Home for the Summer

by Holly Chamberlin

  She had been alone in the house, standing at the window of her bedroom, contentedly watching a large white rabbit hopping across the backyard—the grass had been an exceptionally bright green and the flowers in their beds almost neon in hue—when suddenly her eyes began to cloud and a sense of dread began to come upon her. Someone close to her was in danger. This she knew more clearly as her eyesight continued to dim, but what she didn’t know was the source of this danger or its specific target.

  Now largely blinded to the vivid colors in the yard, Ruby turned from the window and stumbled into the hallway. The sense of menace grew stronger. Somehow she found the staircase and, clutching tightly to the banister, blinking rapidly in a vain attempt to clear her vision, she managed to reach the first floor, by which time she was totally and absolutely blind and the fear was raging inside her. She had to warn whoever it was who was in danger—Frieda? Bella? Phil? George? She had to find the front door or the door in the mudroom and get out of the house and shout with all her might for help. And then her hand was on a doorknob and she twisted it and pulled on it and nothing at all happened. She began to sob and to pound on the door and—

  And then she woke. She remembered sitting up and rubbing her eyes as if to clear them, but they didn’t need clearing. She could see the room around her, walls and windows and furniture and knickknacks, even her bra thrown over the back of a chair, all in perfect detail. But what she still couldn’t make out was the nature of the danger the dream had been warning her of. That someone she knew was in danger there was no doubt. Or was there? As Ruby came further awake she began to question her first assumption. Dreams didn’t necessarily foretell the future or predict the inevitable. Like ghosts, they might be summoned by an undigested bit of beef or a fragment of underdone potato as Dickens’s infamous Scrooge had argued. Or, more likely, dreams might be caused by something you had read or seen or heard about the day before, some bit of information or sensory impression that had lingered on into the night when your subconscious brain could make of it what it would.

  This dream, Ruby thought, built on the themes of blindness and fear and confusion, might simply have to do with her hesitation to accept George’s proposal of marriage. Maybe her brain had been trying to tell her that the person in danger was actually her own self, in danger of missing a wonderful opportunity. Or maybe the person in danger was in fact George, at risk of having his heart broken. In either case, the dream might be telling Ruby that her home, the place she considered a warm and safe haven, had in reality become a prison of sorts, a physical structure as well as a state of mind that was standing in the way of her taking the next step in her life.

  By the time Ruby had finished breakfast her head was hurting from trying to decipher the meaning behind the dream. She hated things she couldn’t understand. In contrast, Ariel’s coming to her as she did was so blessedly clear and comforting. By the time the breakfast dishes were done, Ruby had decided to put the dream out of her mind as best she could.

  Besides, now there were other matters to consider. At the hospital that afternoon one of Ruby’s colleagues had announced she had decided to retire. “I’m sixty-eight,” Abby told her over coffee in the cafeteria. “I’ve waited too long already. I’m beyond tired and I can’t help but think of all I might have done these past three years or so instead of dispensing medicines and changing sweaty bedsheets. I have too many regrets, Ruby. Too many regrets.”

  Abby’s announcement had come as a surprise and had made Ruby realize she hadn’t given her own date of retirement any real thought. Retirement of course would mean the loss of her salary; her monthly Social Security payout wouldn’t be enough on which to live, but she had been saving smartly and her IRA was heftier than a lot of people might imagine. With continued frugality she would be okay going forward into old age. Insurance was insanely expensive, but as soon as she turned sixty-five she would be eligible for Medicare; she could easily continue to work until that date less than a year in the future. But a year was so little time in which to mentally prepare to feel and even to be viewed as—as redundant.

  Ruby went to the cabinet in which she kept the dry goods and took out a box of rice. And, she thought, as she measured rice and water into the automatic rice cooker, there was George. If she didn’t give him the answer he wanted and he did in fact end their relationship, retirement might be very lonely indeed. She had counseled Frieda not to consider a single life as a diminished or a reduced life, but she wasn’t sure she could follow her own advice, not after three years spent in a relationship with a person she genuinely loved.

  Ruby Hitchens did not indulge in self-delusion. She was well aware that the monthly meetings of The Page Turners could never fill the emptiness that losing George and her job would leave behind. Not even the presence of her daughter and granddaughter, whether here in Yorktide or not so far away in Massachusetts, could replace the love George offered and the mental stimulation and challenges her career afforded her. What had Abby said with a sad shake of her head? I have too many regrets, Ruby. Too many regrets.

  Maybe, Ruby thought as she took a bunch of broccoli from the crisper, she would table the thought of leaving her job for now. And the thought of marrying George? Ruby reached for the vegetable peeler. That matter couldn’t be tabled for very much longer without causing some very severe damage.

  Chapter 75

  “This chicken is awesome, Grandma.”

  “Thanks,” her grandmother said. “It’s called Chicken Marbella.”

  Bella nodded. “It’s like something you’d make for a celebration dinner, which I guess is appropriate, because something big happened today.”

  “And what was that?” her mother asked.

  Bella looked from her mother to her grandmother. “Phil told me all about Tony having AIDS. About how Grandma and Grandpa helped them when Tony got sick and then when he died. He told me about Grandma’s suggesting he have a panel made for the Names Project AIDS Memorial Quilt and his saying no. And he told me he wasn’t allowed at the funeral. That really made me cry.”

  Her grandmother put down her fork. “Wow,” she said. “I’m surprised Phil broke his silence. And I’m also very pleased that he trusted you with his story.”

  “I told him I’d find out if the quilt project is still going on. He said that sometimes he wishes he’d gone ahead and had a panel made for Tony. What was Tony like, Grandma?” Bella asked. “I mean, I’ve always known he was handsome, but that’s not saying much.”

  “He was a fantastic cook,” her grandmother told her. “He was entirely self-taught, but I swear he could have cooked in a five-star Michelin-rated restaurant and nobody would have been the wiser.”

  “I remember once he made me a little cake in the shape of a frog.” Her mother smiled. “It had pink crème inside its mouth and glossy green icing as its skin and chocolate drops for eyes. I was so fascinated by it I didn’t want to eat it. I wanted to keep it as a treasure.”

  “Did you?” Bella asked.

  “No way! I ate it, of course. What eight-year-old doesn’t scarf down a cake, especially one in the shape of a frog? Tony had flavored the green icing with mint. Yum.”

  “What else can you tell me about Tony, Grandma?” Bella asked.

  “Well, he was a quiet sort, not shy exactly but never the one with a lampshade on his head. He went to services at a Lutheran church every Sunday. He was a regular volunteer at an animal shelter in Wells. He and Phil couldn’t have a dog or a cat; you know how allergic Phil is to dander. And he loved Phil with all his being. It was a joy to see them together. To be honest, with my own relationship falling to shreds it was sometimes difficult to witness such a devoted couple. If I didn’t love Phil and Tony I might have felt hugely jealous of what they shared.”

  Bella sighed. “Poor Phil. And all these years he’s been alone? I mean, I don’t remember ever seeing him with a partner.”

  “He’s been alone except for his friends,” her mother said. “Except for us and a few o
ther people from the old days. He was close with his mother, but she died about ten years ago.”

  “My experience with Tony’s illness and death was what inspired me to become a nurse after Steve left Yorktide for good.”

  “Really, Grandma?” Bella asked.

  “Yes. I was so impressed by the nursing care Tony received when he was in the hospital. With one or two exceptions the nurses were courageous and kind to him as well as to Phil. And the nurse who tended to Tony at home in his final days was a saint.”

  “Do you remember her, Mom?” Bella asked.

  “No. I wasn’t allowed to see Tony in those last weeks,” her mother explained. “He was in such poor physical condition I guess the adults thought I’d be too upset. They were probably right.”

  “He asked about you, though. Right until the end he wanted to know that you were well. I think in a more enlightened day and time Phil and Tony would have adopted a child. They would have made great daddies.”

  “Phil was pretty much a father figure to you, right, Mom?” Bella asked. “I mean, after my grandfather left.”

  “Yes, he was. And he was wonderful. Now, on a vastly lighter note, Jack and I thought we’d stop in at the Pine Hill Tavern this evening. Is that all right?”

  Bella rolled her eyes. “Mom, you don’t have to ask permission to do normal stuff.”

  “Remember, Frieda, it’s your night to clean up after dinner,” Ruby said.

  “Your grandmother is such a stickler for discipline, isn’t she, Bella?”

  Bella laughed. She felt so very happy at that moment. Seriously, her life was pretty wonderful in spite of the bad stuff that had happened. “I’ll clean up, Mom,” she said. “You’ve covered for me before. Just don’t stay out too late. You know how Grandma and I worry.”

  Chapter 76

  The Pine Hill Tavern was crowded and Jack and Frieda were lucky to get the last available table for two. Jack went to the bar to get their drinks. The moment he was gone Frieda caught the eye of a well-built man with a magnificent head of silver hair.

  “Hello, Frieda,” Karl Auerbach said, striding toward her. “It’s nice to see you again.” He reached for her hand and took it in both of his in a typically avuncular gesture.

  “Hello, Mr. Auerbach,” Frieda said with a smile. “It’s nice to see you, too.”

  He released her hand and beamed at her. “You’re looking very well,” he said.

  “Thanks. I’m feeling pretty good, too. It’s probably because of my mother’s healthy cooking.”

  “And she seems to have recovered nicely after that nasty fall she took last year. Recovery must have taken an enormous amount of patience and hard work.”

  “It did,” Frieda agreed. “But you know my mother. She’s the original can-do gal.”

  Karl Auerbach squinted off into the distance. “You know,” he said, “I remember when your father broke his wrist. It must have been about thirty years ago now. He was working construction at the time.” Karl Auerbach looked back to Frieda and smiled. “But you probably don’t remember that. And now look what I’ve gone and done! Mentioned your father—”

  “It’s okay, Mr. Auerbach,” Frieda assured him. “Really. In fact, my father and I have been in touch this summer.”

  Karl Auerbach’s eyebrows rose. “Have you? I always did like Steve Hitchens, in spite of his wild and careless streak. You never know what surprises life will bring, do you? Parents and children reuniting after all these years . . . And speaking of family, I’d better get on. The missus will be waiting for me.”

  Frieda watched as Mr. Auerbach made his way through the crowd and toward the door of the tavern. She had enjoyed the exchange with one of the more popular locals in Yorktide. In fact—and why hadn’t she considered this before?—it might be a good thing to move back once Bella was on her own. There was something very comforting and grounding about seeing familiar faces from your childhood, people who had witnessed the major events that had helped shape your life, people who could help you remember the things you didn’t want to forget. Most important, Frieda thought, if she lived in Yorktide she could see her mother on a more regular basis and be right on hand for her as she aged.

  And, of course, there was Jack. Frieda watched him maneuver through the crowd, a drink in each hand. She would be lying to herself if she denied that he was one of Yorktide’s main attractions for her. But she was leaping ahead yet again.

  “It’s a mob scene in here tonight,” Jack said, carefully setting the drinks on their table. “I saw old Karl Auerbach chatting with you a moment ago.”

  “Yes. He never seems to change. I swear I remember him looking exactly the same as he did when I was a teenager, silver hair and all.”

  Jack laughed. “Rumor has it that Shelly waits at the door for him to come home from the Pine Hill. If he’s as much as one minute after eight o’clock he’s banned from going out for his after-dinner drink for the next two nights.”

  “Yikes! How long have they been married?” Frieda asked. “It must be over fifty years. Something must be working for them.”

  “Luck? Hard work? Genuine friendship? A bit of all three, I imagine.”

  Yes, Frieda thought. A bit of all three. “I heard from my lawyer today,” she said.

  “About?” Jack asked.

  “Not good news but nothing surprising, either. A while back we sued the rental company that provided the car Aaron was driving at the time of the accident. But it’s a small family-owned business and it doesn’t look like we’ll see a settlement anytime soon. And when we do, it won’t be much. Frankly,” Frieda admitted, “sometimes I think I should drop the suit and let them keep the money. It won’t bring Aaron and Ariel back. And then I think, no, every little bit will help Bella in the future.”

  “Frieda,” Jack said, “please don’t think I’m being impertinent. But are you and Bella financially secure?”

  “You’re not being impertinent,” Frieda assured him. “Money is a fact of life and it’s important. Yes, we’re all right. Not as solid as we were back when Aaron was providing for the family. He had life insurance of course, I think I told you that before, but . . . Everything was so expensive. Bringing Aaron and Ariel home. The funerals.” Frieda shook her head. “Selling the house brought in some cash and I take whatever jobs I can find, like that new gig with Strawberry Lane. Bella and I are better off than so many families and I take nothing for granted.”

  “Neither do I. The loss of an income can be devastating. Veronica’s salary was never hefty, but it certainly helped.” Jack leaned in a bit before going on. “I never shared this with anyone, but not long before Veronica died she told me she wanted me to sell her jewelry. She didn’t want me to suffer in the slightest.”

  “What did you do?” Frieda asked gently.

  “A few weeks after the funeral I brought her best pieces to a jeweler for an appraisal and the price everything would have fetched was significant, but in the end I just couldn’t go through with a sale. I chose to keep a gold locket I had given her and I gave the rest to her parents. It felt like the right thing to do. Veronica’s nieces will inherit eventually.”

  Frieda glanced at her left hand. “What happened to Veronica’s wedding ring?” she asked.

  “Oh, I kept that, too, along with my own. Sentimental treasures.”

  “I know all about those. As you can see, I’m still wearing my wedding ring. Aaron didn’t wear one, but it never bothered me. I didn’t need him to wear a ring to prove that he loved me.”

  “My father only wore his ring to church on Sundays. I suppose it only got in the way during the workweek. Plumbing and jewelry don’t make for a very good match.”

  “You know,” Frieda said. “I don’t remember if my father wore a wedding ring. I suppose I could ask my mother, but I don’t want to bring up a topic that might be stressful. She’s fine talking with my father on occasion, but I have no idea if unhappy memories still keep her up at night.”

  “They must have,
for a time. Hopefully, not any longer.”

  “Maybe now it’s only Ariel who visits her when the lights are out. Though it’s interesting. Mom hasn’t mentioned that happening lately. Maybe her sleep is blissfully uninterrupted.”

  Jack raised an eyebrow. “Is an adult’s sleep ever blissfully uninterrupted?”

  “Probably not. Jack?” Frieda said. “When you were growing up did you ever think you’d stay on in Yorktide?”

  “I don’t remember giving it much thought,” Jack admitted. “I went away for college and grad school and after that I worked at a school just outside of Boston and then in Connecticut for a few years. I was in my early thirties before I took the job here at YCC.”

  “But why did you take a job here and not somewhere else?” Frieda asked.

  “I like it in Yorktide, plain and simple. When the mood for change would come upon me I traveled, but it always felt good to come home.” Jack smiled. “And as I mentioned, the travel bug largely seems to have left me. Maybe that will change when I retire someday in the distant future.”

  “I’m afraid the idea of getting on a plane for a distant shore holds absolutely no appeal for me, not after what happened in Jamaica. Not that the accident couldn’t have happened anywhere, but . . .” Frieda shrugged. “I’m being superstitious, I know. And maybe someday I will be ready again to travel.”

  “It would be a shame to let that one tragic incident cut off an entire avenue of experience. A shame but understandable.”

  “Jack, look,” Frieda said suddenly. “I think we’re going to get a free show.” Two of Yorktide’s favorite professional musicians, instruments in tow, had just come into the Pine Hill to shouts of greeting and calls for a song.

  Jack smiled. “Who says life in a small town is boring? Wherever there are human beings there are surprises.”

  And they’re often nice surprises, Frieda thought. Very nice surprises.