summer and ran special fall and winter packages in the off-seasons to lure the mainlanders here.

  Mrs. Krazinski worked at the front desk—mother of Lizzy Krizzy. “Hi, Mrs. K,” I said as I came in. Her name tag said “Donna.” Funny, how when you’re a kid, you never know the names of the adults.

  “Hello there, Nora,” she said. “Yo
ur mother told me you were back for the summer! How are you?”

  “I’m good. How are you? How’s Lizzy?”

  “Oh, she’s fine. Lives in Connecticut now, works on Wall Street. Her husband stays home with their kids. Three of them now.” She whipped out her phone and flashed a picture of a smiling family at me. Lizzy looked just the same.

  “Aw, that’s great. Tell her I said hi, will you?” Nice to hear she was doing well.

  I remembered that their house has been listed as a rental. “So where are you and Mr. K living these days?” I asked. “I saw your house listed as a rental.”

  “Well, we got a divorce about five years ago.”

  “Shoot. I’m sorry. You know my mom. She’s not one to gossip.”

  “Ayuh. I’ve got a little place here in town just around the corner from the Clam Shack. You here to see your mom, I’m guessing?”

  “I am. Is she free?”

  “Well, you know her. Always working. Go on in, honey.”

  Mrs. K. She’d always been nice. I paused. “Mrs. Krazinski,” I said in a low voice, “I hope this doesn’t put you in an uncomfortable spot, since you work with Mom, but I was wondering if you ever heard anything about my father. Where he went after he left the island.”

  Her brows drew together. “No, honey, I’m sorry. I never did. I used to ask your mom about it way back when, but she didn’t know much, either, and after a while, I just stopped asking. Figured if she wanted me to know, she’d have told me.”

  Sounded like Mom, all right. “Well, I sure would love to know what happened, so if you think of anyone I could talk to...”

  “Sure, honey. Now, go see your mom.”

  I obeyed. My mother was sitting at her desk, a container of yogurt next to her on top of a pile of folders.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Hi, Nora. What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. Just wanted to say hello.”

  “Oh. Well. Hello.”

  My two burning questions—You getting any these days? and Whatever happened to Dad?—were too freaky to include in the same conversation. I decided to go with Operation Find Mom a Honey.

  “I was wondering if you might want to come by the houseboat for dinner on Friday,” I said. “I’m having a little dinner party.” Not that I’d planned on it, but why not? Time to show off my new digs.