by Claire Cook
“That you could be anything you want to be?”
We were still laughing when Allison Flagg came running over. She handed Geri an oversize paperback book. “Here, you can borrow this for the night. You’ll definitely find something for your fiftieth in it. It’s got everything. Luxury, adventure, insider tips by location, great florists.”
“Florists?” I said. “Sounds exciting.”
She gave me a dirty look. “It is the guide to be listed in. It can change your life. I’m on a committee to try to get the town of Marshbury included.”
“Wow,” I said. “You’re really selling this.”
“User’s Guide,” Geri read out loud, “to the Fun, Feisty, and Fabulous.” She held it out to Allison Flagg. “Thanks so much for thinking of me, but I’ve been researching for months. I probably could have written this.”
Allison Flagg stroked the cover reverently and gave the book a little push back in Geri’s direction. “No, really, you won’t be able to put it down.”
Now I was curious. I grabbed the book from Geri.
Allison Flagg grabbed it from me.
I grabbed it back from Allison Flagg. I felt like we were in a Three Stooges episode, and my next move would be to try to poke her in the eyes with two fingers, and she’d hold the book up to block me.
Geri held out her hand, and I gave her the book. “Grow up, you two,” she said. She turned to Allison Flagg. “Thanks, I appreciate it. I’ll read it tonight.”
“Good idea,” I said. “It’ll probably put you right to sleep.”
Allison Flagg glared at me and took the book back from Geri. “Okay, let me find a good one. Here, just listen to this.”
I yawned.
Allison Flagg cleared her throat. Then she paused, as if she were expecting a drumroll. “Italian Monks. Every day at four-thirty in the winter and five-thirty in the summer on this street corner in Florence you can hear them singing Gregorian chants. There’s a phone number, too.”
“I didn’t know monks had phones,” I said. I wondered if Noah had happened to stop by Florence while he was in Italy. Maybe he’d heard these very same monks. I could ask him later. I’d have a quick bite to eat with the gaffer, since there didn’t seem to be an easy way out of it, and then I’d call Noah.
“Very cool,” Geri said.
“Oh, I already know about this one,” Allison Flagg said. “Custom makeup blended just for you by fashion chemists in Paris. Ten thousand dollars and up, depending on skin tones.”
“I heard Nicole did that,” Geri said. “And Elton.”
“Not to be cheap,” I said, “but is there a sale page?”
“I don’t think so,” Allison Flagg said. “But how about a solar-powered milk frother? It comes in six colors, and it’s only nineteen ninety-five.”
“Yeah,” I said. “But then you have to put in the skylight to make it work.”
“Not necessarily,” Geri said. “You could use it outside.”
“SO, DO YOU THINK we’ll actually find something in that book we can do for your birthday?” I asked my sister as we walked across the parking lot while Riley ran ahead.
“I doubt it,” Geri said. “I was just being polite. It’s a skill you might want to consider cultivating.”
I pretended her comment was too subtle for me to catch. She sighed. “I mean, it’s not like I can afford to go to Florence, now that I’m not working.”
Her lower lip looked like it was ready to start again. “Oh, come on,” I said. “You couldn’t afford to go to Florence even when you were working.”
“Thanks,” Geri said.
Most of the cars had cleared out of the parking lot, and a few stray seagulls were dive-bombing a garbage can. “So,” I said. “What do you think you’ll do for work next?”
Geri’s lower lip started to quiver again.
“What’s the rush?” I said. “Take some time off. Enjoy yourself for a few months.”
Geri stopped walking. “Are you crazy? Do you have any idea how much our mortgage payment is?”
“You can always move in with me,” I said. My sister shook her head and stomped off to catch up with Riley.
We picked up takeout for Geri and Riley so they could eat it out by the pool at the Fisherman’s Lodge. When we got to the hotel, we stopped at the front desk so Geri could ask the same pierced, pink-haired girl wearing the same GONE FISHING T-shirt to send a cot up to our room. This was a detail I would only have thought of after I’d changed into my pajamas. We waited for the pink-haired girl to acknowledge us, and Riley grabbed the key card so he could run up to the room and change into his bathing suit.
When we got to the pool, we saw Allison Flagg and the twins eating takeout at one of the round tables. They all looked up and waved.
“Great,” Geri said. “Civilized company for dinner.”
“Where?” I asked. Riley came back wearing a suit and carrying a towel, and ran right by us.
“Walk,” Geri said. She shifted her arms under the take-out bag. “Ouch,” she said. “This is hot. Okay, I’ll see you later. Have a good date.”
“It’s not a date,” I said. “You know, maybe I’ll go take a walk or something first. It’ll only take me a minute to change.”
My sister looked me up and down. “Make it two,” she said.
“Action!” Riley yelled from the top of the slide. Then he let go and started sliding.
My sister and I looked at each other. Geri shook her head. “Last time we called home, he said ‘Ciao, baby’ when he hung up.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” I said.
“Of course not,” she said. “You’re not his mother.”
I TIPTOED PAST the pool area, since I was wearing my sister’s new summer-weight jacket from Chico’s. It was a great jacket, funky and sophisticated at the same time, and a perfect fit. I’d talked her into buying it because it was more my style than her usual Ann Taylor look, and I was hoping I’d be able to borrow it down the road. Since she was the one who had said yes to the gaffer, it seemed only fair that tonight was the night. It looked better on me anyway, because I had the good sense to wear it with jeans and leather flip-flops instead of something dressier. I certainly didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard.
Tim Kelly was waiting in the lobby. He was wearing jeans and a long-sleeve button-down shirt. The shirt was white, crisp but untucked, and the sleeves were rolled up, exposing his tanned forearms. His hair was still wet. Maybe it was just the white shirt, but I didn’t remember him being quite so handsome.
“Wow,” he said. “You look great. So, where would you like to go for our second date? Think we can find another bridge?”
“It’s not really a date,” I said. I stopped a safe distance away from him.
He shook his head. “Relax, will you? There’s almost no chance that I’m going to propose . . . tonight. So, what kind of food do you feel like? Mexican? I know a place down the road that makes great margaritas. It’s really close. We can walk, if you don’t trust yourself to be alone in a car with me.”
“I’ll try to control myself,” I said.
We ended up walking anyway. Bacalao de Capa had tall dark booths. The walls were painted a mix of deep blue, terra-cotta, and gold, and a candle flickered on the forged iron wall sconce next to us. A waiter placed a basket of tortilla chips on the table. “Can I start you off with a drink?” he asked.
Tim Kelly looked at me. “Two margaritas?” he asked.
I looked at the waiter. “I’ll have a seltzer,” I said. “With extra lime.”
“Okay,” the gaffer said. “I’ll have the Cadillac Margarita Cuervo Gold special with Cointreau and Grand Marnier, please. With salt.”
“Don’t hold back on my account,” I said.
“And two straws,” he said. “In case my date comes to her senses.”
“I’m not really his date,” I said.
The waiter dropped off our drinks. Tim Kelly ordered the Steak Fajita Supreme and I finall
y decided on the Tortilla Shrimp Salad.
I held up my seltzer. “Cheers,” I said.
“Give me your cell phone,” the gaffer said.
“What?”
He held out his hand. I gave him my cell phone. He punched in some numbers and gave it back to me. “Okay,” he said. “I’m on your speed dial. When and if you decide to move beyond that sorta boyfriend of yours, give me a call. And in the meantime, let’s just relax and have a nice meal, okay?”
“Okay,” I said.
I put my phone away and leaned over and tried a tiny sip of Tim Kelly’s margarita.
“So,” he said. “Tell me everything there is to tell about Ginger Walsh. Don’t leave anything out.”
I leaned back and got comfortable. “Well,” I said. “I was a really cute baby. . . .”
“Oh, speaking of cute babies,” Tim Kelly said. He leaned to one side, so he could pull his wallet out of his jeans. He opened the wallet and pulled out a little clear accordion file of photos. He stretched it across the table between us.
I took another sip of his drink, bigger this time.
“Okay, this was Hannah’s first smile, at least pretty close to the first one.”
“She’s beautiful,” I said.
“And this is her at soccer practice this year. She’s unbelievable at defense. Most of the other kids her age just follow the ball wherever it goes, but Hannah has a real sense of the big picture. It kills me to miss so many of her games, but her mother videos them and sends me a copy, and Hannah and I watch them over the phone together and take turns doing the play-by-play.”
I nodded.
“Sorry,” Tim Kelly said. “I’m boring you.”
“No, no,” I said. “Not at all.” I pointed to a picture. “What’s this one?”
“Oh, that’s her first ballet recital. She was a cuddly duckie. Except she forgot she was onstage and kept turning around to try to see her tail feathers. . . .”
I nodded and smiled through the cuddly duckie story. It was a long story, so I found myself imagining what my daughter would be like if I’d happened to have one. By the time our food arrived, I’d decided she’d look a lot like Riley, but with pigtails. She’d hate ballet, but she’d be highly verbal and pretty good at soccer.
Tim Kelly folded up the pictures to make room for our plates. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to monopolize the conversation.”
“No, it was great. Really.” I sawed through a shrimp and popped half of it into my mouth.
By the time we finished eating, we were entertaining each other with our worst job stories and laughing a lot. He insisted on paying the check, so we fought about that for a while, and eventually I agreed just to leave the tip.
On the walk back to the hotel, we talked as if we’d known each other for a long time. The stars were out and there was a nice cool breeze. Tim Kelly liked to walk at a fast pace the way I did. We stopped just outside the back door of the hotel.
“Thanks,” I said. “I had fun.”
“Me, too,” he said. “I know it wasn’t really a date, but do you think I can kiss you anyway?”
I leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. I turned away fast, grabbed the door handle, and pulled.
It was locked.
“Damn,” I said. “I hate when that happens.”
Tim Kelly laughed. When I turned back around, he was waiting. It was a long kiss, and even better than our first one. Eventually, I found my key card and unlocked the door. We walked across the lobby together and headed for the elevator.
“No way,” I said when the elevator opened. “You take this one and I’ll get the next.”
Tim Kelly looked at me. I looked at him. “Are you sure?” he asked.
It wasn’t easy, but I nodded. I held up my cell phone. “I’ve got your number,” I said.
Chapter 25
“HOW DID IT GO?” GERI ASKED THE SECOND SHE OPENED the door to let me in.
“Fine,” I said.
“Is that my jacket?”
I pulled the door shut behind me and looked down. “Well, what do you know. It’s pretty dark in that closet.”
“Give it to me right now, before you ruin it. I knew you only talked me into buying it so you could borrow it.” I peeled off the jacket and handed it over to my sister. “So,” she said. “Did he kiss you good night?”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t really ask that.”
Geri put the jacket on a hanger and hung it up in the closet. “On the cheek or on the lips?”
“Listen,” I said. “Just because you’re married doesn’t mean I have to provide you with your vicarious thrills. Go rent some porn or something.”
“Shh,” Geri said. We both looked over at Riley. He was sitting on the edge of one of the beds, completely lost in a video game.
The cot had arrived. It didn’t look too healthy. The springs were kind of sticking out at the sides along with the sheets, which I wasn’t feeling completely confident were fresh, since they were pretty wrinkly. I unhooked the metal latch at the top, and the cot sprang open until it was taking up most of the available floor space in our junior suite. I leaned over and delicately sniffed the sheets. Inconclusive.
I gave the mattress a push. Instead of pushing back, it just surrendered and flattened itself against the springs. “Well,” I said. “I’m certainly not sleeping on this.”
Riley looked up. “It’s my room,” he said.
Geri and I both looked at him.
He rubbed his eyes. “Well, it is. Techlickly. So I shouldn’t have to sleep on it. Plus I have to work tomorrow. Nobody else has to work tomorrow.”
I wondered if Geri had told him about losing her job. Do you tell an eight-year-old you got fired, or do you just say something like, Mommy decided she wants to spend more time with you and your sisters?
Geri sighed. “Well, I’m not sleeping there. It’s almost my birthday. . . .”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll sleep on it tonight. But you have to sleep there tomorrow night, Riley, because the next day is your mom’s birthday, and when she turns fifty, she’ll be too old to sleep on a cot.”
I thought it would make her laugh, or maybe even volunteer to sleep on the cot just to prove me wrong, but her lower lip actually started to quiver again. I was too tired for this. I threw one of the pillows from my former bed onto the cot and went in to check on my sea glass.
The rock tumbler was still tumbling around, but the motor was sounding almost as tired as the mattress looked and I felt. I pulled the plug, and the bathroom was suddenly quiet. I pried off the red plastic cap and carefully poured off the water. Then I closed the drain and sprinkled the sand-caked glass onto the bottom of the sink.
I picked up a piece of glass, and turned on the water just enough to rinse off some of the sand. When I dried it with a corner of my T-shirt, lo and behold, an amazingly perfect piece of blue sea glass appeared right before my very eyes. It felt like magic. I wondered if Noah felt like this when he made his first bong.
I rinsed off the rest of the pieces and set them to dry on a towel on the edge of the sink. Most of them were from the dark green beer bottle Riley and I had broken in the parking lot, but even these had rounded edges and were frosted to perfection.
My sister knocked on the bathroom door. “Can you hurry up? Riley needs to brush his teeth before he goes to bed.”
“Just a minute,” I said. I towel-dried the sea glass and scooped it all up in my hand, so it wouldn’t accidentally get washed down the drain. Then I opened the door with the other hand.
Riley headed into the bathroom, and I added the sea glass to my bedside shrine. The shrine seemed awfully far from my new home on the cot, so I relocated it, piece by piece, to the dresser on the other side of the room.
My sister was sitting on my former bed, checking out Allison Flagg’s book. The room was starting to close in like a sardine can, so I grabbed one of my jewelry books and headed out to the balcony.
&nbs
p; It wasn’t dark yet, but you could see the moon as well as the sun, kind of like a double feature. It was a new moon, which always made me a little bit sad that it was so fresh and full of potential, and I was still, well, me. The Fisherman’s Lodge parking lot was quiet, but I could hear cars driving around out on the road, and some loud music was playing down the street somewhere.
By the time Geri came out to the balcony, holding Allison Flagg’s book in one hand and St. Christopher in the other, it was getting dark enough that I was starting to have trouble reading. “What did you do with those rosary beads you took, anyway?” she asked.
“Nothing yet,” I said. “That’s funny, I was just reading about prayer beads. Did you know that beads have been used for prayer throughout history? And in just about every culture of the world. Buddhist prayer beads were originally made from the wood of the holy bodhi tree, because Buddha became enlightened under it.”
“You don’t say,” Geri said.
“Yup. It says here that rosary beads are made in a circle, with a hanging crucifix to divide the beads, so you know when you reach the end. It’s strange to see the Catholic stuff lumped in with everything else, like it’s just another culture. Remember when we were growing up, it was a mortal sin to go into a church that wasn’t Catholic? At least I think it was mortal. I was always mixing up mortal and venial sins.”
“That’s why you were always grounded.”
“Good point,” I said.
The empty white plastic chair made a screeching sound when my sister pulled it forward. She sat down and stretched out her legs so that her bare feet were resting on the railing, and she put the book and St. Christopher on her lap.
“Greek prayer beads are called komboloi, and the religious ones sometimes have a medal of St. Christopher attached.”
Geri held up St. Christopher like he was a Barbie doll. “Did you hear that, big guy?” she asked him.
I closed my book and hugged it to my chest. “I don’t remember seeing ones like that, but I remember coming in for a landing in Greece, and the guy next to me on the plane had a big amber string of them, and he was fidgeting away like crazy and sweat was dripping off his forehead. I was sure he knew something I didn’t, and we were all going to die.”