Patricia Gaffney
Page 37
Dash felt teary, patting the back of her fuzzy red robe. “I don’t know what I’d’ve done without you, Cottie. All these months.”
“Me, too.”
“We were lucky to find each other.”
“I know, I think of that. Good timing.”
They hesitated in the doorway. Dash had a question she hadn’t known she wanted to ask until it popped out. “Would you get married again if something happened to Shevlin?” Mo wouldn’t. The last time they’d talked, she said, “I wouldn’t marry God.”
Cottie looked tickled. “Well, honey, I can’t claim I’ve never thought about it. First I said no, never again—that was when I was young. Then in middle age, I said never say never, and maybe I would. So as not to end up old and alone. Which is funny, since now that I am old, I’m back to no.”
“So you wouldn’t? Why not?”
“Oh, it’s too much trouble. It takes a lot of energy I don’t have anymore.” She leaned back against the wall. “The forgiving and forgetting, all the attention you have to pay. How big your heart has to be.” She looked Dash up and down. “Would you?”
“Yes. I love marriage. Although,” it occurred to her, “I guess I could just be in the middle-aged yes phase. But I know I’ve got enough energy for it.”
“Oh, honey.” Cottie took her hands, squeezing them between her big ones. “Your man is so lucky. In for good times.”
Dash blushed.
The elevator was down on the first floor, according to the dial; she decided to take the stairs. Naturally the elevator bell pinged as soon as she got to the door to the stairwell. She glanced back just as Owen, Shevlin, and a woman—Danielle—stepped out of the elevator into the hall. They didn’t see her. They turned and headed off in the opposite direction, toward Cottie’s room.
Why, she’s lovely, Dash thought. Clutching her purse in one hand, holding her father’s arm in the other. Petite and shiny-haired, taking short, fast, anxious steps. Owen towered over her, protective but not touching. He reminded Dash of Shevlin with Cottie, that same delicate solicitousness.
Go with her, she telegraphed to the back of Owen’s head. Go to Atlanta. It would be worth it, all the trouble it would cause, the energy it would take. The forgiveness and forgetfulness. The big heart—especially that. All worth it.
She would tell Mo that. Not that she wanted everyone in the world paired up at the end, like a Shakespeare comedy—although she did—but Mo needed to be reminded that yes, certainly we are all ultimately alone, but how much kinder to yourself it can be to look that fearful truth in the eye with the one you love. Your mate.
Amika was coming out of Andrew’s room as Dash went in. “Oh, hi—I left the referral on the table. And I asked Dr. Brooke, who said it would probably be better to wait a couple weeks to start, till he’s a hundred percent and has all his strength back.”
“Start what? Who’s Dr. Brooke?”
“Oh, the allergist. Your husband wanted to know if he could start the tests right away. For his dog allergy? Dr. Brooke thinks he should wait and get well, then see an allergist in D.C., so he left a name, it’s on the paper. Tell Mr. Bateman, will you? He asked me to ask.”
“Thanks. I will.”
Dash sat on Andrew’s bed. Pointless tears started as soon as she picked up the pink referral slip Amika had left on the bedside table. It was the nicest thing he’d ever done. She wanted to tell somebody, she wanted to say it out loud in a weepy voice, “It’s the nicest thing he’s ever done.” All so that she could keep Sock. Oh, Andrew.
If he had made this concession, this lovely, loving gesture for her the night she’d stormed out of the house, would it have changed everything? Or only postponed it? The latter, she thought. She’d have been touched, grateful, moved, but Sock was always just a surrogate, a ringer. A pinch hitter in the ball game of her discontent.
Not that she was counting, but with this piece of paper Andrew had moved out in front. She wasn’t used to that. They’d been reunited for less than a day, and already it was two to nothing. She didn’t know what she would do for him to even the score, not, of course, that there was a score, but she looked forward to thinking of something good. Some sweet, spontaneous kindness, an act of selfless love that would awe and humble him, like an allergist’s referral. A gesture of the big heart.
For now, though, he was ahead. By three to zip if you counted the next gift, and she did. She got to go downstairs and greet him in Recovery.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to Jerry Cederblom, professor of philosophy at the University of Nebraska at Omaha, for his insights into the workings and politics of a small college’s history department. I’m sure he made it all up, of course; I’m sure the dramas and intrigues at Mason-Dixon College never went on anywhere Jerry ever worked.
Thanks also to Rodney Clark, portrait photographer extraordinaire, who was so generous with his time and so patient with my questions.
Sally Kim’s kindness, clear thinking, and brilliant editing chops helped make the writing of this book a pleasure, or as close to it as any of them ever get. Thank you.
Finally, thanks to Amy Berkower at Writers House, for generosity and support, loyalty, patience, tolerance, charity, mercy, and any other cardinal virtues I’ve forgotten. You’re a lifesaver.
About the Author
Patricia Gaffney lives in southern Pennsylvania with her husband of twenty-eight years and their two dogs, Finney and Jolene.
Also by Patricia Gaffney
The Goodbye Summer
Flight Lessons
Circle of Three
The Saving Graces
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2007 by Patricia Gaffney
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Shaye Areheart Books, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
www.crownpublishing.com
Shaye Areheart Books with colophon is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Gaffney, Patricia.
Mad dash : a novel / Patricia Gaffney.—1st ed.
p. cm.
1. Midlife crisis—Fiction. 2. Married women—Fiction. 3. Middle-aged women—Fiction. 4. Domestic fiction. I. Title.
PS3557.A296M34 2007
813’.54—dc22 / 2006039295
eISBN: 978-0-307-40529-6
v1.0