Summer Dance

by Nan Rossiter

  Lizzy had news for me, though, when she and Simon came out for New Year’s Eve. We sat by the fire, drinking wine and talking late into the night—long after Simon had gone to bed.

  “Soo,” she said, smiling over her glass, “we set a date.”

  “You did?! You’ve been here all day and you’re just telling me now?”

  “I know, I’m sorry. It’s been kind of involved,” she added softly, just in case Simon, who was snoring loudly in the next room, happened to be faking and was really listening.

  She nodded toward the bedroom. “Si doesn’t know the whole story.”

  I frowned. “Why is there a story?”

  “Well, before I get into it, it’s Sunday, August twenty-third— so mark your calendar. I hate to make you leave this beautiful place in the busy summertime, but the wedding’s going to be in Boston.”

  “That’s okay,” I said, smiling and taking a sip of my wine. “At least you’re not making me go to Medford.”

  “That’s part of the problem,” she said softly. “My mother—who should have seen this coming—just about fainted when I told her, and then, when I told her we were getting married under a chuppah, I thought she was going to have a heart attack. I’m sorry to use that scenario, Sal—with your dad and all—but she literally put her hand to her chest and gripped the table for support.”

  “Oh no,” I said, raising my eyebrows.

  “Simon doesn’t know any of this,” Lizzy said, shaking her head. “I don’t know why she didn’t realize how serious we were.”

  “She was probably in denial.”

  “Probably,” Lizzy said, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, she immediately poured herself a drink—which, I found out later, was just the beginning of a three-day tear. Now, I don’t even know if she’ll come to the wedding—which might be just as well since she’ll probably get drunk and embarrass herself . . . and me. God only knows what she’ll do.”

  I nodded, suddenly realizing that my most important job as maid of honor was going to be keeping tabs on the mother of the bride. “Oh, Lizzy, I’m so sorry,” I said. “If she comes, I’ll definitely keep an eye on her.”

  “You’ll have to,” she said, laughing. “Can you imagine when Simon breaks the glass? She’ll probably throw down her own glass and stomp on it too!”

  I raised my eyebrows. “So you’re having a traditional Jewish ceremony?”

  Lizzy nodded. “Yes, Simon’s grandmother even gave Simon her wedding ring to give me.”

  “Wow! That’s nice of her.”

  Lizzy nodded. “It’s tradition.”

  I frowned, knowing the rigid rules of the Catholic Church. “I know you told me you were engaged back in the summer, but I’ve been wondering ever since if we’re even allowed to marry someone who is Jewish.”

  “We’re not,” she said, “but it doesn’t matter—I’m giving up Catholicism.”

  She said it so casually—like you might say you were giving up chocolate for Lent.

  She saw the look in my eyes and smiled. “Just by marrying Simon, Sal, I’ll be falling out of grace with the Church. I won’t ever be able to receive Communion or participate in any other sacraments again, so what’s the point?”

  “Would Simon be willing to become Catholic?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head.

  “What about your children?”

  She shrugged. “They’ll be raised Jewish.”

  “What about Christmas? Won’t you miss it?”

  “I guess we’ll celebrate Hanukkah instead.”

  I frowned. “Aren’t you the one who always said Hanukkah was lame compared to Christmas?”

  She laughed. “Probably, but I’m not a little kid anymore—I’ll get over it.”

  I was stunned. I had altered my life—with no regard for my own happiness—just to honor the Catholic Church and its beliefs, and here Lizzy was, kicking it all to the curb. “What about all we’ve been taught to believe? How will your children have eternal life if they aren’t raised to believe Jesus died for their sins?”

  “Do you really believe that?” Lizzy asked.

  “I do,” I said without a shred of doubt in my heart.

  “You don’t think God lets Jewish people into heaven . . . after all they’ve been through?”

  I shook my head. “I honestly don’t know, Lizzy. I just know the Bible says, unequivocally, that a person must accept Christ as his or her savior to receive eternal life.”

  “There are a lot of good Jewish people on this planet doing wonderful things,” Lizzy countered, “and I just find it so hard to believe that God doesn’t love them.” She searched my eyes. “There’s something I haven’t told you.”

  I frowned, waiting for her to continue.

  “Simon’s grandparents were in Poland during the Nazi occupation. They were separated from one another and his grandfather was killed, but his grandmother was put on a train.” She paused. “Sally, she was taken to a concentration camp.”

  I shook my head in disbelief.

  Lizzy nodded. “Simon said she would’ve been killed, too, if the prisoners hadn’t been freed by Allied troops.”

  “That’s incredible—I had no idea.”

  Lizzy nodded again. “She is this amazing woman and she’s been through one of the most horrific events in history, and yet, she has this beautiful, indomitable spirit. You’d never guess she survived the Holocaust.” She looked into my eyes. “Do you really think God won’t grant her eternal life?”

  I swallowed. “I don’t know,” I said softly.

  “Anyway,” Lizzy continued, “Simon would never give up his faith—not after everything his grandparents went through. I love him, Sal. I love him so much I’d give up my chance at eternal life, and I honestly don’t care what the church thinks—if they have to be so rigid and unaccepting of other faiths, then I don’t want to be a part of it anyway. It makes no sense to me and I wouldn’t want my children to be dragged down by such narrow-mindedness.”

  I took a sip of my wine. I didn’t know what to say—Lizzy and I were suddenly on opposite ends of the spectrum when it came to our beliefs. For the love of one man, she was turning her back on everything we’d been raised to believe, and for those same beliefs, I was willing to give up the man I loved. Was the love she felt for Simon more profound than the love I felt for Coop?

  Lizzy smiled as she pulled her legs up under her and took another long sip. “Oh, before I forget,” she said, “we’re supposed to tell you Simon’s grandmother is putting the house on the market soon and she wondered if you might be interested.”

  Chapter 25

  Coop didn’t stop by the bakery after the holidays. “Trouble in paradise?” Abe teased one afternoon as we were getting ready to close.

  “Ha,” I said. “There’s no such thing as paradise.” And then the irony of my statement hit me. What if there really was no paradise—no heaven—and I was giving up my relationship with Coop for nothing?

  “There is a paradise,” Abe said gently. “You just have to stay on the straight and narrow to find it.” He paused. “No one’s perfect, Sal. You can only do your best, and when you fall short, ask God for forgiveness . . . and go to church once in a while—more than just on Christmas,” he added with a smile.

  I nodded, fighting back tears. It was as if he’d read my mind.

  Moments later, as I was cleaning up the coffee station, Coop walked in, brushing snow off his shoulders, and I remembered—by the heat that shot through my body—what paradise was like.

  “Coffee, tea, or me?” I teased, holding up the last coffee carafe.

  “Why? Are you back on the menu?”

  I laughed uncertainly. “No, I was just fooling.”

  “Well, don’t,” he said.

  “I’m sorry, Coop—you’re right. That was thoughtless.” I searched his face for a sign of forgiveness, but all I saw was sadness. I’d heard that he and Dimitri had painted the town on New Year’s Eve, and by the strain on his face a
nd the tiredness in his eyes, it looked like the party might’ve lasted all week. “How’ve you been?” I asked softly.

  “Okay,” he said, then looked around. “Where’s Abe?”

  “I think he’s taking out the garbage.”

  Coop searched my eyes. “Sal, I know you said you didn’t think we could just be friends, but I miss you so much, I don’t think I can handle not seeing you at all.”

  I swallowed. “I feel the same way.”

  “So why can’t we just spend time together? Not seeing you is driving me crazy.”

  “It’s driving me crazy too, Coop, but I’m worried we’ll end up in bed again . . . and as much as I’d love to, nothing has changed—I’m still married.”

  I could see him trying to suppress a smile. “We can spend time together without ending up in bed.”

  “Yeah,” I said, laughing. “Just look at you—even the word bed makes you smile.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” he said, frowning. “I have willpower; it’s not my fault if you don’t.”

  “Very funny,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  The back door slammed and Abe appeared in the doorway. “Well, well, look who the cat dragged in,” he teased, “the long lost lov—” He stopped and held up his hands. “Oh, I forgot—there’s nothing going on.”

  “There is nothing going on,” I assured him.

  “I know,” he said as he disappeared into the back, “and the sky’s not blue,” he called over his shoulder.

  “As a matter of fact, it’s looking pretty darn gray today,” I called after him.

  Coop watched him disappear and then looked back at me. “Are you closing soon?”

  “Yeah, I just have to finish cleaning up.”

  “Want to go for a drink?”

  I looked up from wiping the counter. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea—you’ll just use alcohol to weaken my resolve.”

  “No, I won’t,” he said, sounding wounded. “Just a simple drink with a friend.”

  “Where’s Dimitri?” I asked, eyeing him. “Did his wife ground him?”

  “Noo,” Coop said, laughing.

  “I bet she did.”

  “Come for a drink and I’ll drive you home.”

  “Okay,” I said resignedly.

  Fifteen minutes later, we were sitting in The Brotherhood of the Thieves with a beer and a glass of wine between us. “How was your New Year’s?” Coop asked, and I told him all about Lizzy and Simon’s visit—including the news that Simon’s grandmother was putting her house on the market.

  Coop raised his eyebrows. “Are you going to buy it?”

  “I might,” I said. “I just got the check for my dad’s house, so I could, but I could also buy something else. I don’t want to rush into anything.”

  Coop nodded. “There are a lot of nice places out here, but Simon’s grandmother’s cottage has one of the prettiest settings—it’s close to town, but still private, and it has a killer view. Plus, it’s a solid, well-built house. If I was looking for a place, I’d pick it over my own house.”

  “Soo, just to clarify, you think . . . maybe I should buy it?”

  He laughed. “Is that what you got out of all that?”

  “Sort of,” I said, laughing.

  “Yeah, I guess you should.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It needs to be renovated and . . .”

  “I told you I’d help.”

  I took a sip of my wine and pictured him helping. “Yeah, that’s just what I need—your half-naked, tan body hammering away on projects around my house.”

  “If my half-naked body is too much for you, I’ll keep my shirt on.”

  “I’ll have to think about it.”

  “Which?” he teased. “My half-naked body or buying the house?”

  “Both,” I said, smiling.

  He laughed and then motioned to the bartender for two more drinks.

  When we walked outside an hour later, it was still snowing—hard—and when we walked to the truck, it looked like a plow had buried it. “Want to just leave it?” I asked.

  “No,” he said. “You might be able to walk home from here, but it’s a bit far for me.”

  He brushed off the driver’s door with his arm, opened it, started the truck, and then reached behind the seat for a snow shovel and brush. He brushed off my door and I climbed in to wait, and after he cleared the windshield, I watched him shovel and thought about his offer to help with renovations. It was hard enough watching him shovel with a heavy winter coat on—how in the world would I manage when he wasn’t wearing a shirt?

  He opened the driver’s door, slid the shovel and brush behind the seat, climbed in, and blew on his hands. “All day, it looked like snow, but I had no idea we were going to get walloped.”

  “I didn’t either,” I said. “It’s a good night for a fire.”

  “Mmm, that would be nice,” he said, holding his hands in front of the heat vents. Finally, he put the truck in gear and, with some sliding and wheel spinning, we made our way home.

  “Do you still want a fire?” he asked as he pulled into my driveway.

  “You’re just trying to get an invitation inside,” I teased.

  “No, I’m not,” he said. “I’m just being neighborly.”

  I laughed. “Okay, if you have time.”

  “I have nothing but time,” he said, turning off the truck. We trudged through the snow toward the dark house. “I should’ve left a light on,” I said apologetically. “I didn’t expect to get home after dark.” I fumbled to unlock the door. “Someday, I’m going to move somewhere warm where it never snows.”

  “You’re going to leave Nantucket?!”

  “Yes, I’m going to find a tropical island.”

  “You’re a hardy New Englander—you’ll never leave.”

  “I might,” I said, turning on the lights.

  Coop looked around. “Feels like it’s been forever since I was here.”

  I smiled but didn’t say anything. He unzipped his coat, stomped his boots, and walked over to my fireplace. “You’re gonna need more wood soon,” he said, nodding to the half-full black iron firewood ring.

  “There’s enough for tonight. I’ll bring more in tomorrow.” I watched him stack the logs in the fireplace. “Not too big,” I added. “I probably won’t stay up very late.”

  He nodded, opened the damper, lit the newspaper, and fanned the tiny flicker until the kindling was fully engulfed and licking over the logs, crackling and spitting.

  “Want a drink?” I asked, holding up the bottle of Jack Daniels he’d brought over and left behind.

  “Sure,” he said with the slow smile that always stole my heart.

  “There’s no smiling, though,” I warned, “or I’ll lose my resolve.” I handed him the glass, and when he gave me a somber look, I ended up laughing. “Oh, Coop,” I said. “You have no idea how much I wish it didn’t have to be this way.” I searched his eyes. “And how much I want you.”

  He nodded, smiling sadly, and took a sip of his drink. “You could if you wanted to.”

  “Don’t tempt me,” I said, and against my better judgement, I poured a glass of wine and joined him on the couch. “How are things at the boathouse?”

  “Good,” he said. “I’ve been commissioned to build a sailboat.”

  “Are you able to work when it’s this cold?”

  “Oh, yeah. There’s a big wood stove in the back of the boathouse, so it stays pretty warm.”

  “Who commissioned the sailboat?”

  “A guy from Boston.”

  “And you know what you’re doing?” I teased.

  “No, but I’m learning,” he said with a smile, adding, “I’m not a beginner, you know. My uncle Henry was a boat builder in Maine, and Lily and I used to spend summers there.”

  “I didn’t know that,” I said in surprise.

  He nodded. “Henry was my dad’s older brother—he never married. He was nothing like my dad—he was more of a
nature lover.” He held up his drink and smiled. “He loved his whiskey too. I learned a lot from him. He even tried to talk me out of officer’s school, but my dad kept warning me if I didn’t choose a branch of the service, I’d get drafted.”

  We quietly watched the fire and listened to the wind howling around the house. “You should probably just sleep here tonight,” I said, patting the couch.

  “You’re gonna let me sleep on your couch?” he teased, finishing his drink.

  “Maybe—if you promise to behave.”

  He grinned. “I’m the one with the willpower, remember? Besides, I’m not going to do anything that will ruin our friendship,” he added.

  I nodded and felt tears welling up in my eyes. I took a sip of my drink and stared into the flames.

  “Hey,” he said softly, noticing a tear trickle down my cheek. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Something,” he countered.

  I wiped my eyes. “I just wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

  “Sally, if this is too hard, I can go,” he said.

  “That’s just it—I don’t want you to go . . . ever.”

  He looked back at the fire. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way either,” he said softly, putting his arm around me and kissing the top of my head. It was an innocent gesture, but his touch and the closeness of him sent a wave of desire sweeping through me. I put my hand on his leg. “Mmm, be careful,” he whispered.

  “I am being careful,” I said, sliding it along his thigh. I looked up, and as I slid my hand higher, he closed his eyes.

  Chapter 26

  After a while, I think Coop must’ve gotten used to having his heart broken, or maybe he just stopped believing me. I was the little girl who cried wolf: I’d started attending mass almost every week, and every other week I’d tell him we had to stop making love, but then a week later, we’d be all tangled up in the sheets again and it would be better than it had ever been before. I was a confused mess—I wanted to be good—I wanted to go to heaven . . . but I wanted Coop too! Maybe that’s what Coop liked about it—he’d stand there stoically while I dealt the blow of abstinence; then he’d wait patiently until I was on fire and be ever ready to put out the flames. The longest I ever went without him was thirteen days, and forever after, he joked that it was my P.R.