For Renata

by B Robert Sharry

  "Yes, you might want to have a shave, because I invited Renata."

  "Oh, my God, she's coming here?"

  "Well, what choice did I have? I invited both of you to my house, but you couldn't be bothered..."

  Peter flew up the narrow staircase. A few moments later Bridey heard the bathroom shower start. She smiled to herself and continued to set the table for three. Then the old woman leaned on the kitchen counter and watched for Renata through the window above the sink. Renata arrived ten minutes later. She carried a brown-glazed earthenware bowl covered with aluminum foil. Bridey opened the door wide as she approached.

  "Hello, dear," Bridey said, "I'm so glad you could make it. You look lovely, as usual."

  "Hello, Bridey, and Happy Thanksgiving to you in advance."

  They kissed cheeks, first the right, then the left. The bowl Renata was holding poked lightly into Bridey's stomach and the older woman winced.

  "I'm sorry, Bridey. Are you all right?"

  "Of course, dear, I'm fine."

  "You're looking very svelte these days, what's your secret?" Renata asked.

  "Oh, no secret. At some point we old ladies just begin to eat like a bird, that's all."

  Renata set the bowl down on the kitchen counter. She removed her coat and looked around the light keeper's quarters. Her eyes fell upon the spot in front of the fireplace where Peter had served up her favorite meal, and a sad smile came to her lips. She turned back to face Bridey.

  "How is he?" she asked.

  "Oh, he's sad and miserable and broken-hearted and brooding. He misses you so."

  Renata gave a heavy sigh. "I feel the same way, but I have to do what I think is best."

  "I understand, dear."

  "Where is he?" Renata asked.

  Bridey smiled. "When he learned you were coming, he ran upstairs to shower and shave. I expect he's preening his feathers right now, and that our little peacock will come bounding down the stairs at any moment."

  Bridey gave Renata a once-over. "If I didn't know better, I might think you did a little extra preening yourself."

  Renata smiled and blushed.

  "Sorry, dear," Bridey continued. "That wasn't at all fair of me."

  Bridey walked over to the bowl Renata had brought and took an edge of the aluminum foil in her hand. "May I?"

  "Of course," Renata answered.

  Bridey removed the foil and bent over the bowl.

  "Some type of pudding, dear? It looks yummy."

  "Well, I hope it tastes better than its name. In Portuguese it's called baba de camelo. But I'm afraid to tell you what that means because you might find it offensive."

  "Ooo, is it naughty, dear? Because I might be old, but I'm no prude, you know. Once, when I was a girl, my best friend, Sally, and I made our own variation on a cream Swiss roll. We shaped it just so," Bridey gestured with her hands, "and we called it..." She leaned in toward Renata and lowered her voice to a whisper, "Adonis's Dick."

  Bridey howled with laughter and then covered her mouth with her hands. Renata began to giggle.

  "And then..." Bridey said, still laughing. "And then...when we heard Sally's mother come home, we dove in and gobbled the whole thing up as fast as we could so that she wouldn't see what we had done."

  Both women were so convulsed with laughter that they had to dab tears from their eyes. Renata snorted. Finally, Bridey ended her laughter with a long, drawn-out sigh.

  "Ahhhhhh," she said, "Now what does baba de camelo mean?"

  Renata closed her mouth and held her breath, trying to stave off more laughter. "Camel's drool," she finally managed to blurt out.

  Bridey was silent for a moment, and looked befuddled. "Drool? But that's not naughty, that's just...disgusting."

  Both women began to howl again. Through her laughter Bridey was barely able to say, "You simply must give me the recipe."

  "I'll trade you for Adonis's Dick." Renata screamed.

  When their hysterics had died down again, Bridey said, "Seriously, dear, tell me how you make it."

  "It's so simple," said Renata, "I cook a can of condensed milk for about an hour. Then I beat half a dozen egg yolks into the milk. I whip the egg whites and mix them in. I put it in the fridge for a few hours, and then sprinkle the top with almond slices just before I serve it."

  "Sounds lovely. I can't wait to try it. And I'll bet you're anxious to try Adonis's..."

  Peter bounded down the stairs. "Hey, what's all the commotion down here? I can't leave you girls alone for five minutes..."

  Peter got to the bottom of the stairs, and his gaze locked with Renata's. Bridey looked on, shifting her attention back and forth between the two.

  Peter and Renata were wearing the same outfits they'd had on the night Peter had made her dinner, their best outfits.

  "Hello," Peter said.

  "Hello" was Renata's only reply.

  "It certainly sounded like you girls were having a lot of fun down here, what'd I miss?"

  Renata and Bridey looked at each other and smiled.

  "Oh," said Bridey, "just girl talk, swapping recipes..."

  "I should put the dessert in the fridge, if there's room," Renata said.

  "Oh, there's plenty of room," said Bridey, "All I saw in there was some beer, eggs, butter, and sour milk. Oh, and something growing, which I assume is a science experiment you're doing, Peter?"

  Peter hurried over to the fridge and grabbed the moldy leftover, and then dropped it, plate and all, into the trash. He held the refrigerator door open for Renata as she placed the baba de camelo inside.

  "Heavens," Bridey said, "I'm developing the forgetful mind of an old woman. I just realized I left the gravy on the countertop. I'll just run over and get it."

  "I can go for you," Renata said.

  "Thank you, dear, but no. You keep an eye on the turkey for me. I'll be back in a jiffy," she said, putting her coat on and heading out the door.

  Renata walked over to the kitchen window and watched Bridey as she made her way down the lane.

  "I was surprised when Bridey told me you were coming," Peter said. "Pleasantly surprised, I mean."

  "Well, I didn't think I should, but I find it impossible to refuse Bridey."

  "I know what you mean," Peter agreed. "She's like an irresistible force. Trouble is, she's so cheerful and well-meaning that it's hard to be cross with her for long, even when she meddles."

  "I'm worried about her," Renata said. "She's lost a great deal of weight."

  "I noticed that too," said Peter. "But she's still the same old Bridey. She enters a room like a little tornado. She causes a commotion, and before long everything and everybody is disrupted, but somehow it's in a good way."

  Renata smiled and nodded her head in agreement. She turned around to face Peter. "So, how is your painting coming along, and your music?"

  "I haven't done either since I lost my muse."

  Renata blushed. "Peter, I..."

  "I'm sorry, that was unfair. I just...miss you so much," the young man groped for the right words. "My life started to make some sense again after you came into it, and now...now, nothing feels right. It's selfish, I know, but it made me happy to have you here. And I hadn't been happy for a long, long time."

  The kitchen door opened and Bridey burst through it carrying a Limoges gravy boat. "It's a bit lumpy, but it'll just have to do," she said, placing it on the table. Hearing no response, she looked up at Peter and Renata, who were searching the floor with their eyes.

  "Well, I don't know about you two, but I'm famished. Renata, be a dear and take the turkey from the oven before it dries out completely, and scoop the stuffing into a bowl. Peter, you're in charge of opening the wine. I'll pop the rolls into the oven and give the potatoes and butternut squash a final stir."

  When they sat down to eat Bridey said how thankful she was to have two young friends who were willing to share their time with an old woman. Renata said, "No, Bridey, we're the lucky ones, you're a joy to be with."
<
br />   "She's right, Bridey, we're the lucky ones," Peter agreed.

  Before long laughter reentered the room as Bridey regaled her audience with reminiscences of growing up in a small town in upstate New York. When something struck her funny, Bridey would stamp her feet as she laughed, giving Peter a glimpse of the young girl she had been. He also noticed that Bridey's once-double chin had shrunk to a thin, wrinkly wattle that shook when she laughed.

  "...And we really did roast chestnuts over the fire too. Father had fashioned a long-handled roasting basket. We'd wash the chestnuts and then cut a little "x" in the shell with a sharp knife. Then we'd hold the basket over the flames and shake them from time to time, like popcorn. We took turns because that basket would begin to feel like it was made of lead. After half an hour or so, the shells would pop open where we'd cut the "x," and we'd know they were done. Then we'd peel them and dip them in melted butter, and dust them with cinnamon. Mmm, I can almost taste them now.

  "But then the blight came and all the chestnut trees were wiped out."

  Bridey let out a wistful sigh. "You don't know what you're missing, dears, you don't know what you're missing."

  Later that day, Renata carried the laundry basket, and she and Bridey walked arm-in-arm down Rose Hip Point Lane. Peter stood in his doorway and watched them until they rounded the bend near Bridey's house and disappeared from sight. He closed the door, walked to the living room, and felt a pang of emptiness.

  §

  Renata followed Bridey onto her porch. Now the basket only held Bridey's clean Limoges gravy boat and the white towel. The rest of the food and dishes had been left behind for Peter's use.

  "Come in for some tea, dear," Bridey said.

  While Bridey put the kettle on to boil, Renata set the willow basket on the kitchen table and stared out the window to the backyard and the sea beyond it.

  "I'm remembering those lovely summer days when we sat in your backyard and you read that tragic poem to me," Renata said. "Do you remember?"

  "Of course, dear, it was Longfellow's "Evangeline," my favorite. "This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, /Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,/Stand like Druids of eld."

  "Yes, that was it," Renata spoke as if entranced. "I remember one perfect summer day in particular, the sun was so warm, the cicadas were singing loudly, and butterflies were everywhere. I remember the smell of your crisp, clean bed sheets hanging on the line. You made iced tea with fresh mint from your garden, and you served that delicious, cool lemon dessert. And I remember thinking, Life can be beautiful."

  Bridey walked over to the window and put her hand on Renata's shoulder.

  "I remember, dear. I sat in the wicker chair under the arbor and you rested at my feet with your head on my lap while I read to you."

  "I thank you for that day, Bridey, and so many others like it over the years. I thank you for opening your home and your heart to me."

  The women embraced, and Renata began to weep.

  "What's all this?" Bridey asked tenderly.

  "I'm afraid, Bridey."

  "Why are you afraid, dear?"

  "I'm afraid because I think you're not well."

  Bridey paused. "Oh, I see," she said.

  "Are you very sick?"

  "Yes, dear, I am," Bridey was serene. "I have a cancer in my bowel, and the doctor tells me it's too far gone for a surgery."

  Renata's whole body shrank. "What can I do?" she pleaded.

  "Just what you've always done, come and see me often and bring your beautiful spirit."

  The weeping women embraced again, and the kettle screamed.

  Chapter 47

  December 25, 1974

  BRIDEY CALLED LAST NIGHT...

  Peter hung up the phone and ran to Bridey Gallagher's house. The beige Victorian cottage sat in darkness. No electric candles shone through the windowpanes. No evergreen garland threaded the front porch railing. No ribboned wreath hung on the front door. Peter bounded into the house.

  He flew about the rooms, calling her name and switching on lights as he went. He reached through the doorway of the first-floor bedroom, brushing the wall with his hand until he found the light switch. He pushed the button in, lighting a scene that shocked him.

  Bridey lie motionless, her wan complexion, hollow cheeks, and vein-riddled translucent skin rendering her almost unrecognizable. Her sunken eyes were closed, and Peter feared the worst.

  "Bridey," he said softly. He repeated her name, a little louder.

  Frantically, he cried, "Bridey!"

  Bridey's eyes fluttered open. "Peter, is that you?"

  "I'm here, Bridey, I'm here. What is it? What's wrong?"

  The old woman took several breaths, as though she were about to go under water. "It's just my time, dear."

  Peter reached for the pale-blue princess phone at the bedside. "I'll call for an ambulance."

  "No, Peter, please, no."

  "But..."

  "Peter," Bridey said calmly, "Please, no ambulance, no hospital. It's just my time, that's all."

  "But I have to do something, Bridey."

  "Just stay with me," the old woman said. "I don't want to linger in some hospital surrounded by strangers. That's what happened to my Henry. I don't want it to be that way for me.

  "I told you once that death doesn't frighten me. I just don't want to be alone, that's all," Bridey smiled, holding out her hand.

  Peter fought back the lump in his throat, and returned the phone to its cradle. He grabbed a cushioned stool from Bridey's vanity, and dragged it to her bedside. He sat down, took her hand in his, and smiled with welling eye. Bridey closed her eyes, and whispered, "Thank you, Peter."

  A grandmother clock in the front hall chimed six times.

  Peter held Bridey's brittle hand while she slept. He looked about the room, which reflected so much about its owner. Bridey's spindle maple bed was covered with a lightweight crazy quilt, and it sat upon a wool Victorian carpet with a willow and tulip design. A maple dresser was flanked by two windows hung with white lace curtains. Several framed black and white photos sat atop the dresser included a wedding portrait of Bridey and Henry and a snapshot of the young couple with their beaming toddler, Jack. From an ornate silver frame, a young army officer smiled confidently, his dress visor cap angled rakishly above clear, youthful eyes.

  Throughout the evening Bridey drifted in and out of consciousness. She told Peter that she'd willingly stopped eating after Thanksgiving because she'd wanted to control her death rather than allow it to control her. For the past month she'd only taken tea. If her pain had become unbearable, she would have brewed a final cup from belladonna she'd grown in her own herb garden.

  Peter could tell that consciousness brought agony to his elderly friend. Mostly she trembled and moaned softly when awake. But one time tears streamed from those pale blue eyes, and she cried out, "The burning! Oh, the burning!"

  Peter had never felt so helpless in his life. He leaned in, his voice choked with emotion. "I wish I could take the pain for you, Bridey. I would if I could."

  Bridey squeezed his hand. "I know you would, dear," she said, and then mercifully drifted into oblivion.

  Later that evening, Bridey's eyes opened and she turned her head to look at Peter. "I have something to say to you." Her voice was weak. Peter leaned in closer.

  "Life has been unkind to you and Renata, just as it was to me when I lost my Jack. For the longest time I withdrew from everyone, even my husband. I wallowed in self-pity, thinking I had every right to. For months I was sullen and inconsolable. And I was absolutely horrid to Henry.

  "One day I snapped at him for the umpteenth time. And over what? He had forgotten to put out the trash can. He left the room without a word. Soon I heard the sound of the trash can being plunked onto the sidewalk. A few minutes later, I heard him drive off.

  "An hour later he came back, and I was ready. I would let him know how inconsiderate he was to just
drive off without even so much as a goodbye. I stood by the kitchen door, ready to let him have it.

  "He came carrying a bouquet of daisies, my favorite. Hoped these might cheer you up, he said.

  "I screamed at him, Cheer me up? I've lost a child, not a pair of earrings.

  "He said, I know, I know. I lost him too, Bridey. And now I'm losing you. I need you. I need you to come back to me. Without you, I don't think I can bear it. And he began to weep."

  Bridey blinked tears away and swallowed hard. "That's when it dawned on me how selfish I'd been. I wasn't the only one who had lost a child. He'd been like a rock the entire time, but his heart was just as broken as mine. And he needed me. To be loved and needed is a marvelous thing, Peter."

  The old woman let out a heavy sigh. "From then on we helped each other. We still felt the pain, but we shared it, and made a good life for ourselves.

  "This life, this...gift can't be wasted, even if it's sometimes heartbreaking and unkind. You and Renata can help each other heal. You both have such beautiful spirits under all of that pain. You're young, and there's so much time left for you."

  Peter shook his head. "She won't let me see her, Bridey."

  "She will, dear. She will when she's ready, because she needs you."

  Bridey squeezed his hand and drifted back to sleep.

  Midnight arrived and the old clock struck, stirring Peter from half-sleep.

  Eyes closed, Bridey asked, "Is it Christmas now?"

  "Yes."

  "Merry Christmas, dear."

  The old woman's grip tightened on the young light keeper's hand, and Bridey Gallagher spent her final breath.

  Chapter 48

  April 25, 1975

  LAST NIGHT THERE WAS a terrible storm, wind and rain like I've never seen this early in the season. I was sitting on the couch, reading...

  A loud clatter came from outside. Peter grabbed the fireplace poker, tucked it under his left armpit and opened the kitchen door. He stood, listening intently while his eye adjusted to the darkness. But he saw nothing out of the ordinary. He turned around and was poised to close the door when he heard another sound—an unnerving moan.