Sea Glass Summer (12 page)

‘That must have been hard.' Sarah felt her eyes sting. A brilliant career might have compensated in part for what he was enduring now.

‘Sonny's given name is Charles. He was named after his father, a tradition going back three or four generations. My husband didn't want him to be Charlie. We assumed he'd shift to Charles as he got older, but he refused.' Gwen opened the door for Jumbo, and then filled the coffee cups. ‘His wife, Beatrice, joked about their wedding, claiming he mumbled: “I, Charles Edward Norris,” as if afraid someone would jump up and accuse him of using an alias. She was a lovely person, with a great sense of humor. She taught business at Fieldhurst, a small, private university in Rhode Island, where Sonny headed the music department. What inspired him most was working with promising children, recommended by their grade school music teachers. No children for him and Beatrice, something never discussed with me; sadly she died from breast cancer five years ago. And shortly afterwards Sonny moved in with me. It worked well for both of us. He was ready to retire from the university and concentrate on tutoring. The first indication of his decline was when he began forgetting appointments with students.'

‘How terribly sad for you both.' The heartfelt words sounded flimsy to Sarah's own ears.

Gwen lightly touched her shoulder. ‘I'm glad we've met. I only wish it could have been under different circumstances. Let's sit down and enjoy our coffee. Sonny and I have both known a great deal of happiness, separately and together. And there will still be joy ahead; finding it is rather like searching for pieces of sea glass washed up onto the beach. Just when you're about to stop looking, it's there to be picked up – something small and beautiful. Perhaps that sounds fanciful.'

Sarah looked across the kitchen table at her. ‘What you just said was rather wonderful, Mrs Norris.'

‘Thank you, my dear, but I should have mentioned that my name isn't Norris. Sonny's father and I divorced. A year later I married my late husband, John Garwood.'

After days of rain the sky was as blue as Gwen's eyes, and the garden bathed in sunshine. She welcomed its comforting warmth as she knelt, dressed in an old pair of slacks and sweater, weeding a perennial flowerbed in the front yard. The chill that had penetrated her body on discovering that Sonny had taken the car had still been there when she had woken that morning. It had ebbed during the hour she had spent talking with Sarah Draycott over coffee and croissants, but had seeped back when that nice young woman left. Reality had to be faced. Last evening could have been so much worse, but it served as a warning that more must be done to protect Sonny from himself. Sarah had been so generous, making light of what had happened, and even offering to return in the coming week and take Jumbo for a walk. Gwen had gratefully accepted for the dog's sake and her own. She very much wanted to spend more time with Sarah, without forcing a friendship.

Gwen set the trowel down and straightened up, to look toward the rustic bench where Sonny sat, holding a newspaper, but looking over it with that unfocused gaze. Sometimes he appeared to read, but how much he absorbed she didn't know. He had always been keenly interested in politics and what was happening on the world scene. Now that was lost, along with so much else, including, until last night, any willingness to sit down at the piano. He had not mentioned Sarah this morning. A burst of yellow, like concentrated sunshine, from the forsythia bush behind the bench, along with the deep pink of the azaleas, emphasized his depleted appearance. He had grown from a sensitive boy into a serious man, but one with a dry sense of humor, which included an ability to laugh at his own foibles. A trait developed, perhaps, as a defense against his father's ever-ready criticism of any blunder or ineptitude.

As she walked toward him, the memory returned vividly of the afternoon when Rowena's engagement to John was announced – she at the piano – and the scene that had dragged her up from her music. Sonny knocking over the lamp and his father's enraged reaction. Anger out of all proportion to the incident. The more shocking because such a display had never previously occurred when company, even family, was present. And rarely in private. Charles had, in general, vented with the cutting barb, or by icy withdrawal. Caught up in all the emotions John had evoked in her since their meeting in the garden, Gwen hadn't dwelt on the reason for her husband's loss of control. She had hurried Sonny from the room to the kitchen to console him. The kitchen because Mrs Broom was there to produce a cookie and glass of chocolate milk. Sonny had loved Mrs Broom. And she, in turn, had been devoted to him.

Gwen sat down beside her son on the bench. He glanced at her without speaking, but she saw his expression lift. Sometimes their closest communication came without talking. This was such a beckoning time of year. A good part of her love for gardens was the sounds. Some enlivening, some dreamily soporific, as with the bee now buzzing among the azaleas. The family two doors down on her side kept hives, selling the honey at the village market. So many cottage industries in Maine. There were few houses on Ridge Farm Rise. Hers, the original farmhouse, sat a good distance back from the road. She could only see half of the Baldwin's house, across the road, from where she sat.

Poor Madge. Gwen had phoned her, after doing the breakfast dishes, to briefly fill her in on the outcome of Sonny's taking the car. She had stressed that Madge must not blame herself for his having taken it. On ending the call, she had remained uncertain that she had put the matter to rest. Madge was a nice woman, warmly generous and a tireless volunteer for good causes, perhaps taking on too much. Gwen sensed she was also the type of person who thrives on drama.

Beyond the houses was a wildflower meadow that in summer resembled a Monet; it was fringed by woodland through which ran a walking path that ended at Halcyon Street, on the edge of Sea Glass's shopping and business area, above the common. It was getting warmer; the weather forecast had predicted highs in the mid-seventies. It was good to sit idle, bathed in warmth, hearing the small waterfall to her left splashing musically down a rocky incline to disappear under a culvert and reappear as a brook on the other side of the road. So peaceful, but she couldn't allow her mind to drift. She had to think how best to locate an in-home carer, one with a personality acceptable to Sonny.

A few months previously she had hired a woman from an agency. She had been told, by several people, that she was the best in the area. Sonny had resented her from the start; she had fidgeted over his every move, talking at him rather than to him. When ordered, rather than cajoled, to take his medication, he had responded with belligerence. The agency had sent someone else. That hadn't worked out any better. He had subsequently lumped both women together, never mentioning there had been two, talking about
that
woman you brought here. Gwen wondered now if her mistake had been having the help during the day time, her idea being that this freed up time for her to take care of what needed to be done, including getting Jumbo out for his walks. Also it had enabled her to take afternoon naps, in compensation for broken nights' sleep. This time she would seek a person willing to do the night shift. On Monday, she would place an ad in the local weekly paper.

She felt better having that sorted out in her mind. There was something about a garden at this time of year, on the verge of summer, which was visibly hopeful. The leaves on the trees still had that look of tender awakening. The lawn was a lush green, still too wet for mowing. The Hardwicks, the family with the hives, had a teenage son who did the mowing for her. He was a delightful boy and completely reliable. He would come over as soon as the time was right. Sonny had been so good with that age group, with all the children he tutored. He turned to her now. ‘Where is Mrs Broom?' It was one of those questions that came out of the blue.

Gwen hesitated; she always attempted to gage what truth he could accept. ‘She died, dear, but after a full life, and she and I continued to keep in touch throughout the years. The last time I heard from her she had become a great-grandmother.'

It took several moments for him to answer. So often his mind wandered off in another direction, from one sentence to the next. Not this time. ‘I loved Mrs Broom.'

‘We all did. She was a wonderful woman, and perhaps the best friend I ever had.'

‘She didn't like the way Dad treated me.'

‘Didn't she?' Gwen reached for his hand. ‘Oh, Sonny, your father was fond of you; he just had difficulty expressing affection.'

‘He thought I was too like you. Why didn't you leave him sooner?' It was a man's question, voiced with concerned interest.

‘I convinced myself I was the one to blame.' She kissed his cheek. ‘How do you feel about our taking Jumbo for a walk?'

‘I'll stay.'

That, of course, wouldn't work. Time to go back inside. She had just recovered the trowel from the flower bed, when a car – her car – turned into the driveway. It drew to a stop in front of the garage. She hadn't given the Cadillac a thought since the Englishman, Sid Jennson, had offered to assess its drivability. Now here he was getting out of the driver's side.

‘Checked out just fine,' he said as she came up to him.

‘Thank you so very much, you've been more than kind.' She smiled back at him. She had never met him before yesterday, which made his coming to her aid the more appreciated. That was Sea Glass for you. Someone always seemed to turn up in a crisis to lend a helping hand. It more than made up for the fact that nothing remained a secret for more than ten minutes. Sonny was ambling toward them. The contrast between the two men was stark, especially so considering they were probably around the same age. Mr Jennson, upright, vigorous and healthily complexioned, his thick hair gleaming silver in the morning sunlight. Sonny slump-shouldered and way too thin.

‘Want me to drive it into the garage?'

‘That's all right, I'll do it.'

‘Righty-ho.' He handed over the keys. ‘By the way, I've fixed that fence. Had some of the same picket in the garage, left over from fencing in an area for the dog. The wife would have conniptions if it got loose and anything happened to it. I don't think anyone will notice the repair. I did it early enough this morning; doubt any neighbors saw the damage.'

‘What kindness. Such a weight off my mind.'

Sonny had reached them, and Gwen worried that he would turn belligerent, even accuse Mr Jennson of stealing the car, but that didn't prove to be the case.

‘I know you,' he said. ‘You're a friend of hers, the one who looks like my Aunt Rowena.'

‘I think I heard that. I have an aunt, she lives in England. Miss her a lot, I do.' Mr Jennson drew a hand through the thick silver hair. ‘Enjoy talking about her when I can get someone to listen. How'd you like me to come back with my car, so we could go for a drive and then maybe over to my house for a chat? You'd be doing me a favor, with the wife gone visiting our daughter, I'd be more than glad of the company.' He was now looking at Gwen.

‘What do you think, Sonny, of Mr Jennson's invitation?' she asked.

‘Make it Sid.'

‘I'll go.'

‘It's only a short walk to your house, Sid.' Gwen's face was alight with gratitude. ‘So if it's all right with you, there's no need to fetch your car.'

‘Suits me. How about you, Sonny?'

‘Fine.'

‘Then let's say,' the friend-in-need said to Gwen, ‘we'll be back when your son's had enough of me, hopefully not for a couple of hours at least. If you've a fancy to get out for a bit yourself, you could leave the door unlocked. We could come in and wait for you if necessary.'

‘Thank you, I'll do that.' This was such a gift; she could feel tears welling up, but managed to hold back until he had disappeared from view. No second thoughts about allowing Sonny to go off with a virtual stranger. Nellie Armitage, whom she had known for years, spoke highly of him and his wife. They lived across the road from her on Wild Rose Way. Nellie eventually got round to talking about everyone. And if anyone knew the ins and outs of human nature it was Nellie. Gwen had gotten acquainted with her through the garden club. She was not a member, attending only sporadically for, she admitted frankly, the social aspect. Which, Gwen thought with a smile, that blended with the tears that had slipped down her face, meant keeping a finger in the pie. Nellie took a similar interest in the dinner theater, the historical society, and the Sea Glass Lobster Fest Committee, to name but a few. She was also a staunch advocate for the food pantry and soup kitchen.

Jumbo greeted Gwen in the hall. She wiped away the tears and told him they were going for a walk, at which he woofed enthusiastically and fetched his leash from the mud room. She would like to get him out for an hour. If Sonny could not settle with Sid Jennson and asked . . . demanded to be returned almost immediately, that would mean quite a wait for her return. But it would be unfair to Jumbo to waste this opportunity. She attached his leash and left a note, stating when she would return, taped to the front door.

Jimmy Hardwick, who mowed her lawn, was skate boarding on his black-topped driveway. She returned his smiling greeting – such a lovely boy – and with Jumbo trotting to heel reached the meadow which spread out on both sides of the road. Its softly stirring grasses were already sprinkled with buttercups. She proceeded along the woodland path. When they had gone a little deeper, she would let Jumbo off the leash so he could enjoy a good ramble. He always came immediately when called, otherwise she would not have risked it. The trees grew very close together in places, the tops of the pines a dark olive, making other leaves appear lime green in comparison. It extended for a couple of miles. Not a place to get lost in, especially at night. Signs were posted at regular intervals, instructing walkers to keep to the path. The proximity to the woods contributed to Gwen's inability to get a good night's sleep. She always dead-bolted the front and back doors before going to bed. But there was no way, without her being on hand, to stop Sonny from getting out of the house if he was determined to do so. She had convinced herself that this was unlikely; it had taken increasing persuasion to get him to leave the house. This had made his willingness to go with Sid Jennson seem little short of a miracle. But, after yesterday, she could allow no mistakes when it came to ensuring he did not get away from the house on his own.