Always Florence

by Muriel Jensen

Dylan shoved the paper at him.“I can’t think about what happened! Sheamus could do it! He opened his closet. I know what it means. He didn’t really think there was a monster there, but he was just scared. Scared of everything. Because our mom and dad are gone and never coming back!” Dylan dissolved into noisy tears and Nate wrapped him in his arms.

  Holding the boy closely, he opened the piece of paper and studied it. Bobbie saw the reaction in his eyes, then the look of misery that matched Dylan’s as Nate handed it to her.

  It was Dylan’s sketch; the expressive lines she’d praised, indicating the movement of water, the solidity of rock. But since she’d seen it, he’d added some things. There were a few seagulls in the air, an interesting boat in the distance that was probably more creative than accurate. It was tipping sideways, as though overtaken by a wave.

  Then, with a thud of her heart, she noticed people in the water. People drowning. Near the boat, two figures held hands under the water as it claimed them. Dylan’s parents, she guessed. Bobbie clapped a palm to her mouth to hold back her own sob.

  “Dylan,” Nate said, his voice raspy. “Do you know how brave it is that you faced this? Because you did. You put it down on paper. It’s an ugly thing to know, but you made yourself look at it. A lot of adults can’t do that.”

  Dylan wrapped his arms around Nate and held on. “I thought I could do it. But I can’t.”

  “But you did. The fact that it hurts and makes you cry doesn’t mean you can’t do it. You did.”

  Dylan finally quieted. “I hated that Sheamus always cried,” he said, sniffing. “Now I can’t stop.”

  “It’s all right, Dyl. I cry about them all the time.”

  Dylan drew back, looking into Nate’s tear-filled eyes. Then he fell against him again. “I guess we’re a couple of dorks.”

  “I guess we are. Emotion isn’t a bad thing. It doesn’t mean you’re wimpy if you cry. It just means you have feelings.”

  “Yeah.” Dylan sounded unconvinced. He finally sat up.

  Bobbie hugged him. “Want me to make you some cocoa?”

  Dylan shook his head. “I feel kind of sick.” He made an urgent move to get off the bed. Nate walked him into the bathroom just in time.

  Bobbie straightened his sheets, smoothed out the picture he’d drawn and placed it inside his sketch pad. She opened his drapes to the sunny afternoon and could see her father, Stella and Sheamus taking turns shooting baskets. Her dad looked youthful and remarkably agile, and Stella was laughing.

  Dennis lifted Sheamus on his shoulders and the boy shot. The ball bounced off the rim of the basket and hit her father in the head. Sheamus and Stella laughed hysterically.

  Bobbie felt a twinge in the region of her heart. This was what she’d wanted for her father all along. She wanted him to find someone to hang out with, so that she could go to Italy without having to worry about him worrying about her. He’d have his own life to keep in order. At least, that was her theory.

  Of course, this situation wasn’t without its problems, because he lived in Southern California and Stella lived here. Bobbie hoped they would work that out, because she was leaving.

  In all the years of planning her life in Florence, Bobbie had never thought she’d miss having a husband and family. Now she was afraid she might. Still, she’d promised herself. Every human being had to reach out and find the limits of their capabilities.

  Dylan came out of the bathroom, pale but clear-eyed.

  Nate yanked the quilt off the bed. “You want to come downstairs, curl up on the sofa and watch football?”

  Dylan actually smiled.

  Nate pointed him forward. “Go ahead. Bobbie, can you grab a pillow?”

  She did as he asked, and they made a comfortable cocoon for Dylan on the sofa. Nate handed him the remote. “I’ll get you a glass of 7 Up. That’ll taste good and help your stomach, too.”

  “Thanks.” Dylan snuggled into his quilt and aimed the remote at the TV.

  Stella, Dennis and Sheamus came through the back door as Nate poured the soft drink into a glass.

  “How is he?” Stella asked quietly. Dennis and Sheamus simply went into the living room to see for themselves.

  Nate gave her a brief report of what had happened while Bobbie poured coffee.

  Stella’s eyes filled. “Poor kid. Can I take him that?”

  Nate handed her the glass.

  She elbowed Bobbie as she passed her. “Good work with the art supplies. You seem to be two for two with the boys. I’m sure having that image out of his head and onto paper will give him a new perspective on everything.”

  Bobbie smiled but shrugged off the praise. “He did it himself. I just gave him the sketch pad and pens.”

  When Nate and she were alone, he caught her hand and drew her to him. “You have done a lot for Dylan,” he said, “besides giving him the supplies. You’ve been kind and caring, you praised his work, gave him some advice, and I’m sure that helped convince him that he could create that picture.” Nate pulled her into his arms and simply held her. “It was painful, and I’m sure he’ll still have some bad moments, but it’s an important step.”

  Bobbie leaned into Nate and let herself enjoy the moment. She noticed through the kitchen window that long afternoon shadows already fell on the yard. Thanksgiving Day was almost over. In less than a month, it would be Christmas and then New Year’s, and before she knew it, time for her to go.

  Nate kissed the top of her head and looked down at her. “You’ve got a death grip on me, woman. Is there something you want to tell me?”

  She hesitated, gathering fortitude before pushing way and squaring her shoulders. She had to stop this. Now.

  “You have to let me go, Nate.”

  He held up both hands. “I’m not touching you.” He smiled easily as though he understood an important truth. “What’s holding you captive is your own ambivalence. It isn’t anything I’m doing. You care more than you want to.”

  She swatted his arm, exasperated. “And you shouldn’t care at all. You lost your mom to what I’ve got, remember?”

  He folded his arms. “I remember. And as soon as I was old enough to understand that everybody hurts and everybody has to deal with it, I realized I wouldn’t have given up having her as my mother to spare myself the grief. She was great. She loved me. I loved her.”

  “You’ve had too many losses!” Her voice rose. She sighed and made a conscious effort to lower it. “You don’t need another one. Have you no sense of self-preservation?!”

  He opened his arms in a gesture of helplessness and laughed. “Apparently not.”

  Frustrated by his refusal to understand, she caught her jacket off the back of a kitchen chair and stormed out the back door.

  “Watch the chrysanthemums!” he called after her.

  * * *

  NATE COULDN’T HELP punching the air in victory the moment she was out of sight. Bobbie was a complicated woman and there was no telling precisely what was going on in her head, but he saw love for him in her eyes, despite her heated claims to the contrary and her insistence that she was leaving. He felt a little like Dylan’s impressive Mentos geyser in the punch bowl at the Monster Bash.

  Patience was going to be required here, but he could do that. Dealing with the boys had taught him well.

  * * *

  BOBBIE WAS WRITING OUT her shopping list for the following day when her father came home. She’d told Nate she was going to work on the painting, but she didn’t think she could look at the image of his face right now with any equanimity.

  So she cut coupons, circled items on a newspaper ad, and made copious notes at the bottom of her list.

  Dennis picked up Monet to sit beside her on the sofa. The cat purred and allowed himself to be cuddled in her dad’s lap.

  “Com
plicated system,” he said, indicating the list with a jut of his chin. “With the circles and the arrows, it looks like a football playbook.”

  Bobbie glanced up at him, laughing. “A three hundred pound front line would come in handy at these sales. How’s Stella?”

  “Good.” He sat back quietly. Bobbie saw that serene, paternal expression that had always defeated her passionate entreaties to do dangerous things when she’d been a girl.

  “What’s on your mind, Dad?” She pushed the ad and notes aside and gave him her full attention.

  “I really like Nate and the boys,” he said, leaning his head back to look at the ceiling. “And it’s clear they love you. I’m not meddling, I just wonder if you’re so dedicated to an old dream that you’re ignoring all the new elements in your life.”

  At her impatient sigh, he added quickly, “I mean, I love you, and I’ll support whatever you want to do. I just wonder if your great determination is the best thing here.”

  She’d been asking herself the same thing and had no good answer.

  “I don’t know, Dad. And I’m too tired to think about such heavy stuff tonight.”

  “Okay. I just don’t want you to sacrifice all the love and warmth in your life in pursuit of your talent.” Monet climbed out of his lap and onto hers. Her dad pointed to the cat. “Love will give back to you. I have no experience with what producing brilliant artwork will give you.”

  She fell wearily back against the sofa and stroked the purring cat. “Please don’t worry, Dad. I’m thinking hard about it. What about Stella? You seem to really like each other, but you live a thousand miles apart. And are you really joining Doctors Without Borders?”

  “I’m seriously considering it. And Stella’s going to be a good friend, I think. She says she’ll come and visit in the spring. We’ll just be happy to connect when we can.”

  “That sounds very comfortable.” Bobbie felt jealous that it could be so simple for them. “If only I could work out that kind of a relationship with Nate.”

  Her father put an arm around her. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s the kind of relationship you have when you’re old. When you’re young and raising a family, it should be about passion and commitment, and working together for a shared goal.”

  She sighed and relaxed against him for a moment. “The problem is, we have different goals.”

  “You seem to have strong feelings for each other.”

  It was the first time she’d seriously considered the question. “We do. But we also keep sparking off each other, so I’m not sure what it means. There is passion, but I have to go and he has to stay. I don’t think there’s a way to fix that.”

  “Mmm.” Her dad squeezed her shoulder bracingly. “Well, if you decide you want to, there’s a way to fix everything.” He smiled philosophically. “In relationships, anyway. In cars and in medicine, not so much.”

  * * *

  “SIXTEEN PAIRS OF SOCKS,” Stella said, rooting through several bags at her feet. “Sweatshirts for the boys, a Mariners hat and a couple of turtlenecks...” She, Bobbie and Sandy sat at a small table at Starbucks, their tall, whipped cream-topped coffee drinks crowded together, a sea of bags at their feet.

  Bobbie laughed. “Well, that’s all pretty staid. I bought a magic bra.”

  “Smart woman,” Sandy praised, then turned sideways to show off her ample bosom in a red sweater. “But I don’t need a magic bra.”

  Bobbie swatted her arm. “Brag, brag!”

  There was quiet for a few moments while they sipped at their drinks and picked at the coffee cake. Conversation buzzed around them as shoppers came and went.

  “What was your mother like?” Stella asked Bobbie. There was interest in her expression. She looked youthful today in a pink sweater, her white hair pulled back into a knot.

  “Ah...” Bobbie thought about how to answer that in quick, simple terms, without recounting the million examples of how wonderful she’d been. “Very smart,” she said, smiling as she remembered. “A clever, crafty person who made a fortune for her church circle at the bazaar every year, a screaming liberal who argued with my more conservative father all the time, and just a warm, loving wife and mother.”

  Stella’s smile was bright. “Do you think she’d mind my spending time with your father?”

  “She’d want him to be happy. And so do I. But isn’t the distance thing going to be a problem?”

  “Not for me. I have my job with Nate, I have my son. I’ll want to be around. But I’d like to visit in the spring and see what his life in California is like.” Stella patted Bobbie’s hand affectionately. “It’s hard to imagine that I met him only four days ago.” She put her hand over her eyes and made a small sound of distress. “It’s a wonder I didn’t kill him when I pinned him to the floor with the mop.”

  “What?” Sandy asked.

  Laughing, Stella told her the story.

  Sandy laughed, too, then her expression turned wistful as she picked coffee cake crumbs off her napkin with her index finger.

  Stella dabbed at her lips with her napkin, then picked up her purse. “Excuse me, girls, while I run to the ladies’. Don’t touch my coffee cake.”

  “What can I do for you?” Bobbie asked Sandy. “Besides get you a fork?”

  She sat back in her chair with a look of dismay. “I don’t think you can do anything for me,” she said frankly, “but if you don’t mind listening to me whine a little...”

  “By all means. Whine away.”

  “I think the only reason Hunter agreed to go out with me was because he didn’t know how to say no.” Sandy made that simple declaration, then leaned forward again, her eyes dark with distress. “I don’t really understand what’s wrong, but I’m definitely sensing that I want this relationship more than he does. He seemed to like my mom, and he’s surprisingly good with the girls for a man who has no experience with children. But when we’re together, he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else than with me.”

  “You’re a hard driver, Sandy, and he’s kind of laid-back.” Bobbie placed an apologetic hand on her arm. “Maybe you scare him a little. Sometimes you scare me, and I know and love you.”

  Sandy nodded and fiddled with her spoon. “Yeah. I just like him so much. And the feeling seemed to be mutual, but I think he’s pulling away.”

  Bobbie put an arm around her shoulders. “This is something you can’t force to work out through sheer will and determination. He knows how you feel, so let him come the rest of the way. Give him time to get to know all your wonderful qualities.”

  Stella returned, frowning at the serious expressions on their faces. “Everything okay?” She studied Sandy worriedly. “Sandy?”

  “We’re fine, Stella.” Sandy caught her hand and pulled her gently into her chair. “Bobbie was just giving me advice. Sort of like a life coach. But she plans to leave her own budding romance behind, and live a life of celibacy in Italy?”

  “Celibacy?” Bobbie teased. “Who said anything about celibacy? Solitude, maybe.”

  Sandy laughed and downed the last of her latte. “Yeah. You’re such a wild woman. Why don’t you just take Nate and the boys with you?”

  Bobbie groaned and let her head fall back. “Please! I just went through that with my father. I have to go alone. Sandy, you know why it’s so important to me.”

  Her friend was suddenly quiet. “I think I do, Bobbie. But I wonder if you do.”

  Oh, no. Not another one.

  “What does that mean?” she asked, her tone testy.

  Sandy didn’t seem to want to say.

  Bobbie leaned toward her. “You can tell me. I may slug you after, but you can tell me.”

  She began intrepidly. “You made this promise to yourself when you weren’t sure you’d survive treatment. I think it’s come to mean life to you. You
think you have to fulfill the promise—move to Florence, make art—or...” She sighed and forced the words out. “Or you’ll die.”

  Bobbie rolled her eyes. “That’s ridiculous. My life depends on those contrary mutating genes, not on where I choose to live.”

  Sandy patted her hand. “Then why are we arguing? Let’s get to Ross’s before all the good stuff is gone.”

  “Fine.” They stood, gathering up packages. Bobbie punched Sandy on the arm before she picked up her bags. She smiled at Stella’s surprise. “I told her I’d slug her.”

  Sandy punched her back. “And sometimes I scare you?”

  * * *

  DYLAN WASN’T SURE he understood what was going on here. Uncle Nate, Dennis, Hunter, he and Sheamus were scattered across the living room, watching football and eating all kinds of stuff he and Sheamus weren’t usually allowed to eat unless there were vegetables with it. They had pizza without the salad; hot wings without celery and carrot sticks; jalapeño and cheddar potato chips, corn chips with guacamole—he thought that was kind of gross, but everybody else seemed to like it; and taquitos with hot sauce. He really liked those.

  It was a great day. All the women were shopping and the men did nothing but sit around and watch football. He sat on the sofa between Uncle Nate and Hunter, and Sheamus sat on the love seat with Dennis. They passed food around and he and Sheamus had as much pop as they wanted.

  By the middle of the afternoon, Uncle Nate had put the food away but left the chips, and brought out cookies they’d gone to the bakery for this morning. Then he handed everyone a Snickers ice cream bar from the freezer.

  They put their feet on the coffee table and burped out loud. They did have to say, “Excuse me.”

  When Uncle Nate went to the kitchen to get Dennis more coffee, Dylan elbowed Hunter. “How come we get to do this?” he asked.

  “Because it’s a day without women,” Uncle Nate’s friend said. “We still have to be sort of civilized, but we can eat what we want without having to worry about whether or not it’s fattening, or good for us, and enjoy the fact that there’s no one around telling us to put our feet down, or wanting us to turn off football and watch the Hallmark Channel. It doesn’t happen very often, so we try to take advantage of it when it does.”