Kindred Spirits (32 page)

“Hit a deer, don’t forget,” Mary Kay added.

“And danced on tables in front of chemical engineers.” Carol bowed. “One of my finer moments, if I do say so myself.”

“And drank a mess of martinis,” Mary Kay said. “Tons.”

“But we didn’t find Julia.” Beth fiddled with the keys. “Our most important task and we fell short. I can’t get over it.”

Mary Kay opened the door. “Don’t take it so hard, Beth. Like Oprah says, it’s the journey, not the destination.” The rest of them followed suit, getting out and stretching their stiff muscles.

They helped Mary Kay carry her stuff to the porch. Mary Kay opened the door and the three of them stood there, not knowing exactly how to say good-bye. “I’d invite you in for martinis but, to be honest, I think I’m going on the wagon for a while. I need a whole new program of exercise and fruit, lots of sleep and meditation.”

“Exercise, yes,” Carol said. “I could do with a cleansing too. Hey, that’s what we should rename ourselves, the Ladies Society for the Conservation of Our Aging Bodies.”

Beth gave her a playful smack. “Don’t you dare. Look, I, for one, loved our martinis and when I get a chance I’m going to do something we should have done a long time ago: update the original Ladies Society for the Conservation of Marshfield cookbook with all our recipes. DeeDee Patterson’s 1966 edition is way outdated.”

“But all we revised were the martinis,” Carol said. “What about the hors d’oeuvres and soups and salads and main dishes, not to mention desserts?”

“You think anyone cares about those? All people care about are the drinks. And, on that note”—she leaned over and gave Mary Kay a hug—“is it champagne or tears tonight when you get together with Drake?”

“Tears, I’m afraid.” Mary Kay put on a brave smile and squeezed her back.

Carol put her arms around the other women and the three of them stood there, rocking silently, saying good-bye.

Breaking away, Carol wiped her damp cheeks and said, “Let’s make a deal. This winter, after the holidays, you two come down to New York and stay with me. By then, I’ll probably have a new, larger apartment and we can take in a few shows, go shopping, update the cookbook, that sort of thing. Agreed?”

And though Beth and Mary Kay had each been silently hoping Carol would have moved back to Marshfield by then, they agreed.

“As long as you promise that next summer when the roses are in bloom,” Mary Kay said, “you come home for a long weekend of drifting around the lake and hanging out in the pool.”

“Sounds divine.”

So, with more tears and hugs, they parted, waving good-bye and promising to keep in touch every day. Beth drove Carol to her old house, which was so dark and buttoned up tight she almost didn’t want to get out of the car.

“Come on,” Beth said, sensing her apprehension. “I’ll go in with you.”

“I probably won’t even see Jeff,” Carol said, checking under the planter and finding the spare house key in its old hiding position. “We’ll pass like ships in the night.”

Beth lingered on the steps as Carol stuck the key in the lock. “You want me to pick you up and drive you to the train station? I don’t mind.”

“No, thank you. Go see your father. I know you’re dying to.”

It was true. Even so, Beth said, “You sure?”

“I’m sure. You should be with your parents. You guys have a lot to discuss.” Carol pushed open the heavy door, revealing the slate foyer lined with boxes of memorabilia, china, knickknacks, and framed photos and, yes, those American Girl dolls. This was going to take hours. “Oh, geesh.”

“You’ll be here until tomorrow,” Beth said hopefully.

“I don’t think so. Jeff’s so efficient there must be a system to this mess that I’ll figure out soon enough.” Though Carol wondered how she was supposed to get this done in time to catch the eight p.m. train home.

“Well, call me if you need me. You know my cell.” Beth gave her a quick hug.

Carol stood on the doorstep as Beth climbed back into the Highlander and pulled away from the curb with a short beep good-bye. She watched until it took a left and disappeared around the corner and she was back to being alone.

Beth turned down their shared driveway and stared at Lynne’s empty house. She’d intended to grab her suitcase and head inside to call Marc and check on her parents but instead found herself wandering over to Lynne’s side door, cupping her hands against the glass and peering in. There was the kitchen with the same red-and-white gingham curtains, the red rooster cookie jar and electric teapot.

But there was no Lynne.

She tried the knob. Locked. Lynne had never locked up during the day. Never.

Beth didn’t know what else she expected. Of course, Lynne was gone. It was almost two weeks since she died and, eventually, the weeks would turn into months and the months would turn into years. Grass would grow over her grave and snow would blanket it in the winter.

Sean would erase Lynne’s voice from the answering machine, he’d change his listing in the phonebook from Sean and Lynne to just Sean. He might start seeing another woman—Lynne would have wanted that. Odds were likely that he’d sell the house and move permanently to their weekend cabin. And then another family would move in, people who’d never met Lynne, who never knew she existed.

Beth tried the knob again and turned away.

If this was how it was going to be from here on out, then maybe she and Marc should leave town too. Sadly, she let herself into her own kitchen and threw her keys on the counter. What would she do without Lynne? She could not live next door to that empty house.

It was time to move on.

After dumping her suitcase on a kitchen chair, she washed her hands and headed upstairs, almost missing the blinking red light on the telephone answering machine. That was strange. Most people, if they couldn’t reach her at home, would call her cell.

She pressed the button and listened. Two messages. The first was from Marc in a slightly anxious tone asking her to call him, that he had tried her cell and hadn’t had any luck. “It’s important, Beth. Call me as soon as you get this.”

It wasn’t like Marc to be excitable. Ever.

The next was from her mother. At least, she thought it was her mother. It was hard to tell with the blubbering voice halting and hiccupping from the machine. The best she could make out was “Grace Hospital” and “he’s going into surgery now.”

Beth fumbled for the phone and dialed Marc’s number. He answered on the first ring. “You’re home?” was all he said.

“Just got in. I must have missed your call.”

“Stay put. I’m coming to get you.” He was walking. She could tell by his rapid breathing, which only made her breathing rapid too.

“What’s wrong?” Though she knew. “Is it Dad?”

“He’s had another heart attack. He’s in surgery now and they’re doing all they can.” She heard the sound of a car door slamming. Marc was on his way. “But you should be prepared. It doesn’t look good.”

“Stay put,” she said, snatching up the keys. “I’ll get there faster if I drive myself.”

O
h, God. It was finally happening, everything she’d feared since her father suffered his first heart attack five years before was coming true.

Beth peeled off the backing from the ICU visitor pass and slapped the sticker above her left breast and pushed open the double doors to the white linoleum hallway, where the clinical smells of disinfectant and chlorine mingled with the all-too-human odors of urine and blood. She passed a gurney on which a gray-haired woman was being wheeled, unconscious, to destination unknown.

She dreaded hospitals and couldn’t stand the idea of her father being poked and prodded like a hunk of flesh.

What a relief to see Marc coming straight for her down the hall, smiling broadly in an effort, she knew, to assure her that everything was going to be all right. Even though, in her bones, she knew everything was not all right. Everything was very, very wrong.

Wordlessly, he gathered her into his arms and let her cry against his shoulder, rubbing her back in soothing circles. “It’s OK, Beth,” he murmured. “We got to him in time and these doctors know what they’re doing. They know him. You gotta have faith.”

After a while, they broke apart and Marc smoothed the tears off her cheeks. “That’s my brave girl.”

“Hah!” Beth blinked and sniffed. “Brave, nothing. I’m scared shitless.”

“Your father doesn’t think so. To him you are his smart, resourceful, beautiful daughter and I wholeheartedly agree.” He smiled.

Beth didn’t want to start crying again, so she brought up her sister. “Does Madeleine know?”

Marc ushered them through another set of swinging double doors to the heart of intensive care. “Your mother’s been talking to her. Lots of should-haves and if-onlys.”

So much for their brief sisterly rapprochement.

They turned a corner and found Elsie idling outside the waiting room, a crumpled ball of tissues in one hand, a half-empty Styrofoam cup of water in the other. She was surprisingly composed.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Elsie put down her cup and tissue and took both of Beth’s hands in hers, beaming kindness. She looked old, but capable. “Don’t worry, honey. Your father’s going to be fine. He’s still got a lot of that Brewster strength in him.”

“And what he doesn’t have in strength,” Beth said, hoping to comfort her mother, too, “he has in spirit.”

“That’s the attitude.” Elsie winked. “I’ll pass that on to Madeleine the next time she calls, which should be in”—she checked her watch—“five minutes. She’s so concerned.”

“Is she angry about us not taking him to New York?”

“No, no. Of course not. She understands time was of the essence. We can thank our lucky stars Grace was only five minutes away.”

“I mean . . . earlier. If we’d taken Maddy’s advice about the tests.”

“Oh, sweetie. Your father and I are touched by how much you and Maddy look after us. Most men should be so fortunate to have two grown daughters bickering over which hospital is the best for their father. But we’re not incapacitated, you know. Dad chose Grace because that’s what he wanted.”

Elsie brushed a strand of hair off Beth’s forehead. “Don’t look so hurt. He took your opinion into consideration. Maddy’s, too. Then he stayed here.”

Beth wished Maddy were there to see how strong their mother was. “You’re amazing, Mom.”

“I’ll go get us some coffee,” Marc said, wisely sensing that this was a moment for the Brewster women to be alone.

The mother and daughter watched him stroll toward the cafeteria. “You made an excellent choice with that one,” Elsie said. “If it hadn’t been for him, your father would be . . .” Elsie’s gaze wandered. “Gone.”

“
Gone?
As in . . . dead?”

“Marc stopped by this afternoon with some mail from the office and a James Bond video to keep your father entertained while he was recovering from the tests. Took one look at him and told me to call 911 immediately.”

Marc returned, balancing two cups of coffee, some yogurt, and a banana. “There’s not much there that’s edible. But this should keep you going.” Elsie only wanted the coffee and to stay out of the waiting room, which she found depressing and noisy, what with the TV on full blast.

So Marc got her a chair and a
People
magazine. Then he sat beside her and took her hand in his, the two of them talking and not talking. Beth found a chair at the end of the hall and dragged it over so she was on her mother’s other side.

Hours later, that’s how the heart surgeon found them, quietly holding one another’s hands, when he came down the hall, pulled off his mask, and delivered the news.

Carol removed a pair of soft, worn jeans from her weekend bag, along with her familiar dark green Middlebury sweatshirt. In the downstairs powder room that she had redone herself in a French Country motif with tea-stained walls and blue accent tiles, she pulled her hair into a ponytail and washed her face. It was only five o’clock. Jeff normally didn’t make it home until seven, maybe seven thirty, so she had plenty of time to snoop.