by Nancy Thayer
Gloria rose and came to stand next to Alice. “That’s Mrs. Florence Higginbotham. She came here in 1911 to work for a summer family. In 1920, she bought this house and lived in it for the rest of her life. When she died, she willed the house to her son, but asked that the house’s history be recognized. And gradually, although it’s taken decades, that’s what we’re trying to do.”
Alice looked at the portrait. She didn’t know when she’d seen such an optimistic, charismatic face. Florence Higginbotham looked proud, but not angry. She wasn’t jutting her chin out defiantly. Her expression was confident, and inviting. Why, she looked like she was about to laugh. She looked like someone Alice would dearly love to know.
Alice said, “She possesses a remarkable countenance.”
Gloria said, “She was a remarkable woman.”
Alice felt like she was under a spell. Like she was in some kind of mutual communication with Florence Higginbotham. Alice had never joined any organizations devoted to promoting Black heritage or African-American progress. She’d never had time. She’d always been too busy ensuring her own and her sons’ safety, education, and future. But she was absolutely enchanted by Florence Higginbotham. And Alice was old enough to know she still had a lot to learn and she could learn from someone younger, even from someone who had lived in the past. In a flash, Alice saw how her own expertise at organizing, communicating, brainstorming, and managing could be helpful to this historical organization. It was as if Florence Higginbotham, with her splendid plumed hat, was holding a door open to a world Alice hadn’t known existed, and Alice couldn’t wait to enter.
She turned to Gloria Price. “I’m Alice Murray. I live in Boston, too. I think I might like to help with your fund-raising.”
51
After a day of bright sun and intense heat, a delicate fog was drifting over the island, blurring the light and bringing a welcome coolness. The Hot Flash Club lounged companionably on the small back porch of Nora’s Orange Street house. Marilyn and Alice each had one of the two wicker rockers, while Polly and Faye, with much giggling over the positioning of their plump backsides, shared the wicker loveseat with the blue-and-white striped cushion. Shirley, the most supple of them all, sat cross-legged on the pale gray wooden floor. From time to time, she leaned back against the white porch railing. She was the only one not enjoying one of the strawberry daiquiris Faye had just whipped up in the blender. Faye had made Shirley her own drink of fresh strawberries and ginger ale, adorned with lots of crushed ice and a bright slice of lime.
“Shirley…” Alice lolled among the rocker’s cushions. Her voice was low and mellow. “Weren’t you going to look for some yoga classes on the island?”
Shirley scooped a spoonful of crushed ice into her mouth. “Mmm. I was. But I got more interested in doing outdoor things.”
“I doubt if I’ll ever take yoga again,” remarked Faye lazily. “I can’t bend over to fasten my sandals without passing gas. Plus, my knees creak. In fact, any exertion makes me grunt like a sow.”
“You’re a regular Hot Flash Symphony,” Alice teased.
“Someone should invent Hot Flash Yoga,” Polly suggested. “To help specifically with hot flashes, forgetfulness, mood swings—”
“Irritability, weight gain, sagging,” Faye added.
Marilyn giggled. “You know how yoga poses have names? Like Lotus Pose, or Warrior Pose, or Mountain?”
“Yeah!” Alice chuckled. “I see where you’re going.” She squeezed her knees together. “We could have the Hot Flash Leaky Bladder Thigh Press!”
Polly snickered, crossed her arms over her chest, and inclined her head. “And the Oh No I’m Growing Whiskers on My Boobs Bow.”
Faye stood up. She tilted forward slightly, letting her jaw fall open and raising her hands, palms up. “The I Forgot What I Was Doing Affirmation of Paralysis.”
Alice placed her hands on her belly. “The I Love Myself Even Though I Ate That Entire Bag of Chips Squat.”
Marilyn made a face and stuck her hands out in front of her. “The You Don’t Even Want to Be Messing With Me, I’m Constipated Crouch!”
Polly twisted her arms behind her. “And let us not forget the ever popular My Bra Is Biting Into My Back Blubber Twist.”
Shirley laughed. “You guys are so silly.”
“Hey,” Alice said, dropping back into her rocking chair. “How is a bra like a friend?”
“How?” Marilyn asked.
“It’s close to your heart and it never lets you down.”
“I’ll drink to that!” Shirley raised her glass.
All the others toasted, too. They sipped their drinks and relaxed into silence, savoring this moment of mutual harmony.
Finally, with a little sigh, Shirley said, “We really need to decide what to do about Amelia’s letters and Lucinda Payne and Nora Salter.”
Faye straightened on the loveseat. “I think one of us has to go back to Boston and tell Nora in person. This news is too overwhelming to be tossed off over the telephone.”
“But this week was supposed to be just for us!” Alice objected.
“True,” Faye agreed. “And if we all agree, we can always wait until next week to tell Nora. But it makes me uncomfortable to be in possession of these letters and this information and not act on it.”
“Why can’t we be flexible?” Marilyn suggested. “We’ve certainly changed plans before at a moment’s notice. Let’s take a day or two to go back to Boston, and then we’ll add a day or two for us all to be together next week. Or the week after that. We’ve got the rest of the summer.”
“You just want to go back to Boston to see Ian,” Alice teased.
“No, actually, I don’t,” Marilyn assured her. “I don’t want Ian to think I’m checking up on him. Shirley’s the one who should go up to Boston. She’s the one closest to Nora. I’d be glad to accompany her, but I’d be glad to stay here, too.”
Polly wiped a bit of pink froth from her lip. “I’m slightly concerned about Lucinda. When I phoned her yesterday, she didn’t even answer. Well, that wasn’t too worrisome. We had been up all night. She was probably exhausted. I did get hold of her by phone today, but she wouldn’t let me stop by. She claimed she was suffering from ‘catarrh’ and couldn’t see anyone.”
“What’s catarrh?” Alice wondered.
“An old-fashioned word for a cold,” Polly informed her. “Inflamed nostrils, mucus in the throat, that sort of thing.”
“Ah,” Shirley said. “Of course. All that crying probably opened up tear ducts that hadn’t been used for years.”
“Anyway,” Polly continued, “sooner or later we’ve got to get together with Lucinda again.”
Shirley said, “We can’t tell Lucinda about the letters until we tell Nora. I just don’t think that would be right.”
“And of course Nora’s got to decide what to do about Lucinda’s thieving,” Faye added. “I think if we presented Nora with all the facts, she might be more forgiving.”
“And when we tell Lucinda,” Polly suggested, “let’s have Adele Singleton with us. What do you think? I mean, Lucinda is so alone. At least she’s known Adele all her life. It will seem like someone is on her side.”
“That’s a really good idea, Polly,” Faye said.
“Imagine.” Shirley pulled her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs. “Imagine being in your seventies and discovering you have a half-sister. Isn’t life ever calm?”
“Well, tonight’s calm,” Marilyn pointed out. “Here we all are, all five of us, lounging around on a summer’s evening, talking, planning, catching our breath, just like we said we would.”
They all murmured agreement. Again, they sat in a companionable silence, soaking in the gentle air, enjoying the taste of their drinks and the feel of their light summer clothing against their tanned skin.
Shirley traced a swirl of paisley on her lavender and scarlet gypsy skirt and allowed herself to enjoy some secret thoughts of Harry. The board
of directors of The Haven had called a special meeting in the middle of the month to discuss the Rainbow Group’s offer, and just now, as she relaxed on this enchanting island, she was hoping they’d vote to sell.
Faye gazed out over the small garden with its new dawn roses and honeysuckle vines spilling over the fence. The green clouds of maple trees in the yard behind framed a bright glimpse of blue ocean. A fat, clunky necklace of heavy azure stones lay across the bodice of her loose white silk shift, and she absentmindedly rubbed the stones between her fingers as she reviewed the various advantages of the several rental houses she’d seen with a Realtor that week.
Marilyn lifted a Band-Aid to check on a cut she’d sustained on the sole of her foot after stepping on a shell while investigating the saltwater plants and invertebrate animals living at the tidal lines in the harbor. The cut was healing nicely. She pressed the Band-Aid back down. She wished, just a little, that her love life could be as simple as a clam’s. She knew Ian loved her, but Fiona was so voluptuous, so feminine. While here Marilyn sat in tan shorts and a white T-shirt, and this was stylish, for her. She was trying not to obsess about Ian with Fiona, but she couldn’t stop worrying.
Alice admired her turquoise bracelet against her skin. She’d worn it constantly since she bought it at the beginning of the summer. She just liked it for some reason, just like she just liked Florence Higginbotham. She thought she might go up with Shirley to Boston. Shirley could see Nora Salter, and Alice could stop in at the Museum of Afro-American History. She hadn’t been there for a long time. Now that Jennifer’s nephew Greg was helping at the bakery, Alan’s depression had lifted. It felt good, not to worry about him and Jennifer. It made her feel lighter, more energetic. She was ready to take on a new project.
Polly thought the pink in her overlarge pink-and-white striped cotton shirt matched almost perfectly the pink of her strawberry daiquiri. She rocked idly in the white wicker rocking chair, humming lightly to herself. She felt more at ease than she had in ages. Partly that was because she no longer had to deal with Havenly Yours. Partly it was because of the rum in the daiquiri. She’d better enjoy this moment of peace, she told herself. She had her own secrets, her own complications. Today Aubrey Sperry had left a message on her cell phone. Next week was the annual company picnic at the Sperry Paper Company, and of course Carolyn Sperry and her husband Hank would attend, because Carolyn was the CEO. And of course Carolyn’s baby would go along, adorable little Elizabeth, who was, after all, Polly’s goddaughter. So Polly was invited to the company picnic, and it was so much fun, she’d been the last two years. All Aubrey had asked on his phone message was whether Polly might like for him to pick her up and drive her out to the company’s grounds on the banks of the Rock River. That didn’t constitute an actual date, did it? And was she honor-bound to mention this to Faye? Or even to garner Faye’s reaction to this before she responded to Aubrey? And what was her own reaction to being alone in a car with Aubrey? Honestly, life really was so complicated!
“Polly.” Faye’s voice startled Polly, who jumped guiltily, spilling just a bit of her drink on her shirt. “I think you and I should be the ones to be with Lucinda when she learns the news. And Adele, of course, if she’ll join us. Lucinda had us for tea, after all. She’ll feel a little more comfortable with us, I think.”
Polly’s voice began in a squeak, but gradually modulated. “Great. Whenever. But, um, I have to be back in Boston at the end of next week for the Sperry company picnic.”
“Right,” Faye said. “Well, first thing, Shirley’s got to tell Nora.”
“I’ll ride up with you, Shirley,” Alice said. “I’ve got some things to do in Boston.”
Go by yourself! Shirley wanted to yell. I don’t want to leave Harry! But she answered mildly, “Okay. Let’s go on Friday.”
Marilyn sighed, a long, deep breath. “I suppose I should go up to Boston with you two. I can spend the day with Ruth. Maybe take her out to lunch or something. At least I can check to be sure her kitten’s litter box is getting cleaned out.”
Shirley poked Marilyn’s flip-flop with the toe of her own lavender sandal. “Can’t you just ask Ian?”
“Ask Ian what?” Ian asked, as he came walking around the corner of the house.
All five women screamed. Polly spilled more of her drink on her shirt. Alice, startled, rocked back so hard in the rocker she nearly went ass over teakettle. Faye put her hand to her surprised heart. Shirley clasped her hands to her face.
Marilyn just sat there, stunned.
Alice recovered first. “What are you doing here, Ian?”
Ian leaned against the wooden steps leading up to the porch. He still wore city clothes—khakis, a white shirt, a tartan tie—and he had a lightweight summer jacket hooked over his shoulder by one finger. With his thick glasses, his egg-shaped head, and his white, indoor, city complexion, he was not handsome, but he was very male, and to all five women, very dear.
He spoke to them all, but his eyes were on Marilyn. “I just missed Marilyn too much. I apologize. I know this is supposed to be your Hot Flash week, but I thought you might take pity on me and let me have an evening with my fiancée.”
“But why didn’t you phone?” Faye inquired gently.
“I tried, but Marilyn’s not answering her cell. She must have it turned off.”
Marilyn nodded in mute acknowledgment.
“You surprised Marilyn before, when you asked her to marry you last Christmas,” Alice remembered.
“Yes,” Ian agreed. “I seem to have to chase this woman to ground.”
“This is so romantic!” Shirley blubbered, as tears welled in her eyes.
Marilyn was blushing so hard she sent herself into a hot flash. She lifted her hair off her neck. Still too flustered to speak, she fanned her face.
Faye rose. “Ian, I’ll make you a drink. Strawberry daiquiri?”
“Do you have gin and tonic?”
“We do.” Faye went through the screen door into the kitchen.
Polly suggested, “Marilyn, let’s trade places.”
Polly moved to Marilyn’s chair, and Marilyn sat on the wicker sofa next to Ian. She gazed at him with amazement, as if he’d been newly minted. “I’m overwhelmed.”
Since Marilyn was still trying to compose herself, Alice took on the conversational responsibilities. “How is Ruth? How’s Fiona? How’s Angus?”
“Ruth is well. In her words, she’s as happy as a pig on a ship. And Angus! Angus is out on a date tonight.”
Marilyn croaked, “Angus has a date?”
“Yes. Last week, when your computers went berserk at The Haven, Wendy had already phoned Julie Martin to ask her to come help, when Alice phoned Angus, and they both showed up. Not only did they bring the computer back from outer space, they quite liked one another.”
“Oh, my gosh.” Shirley was thrilled. “That’s so karmic!”
“And Fiona?” Alice asked dryly.
Ian rolled his eyes. “Fiona’s driving me bats. I’m sorry for the woman, but to be honest, she’s always irritated me a bit. She’s so dependent. Not like you at all. I admire you ladies, the way you just get things done. I thought if I left her alone for twenty-four hours, she’d get lonesome for her friends back in Scotland and go back home. I can only leave the house overnight, you know, because I can’t trust Fiona to deal with everything.”
Faye came out, bearing a tall glass clinking with ice and gin and tonic. She handed it to Ian.
Alice stood up. “Well, you and Marilyn can have the house to yourselves for the evening, because the four of us have plans to eat out.”
“We do?” Shirley looked surprised.
Alice shot Shirley a look.
“Oh! Right! We do!” She scrambled up off the floor.
Polly stood up, too. “I’ll just get my purse and I’m ready.”
Faye said, “Marilyn, there’s some wonderful cheddar in the fridge, and a container of pasta salad, and lots of fruit. If you and Ian get hungry, I me
an.”
“Thanks.” Marilyn was still dazed.
Polly scrutinized Faye’s face as she spoke to the lovers. Faye seemed one hundred percent happy, not the slightest wistful.
As Alice grabbed Shirley’s wrist and pulled her into the house, she saw how Shirley’s face was soft with yearning, and so, because the salt air was so shimmering and romantic, and because she loved Shirley so much, she said, “You know what, Shirley? Maybe tomorrow we can all meet this Harry you’re so crazy about.”
Shirley’s smile flashed like the summer sun.
52
As Faye pulled back the faded curtains in the front bedroom on the second floor of Adele Singleton’s house, the calico material nearly disintegrated at her touch. Gently, she tucked the fabric behind a bookcase slanting next to the window, allowing sunlight to illuminate the room.
A double bed with an iron bedstead stood against one wall, covered with a patchwork quilt. Polly would go wild over the handwork, Faye thought, running her fingers over the soft cotton. An old rag rug lay next to the bed, but most of the floor was bare wood, wide boards, scraped and scarred by years of living.
There were no closets in the room. An ancient pine armoire served to store clothing. One door hung open. Faye pushed it shut, and slowly it swung back open, creaking, pulled by the slant of the floor.
On an old oak chest of drawers lay an embroidered cloth runner, and centered there was a glass vase containing a sheaf of hydrangeas, dried and withered by time into brittle brown papery petals. Faye touched the dusty vase. Who had last been in this room, brightening the day with this small bouquet of flowers? Next to the vase lay an embossed silver-backed brush, comb, and mirror set, and a silver picture frame containing a photo of Adele’s three children. They were captured in their adolescence, two girls and a boy, laughing, sun-browned, hair as disheveled as haystacks. Adele had attended the funerals of her son and one of her daughters. Only one daughter remained, and she was older than Faye.
