And Be My Love

by Joyce C. Ware

  "I could hardly blame him," he said.

  "Oh, dear," Beth said. "That couldn't have been very pleasant for you, but still, ten out of eleven? I know Georgina will be pleased."

  Georgina was. "I guess he's not as terrible as I first thought," she said grudgingly. "At least he has enough sense to follow my advice. I'm sorry about the disgruntled father. I guess his daughter must have been one of the early ones—near the end, Merrill didn't bother to be discreet. Did he have anything else to say?"

  He said he missed me. He wondered if we could meet in Los Angeles and drive up to San Francisco together.

  "No. He's in Houston now. I'll call you if there's anything to report."

  Georgina smiled knowingly. "Anything you want to report."

  Beth let that pass. "You're coming to the hospice dinner?"

  "Wouldn't miss it for the world. You realize, of course, that your name should be on that award, too. Without you, River Haven would still be just a dream."

  "Now Georgina. Andy worked extremely hard to—”

  "I know that, Beth, and he deserves recognition. But I also know the hours you spent on the phone and writing letters, not to mention the personal visits—"

  "Saying what you helped me put into words, don't forget. You're the fund-raising expert, not me."

  Georgina laughed. "Okay, already. Put my name on it, too. So how should I dress? Country club genteel or roadhouse bimbo?"

  "How about a compromise?"

  "Genteel bimbo? Interesting challenge. You'll have only yourself to blame, honey-bunch. Hey, how about we get together this Saturday? The Sean Connery film festival is kicking off at the New Milford theater with a double feature. We could have an early supper at Charles' Bistro and spend the rest of the evening wallowing in that devastating Scottish accent."

  "Sorry. This is the Saturday we're celebrating the birthdays."

  "Oh, that's right! At the Applegate Inn, didn't you say?

  "Yes."

  "And Clara and Jamie are included?"

  "Yes, they are. I couldn't very well not—”

  "Hey, just asking. I'm sure you'll have an absolutely lovely time."

  By Saturday morning, Beth wasn't at all sure what kind of time any of them would be having that evening. Damn Georgina! Her doubts having been raised, Beth was unable to quiet them. Were Clara and Jamie ready for the Applegate Inn? More to the point, was the Inn ready for them? Should she call and request highchairs? Suppose they didn't have any? They couldn't very well bring their own.

  Beth closed her eyes, picturing the battered hand-me-downs her grandchildren used, trays askew, backs bearing the peeling painted remnants of once-popular cartoon figures.

  At noon, Housa called. Jamie was teething again. She knew how disappointed Murry would be, but didn't Beth think it best if she got a sitter? Beth did indeed think it best. She asked how Clara was, but Clara was fine, and looking forward to the party.

  "She thinks it's her birthday, Beth. You should just see her little face—she can hardly wait."

  Beth, imagining Clara's little face when she realized the party wasn't for her, reminded herself to pick up a toy to take along with the gifts she'd gotten for Dana and her mother.

  They arrived in three separate cars: the birthday girls together; Housa, Andy, Daisy and Clara in their Jeep; Beth alone, and a little late. Selecting a toy that would satisfy Housa's requirements for educational value, Clara's for eye appeal and the Inn's for as little noise as possible had not been easy.

  Muriel Tomlinson, when informed of Jamie's forced absence, rose to the occasion with the skill Beth expected of her. Her murmured regrets hit just the right note: neither offhand enough to sound uncaring, nor so profound as to arouse suspicion. Dana smiled an understanding smile, but as the three generations of women followed Andy's eager family into the inn, she leaned over to whisper in her mother's ear. "Thank God for small favors."

  Beth automatically shushed her, and as her mother paused on an antique Kerman carpet to admire the elegantly appointed foyer, she hurried ahead to alert the young man at the desk of their arrival. His well-bred features registered alarm as Clara skipped into view.

  "If you don't have a high chair, a couple of extra cushions will do," Andy volunteered, sizing up the situation. "She's more civilized than you might think."

  Obviously hoping that was true, the young man smiled bravely, squared his shoulders and ushered them to a table--somewhat separated from the rest, Beth noted gratefully—overlooking a ravine through which a small sparkling stream rushed.

  "What a perfectly lovely room!" Muriel Tomlinson exclaimed once they were seated. She fingered the heavy, creamy damask napkin. "I remember my father taking us to a place very like this. I can't recall if it was an inn or a restaurant, or just where it was, but everything in it was of the finest quality. It was my sixteenth birthday. That would have been nineteen twenty-eight.…" She looked out the window, her blue eyes hazed with memories. "It was a lovely way of life, my dears. Gone so soon. Except that here, today, I can pretend for a little while that it's not." She turned her lovely white head to look at Beth, her eyes seeking understanding and reassurance.

  Beth knew her mother's regrets might seem petty, even selfish, to the women she counseled at Andy's clinic, but whatever the measure, eighty-one years worth of woes weighed large. She smiled and reached over to pat her hand. "Of course you can, Mother. That's what birthdays are for."

  Daisy pointed at the table's centerpiece, a fine porcelain bowl in which sprays of pink and white phalaenopsis orchids had been artfully arranged. "Murry, did you have orchids like these back in the olden days?"

  Clara leaned over the table, raised herself up on her elbows and reached out towards the gently nodding blossoms.

  "Look, Mommy, butterflies!"

  Housa beamed. "That's why some people call them butterfly orchids, sweetie." Her glowing dark eyes invited the others to share her pride in her child's precociousness.

  "We had orchids, but not like these, Daisy," Muriel said, eyeing Clara nervously as she teetered on the edge of her chair. "Gentlemen sometimes gave ladies one great big purple or white orchid to pin on their dresses for special occasions, but they were much too expensive to use for table decorations."

  "Please sit down, Clara," Beth whispered urgently. It was too late. Feeling her chair sliding out from under her, the little girl's eyes rounded with dismay. Her chubby fingers clutched the damask table-cloth, causing the ice in the filled goblets to tinkle alarmingly. Andy jumped to his feet, lifted Clara up, pushed her chair back in with his foot and plonked his daughter on the pile of cushions. "Sit, Clara!"

  "Just like Fuzzy," Daisy chortled. "Stay, Clara!" she commanded loudly, turning heads at nearby tables.

  Just then a waitress arrived. "May I take your drink orders?" she inquired. Andy and Housa shook their heads; the other three women exchanged regretful looks— and followed suit. "Today, in addition to our regular menu," the waitress continued brightly, "we have.…"

  What followed was a list of exotic sounding dishes, none of which appealed in the least to either Daisy or Clara. After the adults had made their choices, Housa suggested that perhaps the chef could grind some beef for the children.

  "Grind some beef," the girl echoed. "You mean, like, hamburgers?"

  "Well, yes."

  "I don't know if—”

  "And french fries," Daisy said.

  "And ketchup!" Clara blared.

  "I'll ask, Ma'm," the girl murmured.

  "Well done, please!" Housa called after her.

  "Welcome to Macdonald's," Dana said in a mutter just loud enough for her brother to hear.

  From then on, it was downhill all the way.

  "I meant to ask you if you enjoyed your evening with Mr. Donovan, Mother," Dana asked.

  Beth sensed it was not a casual question, and Dana's deliberate substitution of "evening" for "date," as if the latter were a term unbecoming to a woman of her years, annoyed her, even though it wa
s a choice she herself would have made.

  "Which one, dear?"

  Dana was taken aback. "The one he called about the Saturday morning I had breakfast with you. You suggested a restaurant in New Milford?"

  "Oh, yes. Karim brought a picnic supper and we went rowing instead."

  Her mother broke off what she was saying to Andy. "Did I hear you say you went rowing, Beth?"

  "On Lake Waramaug, Mother. Hadn't been there for years. I was the row-ee, though."

  "Mom, is this the same guy you had dinner with at Polly's the night Daisy ran—”

  "Daddy, you promised!"

  "—The night you came to stay with Housa?" Andy amended.

  Beth nodded, eyes downcast. She was beginning to feel cornered.

  "Is this the same man Elsie Davenport told me Monica found with you when she brought some clients to see the house?" her mother asked. "She said he seemed very much at home. He'd been swimming."

  "It was a very hot day; that's what the pool is for. Monica arrived without warning, Mother. She was all eyes—couldn't wait to get home and spread the word. You'd think we'd been caught en flagrante."

  "Really, Elizabeth!"

  "Didn't the man have any clothes on?" Daisy piped up, wondering what all the fuss was about.

  "Daisy!"

  "I was just asking. Daddy," the child answered.

  "Kar-eem?" Muriel Tomlinson grimaced, as if at an unfamiliar, bitter taste. "Is that his name? Sounds foreign."

  Translation: not our kind. Beth sighed. "Karim Donovan. His father was an American archaeologist who met his mother in Turkey. She was Kurdish—"

  "Good heavens! Aren't they bandits? In Turkey or Iraq or some outlandish place—"

  "Turkey and Iraq, Mother," Dana supplied, "Northern Iran, too. They call themselves freedom fighters."

  "So does every rag, tag and bobtail these days! Freedom fighters! Is that what this Kar-eem—"

  "If you'd let me finish! As I said, his father was an archaeologist, and Karim was on the faculty at Colby College in Maine for years and has just been named president of Peabody College," Beth finished in a rush.

  "Oh," said her mother, momentarily caught up short, along with her grandchildren.

  "He's a respectable, well-educated, upright—”

  Her mother's eyes narrowed. "I would have thought, after Merrill Longyear, the trustees would have chosen a married man."

  Beth smiled weakly. "Well.…"

  "Oh God, Mother," Dana said. "A married man? Have you taken leave of your senses?"

  "He and his wife have separated, Dana; they're getting a divorce."

  "Which means," Andy said, "she'll probably get most of his assets, especially if there are any children."

  "Only one, and she's grown—entering medical school next year, in fact."

  "And we know how much that costs!" Andy said, exchanging a rare nod of agreement with his sister.

  Beth looked helplessly from one to another. "What's gotten into you? Karim Donovan's a nice, kind man; we enjoy each other's company. He's a friend, nothing more."

  "And you're a vulnerable, wealthy widow," Dana said.

  "Did I hear someone say Karim?" It was Housa, damp napkin in hand, looking up from Clara's ketchup-smeared mouth. "That's the name of the guy Doris mentioned, Andy, the one your mom invited to the hospice dinner? Karim Corrigan? Halloran? One of those Irish names."

  "Donovan," Beth supplied, bemused.

  "Right! Donovan." She gave Clara's protesting lips a final swipe. "Are you dating him, Beth? God knows you've waited long enough!" Interpreting her mother-in-law's stunned silence as agreement, she added, "I think it's great. Don't you, Andy?"

  Andy frowned and fiddled with his dessert fork. Alerted, Housa glanced uncertainly from him to her mother and sister-in-law, only to be rebuffed by the steely glint in their eyes. "Gosh, did I say something wrong?"

  "Mommy! Mommy!" Clara crowed, “Here comes the happy birthday!"

  Saved by the cake.

  Beth's voice was the first raised in familiar song to greet the candle-lit rose-trimmed confection as it was borne in, accompanied by the admiring murmurs of the other diners. Daisy and Clara's shrill dispute over the privilege of blowing out the candles was resolved by a resourceful waitress who re-lit them, providing two blow-outs and two wishes. "I have little sisters about their age," she confided to their grateful grandmother.

  By the time the smoke had dissipated for the second time from the eleven glowing wicks—one-tenth the number represented by the sum of the ages of the birthday girls—and the presents distributed and admired, the rift created by the mention of Karim Donovan had narrowed. Clara's insistence on making and receiving calls on her new toy telephone from every member of the family further distracted her elders. It remained only for their parting on the petunia bordered brick walk, with only the flashing white of goodbye smiles visible in the lavender twilight, to restore the surface calm assured by years of affection and dutiful regard.

  "Many happy returns, Murry, Aunt Dana!"

  "May I bring the children for a swim tomorrow, Beth?"

  "C'n we bring Fuzzy, Grammy?"

  "Drive carefully, Mom!"

  Beth took the rest of the cake with her. Her mother declined on the grounds of weight-watching; Dana on the distance of her drive home. Housa, unable to deny pieces of its cream and sugar-laden layers to her children on this public family occasion, barred its remains from sharing her freezer with the nutritionally correct carrot and raisin loafs of her own devising. The children, knowing they could raid Grammy's, made only a token protest.

  Despite the careful packing of it by the Mayflower kitchen staff, the ride home took its toll. Beth peeled away the foil and wax paper layers to find the pink roses flattened and the white icing, which had softened and slid like pond ice in spring, smeared with yellow custard. With the aid of a flexible steel spatula, she deftly slid the marbleized mess into a plastic box and interred it in the freezer. As the door thunked closed, the phone rang.

  "Beth? I hope I didn't call too late? I keep forgetting the time difference."

  "Oh no, Karim, not at all!" Relief made her sound fevered. "Where are you calling from?"

  "Los Angeles. I thought I said—"

  "Of course you did! What a silly I am!" A silly? Beth stared at the phone's mouthpiece in disbelief. How could she have said that? What must he be thinking'?

  "Beth? Are you all right?"

  "I'm fine. It's just that the family celebrated my mother and daughter's birthdays tonight. Four generations, dinner out, cake and candles. You know how that sort of thing is."

  Silence. Just long enough for Beth to remember that he didn't.

  "I know that whenever I see little children in restaurants I head for the table farthest from them."

  He sounded amused. Beth relaxed.

  "Then I need say no more."

  "Actually, I was hoping you'd say you decided to join me out here day after tomorrow. I threw all mature caution to the winds and rented a convertible. You, me, driving up the coast highway, your hair streaming in the Pacific breezes." His deep voice turned husky, its tone deliberately insinuating.

  She laughed. "'Fraid you'll have to get yourself one of those famous California blondes for that, Karim. I haven't got enough hair to stream."

  "I'll settle for a modest tousling. Well?"

  Beth's eye fell on the custard-smeared cake carton on the counter.

  "Beth?"

  "I can't. I'm sorry, but—" To her horror, Beth heard her voice break. She. took a deep breath. "There's just too much on my plate here at the moment, Karim. Things I can't leave; things I can't delegate. I have a near-crisis situation with one of the women I'm counseling at Andy's clinic, and then there's the hospice dinner—" Enough already, Beth could hear Georgina saying. "I'm truly sorry."

  "Yes. So am I. Guess I'll turn in that snappy rag-top for a businessman's coupe."

  To Beth's relief, his disappointment seemed free of resentment.
"Rag-top? Businessman's coupe? I haven't heard those terms since my father died!"

  "That's what happens when you keep company with older men, Beth. Look, I'm due for dinner in twenty minutes with a group of alumni. I'll call you from San Francisco, assuming I survive climbing those hills."

  "You have a big heart, Karim. You'll survive."

  She heard a little catch in his breathing.

  "Damn, I miss you."

  His soft rumble tickled her ear, sending tingles down her arms to the tips of her fingers. "Me too, you," she whispered.

  She stood unmoving for a long moment after their disconnection, clutching the receiver, as if willing him back to her. What a magical instrument Mr. Bell's invention was! Three thousand miles between them, yet the subtle changes in his breathing, his faint clearings of throat, and the warming tone of voice that told her he was smiling had been as distinct as if he'd been right here, beside her.

  Beth folded up the cake carton, stuffed it in the trash bin and started sponging off the white formica counter, her strokes becoming longer and fiercer as her mind replayed the evening's events. Why were her mother and Dana so resentful of a man they hadn't even met?

  After her father died, her mother had failed to redevelop the resources she had briefly enjoyed as a young woman. Her retreat back to the rigid certainties of her girlhood was, Beth suspected, abetted by Ralph's readiness to offer advice and emotional support. He called her Muriel—never Mother or, heaven forbid, Mom. Talk to your daughter, Muriel, he would smilingly implore on the rare occasions his young bride dug her heels in.

  Her mother headed the hospital auxiliary during the years Beth was kept busy with babies. At the formal Christmas gala each year Ralph always led Muriel in the first dance. It seemed to Beth that her petite, sparkly-eyed mother visibly shed years as she whirled, ice-blue dress ballooning around her, in the arms of her distinguished tuxedo-clad son-in-law. Was it any wonder she was unwilling to let another man attempt to replace Ralph on the pedestal she had provided?