Blue Wide Sky

by Inglath Cooper

  Now she’s the one who laughs. “Well, you certainly called the right girl, didn’t you?”

  Life appears to me too short to be spent in nursing animosity or registering wrongs.

  ~ Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

  Sam

  I spend the morning with my dad’s old toolbox and a ladder, providing first aid to some of the house’s less notable needs, a drooping gutter, a stuck window and bowed flooring. I let the work blank my mind of last night with Gabby, this morning’s conversation with Analise.

  The effort is less than successful because it’s Gabby I’m thinking about when the phone rings just before lunch.

  It’s Kat with bubbles in her voice. “Guess what, Sam?”

  “What?”

  “Sarah, my best friend, has a cousin who rides the school bus with Lance and Tom. She said they got three calls each this morning on the way to school from people about the cow poo ad.”

  “Really?” I say, smiling.

  “Yep. She said their faces turned beet red, and they finally just turned their phones off.” She laughs, and there’s sunshine in the sound.

  “We did good then?”

  “We did good.” She hesitates and then, “Thank you, Sam. For helping me.”

  “You’re more than welcome.”

  “I never would have come up with anything like that.”

  “That’s a good thing, I’m sure.”

  She laughs. “Can I fix you supper tonight? As a thank you.”

  I’m debating what Gabby would say about that when Kat says, “Mama says it’s okay.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Positive.”

  “Maybe I ought to talk to her first.”

  “Okay,” she says, and I can hear her curiosity. “Mama?” she calls out.

  There’s some rustling of the phone, and then Kat says, “Here she is.”

  “Hey,” Gabby says.

  “Hi. It’s fine if you’d rather I not come. I didn’t want to put you in an awkward position.”

  “Kat wants you to.”

  I start to argue, but the part of me that wants to go doesn’t want to give her a chance to change her mind. “Okay, then. What time?”

  “Be here at six?”

  “Six, it is.”

  “See you then,” she says and hangs up.

  ~

  I GET THERE FIVE MINUTES early and debate sitting in the driveway until I’m on time, but Kat looks out the front window of the house and comes rolling out the door to meet me.

  I get out of the car, and she’s in front of me in seconds, her face lit with a smile. “Sam! They’re asking everyone if they know who put that ad in the paper. No one does, and I’m the last person they’d ever guess would do it.”

  “That’s a good thing,” I say.

  “I guess. Even though I’d sure like to see the look on their faces when they found out.” She turns back to the house, rolling along beside me as I walk to the front porch. I give her a push up the ramp, and Gabby meets us at the door.

  We study each other for a moment, everything I’d practiced on the way over so much wasted effort since my mind can’t get a foothold on a word or a thought. “Thanks for having me,” I finally say, and it feels as lame as it sounds.

  “Come in.”

  I follow them both through the living room and into the kitchen where something smells wonderful. “Um,” I say. “What is that?”

  “Kat is doing homemade pasta tonight,” Gabby says, by way of explanation.

  “It’s a surprise past that,” Kat says. “You and Mama are banned to the deck while I finish.”

  “Honey, I planned on helping,” Gabby says, as if she’s just spotted a pothole ahead that she hadn’t anticipated.

  “But I want to do the whole thing,” Kat says, and I see Gabby waiver between her desire to avoid being alone with me and her recognition of her daughter’s sincerity. “I already put iced tea and glasses out there for you, so shoo.”

  We’re left with little option but to do as she says, and Gabby leads the way through the sliding glass doors, shutting it behind us.

  “Sorry about that,” I say.

  “She wants to repay you,” Gabby says. “I understand.”

  “She doesn’t owe me anything.”

  “That’s not how she sees it.” Gabby picks up the pitcher of tea and pours us both a glass.

  “Thanks,” I say, taking it and immediately setting my gaze on the lake beyond the deck when what I really want is to linger on Gabby’s face and the troubled look in her eyes.

  “Do you think, for tonight, because it’s important to Kat, that we could just forget about everything we talked about last night?”

  “Yes,” I say, wanting to add that I’d be happy if we could permanently erase all of it from both our minds.

  The sliding glass door opens, and we both turn to see a woman holding a plate with a very large cake that has been decorated in pink swirls of icing. She glances at Gabby and then at me, her eyes widening.

  “Oh,” she says. “I didn’t know you had company.”

  I recognize her then as Gabby’s friend, Annie. She’s actually changed very little in all the years since I’ve seen her, her dark hair still straight and long, her blue eyes wary of me. “Hello, Annie,” I say, standing.

  “Ah, Sam. Hi.” She looks at Gabby and says again, making a point, “I didn’t know you had company.”

  “Kat’s making dinner,” she starts to explain, and then as if thinking better of the explanation, “Would you like to join us?”

  Annie holds the cake up and says, “Just wanted to drop off a peace offering.”

  “You didn’t have to do that,” Gabby says.

  “Maybe it wasn’t needed.” Annie shrugs, and sets the cake on a nearby table.

  Feeling the tension, I say, “If you two would like to talk, I can go inside.”

  Annie holds up a hand and shakes her head. “No, no, I think everything has already been said.”

  “Annie,” Gabby starts, but Annie slides open the door and disappears into the kitchen.

  “Aren’t you going to go after her?” I ask.

  Gabby is standing with her back to me, facing the lake. “It’s probably not a good time.”

  “Would you like for me to go, Gabby? I’m sure Kat would understand if you told her—”

  She turns then, her eyes snapping fire. “Told her what? That we used to love each other and being anywhere near you now is like having a knife stuck in my heart?”

  It isn’t what I expected, and, judging from the look on her face, I don’t think it’s what she meant to say either. But she doesn’t take it back. She leans forward with her hands anchored on the deck railing and draws in a deep breath.

  “It would have been better,” Gabby says, “if you’d never come back at all.”

  “In a lot of ways, I think you’re right.”

  “In every way that counts.”

  “Gabby—”

  She whirls around, cutting me off. “I went to her house last night after I left yours. She thinks I’m crazy to have anything to do with you.”

  “She may be right about that.”

  “She cares about me, Sam, and doesn’t want to see me hurt again.”

  “And I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You are, though.”

  I have a sudden feeling of panic, like I’m at the top of a roller coaster about to head down the other side when it stops, poised to torpedo off the tracks.

  I set my glass of tea on the table next to the cake. “I’ll tell Kat I can’t stay. I shouldn’t have come. I knew you were doing this for her, and I guess I took advantage of it.”

  My hand is on the door when she says, “No. Don’t. She’s worked hard this afternoon.”

  “Are you sure, Gabby?”

  “Yes,” she begins, just as Kat opens the door and announces that dinner is ready and waves us inside with a big smile of anticipation.

  “I’ll
leave as soon as we’re done,” I say to Gabby once Kat has planted us both at the dining room table and disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Okay,” she says, and it’s clear to me that I have at least, for now, said the right thing.

  I felt it shelter to speak to you.

  ~ Emily Dickinson

  Gabby

  Kat likes him. A lot. On some level, maybe it should bother me, but, for some reason, it doesn’t. It’s easy to see why she does, after all. He listens when she talks, not like some adults who listen at half attention, but with real interest in her opinion.

  She’s telling him about a book she just read, Fever 1793, set in Philadelphia during the yellow-fever epidemic that wiped out 10 percent of the city’s population. “You’re a doctor. Can you imagine living through such a thing?” she asks, directing the question to both of us.

  “No,” Sam says. “People literally died overnight, didn’t they?”

  Kat nods. “The girl who’s the main character in the story lost her mother. It was so sad,” she says and looks at me with such love that I am instantly reminded how lucky I am to have her as my daughter.

  Sam sees it too, and I wonder about that flash of longing on his face, whether he’s missing his children. “It would be horrible, wouldn’t it?” he says.

  Kat nods. “Do you have children?”

  I flinch at the question. It’s innocent of anything other than curiosity, and she has no way of knowing the awkwardness of it.

  “Yes,” Sam says. “Two.”

  “What are their names?”

  “Evan and Analise.”

  “Are they my age?”

  “They’re older than you,” Sam says, and I find myself waiting for him to elaborate. But he doesn’t.

  “Do they like to read?” Kat asks.

  “My son does. He started reading when he was three. There was just something about words that he loved.”

  “Me too,” Kat says. “I even like to read cookbooks.”

  Sam smiles. “Lucky for us.”

  “You like it?” she asks, nodding at the food on his plate.

  “I love it. What is it?”

  Kat laughs. “Pansotti alla genovese.”

  “Ah. That’s what I was thinking.”

  He looks at me, and I smile without editing myself.

  “It’s Mama’s favorite,” Kat says.

  “That it is,” I agree.

  “How did you start cooking?” Sam asks, glancing at Kat.

  “To help Mama. She hates to cook.”

  “Which has worked out great for me,” I say.

  “And me,” she agrees.

  “What is it you like about cooking?” Sam asks.

  She thinks about the question for a moment, and then says, “Foods are like an artist’s paints. The colors are beautiful, but they taste good too. You can make something pretty and appealing, and it makes people happy.”

  “Hard to beat that,” he says.

  “I like to make people feel good. That’s why I want to be a doctor.”

  “That’s an awfully good reason to choose a career.”

  “Do you like being a doctor?”

  “Yes.”

  “What kind are you?”

  “A heart doctor.”

  “A cardiologist.”

  Sam smiles. “Yes. That one.”

  “I’m sure it makes people happy when you fix them.”

  “You’re right. It does.”

  Kat spears a ravioli with her fork, as if thinking about whether to say what she’s about to say. “Can a heart really break, Sam? I mean like for real.”

  Sam’s gaze widens, and then he looks at me. Something near my own heart lurches, and I tear my gaze from his.

  “Sort of, yes,” he says.

  “I know the veins get stopped up and stuff sometimes. But I mean like from love. Can a heart break from that?”

  “I think it hurts in a way that a person can feel it.”

  “Is it something you can fix?”

  “Most of the time it’s the kind of thing that can only be fixed by the person who broke it.”

  I can’t listen any longer. The blood is pumping through my veins with alarming intensity, and I can feel the pulse beating at my temple. I get up from the table, say, “Excuse me,” and swing through the door to the kitchen.

  There, I plant a palm on either side of the sink, and draw in several deep breaths. The heat has started to leave my face when I hear the door swing in and feel Sam’s presence behind me.

  “Are you all right?” he asks quietly.

  I turn around and force neutrality into my smile. “Yes. I’m fine.”

  “I’m sorry about that—”

  “She doesn’t know,” I say.

  “Yes, but I could have derailed that conversation.”

  “Why didn’t you then?” I ask, wondering at the note in his voice.

  “Because I think it’s true.”

  “That you broke my heart?” I try to sound disbelieving, but hear my own failure.

  “That I broke both our hearts.”

  It’s not what I expected, and the only response I can find is, “Sam.”

  “Mama!” Kat calls out. “Aren’t you and Sam going to finish your food?”

  “We’re coming,” I call back, and leave Sam standing there with undeniable regret etched in his face.

  ~

  THE REST OF THE MEAL passes with Kat doing most of the talking, this time avoiding anything as serious as hearts. She plants us both on the deck and serves dessert out there, leaving us to finish and talk while she cleans up the kitchen.

  By now her efforts at matchmaking are fairly transparent, and I wait for the door to close behind her before looking at Sam and saying, “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t need to apologize to me. I’m just glad she thinks I’m worthy of you. Coming from her that would be a high honor.”

  “Sam—”

  “I can leave if you’d like.”

  “No, stay,” I say, realizing how much I do not want him to leave. “Your children. Are they like you?” I ask.

  He looks surprised by the question, but says, “Some parts are. Evan likes learning new things, taking stuff apart and figuring out how to put it back together again.”

  “Like hearts?”

  “Yeah,” he says, smiling. “Only that’s not going to be his choice of puzzle. He’s studying law.”

  I nod. “And Analise?”

  “She might be a writer. She’s been keeping journals since she was seven. She’s pretty much written down every thought or feeling she’s had since then. She’s developed a strong, unique voice. And when she’s a little older, I think she’s really going to have something to say.”

  “They sound a lot like you.”

  “They’re good kids. We’ve had our moments. Analise is currently living the rebellion phase, but hopefully, it won’t last.”

  “How do you know?” I ask, suddenly picturing Kat pulling away from me, unable to imagine the pain of that.

  “I guess you just have to trust that if they’ve loved you once, they’ll return to that. That’s the cruel part of parenting, the fact that you have to let them go, in order for them to ever come back.”

  “And the harder you hold on, the more they pull away?”

  “Something like that, yeah.”

  “It sounds awful.”

  Sam smiles. “It kind of is while you’re in the middle of it, but once it passes, you don’t really remember the pain of it.”

  “Like childbirth. Or so they say.”

  Sam takes a sip of his coffee, and I can see he’s weighing his next words. “Did you ever try to have a child?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  He clearly wants to ask more, but doesn’t. “She couldn’t be any more like you if she were your natural-born child.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “It’s nice to hear that.”

  “It’s true. She even has the same facial expressions
as you.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  “Like the way you squint your nose when you don’t agree with something.”

  “She does do that.”

  “And the way you twist your finger through your hair when you’re thinking hard about something.”

  I laugh now, picturing Kat doing exactly that, and realizing I’d never recognized it as something we both do. It’s nice, though, to think that Sam noticed.

  The sliding door behind us opens, and Kat says, “Was it good?”

  “Scale of 1 to 10?” Sam asks.

  Kat nods.

  “Fifteen,” he says.

  Her smile is instant. “Cool. There’s more if you’d like it.”

  “Thanks, honey,” I say.

  “I think I’ll go on to bed,” she says, not quite meeting my gaze. “All that cooking wore me out.”

  Sam sets down his coffee cup. “I should be going then.”

  “No,” Kat says quickly. “Stay. It’s nice for Mama to have someone to talk to.”

  I blush nine shades of red, say goodnight to my daughter, and wait until she’s gone before saying, “I’m not sure what’s worse. The overt matchmaking or the concession to how pitiful her mom’s social life is.”

  “It’s a compliment to me,” Sam says. “I don’t see her wanting you to spend time with just anyone.”

  “She never has before,” I say, then realizing how revealing the statement is, I add, “Not often, I mean.”

  There’s some silence, and then Sam says, “Are you seeing anyone?”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. “Well, if I am, he’s not around much, is he?”

  “I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.”

  “No, it isn’t,” I say. “But no, I’m not.”

  The emotion that flits across his face can only be described as relief, and something inside me startles at the realization. I feel us inching toward a tightrope, testing a toe to its tension, weighing the wisdom of walking its length.

  I should turn and run, as fast and as far as I can go. Flight instinct dictates it. But the old pull is there. I feel it as strong as I’ve ever felt anything, the pulse of it taking up its former space inside me. I’m as powerless to resist now as I had been when I was too young to know better.

  The night has come alive around us, voices in the dark beyond the deck calling out to one another, a hoot owl announcing its presence, a dog protesting its isolation.