Summer on Lovers' Island

by Donna Alward

  She did, for the space of ten long breaths. The weird thing was that neither of them said anything and she didn’t find the silence awkward, either.

  A falling star streaked across the sky, leaving a whispery trail behind it. “Whoa, did you see that?” Josh asked.

  “Yeah, I did.” She searched the sky for more. “Where my condo is, there’s too much light pollution to really see the stars much. This is cool.”

  “When I was deployed, I used to love looking at the stars. It kind of linked me to back home, you know? Because I’d look up into the darkness and know that back here, the people I loved could see the stars, too. It doesn’t make much sense, with time and hemisphere differences, but there you go.”

  She imagined him doing that and once more realized that there was far more to Josh than met the eye. “Josh?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “When I’m nervous or unsure I tend to get … officious. That morning when I first arrived, and I thought you were the janitor? I was embarrassed. I know sometimes people think I’m stuck-up. I’m really not.”

  Josh turned his head and looked at her. “A few weeks here has started to thaw you out,” he replied, and it was hard to tell in the darkness, but she thought he winked at her. “I’m glad you’re here, Lizzie. Now, are you ready to go home?”

  “I think so.” She sat up, pulled her knees into her chest. “This was really nice, though. Maybe I have been wound a little too tight.”

  “Ya think?” he joked, hopping down from the tailgate. He extended his hand to help her, but she sent him a grin instead and jumped down herself.

  They were soon back in the truck, slowly descending the hill. Lizzie looked closer at Abby’s house and shook her head. “Wow, that really is a showpiece, isn’t it?”

  “Yup. Years ago, her great-aunt Marian ran a home for unwed mothers there. She left it to Abby when she died, but it needed a lot of work. Last year, we had our Fourth of July celebrations there, a real garden party with servants in period dress and everything.”

  “She seems nice.”

  “She is.”

  Lizzie looked over, and a shadow had come over Josh’s face. “Hmm. Bit of a story there?”

  He perked up. “A long story, and a fairly convoluted one. The most important thing is that she and Tom are really happy. “

  And Josh wasn’t. He didn’t have to say the words for her to know. This whole side trip tonight hadn’t just been for her, she realized. He’d needed the space, too. Josh was more complicated than she had originally thought. Maybe it was the death of his wife. That had to be a terrible thing to try to get over, but she wasn’t going to ask him. That would be prying into something incredibly personal. Even if they were becoming friends, they’d bared enough of their souls for one night.

  She could still barely believe that she’d told him about the baby … but then, he’d already known, hadn’t he?

  He turned back onto the main road, and it was only a few minutes and they were at her cottage. It was dark inside and out, as she’d never thought to turn on the outside light before she left this morning. For a quick moment she considered asking him in for a drink, but she didn’t want to give him the wrong idea and they’d already spent a fair bit of time together tonight. “Thanks for the lift,” she said, injecting her voice with false enthusiasm.

  “Anytime,” he replied, leaving the truck running. “I’ll see you at work.”

  “Yes, boss,” she joked, but the silence turned uncomfortable. For a while tonight they’d both forgotten that he was her boss. The whole situation seemed so strange, so foreign. So very far away from what her life had become.

  He waited until she got inside before backing out of her driveway and heading back to town.

  CHAPTER 7

  The hallway was cool and clean and Lizzie knew she should feel comfortable in this, a medical setting. But she didn’t. The facility her mom now called home wasn’t like a regular hospital. Sure, there were doctors and nursing staff, and Lizzie would meet with them after and discuss dosages and progress and all the other factual elements of her mother’s illness.

  But the truth was, Lizzie’s mom lived here. She lived in a room and had her meals provided and her needs catered to. As a doctor, Lizzie knew this had been the right decision for her mom’s day-to-day care.

  As a daughter, she felt guilty as hell.

  Lizzie paused outside the doorway, then poked her head around the corner. She never really knew if she’d find her mother at home in her room or a stranger who didn’t recognize her. Today Rosemary was sitting in a chair by the window, staring outside while a skein of yarn and a crochet needle sat abandoned on her lap.

  “Hello!” Lizzie called lightly, stepping to the doorway.

  Rosemary Howard turned her head and a smile lit her face. “Elizabeth. Hello, dear.”

  Relief rushed through Lizzie. Her mom’s eyes seemed clear and sharp, her smile genuine and not confused. “Hi, Mom.” Lizzie held up a little vase. “I brought you some lilacs.”

  “Oh, they’re beautiful. Let me smell.” Rosemary was only sixty-five, but when she got up Lizzie could tell her hips and knees were stiff. Lizzie held out the vase and watched with bittersweet pleasure as her mom took the flowers and buried her nose in the fragrant blossoms. “I love lilacs. Where did you get them?”

  Rosemary put them on her windowsill and Lizzie put down her purse. “Actually, I snipped them from the bush at the cottage where I’m staying. It’s the last of them, I’m afraid. Next time I’ll bring some roses from the bushes there.”

  “Lizzie, are you gardening?” Her mom’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, and they both moved to the seating area provided in the room, a little cozy spot with a television, a small bookshelf, and a side table that currently held a few puzzle books Lizzie kept bringing to help keep her mom’s mind sharp. Sudoku was her favorite.

  “Only a little,” Lizzie replied. “I’m working in Maine for a while.” She repeated the information, unsure if her mom remembered her mentioning it last time. “I’m renting a cute little cottage on the coast. You’d like it.”

  Her heart gave a little lurch. Her mom really would like it up there. She’d always liked the ocean and she’d always kept beautiful flower beds at their house. Perhaps that was what bothered Lizzie the most about her mom being here. So many of the things she’d enjoyed all her life were stripped away, one by one. It didn’t seem fair.

  “A cottage?” Rosemary frowned. “But you’ve always liked the city. You don’t want to be bothered by a yard and upkeep. Do you remember that plant I got you for an apartment-warming present?”

  Lizzie nodded, tears stinging her eyes. Oh, it was a good day. At least so far. “It was an African violet and I killed it within a month.”

  Rosemary nodded back and laughed a little, and Lizzie was so lonely for her mom that an ache spread through her chest.

  “So,” she said, trying to keep things light. “I thought we could have a picnic for lunch. What do you think? I have a cooler in the car, and the nurses said we can eat in the garden at that little table overlooking the pond.”

  “You cooked?”

  “Of course not.” Lizzie laughed. “I’m not quite that domesticated. There’s this café in Jewell Cove. The cook’s name is Gus, and his fried chicken will make you weep and thank your maker. Not to mention potato salad. And I brought dessert.”

  “It’s so good to see you,” Rosemary said, reaching over and patting Lizzie’s hand. “Let me freshen up first, okay?”

  Lizzie waited while her mom went to the bathroom. So far, the disease hadn’t progressed to the point where she needed help all the time and today she was remarkably clearheaded, so Lizzie let her have her independence and simply waited. When Rosemary emerged, Lizzie tried to hide her dismay and put on a bright face. Not bright enough to match Rosemary’s, though. She had put on cherry-red lipstick and brushed on some blush that was far too heavy for her delicate cheeks.

  “Okay, Mom, let’s j
ust tell someone we’re heading to the garden and we’ll have a nice lunch.”

  Rosemary followed close to Lizzie as they stopped at the reception desk and then went to the car for the soft-side cooler she’d brought. It was only a few minutes and they were settled at a small iron table and chairs set in the middle of the English gardens, an oasis of tranquility remarkably free of the telltale scents of medical facilities.

  She unpacked a container of fried chicken, a dish of potato salad, and another of cool sliced cucumbers, plus two soft buns from the Main Street Bakery, sandwiched together with a thick layer of real butter. Then came the plates, real ones, as Lizzie knew how her mother despised paper, and proper knives, forks, and napkins. Lizzie’s one plastic concession was glasses, but the ones she’d picked up were cute, with little flowers painted on them, and she took out a thermos of cool, fresh lemonade.

  When she’d served both plates, her mom looked up with worried eyes. “Won’t your dad be joining us? Where is he? Is he working late again?”

  Lizzie’s heart plummeted to her feet and she swallowed against the lump of futility in her throat. “It’s just you and me today, Mom,” she said, forcing a smile and handing over a napkin. “Try the chicken.”

  “Your father works too hard. He never comes to see me,” Rosemary complained, her voice taking on a plaintive quality that grated on Lizzie’s nerves, making her feel even more guilty.

  “Then let’s just make this a girly day,” she suggested lightly. She got up and spread the napkin on her mother’s lap. She would not cry or let her frustrations show. She would be patient, kind …

  Sad.

  No, she had to lock that away for later. So she poured lemonade into her mother’s glass and handed it to her. “I know I’m not much of a cook, but I made the lemonade myself, just this morning. What do you think?”

  She saw Rosemary’s hand tremble a bit as she lifted the drink to her lips and sipped. “It’s tart,” she replied, puckering her lips. “Just the way your father likes it. Will he be joining us today?”

  More swallowing of tears. “Not today,” Lizzie replied. She forced herself to take a bite of chicken, trying to lead by example, but it didn’t taste good anymore. She was desperate to change the subject. “What are you crocheting, Mom? The yarn looked so pretty, a really nice shade of pink.”

  Finally Rosemary picked up her fork and started to eat. “Hats. For the neonatal unit.” She tasted her potato salad, then daintily cut a cucumber slice in fourths. “A few of the other ladies and I work on them and the nurses take them to the hospital.” She met Lizzie’s gaze. “It makes me feel like I’m doing something important.”

  “It is important,” Lizzie agreed. “I’m glad. Can I do something to help? Buy you some yarn? There’s a craft shop in town that I think probably carries it.”

  “Some yellow or light green would be nice.”

  “I’ll bring it next time I visit, how about that?”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  Lizzie noted with some pleasure that her mom had eaten a good portion of her meal, rather than picking at stuff as she often did. Encouraged, Lizzie reached down into the cooler for one final dish. “Mom, I brought dessert. Your favorite, coconut cream pie.” She put the container on the table and removed the lid.

  Rosemary made a face and looked at the pie with disgust. “But I hate coconut. That’s never been my favorite. Whatever made you think that?”

  Oh, maybe just the fact that every special occasion since Lizzie could remember Rosemary had offered to make coconut cream pies. If they went out to eat it was her favorite thing to order for dessert, and years ago, before her memory had started to slip, she’d had a list of the best places to get it and the ones to avoid. Who made the best pastry and where the filling was the creamiest.

  Lizzie felt like weeping for the umpteenth time. The only parent she had left, and her mother was slipping away by degrees. And today had been a good day. Now even the good days wore on Lizzie and she found it harder and harder to rejoice in the lucid moments.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. My mistake.” She packed away the pie before Rosemary could get upset and smiled. “Maybe we can sneak some ice cream from the kitchen. What’s your favorite flavor?”

  “Vanilla,” Rosemary answered clearly. “But shouldn’t we wait for your father? He’ll be so sorry he missed lunch.”

  Lizzie felt like banging her head on the table. It hurt to think of her dad at the best of times, but to be reminded this way by her mom was nearly unbearable. How many times could a person’s heart break anyway?

  “Let’s sneak into the kitchen, then. See what’s in the freezer.”

  She packed the dirty dishes into the cooler and zipped the top, then walked with her mom back over the lawns, through the gardens and flower beds to the low building that housed the patients. It looked like a lovely, restful place … until you got to the front doors and recognized the security features in place to keep patients from wandering away.

  Lizzie guided her mom to the kitchen, where they managed to sneak a scoop each of vanilla ice cream before Rosemary started to show signs of fatigue and Lizzie helped her back to her room. “Thanks for having lunch with me today, Mom.” She put her arms around her mother, closed her eyes, and realized once more that the woman before her was her mother and yet bore little resemblance to the woman she’d known all her life. Rosemary had lost weight over the last few years, and she didn’t smell the same, like her preferred laundry soap mixed with Chanel perfume, a scent she’d always called “classic.”

  What surprised Lizzie the most was that she wasn’t only grieving for one parent. She was mourning two.

  Gently, she helped her mom to her bed. “You’re tired. Why don’t you rest your eyes for a bit? It’s time for me to go anyway, but I’ll be back soon. Is there anything I can bring you?”

  Rosemary sat on the edge of the bed, acquiescing to Lizzie’s attentions, her body totally submissive. “I wish you could bring Russ back. I miss him so, Lizzie.”

  Christ, what a moment for lucidity to return. Lizzie continued removing her mom’s shoes, but the view of them was blurred by tears. “I miss him, too, Mom.”

  “He was so proud of you. So am I.”

  Lizzie sniffed, gathered herself together, and lifted her head with a smile. “Thanks. He was a really great inspiration, you know?”

  Rosemary nodded sadly. “Yes. Better than I ever was.”

  Lizzie sat beside her mom and took her hand. “You are the best mother I could ask for,” she whispered. “And don’t you forget it.”

  But Rosemary would. As she usually did. It never seemed to make sense, what she pulled from her memories. But Lizzie was highly doubtful her mother would remember today. Certainly not the things they’d said.

  As if she could read Lizzie’s thoughts, Rosemary squeezed her hand and looked at her with a tired but concerned expression. “Lizzie, did you remember to pay the bill for lunch?”

  “It’s taken care of, Mom. You rest.” She eased her mother down on the bed and covered her with a light blanket. Lizzie, who wasn’t generally prone to emotional displays of affection, leaned over and kissed her mom’s forehead in a way similar to how Rosemary had kissed hers when she was a little girl, being tucked in for a nap or bedtime. “Love you.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Rosemary sighed, a contented sound. “Maybe Russ will be by later. He promised.”

  “Maybe,” Lizzie replied, feeling like she’d been through an emotional wringer, wondering exactly when she and her mother had made such a complete reversal of roles.

  She left as Rosemary was drifting off to sleep, stopped to chat briefly with staff, and then hit the road, heading back to Jewell Cove. And wondered what it meant that she was relieved to be returning to the little cottage instead of her condo in Springfield. Somehow the little spot overlooking the inlet was exactly where she needed to be.

  Not in the bustle of the city or the chaos of an emergency room. Good God. She might actually be losing
her edge.

  * * *

  Honest to God, if Sarah tried to set him up one more time he was going to lose his cool and be very blunt in telling her to back off.

  This time it was an impromptu family trip to Sally’s Dairy Shack for banana splits. Josh shook his head as he stood in line, wondering why he hadn’t seen it coming. Summer Arnold was behind the counter taking orders, her pink-striped hair pulled back into a weird twist and covered with a hairnet. Her diamond-stud nose ring was visible, and with her hair pulled back so was the row of earrings in each ear, including one ear cuff hooked by a chain to a dangling daisy earring.

  She was so not his type. Not that she wasn’t a nice girl. She was. He’d known her for years. Sarah and Jess thought a lot of her, which was why he’d tolerated a certain amount of interference. But really, they had to stop doing this. He wasn’t interested. Full stop. And it was getting damned awkward.

  Matthew and Suzie placed their orders, and then Mark and Sarah ordered splits for six—the two of them, plus Rick and Jess and Meggie and Josh. When Josh went to collect his, Summer gave him a sympathetic smile. “Extra pineapple on yours. I know you like it that way.”

  He hoped he didn’t blush. “Thanks, Summer.”

  He started to take the plastic boat from her hands, but she held on just a second until he looked up at her. It surprised him to see she had understanding written all over her face. “Don’t worry about it, Josh. Eventually they’ll stop pushing.”

  He didn’t know what to say. Everyone was milling around and he really wanted to respond, but now wasn’t the time or place. He should have realized that Summer had to feel the pressure to pair them up, too. It was fairly obvious. Before he could change his mind, he found himself asking her out.

  “Listen, do you want to grab a bite or go for a walk or something … sometime?” Boy, he sounded like an idiot. “It’d probably be better to talk without an audience.”