by Nan Rossiter
Birdie nodded and then noticed the welts on her sister’s face. “What the heck did you do?”
Sailor shook her head. “I know—nice, huh?” she said, lightly touching the poison ivy on her cheeks. “And this is looking better —you should’ve seen it before. Thankfully, I had an old prescription for prednisone.”
“Don’t you remember the saying Dad taught us when we were little?” Birdie said. “Leaves of . . .”
“I remember, but I didn’t see any leaves of three.”
“Well, they saw you, my dear,” Birdie said.
She turned to give Remy a hug. “Blueberry pie?!” she asked, admiring the pie in Remy’s hand.
Remy nodded as she handed her sister the pie so she could reach into the backseat for her grape-infused offering, too—they all knew better than to show up at Birdie’s house empty-handed!
“It’s nice you two can share a ride now,” Birdie said, gathering up the offerings in her arms.
“It is nice,” Remy said. “Especially since I got to ride in a cool car.”
“Don’t you think Remy should get a MINI too?” Sailor said, coming around to join them.
“You should,” Birdie agreed. “You deserve to drive a cool car.”
Remy sighed. “I don’t know. I think I’d have trouble getting used to a new car—all those big gauges are a little confusing. In my car, I don’t even have to think. It’s like I’m one with Ol’ Bess.”
“Oh, you’d get used to it,” Sailor assured her.
Remy smiled, thinking maybe she did deserve a new car. It would be nice to trade in her old Outback and get something a little sportier. “I think I’d get one like Birdie’s, though,” she said, looking over at the Clubman. She frowned. “What happened to your bumper?”
“Just a little fender bender,” Birdie said. “I think someone bumped into it at Stop and Shop.”
“That’s a shame,” Sailor said, walking over to take a closer look. “Are you going to have it fixed?”
“Maybe. We didn’t report it, so if we do get it fixed, we’ll have to pay for it ourselves.”
“That’s odd—it looks like something yellow hit you . . .”
“Let’s go inside,” Birdie said, ignoring the comment and walking toward the house, but just as she did, Piper pulled in in her old copper-colored Element—the back of which was covered with conservation bumper stickers. Bailey started barking again and Remy and Sailor smiled. Chloe was leaning so far out the window she looked like she might fall, and when Piper opened her door, she hopped out and practically knocked Bailey over with her greeting.
Piper reached across the seat for a covered plate. “I hope you guys don’t mind bruschetta again,” she said. “I’ve been so busy this week, I barely had time to shower . . . and I didn’t get to stop at the package store,” she said sheepishly, giving Birdie a hug. “Sorry.” She sounded a little flustered and her face was bright red. She turned to give Remy and Sailor hugs, too, but when she saw Sailor’s face she stopped. “Oh no! What’d you do?”
Sailor smiled. “I got naked and rolled in it!”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Piper said sympathetically, hugging her.
“It’s okay. I’m on prednisone—which has helped a lot. It even makes my other ache feel better. What about you? Your face and neck are bright red—did you forget your sunscreen?”
“No, I don’t know what the heck’s going on. It’s the strangest thing—I just keep getting really hot and turning bright red for no reason.”
Birdie laughed knowingly. “Well, it’s about time!”
Piper shook her head. “I guess maybe it is. Nat had the nerve to call it my time. I almost killed him!”
Sailor nodded. “Men just can’t say the words menopause or menstruation.”
“I know,” Piper said with a chuckle. “He even said I’ve been moody!”
“He’d better be careful,” Birdie said with a laugh, “if he wants to live through it! Let’s go inside,” she said, remembering her glass of wine waiting on the counter.
Five minutes later, they were all sitting on the back deck. “Look at these lilacs!” Remy exclaimed as she set Piper’s bruschetta on the table.
Sailor—who was opening the wine—looked up. “They’re beautiful, but I’m not touching anything green . . . no matter how harmless it looks.”
They all laughed and Remy watched as she filled four glasses. “Are you supposed to drink alcohol if you’re on prednisone?”
“I don’t know,” Sailor said, “but I’m not going to worry about it.” She handed them each a glass.
Birdie took a sip and sat back like she was sinking into a comfortable old chair. “I wouldn’t worry,” she surmised contentedly. “Whatever you consume, as long as you do it in moderation, you’ll be fine.”
Sailor nodded in agreement, watching her oldest sister. Through the years, she’d sometimes wondered whether Birdie had a small drinking problem—was there such a thing? It wasn’t because she’d seen Birdie drunk—she hadn’t—at least not since college. And it wasn’t the amount she drank—heck, Sailor drank just as much! It was the way she seemed to need to have a glass in her hand . . . and she was always obsessively possessive of the amount that was left in a bottle. But even more than that, she always seemed so utterly content when she had a glass in her hand—it was as if she could handle anything as long as she had a glass of wine. It seemed to be her way of coping—her only way of coping.
Birdie felt Sailor’s eyes on her and looked up. “What?”
“Nothing,” Sailor said, her poison ivy–covered face blushing. “How’s your ankle?”
“It aches a little, especially at night, but it’s getting better.”
“Is David playing poker?” Piper asked, dipping a cracker into the artichoke dip.
“He’s trying,” Birdie said with a chuckle. “He thinks he’s going to win the pot.”
They all chuckled, knowing David had a terrible poker face—he could never hide his emotions.
“Mmm, this dip is really good,” Piper said, reaching for another cracker.
“It’s easy, too. I’ll give you the recipe.”
“That reminds me!” Sailor said, jumping up to check on the Brie.
“It’s nice the men still get together after all these years,” Remy said, remembering how much Jim had enjoyed playing poker with David and John and the other men in their circle. “Was Dr. Sanders going tonight?”
“I imagine,” Birdie said.
Remy nodded and looked down at her untouched glass of wine sparkling in the late day sunlight, trying to decide whether she should tell her sisters about her most recent conversation with John.
“Have you decided if you’re going to your reunion?” Sailor asked, setting the baked Brie wrapped in a golden pastry shell on the table.
“Oh, my,” Piper said admiringly. “I feel like such a schlep with my bruschetta and no wine.”
“Don’t be silly,” Birdie teased. “It’s your time ... nothing should be expected of you!”
“Yes, you should be living in the red tent,” Remy said, referring to the book by Anita Diamant.
“I think that was just when you had your period,” Piper said.
“I bet they used it for menopause, too,” Birdie countered. “Women should live in a red tent . . . and drink wine all the time. We should be pampered continuously just for putting up with men . . . never mind all the extra stuff we have to endure.”
They all laughed, even Remy, although she didn’t really agree. She had never minded putting up with Jim.
“I think you should definitely go,” Piper said. “When is it?”
“Two weeks from tonight,” Remy said.
“Is John still thinking of going?” Birdie asked.
“He is—he asked me the other day if I’d decided.”
Birdie frowned. “I thought you went to see him a couple of weeks ago,” she said curiously, surprised that they’d spoken again.
“I did,” Remy
said, biting her lip and trying to decide how much to say—she didn’t want to worry them for no reason. “I had to have some follow-up tests.”
They all looked at her, waiting for her to continue.
Remy shook her head. “It’s not a big deal. Ninety-nine percent of the time, it’s nothing.”
“What’s nothing?” Birdie pressed.
Remy sighed. “I just had—have—a trace of blood in my urine, and I had to have an abdominal ultrasound—which came back normal. But now I have to go for another test to make sure there aren’t any polyps in my urinary tract.”
“That sounds fun,” Sailor said sympathetically. “Who does that?”
“A urologist,” Remy said resignedly. “I’m going Monday.”
“Do you want me to go with you?” Piper asked.
“No, no,” Remy said. “Don’t be silly. I’m sure I can handle it.” She smiled, even though she wasn’t looking forward to it.
“Did John say what causes it?” Birdie asked.
“He said kidneys can sometimes leak a trace amount of blood cells—it’s common in runners and people who do a lot of lifting.”
Birdie nodded. “Well, you do a lot of walking, maybe it’s that.”
“Maybe,” Remy agreed. She hadn’t thought of that before, but now that Birdie said it, it probably was the reason! Suddenly, she felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. “It’s no big deal,” she said again, reaching for her wine glass and a bit of Brie on a cracker. “Oh. My. Goodness! Sailor, this is amazing,” she said with her mouth full.
Sailor smiled. “I’m glad you like it. Now, tell us you’re going to go to your reunion.”
Remy laughed. “Okay, okay, I’ll go to my reunion.”
“All right!” her sisters cheered, and the dogs—who’d been lying on the porch, waiting hopefully for tidbits to hit the floor—pulled themselves up and wiggled around happily, too.
CHAPTER 31
Piper pulled off her running shoes, eyed the worn soles and tattered mesh tops, and decided she really needed to get new ones. She pushed them under the bench, leaned back, dripping with perspiration, and watched Chloe—lying on the cool tile floor—lapping up the last of her water. Wearily, she stood up to refill the bowl and immediately felt her socks soaking up water. “Great,” she said, shaking her head. “You should try to keep your water in your bowl,” she scolded, and Chloe thumped her tail in agreement.
“Hey, Mom,” Elias said, coming into the mudroom with his backpack over his shoulder.
“Hey,” she said. “Watch where you’re walking—the floor’s wet.”
“Nice,” he said, eyeing Chloe. “Did you do that?” he teased, and she thumped her tail some more—yes, it was me.
“Where’re you heading so early?” Piper asked.
“Flying lesson.”
“Oh, right,” she said, remembering. “Do you know where Dad is?”
“Running an errand.”
“Will you be home for dinner?”
“I’m not sure. What are we having?”
“Spaghetti.”
“I’ll be home,” he said with a grin.
“I knew that would work.”
He laughed. “Okay. See you later.”
“See you later. Text me when you’re back on the ground.”
“I will,” he said, pushing the screen door open. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
She watched as he pulled away.
“Moving on!” she said, turning her attention back to the day. She looked at the old Seth Thomas clock hanging on the kitchen wall. “First, coffee. Then, shower.” She walked over to put a pot on and was surprised to find one already waiting. She poured a cup and hurried up the stairs to shower.
She turned the temperature to cool, peeled off her running clothes, and looked at her reflection—her face, neck, and “bib”—the area below her neck that was permanently tan and freckled from a lifetime of wearing bathing suits and tank tops and getting too much sun—were even redder from running. She sighed, pulled back the shower curtain, climbed in, and let the cool water cascade over her head and shoulders. She quickly washed, and as she rinsed, she remembered reading how Katharine Hepburn had loved taking ice-cold baths and swimming in the frigid Long Island Sound year-round. Year-round! And she’d lived to be ninety-six—there must be something to the idea of shocking the system! Piper turned the knob a little to the right and laughed as the chilly water rushed over her head, and then she braced herself and turned it all the way to the right. “Woo-hooo!” she squealed in delight.
She heard the bathroom door open, and a moment later, Nat peered around the curtain. “What the heck’s going on in here?” he teased. “How come I didn’t get invited to this party?”
“You’re welcome to join,” Piper said, laughing, “if you can handle the temperature!”
Nat put his hand under the icy stream of water and shook his head. “Ha!”
“Chicken!” she teased.
“I’m not chicken,” he said, pulling off his T-shirt and dropping his shorts and boxers in a heap onto the floor. A moment later, he was shaking his wet head and pulling her against him.
“I was wrong. You are very brave,” she said, laughing and feeling how aroused he was. He kissed her neck, and as she leaned back against the wall, he slid his hands down her back and they both watched as he teased her.
“Mmm,” she murmured. “I’m going to start taking cold showers every day.”
“Mmm, me too,” he said, grinning.
They heard footsteps followed by clicking paws coming up the stairs, and in alarm, stopped talking. “I forgot my headset,” Elias called.
“Okay,” Piper called back, trying to sound normal. “Be careful!”
“I will,” Elias said.
They heard him tromp back down the stairs and Nat smiled and pulled her closer, but a moment later, they heard paws clicking across the bathroom floor, and a moment later, a furry head pushed its way around the curtain and peered at them.
Piper laughed. “You stay out there!”
CHAPTER 32
Sailor sat down at her drawing table, switched on the light, and realized she hadn’t replaced the fluorescent bulb yet. So much for working under pure light, she thought, scratching the poison ivy that still lingered between her fingers. She leafed through the sketches for her children’s book, which had been sitting in a pile for three weeks, waiting for attention, and although she was anxious to have everything approved so she could start painting—she’d feel better once she had a paintbrush in her hand—she just couldn’t seem to focus. Plus, she hadn’t given any thought to the release of her new children’s book—which was in just a couple of weeks! In fact, the only book signing she’d set up was at a bookstore in Chatham over the Fourth of July weekend. She hated when she had to shift gears to promote a book when she was in the middle of working on a new one. The two activities were as far apart as day and night—as was the required mind-set!
Frank’s attorney had been in touch with hers that morning, and she’d learned that he’d begun making arrangements to put their house on the market—which meant he didn’t want it, either. It was a shame they’d be selling when the housing market was still in the tank—they’d probably take a big hit. She also learned that their official divorce papers were being drawn up, and although she’d tried really hard to get out of it, her lawyer had pressed her for a meeting to work out the details of dividing up their assets. He’d actually used the word imperative.
With a sigh, she opened her laptop, checked her e-mail and the news—which was as gloomy as ever—and then clicked on her Facebook page. She hadn’t been on since before Birdie’s birthday and she wondered how many other birthdays she’d missed. Oh well, her close friends—who knew her life had been turned upside down—would understand.
In the beginning, when Facebook had been all the rage and her friends had constantly sent her invitations, she’d been reluctant to
join. People didn’t need to know her business, and she didn’t know what she’d post anyway. But finally, at the prodding of her publisher, she’d set up a fan page for her children’s books and was unexpectedly surprised by the number of people who “liked” it. Later, she discovered that her fan page didn’t allow her to see or “like” other people’s posts, so she set up a personal page, too, and for the first six months, she’d been addicted! When did she get to be such a busybody? Finally, a friend told her about SelfControl, an app for people (like her) who didn’t have self-control; they could use it to block their own Internet access. You just logged in, set the amount of time you wanted to block, and then focused on your work. Of course, if you started to go through withdrawal, you could always go back and change the time. Sailor had found the app an indispensible tool in getting work done, and she also found it helped her gradually wean herself off the social media site—a feat she felt oddly proud to have achieved.
Now, as she scrolled through her friends’ posts, watched some cute pet videos, and scrolled past a ridiculous number of political posts—no surprise, since it was the heat of the election season—she began to feel like she was wasting precious time, so she clicked off, closed her laptop, and then closed her eyes. She was already dreading going into Boston, especially on a Friday—traffic would be miserable, not to mention it was her turn to host girls’ night and she wouldn’t have any time to get ready. On top of that, the thought of sitting down across from Frank made her hands shake. She’d need a double dose of Prozac just to get herself there. She opened her eyes and looked down at the box of photographs still sitting on the floor.
Everything was waiting—the pictures were waiting, her book was waiting, Josiah was waiting for her to call back—and now, her divorce papers were waiting, and she didn’t feel like dealing with any of it. She felt like she was in limbo—unable to function or accomplish anything. She’d moved to the Cape with so much gusto, and now she felt as if she’d lost all her steam.
She went into the kitchen, refilled her coffee cup, found a hammer and the bag of picture hangers she’d purchased the day before, and walked down the hall. She clicked on her old radio—the one she’d had since college—and heard Cat Stevens’s unmistakable voice singing “Trouble.” She smiled and started to sing along softly, remembering the famous scene from the classic film Harold and Maude—the one in which Harold, after learning of Maude’s death, drives his Jaguar—which he’s converted into a hearse—up a mountain road and off a cliff. In shock, moviegoers think that Harold—devastated by loss—has committed suicide, but a moment later, they see him standing on the edge of the cliff, playing the banjo Maude had given him. From loving Maude, Harold learned that life is too precious to waste, and because Maude charged him with going out and loving again, that was what he would do.