by Nancy Thayer
“But you can do it.”
Keely nodded. “I’ll think about it.”
The waiter arrived to take their order.
Fiona said, “Okay. Lecture over.”
Keely smiled. “Good!” She was relieved to have the hard business talk done, and glad not to talk about Gray any more, because she was so totally confused about him.
After lunch, Keely walked out into the bright light of a spring afternoon and on a whim, headed for Central Park. Her mind was churning, and her heart…well, her heart hurt. She knew that Fiona’s advice was spot on. She knew she’d lost the magic, but the difficulty was that she didn’t think returning to Nantucket would restore the magic to her writing. Or to her life.
She didn’t know what could restore the magic.
She found a bench across from the Bethesda Fountain, her favorite place in all of this brightly lit city. She loved the Angel of the Waters, and she could certainly use an angel in her life right now. She sat by the fountain, her thoughts tumbling, until the sunlight slanted in a different way. It was growing late. She rose and walked to the subway, got off at Fifty-ninth Street, and like an automaton, made her way to her building and up the four flights of stairs to her apartment.
She let herself into her apartment, locked the three thousand locks, and dropped her bag on the sofa. She’d had her phone turned off in the restaurant. She leaned against the kitchen sink, filling a glass with water. She curled up on her sofa and turned on her phone.
Gray had called twice, leaving a message both times, asking her to call.
She hit Call Back, and Gray answered at once. “I’ve had an idea.”
“Really. I wish I had one.”
“Seriously, this is a big deal idea.”
Keely laughed, thinking he’d take her for a ride in a balloon, or fly her to Paris for the weekend. “Tell me.”
“I want to take you to Connecticut this weekend. We’ll stay with my parents. They want to meet you, and I want to show you where I grew up.”
Keely was speechless.
“Good idea, right? I’ve got Friday off. We can drive up Friday morning and have the weekend to kick around in Mystic.”
“Mystic,” Keely said. How she loved that name. “That’s on the water, right?”
“Right, and we’ve got a boat, but it’s too cold to go for a sail. Still, the town is historic, and they’ve got Mystic Pizza, and a museum…”
“It sounds wonderful, Gray. I’d love to go.”
“Good. We’ll go.”
“What should I take for a weekend at your parents’?” Keely asked.
“Casual clothes,” Gray answered. “Jeans, sneakers, sweaters. It’s spring, but it will be cool up there. Maybe a nice shirt for the evening.”
“Tell me, Gray,” Keely said, her voice teasing, “are you wearing sneakers?”
She was rewarded with a low laugh. “What? You think I don’t wear sneakers?”
“Do you?”
“All right. You’re right. I wear leather loafers. But I do have boots up at the Connecticut house for riding.”
“Of course you do,” Keely said, her voice affectionate. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
Instead of packing, Keely sank down on the bed with her hands folded at her lips, almost as if she were praying. This weekend was a huge step for Gray, and for Keely. She felt the weight of responsibility on her shoulders—Gray was opening up to her. He was taking her to meet his parents, the mother who had never recovered from her miscarriages, who couldn’t show affection to Gray. How would she react to Keely? What could Keely do to show his parents how much Keely admired Gray?
And admired was the correct word. She was not yet ready to say, even to herself, that she loved Gray. She wasn’t a teenager anymore, beguiled by her own adolescent passions. But was she wrong to want just a touch of that magical, captivating, mesmerizing emotion that could make her feel helpless, limp, intoxicated with love? She wanted to love Gray that way.
Her cell rang again. Absentmindedly, she answered.
“Oh, Keely, I’m so glad I got you.” Brenda’s warm, slightly croaked voice summoned up her presence for Keely, her plump, bustling, rosy-cheeked, farmer’s wife warmth.
“Of course, Brenda. What’s up?”
“It’s your mom.”
“What happened?”
“Don’t be scared, she’s not in the hospital or anything. But, um, she’s…she’s depressed, that’s what she is. You know she had to retire.”
“Yes, I know. I’ve been worried about her. She seemed depressed in December. I’ve been calling her almost every day.” Keely winced as she spoke. She hadn’t been calling her mother almost every day. More like once a week.
“I know. You’ve been a good daughter, Keely. And I suppose we all thought Eloise would be okay, she’s such a trouper. But she hasn’t been going out very often, and I’ve been trying to call her and Marjorie told me Eloise wasn’t returning her phone calls, so I went to see her.”
“How is she?”
“Honey, she’s, well, not good. I don’t mean she’s sick, although she’s lost a lot of weight, well, she could stand to lose some, just like I could, at our age we seem to pack it on simply by breathing, but it’s her, well, her appearance. And her, well, her hygiene, Keely. That’s what worries me. Her hygiene, I guess, is the simplest way to say it.”
“Her hygiene?”
“She wouldn’t let me all the way in her house. And it was afternoon and she was wearing an old robe. And her hair was…Keely, you need to come home.”
“I’ll be there tomorrow.”
“Call and tell me what plane and I’ll meet you and drive you to her house.”
“My old car is at home—”
“When you get there, you can use it. I’ll pick you up. And prepare yourself, hon. The house is kind of a pit.”
Keely thought of Brenda’s house, where you entered into the back hall and tripped over several pairs of waterproof boots, dog toys, and gardening utensils. If Brenda thought Keely’s mother’s house was a pit…
“All right. I’ll let you know when I know what flight I’ll be on. And thanks, Brenda.”
“Of course, sweetie.”
Stunned, Keely walked to her small sofa and sat down, staring at the phone. Keely had always wished she wasn’t an only child, and now she powerfully regretted not having siblings. A nice brother, for example, who could help their mother with handyman chores around the house. Who would be married and have children so their mother could fill her life with grandchildren. Who could jokingly urge their mother into seeing a doctor about her depression, although Eloise probably wouldn’t be depressed if she had grandchildren.
But Keely was an only child, and she loved her mother. All her life she’d admired her mother and been proud of her. Once, during a play in elementary school, a boy had tripped on his costume and fallen on the side of a table, hitting his head. He sat up, crying, with blood running down his face, making the other actors and some of the audience scream. Keely’s mother had quickly, calmly climbed the steps to the stage. Kneeling by the child, she’d assured him he was fine while she took an antibacterial wipe from her purse—because she always carried a pack. She ripped off part of his costume and turned it into a bandage for his wound by wrapping it around his head. By the time his worried mother reached the stage, the boy had stopped crying and actually looked quite pleased with himself.
How many times had Keely been told by islanders how grateful they were for Eloise’s care when they were in the hospital? People adored Keely’s mother, and so did Keely. She needed to figure out how she could help her, and she’d been longing to see the island again, so why was she stalling?
Well, Gray. He was planning to take her to the country to meet his parents. She might not be truly, deeply, madly in love with him, b
ut she did enjoy being with him, and now that she was getting to know the real man, she did care about him.
“Snap out of it,” Keely told herself. She booked a flight from New York to Nantucket for a staggering amount of money.
Next, she had to call Gray.
“Hi, babe,” Gray said, and he sounded unusually happy.
“Gray, I have disappointing news. My mother’s not doing well. Her friend phoned and told me I need to go back to the island. I’m flying out tomorrow.”
For a long moment, Gray was silent. When he spoke, his voice was cool. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is she ill?”
“I don’t know. She’s depressed, and not leaving the house, not seeing people. I need to check on her. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. I’m truly sorry I can’t come to the country with you. I was looking forward to it so much.”
“Well, the country will always be there.”
“I know, but, Gray, listen. I mean it. I want to go to the country with you, and I’m sick that I can’t, but it’s my mother and I haven’t seen her for almost four months.”
“I understand. I hope she’s okay. Let me know how she is. How you are.”
“I will. And maybe you can send me some photos of the country.”
“Sure. Well, good luck, Keely.”
“Yes, thanks.”
Her stomach felt hollow when she clicked off.
Then she looked at her laptop, standing ready and waiting on the table. She’d take it with her, and maybe a change of scenery would be just what she needed to kick-start her novel revisions.
* * *
—
As Keely’s plane lifted off from LaGuardia, she looked down at the rows of skyscrapers separated by rivers of vehicles and linked to the mainland by bridges. In minutes, the plane was over Long Island Sound and the dark blue Atlantic, and forty-five minutes later, she saw Nantucket, low and green and surrounded by water, held to the mainland by nothing—no bridge could span thirty miles—with only a few roads linking the cluster of buildings at the harbor to the far points of the island.
The plane came in from the north onto the runway that ended at the ocean. It taxied up to a small gray shed. The pilot thanked his six passengers. Keely went down the ramp and walked across the tarmac to the terminal to wait for her luggage.
Brenda was there to greet her.
“Oh, honey, look at you, you’re wasting away to nothing.”
Brenda hugged Keely tightly, and Keely was surprised at how that affection warmed her and brought her emotions right to the surface. She blinked back tears.
“It’s so good to see you, Brenda.”
“I brought you a deep-dish apple pie and a hamburger casserole—they’re in the back of the car. I’m not sure your mother has much food in the house.”
“That’s so nice. And you know how I love your pies.” Keely lifted her rolling suitcase from the luggage bin and followed Brenda out of the small building. “I tried to phone Mom to let her know I was coming, but her landline doesn’t work and she doesn’t answer her cell.”
“She lost her cellphone a few weeks ago. I helped her get a new one but she never uses it. See what I mean? She’s let everything go. I am so relieved you’re here. How long can you stay?”
“I’m not sure.”
“It seems wrong to me that you’re not living here, Keely. If you don’t mind my speaking frankly. It’s one thing that your mother misses you, but the island isn’t the same without you.”
Keely wanted to distract Brenda. “How are your chickens?”
“Oh, my, what drama we’ve had! A summer person’s little dog got into our yard…” Brenda chatted away happily until they reached Eloise’s house. “Okay, here we are.” Brenda pulled into the driveway of the modest one-story ranch house on Kingfisher Drive. “I’ll carry in the casserole and pie.”
Keely hooked her laptop and bag over her shoulder and pulled her rolling suitcase up the walk. She stopped at the door of the house she’d grown up in. It had always been a glossy yellow, but now it looked faded and weathered. Her mother used to paint it first thing every spring, when the scouring winter winds had calmed and the daffodils were blooming. It was a plain house, but her mother had always kept some sort of greenery in the window boxes.
Keely knocked. No answer.
“Knock harder, hon. YOOHOO!”
Keely knocked again. At the front window, a curtain twitched.
The door opened. Her mother stood there in a shabby old chenille robe and grimy slippers.
“Keely!”
“Hi, Mom.”
“My goodness, this is a surprise. Darling, I’m so happy to see you!”
Eloise hugged Keely. “Brenda,” she said, “I’d ask you in, but the house is a mess. I’ve been sorting through old papers and clothes. Trying to declutter, you know.”
Brenda leaned forward and set her two dishes on the floor. “Oh, that’s fine, Eloise. I understand, of course. I’m just dropping off a casserole and an apple pie. You always loved my pies.”
Keely turned to hug her mother’s friend. “Brenda, thank you so much for everything. It was great of you to pick me up at the airport.”
Brenda gave Keely a meaningful look. “Anything I can do, Keely, you just let me know.” She bustled away down the walk to her car, turning to wave at Keely and Eloise when she reached her car door.
“Come in,” Eloise said. “If I’d known you were coming…” She looked confused. “Did you tell me you were coming?”
“I tried to, Mom, but your landline doesn’t work.”
“Oh, maybe I left it off the hook again,” Eloise said vaguely. “And my new cellphone is so confusing.”
Her mother had loved technology when she worked at the hospital. Every year wonderful new diagnostic and therapeutic machines arrived on the island, making Eloise’s work easier. It was a bad sign that her mother was having trouble with her new cell.
Keely hefted her suitcase inside and started to put her purse and computer bag on the table by the front door. But the table was so piled with mail and newspapers there was no room. She set them on the floor. There wasn’t much room there, either.
Eloise picked up Brenda’s dishes and carried them into the kitchen, but Keely remained by the front door, stunned.
The room was adrift in an ocean of papers. Piles and piles of papers.
“Mom.”
Her mother came out of the kitchen and stood slumped, unable to meet Keely’s eyes. “I know. I’ve let it get away from me. But I have a plan. I do. I’m sorting through all the papers and boxes from the bedrooms and basement. Have you heard of ‘Death Cleaning’?”
“What? No!”
“It’s Swedish. It’s on all the television shows. It means decluttering your house so your children don’t have to when you die.”
“Yeah, well, this doesn’t look like decluttering to me.”
“I know, but they say you can take your time. It doesn’t have to be done all at once and you can slow down and look at what you’re getting rid of and appreciate the memories. I know this looks like a mess, but I’ve got a system. Come over here.”
Keely obeyed her mother, wading through piles of paper to sit next to Eloise on the sofa.
“Now look.” Eloise held up a construction paper collage of Christmas images Keely had made in first grade. “Isn’t this pretty? How can I give it up? And you’ll want to have it when you’re settled in a house.”
“Mom.” Keely took the paper from her mother, set it aside, and took her mother’s hand. “Stop a minute. Look at yourself. Look at this room. It’s like—” where a hoarder lives, she almost said, but stopped herself. “Don’t you wonder what I’m doing here? Why I just showed up like this?”
“Well, honey, you know I’m always glad to see you. This is your home. You don�
��t need any special reason to come visit.”
“But I have a special reason. Brenda called me. She’s worried about you. When’s the last time you got together with Brenda? Or with any of your friends? When have you gone to a movie, or to a concert, or to the library?”
Eloise yanked her hand away from Keely’s. “I’m busy, that’s all. I’m busy!”
“Too busy to wash your hair?” Keely leaned in closer, inhaling the unpleasant scents of body odor and hair that desperately needed washing. “Too busy to bathe? Or wash your clothes?”
“Why does it matter?” Eloise folded her arms over her chest in a classic defensive pose. “I never go anywhere, except to the grocery store. I’ve got too much to do here. So much stuff to throw out. All my life to throw out.”
“Oh, Mom.” Keely tried to put her arm around her mother, but Eloise pulled away, her mouth in a childish pout. Keely persisted. “We both know if you throw away these papers, you won’t be actually throwing away your life. I mean, this Christmas collage, well, we can toss that, right? I certainly don’t want it.” Eloise bristled, but held her tongue. “So. I’m going to put my luggage in my room, and then I’ll come out here and we can make a start.”
“Keely—” Eloise struggled to say the words. “It might take more than a few days.”
“Okay, well, that’s fine. I can write every morning and help with the papers in the afternoon. I’ll just get my stuff organized.”
She walked out of the living room and down the hall between the three small bedrooms and bathroom.
The hall was filled with stuff. Clothes. Books. Clocks, lamps, pictures, mirrors, small boxes of God only knew what. And not piled neatly in a grouping, but all mixed together in a hodgepodge of odds and ends.
She looked in her mother’s room. More stuff. Mostly clothing and shoes, much of it Keely’s father’s. A pang of guilt cramped Keely’s heart. She should have helped her mother sort her father’s things years ago.
She found her own room as chaotic as the rest of the house. Her parents had given her twin beds so she could have sleepovers with friends. Both beds were hidden beneath jumbles of fabric. Wading through old skirts, sweaters, and sneakers, Keely pulled her luggage to the closest bed. She picked up a wad of clothes and tossed them on the floor. She was determined to get down to her sheets and her mother’s hand-embroidered lilac quilt and toss them in the wash before she tried to sleep in this room tonight.