by Elena Graf
“At the Windward B&B in Webhanet.”
Liz frowned. “But they don’t have an elevator there, do they?”
Maggie shook her head. “No, just stairs, and my room is on the third floor.”
“Can you switch to another room?”
“The place is packed to the gills,” Tony said, raking the dark hair that always fell on his face away from his eyes. “Most of the cast is staying there.”
“Can you find her something else?”
“I’m sure everything’s booked solid until after Labor Day. You know how it is in August.”
Liz drummed her fingers on the desk. Finally, she looked up at Maggie. “It may not be your first choice, but I have a bedroom and full bath on the first floor.”
The idea of being Liz’s house guest after a separation of forty years was nothing short of stunning. “Really, Liz, I couldn’t possibly impose on—”
“Really, it’s nothing, and it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve taken in a stray. Right, Tony?”
Tony barked a little laugh. “Right.” He turned to Maggie. “If you stay at Liz’s place, you’ll have much better accommodations than at the Windward.”
Maggie glanced at Liz, trying to size up the situation. It seemed she had no alternative. “Thank you, Liz. It’s very generous of you.”
But Liz wasn’t listening. “Just how did this accident happen?” she asked, peering at Tony.
“We were trying to recreate the scene in the movie where Donna jumps up and down on a bed, so we came up with the idea of using a trampoline.”
“That’s idiotic! Especially, if you’re hiring aging actresses for your plays.”
Maggie swallowed her indignation at the remark, remembering that Liz could sometimes be so tactless. Obviously, that part hadn’t changed.
Tony shrugged. “It went fine in rehearsal.”
Liz gave him a disapproving look and turned to Maggie. “We’d better get you home before the morphine wears off. Tony, can you spare that cane until she can pick up one at the pharmacy?”
“Sure, and no rush. I can’t even remember which show we used it for.”
Maggie managed with their help to get down the stairs to the parking lot. Tony walked with her to the truck, while Liz sprinted ahead to open the door and push the passenger seat all the way back. “Put your rear in first, then pull yourself up. There’s a grab ring just inside the door near the windshield. You can hang on to that. I’ll help you.” Maggie was startled to feel strong hands around her waist literally lifting her into the seat. Liz helped her swing her broken leg into the cab. With the boot, it was a tight fit. Liz yanked down the seat belt and reached around Maggie to clip it. That was unnecessary, but Maggie could see Liz was on a mission and didn’t dare interrupt. Tony sang out his good byes through an open window as he drove by.
Liz climbed into the driver seat and turned the key in the ignition. “Fancy meeting you here.” Ignoring the camera display on the dash, she looked over her shoulder to back up the truck. “I always thought I might bump into you at the hospital when you were living in Connecticut. A lot of my old friends showed up there. Unfortunately.”
“Fortunately, I’ve been pretty healthy and so was Barry.” Liz made a face, so Maggie quickly added, “We’re divorced now.”
“It happens.” Liz’s indifference toward her marital status surprised Maggie, especially considering how controversial it had once been. She provided some context to encourage more of a response. “He went off with his much younger female assistant on the West Coast. He lives in California now.”
“Unfortunately, male menopause breaks up a lot of marriages.”
Maggie wondered if Liz already knew her marriage had ended. Although Maggie had sworn their roommate to secrecy, she wasn’t sure Claudia had always honored her promise. “I suppose Claudia told you.”
“Nope. I haven’t talked to Claudia in years. Not since she got married and moved to Vermont. We message on Facebook from time to time, but that’s about it.”
Then there was silence. After a gap of forty years, it was hard to know where to begin.
Liz’s hand rested casually on the bottom of the steering wheel as she drove the big truck, navigating effortlessly along back roads that took them deeper and deeper into the woods. Maggie had no idea where they were going, which made her apprehensive until she realized she trusted Liz implicitly, or she never would have accepted her invitation.
“It’s so dark up here at night,” said Maggie, staring out the window.
“We have laws against light pollution. Up north, you can still see the milky way. Sometimes, you can even see the Northern Lights.”
“Have you ever seen them?”
“No, but I’d like to someday.”
“Me too.”
Liz turned into a driveway almost hidden by the trees. The house was set so far back from the road that it couldn’t be seen until you were practically on top of it. It wasn’t a big house, but it was three stories tall. Wood was neatly stacked on the porch that ran along the front.
“Five steps up to the porch. One step into the house. I’m sure you can manage that.”
“I’ll try.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll help you.” Liz reached up to help her out of the truck. “Put your hands on my shoulders. Then slide down. Easy does it.” Maggie liked the solid feel of Liz’s shoulders. She followed the instructions and ended up in Liz’s arms, which felt surprisingly good. Liz seemed to have no reaction, focused as she was on helping Maggie keep her balance. “You okay?” Her hands remained on Maggie’s waist to steady her.
Maggie nodded. The warm hands moved away, but one returned to support her back as she tackled the stairs to the porch and the step into the house. The boot was awkward, but Maggie was adapting to the odd syncopation of the heel-toe gait.
As she entered the house, she took in the décor along the way. The living room was casually furnished in a style suited to a Maine resort town. There were hints of a North Woods camp motif—mounted antlers, an L. L. Bean Hudson’s Bay Point blanket thrown casually on a leather club chair. A wood stove stood in the corner. In a display cabinet and a special glass-top table were colorful rocks. Minerals, Maggie corrected herself, not rocks. Liz had been collecting them since she was a girl. Maggie still had the cluster of quartz crystals Liz had given her. It occupied a special place on Maggie’s desk. When she had writer’s block, she fondled it, testing its pointed edges, which always made her think of Liz with her razor-sharp intellect and quick tongue.
“Do you need the bathroom?” Liz asked.
“Yes, and it’s torture getting out of this costume.”
“This way.” Liz opened the door to a large room with a queen-size bed covered with an old-fashioned quilt.
“A floral pattern? I never took you for a floral kind of girl,” said Maggie, gratefully sinking down on the bed.
“Jenny bought it.”
“Who’s Jenny?”
“My ex.”
Liz pointed to a door. “There’s the bathroom. Do you need help getting out of that costume? It looks pretty tight. I could cut it off with bandage scissors.”
“No, I don’t think Tony would appreciate that. Can you help me get it off?”
“Sure.” Liz rummaged in a chest of drawers. “I keep old clothes in here for surprise guests, mostly people who’ve imbibed too much and need to stay the night. Help yourself to anything you find.” She threw an oversized Kennebunk Brewing Company T-shirt and a pair of men’s gym shorts on the bed. “Okay for tonight?”
“Works for me.”
“Tomorrow, I can run down to Webhanet to pick up your bags.”
“How long do you expect me to stay?”
Liz shrugged. “I don’t know. As long as you need to, I guess.”
“Thank you.” Maggie was moved to tears
by the kindness of this woman, who didn’t owe her a thing and had every reason not to be kind. The sudden rush of emotion surprised her. Maybe it was a side effect of the morphine.
Liz frowned as she studied the situation. Maggie knew she was making one of her famous plans. “First, we’ll open the zipper, then take the top down to the waist. You stand and we’ll pull it down as far as we can. Then we’ll take off the boot and pull the damn thing off.”
Liz’s strategy worked perfectly. Soon Maggie was sitting on the bed, wearing only her flesh-colored body slimmer.
“I hate to ask, Liz, but I think I’ll need help with this too.”
Liz raised her lower lip and emitted a long sigh. “I never thought when I undressed you again, I’d be peeling you out of a body slimmer.”
“Nothing you haven’t seen before.” Maggie reached into her crotch to unfasten the snaps. “I think it might be easier to get it off over my head.”
“Like undressing a toddler. All right. Hands up!” Liz reached down to pull up the body slimmer. Her face, at the level of Maggie’s breasts, was obviously turned away. “Ready? One, two, three!”
That part didn’t go as planned, which Maggie had expected. Putting on the body slimmer had been a torturous process of stretching, wiggling, and tugging. After another attempt, Liz sighed in frustration. “Let me cut it off. I’ll buy you another one. I promise.” She didn’t wait for an answer before leaving to get the scissors. A few minutes later, she freed Maggie from the tight suit, cutting it down the back as if it were sausage casing. “In the emergency room, we often have to cut off people’s clothes to get to trauma.” She turned her back while Maggie shrugged on the old T-shirt and pulled on the running shorts.
“I’m covered up now. You’re so funny, Liz.”
“I didn’t want you to think I was staring at you while you were naked.”
“Believe me. It’s not that exciting. My figure’s not what it used to be.”
“Whose is…especially at our age?” Liz patted her belly. “We have amazing craft beers up here.”
Maggie realized she was only calling attention to her own imperfections to make her feel better. “A big improvement over that anorexic kid I used to know.”
“I wasn’t anorexic, just really thin,” said Liz, making it clear the technical difference was important to her. “I’m going to make myself some chamomile tea. Would you like some?”
“Chamomile tea sounds wonderful.”
Liz’s quick, slightly off-center grin reminded Maggie so much of young Liz that her heart lurched a little. Yes, young Liz was still in there. Somewhere beneath the iron-gray hair, the fine wrinkles and those beautiful breasts, was the skinny girl she remembered. Maggie had to admit the breasts were a nice improvement. She gave them another admiring look.
“You can sit in the living room and put your leg up while I get the tea ready,” said Liz. “Elevation is important or that leg will swell even more.”
Liz took her arm as she directed her to the living room. Maggie liked the reassuring feel of her hands easing her down on the leather sofa and carefully lifting the broken leg to rest on the hassock.
“Are you cold? I can make a fire.”
Maggie shook her head, but Liz brought over the Hudson’s Bay blanket and laid it beside her. “Just in case… It can get pretty chilly up here at night. I’ll get you some ice for the leg.”
She left. In a moment, Maggie heard the rumble of an ice maker. Liz returned with a zip-lock bag of ice cubes. “I have one of those reusable gel packs around, but the hell if I can find it.” She unfastened the Velcro straps of the boot and eased it off. She draped a towel over the injury, followed by the ice bag. “You can have the boot off as long as you don’t put weight on it. Tonight, I’ll put on a pneumatic cast. You’ll have to wear that at night for a couple of weeks. Do you sleep through the night or do you usually get up to urinate?” Maggie would have said “pee” but of course, Liz would use correct medical terms.
“I’m a sixty-year old woman, what do you think?”
“Annoying as hell, isn’t it? I’ll leave you a pair of crutches. Do you know how to use them?”
“Yes, I learned how for a play,” Maggie said proudly.
“Using them for real is a little different.” Liz glanced toward the kitchen. “The water must be hot by now. Be right back.”
While Liz was preparing the tea, Maggie took the opportunity to look around. The prints on the walls, graphic pen-and-ink drawings of old barns, although stark, were somehow soothing. The leather furniture was comfortable and probably expensive. Wood was neatly stacked in a cast iron ring by the wood stove. There was a hammered brass bucket of kindling beside it. Everything was tidy and devoid of clutter. It was exactly the kind of décor she would expect Liz to choose.
“You have a very minimalist style of decorating,” she called to Liz in the kitchen. “Almost monastic.”
“I like to keep things simple.” Liz came in carrying a tray with a pottery teapot and two matching mugs. “You don’t approve?”
“I didn’t say that. In fact, it suits you perfectly.”
“Jenny tried to pretty up the place. She likes the country look, the floral quilts, lace curtains. Pigs on sticks.” Liz mocked a shudder. “Not my style.”
Maggie tried to sound less curious than she felt. “So, you live alone?”
“Yes. And you?”
“I’ve been seeing someone.”
“A man, of course,” said Liz without a hint of judgment.
The neutrality of the response made it easier for Maggie to say, “Yes.”
Liz sprang up from her seat. “I need to get you some Ibuprofen. After the morphine wears off, you’ll really need it.” She left and returned with the pills and a glass of water. “You’re sure you don’t have cardiovascular disease or stomach problems?” Liz asked, holding back the brown pharmacy bottle. “I didn’t hear anything unusual when I listened to your heart.”
“As I said, I’m pretty healthy.”
“That’s good.” Liz shook two pills into Maggie’s hand. “If you get up during the night, take another one. It’s easier to prevent the pain than to treat it once it gets started.”
“You make a very good nurse.” Maggie instantly regretted saying it. Being a doctor, Liz might not take it as a compliment.
“Doctors make terrible nurses. Nurses pay attention to details much better than we do.”
Maggie leaned forward and took Liz’s hand. “Liz, I want you to know I’m sorry, really, really sorry about what happened.”
Liz withdrew her hand. “It’s late, and you’ve had trauma. Let’s hold off on any big conversations. All right?”
“But it’s hard to accept your generous hospitality without at least an apology.”
“Later, Maggie,” said Liz shaking her head. “Don’t spoil it.”
Chapter 3
Liz went to the basement to look for the shower chair her mother used during her visits. Time would be short in the morning, and she wanted to make sure Maggie was all set up before they went to bed. She passed the bookcase filled with old books deemed unworthy of a place in her office upstairs. Among them was a row of maroon college yearbooks. She pulled out the volume from sophomore year, quickly searched the index and found Maggie’s name among the F’s. She flipped to the page.
The photographer had caught Maggie slouching on a bench near the library, smiling fully as she looked up from her book. Her blond hair looked white in the photograph as it nearly was in life, a platinum color produced by a monthly ritual of bottles and vinyl gloves. The natural color of Maggie’s hair was dark honey. At one point, Liz was so besotted, she’d even agreed to participate in the monthly ritual of touching up the roots.
Maggie’s eyebrows were a bit wild, an untamed look that was between fashions at the time. Her eyes were hazel, actually quite pale
, but they could be dark, stormy or petulant, depending on her mood. She had a small, upturned nose. Her lips just covered the slightest overbite, but her most distinctive feature was a small square chin with a cleft that Liz loved to test with her finger. In this photograph and in life, Maggie was almost deathly pale. Felicia, their roommate from Puerto Rico, once quipped, “She makes the white walls look colorful.”
Liz turned a few pages to the next photo. Here, Maggie was standing, another candid, this time outside the dormitory. The shot unfortunately emphasized her wide hips and narrow shoulders. Another photo showed Maggie at nineteen, the star of the campus theater company with a major role in every production. That was how Liz remembered Maggie as her brain began churning up actual memories—illuminated by a spotlight in the perpetual night that is a darkened theater.
Liz stared at the photo. This woman had broken her heart. She had been her first love, the first heart-stinging love of youth. Now, she was sitting in her living room.
With a sigh, Liz returned the book to its place on the shelf and resumed her search for the shower bench. She found it exactly where she had left it, carefully wrapped in plastic, on the shelf in the back room. Liz sprayed it with antiseptic and vigorously scrubbed it in the laundry sink. She’d been trying to moderate her surgeon’s compulsion for cleanliness, especially during the harsh Maine winters when the constant washing left her hands chapped. She maintained the hygiene regimen in the office, but in real life, she was trying to learn to tolerate a little dirt.
“I thought you’d left me,” said Maggie when Liz returned.
It was on the tip of Liz’s tongue to say, “No, I don’t do that. You do,” but she caught herself just in time. Their unexpected reunion was going well. Don’t spoil it, Liz told herself, echoing the advice she’d given Maggie only a few minutes ago.
“I brought up the shower chair for you, and I adjusted the hand shower on the bar, so you can reach it.”
“Thank you. You’re so kind.” Maggie reached out her hand. “Sit next to me.”
