“Glad you noticed. Many of them are homeless. The clinic represents shelter from heat in summer and cold in winter. They can wash and tidy up.” He covered her hand on the table.
“Not everybody who comes there is a patient. Some come to pass the time, to read the papers and watch TV. There is always free coffee and cookies.”
Their food arrived. Nina drank thirstily of her ice tea. For a while they concentrated on eating.
“Tell me about Marley.”
He didn’t answer immediately, but gazed though the window at the barges, rapid motor crafts and sailingboats. “Marley is a foundling, an abandoned child. Nobody knows his exact age or his origins. The police found him alone in the street. They brought him to the children’s hospital, where he was tested for all kinds of things. One of the tests put his age at about three years old, which means he is around twelve now.” He sipped his drink. “He didn’t even know his name. He slept in the weeds and ate out of dumpsters. He was treated for malnutrition and exposure.”
“How did you meet him?”
“At the time I worked in the hospital. Marley was assigned to me, and we bonded instantly. When he was released, he was placed in a county home. I visited as often as I could. During weekends, he stayed with me at my place.”
“He seems to adore you.”
Michael’s gaze held hers, his smile, gentle. “He’s like a son to me. He now lives with wonderful foster parents, a recent improvement on his situation. But he drops by the clinic almost every day.”
“Is he sick? I heard you ask him about his shot.”
He laughed. “I always try to have something for him, a book, a magazine on auto racing, a treat of some kind. ‘Shot’ is a secret word between us, meaning a gift of some kind.”
She took a sip of iced tea. “What’s with the dreadlocks and the Jamaican accent?”
“Marley doesn’t know where he comes from, who he is, who his parents are. When he read about Bob Marley, he became an instant fan. He learned about Jamaica and so he’s created his own persona.”
Intrigued, she asked, “Did he decide he was Bob Marley?”
“Not exactly. He asked me who he was. Naturally, I couldn’t answer, I didn’t know. He concluded that because he didn’t have a family, he was nobody. I convinced him he was luckier than most because he could choose who he wanted to be. He was, still is, crazy about Bob Marley, so, Bingo.” Michael snapped his fingers. “He became Marley from Jamaica.”
Moved by the story she covered his hand with one of hers. “What a wonderful idea—you gave him both an ideal and an identity. That’s beautiful, Michael.” Such a sensitive man. He’s quite something.
He nodded. “Despite his past, Marley is surprisingly together, but he should have counseling. You’d be good for him. He needs the closeness of a mature woman, a mother figure, which I haven’t been able to provide. He’s lived too long with men.”
“Oh? What about the foster home? Isn’t there a woman?”
“Yes, but he’s been there only six months, too early for any serious bonding. And his foster mother is young and works part-time.
“We were never able to discover anything about him. He has no history, no past, no family. He’ll need help to accept his lack of roots, to grieve that he was abandoned. He has to develop his own personality, or he’ll go through life a clone of a dead idol.”
His hand took hers and held it in a warm grip. “In the book I’m reading your bio says you have tenure at the Geneva University.”
“Yes, I used to lecture on the disease of chemical dependence, as well as mental disorders together with dependence.”
“Your credentials and experience are excellent. Would you be interested in a job as a counselor at our clinic?”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Oh Michael, would I ever! You’re making my day. I’ve wanted to ask if you have a job for me.”
He beamed his smile at her. “That’s great! We need somebody like you. But we can’t pay a lot, I’m afraid.”
“Money’s not a problem. I’ll do it as volunteer work. I could start in a couple of weeks, a few hours a week. Then in the fall when I’m properly settled I could work part-time.”
“Couldn’t you start part-time right away?”
“It wouldn’t be very practical, Michael. I want to be free during the summer months in case Lillian agrees to let the twins visit. If so, I want to be able to travel with them, show them around. I also need to finish my novel.”
“No problem. I didn’t think of it. Could you give us a few hours a week starting now?”
“If you give me your days and times, I’ll let you know.” She wanted to work at the clinic, but didn’t feel she was quite ready yet to make a permanent commitment. Looking at him, she squeezed his hand. “I’ll be able to work with Marley, a little at a time, get to know him better. I miss my children—Marley can’t replace them, but he’d help fill the emptiness.” For an instant she was quiet. “He charmed me.”
Michael nodded. “He has that effect on people.” Enthusiasm vibrated in his voice. “I’m glad I asked you, but I agree it’s good to settle in properly before you start working and be available when—or if—the twins visit.”
“Thanks for understanding. Once I begin to work, I want to give it my best, without distraction.” To Nina, this meant commitment to a new life, a new beginning.
As they left the restaurant, she was glad he hadn’t brought up the subject of shopping. Walking to the car, her step was bouncy with fresh energy.
She could still be useful. Somebody needed her.
Chapter 11
Since the accident, Nina had put off tidying her house. After lunch, as Michaelleft her in the driveway, promising to come by later in the afternoon, she changed into a one-piece bathing suit with a wrap tied around her waist and set to straighten and dust. On the windowsill in the den sat her collection of glass dolphins from Murano, seven of them, each a different color. Handling them with care, she polished each one to remove all traces of dust and fingerprints. When the setting sun shone through the window, caressing them, they glittered and sparkled like multiple rainbows. She had selected them with love and care, as she’d done each object in the house.
Nina sat in the recliner, one of the dolphins in her hands. Raising it to the light, specks of gold glittered and danced inside the glass.
Last fall, Sophie had admired her dolphin collection. A few days later, after closing the deal on Nina’s house, Sophie had brought this one as a housewarming gift. They’d spent the evening drinking white wine, and Sophie had opened up, telling Nina her life story.
The lamp on the low table between the two couches had shed a mellow light. Sophie kicked off her sandals and made herself comfortable on the couch. Nina had lounged on the love seat, a light blanket covering her legs, feeling chilly despite the heating.
Smiling, she glanced at Sophie. “We’ve become close friends, yet I know so little about you.”
Sophie’s soft grey eyes met hers. “That’s true. We’ve talked about the present, but hardly a word about where we come from. Where do you want me to start?”
“Start with the beginning, why don’t you? Like, where were you born?”
“New York, the Big Apple.”
“Care to tell me? About your childhood, your family.”
“Sure, but it’s not very inspiring.” Sophie’s voice was low and melodious. “My mother was a single parent. For eleven years there were just Mom and me. I didn’t know anything about my father, and Mom never mentioned her family, like parents, sisters or brothers, so Mom was the center of my existence. She was everything to me. When I was eleven she had Josh, and only a year later, she died from viral pneumonia. I was devastated, but there was Josh, my beautiful baby brother. He had blue-black curly hair, and his smile brightened the gloomiest day. He w
as lively and smart.
“We were placed with foster parents—together, thank Heaven. They were okay people, but both worked full time jobs, so I cared for Josh as my own son.
“We stayed with the foster parents until I turned eighteen. Then I got a job as a secretary that paid enough to cover our rent in a room we shared with a colony of cockroaches and a toilet for five apartments at the end of the hall. But it was home, and we were together, Josh and I.”
“Didn’t the authorities try to keep you in the foster home? I mean, you were just a kid yourself to be caring for a child.”
“I was of age, and anyway I didn’t ask permission. One day, we left, and nobody stopped us or tried to bring us back. We barely managed. Sometimes we could afford a movie, if we were very careful.”
Amazed, Nina wiped tears from her eyes. “It must have been hard for you, still so young with such responsibilities.”
Sophie shook her head. “I didn’t see it that way. As I said, we were together and that’s all that mattered.” She sipped her wine. “One cold day in January, Josh came home from school complaining of a headache, burning up with fever. He’d caught meningitis and passed away a few days later in the hospital.”
“What about medical expenses, how did you pay for his hospitalization?”
“My boss, bless his soul, gave me an advance. And I paid him back, every last cent. With Josh gone, I was really alone. I was only twenty and had nobody—no family, no friends. Josh had been my life, and I hadn’t connected with any of my coworkers.
“Close to a year after Josh died I met Tony. He wasn’t good looking at all, rather squat and bandy-legged, but when he asked me for a date, I accepted. It beat sitting alone in my room, missing Josh, hating my life. I was vulnerable and inexperienced and lonely. I could easily have fallen for a women beater, a bum, whatever, but I was lucky, and Tony was kind and decent. With him I found stability and I was safe. He was a family man who loved children and animals and me. We were married and Gregg was born. Then a year and eleven months later we had Bruce. Tony took a mortgage on a modest house in the suburbs; it had a small garden and a white picket fence, and I was in heaven. Literally. Life was good. The children thrived, Tony was making decent money, and I had a home.”
Sophie stood, stretched to her full length, pulling fingers through her hair. “This is making me restless. I haven’t talked about this in a long time. It’s draining me.” She went to open the door to the lanai. “Come, Nina,” she called over her shoulder. “Let’s go swimming.”
Nina joined her by the door. “You must be out of your mind. It’s freezing. Can’t be more than fifty degrees.” Shivering in the fresh October night Nina slid the door closed and rushed inside, snuggling in an oversized woolen cardigan. She chuckled to herself at Sophie’s impulsiveness. I bet shed go swimming if I agreed.
Smiling from ear to ear, Sophie returned. “Scared you, didn’t I?”
“No, but you know me, I’m always cold. I’ll swim with you when it’s warm,” she joked.
Sophie brought the bottle to eye level. “There’s about half a glass left. What about it, shall we live dangerously, crack open another one of these fellows?”
Always careful about her alcohol consumption because of her father’s addiction, Nina shook her head. “I don’t care for more, but I’ll be glad to open a bottle.”
“Never mind, I don’t like drinking alone.” They settled as before, Nina wore the cardigan back-to-front for warmth. “What happened between you and Tony?”
“Between us? Nothing. We had a good marriage. One day, when the boys were five and seven, our world came to an end. Tony’s car skidded on a patch of ice, left the road, smashed into a tree and killed him.” A tear slid down her cheek, and then another.
Nina handed her a paper napkin from the table and squeezed her hand.
Sophie dried her tears and sat with eyes closed for a while. “I sold the house and moved to Cape Coral with Gregg and Bruce. The sale of the house and Tony’s life insurance allowed us to live, until I’d passed the certification for realtor and landed a job. This happened when the city was developing. The moneyed German tourists and the snowbirds gambled on the area for the good investment it turned out to be. Business was growing, and I did well financially. Both my sons went to college.”
“You never remarried?”
“No. Those I loved were taken from me. I won’t risk having somebody I care for die on me again.”
“Doesn’t it get lonely?”
“Sometimes it does. But I have my job, which I love. Gregg and Bruce visit often.”
“You’re a good-looking woman. Hasn’t there been anybody special? Or am I prying?”
Sophie’s smile was faint. “Yes, you’re prying, but I don’t mind A few years ago I dated somebody, but nothing came of it.”
“Oh. Why not?”
“I like my life, don’t care for the commitment a relationship would bring.”
Nina wanted to know more, but decided to respect Sophie’s privacy. “Thanks for telling me,” she said. “I feel closer to you now that I know about your life. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
Sophie smiled and patted Nina’s arm. “We sure are. And both the richer for it, I’m sure.”
That was six months ago. While Nina had been in France during the winter, they called often, spending sometimes close to an hour on the phone, cementing their friendship.
Nina sighed and got to her feet, placing the dolphin among the others on the window sill in the bright light of the April sun, beams bouncing off them.
Something in the way Sophie had talked about Michael the other night when she told Nina to give him a chance, not to isolate, made Nina wonder whether there was more to their relationship than friendliness. Was he the man Sophie had dated? Nina didn’t doubt that Sophie would tell her if she asked. Perhaps she would one day if the opportunity presented itself. Not that it mattered to her one way or the other. Michael was becoming a friend. She liked him, a lot, delighted in his company.
Nina was at peace for the first time since discovering André and “that woman.” The serenity might be temporary, but the process of healing had begun. The warm climate, the sun and restful nights contributed to her being more centered.
When she was through tidying her house, she set up the laptop on the lanai and worked on her novel. She needed to do some research before she could move ahead, so she spent the next several hours outlining.
A voice close by made her jump in her seat.
“Sorry, if I frightened you,” Michael said. “I figured I’d find you here when you didn’t open on my ring.”
Lost in memories and her work, she hadn’t thought of his half promise to come by.
Glancing at him, she smiled. “Good to see you.” She saved her work and moved the laptop out of the way. “I must have been concentrating so hard I didn’t hear the door.” She congratulated herself for having had the good sense to pull a long T-shirt over the bathing suit after she was through cleaning.
He set a paper bag on the table. “Care for some strawberries? They’re fresh from my garden.”
“I’d love some. Growing your own strawberries?”
“Sure. I grow a lot of things.”
While they visited, Michael cleaned and stemmed the berries. “You’ll see. One day I’ll show you my garden.”
Michael often said “one day” he would show her this, do that, but did he really mean it?
He took the berries inside and returned with them glistening, bowls and spoons in hand. From another smaller bag he produced a bottle of fresh double cream.
Watching him pour it over the strawberries, she held up her hand. “Thanks. That’s enough. Everybody seems intent on feeding me. I have to take care or I won’t fit into my clothes.”
He glanced at her, shaking h
is head. “No. You don’t need to worry about that.”
His gaze sent the heat of a blush creeping up to her neck and face. She ate a few berries. “Mmm, they’re delicious. Taste nothing like store bought stuff.”
He smiled. “Glad you like.” From his pocket he pulled a handkerchief and wiped his brow. “It sure is warm. Doesn’t the heat bother you?”
“No, it’s never too hot for me.”
After a few spoonfuls he asked, “What have you been doing with yourself this afternoon?”
“Well, it’s not that long since you brought me home. I’ve been straightening up. And writing, of course.”
“I haven’t seen any of your work. Got something for me to read?”
“I haven’t written anything in a few days. I have to do some research before I can go further. I’m stuck on a technicality … I need to talk to a friend from my student days, Barry Campbell. I found an article on the form of personality disorder I’m writing about. It turns out Barry wrote the piece. He’s a psychiatrist, has an office in Fort Myers. I’ll contact him, pick his brains.”
“I’m looking forward to reading your novel.” He pointed. “Have you been in the pool? Swimming would be good for your ankle.”
“No. The ankle is still a bit sore. I’m not sure how I’d get out, so I’ve only sat on the edge with my feet in the water.”
“Care for a swim now? I’ll help, if you can’t get out on your own.”
She didn’t hesitate. “Oh yes, that would be marvelous! I’ve been dying to go in the water.”
“What are we waiting for? I have a pair of swimming trunks in the car. Be right back.”
When he returned, she was in the pool doing laps. She’d grown up by the Atlantic Ocean in Biarritz and loved water, her natural element.
Swimming back and forth she reveled in her muscles growing warm and becoming supple after the days of inactivity. The exercise eased the tension in her neck and shoulders, strength returning with each effortless breath. Right now there was only this moment she shared with the water.
Life Is A Foreign Language Page 8