The Shoebox

by Lisa Fernandez

  Amanda sat back in her chair and smiled, the dimple creased into her cheek. “Dillon is four, and Robby is three.”

  “They belong to Hope’s or Janie?” Amy took another helping of potato salad.

  Amanda smiled widely. “Dillon is Hope’s, and Robby is Janie’s.”

  “Tell them, honey.” Jake took her hand, almost laughing with excitement.

  “You’re pregnant.” Peter blurted.

  Amy laughed, spilling her water glass in her lap.

  “I still got it, Peter.” Jake leaned into Amanda. “Right, babe?”

  “I’m not pregnant.” Amanda smiled. “But Janie is, and she’s having twin girls.”

  Amy leaned out of her chair to hug Amanda, Lance clapped Jake on the back, and Peter reached for a glass and stood for a toast. When he struggled to keep his balance, Amy glanced at Amanda.

  Peter finally freed his hand from the table and held his glass upright. “Here’s to Janie’s new baby girls. May they be healthy, and may they bring as much happiness to their family as their grandparents and mother and aunt have brought to me.”

  They clicked glasses and drank.

  Peter cleared his throat. “And here’s to the one we all miss, whom we know is missing us all right now, even in heaven where she gets to have everything her own way to her heart’s content.” Tears sparkled in his eyes over his shaking smile.

  “Hear, hear.” The sound of clicking glasses was clear in the twilight, and Jake put his arm around Amanda as she wiped her eyes on her napkin, laughing even as she cried.

  “And one more.” Peter adjusted his balance and glanced at the two of them meaningfully. “Here’s to Amanda, who is here with us as healthy and beautiful as ever.”

  “Hear, hear!” Jake kissed Amanda tenderly.

  Amy clapped, and Lance lifted his glass to Amanda, who smiled through her tears and shook her head, patting Jake’s cheek. The citronella torches wavered lightly in the breeze; as Peter lowered himself carefully back into his chair.

  “So, Peter, any dates yet? Madeline and Nick—have they decided when to get married?”

  “If Nick could marry her today he would.” Peter sipped his wine.

  “So what’s the problem?” Amy looked at him over the rim of her glass.

  “Madeline. She says she wants to get settled before she gets married. She doesn’t want to rush into anything young. The idea of getting settled wasn’t an issue before, and now all of a sudden it’s all she talks about.”

  “Commitment can be an issue for some people.” Jake smiled at Amanda. “Not me.”

  “Madeline’s just so cautious about everything.” Peter smiled sadly. “She almost didn’t wear Nick’s ring when he gave it to her and now, Madeline suddenly wants to plan everything out in detail, try to control her life even more obsessively than Tara—as if that’s going to ensure anything. I’ve told her I think Nick is a great guy.”

  “Maybe she’s right,” Lance said. “Maybe they are too young.”

  “I want her to have chance at happiness while she still can.”

  “At nineteen? That’s how old she will by the wedding.” Lance raised his eyebrows.

  “We were just twenty when we got married.” Jake lifted his glass. “And look how it turned out for us!”

  Amanda leaned forward with her own glass raised. But when Peter clicked glasses with them, he remembered Madeline as a baby in his arms. It felt like just a short time ago to him and now his daughter was a young woman.

  “Game starts in five minutes.” Lance checked his watch.

  “Remote’s on the table.” Peter struggled to his feet as Jake stood and blew out the citronella torches.

  “We’ll take care of this.” Amy reached to stack the plates, and she and Amanda carried them through the sliding glass door into the kitchen.

  Jake turned to Peter, and for a moment they looked at each other. “What are you going to do if Maddy wants you back?”

  “Tell her I want to spend what’s left of my life with her.”

  “No way! Have you thought about the possibility that she might be married?”

  “If she’s happy, she won’t do anything. But if she’s not, I want to be with her. It’s all I can do—open my heart completely and let her see I’m still the same guy who caught her in my arms on that pier so many years ago.”

  Jake glanced toward the kitchen doorway. “Well, look at me: old and fat and more in love than ever. Who would have guessed?”

  Peter’s eyes filled at the thought. “Yeah.” He gripped Jake’s shoulder. “That’s because she never saw you with a hockey stick.”

  “Cocky till the end, old man?”

  “Who you calling old man?” Peter laughed out loud.

  “Put up your dukes!” Jake stood laughing behind Peter as he made his way around the table. “But, buddy, let’s watch the game first.”

  Peter’s walk was slower, his face a little peaked, and Jake opened the door and offered his hand. “We’ll see about the ice,” Jake mumbled as Peter passed him.

  “I heard that.” Peter glanced, smiling, over his shoulder as he leaned on the door that Jake held patiently for him.

  Chapter 41

  Photograph

  Peter sat on the new bed in the Michaels’s old guest room. He looked around at his childhood home, where he had started out so lean and hopeful so many years ago. Amy had made the guest room warm and functional with a twin-sized bed, his old scarred dresser against the wall, and a sturdy leather recliner with handles on the sides. On his dresser stood a framed photo of Madeline and Nick, Madeline smiling Tara’s dazzling smile, with Peter’s silky dark hair over her shoulders and Amanda’s warmth in her sparkling blue eyes.

  “Peter, come!” Amy called from the living room.

  Peter stood with effort, leaning on the bedside table, and walked slowly down the hall past Richard’s old study and the doorway to the kitchen.

  “How’s the room?” Lance reached over to help as Peter took a seat. “Comfortable? I hope you like the chair. They’re great for your lower lumbar region.”

  “I tried it. It really is helpful.”

  Lance smiled. “We’re glad you’re here with us this weekend. Now I have someone to watch the games with! Amy hates sports.”

  Amy laughed. “I watch the game with you.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t enjoy it.”

  Amy reached for Peter’s hand. “We are glad you’re here, big brother. I promise—once you get used to the comforts of home, you’ll be ready to give up your house in the city altogether. I know Victoria’s happy her Uncle Peter is here this weekend, and Matthew’s just hoping you’ll decide to never leave again.”

  “You know I love your kids.”

  “Kids!” Lance laughed. “I can’t believe I actually have a daughter in high school.”

  “Try having one engaged!” Peter pretended to wipe the sweat from his brow.

  The front door flew open, and a little boy with Jake’s curly hair and irrepressible grin ran across the living room. “Uncle Pedder! It’s Uncle Pedder here!”

  Peter loved how he said his name.

  “Uncle Peter!” Victoria ran after him, brushing her bangs back from her face, and threw out her arms. “When did you arrive?”

  “Just now.” Peter hugged her as the little boy climbed onto the couch and wrapped his small arms around them both. “Hey, tiger.” Peter pulled the little boy into the hug. “How’s my Robby?”

  “He’s fine,” Robby said casually as he picked at Peter’s collar. “Do you live here now?”

  “No.” Peter kissed him quickly three times—once on each cheek and in the middle of his forehead. “Where’s your cousin Dillon?”

  Victoria winked. “We thought it would be fun for Robby to get a little special attention this afternoon. Those twins take a
lot of time and energy. Janie had to take the twins to the pediatrician so it worked out perfectly. She loves when we babysit.”

  “Is that true Robby are the twins a lot of work?” Peter said to Robby in a low voice.

  Robby nodded solemnly. “Too much. They should sit still more.”

  “Robby, please just be careful with Uncle Peter.” Amy smiled as Robby climbed over Victoria to get at Peter.

  Peter waved a hand in the air. “Don’t worry, Aunt Amy. Uncle Pedder’s always fine with a child on his lap.” He played with the curly hair.

  Robby jumped off Peter’s lap and took something from his pocket to put behind his back. He stretched out his closed hand to Peter, a tail visible. “Guess what?” Robby opened his hand and threw it on Peter’s lap. “It’s a mouse!”

  Peter jumped to make Robby laugh. “I see you brought Stuart.” Peter lifted the rubber mouse by its tail and stood it up in the palm of his hand to show Robby.

  “Stuwart?” He said in his sweet toddler voice.

  “Stuart Little.” Peter glanced at Victoria and Amy. “Don’t tell me your mother hasn’t taught you about Stuart Little! Have you never heard Stuart’s voice?”

  Robby shook his head.

  “What is this world coming to?” Peter gave a mock frown over the little curly head. “Your family has obviously neglected your education something shameful.” Peter pulled Robby close, and in a moment Peter was talking to him in a tiny high-pitched voice. Robby, entranced, touched his lips, and Peter laughed. Their laughter was infectious, and Amy laughed with them as she put an arm around Victoria, their matching heads close. They smiled as Peter tickled Robby, who fell against him giggling uncontrollably.

  Peter looked up, his eyes twinkling. “Victoria, honey, you know where it is. Would you—?”

  Victoria ran to a built-in bookshelf by Richard’s old recliner and pulled out a well-worn copy of Stuart Little. She snuggled onto the couch next to Peter and laid her head on his shoulder while he settled Robby on his lap. Peter kissed Victoria’s silky hair, so loose and shining, just as Amy’s had been when she was a teenager.

  “I’m really glad you’re here, bro.” Amy sat on the arm of Lance’s chair, and he put an arm around her waist.

  “Me too, sis.” Peter smiled over the top of the book as he opened it. “I’ll bill you later for the babysitting.”

  The next morning Peter was secretly relieved to find that Amy and Lance had left for church by the time he woke. He didn’t want her fussing over him.

  During Peter’s last bone scan and physical, the doctor had strongly suggested he not live alone. Amy was still in her fifties, and Peter remained as rugged as ever with his full head of silvering-white hair, but his aggressive arthritic condition and health, his posture and mobility, made him appear much older.

  “This isn’t going to be easy,” he mumbled, crumpling Amy’s note. He wanted to walk the streets he had walked all his life, feel the familiarity of Chatham he had always known.

  Peter took the keys lying on the kitchen island and picked up a light jacket. He glanced at the cane Amy bought for him but left it by the door. Back home in Boston, the doctors had suggested aggressive physical therapy. Well, this was as aggressive as it could get.

  He stepped off of the two porch steps onto the pavement, holding onto the rail. Each step on cement caused slight pain in his right hip and knees.

  “I’ll just take it slow.” He made his way around the house and corner. It was a bit painful at first, but he developed a stride that worked. When he passed a parked car, he saw his reflection in the window and stopped. He closed his eyes and breathed the sea air. He heard seagulls in the distance and realized he was only a block from the marina.

  He crossed the street with caution and took a break along the walkway, leaning over the low stonewall to look at the ocean and magnificent sailing vessels on the bay. Schooners and sailboats, fishing boats and yachts headed out to Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket. The breeze blew his hair back, long and silky over his ears. Amy had told him he was in desperate need of a haircut.

  “For whom?”

  She had smiled and shaken her head. “So pigheaded!”

  Peter stared hard at one particular sailboat that reminded him strongly of Richard’s. He and Amy had been forced to sell the boat after Richard and Sheila passed, and it had hurt Peter someplace deep inside, a piece of him gone forever.

  As he gazed at the beautiful lines and woodwork of the sailboat on the bay, he remembered a time when he had been a sailor, so young and muscular and determined. How blessed he had been.

  When he got to the street corner, he saw Frani’s Café and stopped in front of it. Their meeting place: Plato and two halves of a soul.

  The little bell over the door tinkled as Peter went in. The café had changed little over the years, still the same old Frani’s with the same welcoming air of familiarity. A waitress in a checkered apron with her hair in a ponytail smiled and pointed to a booth as she picked up a menu. Before he was seated, she was already at the table with a carafe of coffee and a mug.

  “Coffee?” She eased the table slightly away from the booth so Peter could sit. She filled the mug and laid the menu on the table. “Let me know when you’re ready to order.”

  “Thank you. A slice of your apple pie, please.”

  “That’s easy. One second, Pops!” She smiled and went behind the counter.

  Pops! Where did she get that? Sure, he was an uncle, godfather to Amanda and Jake’s daughters, and great-uncle to all the little ones. He knew he would love it someday when Madeline had children and he could be known as Pop-Pop. But he wasn’t a grandfather at Frani’s. He was lean and tan, handsome and flirtatious. If he’d been just a bit younger he would have charmed the checkered apron off that young waitress.

  When had life changed? He took a bite of pie and glanced up at the wall.

  There it was after all these years.

  He reached up stiffly and took the photo down from the wall, wondering if anyone had handled that wooden frame since the two of them so long ago. A film of dust obscured the glass. Peter wiped it with his napkin.

  He smiled. What a gift the photograph had been to him and Maddy. A fleeting moment captured forever on paper was magic too great to fully understand. He realized his mind was like that paper, full of endless photos of Maddy.

  The waitress appeared at his table. “Are you okay, sir? Anything I can do?”

  “I was just admiring this photo. I hadn’t seen it in a long while.”

  “That was the previous owner and his wife, I believe. The original Frani.”

  Peter caught his breath. “Why didn’t he take it with him? Didn’t anyone tell him he had left it here?”

  “I don’t think so. He died, and the bank auctioned off the café. My boss bought this place for—” She leaned in, her ponytail flopping over her shoulder, and whispered. “Real cheap. It’s a shame. Supposedly the owner had no one to leave it to.”

  Peter felt a cold chill down his spine. “That’s terrible.”

  “Awful. More coffee?”

  “I’m good. Listen, do you think your boss would mind if I bought this picture? It meant something to me once, and I would hate for someone to just throw it out.”

  She smiled and lowered her voice. “Just stick it in your jacket. No one will ever miss it.”

  “No one will ever miss it.” Peter carried the picture under his arm, his heart aching.

  No one to grieve for this couple or to inherit their café on which they had worked so hard, named for the woman the man had loved. Peter pictured the photo tossed in the garbage and felt the pain sharpen in his chest. He paused to look at the photo. He was glad he had been bold enough to ask for it. He felt privileged. It was as if they looked out of the frame at him.

  He began to walk again, and now he was angry. Angry that no
one seemed to care that these people were once alive and in love, that they had created an entire life together. Had that waitress known that Peter was a talented architect, one of the designers of the modern Boston skyline? That he was responsible for the library that won Boston more architectural awards than any single building in its history and spawned the entire Old Town Restoration Project? That his Portal to the Past was still used as an example in architectural schools across the country?

  Did that waitress know he played guitar and could sing just enough to charm the world’s most charming woman? If she had, would her reaction have been any different?

  He wanted to shout out that he had loved a woman in a way most people never know love. He had known love for what it really is! Inside of him still lived that younger self, headstrong and passionate, still longing for the woman of his heart.

  Chapter 42

  Estate

  Maddy stood in the Marsden’s empty kitchen in front of a table piled with plates and old newspapers. It had been awhile now since the night of Maddy’s honorary ceremony when Ann Marsden had passed so unexpectedly of undiagnosed heart disease, just as her mother had long before her. Maddy paused at the memory of the mother and grandmother she had loved so much, the losses so early. Perhaps love was always meant to be fleeting for her.

  She sighed.

  It had been a difficult journey for Tom. He’d gone to pieces with grief over Ann’s death, and his memory decline began only a few years later, until he was no longer able to take proper care of himself. Kate and Sam had picked out an assisted-living facility for him, moved him with his most cherished mementos, and later visited him three times a week, bringing Maddy every Saturday. They bought Tom his favorite jelly donuts from a neighborhood bakery, they checked on his clothing, and Kate took inventory of his bureau drawers. After Kate and Maddy filled Tom in on their lives every weekend, they all watched Wheel of Fortune together in the main sitting room.

  Tom never spoke after the early months. On a good day he might give them eye contact and a nod, but normally he just sat staring at the television as they fed him pieces of donut or spoonfuls of cheesecake. They used a straw so he wouldn’t aspirate liquid into his lungs. Eventually, he wore diapers and had to be changed by the nurses. It was devastating for Maddy and Kate, but, tragically, it became mundane.