by Nan Rossiter
“Is that your cute boat-builder friend?”
I nodded and looked up the street. “Where is that dumb taxi?”
“Maybe he would give us a ride,” she suggested.
“He’s probably busy,” I said, although I knew he wasn’t. In fact, I knew exactly where he was going. “Girls’ weekend means guys’ weekend, too,” he’d said happily, “and Dimitri and I have some serious male bonding to do!”
Lizzy nodded. “I’m sorry I’m holding you up. I wish I could walk,” she said apologetically. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve done to the cottage.”
“Don’t be silly,” I said. “We have all the time in the world.” I sat down next to her and when she looked up and smiled, I felt a tidal wave of guilt wash over me. Not telling Lizzy about Coop suddenly seemed so silly, not to mention dishonest. After everything we’d been through together—and now, with the news she’d just shared—I felt miserable. I couldn’t imagine her ever keeping anything from me—especially something like this—and if she did, I would not only be hurt—I’d be mad. “The truth is, Lizzy . . .” I began softly, but just as I started to tell her, our taxi pulled up and I immediately stood and picked up her bags, thankful for the interruption.
“Henry is such a sweetheart,” Lizzy said that evening when we were sitting on the porch.
I watched her stroke his head. “He sounds like a motor boat,” I said, laughing.
“He is kind of loud,” she agreed. “Where’d you get him?”
“A lady down the road. He was the last one.”
She nodded. “I’d like to get a cat or dog someday—I think it would be good for Elise.”
“It would be,” I agreed, smiling.
Lizzy took a sip of her lemon tea—as soon as I’d seen her coming down the ramp, I’d known we wouldn’t be drinking Boone’s Farm—or any other form of alcohol—that weekend, and I’d actually felt a little relieved.
“Stop saying you’re sorry,” I scolded when she apologized again—this time for not being able to indulge on our girls’ weekend. “It’s not a big deal—I hardly ever drink.”
“Why’s that?” she asked, frowning.
“For one thing, I don’t like to drink alone—and I’m alone most of the time,” I lied, “and for another, it just makes me tired and then I fall asleep when I’m reading.”
The real reason, however—which I didn’t share—was I’d seen firsthand what alcohol did to Coop—it made him self-absorbed and moody—and it scared me; and I hoped that, if I cut back, he would, too, but I was wrong—my not drinking only seemed to make him drink more . . . and I knew, at that very moment, he and Dimitri were probably three sheets to the wind.
“What are you reading now?” Lizzy asked.
“Rich Man, Poor Man.”
“You like those family sagas,” she teased.
“I do,” I said, laughing. “Have you read it?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t have much time for reading . . . and I’m going to have even less,” she said, rubbing her huge belly.
“Well, I’m almost finished. You can take it with you.”
She nodded and then studied me over her tea. “What were you going to say before?”
“Before when?” I asked, frowning.
“When we were waiting for the taxi.”
I frowned. “I don’t remember,” I answered, shrugging.
“After your boat-builder friend drove by.”
“Oh,” I said, chuckling. “Nothing important.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Because you’d tell me.”
“Of course,” I lied.
Chapter 30
Whenever Lily and Daniel came for a visit, I made myself scarce, but after Liam was born, Coop would—under the guise of giving his sister and her husband some private time—bring his little nephew to the bakery for a muffin, and Liam and I became fast friends.
“Hi, Sal!” he called as soon as he came through the door; then he’d pull his hand free from Coop’s and run over to give me a huge hug. Even though he was only three, he was a charmer—just like his uncle! He had a beaming smile and an outgoing personality that stole everyone’s heart, including mine.
“Hi, Li!” I said, hugging him. “Where’ve you been? I’ve missed you.”
“Oh, you know, home,” he said with all the precious, literal honesty of a child.
I nodded, trying to suppress a smile.
“You told me to come back, so I did.”
“Well, I’m glad.”
He nodded and then tried to see over my shoulder. “Do you have any blueberry muffins?”
“Of course I have blueberry muffins—Coop told me you were coming.”
A smile immediately lit up his sweet face. “Coop,” he called, “Sally just took some out of the oven!”
Coop’s slow smile in response spoke volumes—the man who had always held his cards close to his vest had suddenly started wearing his emotions on his sleeve.
“How was the ferry?” I asked Liam as I put muffins on a plate.
“Good,” he said, taking a bite and coming away with sugary cheeks. “Look at these blueberries, Coop,” he said, holding up the muffin to show him all the still-warm oozing blueberries. “Sally, you make the best muffins,” he swooned, making me wish I could go back in time and once again have the lovely, sweet wonder and innocence of a three-year-old.
Coop continued to press me to let him tell Lily about us. He said it was silly for me to worry, insisting she’d never say anything, nor would she judge us. She’d just be happy he’d found someone to love—and who loved him—and if he could just tell her, he added with a grin, maybe she’d stop bugging him about finding a girl. I held my ground, though.
Over the years, I almost relented several times, and I almost told Lizzy too. It was on the tip of my tongue, especially during the two weeks that I stayed with her after Elise was born. Now, Elise—born a few months after Liam—was turning three, too, and I still hadn’t told her. I’m a fool, I chided myself. I should’ve told her years ago. Now it’s too late—if I tell her now, after being involved with Coop for six years, she’ll be hurt and she’ll never forgive me! What had started as a simple secret about an affair had snowballed into a years-long—perhaps lifelong—deception. If I’d only known in the beginning that Coop and I would last, maybe I would’ve been more open.
No amount of trying to justify my actions, however, made me feel better, and seeing Lizzy only made me feel worse. When she came out to visit later that summer with little Elise in tow, she had more news to share—she was expecting again, a little boy this time—but I still stayed mum.
“We’re naming him Elijah,” she said, “after Simon’s grandfather.”
“It’s a beautiful name,” I replied, nodding and purposely avoiding the word perfect.
“This time, all is well,” she said, smiling. “My bloodwork is perfect.”
“I’m glad,” I said, watching Elise pet Henry, who was curled up on her lap.
“Do you like Henry, El?” I asked.
“I love Henry,” she said, looking up at me with her sweet almond eyes.
“How’s it been going?” I asked, turning back to Lizzy.
“Okay,” she said. “We’re hoping Elise can start preschool in the fall—we just have to get the potty figured out.”
“Isn’t she a little young for preschool?”
“No, they have programs for three-year-olds now—if they’re potty-trained. We’re working on that, right, Elise?”
Elise nodded, almost imperceptibly, but didn’t look up, her focus entirely on Henry.
“Did you ever find a kitten or puppy?” I asked quietly, hoping Elise wouldn’t hear.
“Daddy’s ’lergic,” Elise piped matter-of-factly.
I raised my eyebrows. “He is?”
Lizzy nodded. “Yeah, we were at a friend’s house and Si just started sneezing. He’s never been alle
rgic before . . . that he knows of, but this friend has two dogs and they just set him off—his eyes running . . . the whole nine yards.”
“That’s too bad,” I said, frowning.
“It is,” Lizzy agreed. “Anyway, we’re hoping Elise can figure out the potty before the end of the summer, because it would be great if she could be in school part of the day when the baby comes.”
“Well, if it doesn’t work out, I’d be happy to come help again,” I said.
Lizzy nodded. “Thanks, Sal—it’s always nice to know I can count on you.”
Yeah, well, sort of, I thought miserably, as long as it fits into my own agenda.
“El, would you like a blueberry muffin?” I asked, changing the subject.
Elise looked up and grinned—she was another big fan of my muffins.
“Why don’t we go see if you can use the potty first?” Lizzy interrupted. “Then you can have a muffin as a reward.”
Elise’s face fell. “I don’t need to,” she said softly, looking down.
“Then, no muffin,” Lizzy said firmly. “When you use the potty, you can have one.”
I frowned. “You sound like your mother,” I said, trying to sound like I was teasing, although I really meant it. Lizzy looked stung, and I quickly added, “I’m just kidding.”
“No, you’re not . . . and you’re right—I do sound like my mother, but you have no idea how hard it is. You don’t know what it’s like, Sally. You only have to be responsible for yourself. . . and you’ve had everything handed to you.”
Now I was the one who felt stung. “Wow, Lizzy—where’d that come from?”
She swallowed, tears springing to her eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You should if that’s what you think.”
She shook her head. “I shouldn’t’ve come. I’m way too emotional. I think my body’s chemistry is completely thrown off by this pregnancy. I cry at the drop of a hat—like now,” she said, wiping her eyes. “It’s just Simon works all the time and I’m stuck home with Elise and I . . . I go a little stir-crazy . . . and when he is home, he can’t help because his back bothers him.”
“It’s perfectly normal to feel tied down,” I consoled, sitting next to her. “What did Simon do to his back?”
“He lifted something the wrong way and strained something—it’s been going on for months.”
“Maybe he should go to the doctor.”
“He did and they gave him some pain meds—which he seems to take all the time.” She sighed. “Sally, I don’t know if I can handle having two kids at home all day—that’s why I need Elise to go to nursery school.”
I swallowed, trying to imagine her circumstances; then I looked at Elise and realized she was watching her mom cry and looking like she was going to cry too. “El, are you looking forward to having a little brother?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Are you gonna help Mommy take care of him?”
She nodded again. “I’m going to ’teck him.”
I frowned uncertainly and then realized she meant protect him. “Elise says words the same way you did when you were little,” I teased, eyeing Lizzy. “Do you remember saying firmed, risen, and pennies instead of confirmed, christened, and penance?”
Lizzy laughed and nodded. “I was such a know-it-all.”
“You were,” I agreed.
“I still am,” she added.
“No, you’re not. Sometimes you just need a new perspective.”
She nodded. “I just feel so overwhelmed and I wish . . . I wish I had your life—it’s so carefree and easy.”
“Yeah,” I said softly. “Well, people’s lives aren’t always what they seem.”
She looked up, and although it would’ve been the perfect time to tell her about Coop, I looked away. “Lizzy, I know it must be hard for you right now, but you’ll get through it, and I will come help you if you need me to. Elise and I will go to the park and give you time with the baby . . . but I honestly don’t think you should withhold things that El loves,” I added quietly, “just to get her to use the potty. She’ll figure it out in her own time—when she’s ready.”
“You’re right,” she said; then she smiled. “You would’ve made a good mom, Sal.”
“Maybe,” I said, smiling sadly.
“By the way, may I have a muffin too?”
“Blueberry or bran?” I teased.
“That’s a silly question, isn’t it, El?” she said, laughing.
“Booberry,” El said, taking her cue from her mother and laughing too.
Chapter 31
The years slipped by, and before Coop and I knew it, six years had become ten. I continued working at the bakery and never gave another thought to teaching. I truly believe it was the customers who came into the shop for bread and quickly became friends that made me love working there. And of course, there was Abe. One October morning, when I came in early, he announced that he was thinking of retiring . . . and selling the place, and he was wondering if I’d be interested in buying it, adding—with a wink—he’d give me a good deal.
“You can’t retire!” I said in dismay. “It won’t be the same.”
He shook his head. “I’m tired of getting up in the middle of the night, Sal. It’s time to take a step back, sleep in, and go fishing every day. Besides,” he added, “I know it will be in good hands and that will make it easier to let go.”
“You know I’m going to change the name and add sandwiches,” I said threateningly.
“That’s okay. I actually think adding lunch is a good idea. I was just too tired to do it myself.”
I shook my head—I couldn’t believe he’d been putting off my idea because he was tired. “I would’ve done the work.”
“Well, now you can,” he said with a grin.
“Are you sure about this?”
“I’m positive. I still want to go to the Cape on Thanksgiving, though.”
“I would hope so. If you didn’t, I’d be really sad.”
“Well, I don’t want that to happen,” he said, putting his arm around my shoulder. “So, what are you gonna call it?”
I smiled. “Cuppa Jo to Go.”
“I love it!” he said. “It’s perfect!”
I laughed and shook my head, wondering if anything in life was truly perfect.
While I was busy making the arrangements to buy the bakery from Abe for a ridiculously low price—even though I assured him I could pay more—Coop was busy becoming a well-respected and skilled master craftsman. Wooden boat enthusiasts from up and down the east coast were making pilgrimages to Nantucket to have their boats restored or to inquire about having a boat built by him. He’d become so knowledgeable about the restoration of classic wooden runabouts—from Gar Woods to Chris Crafts—that every New England magazine—from WoodenBoat to Down East to Yankee to Vermont Life—had featured the famous Nantucket boatwright on its pages, and because of all the publicity, he hardly had time for house projects—his or mine—but he always made time for me and, of course, Dimitri.
Life was good and we were getting ready to spend our tenth Christmas together when tragedy struck, changing our lives forever. The call came—as so many do—in the middle of the night. The weatherman had been predicting snow for days, but I don’t think they really understood the impact the storm was going to have on eastern Massachusetts and the islands until it finally hit.
I was lying beside Coop, our bodies curved together under his quilt, sleeping soundly for once, when we were both startled awake by the brazen sound of the ringing phone. I glanced at the clock and felt my heart start to pound—it was two in the morning! Who would be calling at this hour?
I turned on the light, pulled the quilt around me, and listened as Coop answered in a voice still groggy with sleep. He cleared his throat and tried again: “Yes, this is he,” he said, swinging his legs over the side. I waited, watching his tired, unrevealing face and then, suddenly, the color drained from his cheeks. “O
h, my God, no,” he cried, his eyes growing wide. “How can that be? I just talked to her this evening and she said they were staying home.” His usually steady hands started shaking and I draped the quilt over his shoulders. As I watched him, tears filled my eyes—I knew he had talked to Lily earlier in the evening because she’d called to tell him they were coming for Nantucket’s annual Christmas Stroll—little Liam had loved it so much last year, he couldn’t wait to go again.
“What about their son? Is he okay?” Coop’s voice cracked as he said this; then he nodded. “Of course. Please thank her for taking care of him. I’ll come as soon as I can.” He nodded and then realized the storm would prevent him from going anywhere. “I mean, I’ll come as soon as I can get out. . . .” he said, his voice trailing off.
He hung up the phone and covered his face with his hands, making a guttural, heart-wrenching sound. I put my arms around him. “Coop, what is it? What happened?”
He looked up and his face was dark with shock and anguish, making him look years older. “Lily and Daniel were in a car accident—they were hit by a semitruck on the Mass Turnpike.”
“Oh no! Are they in the hospital?”
Coop shook his head as tears streamed down his cheeks. “They were killed.”
“Oh, my God,” I whispered. “Where’s Liam?” I asked. “Was he with them? Is he okay?”
“The trooper said he’s home. The babysitter’s mom came over and she’s going to stay with him until I can get there.” He stood up and looked out the window. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Do you have family that will take him?”
Coop clenched his jaw and shook his head. “I’m his family,” he said, wiping his eyes. “When they were here last summer, Lily made me promise to take him if anything ever happened to them—it’s almost as if she knew.” Tears continued to spill down his cheeks. “I can’t believe they’re gone.”
I shook my head. “Poor Liam—he must feel so lost. He’s too little to have something like this happen.”
Coop shook his head, and as we listened to the wind howling around the house and icy rain pelting the windows, he said, “I need to go right now. Maybe I could take the launch. . . .”
