by Sally John
“Josephine, you’ve been quiet. The restaurant was perfect.”
Andie nodded. “Yes. Great food. Reasonable prices.”
“Sugar,” Char sighed,“I swear I feel like a cow the way you insist on herding us about. It was not your fault we all got sidetracked this morning and then didn’t eat lunch until four o’clock central time.”
Molly chuckled. “Your stomach’s still on central time?”
“I’m not sure what time it’s on. I grazed my way through the grocery store, eating all those free samples. The cheese lady and I got to be on a first-name basis, I went back so many times. Speaking of grazing, that reminds me of the cow mentality. Shall we make some sort of schedule so Jo doesn’t have to behave like a livestock farmer?”
Andie raised a hand. “I vote for boogie boarding every morning.”
They all stared in obvious disbelief at Andie. Her face glowed. The scraped nose gave her the appearance of a little girl as did the straight hair and casual cotton top over blue jeans.
Andie said, “I mean for myself. You all don’t have to do it. But you can if you want. I think I counted six boards in that storage shed. And wet suits. What are you all staring at?”
Molly thrust a fist skyward.“Yes. Andrea Michelle Kendrick lives!”
Andie smiled crookedly. “Well, at least when it comes to the ocean she does.”
“I’m confident she will spill out into other areas.”
Jo thought she already had. Andie’s fears were fading before their very eyes. She had talked with the weird neighbor, did not wear yesterday’s makeup mask, and ate a salad for lunch, leaving most of the tortilla bowl behind.
Molly said, “I vote for breakfast at Kono’s every morning with whoever wants to come.”
Char said, “I vote for sleeping in. How about you, Jo?”
“The one healthy habit I have is walking, so I guess a walk to Kono’s is my choice. Then I can feed my caffeine habit without making a ruckus in the kitchen too early for some people.”
Char crossed one leg over the other and swung it. “Maybe we should address habits. Like I’m a night owl. I may go outdoors after dark. I hope no one worries about me.”
Andie smiled. “Guilty. I’ll try not to again.”
Molly said,“My habit is talking to Scott regularly and often.”
Now the other three stared at her.
“What?” she quizzed them.
Andie said, “That is so sweet.”
Char stopped swinging her leg. “I can’t relate to it. Truthfully, I’m enjoying a little break in the daily routine of marital miscommunication.”
Molly sat up and hugged her knees. “My birthday was a turning point. We’d been seriously growing apart. I was a diehard Superwoman. Now we’re in prevention mode. That means an awful lot of touching base. Anyway, I can use my calling card at a pay phone I noticed today. It’s just a few blocks from—”
They drowned her out with protests, offering the use of cell phones.
“All right, all right,” she conceded.“I will ask for yours when I need to. Not asking for help is a bad habit of mine.”
“Good,” Andie said, “My bad habit is being afraid of my shadow. Obviously I’m working on losing it. I could use any help you three can offer.”
Char patted her arm.“It’s okay, sugar.” She turned.“Jo? How about your habits? Good or bad?”
“Like I said, walking and caffeine.”
“So nothing we can help with?”
Jo caught an undertone and suddenly recognized the real question. “Char, I haven’t had a drink in eight years.”
The collective sigh of relief was nearly audible.
Char’s genuine smile spread across her face. “Good for you, sugar. Well, okay. We have the mornings figured out. Now I have a suggestion for afternoons and evenings. Because you all had less than stellar birthday celebrations, I think you should do them over again this week. Everyone can have their own day to celebrate in their own way, and the others agree to go along with whatever they choose.”
“Great idea!” Andie said. “Do you still have that tourist pamphlet in your bag?”
As the others began to swap potential ideas, Jo followed a different train of thought. She could easily blame that stranger named Zeke—or thank him. With a few kind words and the softest eyes imaginable he had opened a corner of her heart that she both yearned and dreaded to reveal before her friends.
“Char.” She blurted her name, abruptly interrupting the conversation. “Molly. Andie. Maybe I do need your help. No, not maybe. I do need it.”
They stared, riveted. Molly gave a half nod of encouragement.
Ever the poised doctor, she presented her dilemma matter-of-factly. “I don’t know which way to turn. That’s why I wanted all of us together, to take me back to when I always knew which way to turn. No, let me rephrase that. Back to when if I didn’t know which way to turn, you guys pointed me in the right direction.”
Andie said, “Like you’re turning a corner and you can’t figure out right or left?”
“More like I’m still in a corner. The thing is, I’m losing my confidence in practicing medicine.” She paused, savoring again the new taste of freedom in finally admitting that first to Zeke and now to her old friends.
Molly said, “What happened, Jo?”
“Remember the sixteen-year-old I mentioned? The funeral on my birthday? She and her mom were my patients. Mom brought in daughter for birth control pills. Problem was, it was too late. The girl was pregnant. Mom requested an abortion. I don’t perform them. No doctor in our group does. I mentioned adoption. Mom went berserk. This is a wealthy, high-profile family. They don’t do teen pregnancy. Mom then insisted on RU-486, the abortion pill. I don’t do that, either, but we all know a clinic where it is available. Mom took her there.”
Jo rubbed her forehead.“Using the drug is not exactly a no-brainer. There’s the timing issue: It’s effective only during the first seven weeks. The patient must make at least three doctor visits. Sometimes it doesn’t work and surgical abortion is necessary. Severe side effects need to be addressed.” She paused. “In this case, Mom left town. Dad wasn’t clued in. The miscarriage-like symptoms were severe due to complications. She didn’t get help in time. She died. The baby died.”
Molly sighed as if in despair. Andie wiped away a tear. Char murmured consoling words.
Jo went on. “I feel responsible for her death. I can’t stop playing the ‘if only’ game. If only I had insisted more, convinced them otherwise. If only I’d given them names and phone numbers for help. I even think that if only I had no convictions, I could have given it to her. At least that way I would have been in charge and taken better care of her.”
Molly’s arm was around her shoulders. “It’s over.”
“I know. And I know I can’t grieve forever.” Jo looked at Andie. “But I feel stuck in a corner, not turning one.” She saw understanding and acceptance on all their faces. “I guess I need you three to pull me out and give me a push.”
Andie slid from the bench and knelt in the grass before her.“We’re here for you.” She lifted Jo’s right hand. “Remember?”
“What?”
“Oh!” Char sprang to join them and placed a hand on top of their two.“How could we forget?”
Molly leaned over and added her hand to the pile. “Good golly, yes, how could we forget? On the count of three. One, two, three.”
In a flash, Jo recalled a slumber party. Eighth grade, at Andie’s. That night they adopted the Three Musketeers motto for themselves, a rallying cry for four outcasts.
Now, in unison, they pronounced it: “All for one, and one for all!”
As one, the others hugged her.
Nineteen
Long after dark, Char sat on the seawall in the same spot she’d occupied the previous night. She swung her legs, gazing out at whitecaps caught in a spotlight and listening to her husband’s recorded voice.
“Guess we’ve missed
each other again,” Cam said. “Anyway…”
Char tuned out her husband’s litany of household woes. His voice was not an Andy Williams croon. Cam’s distinct basso approached foghorn levels.
As he droned on with “where’s this, where’s that, can Savannah do this?” ad infinitum, ad nauseam, her twinge of guilt dwindled. No wonder she had left the phone in the bedroom earlier right about the time she knew he might call. Who needed this on vacation? He was boringly predictable as well as emotionally not at home. Honestly, the break from him was such a breath of fresh air.
“Your mom—”
She tuned back into his voice.
“—wants to have us over for dinner. Didn’t you tell her you’d be gone? I told her you’d get back to her—”
In the first place, the woman was not her mom. She met the minimum requirement of stepmother: She was married to Char’s father. Beyond that no true relationship existed, certainly not the kind that included schedule sharing.
Char pressed the digit to erase the message and another one to call Savannah. She had chatted with Cole earlier in the day and dealt with most of Cam’s questions through their son long before Cam thought to ask them.
“H’lo?”
“Savannah! Did I wake you? Why, it’s only eleven o’clock there!”
“Mom? Hi.”
“How was your day, sugar? Anything exciting happen at school?” Char gently prompted and listened as her daughter shared tidbits between yawns.
She cherished such moments with her daughter, even the volatile ones when Savannah flew off the handle. Peaceful or not, the moments were proof of a relationship, the kind snatched from her at the age of thirteen by a drunk driver.
Still, after ending the conversation, she felt an ache, an old longing. None of her family members had asked about her or about her day.
Andy Williams, aka Todd Brooks, answered on the first ring.“Hey, sugar.” Obviously he’d checked his caller ID.
Char laughed. “Stop making fun of me!”
“Ah, but I’m not. Imitation is the highest form of compliment. I miss your honey-toned prattle.”
“You just heard it last night.”
“Oh, right. I guess what I miss then is the very attractive lips from which that prattle falls.”
Goose bumps covered her arms. What a silly reaction to his glibness! He could be an absolute flirt.
“How was your day, Charlaine?”
The goose bumps multiplied, no flirtation needed. “F-fine.” She scooted halfway around the seawall and drew up legs, hugging them to her chest. Ocean, beach, starlight, and occasional passersby faded from view as she recounted the day’s activities. Knowing the compassionate nature of her listener, she felt deeply gratified to be able to talk freely about herself.
He repeated her words, “All for one and one for all? The three, or rather four, musketeers?”
“Something like that. We were there for each other from the time I was thirteen. You know, they were all nerds. Superintelligent. Numbers one, two, and three in the class. I don’t know why they dragged me along.”
“Because you’re so adorable and so Southern belle. You added the je ne sais quois. Nerds lack je ne sais quois. The oomph. The zip. The sparkle.”
“Molly used to call me something. What was it?” Sparkle. Bright. Shiny. “Glitter.”
“That’s it.” He paused. “The glitter is missing from the neighborhood, Charlaine.” The pitch of his voice had changed, giving it a somber note. “It misses you. I miss you.”
His words, spoken without hint of banter, stunned her. “Todd, sugar, what on earth has gotten into you?”
“Reality. Thought I’d try straightforward for a change and admit without apology my loneliness without you next door.”
Silence hung between them.
At last he said, “I hope I didn’t scare you off.”
She bit her lip. Without a doubt he had drifted into inappropriate. Underscoring his words was his voice. It cruised on by Andy Williams’ melodic tone and hit sensual.
But goose bumps prickled now from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
And he was two thousand miles away.
“Why, Todd, you don’t scare me in the least.”
Twenty
“Zachary!” Andie laughed into the cell phone squished between her shoulder and chin.
Her youngest had just offered a humorous rendition of his brother’s performance at football practice. She had already heard Jadon’s version. The boys could always make her laugh. They’d even teased her about the boogie boarding, once they got over their disbelief that she’d actually stepped foot into the ocean.
“Zach! Enough. I have to go. Molly’s foot needs all my attention.” Andie sat on a kitchen chair facing her friend seated in an overstuffed armchair. With Molly’s leg extended and her bare foot resting on Andie’s thigh, Andie could work while she talked. Kneading feet was second nature to her, not requiring all of her attention or even her eyesight. She caught Molly’s wink.
“Mom,” Zach said, “you’re supposed to be on vacation, not doing reflexology.” His deep voice was indistinguishable from his dad’s. Jadon’s was the same. She pictured them both: tall, handsome, and athletically built like Paul.
“Honey, this is vacation for me. I get to give my old friend a treatment just like your great-grandma used to do for her.”
“I knew you were going to say that. You are weird.” The loving tone of a teenager who sometimes appreciated his mom erased any derogatory implication. “Bye.”
“Bye.” Give my love to your dad… The words spun in her head. Instead of voicing them, she closed up the phone and set it aside.
Paul had not returned any of her calls. His assistant called once. That didn’t count. Sherri had chatted for a few moments, put her on hold, and then came back to report Paul was on another line. Could they phone later? They.
At the moment Andie wasn’t sure how she felt about him. Of course she loved him. Wives loved their husbands. He provided well, had an honest reputation in the business community, was nice to her. Polite, at any rate. She respected and honored and appreciated him. The word love, though, implied like. She didn’t think she liked him—
“Yow!” Molly yelped.
Andie lifted her finger from behind the ankle where she’d been pressing. “That’s a little tender there.”
“Yeah!” Molly winced. “So how are your kids?”
Easily conversing while she worked, Andie moved her thumb in a caterpillar-like walk along the sole, searching for other areas that would feel tender to Molly and like cracking egg shells to Andie’s fingertips.
“Oh, man!” Molly flinched again. “Good grief! I forgot how bad this hurt.”
“Oui. But, zee pain means zee bad stuff goes kaput.” She mimicked her grandmother’s French accent.
“Speaking of Grandmère Babette,” Molly spoke through gritted teeth, “Jo and I remembered the List.”
“Mmm. Hon, try to relax. Ah, yes, the infamous List.” It was a catalogue of classic, womanly traits. Or at least what a colorful, independent Frenchwoman believed womanly traits to be. Babette had always slipped life lessons into casual conversation with the four girls. They would then rehearse her wisdom on train rides home from her downtown apartment. While the others dictated, Andie wrote them in a notebook. For high school graduation gifts, she collected the sayings into what she called “The List,” copied them in calligraphy onto thick linen paper and framed them. She still had hers on a laundry room wall out of everyone else’s sight. Paul thought it silly.
Molly said, “Do you have eight matching plates?”
“Sixteen. And goblets and a dozen perfect recipes.” She smiled. “With a real estate agent and community pillar for a husband, entertaining has become a way of life.”
“What’s your favorite list item?”
“I don’t know. But I can tell you the impossible one. ‘A real woman knows she can’t change the length of her ca
lves, the width of her hips, or the nature of her parents.’ The hips have gotten wider, the calves never were right, and my mom…sheesh. I still feel thirteen years old when I’m around her.”
“Inadequate?”
“That’s it. Molly, you have a lot of hormonal activity going on.”
“Tell me about it. Some days I feel thirteen and I don’t even have to call my mom.” She laughed. “Can you fix it? Make me normal?”
“Why would I want to make you normal? Anyway, I can’t fix or diagnose what’s going on. Jo does that. I can only tell you that things are unbalanced, but you already know that.”
“How is your business?”
“It’s good, slow but sure.” She smiled. “I meet all these people through Paul, and when I tell them what I do, their eyes glaze over. ‘I see. You unclog nerve endings. How interesting! And that releases energy to do what?’”
“Make me feel better,” Molly supplied an answer. “And help the body heal itself. Ouch! The process, however, is not fun. Do you tell them that part?”
“Most of them are asleep by the time I get to details, but once in a while I pick up a new client. Molly, we really should do more of this tomorrow. You need to flush out the toxins with a lot of water. I doubt that at ten o’clock at night you want to drink a gallon.”
“No, I don’t. I always remembered Babette’s admonition about drinking water. Your grandma taught us well, didn’t she? About a lot of things.”
“She did. I wouldn’t have survived without her as buffer between me and my mom.”
“Andie, you know she was saying to accept yourself for who you are and accept your mom for who she is and forgive her.”
She gently set Molly’s foot on the floor and straightened her back. “What do you think she would have said about fortieth birthdays?”
Her friend thought a moment. “That there’s a strong possibility we’ll feel lousy, but to take heart. It’s a corner and corners are for turning. I think her wise granddaughter said something along those lines as well.”