by Nan Rossiter
I took a sip of my drink, trying not to picture Lizzy’s handsome son kissing a boy.
“I know what you’re thinking—it’s wrong—it’s not natural. . . but, Sally, it’s as old as time. How do we know it’s wrong? Who are we to judge? Just think of all the people in heterosexual relationships who aren’t happy—me, for example . . . and you when you were younger. Look at all the mothers who aren’t happy with the girls their sons bring home or the boys their daughters bring home—my mother, for example, who had a meltdown when I started seeing Simon. And look at all the divorces. Is anyone ever truly happy? Does it really matter who you love?” She shook her head. “If Elijah is happy . . . and healthy, I’m happy.”
“What does Simon think?”
She shook her head. “He wants nothing to do with him.”
“Oh no . . .”
Lizzy nodded. “Can you believe it? That was the last nail in the coffin. Elijah is twice the man he is, but Simon won’t even look at him.”
“Oh, Lizzy, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she said. “I mean, I’m sad for Elijah, but Simon is just proving, again, what an ass he is.”
I took a sip of my wine and ventured, “What about the Bible?”
“Leviticus 18:22?” she asked with a smile. “Trust me, I’ve looked it up and it only confirms my long-standing belief that some teachings in the Old Testament should be taken with a grain of salt.” She shook her head and smiled. “I’m not a theologian, but have you ever considered some of the laws laid out in the Old Testament? Do you know it says people who work on the Sabbath should be put to death? And that it sanctions selling your daughter into slavery?” She raised her eyebrows. “Do you think it would be okay if I sold Elise?”
“Of course not,” I said, frowning. “It says that?”
She nodded. “Exodus 35:2 and Exodus 21:7. Don’t get me wrong, Sal. I love Psalms and Proverbs and Song of Solomon—but other parts are a bit outdated. It says a person should be burned to death for wearing a garment that has two different threads . . . and stoned to death for planting two different crops together.” She shook her head. “So many stories in the Old Testament are about sin and war and killing and revenge, while the New Testament is about love and forgiveness and spreading the good news. I honestly think God had a change of heart after He gave us His Son, and I don’t understand how anyone can be anti-Christian when all God wants is for us to love and forgive and accept one another. How can anyone find that offensive?”
“I agree,” I said, nodding thoughtfully. “You’ve always been more of a freethinker than me,” I said. “Sometimes I think I’ll always be stuck in the same rut.”
She laughed. “No, you won’t. You’ll get there . . . although you are proving to be a bit of a slow learner.” She smiled. “And don’t get me wrong. I’m not returning to Catholicism either. I’m going to give the Protestants a try . . . and I can’t wait to celebrate Christmas with the kids,” she added, grinning. “I’ve missed it so much. One time, you asked me if I thought I’d miss it and I didn’t think I would, but I definitely do. I’m so sorry the kids never got to experience the magic of Christmas when they were little.”
Just then, the waitress came over with a glass of wine and set it on the table in front of Lizzy. She eyed us questioningly and we laughed and looked sheepishly back at our menus.
“Enough about me,” Lizzy said, peering over the top of her menu. “What’s new with the island girl? How’s that cute boat builder?”
“Oh, same old stuff,” I said, waving her off. Here we were again—Lizzy spilling her heart out about everything real and raw and true in her life and me staying mum. What the heck is wrong with me? What kind of a friend am I? I could so easily share, in this moment, how I knew what she meant—how my heart ached for Liam—the closest I’d come to having a son—when Cadie broke his heart . . . or how angry I got when Coop drank too much. Instead, I closed up. It’s been too long, I told myself—trying to justify my silence. If I told her now, after twenty-eight years, she’d never forgive me.
“Oh!” she said, interrupting my thoughts. “You’ll never guess who I saw!”
“Who?” I said, setting my menu down and sipping my wine.
“Drew McIntyre.”
“No!” I said, feeling my heart pound at the mention of his name.
She nodded. “I had to go to Medford to take care of some things related to my mother’s nonexisting estate, and afterward, I stopped at the package store and he was in line ahead of me. I wasn’t sure if it was him—because he looked really old—but then Jake Ellsworth came in and said hello to him, so I knew it was. I couldn’t believe it! After he left, Jake got in line behind me and we chatted for a few minutes.”
“I can’t believe you saw him.”
“I know. It was weird. If he’d said hello to me, I might’ve clocked him.”
I laughed. “Yeah, right—I can just see you doing that.”
“I would’ve,” Lizzy countered.
“Did Jake know what he was up to?”
“He did,” she said with a conspiratorial grin. “He’s living with Dana Jasmin and they have a daughter—I think she’s fifteen. He also got a promotion at the mill—he’s a manager or something now.”
I took a sip of my wine and nodded, trying to picture Drew as a middle-aged man. Somehow, in spite of being legally bound to an estranged wife, he’d managed to muddle through—just as I had . . . and oddly, I found myself hoping he was happy.
“Ready?” the waitress asked, peering around the corner of our booth.
“One more for me,” I said, holding up my empty wineglass, “and we’ll be ready when you come back. Promise!”
She smiled. “You got it.”
Ten minutes later, Lizzy and I were devouring chicken Caesar salads—after all the deliberation and indecision, we’d both picked our old standby. And after Lizzy had another glass of wine, we wandered out into the afternoon with our arms around each other, blinking at the bright sunshine.
“How’s Elise?” I asked as we walked toward Quincy Market.
“She’s fine. Did I tell you she’s working?”
“Noo,” I said.
Lizzy nodded. “That’s why she didn’t come today—although she wanted to. She works at the animal shelter and absolutely loves it!”
“Well, she always loved Henry, so I’m not surprised.”
“Henry was such a great cat. How come you never got another?”
“Oh, I didn’t think I’d be lucky enough to find another one like him. He was seventeen when he died and, right up to the very end, he put his nose against mine. He was such a sweetheart. I still miss him. I don’t want to go through that kind of heartache again.”
Lizzy looked over. “Did you ever consider there might just be another cat who needs a home and who would love you just as much? Elise is always talking about the sweet cats at the shelter that need homes.”
“How come you don’t get one?”
Lizzy smiled. “We are getting one—just as soon as we move to our new place. Elise has a little orange tiger cat all picked out—her name is Ginger.”
I smiled, happy to discover that my dear friend seemed more relaxed and happy than she had been in years. “That’s so great—Elise will love it!”
“I know,” she said, smiling. “For the first time in a long time, I’m actually looking forward to the future. By the way, did I tell you Elise and I have taken up yoga?”
“No,” I said, laughing.
“Yep,” Lizzy said, nodding. “We love it!”
Chapter 39
“Oh, my goodness!” I whispered when I saw the copper-colored ball of fur in Coop’s arms. “Oh, my goodness!” I whispered again as he placed the little golden retriever pup in my arms. I held it up against my cheek. “What are you going to call her?”
Coop smiled. “Liam thinks we should call him Tucket—Tuck for short.”
I held the puppy so I could look into his sweet brown eyes.
“You look like a Tuck,” I said softly.
Just then, Liam came in the door and headed right for the coffee. “Oh no,” he said with a smile. “Now we’re never going to get him back.”
“You might not,” I said, laughing and cuddling the puppy in my arms. “Where’d you get him? Do they have more?”
Coop shook his head. “We got him over by Siasconset. He was the last one—they said he was the runt.”
I pressed my nose into his soft fur. “You’re not a runt,” I consoled. “You’re just the cute one.” The puppy turned his head and licked my chin. “Yep, we’re going to be great pals,” I said. “You just come here anytime you want a little piece of bacon.”
“Oh no,” Coop warned. “No handouts or he’ll turn into a beggar.”
“Shhh,” I whispered into the puppy’s fur. “Don’t listen to him.”
Coop raised his eyebrows and I smiled. “So what are you guys up to today?”
“Taking the carburetor out of your dad’s old Bel Air so I can find out why it’s running like crap.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t you think I should sell that old thing?”
“No, I don’t. You should hang on to it. It’s in great shape and the older it gets, the more valuable it is.”
I sighed. “I should just give it to you. After all, you’ve stored it and maintained it all these years.”
He shook his head. “It was your dad’s, and it’s the only thing you have of his. You should keep it. Just think—his hands touched that steering wheel. Aren’t you the least bit sentimental about it?”
I laughed. “I guess—when you put it that way.”
In truth, I wasn’t very sentimental about things. I had one pair of turquoise earrings that Coop had given me years ago, but I’d sold my mom’s luggage at a tag sale, and although I still had her pearls, I never wore them—mostly because I never got dressed up. My wardrobe consisted of T-shirts and shorts in the summer, and jeans and flannel shirts over T-shirts the rest of the year. I didn’t even own a dress! I was sixty-two years old—a fact I couldn’t even begin to fathom, making Coop sixty-eight, and we never went out—never mind “out” together, so what did I need a dress for? I’d only kept the pearls because they were my mom’s—and my great-grandmother’s before her—and the earrings because Coop had given them to me, so I guess I was a little sentimental. I sighed—maybe Coop was right— maybe I should hang on to the car, too, since I didn’t have anything else that had belonged to my dad.
“Okay, well, don’t spend all day on it. I’m sure you have other things to do.”
“Yeah,” Liam said, sipping his coffee. “Like going to the doctor.”
Coop frowned and Liam shook his head.
“Why?” I asked worriedly. “What’s going on?”
“He hasn’t been feeling well,” Liam said, eyeing his uncle.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Oh, just some chest pain and numbness in my limbs,” Coop said with a hint of sarcasm.
“Seriously?” I demanded.
“Would I kid about something like that?” he teased.
I looked to Liam for confirmation, but he just raised his eyebrows and pressed his lips together.
“If you’re having symptoms like that, you do need to go to the doctor.”
“See what you started?” Coop said, eyeing him.
“She’s right. . . .”
“I already told you, it’s nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing the other day when I saw you gripping the picnic table at the boathouse.”
I raised my eyebrows. “What?”
“You’re making a big deal out of nothing,” Coop said. “It was just indigestion.”
I shook my head and handed the puppy back to him. “If you want to live to see this puppy grow up, you better get to the doctor and find out what’s going on.”
Coop rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Tuck. Let’s go take a look at that car.”
He turned to walk out and I looked questioningly at Liam, but he just shook his head. “I’ve tried.”
“It’s not nothing,” I called after him. “My dad refused to go to the doctor and look what happened!” But Coop was already outside.
“I’ll keep trying,” Liam said, pouring a second cup of coffee. “Put these on our tab,” he said with a grin.
“Ha,” I said, shaking my head. “Your tab is maxed out.”
As soon as they left, the first ferry of the Fourth of July weekend docked and Cuppa Jo became so busy I didn’t have time to think—or worry—about Coop, but when I finally sat down that night, he was all I could think about. I poured a glass of wine—I’d discovered, over the years, that my abstinence had little to no effect on the amount Coop drank—or didn’t drink—so I’d given up abstaining; then realized I enjoyed having a glass of wine in the evening. I tried to call Coop, but Liam answered and said he was out with Dimitri. “Are you on call then?” I asked, knowing Dimitri’s wife, Fran, often called Liam to see if he would go round them up when it got late.
“Yep . . . and puppy sitting,” he answered.
“Were you able to talk him into making an appointment?”
“No, he just gets angry.”
I took my wine outside to sit on the porch, and as I watched the sun sink below the horizon, I tried to remember how long Coop and I had been together, and it suddenly hit me that it had been forty years—how had that happened?! I shook my head and looked up at the streaks of pink and purple clouds. If anything ever happened to him, I didn’t know what I’d do!
Although Coop and I were rarely intimate anymore—the passion we’d known when we were younger had become a glowing bed of embers; and in its place, a spiritual intimacy—like that of an old married couple who knew each other’s thoughts and finished each other’s sentences—had taken its place. That’s why I was so surprised when I heard his truck pulling into the driveway.
“Hey,” he said, coming up the porch steps.
“Hey,” I said. “Is everything okay?”
He nodded. “Everything’s fine.” He wrapped his arms around me and kissed the top of my head. “Can’t a guy just miss his girl?”
I laughed. “Of course he can.” He leaned down and kissed my lips. “Mmm . . . you taste like whiskey,” I murmured.
“Just a little,” he confessed.
“You were out with Dimitri and you only had a little?”
“Well, we were sitting at The Brotherhood and he asked me how long I’d had the boathouse, and I started thinking about it and I realized it has been forty years—which also means you’ve been putting up with me for forty years!”
I laughed. “Can you believe it’s been that long?”
“I can’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Time goes by too fast.”
“It does,” I agreed, and as I rested my head on his chest, I wondered what had brought on this uncharacteristic showing of sentimental affection. Was he worried about his health too? Had he suddenly realized how much he had to lose? I listened to his heartbeat and silently prayed it would beat forever.
“Watch that,” he whispered when I pressed against him. “You might get more than you bargained for.”
“Really?” I teased.
“Mm-hmm,” he murmured, kissing my neck. “Really.”
Chapter 40
“ ‘Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today,’ ” I murmured as I watched Coop reach down to pick up a tennis ball and throw it for Tuck. Over the last year—ever since Liam told me Coop hadn’t been feeling well—I’d tried to get him to go to the doctor. I even offered to make the appointment for him, but the more I pressed, the more he resisted. He was just like my dad. “I’m fine,” he’d say in an annoyed voice, and because I didn’t want him to think I was turning into an old nag, I let up, but it didn’t stop me from praying. To his credit, I never saw him show signs of distress—he always looked strong and healthy—but then again, I wasn’t
around him all the time.
Our moments of intimacy had continued to wane. We were more like old friends than lovers, but it didn’t seem to bother either of us—we were content to just be together, quietly aware of each other’s steady presence. Of course, I still loved it when he stirred the embers, but I didn’t walk around on fire like I had when we were younger!
As I’d grown older, my prayer list had grown longer too—it seemed the older I got, the more people I knew who needed prayers. Needless to say—because my memory was going—I kept an index card with a list of names next to my rosary beads and I prayed for each person morning and evening. “ ‘Lord,’ ” I’d begin, “ ‘make me an instrument of your peace; where there is hatred, let me sow love; when there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; and where there is sadness, joy. Grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood, as to understand, to be loved as to love; for it is in giving that we receive, it is in pardoning that we are pardoned, and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.’ ” And then I’d faithfully consult the card on which I’d scribbled names.
Even when I wasn’t sitting in my chair—I could be kneading bread, stirring muffin batter, or weeding—my lips were constantly moving, saying the Lord’s Prayer, the Prayer of Contrition, or whatever came to mind; then I’d murmur the names of people I knew who needed healing or guidance. I think anyone who didn’t know me would probably think I was crazy—maybe even those who did know me thought so! But there was so much turmoil in the world, and with round-the-clock news cycles, the bad news seemed endless . . . and prayer seemed to be the only viable answer. It gave me comfort, but it also left me wondering if God really heard me.
So many times in life, I’d felt as if the answer I received to a prayer wasn’t what I’d hoped—or asked for. I asked for healing for countless people who ended up dying, and I asked for guidance in countless situations but heard nothing. On more than one occasion, I pleaded, “Oh, God, where are you in this?” And I’d felt empty and hopeless, but when I looked back now—over the span of many years—I found I was able to see the rippling thread of God’s presence. And that’s why, when Lizzy called in late November to tell me in a terrified, tearful voice that she’d felt a lump in her breast, I began to pray feverishly. “God, this is your chance to prove you are really there and that you are really listening!”
