When she tilted her head skyward, she took in a sharp breath. Through the paned glass of the nursery, she could make out the slip of the moon and a scattering of stars across the night sky, the Big Dipper just at its edge.
“It’s breathtaking, Henry. Truly beautiful.” His arms circled around her, a move that he’d yet to practice on her. It felt comfortable, right.
“I used to come here a lot, sit a spell, and look up at the night. Not so much anymore.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not sure.”
He let go of her then and produced a blue cushion resembling a yoga mat from the corner.
“You’re like a magician, Henry. Pulling flowers and mats out of your hat. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to impress me.”
“Don’t get a big head now.” He patted the mat for her to sit down with him, and she eased herself onto the cushiony foam, lying back in his arms and setting the flower aside. That’s how Max and Henry are different, she thought. Max would have been rolling around with her by now, if he’d even bothered to lay down a mat at all.
“Is this how you seduced Charlotte?” she asked, looking up at him. She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. She could see Henry’s face blanch, even in the moonlight.
“I’m sorry. That just came out. I didn’t mean it.” What on earth was she thinking?
“No, it’s okay.” Henry’s face softened. “It’s about time I turn over a new page. I loved her with all my heart, but I know she’d scold me for living in the past.”
“I guess we all tend to dwell on the past, don’t we? It’s natural.” Then quietly she asked: “What do you miss the most about her?”
He sighed. “Good question. There’s just so much—the way she loved our children, the sense of calm she brought to our lives. And then there’s all the silly stuff, you know? Like the egg-on-toast she’d make, with a hole cut out in the center for the egg. Or the way she looked forward to a good thunderstorm, or how I could always tell if she’d read a book because the corners of her favorite pages would be turned over.”
Ellen was silent. How lovely was all she could think. How lovely and how in love this man had been with his wife. Was he still?
He cleared his throat. “How about you? Do you ever miss Max?”
She paused. “Not like that, Henry. Not like that, that’s for sure.” If she had answered in full truth, she might have said, I miss the smell of his skin, his certainty that everything will work out all right, his bright blue eyes that pierce you as soon as you look at him, his easy laugh.
They listened to the wind blowing outside for a moment, their faces tilted skyward. She did miss Max, but if she pressed herself to consider, it wasn’t a healthy kind of missing. It was more of a quick-fix missing. Max was wonderful in the moment, less so in the long haul. She felt herself relax against Henry’s body as she leaned farther back. If there were ever a moment to enjoy, this was it: being held by this sweet man, whom she’d known for only a short while, but who seemed to offer solace, a balm in her life without even trying. Her mother always said that still waters run deep. Henry Moon was the embodiment of that phrase. Quiet, constant, he continued to surprise Ellen with his love for nature, for literature, and yes, even his deceased wife.
“You know,” he interrupted her thoughts, “I’m a firm believer that people’s true selves are reflected in the kinds of flowers or trees they’re drawn to. I’ve seen husbands and wives get into some nasty fights over what tree they’ll plant. One wants a sugar maple, the other a white paper birch.”
“Really? I never thought about it. What are you?”
“Oh, I’m a sugar maple all the way.”
She smiled. That seemed about right. “What’s an impulsive, live-in-the-moment kind of tree?” she asked.
“Let’s see. That could be an aspen. Quick grower. Likes to rustle its leaves in the wind for attention. Definitely not an oak or an evergreen. Those are your sturdy, reliable types. I don’t see you as an aspen, though. Maybe a holly tree?”
“Oh, not for me. Just someone I know,” she added quickly. “A holly tree? Why’s that?”
“You know, a nice shape, a bit of a show-off, a tad prickly.”
“Oh, really? A tad prickly?”
“I mean that in the best possible way, of course.”
“Of course,” she chided.
“I don’t know how to put it . . . but sometimes you seem a little, what’s the word, guarded?”
She thought about it. Had he picked up on all her ruminating over Max? She decided it was unlikely. “It probably has something to do with the fact that my mom died when I was sixteen. You quickly learn to put up walls.”
He pulled away and sat up beside her. “You’re kidding me. I mean, that’s terrible. I had no idea.”
“Why would you?”
“You never said anything about it. What a huge loss—and burden—for you.”
“It forced me to grow up quickly, that’s for sure. Someone had to look out for Lanie; she was only six. And, yes, I suppose it’s not something I bring up often.”
Ellen nuzzled her way back into his arms and looked at the spray of stars above. She thought back to when her mother, Lanie, and she used to do the same thing on cool summer nights, spread out on a blanket in the backyard and count the stars till they could no longer bear the mosquitoes.
“But as my dad always told us, my mother gave us more love in a short time than most mothers give their daughters in a lifetime.”
Henry sighed. She wondered if he was thinking about Charlotte. She knew they had three children, but they’d gone off in far-flung directions after college: a daughter in China; a son in San Francisco; another in Seattle. From what she could glean, Henry talked to his children infrequently, a once-a-month check-in call. It didn’t surprise her, given that grown children were bound to grow apart, but it did make her a little sorry for him. He’d gone from a full family of five, to just him and Charlotte, and now only him. She wondered if his house got lonely at night, the way hers did.
“You know how people say someone’s larger than life, and you think, well, how can that be? Well, if you’d met my mom, you’d know. She was larger than life. In fact, I don’t believe our dad ever let her go.”
“Did he remarry?”
“No. It’s something I worried about. What if some horrible woman became our stepmom? But he didn’t. He never really recovered from her death, I don’t think. He just turned inward more and more. He’d always been quiet and loved his books—he was a librarian. But his books became his new wife. We didn’t really see much of him, but then we never did even when my mother was around. He died fifteen years later, when I was thirty-one. It’s what brought me back home.”
“You had to take care of him?”
“No. Thankfully his was a quick passing—heart attack. But someone from the family had to get our affairs in order, sell the house, figure things out. Lanie was a senior in college at the time, so it fell to me. And, well, I kind of never left.”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” He kissed the top of her head.
“Don’t apologize. There’s no rhyme or reason to some things. And you?”
“What about me?”
“What’s your checkered history?”
“Not very interesting, I’m afraid. My dad was a farmer, as you know, and ran the greenhouse here. My mother was a great woman, but I don’t think she ever got to see the world much. She pretty much was my dad’s right-hand man on the farm, always canning or cooking something. She loved to bake—you would have liked that about her. They died within a year of each other.”
“I’m sorry.” If Henry were a tree, she decided, he would be an oak, not a maple. Steady and strong. She liked the rush of his breath across her bare shoulder while he talked. His breath smelled sweet, like the peppermint he’d taken from the restaurant.
“No brothers or sisters?” she asked.
“No. That’s why I
told Charlotte we had to have at least three kids. I wanted a loud, busy family.” He was quiet for a moment and then pulled his arms away. Slowly he began to push himself up, and Ellen almost fell backward. “Well, that’s plenty of sharing for one night, don’t you think?”
He smiled at her but she felt as if the tenor of the evening had shifted ever so slightly. She stood up and brushed herself off as well. The scenes she’d been imagining for them earlier in his warm embrace evaporated into the humid air, twirling filaments of lust.
He picked up her flower and handed it to her, then folded the mat, and led her gently by the hand to the front. “I’m going to stay and finish up a few things here, if that’s okay.”
“Oh, all right.” She was taken aback. Hadn’t they been on their way to his house or hers? “Good night then, I guess.” What else was there to say?
“G’night, my holly tree.”
They stood there awkwardly for a moment before he leaned in to kiss her. She felt his lips searching around, as if they didn’t quite remember how the whole thing worked. She dropped her flower. He pulled back after a few seconds.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so forward.”
“You’re joking, right?” She was tingling.
He looked at her curiously.
“Henry, I think it’s about time you kissed me.”
“Oh?” He kissed her again, wrapped his arms around her. She felt the heat rising in her cheeks. His kisses were sweet, tender.
“I’ve been wondering what that would feel like,” he said, pulling away.
“And?”
“Pretty spectacular.” He kissed her again, then pulled back. “I better let you get home before this gets out of control.” He gave her a small peck on the forehead.
“Right, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” She dug her keys out of her purse, buying time. “Talk to you tomorrow?” She so wanted to give him long, wet kisses, run her fingers through his hair. She didn’t know what exactly had come over her, but then again, it had been something like a million years since she’d been with a man. Not counting her ex, of course.
“You bet.”
She walked to her car, confused. Did Henry really like her or was she just his rebound girl? She wasn’t used to men playing it so coy. Max would have at least followed her out to the car for some fooling around. Henry, on the other hand, had shut the greenhouse door behind him.
Maybe that was a good thing. She and Max had eloped on a whim. Maybe she needed a more pensive, reserved man like Henry for a relationship to work. Maybe she needed still waters.
As she turned the key in the ignition, she wondered if small details about Charlotte came to Henry’s mind unexpectedly, touching all sides of a day, like the concentric circles of a pebble tossed in a puddle. Certainly memories of her mother did, and at the oddest times, like when she was making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and she heard her mom’s voice telling her to spread each on separate sides of the bread.
Ellen knew that the love for a mother and the love for a spouse were not the same. But she suspected the loss of both hurt with a similar ache and that each healed over with a puffy scab, one that eventually fell off but forever left its mark. She eased her car out of the lot, the darkness leading her home.
“To enjoy good health, to bring true happiness to one’s family, to bring peace to all, one must first discipline and control one’s own mind.”
—Buddha
Lanie could feel her muscles unfurl as the masseuse worked her way down her back.
“That . . . feels . . . so . . . incredible.”
She barely managed to get the words out. She’d forgotten how amazing a massage could be, the cucumber-scented lotion, the soothing rain music, the methodic drumming on her back. She’d at last slated some time to redeem her certificate at Spa Sensations with Ellen. Rob was watching Benjamin for the day, and she and Ellen had started with a relaxing lunch over a glass of wine at Pomodino’s. It had been, so far, nothing short of divine.
Ellen was in the room next to her, getting some kind of sea wrap that promised smooth skin, toned muscles, and instant weight loss. They’d both been skeptical about the weight loss part, but figured it couldn’t hurt. “I’ll see you when I’m a new woman,” Ellen, bundled in a white robe, called over her shoulder, a glass of ice water with lemon in her hand. “I can already feel the years coming off.”
“Lucky Henry!” Lanie shouted. Over lunch, Ellen had finally filled her in on some of the events of the past weeks. Henry was a “good man,” Ellen said; she “liked him.” He was apparently still a little “stuck on his wife” but that was to be expected, her sister explained. They’d shared some nice dates so far, though Ellen joked that the romance had better heat up soon or they’d be in trouble. It was the most Lanie had heard her sister talk about anyone since Max. And, oh, how Lanie had loved to see Max go his own way! He’d never deserved her sister; the fact that Ellen had fallen for him so hard, like a drunken sailor over the side of a ship, had been terrific luck on his part. Lanie only hoped her sister would finally meet someone worthy of her wonderful mind, her big soul, her giving heart. She was excited to think that Henry might be the one.
“You’ve got some awfully big knots here,” Kristin, the masseuse, was saying as she poked her fingers in between Lanie’s shoulder blades and spine.
“Feel free to work them all out,” Lanie encouraged. “I think it’s been about two years since my last massage.”
“Yikes. You need a massage every month, if not every week. You’re very tense.”
“Tell my husband that.” She laughed, then felt a small stab of guilt for making it sound as though Rob were her prison warden. “Actually, he’s a good guy,” she tried to redeem herself. “He’s the one who gave me the gift certificate for a massage in the first place.”
“He should buy you more, I think.”
“Hmm,” was all she could muster. Her muscles were so relaxed she’d lost the ability to speak. And, honestly, what did she care what this girl thought of her or her relationship with Rob? Kristin probably got an earful of relationship stories all day long, one running into another. Lanie told herself to let go, at least for the next sixty minutes, to stop worrying, caring about anyone else or what anyone thought. She was thirty-five! When on earth was she going to give herself free license to be herself?
The thing was, she wasn’t sure if she knew who that self was. For so long she’d been trying to get to the next flag, add it to her belt, that sometimes she felt like she’d forgotten why she was chasing down all these flags in the first place. The first flag had been honor roll, then valedictorian of her high school class; then it was admission to college; Phi Beta Kappa; law school and law review; then top jobs across the country till she’d landed both her current job and Rob, her best and brightest flag up till that point. And then there was Benjamin, sweet, chubby, wonderful Benjamin. He was her whole belt of flags, multicolored, flying wildly and happily around her waist.
Some part of her, she supposed, was always trying to make Harriet McClarety proud. At every major event in her life—whether graduations, her wedding, Benjamin’s birth—she had imagined her mother in the audience or at her side, applauding and smiling, nodding her head, as if to say, “I knew you could do it. I’m so proud of you.” As a young girl, Lanie had gotten little praise from her father, he’d been so lost in his own world, and Ellen had lent as much support and encouragement as a sister could. But it would never fill the gaping hole of her mother’s absence, her voice, her hug, or a pat on the back. Lanie had been short-changed in life.
There, she’d said it. And she supposed all the bitterness, sadness, and toughness that grew out of that realization had also helped fuel her many accomplishments. The acknowledgment was bittersweet, though. If for just one minute, she could have her mother back to say, “Honey, you’ve turned out to be the most wonderful woman. I couldn’t have dreamed of all you’d accomplish. You’re an amazing mom. I love you. I love you
all,” she thought she could at last move on with her second-guessing, her self-doubt. All would be okay.
But who was she kidding? She was never going to get that kind of endorsement. She imagined her mom saying to her now instead, “You were waiting all that time just for me to swoop down and tell you everything is okay? Lanie, how silly of you! You should know better. Look around you: You already have everything and everyone you need to make a happy life. Now, just be yourself.”
She had nearly dozed off, and Lanie roused herself with a start. She realized, with her head in the donut hole, that she’d started to drool and a big splotch of saliva had landed on the floor below her. She could see it. And she didn’t care. Not one iota. She was buck naked, full of knots, and drooling on the floor. It was not her best moment. And yet, so what? Who cared? She was getting the most wonderful massage of her life. She could feel Kristin’s fingers digging into her skin, unlocking knot after knot, her shoulders adjusting to a level half an inch lower than before. She imagined her muscles yelling out in glee, “Thank you! Thank you! We’ve been cooped up for so long. It’s so nice to relax.”
She didn’t need any more flags. She had all that she wanted. She was happy, and yet she was driving herself crazy. How was it possible to be both at once? She suspected plenty of other women felt this way. No, she knew plenty of other women who felt this way, trying to juggle fifteen million balls at once. It was too much, and someone ultimately was going to get short-changed, whether it was her clients, Rob, Benjamin, or herself. She didn’t want more flags, but she sure as hell didn’t want to lose the ones she had.
• • • •
A week and a half later the baby spiked a fever of 103 in the middle of the night. He was screaming, his sleeper drenched with sweat, his curls pasted to his forehead—and Lanie was terrified. After she’d called, the pediatrician said not to worry, that babies spiked fevers quickly, but they should give Benjamin some Tylenol and get him to the ER just in case he needed antibiotics. “Probably an ear infection,” she guessed. “But I wouldn’t want to diagnose it over the phone, especially given how little he is.”
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