And Be My Love

by Joyce C. Ware

  "Isn't there anyone in the art department who could help?"

  Georgina rolled her eyes. "I've already tried that. They'd sooner sell their fair bodies than use their creativity in the service of the college that pays their salaries. You should hear Reuben on the subject."

  "You're still seeing him? I'm glad. He seems a very nice man."

  "The best." Georgina spun her chair around to face the window, then spun back. "He's asked me to marry him."

  "And?"

  "You don't seem surprised."

  "I saw the way he looked at you at the hospice dinner. Talk about love at first sight."

  Georgina grinned. "Not only that, but ready, willing and very able. The thing is, he's twenty-five years older than I am.

  "So? You could probably have fifteen or twenty good years together."

  "Probably not. He has a heart condition. It's not terribly serious, but.…" She shrugged.

  "Better a heart attack than Alzheimer's."

  Georgina gave her a quizzical look. "That's what he said. You medical types sure lay it on the line."

  "Has he got a family?"

  "To give me a hard time, you mean? No, not unless you count his dachshund. Engaging little critter. My cats don't think much of him, though."

  "They'll adjust."

  "Reuben's retiring this year; I still want to work."

  "I bet he does, too. He knows that the level of surgical skill he demands of himself is a young man's game, but there's always a need for experienced doctors. Take River Haven for example."

  Georgina leaned back in her chair and revolved it slowly from side to side. "You're for this, aren't you?"

  "Why should I be the only one faced with hard decisions?"

  Georgina frowned. "C'mon, Beth."

  "I'm sorry, it's just that I think you deserve a second chance at happiness. Reuben Gerber is a good man. Frankly, I think he'd be lucky to get you."

  "I dunno." She tapped her teeth with a pencil. "His first wife was very much the lady."

  Beth smiled. "So? You'll give him a new lease on life."

  Georgina grinned and leaned across her desk. "I already have," she whispered. She straightened up and surveyed the papers spread across her desktop, some with scrawled notations, others with half-finished rough sketches. She groaned and swept the lot of them into her wastebasket. "If only someone could give me a new lease on this."

  Beth cleared her throat.

  "Call Housa, Georgina."

  "Andy's Housa? Miss Harum-Scarum of this and every other year? I really don't think—”

  "I admit she's disorganized, but the important thing is that she's got this wonderfully inventive artistic bent. Give her a twig and she'll draw you a forest. Not just any forest, but one like you've never seen before."

  "No hangups about turning her talents to commercial use?"

  "I doubt it, Georgina. She doesn't take herself that seriously. She's a true original," Beth continued earnestly. "She doesn't know it yet, but I suspect that Andy, deep down, does, and I think it scares him to death."

  Georgina looked alarmed. "Aren't you afraid I'll set something in motion you may regret?"

  "I'm more afraid that someday someone I don't trust might. It's not that they don't love each other, Georgina. They do, very much. It's just that.…" Beth, floundering for words, felt tears come into her eyes. Tears for herself, for Ralph, and for the marriage they might have had. "You see, they haven't learned yet that sometimes love isn't enough."

  Chapter Fifteen

  Beth pulled into Gibson's Garage for gas, grateful for having noticed the drift of the needle into red before she found herself stranded on the roadside. How many times had Ralph warned her to check the level before she pulled out of the garage? More times than should have been necessary, she chided herself.

  A tall man ambled out of the service bay towards her, wiping grease-darkened hands on what seemed like an equally dirty bit of toweling. Placing one hand on the roof of the Saab, he leaned down, smiling. "Hey there, Beth. Fill 'er up?"

  "Please, Ben."

  Ben Gibson moved with the easy grace of the high-school star athlete he once was. Beth and her freshman friends had walked blocks out of their way after school to his house—the most imposing in town, thanks to his father's presidency of the local bank—knowing they would find him sprawled there under the latest of many cars. She recalled loitering past, Ben pausing in his tinkering only long enough to favor them with the sweet smile that fluttered hearts not yet aware that in Ben Gibson's life romance took a very back seat to carburetors.

  "How's your family?" she asked.

  "My mother's doing a lot better, thanks to Andy. After Dr. Hoagland died, Lanny had a terrible time finding someone Mom felt comfortable with. Remember the days when kids our age trusted no one over thirty? Well, for Mom it was the reverse, but she and your Andy clicked from the moment they met. I don't know how or why, but we're sure grateful."

  Lanny was Ben's wife, Lan Huong, brought back from Vietnam. Homely of face, chunky of body, no one could figure the attraction until they got to know her. Betty Halstead, who helped ease Lanny into the community, said it must be like living with a ray of sunshine.

  Ben had dropped out of college to attend a series of automotive schools. Just about the time Beth married Ralph, he inherited enough money from his grandmother to open a garage of his own, specializing in foreign car service. To his father's pleased surprise it was a great success, and it remained the only garage for miles around that still provided loaners, albeit for a price.

  "Your beautiful daughters aren't working for you anymore?"

  "I had to let Mandy go," Ben said. "Got to be a crowd scene here—we had boys lining up for a cup of gas—and Kris and Lora are on a bike tour in France this summer, courtesy of Grandpa Gibson. They're entering college this fall."

  "Peabody?"

  "Yeah. Hometown students get a break in tuition, you know."

  "Really? I'll have to check my bill when it comes. I just signed up as a full-time student myself."

  "Hey, that's great, Beth!"

  She signed the credit slip and slipped the card back into its case. They both winced as the fire whistle across the avenue signaled noon.

  "Boy, I hate that thing!" Ben grumbled. "After all these years, I still jump every damn time."

  Beth grinned, pulled out, and eased slowly along the shoulder of the road to the Lunch Box drive-in half a block away, revered by three generations of school children for its milk shakes. She recalled the triumphant return to the schoolyard of boys who braved the recess-hour avenue traffic to get one, flaunting their chocolate moustaches like badges of honor.

  "Hey, Miz Volmar! What can I do you for? We've got a special today on kielbasa. It's made at that smokehouse up in Morris—comes with fries and slaw."

  "I'll have what I always have. Tiffany."

  "Grilled cheese on white and a cup of tea." She sighed. "You've got to learn to live more dangerously, Mrs. V."

  Hah. If she only knew. Beth returned the girl's smile.

  Tiffany Kierznek, the daughter of the clinic's secretary, Doris, was also Housa's favorite baby-sitter. Beth knew Doris wanted Tiffany to apply to nursing school. She's got the right temperament and more energy than most toddlers. Beth also knew Tiffany's heart was set on being a beautician. She put the money she earned babysitting into a special account, and each year she picked up a new brochure from The Americo Academy of Beauty Culture in Danbury.

  Tiffany soon returned with Beth's order, augmented with chips and a dill pickle slice. "How're the kids?"

  "They're just fine. Clara's helping the firefly fairies celebrate their queen's birthday."

  Tiffany's blushed cheeks rounded like apples. "Ahh-h, isn't that sweet?"

  Beth agreed it was. She moved to a bench set in a grove of weeping willows and crunched appreciatively into the crisply toasted, grill-flattened sandwich. As she sipped her tea, she idly monitored the Japanese beetle invasion of the z
innias planted in a row of tubs flanking the picnic area.

  The squeal of cars braking at the traffic light diagonally across from the drive-in was followed by the repeated honking of a horn. Looking up, she saw a burly, red-faced figure waving a greeting to her from a parking slot in front of the Town Hall. The stumpy cigar thrust up in silhouette against the new wing jutting starkly white from the venerable brick building, identified him as Mort Danzinger, Eastbury's first selectman. Rumor had it he slid out of his mother's womb thus equipped.

  Beth waved back. My town. She munched thoughtfully on the pickle spear. So much of her life was in flux. Not that she minded—she welcomed it, in fact—but the effect on family relationships was unsettling. Here, among the people and places she'd known all her life, she had a comforting sense of continuity. She stretched and yawned, wishing she had time for a short nap, but a glance at her watch denied any such possibility.

  The minute she entered the clinic, Doris, who appeared to be lying in wait for her, waved her into her glass-enclosed cubicle.

  "You just missed her. The new counselor," she added, seeing Beth's blank expression. "She starts in two weeks, I'm just typing up the contract now. Seems nice enough. Do you want her number? So you two can get together? You know, fill her in on your ladies?"

  So. Off with the old; on with the new. She wished she'd known sooner, to give her a little more time before she met her group, but it couldn't be helped. She'd been out all morning; no way Andy could have reached her. Assuming he'd tried. Of course he tried!

  "I don't think so, Doris. As it turns out, I won't be acting as her aide."

  "You won't? I am sorry. I'll miss you—we all will."

  "Oh, I'll be back one of these days, after I get my master's. I'm entering Peabody this fall."

  "You are? Goodness, wait'll Tiffany hears that. I keep telling her it's never too late—" Doris reddened. "Not that you're all that old, Mrs. Volmar."

  Beth smiled. "I know what you meant, Doris."

  "Your ladies will be so disappointed, but at least you'll have the rest of the summer with them."

  Beth shook her head. " 'Fraid not. I'm leaving for Turkey in three weeks, and I'll be gone for four."

  "Ooo-oo-h! How exciting! I wouldn't know where to begin shopping for clothes for a trip to Turkey. What's it like? Cool? Hot? Gosh, I hope it's not the rainy season! Will you be needing dressy or casual?" Doris leaned forward, arms crossed on her desk, her envious eyes thirsting for wardrobe information.

  "I don't know, Doris," Beth said, feeling a fool. "I'm afraid I haven't thought about that part yet."

  "You haven't?' Doris shook her head. "Well, let me tell you, Mrs. Volmar, you'd better start."

  "You're absolutely right, Doris. Soon as I get home I'll begin making a list."

  "Good." Doris's eyes moved beyond Beth. "Uh-oh, here comes Theresa Miller, looking like a thundercloud. She's after you, I bet."

  Doris was right. Theresa wasn't happy; none of the women were. They became unhappier when she told them she would be leaving the clinic sooner than expected.

  "Dr. Volmar called us this morning, asked if we could come in a little earlier to meet her," Gladys Flexner said. Beth didn't need to ask who 'her' referred to.

  "She's just a kid, Beth." Theresa complained. "Got a face on her smooth as a peach. What does she know from change of life and dads who can't always remember the names of their own children?"

  "You thought my son was just a kid when you first came here, too."

  "Still looks like one," Theresa muttered.

  Beth smiled. I must remember to tell him that.

  "I just wish we'd known sooner," Nina Balkin said. We would have given you a little farewell party. You've done so much—" She began to cry.

  "Oh, Nina, please." Beth dug in her purse for a packet of tissues. As Nina blotted her tears, Gladys Flexner turned away to hide hers. "It's not as if you'll never see me again. I'm starting an accelerated program at Peabody in September. I'll be back with you in three years, fully qualified."

  There was a brief silence during which no one met her eyes. They're calculating their chances of still being part of the group in three years, Beth realized. She felt like a deserter.

  "What makes you think you'll get your job back?" Theresa demanded.

  Thank God for Theresa. "Because I'll make my son's life very hard for him if I don't."

  They all laughed,

  "Now, bring me up to date," Beth said. "How's your mother, Magda...."

  Beth wouldn't let them say goodbye. It was different with Horace Williams: by the time Beth returned he would have retired.

  "Hey, you can join my group," she offered.

  "This old rooster with all those hens?"

  "For you, they'd make an exception," she said.

  But they both knew it would never happen. Beth reached up to kiss his black cheek. "I'm glad it won't come off," she whispered fiercely.

  Horace chuckled. "That poor old lady. She didn't mean anything by it, Beth." He gave her a hug. "My oh my, we've had us some times, haven't we?"

  She nodded, not trusting her voice, waiting until she was in her car before allowing her tears to flow.

  Beth's next stop was River Haven, a duty call made doubly hard by the news given her at the reception desk of Jane Disbrow's death that very morning. She did what she could to comfort Jane's family, whom she found huddled together in Jane's room staring at her empty bed, knowing her long-awaited release was a kindness, yet stunned by its sudden hard reality.

  The hospice administrator's reaction to Beth's announcement of her departure from the volunteer ranks was positive.

  "Good for you, Beth! You've always been one of our most valued workers here, and you'll be even more valuable when you come back to us." Suddenly anxious, her eyes widened. "You are planning on coming back, aren't you?"

  Beth, grateful for a reason to smile, assured her she was. "God willing," she added lightly.

  "Oh, well, those are the words we live by here, aren't they?"

  Live and die by.

  Beth shook the warm capable hand offered her and departed, tears of remorse stinging her already reddened eyes. She felt absently in the pocket of her skirt for a tissue. Finding only a damp wad, she settled for a swipe of her fingers.

  When Beth arrived home, she found that the warmth of the July day had triggered the air conditioning. Rubbing arms goose-pimpled by the cold air, she was further chilled by her mother's message on the answering machine. Beth? Beth? Uh, I hate these machines! Call me, please?

  Before she even dialed, Beth suspected their dinner date was off. It was.

  "My...my trouble has flared up, Beth. I'm afraid I wouldn't be very good company... I've already spoken with Dana."

  Her "trouble", Beth knew, was diarrhea, an unseemly symptom of the diverticulosis that had plagued her fastidious mother for years. "Have you called your doctor, Mother?"

  "No need. I've just been careless about my diet. I'm sure I'll be all right by Sunday."

  "Well, if you're sure.…"

  "I'm sure, Elizabeth. Don't fuss."

  The connection was abruptly broken. Beth slowly replaced the receiver. Elizabeth. A sure sign of testiness, but why? Was her mother really feeling under the weather, or was it just an excuse? Had she spoken with Andy? She sighed and dialed Karim's number. She heard the receiver being lifted off followed by a rapid series of thuds and a burst of laughter. "Karim?"

  "Yes?" He sounded distracted. "Hey, watch it, guys! I've been collecting those books since before you were born. I'm sorry, who did you say this was?"

  "I didn't."

  "Beth? I've got to tell you," he muttered, "slave labor isn't what it's cracked up to be."

  "Think of the pyramids."

  "The pharaohs didn't have books," he countered.

  "They had scrolls, didn't they?"

  "Those were papyrus, not paper." He sounded decidedly out of sorts. "There's a world of difference."

  "Take me to di
nner and tell me all about it."

  "But I thought your mother—"

  "So did I. She just canceled out."

  "Oh." He paused, as if wondering whether he should inquire further. "Well, sure. Polly's Place?"

  "Fine. I'll meet you there at seven."

  "Meet me there? Why don't I—"

  "You have enough to do without driving out of your way for me."

  Beth hung up before Karim could point out the obvious: her house was, if anything, on the way to Polly's. She began pacing the tile floor, but she didn't know why. She glanced at the wall clock. Only four o'clock? "God," she muttered to herself. "Three more hours." She had that new Nora Roberts novel. Guaranteed escape, but guaranteed steamy, too. The last thing I need right now is steamy. She paused at the cupboard doors. Maybe a nice hot cup of tea.…

  She trailed upstairs to her bedroom. The cup of tea, abandoned, cooled on the bedside table as she shed her blouse and skirt and snuggled under a soft mohair throw, hoping for sleep to overtake her. To knit up the something-or-other sleeve of care...

  The sound of furious yapping roused her two hours later. She made her groggy way to the window to see her neighbor's obese beagle lunging futilely at the end of its leash at a large tiger-striped cat sprawled at a safe distance in the Volmar's gravel turn-around.

  By the time Beth was shown to Karim's table—after parking her Saab in a narrow slot that forced her to sidle sideways out of it—the cool she gained during her nap had dissipated into breathless disarray.

  "I'm late!"

  Karim looked up, startled by her accusatory tone. "Hardly late; tardy, maybe. You look charming. Pink-cheeked and ruffly."

  "Ruffly? You make me sound like one of those fussy boudoir dolls," Beth said, looking down at her tailored linen dress as if inspecting it for dressmaking details she had overlooked.

  "I meant your hair. It's sort of breezy looking."

  "Now I feel like a tassel of corn in a high wind. Serves me right for trying to meet you on time."

  Karim got up and pulled Beth's chair out for her. "Sit down, Beth," he said gently. "Let's start all over again, shall we?"