Kindred Spirits

by Sarah Strohmeyer

  For death might take a woman in the prime of her life, might rob two sons of their mother and a husband of a wife, but it could never sever a friendship.

  Friends were forever. They were the ultimate triumph over failure.

  DeeDee was right.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The wind and rain from the night before left an awful mess on Don Miller’s yard. Snapped twigs and leaves littered his driveway, defeating a weekend of raking and bagging. Winter was on its way, he thought grimly as he unlocked the front door and prepared himself for a blast of arctic air.

  He sniffed. Snow. His heart broke.

  It would be his first winter without Grace in forty-eight years. Forty-eight years of standing by the window, watching the first fluttery white flakes fall and melt on the ground. Forty-eight years of making fires and winterizing the house together, of putting up storm windows and taping the cracks. He’d worried how she’d be able to handle the climbing and lifting after he was gone, never imagining she’d be the first to go. It didn’t make sense. Grace religiously walked three miles a day and counted out her omega-3 capsules. He had an irregular heartbeat and saw a doctor once in a blue moon.

  He turned up his collar and trudged down the driveway to get the morning paper. But when he reached into his mailbox, his hand landed on something else. A long envelope addressed: To My Lovely Baby Girl, Julia.

  He stood there a long time in the cold, turning that letter over and over in his hand, debating whether to rip it open and read it before chucking it in the trash. At last, he folded it and tucked it into the inside pocket of his coat. Then he went inside to read the morning paper and drink his coffee, alone.

  Beth rummaged through her purse and Carol adjusted herself in the backseat, preparing for the three-hour drive home. They might be able to make it to Marshfield by noon, thereby giving her all day to sort through the stuff Jeff had left in the house, if Mary Kay could get a move on.

  Carol lifted the lid of her soy latte and blew on the coffee. “Where is she?”

  “Mary Kay? I don’t know.” Beth removed her wallet, phone, pens. “She came to my room earlier, asking for the keys to my car so she could get some Pepto-Bismol. Apparently, last night’s orgy of appetizers didn’t sit well.” Beth flattened a receipt and tossed it aside. “What do you think’s going on with her?”

  “Nerves.” Carol took a bite of her blueberry scone. “Tonight she tells Drake she can’t marry him.”

  Beth quit rummaging and looked up. “Are you serious? I thought she changed her mind.”

  “She took off her engagement ring right before the accident and then didn’t put it back on.”

  “That’s too bad.” Beth went back to searching. “I wish she’d tell us what’s wrong. Maybe we could help.”

  Carol changed the subject. “What are you looking for?”

  “You’re not going to believe it. Lynne’s letter. I think I lost it in the car.”

  “The one to Julia?” Carol checked under the seat. “When did you see it last?”

  “I thought I saw it last night when we went to the Millers’. It was right there on top of my wallet so I could find it easily. But this morning it was gone. I just hope it didn’t fall out when we were leaving his house.” She bit a nail. “With the rain last night it’ll be ruined.”

  They should have made a photocopy, a thought that had crossed Carol’s mind when she was in New York. Like all wise ideas, she’d promptly forgotten it.

  The back hatch flew open and Mary Kay stuffed in her cooler and bag. “Sorry. I had an errand to run and then I came back and took a shower. Thanks for letting me borrow your car, Beth.”

  Beth cheerfully offered Mary Kay the other coffee and remaining scone. “No problem. Did you find what you needed?”

  “Uh-huh.” She gestured to the mess on the front seat. “What’s this about?”

  “I was looking for Lynne’s letter to Julia. I had it just . . .”

  “I put it in Don Miller’s mailbox this morning. That’s why I needed the car.” Mary Kay held up her hand in playful defensiveness. “Don’t kill me. I just thought he should have it since that’s the only way it’ll find its way to Alice.”

  It was a risk, but the women agreed. The letter wouldn’t further Lynne’s cause by gathering dust with her wedding dress and pearls.

  Carol’s cell rang in the depths of her bag as Beth merged onto I-84. Jeff, she hoped before immediately chiding herself for being so foolish. She should be hoping for Scott’s call, and yet, she’d barely thought about him all weekend.

  Nope, Amanda. Finally, she had caught her daughter’s attention. Though Mary Kay and Beth would have been fine with her taking the call, she let it go to voice mail, where Amanda left a message.

  Hi, Mom. What you said about Lynne trying to keep us talking, is that for real? That really got to me. She was such a cool person and I’m so going to miss her. You’re right. We should do something to honor her memory. Maybe I could do a painting for the elementary school.

  So, hey, what’s this about you getting drunk on martinis and dancing on top of tables? Has my mother gone crazy?

  I’ve got class in a few minutes and no cells allowed. Sorry I missed you.

  Call me.

  When was the last time Amanda had asked her to call? Not since the divorce, certainly.

  Twenty minutes after nine, when she was fairly confident Amanda would be in class, Carol called her back and, sure enough, was sent to voice mail again.

  “I can’t believe we keep missing each other,” Carol said. “The painting for the elementary school is a brilliant idea. Lynne would love it. I’m not crazy. Every woman’s got to let loose now and then, don’t you think?

  “By the way, I’ll be at the house this evening to go over some knickknacks your father put aside in preparation for selling the house. If you want anything, now’s the time to say so. I know you’re busy, but I’d hate to throw away something of yours with sentimental value like your American Girl dolls.”

  Amanda couldn’t part with her American Girl dolls, Carol thought, ending her message and wondering about the ethics of keeping sweet plastic Felicity Merriman hostage for her daughter’s affection.

  One hour later, Amanda called again. And again Carol didn’t answer.

  My dolls? No way! Save them for me, would you? And their dresses. Though, on second thought, I’d like a chance to pick through all my things myself. My schedule’s pretty clear tomorrow, so I might take the train up. Don’t throw out anything before then! Gotta run. Class in ten minutes!

  Hey, thanks for keeping me in mind. I know Dad would have chucked those dolls.

  Fifteen minutes later, Carol called back.

  “Great. I’ll remind Dad to leave the spare key under the planter for you. Don’t worry if you can’t take everything back. We’ll ship it.” Then: “Love you.”

  They had crossed the border of New York when Amanda left the message Carol had been waiting for.

  Love you, too, Mom. Sorry I’ve been such a snot lately. I miss you. Think we can get together next week for something, maybe planning Lynne’s memorial?

  There’s this place on Sixth Street that you’ve got to try. Best brunch ever.

  Carol called back right away. “The place on Sixth Street it is. And you’re not a snot. I am. We’ll talk. Love you back.”

  She hung up and Beth whipped around. “OK, this is driving me nuts. She calls and you don’t answer. Then you call her right back and she doesn’t answer. Back and forth. Back and forth. What’s going on?”

  “We’re having a voice mail conversation. One without dramatic pauses or sighs. I’m not getting angry and she’s not taking offense.” Carol smiled. “It fits our style.”

  Beth was doubtful. “How long do you think you can keep this up?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just grateful we’ve come this far.”

  They headed down Freedom Plains Road across New York State, past mowed fields and wooded lots, houses an
d farms, until they reached Marshfield. It was a little after three in the afternoon and their trip had finally come to an end with some, but not total, success.

  “I can’t believe it’s over.” Beth dropped the keys into her lap after pulling into Mary Kay’s driveway. “We started only four days ago and it seems like an eternity. I don’t feel like the same person.”

  “Maybe you’re not the same person,” Mary Kay teased. “Maybe you’re Marilyn Monroe.”

  “You know what I mean. Think of what we’ve done. We’ve knocked on the doors of strangers and learned secrets about Lynne that not even her husband knows. We even met the man who adopted her baby.”

  “We met the love of her life,” Carol said, “or so Douglass would have us believe.”

  “Hit a deer, don’t forget,” Mary Kay added.

  “And danced on tables in front of chemical engineers.” Carol bowed. “One of my finer moments, if I do say so myself.”

  “And drank a mess of martinis,” Mary Kay said. “Tons.”

  “But we didn’t find Julia.” Beth fiddled with the keys. “Our most important task and we fell short. I can’t get over it.”

  Mary Kay opened the door. “Don’t take it so hard, Beth. Like Oprah says, it’s the journey, not the destination.” The rest of them followed suit, getting out and stretching their stiff muscles.

  They helped Mary Kay carry her stuff to the porch. Mary Kay opened the door and the three of them stood there, not knowing exactly how to say good-bye. “I’d invite you in for martinis but, to be honest, I think I’m going on the wagon for a while. I need a whole new program of exercise and fruit, lots of sleep and meditation.”

  “Exercise, yes,” Carol said. “I could do with a cleansing too. Hey, that’s what we should rename ourselves, the Ladies Society for the Conservation of Our Aging Bodies.”

  Beth gave her a playful smack. “Don’t you dare. Look, I, for one, loved our martinis and when I get a chance I’m going to do something we should have done a long time ago: update the original Ladies Society for the Conservation of Marshfield cookbook with all our recipes. DeeDee Patterson’s 1966 edition is way outdated.”

  “But all we revised were the martinis,” Carol said. “What about the hors d’oeuvres and soups and salads and main dishes, not to mention desserts?”

  “You think anyone cares about those? All people care about are the drinks. And, on that note”—she leaned over and gave Mary Kay a hug—“is it champagne or tears tonight when you get together with Drake?”

  “Tears, I’m afraid.” Mary Kay put on a brave smile and squeezed her back.

  Carol put her arms around the other women and the three of them stood there, rocking silently, saying good-bye.

  Breaking away, Carol wiped her damp cheeks and said, “Let’s make a deal. This winter, after the holidays, you two come down to New York and stay with me. By then, I’ll probably have a new, larger apartment and we can take in a few shows, go shopping, update the cookbook, that sort of thing. Agreed?”

  And though Beth and Mary Kay had each been silently hoping Carol would have moved back to Marshfield by then, they agreed.

  “As long as you promise that next summer when the roses are in bloom,” Mary Kay said, “you come home for a long weekend of drifting around the lake and hanging out in the pool.”

  “Sounds divine.”

  So, with more tears and hugs, they parted, waving good-bye and promising to keep in touch every day. Beth drove Carol to her old house, which was so dark and buttoned up tight she almost didn’t want to get out of the car.

  “Come on,” Beth said, sensing her apprehension. “I’ll go in with you.”

  “I probably won’t even see Jeff,” Carol said, checking under the planter and finding the spare house key in its old hiding position. “We’ll pass like ships in the night.”

  Beth lingered on the steps as Carol stuck the key in the lock. “You want me to pick you up and drive you to the train station? I don’t mind.”

  “No, thank you. Go see your father. I know you’re dying to.”

  It was true. Even so, Beth said, “You sure?”

  “I’m sure. You should be with your parents. You guys have a lot to discuss.” Carol pushed open the heavy door, revealing the slate foyer lined with boxes of memorabilia, china, knickknacks, and framed photos and, yes, those American Girl dolls. This was going to take hours. “Oh, geesh.”

  “You’ll be here until tomorrow,” Beth said hopefully.

  “I don’t think so. Jeff’s so efficient there must be a system to this mess that I’ll figure out soon enough.” Though Carol wondered how she was supposed to get this done in time to catch the eight p.m. train home.

  “Well, call me if you need me. You know my cell.” Beth gave her a quick hug.

  Carol stood on the doorstep as Beth climbed back into the Highlander and pulled away from the curb with a short beep good-bye. She watched until it took a left and disappeared around the corner and she was back to being alone.

  Beth turned down their shared driveway and stared at Lynne’s empty house. She’d intended to grab her suitcase and head inside to call Marc and check on her parents but instead found herself wandering over to Lynne’s side door, cupping her hands against the glass and peering in. There was the kitchen with the same red-and-white gingham curtains, the red rooster cookie jar and electric teapot.

  But there was no Lynne.

  She tried the knob. Locked. Lynne had never locked up during the day. Never.

  Beth didn’t know what else she expected. Of course, Lynne was gone. It was almost two weeks since she died and, eventually, the weeks would turn into months and the months would turn into years. Grass would grow over her grave and snow would blanket it in the winter.

  Sean would erase Lynne’s voice from the answering machine, he’d change his listing in the phonebook from Sean and Lynne to just Sean. He might start seeing another woman—Lynne would have wanted that. Odds were likely that he’d sell the house and move permanently to their weekend cabin. And then another family would move in, people who’d never met Lynne, who never knew she existed.

  Beth tried the knob again and turned away.

  If this was how it was going to be from here on out, then maybe she and Marc should leave town too. Sadly, she let herself into her own kitchen and threw her keys on the counter. What would she do without Lynne? She could not live next door to that empty house.

  It was time to move on.

  After dumping her suitcase on a kitchen chair, she washed her hands and headed upstairs, almost missing the blinking red light on the telephone answering machine. That was strange. Most people, if they couldn’t reach her at home, would call her cell.

  She pressed the button and listened. Two messages. The first was from Marc in a slightly anxious tone asking her to call him, that he had tried her cell and hadn’t had any luck. “It’s important, Beth. Call me as soon as you get this.”

  It wasn’t like Marc to be excitable. Ever.

  The next was from her mother. At least, she thought it was her mother. It was hard to tell with the blubbering voice halting and hiccupping from the machine. The best she could make out was “Grace Hospital” and “he’s going into surgery now.”

  Beth fumbled for the phone and dialed Marc’s number. He answered on the first ring. “You’re home?” was all he said.

  “Just got in. I must have missed your call.”

  “Stay put. I’m coming to get you.” He was walking. She could tell by his rapid breathing, which only made her breathing rapid too.

  “What’s wrong?” Though she knew. “Is it Dad?”

  “He’s had another heart attack. He’s in surgery now and they’re doing all they can.” She heard the sound of a car door slamming. Marc was on his way. “But you should be prepared. It doesn’t look good.”

  “Stay put,” she said, snatching up the keys. “I’ll get there faster if I drive myself.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Oh,
God. It was finally happening, everything she’d feared since her father suffered his first heart attack five years before was coming true.

  Beth peeled off the backing from the ICU visitor pass and slapped the sticker above her left breast and pushed open the double doors to the white linoleum hallway, where the clinical smells of disinfectant and chlorine mingled with the all-too-human odors of urine and blood. She passed a gurney on which a gray-haired woman was being wheeled, unconscious, to destination unknown.

  She dreaded hospitals and couldn’t stand the idea of her father being poked and prodded like a hunk of flesh.

  What a relief to see Marc coming straight for her down the hall, smiling broadly in an effort, she knew, to assure her that everything was going to be all right. Even though, in her bones, she knew everything was not all right. Everything was very, very wrong.

  Wordlessly, he gathered her into his arms and let her cry against his shoulder, rubbing her back in soothing circles. “It’s OK, Beth,” he murmured. “We got to him in time and these doctors know what they’re doing. They know him. You gotta have faith.”

  After a while, they broke apart and Marc smoothed the tears off her cheeks. “That’s my brave girl.”

  “Hah!” Beth blinked and sniffed. “Brave, nothing. I’m scared shitless.”

  “Your father doesn’t think so. To him you are his smart, resourceful, beautiful daughter and I wholeheartedly agree.” He smiled.

  Beth didn’t want to start crying again, so she brought up her sister. “Does Madeleine know?”

  Marc ushered them through another set of swinging double doors to the heart of intensive care. “Your mother’s been talking to her. Lots of should-haves and if-onlys.”