As Young As We Feel

by Melody Carlson

  She wasn't even thinking about her old Hollywood aspirations this time. Caroline was nobody's fool; she was fully aware that real stardom was not only a long shot, but pretty much an impossibility at this stage of the game. There were times she'd thought differently, times when she'd hoped that one small opportunity would lead to another. But it never quite panned out. Not like she'd dreamed anyway.

  Out of habit she still read the trade magazines sometimes. She knew of women her age, big-name stars who were already established, who were unable to get cast in anything worthwhile. The truth was, the only roles she'd ever had were walk-ons and bit parts and the occasional commercial, and that was when she'd been younger. Once she hit her fifties, she found herself fighting a depressing, losing battle. The glamour and glitz of her childhood dream had finally tarnished.

  The thing that kept her awake tonight was the fact that her life was one great big, fat disappointment. Despite her general optimism, and even her attempt to play the role of a successful Hollywood personality at the reunion, she knew that she was mostly fooling herself-and then only barely. In the raw darkness of night, with death on her mind, she felt painfully aware of her reality. For one thing, she was still alone. No husband, no boyfriend, no significant other. Nada. Add to that the fact that she was unhappily employed. Sure, she worked in an impressive Beverly Hills restaurant, and tips weren't bad, but she was basically a middle-aged waitress. Really, did life get any more pathetic than that?

  What troubled her most-and she couldn't even figure this one out-was that she had never owned a dog. As silly as this dog fixation seemed, it was really getting her down tonight. For as long as Caroline could remember, she had always wanted a dog. Specifically a golden retriever. But her parents had never allowed it, and later in life she'd lived in apartments and condos where a large, energetic dog seemed irresponsible.

  As Caroline silently cried herself to sleep, she wondered if she would live long enough to have a dog of her own.

  Chapter 3

  ABBY FRANKLIN

  Abby woke early on Sunday. She got out of bed feeling refreshed and happy and vibrant. And why shouldn't she be? It was a perfect August morning and the ocean stretching outside of her floor-to-ceiling, west-facing windows looked calm and peaceful and bluer than blue. But as she slipped her feet into her slippers, she remembered Cathy Gardener, and her spirits plunged. Poor Cathy!

  Abby's step felt tired and heavy as she trudged out to the kitchen to make coffee. As it brewed, she stood and stared out at the seascape, yet hardly saw it at all. Although it made no sense, Abby blamed herself for Cathy's unexpected demise. It was all her fault!

  Her therapist had once accused Abby of being a guilt monger, taking credit for all the earth's ailments and blaming herself for anything and everything that could possibly be wrong with the world. Of course, she rarely went to her therapist anymore. But in this situation, she thought her therapist (who probably had been friends with Cathy) might agree that Abby truly was the responsible party. After all, who had grabbed Cathy's hand last night? Who urged Cathy out to the dance floor? Who selfishly wanted a break? Who stood by watching as Cathy dropped dead?

  "I smell coffee." Paul came into the kitchen in his T-shirt and boxers.

  Abby nodded sadly.

  "Are you okay?" he asked.

  "As okay as one can be while taking a guilt trip."

  "And what are you tripping about this time?" Paul filled his favorite mug with coffee, then turned to look at her.

  "Cathy Gardener."

  He frowned. "Why?"

  "Why?" She held up her hands as if this were perfectly obvious. "I'm the one who dragged Cathy onto the dance floor. I'm the one who made her dance with you and I'm-"

  "You made her?" Paul sort of laughed, but his eyes were sad. "Apparently you didn't know Cathy Gardener as well as I thought you did. No one ever made that woman do anything she didn't want to do, Abby."

  "But she dropped dead out there, Paul. If I hadn't pushed her to-

  "Then I should share your guilt," he said. "I'm the one who danced with her, not you. And while we're casting blame here, let's not forget Keith Arnold. He's the one who was dancing with Cathy when she collapsed. Maybe we should call the police and have him-"

  "Oh, Paul!" Abby slammed her coffee mug so hard onto the marble countertop that she was surprised it didn't shatter. "Don't be ridiculous."

  "I was just playing your little guilt game."

  "Thanks a lot." She filled her cup and let out a long sigh.

  He leaned over and pecked her on the cheek. "Don't be so hard on yourself all the time. Cathy died because it was her time to go. You had nothing to do with it."

  "I suppose." She took a slow sip.

  "Now, if I'm going to make that tee time, I better get moving."

  "You're still playing golf today?" she demanded. "After what happened last night?"

  "I'm the one who made the arrangements for the reunion tournament, Abby. I've got to show up."

  "What if no one else does?"

  "Then I'll just explain the situation and hope that Shore Links will be understanding and not charge me everyone's green fees."

  "And what about the beach barbecue?" she asked him. "Should we cancel it?"

  "I don't see why. A lot of these people have been looking forward to it. And last night, well, it was a disappointment to everyone."

  "But what if no one shows up?"

  "You've already ordered the food," he pointed out. "And you've got help coming, and everything's pretty much ready, right?"

  "I've been getting ready for this for weeks." It was true. She'd really thrown herself into planning for this barbecue. Despite Paul's urges that she have the entire thing catered, she had done some of the cooking herself, sticking food away in the big freezer so it would be ready. Nowadays, cooking seemed to be one of the few things she really enjoyed doing.

  "Then you might as well proceed, just in case a few people do come."

  "I suppose." Abby remembered the Four Lindas. "And maybe Janie, Caroline, and Marley will come."

  "Yes, I'm sure they'll be here. And maybe we can do something special, you know, in Cathy's memory," he suggested.

  "You mean like throw flowers out onto the ocean?"

  He smiled sadly. "She didn't die at sea."

  Abby closed her eyes. "I just can't believe she's gone."

  He set down his cup and wrapped his arms around her. "I know this is hard, Abby. I'm feeling it too. But Cathy wouldn't have wanted us to drop everything for her sake. Think about it: She was always so organized and such a go-getter. How would she feel if the reuniona reunion she helped to plan-came to a screeching halt?"

  "You're right." Abby nodded firmly. "I know you're right."

  But after he left, she felt the guilt rising up in her again. She couldn't stop it any more than the little boy who put his finger in the dam could stop the water from flooding the city. That's how it usually went with her and guilt.

  Abby used to think these feelings of guilt were just a normal part of motherhood. With three daughters, she had often worried that she wasn't doing everything quite right. Or not doing enough. Whether it was potty training (too soon or too late?) or whether to make them take ballet or piano (or both?), she had never been quite sure. She second-guessed herself if the girls had sisterly feuds or if they complained about their clothes or fretted over their weight. Whatever the problem, Abby almost always felt certain the cause was her fault.

  Then, as her daughters grew older, Abby feared that she'd neglected to give them all they needed when they were younger. When they had problems in adolescence, Abby questioned herself to figure out what she'd done wrong to make them handle life the way they did. Although her daughters hadn't been terribly messed up, they had experienced their share of troubles. Once they got into their twenties, they seemed to level out. For the most part anyway.

  It did bother Abby that her oldest daughter seemed to think more highly of her career than she did
of her four-year-old daughter, Lucy. If only they lived closer, Abby would happily take care of Lucy during the workweek. Certainly that would be better than being cared for by strangers. She hated the idea of Lucy spending forty hours a week in day care. And she blamed herself for not living closer to her daughter. But to move a hundred miles? Well, Paul had made it clear that wasn't going to happen.

  And then there was her middle daughter. Abby tried not to think of Laurie too much since that usually led not only to guilt, but depression as well. Laurie kept her family at a distance for the past couple of years. No one seemed to know why, although Abby assumed it must be her fault. But whenever she brought her concerns up to Laurie, the conversation ended abruptly. Abby's therapist had said Laurie would probably outgrow this kind of thing in her thirties, but that was still a few years away.

  Then, of course, there was the youngest daughter, Nicole. Fortunately Nicole was their happy sunshine girl, and the only thing Abby could complain about was that she missed Nicole terribly. Well, that and the fact that Nicole had dropped out of college last year. That had been more upsetting to Paul than Abby, though. But Nicole had decided to live in France for a while, claiming it would help her to focus on art. Abby had tried to sound supportive, but the truth was she wished that Nicole would come home. Why couldn't she focus on art here?

  The ringing of the phone interrupted her guilt trip, but when she answered, it took a moment to realize the caller was Janie. "Oh, hi, Janie, how're you doing?"

  "All right, considering I'm sleep deprived. Anyway, Marley and Caroline and I were just heading out to get some breakfast in town, and then we wanted to take a walk on the beach. We wondered if you'd like to join us."

  Abby considered this. When was the last time a girlfriend had called out of the blue and invited her to do something like this? She couldn't even remember. "Sure," she said eagerly. "Let me throw something on and I'll be right there."

  "Caroline suggested Clifden Coffee Company. She said they serve a light breakfast. Does that sound okay?"

  "Sounds perfect."

  Abby felt unexpectedly happy as she pulled on her khaki capri pants, a plaid shirt, and her faithful old Dansko sandals. She paused to glance at herself in the full-length mirror and frowned. She felt so frumpy and fat compared to the women she was about to meet. She ran a brush through her faded hair, attempting to fluff it and give it some life, but her efforts seemed useless. She even took time to put on some lipstick, but that only made her look slightly haggard, so she wiped it off. She felt like canceling, except she didn't know Janie's number. If only she could turn back the clock and be young and vivacious and energetic again. How did Janie, Caroline, and Marley manage to look so good in their fifties anyway? It probably helped that those women had lives. Abby wished she had a life-a reason to get into shape, to wear stylish clothes, to wake up with a spring in her step.

  "Oh, stop being foolish," she told herself "Go out and meet your friends." She thought about the word friends as she slung the strap of her oversized canvas bag over one shoulder. Were those women really her friends? Oh, sure, they'd created a club as kids, but that had fallen to the wayside. Soon Marley would return to Seattle, Janie to New York, and Caroline to LA. All places that seemed so far away, not to mention more glamorous and exotic than little Clifden.

  As Abby drove into town, she had to ask herself who her friends in Clifden were. Sometimes she met Jackie for coffee. But Jackie's bed-and-breakfast kept her pretty busy, and really, they had little in common.

  Abby remembered how social she'd been in high school. It seemed she'd had friends by the boatload. But she'd married while everyone else was heading for college, and then the kids came. After that she was consumed with her family, and for a long time she'd believed her daughters were her friends.

  Feeling cynical, Abby laughed as she parked in front of the coffee house. Yeah, right, her daughters were her friends. Oh, sure, they loved her. She knew that. But they all had friends of their own. The sixty-thousand-dollar question was, why didn't she?

  Chapter 4

  JANIE SORENSON

  Janie really didn't think anyone would be checking in with her in regard to work. Not on a Sunday anyway. But she felt the need to have a short break from Marley and Caroline, and because she'd given up smoking after Phil died, her BlackBerry provided her with the next best excuse to step out onto the Clifden Coffee Company's rear deck, which overlooked the ocean. It wasn't that she didn't like Marley and Caroline. But for some reason she felt some kind of unspoken pressure from them. She couldn't put her finger on it exactly, but it was as if they expected something from her. She wasn't even sure what. They kept treating her like she was so smart and accomplished. The big New York attorney. Like they thought every time she opened her mouth, they would experience ... what? Brilliance, perhaps?

  The problem was, she just didn't feel terribly smart. Truth be told, she was simply a hard worker. A very hard worker. It was her late husband, Phil, who'd had the brains in the family. Well, perhaps her son would live up to his father's legend in time. Being twenty, he had plenty of time. But when it came to her older child, Janie wasn't so sure. In fact she'd rather not think about her daughter at the moment.

  "What a perfect day," said a male voice.

  She turned to see a middle-aged man sitting in the far corner of the deck. He was smoking a pipe while leaning back on a chair with his feet propped up on the railing. With his trimmed gray beard and faded denim shirt, he was rather picturesque in a beachy, natural sort of way, kind of like a young version of the stereotypical old fisherman.

  "I didn't know anyone else was out here," she said, then wondered why she'd thought he needed to know that. "But, yes, I must agree, it's a lovely day. Some people assume just because it's summer that every day at the beach should be this nice. But I know better."

  He tipped his sunglasses back on his head and squinted. "Are you from around here?"

  "I used to be." She glanced back down at her BlackBerry, although she knew there was nothing much to look at there. "Now I live in New York."

  "Where in New York?"

  "Manhattan."

  He let out a low whistle. "Big city girl, eh? And let me guess, you're actually working right now?"

  "Not exactly. Just checking on things."

  "But it's too nice of a day to be working. You should be out playing."

  She dropped her BlackBerry back into her bag. "And that's exactly what I plan to do." She turned to see that Abby was just coming into the coffee shop. Waving to her, she said. "My friends and I are having breakfast, then we're heading to the beach."

  He followed her gaze then looked surprised. "You're friends with Abby Franklin?"

  "Yes, as a matter of fact."

  He stood and moved closer, peering curiously at her face, then looking back through the window to where Abby was joining Caroline and Marley. "And Caroline McCann is your friend too?"

  She sort of shrugged, then wondered why this guy seemed to know everyone. She also wondered at his eyes. They were ocean blue with deep, fanned-out wrinkles at the edges, as if he laughed a lot.

  "Who are you, anyway?" he asked. "Are you here for the Clifden class reunion?"

  "Guilty as charged," she admitted.

  "But I don't recognize you."

  "Are you here for the reunion?" she asked in a formal-sounding tone, the kind she might use in court.

  "I'm not sure." He chuckled.

  "What does that mean?"

  "Well, I did graduate with the class, but I didn't really know many people."

  A little light bulb went off in her head. "Are you ..." She stared at him in disbelief. "Are you Victor Zilkowski?"

  He smiled and the wrinkles by his eyes deepened. "How did you know?"

  "I'm Janie Sorenson."

  He reached for the table next to him as if he needed to balance himself. "No way," he said as he gaped at her.

  She smiled. "It looks like we've both changed." She glanced over to whe
re all three of her friends were watching her now. They looked very curious. "I'm keeping my friends waiting."

  "But you were never friends with those girls."

  She held a finger up. "But see? That just shows what you don't know. We were all very good friends in grade school."

  He nodded but seemed disappointed. "Well, don't let me keep you."

  "Why don't you come in and meet-rather, remeet them?"

  He seemed reluctant, but Janie did something that surprised herself She linked her arm in his and tugged him along. "Come on," she told him. "They don't bite."

  He chuckled but came willingly.

  "And trust me, they've all become much nicer with age." Soon she was introducing Victor to the others, but only Marley seemed to remember him. And only vaguely.

  "Don't feel badly," he told them. "I did my best to stay below the radar." He grinned. "I was a small, geeky kid with the worst inferiority complex imaginable."

  "Kind of like me," Janie admitted.

  "But look how nicely you both turned out," Caroline said with a bright smile. "Are you coming to the reunion barbecue today, Victor?"

  He looked unsure.

  "Of course you're coming," Janie assured him.

  "Oh yes!" Abby said quickly. "Please, do come. It's at my house, and I'm so worried that no one will show."

  "Why would no one show?"

  "Oh, you probably haven't heard the unfortunate news." Janie glanced at her friends, and Abby explained last night's tragedy.

  "No, I hadn't heard." He shook his head sadly. "That's really too bad. Cathy was one of the few people I actually knew from our class. Not from high school so much. But she was so kind and gracious when I moved back to town a few months ago. She helped me work out some permits with the city. Wow. I just can't believe she's dead."