Friendship Makes the Heart Grow Fonder (9781455517763)

by Verge Higgins, Lisa

  “Hold up.” Monique buried her head in the folds of the map. Becky stopped abruptly so as not to careen into her. “I think we go left here.”

  Monique cut across the tunnel. Becky pressed away from the wall to follow Monique but she was so focused on the bouncing Smurf that she didn’t notice that Monique’s luggage didn’t lurch with the same speed. Becky’s toe caught on the underside. She plunged forward—but Judy stepped up, absorbing her weight, cutting off what would have been a complete header.

  Judy held firm as Becky suffered a hot surge of embarrassment.

  “Are you sure this is the right direction, Monie?” Judy peered over Monique’s shoulder. “Here it says to take the right tunnel to the M2—”

  “But we don’t want the green line.” Monique squinted closer at the map. “We want the yellow line, the M3.”

  “I feel like a hamster in one of Audrey’s middle-school science fairs. I thought the green line was the M3.”

  “Nope, that’s the M2.” Monique traced something on the paper. “We’re taking the yellow line, south, toward San Donato station.”

  “Left it is, then.” Judy settled back on her heels once Becky regained her composure. With a flick of her fingers, Judy tilted Becky’s luggage upright when it threatened to tumble. “My doggies are barking. There better be seats on the platform.”

  Monique surged forward and Becky stepped into her wake, more carefully now. Judy slipped behind her. The heat of embarrassment ebbed into a different kind of warmth, a wave of gratitude that made the back of her eyes prickle. She blinked it away. Her sight was bad enough in this dim light. She didn’t need tears blurring what little vision she could muster.

  They arrived at the entrance to the platform just in time to hear the ding of doors closing. A train sporting a yellow stripe pulled out of the station. “That was our train,” Monique said, as they moved into the light. “But it shouldn’t be long before the next one comes.”

  Judy blurted, “Bench.”

  Judy made a beeline past a busker who sang something vaguely Eastern European to the distinctly Milanese breed of well-heeled commuters gathered on the platform. Becky followed. Judy settled on the bench with an exhalation not unlike the breath of a train coming to a complete stop. Becky collapsed next to her as Monique sprawled on her other side, drawing her luggage in close.

  Judy nudged Becky with her shoulder. “Gosh, that girl looks a lot like Brianna, doesn’t she, Beck?”

  Becky followed Judy’s gaze and saw a young woman standing amid a cluster of people near the platform. The dark-haired girl looked to be about college age, and she was surrounded by younger kids twirling and dancing about. With a flip of her hair the young woman chatted with a woman who must, by the resemblance, be her mother. Nearby stood a short, barrel-chested man who Becky surmised was her father.

  “I thought I was the blind one in this group,” Becky said. “That girl has about ten years on Brianna.”

  “Are you talking about that young woman with the yellow scarf?” Monique glanced at the family. “I was thinking the same thing when we walked in. It’s the hair, I think. It’s thick and wild and the same shade as Brianna’s.”

  “Well you guys certainly have an idealized image of my daughter at eighteen.” Becky let her gaze travel over the girl’s chic hip-length tailored coat and the casual curl of a buttery yellow scarf under her chin. “I suspect Brianna’s look will veer more toward ripped jeans, work boots, and heavy-metal T-shirts.”

  Judy barked a laugh. “Don’t make Gina your measure for all teenagers.”

  Becky grunted. “Twenty bucks says that, when Brianna’s fourteen, she’ll chop off all that heroine hair and gel it into a Mohawk.”

  “None of my kids have tattoos,” Judy said, “and despite a few instances of drunken rebellion and one perpetual student, they’re all studying or gainfully employed.”

  “Your kids aren’t real,” Becky said. “You had them manufactured in a factory in your basement.”

  “Gee, Judy, you should have told me,” Monique said. “I’d have ordered a few of those custom-made types myself.”

  “Don’t you go complaining, oh mother of a genius.” Judy reached over to give Monique a playful slap on the thigh. “And as for Brianna, I’ve got a prediction. Yeah, Brianna might be the ripped-jeans type, but she’ll wear lace stockings underneath. She may overdo it with the eyeliner, but she’ll prefer buying her clothes at the thrift store. In her messenger bag she’ll be toting an oversize spiral notebook full of acid-free paper, full of drawings of dragons and gnomes, of elfish castles and hard-faced warrior-kings. Off to play Dungeons and Dragons—”

  “Skyrim,” Becky corrected. “Join the twenty-first century, Judy.”

  “—then, sooner than you’ll hope, she’ll find some floppy-haired artistic boyfriend with his jeans slung low on his hips.”

  “Oh, lord,” Becky exclaimed, “are you trying to make me crazy?”

  Monique said, “You lost me at the floppy-haired boyfriend too.”

  Becky glanced over at the young woman, now rocking her mother in a hug. “Maybe it’s good that I’ll be blind. Maybe it’s good that I’ll never see the nose rings or the neck tattoo or the raccoon eyes. In my head Brian and Brianna will always have the faces of my sweet, if occasionally irascible, young children.”

  “Wow,” Judy said. “You had to really dig for that silver lining.”

  Becky shrugged. “Hey, I won’t have to contend with the wise-ass expressions or the rolling of the eyes.”

  Monique made a scoffing noise. “Maybe you should go deaf too, Beck, so you can dodge the snark and the sass.”

  Judy tilted her head. “Hey, does going blind mean that you’ll always see me as a sprightly fifty-something and not the fat old lady I’m bound to become?”

  “For twenty years,” Becky said, “you’ve eaten Oreos every afternoon at three. You’ll never be fat. But yeah, I suppose I’ll always see you just the way you are right now.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m spending the rest of my life with you.”

  They laughed as light streaked on the curve of the wall and a rumbling began down the tunnel. Monique leaned forward as the front of the train came into view and showed itself to be the M2, not the M3 that they were waiting for.

  A collection of shouts drew their attention back to the young brunette. The mother dabbed at her eyes with a tissue as her father gave the girl a hug. The kids jumped and wriggled and wrapped themselves around the young woman’s legs. A torrent of Italian fell from the mother’s mouth, and though Becky couldn’t make out a word of it, she recognized the universal, desperate, last-minute instructions of a mother to a child. The young woman nodded and nodded and backed up into the train, bumping her luggage over the space between door and platform, and then lifted her hand as the tone rang and the doors slipped closed.

  Judy made a noise, a hitching, wheezed breath. “That’s the worst. That wave.”

  “If Kiera cries when I send her off to Los Angeles,” Monique said darkly, “I will lose it. I’ll drag her right off the plane.”

  “No, you won’t,” Judy said. “You’ll let her go, because that’s what we do. We birth them and feed them and raise them and give them hell, and when it’s time we just let them go.”

  Becky watched as the train whistled and lurched forward, moving with increasing speed into the tunnel while the family waved until the back lights of their daughter’s car disappeared into the darkness. The weight in her chest swelled and rose up and threatened to block her throat.

  That’s what we do. We just let them go.

  Becky sank her elbows onto her thighs. So much of life had already gone. Not just her own eyesight, dimming every moment, no way to grasp it and stop it from fading, no way to hold it tight. Not just her marriage, cracked and withering, bits of it falling apart. Her friends had lost so much too. Judy struggled to say good-bye to her active motherhood. Monique, to her much-loved husband.

  She heard her own tense
voice. “We’re always losing something, aren’t we? We’re always saying good-bye.”

  Monique made an odd, strangled sound. Judy mumbled no, no, no but Becky hardly heard the words. The rattling of the train faded down the tunnel. The busker playing the accordion paused in his singing as a hush fell over the platform, bereft now but for a small cluster of commuters, quiet and still and sad in the way of absence.

  In that silence Becky sat wedged between her two friends as her mind turned, inevitably, to the troubles at home—to all those things she had not yet lost. Once again fear threatened to smother the flicker of joy she’d nurtured since Munich. She wanted to hold that joy inside her and carry it back home. She knew the only way to do that was to find a way to renew her relationship with Gina and take the first halting steps to repair what was left of her marriage. Such an impossible quest.

  Maybe she wasn’t meant to do it alone.

  Becky reached over and took Judy’s hand. “I’m sorry for being such a pain during this trip.”

  Judy raised her brows. “What’s brought this on?”

  “A stumble in the tunnels maybe. And a glimpse into the future.”

  “Well, honey, don’t worry about it. I’ve seen a hell of a lot worse.”

  “I’ve been as self-absorbed and moody as any teenager.”

  Monique snorted. “Welcome to the club. At least you’ve got a damn good reason.”

  “Right.” Becky reached over and took Monique’s hand too. “Like I’m the first person in the world to get bad news from a doctor.”

  Monique looked down at their joined hands, her lips curving in a small smile. “It’s the first time for you, Becky. And for what it’s worth Lenny was pretty self-absorbed and moody when he got the news too. Because of this bucket list you might all think that Lenny was nothing but wisdom and soft laughter, but that really wasn’t the case. That man could be one stubborn goat, especially when it was time to take his medicine. That was his way of trying to keep control, I think.” Monique gave her a look. “You know, acting fierce and independent, like he didn’t need anyone.”

  Becky shrugged. “He should have just realized he’d never make it through the dark times without a little help from the people he loves.”

  Becky squeezed those hands tight. Tonight, at dinner, she would tell her friends the ugly truth about Marco and herself. She’d confess to the cracks in the mortar of what she’d always hoped to be the most perfect of castles. She’d clung to pride and her own farm-bred Midwestern independence, when she should have been sharing that all was not sunshine in the house of Lorenzini; when she should have been probing the wisdom of her friends for advice on how to keep this prince close.

  They pressed against her so tight that she felt like a tottering column now buttressed on two sides. They nudged her, knocking her gently back and forth, sputtering teasing words. She basked in the singular brightness of the moment, like she’d done while laughing in Munich, abseiling in Switzerland, and listening to Judy in the Porsche, loudly butchering German pop songs.

  Monique was the first to lean away. She grew terribly quiet and still. Becky hesitated, wondering if she should say anything, but Judy gave her a quick shake of the head. Maybe words weren’t always necessary. Maybe what was important was presence—to hover always like a ghost in the room, summoned when most needed.

  When Monique finally exhaled it was as if the widow were trying to expel every last bit of air out of her lungs. “Oh, lord,” she said. “Now I think I’m going to have to do this.”

  Monique looked uneasily at the two of them. The sound of another train began to rumble down the tunnel.

  “I have a confession to make,” Monique said. “There is one more item on Lenny’s list.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Fifty miles outside of Milan the Ponte Colossus bridge traversed a steep gorge, its slender, arrow-straight supports shooting five hundred feet up from the crook between the wooded hills. Monique stood by the guardrail in the center of the bridge as the wind howled up from the chasm. An Italian hottie in a blazing orange T-shirt stood in front of her, strapping her into the second harness she’d worn on this European trip.

  Abseiling had clearly been a dry run. Monique wondered at what point Lenny’s playful list-making changed from being a simple distraction from their troubles into a map of deep purpose. Was it midway through when he’d nudged her into choosing abseiling to prepare her for what he ultimately had in mind? Or had he known from the very beginning the lengths he would have to push her in order to convince her to let him go?

  A speeding car zipped by, rattling the portable metal fences that separated the staging area from the active road. Judy stood by the bridge rail, peering into the gulf. The breeze blasted her hair into a fluttering halo as she cast a crazed gaze Monique’s way. “Sure you wouldn’t rather be shopping at the Via Monte Napoleone?”

  Monique shrugged. The harness strap dug into her shoulder. “You’ve seen one Gucci handbag, you’ve seen them all.”

  “Shoes? Ferragamo, Tanino?”

  “I’ve got feet like flippers. They won’t carry my wide size.”

  “They’ve got great prices on Valentino ready-to-wear—”

  “Did you forget that I change diapers for a living?”

  Judy sighed and carefully stepped back from the railing. She minced her way across cables and gear to stand by Monique’s side. “You know that Lenny was tripping on morphine, right?”

  “I used to think that.” Monique lifted her arms as her instructor checked the buckles and bolts for tightness. “Now I’ve changed my mind.”

  “I know he didn’t consult you about this one.”

  “God, no. I’d have nixed the idea in a heartbeat.”

  “For the record, I’d totally support you if you decided to shuck that harness and call it a day. Thirteen is a terribly unlucky number.”

  “You’re true-blue, Judy.”

  “I mean, you’re standing here with a cherry-red cable attached to your ankles. You’ve made your point.”

  “This from the woman who backpacked across Europe?”

  “Young Judy had better knees. And different dreams.”

  “Middle-aged Judy did shots with a bunch of Austrian bikers.”

  “A task that didn’t require a harness.”

  “Join me anyway.” With her arms still stretched out, Monique glanced toward an awning where Becky was receiving instructions from another coach. “Come and join us. We’ll be the three crazy Americans, leaping off a bridge.”

  “Have I mentioned how wonderfully liberating it is to say a firm and unmovable ‘no’?”

  “You’ll never be the same after something like this.”

  “Dislocated joints and broken vertebrae do tend to change lives.”

  “Judy—”

  “It’s not all that safe. You shouldn’t listen too closely to the words of adrenaline junkies, even if they have meltingly gorgeous accents and visible six-packs.”

  “Stop.” Monique glanced down at the straps and buckles of her harness. “I’m committed. I’m going to trust Lenny on this.”

  “Maybe that’s the difference between you and me, then. I’ve already made my leap of faith.” Judy’s face was ashen and twitchy. She looked like she wanted to ask one of the Italian instructors if she could bum a cigarette. “I made my leap twenty-seven years ago when I gave up my wandering ways, married the stud-muffin that is Bob, and gave birth to the better half of a baseball team. So I’ll leave the bungee jumping to you.”

  The word sent a shiver down Monique’s spine that had nothing to do with the nippy breeze. She remembered the description in the Milan guidebook. The Ponte Colossus was a favorite place for adventure travelers. It offered four and a half seconds of free fall into one hundred and fifty-two meters of gorge.

  That gorge, zigzagging toward the horizon, was a steep V that ended in a sliver of a rocky stream, the roar of the water audible even over the zip of the cars speeding on the road behind her
. The instructor finished his tugging and stepped away, then started explaining in his fluent English about how she should approach the leap. He told her to set her palms together, above her head, in a posture of prayer. He told her to leap out, as if diving into the sky.

  Despite her determination, her bladder clenched.

  Judy pulled the camera out of her belly pack and checked the settings as the instructor turned to take one more look at the main cable. “At least I can take video. I’ve always been good at that.” She glanced up as Becky skipped their way. “I’ll video you too, you loon.”

  “Awesome.” Becky stepped into a harness splayed on the ground and grinned maniacally as the instructor slipped it up her legs. “None of the soccer moms will believe me otherwise.”

  “Certifiably wacko.” Judy clicked the camera on. “And not even liquored up to justify it.”

  “Are you kidding?” Becky shimmied to better settle the straps over her backside. “This is going to be awesome. For once I’ll jump over something knowing I can’t stumble into a wall or get hit by anything. Unless there’s a sudden flock of birds.”

  “Great. Death by starlings.”

  “Judy, you know there will come a time when every step I take could be an ass-over-tit tumble onto concrete, right?”

  “That’s preventable with a seeing-eye dog,” Judy said. “Or a cane. Those beeping things at crosswalks.”

  “Or your arm.” Becky’s smile grew slow and warm. “But in the meantime while I still can…let me fly.”

  Monique felt that rush of electricity again, that shimmer of visceral realization she’d experienced yesterday in the train station. Somehow, over these past four years, she’d fallen into the trap of viewing life as a series of achingly painful farewells. Since Lenny’s death grieving had become an old habit, like a favorite tattered robe, eagerly sought-out and comfortable and the perfect fit. Rather than accept a life without him, she’d wallowed in memories of breakfast on a lazy Sunday morning amid the smell of hazelnut coffee and banana bread and reminiscences of Lenny’s quiet laughter as Kiera beat him in yet another game of checkers.