by Elena Graf
Liz shook her head. “Our tea must be steeped by now. Let me pour it.” She filled two cups from the pot and handed one to Maggie. Then she took a seat in the club chair. “I like to see people’s faces when I talk to them,” she explained unnecessarily.
Maggie took a sip of tea and smiled. “I love chamomile tea.”
“I remember.”
“I haven’t had it in years. Why have I been depriving myself?”
“I don’t know. Only you know the answer to that.”
Maggie set down her cup. Her little frown indicated she’d perceived the double meaning. “I thought about you many times over the years. I thought about reaching out, but then…”
Liz nodded. “I found you on the NYU faculty page and your Facebook page. I sent you a friend request. When you didn’t respond after a couple of days, I deleted it.”
“I saw it. I debated whether to respond. When I finally decided, it was gone.”
“Don’t tell me what you decided. I don’t want to know.” Liz blew on her tea to cool it.
“I didn’t know where to begin. It had been so long since we talked. When Claudia and I were still close, she kept me up to date. I knew when you were accepted into medical school. When you took the residency at Yale. When your father died… I was sorry to hear that by the way.”
“Thank you.” Liz said it because it was expected, but her father had been dead for nearly thirty years, and it felt strange to accept condolences so long after the fact.
“Both my parents passed. Dad’s heart gave out. Mom didn’t know what to do without him. The breast cancer came back.” Maggie looked pained.
“Unfortunately, it often does.”
“That was your specialty, wasn’t it? Breast surgery?”
“I’m a general surgeon, but yes, I did a lot of breast work. Jenny got me into it after reading Susan Love’s Breast Book. She said, ‘you know, you could do something for those women besides lopping off their breasts like you were pruning roses.’”
Maggie smiled fondly. “You haven’t changed a bit. Still trying to change the world. Still rescuing damsels in distress.”
“I don’t rescue damsels anymore,” said Liz, shaking her head.
“What do you call inviting me into your home?”
Liz raised her shoulders. “Being practical?”
“Of course, but thank you for rescuing me, even if it wasn’t your intention.” Her relaxed smile told Liz that Maggie’s theatricality was easing. When she was anxious, she retreated into her art.
“I need to start reading my mail from the Playhouse,” said Liz. “I had no idea you were starring in a production this season.”
“I had no idea you’d moved to Maine.”
“As I said, I always thought we might bump into one another at Yale-New Haven.”
“Oh, I was there often enough.”
“You were? Why?”
“Fertility treatments.”
“Claudia mentioned you were having trouble getting pregnant.”
Maggie sighed. “I suppose Claudia told you everything.”
“No, she said very little. If you recall, you told her not to.”
Maggie gave her a hard look. “Liz, I had to cut you off after you tricked my brother into giving you my number. It felt like you were stalking me.”
“Stalking you?” Liz took a deep breath, then burst into laughter.
Maggie looked profoundly indignant. “Well, it did!”
Liz finally stopped laughing and assumed a serious expression. “I’m sorry my persistence seemed so threatening. I just wanted to talk to you.”
“You don’t understand. My parents insisted I stay away from you, or they wouldn’t pay my tuition. My education was very important to me.”
“That part, I do understand. When I came out, my parents disowned me. When I was in medical school, it was tough for me financially. It took years to pay off the debt.”
“But you had the courage of your convictions.” Maggie gazed at her thoughtfully. Her indignation had passed and her expression had softened. “It was very hard to leave you. You have no idea how hard. My feelings for you were very strong. They were putting all my plans for my life in jeopardy. I had to turn you into some kind of psycho to justify keeping you away.” Maggie stared at the floor. “My parents wouldn’t let me speak to you again. Barry made it a condition of our marriage.”
Liz studied Maggie’s face for a long time before she said, “But you went along with it.”
Maggie still wouldn’t look at her. She nodded.
“Thanks for finally being honest.” Liz drained her cup and put it on the tray. “Finish your tea and let’s go to bed. You’ve suffered trauma, and I have to work tomorrow.”
“You work on Saturdays?”
“All family docs have weekend hours. We treat people who can’t afford to take time off from work. The good news is I have Monday off. I can show you around Hobbs, if you feel up to it.”
“You expect me to still be here on Monday?”
Liz shrugged. “Are you in a big hurry to go somewhere?”
“No, but I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”
“You just got here.” Liz rose to move the tray with the tea cups out of the way, so Maggie could get up from the sofa. “Come on, old girl. Time for bed.”
“Thanks for reminding me about my age,” grumbled Maggie as she struggled to get up. Liz helped her to her feet and handed her the neon green cane.
When they reached the guest room, Maggie gratefully plopped down on the bed. “Can you show me how to take this thing off?”
“You need to learn to do it yourself. Just open the Velcro straps and pull out the front piece.” Maggie carefully followed the instructions.
When Liz pulled off the cotton sock, Maggie visibly winced at the sight of the swelling and the developing bruises.
“On a scale of one to ten, how bad is the pain?” asked Liz.
“Six, but I can live with it.”
Liz nodded. “The morphine is wearing off, but the ibuprofen should kick in soon.” She slipped the plastic air cast over the foot and inflated it with a little hand pump. “How’s that? Too tight?”
“It’s tight,” said Maggie through gritted teeth.
Liz let out some air. “I want it a little tight,” she explained, “to keep down the swelling, but not so tight that it cuts off the circulation to your toes. Lie down and relax. I’ll check the color of your toes in a minute.”
Maggie pulled herself up on the bed. “Comfy bed.”
“Only the best for my guests. Do you think you can sleep? Or do you need a sedative?”
“Don’t you remember? I sleep like the dead. No, I’m sure I’ll go right out once you turn out the lights.”
Liz leaned over and checked her toes. “The pressure is good. Your little piggies are all healthy and pink. Do you need to use the bathroom before I go up to bed?”
“Oh, Liz. That, I can manage!”
“Just in case, I’ll hang around until you get back.” Liz rose to get the crutches. “I left a pack of make-up remover pads on the counter. I’m sure you’ll want to get rid of that stage make up.”
“You think of everything.”
“I have a lot of guests.”
Maggie maneuvered the crutches into her arm pits. “My lens case and glasses are in my bag.”
“I’ll get it.”
When Maggie emerged from the bathroom. Liz couldn’t hide her reaction fast enough.
Maggie nodded an acknowledgement. “Yes, I look faded without makeup…and old.”
“So do I,” Liz instantly replied.
Maggie smiled sadly. “But you’re not wearing any make up. And you have a beautiful tan.”
“And I am two years younger.”
“Don’t rub it i
n.” Maggie hobbled toward the bed.
Liz took the crutches from her and balanced them against the wall, positioning them carefully within Maggie’s reach. She picked up Maggie’s cellphone from the bed stand. “I’m putting my number in your contacts. If you need anything during the night, just call me. I always sleep with my phone next to the bed.” Liz pulled up the covers. “All good?”
“Just one thing, but you need to come closer.”
Liz put her hands on her knees and leaned down.
“Closer,” said Maggie, beckoning with her finger. Maggie placed her hands on Liz’s cheeks and squeezed gently. “Thank you so much for your kindness.” She pulled Liz’s face closer and kissed her forehead. “And thank you for your warm welcome. I don’t deserve it, but I really appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.” Liz stood straight. “Don’t forget to use the crutches to use the bathroom.”
Maggie rolled her eyes.
“I mean it. It’s easy to forget during the night when you’re half asleep.”
“Good night, Liz.”
Liz went back to the kitchen to wash out the tea pot and cups. She switched on the light above the stove. When there were guests in the house, she always left it on, so they could find their way around.
After Liz trudged up the two flights of stairs, she remembered she could have taken the elevator. She seldom used it because it seemed lazy. The architect had insisted she add it to the design, so she could “age in place.” When she’d renovated the house that had seemed so far off, but now that she’d seen Maggie again, she realized the years had blasted by while she wasn’t looking.
Liz sighed as she climbed into bed, so bone-weary, she expected to go right to sleep, but she couldn’t, knowing Maggie was just downstairs. The fact that she hadn’t recognized Maggie disturbed her. Of course, Maggie had changed, but not that much. Maybe it had been the distraction of the injury or the tantalizing possibility of reducing a fracture, a procedure Liz hadn’t done in years. As a surgeon, it was so easy for her to get caught up in a challenge and forget the patient, although she thought she’d cured herself of that when she’d gone into general practice.
She needed to get some sleep. The alarm would go off early and she couldn’t be late to open the office. She rolled over and closed her eyes. The quick view of Maggie’s breasts came to mind. Her physician’s eyes were like a camera that took incredibly detailed photographs. Her fingers had a memory of their own. She recalled the feel of Maggie’s bare skin when she’d helped her out of the body slimmer—warm and a little sticky with perspiration.
Once, she had loved that body and known every inch of it—the little mole on the inside Maggie’s thigh and her genitals, as pale and compact as the pink rose buds they’d exchanged when they’d said good bye on that summer day so long ago. Liz forbade her mind from imagining more details of Maggie’s body. Otherwise, it would be too hard to face her in the morning.
After forty years, how could she still want this woman so much?
Other memories wafted into Liz’s mind. She remembered the smell of freshly cut grass. Liz had paused her mowing to check the mailbox. While they’d been apart, Maggie had written every day, but for almost a week, there had been no mail. At the back of the box was a small envelope, instantly recognizable as Maggie’s pale blue stationery. As Liz ripped it open, she had no way of knowing it was Maggie’s last letter. It explained that she had decided not to return to New York. The reasons were designed to appeal to Liz’s practicality. Living at home would allow Maggie to save money. Her father had gotten her a part time job to help pay her tuition, which was lower at the small, local college. How could Liz argue with that? But she did. She had argued and pleaded and begged. The toll calls to Syracuse were expensive. Her telephone bills consumed all of her allowance.
Finally, Maggie told her not to call again.
The room seemed stifling after that recollection. Liz got up to open the sliding door to the deck. A barred owl hooted softly in the distance. Another owl replied. Then a third. It became a chorus. Combined with the gentle whoosh of the wind in the pine trees, it made a perfect lullaby. She wondered if, downstairs, Maggie was listening too.
Chapter 4
The soft knocking at the door roused Maggie from a sound sleep. She almost jumped out of bed, but the drugs had worn off, and the pain in her ankle sharply reasserted itself. She wasn’t going anywhere without crutches.
“Come in,” she called.
Looking much too cheerful for that hour, Liz popped into the room and laid something on the foot of the bed. “It’s a little chilly this morning. Here are some workout pants and a heavy sweatshirt.”
Maggie pulled herself into a sitting position, which only reminded her how much she needed to pee. She’d lacked the confidence with the crutches to negotiate her way to the bathroom during the night.
“How’s the leg? Mind if I take a look?” Without waiting for permission, Liz flipped up the blanket and gave Maggie’s toes a brief inspection. She deftly deflated the air cast with one hand. “I did show you how to let the air out? Squeeze this little valve. It vents the air.”
“Liz…”
“What?” Liz looked slightly annoyed that her demonstration had been interrupted.
“Good morning.”
“Oh, right. Good morning,” she said, looking chastened. “Sorry. I’ve been living alone too long. I forget the social amenities sometimes.”
“Social amenities are important.” Maggie put on her glasses so she could see and gave Liz a quick once-over. “It’s cold in here, and you’re standing there in shorts.”
“I’m a Mainer now. I’m used to it.” Liz unzipped the sweatshirt. Maggie thrust her arms into it, grateful for the warmth. “Your leg doesn’t look bad. How does it feel?”
Maggie glanced down at her ankle. It was swollen to twice its size and had bloomed like an angry orchid into multiple shades of purple and magenta. “It feels like it looks. Terrible.”
“It’s natural for a broken limb to swell,” Liz explained. “It’s nature’s way of splinting a fracture.”
“Thanks, Doctor, but can I get up and pee before the lecture?”
“Of course.” Liz brought the boot to the bedside but made no attempt to help her. “Go on. You need to figure this out for yourself.”
Maggie put on the boot correctly, but Liz pulled the Velcro tighter.
“I want to show you how the coffee maker works and a few other things before I go.”
“What time is it?” Maggie asked.
Liz turned the bedside clock. “Six thirty-five.”
“It’s criminal that you’re so cheerful at this hour.”
“I would have let you sleep longer, but you don’t know where anything is. I want you to be comfortable here while I’m gone.”
Liz helped her to her feet. As Maggie hobbled into the bathroom, she realized how much she liked feeling Liz’s touch.
The bathroom was equipped with bars for the handicapped, and Maggie gratefully used them to lower herself to the toilet. What a relief to pee! She raised her arm and gave her armpit a tentative sniff. She could use a shower. This version of Mama Mia was choreographed to be very active, and all the anxiety about the injury hadn’t helped. She’d wait to shower because Liz seemed to be in such a hurry.
Maggie found her way into the kitchen, an enormous open room with gleaming appliances, granite counter tops and cabinets made of gorgeous wood. Liz gestured to a stool at the island. “Or you could sit in the breakfast room and look at the garden.”
“No, here’s fine.” Maggie was pleased to have gotten that far in the ridiculous boot. She hiked herself up into the stool.
Liz demonstrated how to fill the little plastic pod with coffee and brew a cup. She filled another pod, evidently to reinforce the lesson. “I love the convenience of a single-serve coffee maker but hate
the plastic waste.” The coffee gurgled through the pin hole into a pottery cup decorated with a moose. “Up here, we separate our trash into three categories. Four, including compost.”
Liz slid a pad from a Habitat for Humanity appeal in Maggie’s direction. “I wrote down some information for you.” Maggie glanced at the pad. Each item had been carefully labeled: WiFi password. Hobbs Family Practice office number. The front desk at The Windward Inn. Liz pointed to that number. “Tell Lorna, I’ll pick up your clothes around 12:30 unless I get stuck with a patient or run into traffic. This is one of the busiest weekends of the summer.”
She gestured toward a counter near the refrigerator, where a toaster and breakfast items had been set out: old-fashioned bulk butter, strawberries and blueberries, jam, English muffins. “The hard boiled eggs in the fridge are fresh. I made them this morning. There’s yogurt and cheese. Help yourself to anything you find.”
“You’re going already? Can’t you have a cup of coffee with me?”
“Sorry, but I have to open the office this morning.”
Maggie scrutinized Liz, who was wearing khaki Bermuda shorts of some high-performance fabric, a violet polo shirt and hiking sandals, but at least today she had on some makeup. “You’re wearing that to the office?”
“Why not?” Liz glanced down at her clothes.
Maggie tried to moderate her look of disapproval. “It’s not very professional. When I first saw you, I couldn’t believe you were a doctor.”
Liz looked surprised. Then she laughed. “Maggie, you’re in Vacationland. No one thinks twice about what I wear. And if they do, I don’t give a flying fuck.” Liz glanced at the breakfast things on the counter. “There’s more coffee in the cabinet over the coffee maker. Anything else you think you might need?”
“No, I’m fine. Really. Thank you.”
“Oh, and there’s a landline phone in the hall. All the short dials are listed there too, including my cell.”
“Liz, go! I can manage.” Maggie gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and a little shove.
After Liz left, Maggie brewed more coffee. She knew she would need more than two cups. The morphine and ibuprofen had left her groggy, and her rhythm had been upset by working in theater again with its late nights and dinner after the show. She found the coffee—some locally roasted blend with a blue lobster on the bag and sat listening to the high-end coffee maker gurgle and spit dark, aromatic liquid into the moose cup while she assessed her situation.
