by Darien Gee
Philippe is her husband. She had pictured a whole life together, touring together, playing together, growing old together. Hannah tries to see them both in their seventies. Sixties. Fifties, even, but she can’t. She can’t see beyond where they are now. And now that they are not equal playing partners, what is left? What else is there for her to share with him?
She hurries to the answering machine and presses the PLAY button, holding her breath. The first message is an automated message from her credit card company. Annoyed, Hannah deletes this. The second message is from her neighbor Henry Tinklenberg, thanking her for the Amish Friendship Bread and inviting Hannah to join him and his family for dinner. He has a daughter her age, Pauline, whom he’d like her to meet. Hannah saves this message and falls back against the cushions of her sofa, defeated.
The doorbell rings just as the tears threaten to come. Instantly she thinks, Philippe. He doesn’t have a new key so of course he can’t walk right in. If it’s him, and if he’s here to apologize, she will accept it. There’s a spare key in the kitchen drawer—she’ll hand it to him, say she’s been waiting to give this to him. They’ll learn from this experience, and their bond will be stronger than ever.
The doorbell rings again, followed by a knock. Hannah licks her lips, wishing she had time to put on a little makeup. She hurries to the front door and takes a quick look through the peephole. But it’s not Philippe.
It’s Julia.
• • •
What if.
Ever since she woke up in Madeline’s house the other night, Julia hasn’t been able to stop thinking, what if.
What if Josh hadn’t died? What if he’d never been stung, was still waiting on the lawn when Livvy came downstairs? What if for the past five years they were a family of four—her, Mark, Josh, and Gracie?
What if.
Would they be going on family vacations, having date nights, redecorating the rooms as the kids got older? Would they have had another baby? What would have happened if Josh had not died? What?
Julia has no idea. It pains her to think about it and yet she can’t stop. It’s the last thing on her mind when she goes to bed and the first thing when she wakes. She can’t sleep in anymore—her eyes open as soon as she hears Mark and Gracie moving through the hallway, chattering and laughing. At first she had lingered, seeing if her body wanted to go back to sleep, but it was pointless—she was awake. Even if she wanted to stay in bed, she couldn’t. She had to get up, unable to lie there any longer, so she now joins her family for breakfast.
Julia stirs granola into her yogurt, staring at the one empty chair around the table. They had bought it years ago as a set—a square maple wood table with four matching chairs—and wonders what it would be like if Josh were there with them, sitting in that fourth chair. She glances at her husband and daughter for signs that they may be thinking about this, too. But Gracie is listening to the crackle of her Rice Krispies and Mark is occupied with small talk, with language that tiptoes around Julia, as if he’s uncertain of what she will say or how she will react. He’s somewhat wary about her presence at the table, unsure if she’ll change her mind again. The result is a conversation of little consequence to her and, she suspects, to Mark.
What if she and Mark were no longer together?
Julia doesn’t know what to make of this and at the same time feels a subtle shift in her spirit, of something falling into alignment. What if she could start over, like Madeline or Hannah?
What if.
The rest of the day Julia keeps herself busy but her thoughts drift back to her two new friends. The other night she woke up feeling more rested than she had in years. She saw herself surrounded in the warmth of friendship, her hands wrapped around a bowl of French onion soup that tasted like heaven. Her body gave a sigh, felt something dissipate into nothingness. She knew in that moment that something had changed.
Madeline—who only had Julia’s cell number—had called Mark at home and told him that Julia was staying late. He didn’t seem alarmed when Julia returned home after midnight. Didn’t ask any questions, just bade her good night. Perhaps this is the way things are going to be. She and Mark will have their own lives, independent of each other. Lives that don’t require explanation or even checking in, just a coordination around Gracie, figuring out drop-off and pickup times. Julia knows this doesn’t look like much of a marriage, so the next question that comes into her mind is, Should they even bother?
By mid-afternoon Julia can’t stand it anymore. She gets her in car and drives to Madeline’s. She’s a bit early for their get-together, but she doubts Madeline will mind.
When she arrives she sees that the tea salon is crammed with local Avalonians, a meeting of some kind given the way all the women’s heads are turned to see Margot West, an independent Avon representative, holding up a gift basket stuffed with beauty products as she points to each item in turn. Julia recognizes several people through the window and doesn’t want to see any of them. She puts the car in reverse and drives away, heading down the street. Then she sees a house that she knows must be Hannah’s. A second later Hannah walks past the window, engrossed in a book.
Julia makes up her mind. She cuts the engine, grabs her bag, and heads up the walk.
“I was driving by and thought I’d say hi,” Julia says now. “I didn’t realize you were this close to Madeline’s. I hope this isn’t a bad time.”
“Of course not.” Hannah gives her a hug and invites her in, offering her tea and a slice of zucchini bread. “You cut your hair!” she exclaims.
Julia’s hand flutters self-consciously to her short locks. She hooks her finger around a loose strand by her ear, giving it a tug. “It isn’t too short, is it?” she asks. She cut it the day after she’d spent the night at Madeline’s. She had stepped out of the shower, her body soft and pliable from the heat. The mirror above the sink was covered in steam, obscuring her reflection, and she thought she saw a movement behind her, something familiar. She quickly brought her palm to the mirror to wipe it clear but when she did she only saw herself looking back at her, her wet hair streaming down past her shoulders. She dug through the drawers until she found the hair shears and thought, Enough.
“It’s perfect,” Hannah says enthusiastically, and Julia smiles, encouraged. They walk into Hannah’s sunny living room. “You caught me in the middle of daydreaming.”
Daydreaming. Maybe that’s what Julia was doing all morning. Down the hallway she sees a room with framed articles on the wall. “I was doing the same thing,” she says. “Of roads not taken.”
“That’s funny,” Hannah says as they settle on the sofa. “Because I was dreaming of the opposite. I was thinking about the road I did take, though I don’t know what else I could have done. Playing cello seemed like the only choice available to me. And marrying a man who was also a musician. It made sense to be with someone who understood music, who knew the demands of playing professionally, you know?”
“Maybe,” Julia says. “But I’m not an architect and Mark used to say that it was a huge relief, because all other architects want to do is talk about architecture. He used to say I kept him normal.”
“Normal.” Hannah looks at her, genuinely perplexed. “What is normal, anyway?”
Julia laughs. Hannah is asking the wrong person. “I have no idea,” she says honestly. She spots a familiar book in front of her and picks it up.
“Joy of Cooking?” Julia is impressed.
“Have you read it? Madeline gave it to me. So far I’ve learned how to core an apple, that pancakes shouldn’t be turned more than once, that cooking a pizza on a grill results in a crispy yet chewy crust.” Hannah holds up a simple lined notebook. “I’m writing down recipes I like. I think I might actually try to bake an apple pie.” She opens the notebook and flips through the pages. “Or maybe a risotto with mushrooms. Philippe loves risotto, but I never had enough guts to try it.” She bends the corner of that page, a reminder.
Julia is confused. “Is
Philippe coming home?” From what Hannah had told her, it sounded like their marriage was heading straight for divorce court. His choice, not hers.
Hannah reddens. “No. I mean, I don’t think so. Everything is so distorted on the phone, you know? We need to talk in person. I found the names of some marriage counselors and thought seeing someone would help us communicate better. Not that we’re going to get back together or anything …”
Julia hears the guarded hope in Hannah’s voice. She respects Hannah’s willingness to try, but doesn’t want to see this young, beautiful woman waste her life on someone who isn’t going to love her back or give her the respect she deserves. How well do you have to know someone before you can share what you really think?
Julia has never met Philippe and she doesn’t know the details of their marriage. It’s really none of her business. Julia remembers how she bristled when her own mother gave her unsolicited advice about her marriage, but Julia isn’t Hannah’s mother. She’s a friend, a new friend who brings a certain level of objectivity to the situation, who can see what is happening to the young woman in front of her. Julia wants Hannah’s happiness and, for the first time in a long time, her own.
She decides against saying anything and instead comments on Hannah’s home, on how everything is perfectly put together.
“Oh, that’s Philippe,” Hannah says, blushing, gesturing to a few expensive art pieces that are arranged just so. “He’s particular about where things should go and how they should look.”
“No, it’s not just that. You’ve made this into a home, Hannah.” Julia can see Hannah’s femininity in the house, the small touches that soften the otherwise sharp edges.
On the mantel Julia sees a series of square photos, each in their own individual porcelain frame, slightly different but complementary. They’re of Hannah, taken when she was a little girl and then all through adulthood, all with her cello.
Julia gazes at a picture. “You look so little here. When did you start playing?”
“When I was five.”
Five. That’s how old Gracie is. “Could you teach my daughter to play?” Julia asks suddenly. She doesn’t know if Gracie has the attention span to learn an instrument—Julia hasn’t given the topic much thought until now.
Hannah brightens and sits up tall. “Is she interested?”
“I don’t know. She loves to sing and dance. I never had music lessons growing up, although Mark played trumpet in his school band for a few years. Hopefully she hasn’t inherited our musical genes.” Julia carefully touches the frame. A pint-size Hannah with her hair in two braided plaits dressed in a simple jumper is holding her bow and cello, a huge smile stretched across her little face. Her parents stand behind her, proud. “You all just look so happy. I want Gracie to be happy.” There’s a determined look on Julia’s face. “How much do you charge for a lesson?”
Hannah knits her brows, thinking. “Um, I don’t know. Maybe we could do one lesson to see if she likes it first. It’s really important for the child to have some interest. Would that work?”
Julia finds herself warming to the idea. Gracie will love it or hate it, but she wants to find out. “Of course.”
Hannah excuses herself to put a kettle of hot water on. In the kitchen, she calls to Julia, “I don’t have a huge selection of tea like Madeline’s. Is black tea all right? I have a nice one with citrus, vanilla, and lavender.”
Julia sees a UPS truck pull up to the curb and a young man get out. “That sounds great.”
Julia puts down the Joy of Cooking. She watches the delivery man stride up Hannah’s walkway, a package tucked under his arm. Could it be possible? Julia quickly crosses the living room, opening the door just as he’s about to press the doorbell.
His eyes widen. “Mrs. Evarts?” he says.
“Jamie,” she breathes. It is Jamie, one of Peter Linde’s older brothers. Peter is—was—Josh’s best friend. The last thing Julia remembers is that Jamie was graduating from college but that was more than five years ago. She lost track of the Linde family after Josh died, never bothering to return any of Sandra Linde’s phone calls. “Hi. You … you’re working for UPS?”
He gives her a sheepish grin. “Part-time while I finish up graduate school. UPS has great benefits. And it keeps me active.”
She gapes at him. “Graduate school?” Just yesterday it seemed like Jamie was bringing home trash bags filled with dirty laundry for his mother to wash. Does Sandra know how much her son has grown up?
“Yeah, I decided to go back for a master’s degree. Education. Parttime also, but I’m almost done. I’m thinking about teaching.”
“Wow, that’s great. I’m really happy for you, Jamie.” How did he get so big? She can’t even imagine what Peter must look like now. She licks her lips and decides to ask. “So how is Peter?”
“Oh, he’s great. Playing freshman football for Avalon High. He’s running back.” He says this proudly. Julia recalls that all the Linde boys were football players. “Other than that, cutting up in class every now and then, starting to like girls, you know, the regular stuff …” His voice trails off, suddenly aware of his mistake. Julia obviously doesn’t know.
“That’s wonderful,” Julia says, forcing a smile. “Will you tell your mother I say hi? And Peter, too.”
“Of course.”
Julia turns to get Hannah, and sees the young woman standing in the living room with a tray of empty teacups, a startled look on her face.
“Hi,” Jamie says, spotting her. Julia notices he’s standing taller. He holds up the package in his hands. “Got another delivery. Crate and Barrel. Fortunately I know how to say that.” He puts the large, rectangular box on the inside of the doorway.
Hannah manages an awkward smile, but still hasn’t said anything.
“This is Jamie,” Julia says, clearing her throat. “We’re old family friends. His youngest brother used to be best friends with Josh. My son.” She blinks rapidly, hoping to keep the smile on her face.
Hannah finally puts down the tray and crosses the living room. “Do I need to sign or …”
Jamie shakes his head. “Nope, you’re good.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, thank you,” she says. Julia notices the tips of Hannah’s ears have turned pink.
“My pleasure.”
“It’s a KitchenAid stand mixer,” Hannah says to no one in particular, pretending to inspect the shipping label on the box. “I just thought, since I’ve been baking so much …”
“Oh, you bake?” Jamie looks interested.
Julia doesn’t know how this fact is particularly riveting, but she can feel something stirring between these two young people. The kettle in the kitchen starts to whistle. Relieved to have something to do, Julia volunteers to take care of the tea and hurries off before Hannah can respond.
In the kitchen, Julia turns off the stove and takes the kettle off the heat, then leans heavily against the counter.
Fifteen years old. That’s how old Peter is, the age Josh would be if he were alive. She stares out the kitchen window. There are rumors of more bad weather, but today the sky is a clear blue, the sun shining. It’s an easy seduction, one that lures you into thinking that everything is all right.
Is it or isn’t it? Julia isn’t sure anymore. She’s readied herself for a lifetime of hopelessness despite the little bursts of good moments here and there, but maybe it’s really the other way around.
Hannah enters the kitchen, her face flushed. She reaches for a loaf of Amish Friendship Bread cooling on a wire rack and fumbles, almost dropping it. She manages to wrap it in plastic, then grabs a bag of starter, and dashes back out of the kitchen.
Julia edges to the doorway to take a peek. She sees Hannah give the loaf and bag to Jamie, trying to explain what it is and how to prepare it.
Jamie wears an amused look on his face, but he’s also gracious as he thanks her and waves goodbye.
Hannah returns to the kitchen. Her eyes are bright. “I just thought he might
like it … for his mother maybe …” She’s stuttering a bit and Julia sees the tips of Hannah’s ears grow pink again.
“Hannah,” Julia says gently, because she knows where this is going. Jamie is a nice boy—a nice young man—and Hannah an even nicer young woman, but Hannah is still married. Julia wants to say something, wants to offer advice before things get too complicated. She pauses. “I think you’re right—you need to see Philippe.”
“Oh.” Hannah flushes as she fiddles with a drawer pull. “Well, yes. It’s just that …” She takes a deep breath. “It’s just that I don’t think he’s coming back to Avalon.”
“Then you need to go see him in Chicago. Find out where things really stand.” Julia can’t believe she’s handing out marital advice, but she doesn’t want Hannah to do anything she might regret. “Just go see Philippe,” she urges again. “Chicago isn’t that far away.”
“I know.” Hannah looks up, her eyes filling with tears. “But what if Philippe doesn’t want to see me?”
Clyde Thomas, 64
Pharmacist
“What the fresh heck is this?” Clyde Thomas, Avalon’s lone pharmacist, spits into a napkin. He looks inside a large ceramic bowl sitting on the kitchen table and grimaces. “I thought this was my oatmeal, for crissake!”
His wife, Hazel, swats his hand. “Don’t touch. And don’t swear. I’m going to be baking today.” She hums as she hands him a clean bowl and spoon from the dishwasher. She picks up the bowl of starter and tucks it under her arm.
Clyde pours the oatmeal into the bowl and adds hot water. He dutifully eats it every morning and recommends it to anyone who comes to pick up their cholesterol medication, but he can’t stand the stuff, truth be known. He picks up the Avalon Gazette and starts reading. “What are you baking?”
Hazel is pulling out flour, a carton of eggs, a tin of sugar, and some other ingredients. She lines them up on the counter, frowning as she inspects them. “Amish Friendship Bread. Delicious. I had some last week at our Bunco club. Mary Winder was hosting and she made three kinds. Only difference was the pudding, so I’m going to try the same thing.” She holds up a handful of pudding boxes. “I’ve got vanilla, devil’s food, and a banana cream.”
