Homecoming in November (The Calendar Girls Book 3)

by Gina Ardito

  I smiled. “No worries. I’ve got a lot of experience in that area.”

  “Yeah, I bet. I want to put in a doggie door as soon as I can, but time’s slipped away from me recently.”

  And I was partially to blame for that. “Okay, so how do I get in? I assume you have a house key under a flowerpot or something?”

  “Tool shed. In the backyard. Inside a rusty, old coffee can on the top shelf on the right side. Chock Full O’Nuts, I think. You know where I live, right? 88 Schooner Drive?”

  “Uh-huh. You’re gonna have to add that to the ten minutes I originally said would find me at the hospital, though.”

  “Thanks, Jayne. On behalf of my mother and my dog, thank you.”

  “No sweat. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I hung up and turned to the Wainwright ladies. “Change in plans, I’m afraid.”

  “Go,” Nia said with a wave of her hand. “Let us know later how his mom is.”

  I nodded. “Will do.” After dropping my cell back into my purse, I grabbed my keys. First stop, Iggy’s tool shed.

  I knew Iggy lived with his mother—a common situation in a town that had experienced a sudden burst of celebrity in the nineties, causing the cost of real estate in the area to skyrocket. Middle-income families who’d lived in the small town for generations could no longer afford the cost of housing in the town where they’d grown up, gone to school, fallen in love, and dreamed of one day raising their own children. Thus, many residents remained in their childhood homes with aging parents. Even those who inherited the house were often forced to sell, thanks to the exorbitant property taxes.

  The Zemski house was a charming Cape-Cod style with updated cedar siding and burgundy shutters and a second-floor extension. A gated fence blocked passersby from viewing the backyard, but when I stepped inside, I fell in love. The manicured property sloped downward from the back of the house to a rocky ledge, which ended at a stunning view of the harbor. Among the assorted boulders, stones and pebbles littering the ground, two enormous, perfectly flat on top, slate rocks sat catty corner to the edge, an ideal seat for watching the ships and sun travel over sea and sky respectively.

  Transfixed, I sat on one and immersed myself in this peaceful scene. A ferry transporting travelers from Long Island to New England chugged by, emitting a long, sharp toot on its voyage into open waters. The sound startled me and put me back on my feet.

  The trees were dressed in their finest autumn colors: golden gingkos, magenta maples, and soft green pines. The tool shed, a miniature rendition of the Cape Cod-style house complete with teeny windows, stood beneath the majestic boughs of a sturdy, ancient oak wearing sleeves of burnt orange.

  Inside, the contents were organized in a tidy manner: shiny, well-maintained tools hung from hooks on corkboards. Items on shelves lined up in military precision. Once a Marine, always a Marine, I supposed. I found the yellow coffee can exactly where he said I would and, sure enough, the key lay inside on a coiled lanyard. I said goodbye to this outdoor paradise and climbed the lush grass—still brilliant emerald green—to the back door. The rattle of the key in the lock roused Lucky, who barked incessantly at me.

  I pushed inside, and the pooch growled a warning at me. “Easy, boy. Remember me?” An occupational habit, I always carried dog treats in my car, and I’d taken the time to bring a few with me to win him over. Lucky wagged his tail after the first one and even allowed me to stroke him from head to haunches. “Look how great you look!”

  He did. A few weeks with Iggy had done as many wonders with Lucky as they had with me. The dog had filled out a bit, though he was still far too thin for his breed. Thanks to Cara’s wash, cut, and blowdry, the matting and scars of outdoor living were now a memory. Once I’d gained his trust, I let him outside to run through the backyard and surveyed the damage he’d left behind.

  Luckily, he’d been limited to kitchen access only. The ceramic tile floor made the messes relatively easy to clean up.

  Once I’d taken care of Lucky (and the piles he’d left in the Zemski kitchen), I pocketed the key, made sure he had food and water, and headed for the hospital. On the elevator, a family stepped in beside me with a heady bouquet of flowers in Dad’s hands. I silently cursed myself for not thinking to bring Mrs. Zemski some kind of gift, flowers or a book or something. When the doors opened on the sixth floor, I had a sudden urge to turn around and go back downstairs to the gift shop, but decided I’d wasted enough time already. If the lady wanted to see me, I shouldn’t keep her waiting while I dithered over overpriced flowers or the paperback rack.

  “Jayne! Over here!” Irenka waved me toward where she stood, a few doors down the hall. When I drew nearer, she grabbed me in a hug. “Thanks so much for doing this. I imagine the request has made you uncomfortable.”

  “Not really,” I replied. “More…curious, I guess.”

  “Iggy didn’t tell you? She kept insisting she needed to talk to ‘Ignatz’s pretty lady.’”

  “How is she?”

  Irenka’s lips twisted in a grimace. “Ornery. Had us not only call you to come here, but our parish priest, as well.”

  I gasped. “Oh my God. I didn’t realize—”

  “She’s not that sick.” I must have looked shocked, because she added, “Oh, don’t get me wrong. She gave us quite a scare. It was a serious setback, but her doctor says she’ll be able to go home before Thanksgiving. Poor Iggy will have his hands full with her when that happens. I’m kinda hoping my husband will take a leave from work to stay with the kids so I can help out with Mom.” She took my arm. “Come on. Iggy’s in with her now. With the priest.” She muttered something I couldn’t decipher and led me past the nurse’s station where a handful of women chatted while looking through charts and arranging medical supplies.

  Mrs. Zemski was in the bed closer to the door, and I was taken aback at my first sight of her since that night in the ER. She looked so frail and small in the hospital bed, an oxygen mask covering the lower half of her face.

  “Jayne.” Iggy’s tone was a mixture of relief and gratitude. He rose from the chair beside her bed. “Thanks so much for coming.” He kissed my cheek, then introduced me to the other man in the room in his black robes with white lacey overlay. “This is Father Baucus.”

  I shook the priest’s hand. “Father. Nice to meet you.”

  He smiled and nodded. “Likewise.”

  In the bed, Mrs. Zemski pulled her oxygen mask to one side and let loose with a raspy and rapid bit of Polish. Iggy shook his head. She spoke again. He argued, but within a few sentences, sighed his defeat. “She wants you to sit here with her and hold her hand.”

  Was that all? “Okay. Sure.” I took the seat Iggy had vacated and reached a hand onto the bed to clasp the paper-thin woman’s fingers inside my palm.

  As soon as I did so, Iggy settled the oxygen cone over her face. He then looked at the priest. “She wants us to leave and close the door behind us. She wants a few minutes alone with Jayne.”

  That shook me. “Why?”

  He shrugged. “She says she just wants to hold your hand and sit with you for a while. It means a lot to her. I know it’s unusual, but I’ve already told you. My mom’s an odd one at times. If it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll tell her no.”

  “No. That’s not necessary. If it will make her happy, I’ll sit with her. Go on. I’ll be fine.”

  He bent and kissed me again. Again, on the cheek. I guess the priest made him uncomfortable. “Thanks. I’ll be in the hall if you need me.”

  I laughed. “I’ll be fine, Iggy. Go.”

  Father Baucus left first, with Iggy dragging his heels, studying us before pulling the door closed. Alone with Mrs. Zemski, I gave her fingers a gentle squeeze to let her know she had her wish. To my surprise, she withdrew her hand from mine, removed her mask, and muttered in that same raspy tone, “Good. Now you and I will talk.”

  I nearly fell out of the chair. “Iggy said you didn’t speak English.”

  “I know how
. I just don’t like it. Ugly language. Not like Polish. My children must think I am idiot to live here fifty years and never learn the language. You will keep my secret, yes? They don’t need to know. ”

  I nodded, too stunned to make words in my ugly language.

  “Good. I saw you on TV, you know. Heard what they say about you.”

  “It’s not true,” I replied. Funny. I’d never before leaped to my own defense so quickly.

  “I know.” She struggled to set the oxygen cup near her face, breathed deeply, and set it aside. “You tell me the story. Tell me everything. I listen. Then I talk. You listen. Okay?”

  “Okay.” I resettled the oxygen for her and proceeded to tell her all of my story: how I met David, how we fell in love, how we drifted apart, how he hired a drug addict one night to murder him and make it look like a carjacking gone bad, and the fallout when the addict was arrested and went to trial. I told her how I’d fallen for Cole Abrams’s lies and how he’d used my naiveté to destroy my credibility in my hometown. I confessed how close to bankruptcy I’d come when my business dried up and how Dom convinced me to come here, to make a new start, and how I’d met her son. Through it all, she nodded, her gaze pinned to my face. Occasionally, her eyes would soften. Other times, they glinted with hardened steel.

  When I finished, she reached for the band around her cheek again, and I helped her remove the mask. “Thank you. I know it was hard for you. But I had to know. My Ignatz is a good man. He fought in the war, yes, but he’s been fighting a war inside his heart since he came home. Until you. Now, he is happy. He smiles. He laughs. I couldn’t leave him when he was so shattered. But now, he will have you. I can go.”

  “Go where?”

  She flitted her fingers from the bedsheet into the air, sucked in some oxygen, all the while giving me a disapproving mother kind of look. “You know where. It’s time. I’m ready.”

  “Now, Mrs. Zemski, don’t say that. Your doctor says you’ll be home before Thanksgiving. And you’ll spend the holiday with Iggy and Irenka and your grandchildren…”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m leaving tonight. Tomasz has been coming to me when I sleep. He says it’s time. He’s waiting for me.”

  “Tomasz?”

  “My husband. I miss him. It’s been seventeen years. I have to go. You promise to take care of Ignatz for me? He’s a good man with a solid heart. He lost a few pieces in that war. You’ll help him heal. Make new pieces. You’ll take care of him. Love him. Yes?”

  I refastened her oxygen mask and nodded. Honestly, what else could I say? “Yes.”

  She took my hand, squeezed, and closed her eyes. I sat in the dim room at the woman’s bedside for several more minutes, waiting for her to say more, but she simply drifted into sleep. Tears welled in my eyes, and I blinked them back. At last, I slowly released her grip on me, stood on shaky legs, and took a shuddering breath. When I was certain I could pass Iggy’s close inspection, I pasted a smile on my face and opened the door to three openly curious faces.

  I pressed a finger to my lips. “She’s asleep.”

  They all took a step back and their expressions relaxed. Iggy wrapped an arm around my waist and walked with me past the nurse’s station, down the hall to the bank of elevators. “You okay?”

  “Uh-huh,” I lied with a feigned cocky smile. “She watched me for a while. I think she just wanted to gauge who I was to you. Make sure I was good enough for her son.”

  He swept me into his arms and kissed me with all the passion he’d hidden from the priest. “You’re who I’ve waited for, Jayne. I look at you, and this broken man is whole. You’re the woman meant to give my life meaning.”

  “And peace,” I reminded him.

  I also had to remind myself. If Mrs. Zemski was right, he’d need me to give him peace before the morning came.

  Chapter 19

  Terri

  I found an easy comfort with Gary from that night on. He never said I told you so, never threw Max in my face. We simply moved on, business as usual—with one minor improvement. The man kissed me clueless on a regular basis. I’m pretty sure the staff knew our relationship had shifted. Everyone wore a brighter smile and walked around with a bounce in their step. I couldn’t speak for everyone else, but it definitely made the kitchen hotter whenever I walked in there to talk to him.

  On the ride home that fateful night, Gary and I agreed to take this new dynamic between us slow. I was too newly sober and too vulnerable—as evidenced by my stupidity with Max Trayham.

  Speaking of which, when I closed up one day the following week, I came upon Max loitering outside the back door.

  “Go away,” I told him as I stomped to my car in the rear parking lot. “I have nothing to say to you. Find yourself a new sober buddy.”

  “Aw, Terri, don’t be like that, sweetheart.”

  I whirled to blast him with all my righteous rage. “I am not your sweetheart! We’re not even friends anymore, you get me? Go back to Hollywood with your Mr. Blackstone—”

  “Brownstone.”

  “Like it matters. You tried to give me heroin. Heroin! I don’t know about you, Max, but I’m taking my sobriety seriously. I don’t want to screw up and become the town drunk with my face planted in the azalea bush again. Those days are behind me. I’ve worked too hard, and I’ve got too much good stuff to look forward to. I won’t risk it for a moment’s weakness, and you should have known that. You should be feeling the same way. Instead, you tried to push heroin on me!”

  “I didn’t push anything on you,” he retorted. “No one tied you down and forced you to partake. I offered; you said no. No big deal. Don’t be so dramatic.”

  “It was a big deal to me. And worse, when I texted a friend for help because I was afraid, you threw my phone out the window.”

  “And I’m here to make amends for that. Come on. I’ll buy you a new phone right now. Where do you want to go?”

  “Nowhere with you. You can’t buy me, Max. I’m done. I’ll get my own phone.”

  His flawless complexion mottled into ugly purple and pink spots. “Who do you think you are? You’re a nobody. I could buy up this whole stupid town, including you. You think you’re something special? There are thousands of fat, drooling fans like you everywhere I go. And out of all of them, I picked you. A dozen losers in that meeting room, and I thought to myself, ‘She’s the one I can tolerate.’ I guess I was wrong. You’re just a dull, stupid cow like all the rest, stomping in your dull, stupid field, chewing on your cud, and one day, when you look back on your life, you’ll realize you didn’t do squat because you were too scared, too stupid, too boring. Good luck with that staying sober gig, sweetcheeks. I guarantee you’ll be drowning in a vodka bottle before the month is over.”

  I told myself he was bitter and angry—a dry drunk, Gary would say—but the insults still stung. Tears clouded my vision as I fumbled with my keys to unlock the car door. I took a shaky inhale to steady my nerves, hit the fob button, and heard the satisfying click of all the locks disengaging. I staggered into the driver’s seat, my trembling hands gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles whitened. Through the rear windshield, I watched Max climb into his limo, and the red glow of taillights illuminated my car interior as he left the parking lot.

  My tears threatened to stream down my cheeks, and I sniffed them back while stiffening my spine. Max was a monster, some kind of spoiled addict who wasn’t happy to simply ruin himself. He needed to take others down with him.

  An urge to call Gary, to cling to the one person I believed might understand my fears, swept over me. I stiffened my shoulders and clutched my medallion until the feeling passed. I did not want to become dependent on anyone else for my sobriety. Or for anything else.

  In that respect, Max had done me a favor. One of my counselors used to say that recovery was an act of selfishness, a time when we should look inward for what we needed and explore our feelings, wants, and fears. What that meant to me was that I had to confront my iss
ues on my own—without a big, strong man or a big, strong drink. I could do this.

  Reinforced in mind and spirit, I left the shop, headed for the local cellular dealer. Max got something else right. I needed a new phone—not to call anyone for support, but for my own convenience.

  After that, with luck, I could make the six o’clock meeting in Bridgehampton.

  ♥♥♥♥

  Jayne

  The doorbell rang at seven the next morning. I’d been awake most of the night, waiting and dreading, hoping I was wrong. But I had some experience in this area. When a pet sensed its time had come, the normal light of life dimmed from its eyes, replaced with an expression of sad acceptance. And while I hated to compare Iggy’s mother to an animal, the similarities were hard to ignore.

  “Iggy?” He stood on my porch, stooped and haggard.

  “Mom passed away around midnight.”

  The simple words and ragged tone destroyed any sliver of hope I’d clung to. I wrapped my arms around him, and he stumbled inside. My heart cracked for him. Mrs. Zemski was an unforgettable woman. I had noticed her spark in our first meeting, a spark missing yesterday. Her loss would leave an indelible mark on her friends and family. “Oh, Iggy, I’m sorry.”

  And I was. Death was never easy, but while her kids had loitered in the hospital hallway, planning to celebrate Thanksgiving with her, Mrs. Zemski had pretty much willed herself to die. I think she knew she was sick for a while, but refused to go to a doctor for such a long time to hasten the process.

  “Yeah. Thanks.” His gaze scanned my ceiling before steadying on me. “Umm…don’t take this the wrong way, but did anything happen when you were in the room with her yesterday?”

  The wind left my lungs as if he’d punched me. My stomach pitched on a sudden sea of queasiness. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. You were in there with her for a while. It’s just strange, you know? She was doing so well. And then, hours after you left, her condition deteriorated.”