More Than You Know (4 page)

3

B
eryl was lost in thought when she turned onto Route 3, and at least ten minutes passed before she realized that the last remnant of the day’s bright sky was over her left shoulder, and not her right. She groaned. “What did I do?” Anxiously, she searched for the next highway sign and, sure enough, she was headed north toward Manchester. “What’s the matter with me? I’ve traveled this road a thousand times.” She shook her head; even though she was just shy of forty-five, ever since her mom’s diagnosis, she’d become increasingly aware of her own mental blunders and “senior moments”—and the more aware she was of them, the more they seemed to happen. “I’m going to be right behind you, Mum.” She pulled off the next exit, praying it wouldn’t take her around Robin Hood’s barn. “Thank you,” she murmured, turning off the ramp and immediately seeing a sign for 3-South.

Her thoughts turned to Rumer and she prayed her sister’s flight would be on time. She looked at the setting sun, now on her right side, and knew that was the direction from which Rumer was coming. Suddenly, she caught herself beginning to imagine tragic scenarios; then she heard her mom’s voice echoing in her head:
“Beryl, why don’t you allow yourself the joy of looking forward to someone’s visit instead of worrying that something bad is going to happen while they’re traveling?”
It was true—her mom knew her too well. It was almost as if she could read her mind. She glanced at the clock and realized she had plenty of time but felt bad knowing the lost minutes could have been spent stopping by the shop to feed Thoreau. She pictured the gray tiger curled up on the armchair alone and recalled how often he’d nestled on Mia’s lap, purring contentedly. Somehow, that wise cat had sensed the quiet change taking place in his old friend, and although he’d always been affectionate, he’d become increasingly attentive during those last several months.

 

After her diagnosis, Mia had continued to manage at home with Beryl keeping a closer eye on her, but her forgetfulness had become increasingly worrisome. Isak and Rumer had flown home in the spring, and together they’d visited several facilities, but the one they’d liked best didn’t have a room and it had a long waiting list. Surprisingly, Isak and Rumer had agreed it would be better to wait than confuse Mia by moving her twice. They’d helped Beryl move some of her things back home, and Beryl had felt as if she’d been given a reprieve and been anxious to prove that caring for their mom at home was the best solution.

But Mia’s health had deteriorated quickly and her care became all-consuming, just as Isak had predicted. It was almost as if her diagnosis had accelerated her decline. Bathing, feeding, and keeping tabs on her kept Beryl busy all the time. She never told her sisters how many times she found Mia walking down the road—talking about going home, but headed in the opposite direction. One time, she was missing for more than an hour before Beryl found her sitting by the pond.

“Oh, Mum,” Beryl had cried in thankful relief. “I’m so sorry you got lost. You really scared me.”

“I was going to our cabin at MacDowell,” she said, “but I couldn’t remember the way.”

“Mum, you haven’t worked at MacDowell in years—and we never owned a cabin.”

Mia’s eyes had clouded over with confusion.

On top of everything, Tranquility in a Teapot’s hours had become sporadic at best and business suffered. Everyone in town knew about Mia’s decline and they’d tried to rally around the Grahams, but it had still looked like the little shop might close. Beryl had been beside herself. She’d wanted to hire help, but she hadn’t even had time to interview anyone. She’d tried to open every day, at least for a couple of hours, and on good days, Mia had seemed to enjoy being at the shop; but most of the time, she’d just sat in her armchair, gazing out the window with Thoreau on her lap. Beryl had missed the old days, when they’d cheerfully worked side by side, laughing and helping customers select and sample specialty teas; and she missed pulling down the shade at the end of the day, sitting at one of the café tables, chatting with her mom over a freshly brewed pot of Darjeeling tea, and munching on raisin scones or almond biscotti. Mia had no longer wanted tea; its heat surprised her and made her wince with discomfort.

So it was a somber day, ten months later, when the nursing home called to say they had a room for Mia, and Beryl, in spite of her deep commitment to care for her mom at home, had felt sadly relieved. The burden had been much more than she’d imagined, and she was physically and emotionally exhausted. On top of that, she’d felt utterly hopeless because nothing seemed to slow the steady progress of the awful disease that was stealing her mom away. She’d called Isak and Rumer to let them know, and they’d each asked, hesitantly, if she thought she could handle the transition alone. Beryl had said she could—after all, it was just a suitcase and some pictures.

But, as it turned out, it wasn’t just a suitcase and some pictures—it had been the most heart-wrenching thing she’d ever done. Tears had filled her eyes as she promised she’d come every day, and Mia had nodded trustingly, trying to understand. Beryl had clung to her and Mia had held her daughter close, trying to be a comfort. When Beryl left, she’d turned around at the end of the hall, and Mia, looking lost and small, had smiled, trying to be brave and waving uncertainly. Beryl had waved back, tears streaming down her cheeks and feeling as if she had just betrayed the one person she loved most on earth.

 

There was very little traffic headed into Boston that early May evening and Beryl breezed down 93 onto 90 and zipped off the airport exit without incident. She found a spot in short-term parking, hurried into the terminal, and scanned the arrival /departure screen. Immediately, her heart sank—Rumer’s flight was delayed by three hours! She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and realized she’d missed two calls and one text. She read the text and realized that her sister had written to tell her she was going to be late.
That’s what I get for not checking this stupid phone,
she chided herself.

She sat down in a chair and listened to her first message. It was from Isak:
“Hi, Ber. I’m catching an earlier flight tomorrow, but don’t worry—you don’t have to pick me up. As much as I’d love to ride up to New Hampshire in that cool Mini, I’m just gonna rent. Love ya!”
Beryl smiled, picturing her oldest sister—tall, feisty, and redheaded. Of course she was going to rent; she had points, money, miles—she traveled all the time—Beryl was sure the Hertz guy would be waiting for her, holding her keys when she got off the plane. That’s how life was for Isak—if she told the earth to stop, it would come to a shuddering halt, its axis swaying with the unexpected pressure.

Rumer, on the other hand, was not as worldly as Isak, but she’d definitely seen more of it than Beryl. Like Beryl, she didn’t have points, money, or miles, but she had spent a semester of her junior year traveling abroad, and she’d finally broken the bonds of home and moved to Montana. But Rumer never cared about having a car when she was home. She was a free spirit and went wherever the road took her or, in this case, wherever her little sister drove her—and she loved being met at the gate by someone more dear to her than the Hertz guy.

Beryl sighed and pushed the button to hear the second message.
“Hi, Beryl, it’s Micah—Micah Coleman. I know—I probably don’t need to clarify that—how many Micahs could you possibly know? Anyway, I’m sure you’re wondering how I got this number. Well, I tried to call the shop, but there was no answer and my mom saw this number on an old Tranquility business card. She told me about your mom and I’m . . . I’m so sorry. Your mom was a wonderful lady. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you . . . and find out if there are any plans for her service. Listen, I’m home, and by home, I mean New Hampshire. You have my cell number now so—if there’s anything you need—anything at all—call me. All right—talk to you soon.”

Beryl pushed replay to listen to Micah’s message again and smiled at his question about how many Micahs she could possibly know—it was true, she only knew one. She hesitated, her finger hovering over the button with the green phone icon—it was serendipitous that he should call when she’d just been thinking of him. She hadn’t seen him since that fateful day three years ago and, ever since, she hadn’t had time to think of anyone but her mom. She’d been overwhelmed with—well, life! She stood and slipped the phone into her pocket. She’d call him when the arrangements were set. Her stomach growled and she realized she hadn’t eaten lunch or dinner. She wandered through the terminal, looking for someplace to grab a bite, and wondered what she was going to do for the next three hours. She could almost go home, feed the cat, and come back before Rumer arrived. She saw a Dunkin’ Donuts and bought a small black coffee and an egg-white veggie wrap, found a seat near the window, and stared out into the darkness.

 

The last several months of Mia’s life had been a blur of despair and uncertainty. “I just don’t know if she’s going to pull through,” Beryl had told her sisters on the phone. They’d been through it all before: Mia had had an undiagnosed urinary tract infection in October, and she’d been so sick and unresponsive that the aides had started giving Beryl consolatory hugs. Beryl, in turn, had tearfully reported to her sisters that it didn’t look good and they’d flown home immediately. But by the time they’d arrived, the antibiotics had kicked in and Mia was rebounding. “I’m sorry,” Beryl had said. “If you’d seen her, you would’ve thought she was at death’s door.” Isak and Rumer had insisted it was okay; they knew she was carrying the lion’s share of their mom’s care and they were just thankful she was there.

A mild winter had followed, bringing nagging colds to the nursing home, and although Mia only ended up with a cough, it had lingered annoyingly. In early spring, the respiratory ailments had resurfaced. Everyone had been coughing and sneezing again—so much so that Beryl had started carrying a bottle of Purell in her pocket. She’d sat with Mia in her room, carefully trimmed her nails, rubbed Purell on her hands, and then smoothed them with Curel hand lotion. “They should combine these two products,” she’d said with a smile, gently rubbing the cream into Mia’s hands. “Cu-Pu-Rel!” She’d laughed and Mia had gazed at her with a half-smile, not understanding. Beryl had gently rested her forehead against her mom’s, gazed into her blue eyes, and whispered, “I love you so much, Mum.”

Slowly and softly, Mia had murmured back, “I love you—more—than—you—know.” Tears had filled Beryl’s eyes. She hadn’t heard her mom say those words in a long time. She left that day feeling lighthearted, but when she returned the next day, her heart filled up with fear—Mia was still in bed, her breathing labored and raspy, and her gaze unseeing. The nurse said she hadn’t eaten anything and, within hours, she was rushed to the hospital with possible pneumonia.

Beryl had sent another cautionary alarm out to her sisters. “She’s on antibiotics, but I don’t know if she’ll respond this time. She’s very weak and she doesn’t open her eyes. It’s almost like there’s something else going on . . .” She hesitated. “I hate to make you fly home again for no reason, but I just don’t know . . .”

Beryl had called her next-door neighbor to take care of Flannery and stopped by the shop to feed Thoreau. When she’d returned to the hospital, there was little change. A nurse had offered to wheel in a cot, but Beryl had declined.

“She can hear you if you talk to her,” the nurse had said gently, bringing her a cup of coffee and a sandwich. “Their hearing is the last to go. . . .”

Beryl had looked up in surprise. “The last to go?”

The nurse had searched Beryl’s eyes. “Hon, if there’s anyone you think would want to see her, you’d better give them a call.”

“Isn’t there something we can do?”

“Oh, hon, there’re feeding tubes and breathing tubes that can prolong life.... But do you think that’s what your mom would’ve wanted?”

Beryl had been stunned—this wasn’t her decision to make . . .
alone
. She’d stroked her mom’s lovely face, now thin and drawn, as tears had filled her eyes. “Oh, Mum, what would you have wanted?” she’d whispered.

She’d called Rumer and Isak again, and they said they’d come right away . . . and they’d both assured her that Mia would not want to be kept alive with tubes. Through that night, Beryl had dozed on and off in the chair, but she’d never let go of her mom’s hand and, by the next morning, when she awoke with a start, she’d noticed that her breathing had changed again.

“Isak and Ru are coming, Mum,” she’d whispered, touching her soft, white hair. “They’re coming to see you.” Tears had streamed down her cheeks. “Please don’t go . . .” With her heart breaking, Beryl had gently kissed the hand that was so like her own and held it against her wet cheek. She’d gazed at the lovely face and whispered, “Oh, Mum, I love you so much.”

Within the hour, Mia had slipped away.

 

Beryl sipped her cold coffee and shivered. She looked up at the arrival/departure screen and realized that Rumer’s flight had been updated. Her heart pounded—she’d be landing soon!

4

A
wave of people poured through the gate, bringing chaos and noise to the quiet waiting area. Beryl spotted Rumer first, her blond head bobbing along in the sea of strangers. Although Rumer was twenty-two months older, she could hardly be considered a big sister. Like Mia and Beryl, she was only 5’2” . . .
when
she was standing on her tiptoes and holding her head high. She was a blond version of Beryl, and she wore her wispy sun-streaked hair pulled back in a long, thick braid. Her cheerful, freckled face always had a ready smile, but as soon as she saw Beryl that night, her eyes filled with tears. The two sisters made their way through the crowd and fell into each other’s arms—their grief spilling over like water over a breaching dam.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here,” Rumer whispered into her sister’s wispy dark hair. “I’m sorry you had to go through this alone.” Beryl nodded, trying to brush back her tears, but they just kept coming. “Oh, Ber,” Rumer murmured, pulling her closer. “I’m so sorry.”

After a while, Rumer pulled back and searched her sister’s eyes. “You know what I was thinking?”

Beryl shook her head and Rumer continued, “I was thinking you were there for both Mum and Dad.” She held Beryl’s face in her hands and gently wiped away her tears. “You were there for Mum when Dad died, and yesterday, you were there when Mum needed you most.”

Beryl considered her sister’s words and Rumer nodded, smiling through her tears before wrapping her little sister in another long hug. When they pulled apart, Rumer looked down at her sister’s mud-spattered blouse and smiled. “What happened?”

“Don’t ask,” Beryl said, shaking her head.

Finally, with their arms around each other, the two sisters left the terminal.

“So, how’s my nephew?” Beryl asked, opening the trunk for Rumer to drop in her old canvas duffel and the leather backpack she’d carried since high school.

Rumer smiled. “He’s fine—fresh as ever!”

“I hope you have pictures.”

“I do; they’re on my old phone, though, so they’re not very good. Honestly, he looks more like Will every day—same dark eyes and boyish grin. He’s only ten and he already has girls calling him every night.”

Beryl laughed, knowing her sister was going to have her hands full. “And . . . how’s Will?”

“He’s okay—busy. I hope they come.”

Beryl closed the trunk and looked up in surprise, not realizing there was a chance Rumer’s family wouldn’t come. “Why wouldn’t they come?”

“Will wasn’t sure he could get away, and I didn’t want to take Rand out of school for a whole week—he’d fall so far behind. Not to mention the expense . . .” Her voice trailed off, sounding sad, and Beryl searched her face. In the glow from the dashboard, she could see her sister’s eyes were glistening with tears.

Beryl reached for her hand. “Ru, what’s wrong?”

Rumer sighed. “Oh, Ber, I wasn’t going to say anything . . .” She paused tearfully. “Will moved out a month ago. . . .”

“Oh, Ru, I’m so sorry. Why?”

Rumer shrugged. “You know us. We fight all the time, and it’s been no better out there. Money is tight and it puts Will on edge. He works as much as he can—so much that he never has time for Rand—or me. We fight about that—we fight about not having any money—and now that he’s moved out, it’s even harder to get by. Paying for two more plane tickets will absolutely sink us.”

In the darkness, Beryl nodded. “You know, I hate to say this when Mum’s not even buried yet, but you should remind him that once we sell the house, you’ll be able to pay for the plane tickets . . .
and
probably a lot of other things.”

“I know, but who knows how long that’ll take—estates take forever to settle and we need the money now.”

“Well, I’m sure you could borrow it from Isak.”

Rumer laughed. “Blueberry,” she said, using their mom’s childhood nickname for her sister, “do you have any idea how much money I already owe Isak?”

Beryl shook her head and Rumer sighed. “Pretty soon, I’m gonna have to give her my first-born son!”

“Well, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind having Rand around. After all, I don’t think she enjoys having an empty nest. Having only Matt to talk to at the dinner table is definitely putting a strain on their marriage.” Rumer laughed, knowing Isak wasn’t adjusting very well to having both kids in college—not to mention that her fiftieth birthday was looming.

“If anyone is material for a midlife meltdown, it’s Isak,” Rumer surmised with an affectionate chuckle.

Beryl nodded in agreement. “It was one thing when Tommy went off, but now that Meghan’s in college, too, she’s pretty lost.” The sisters were quiet for a while, considering how time marched on, sparing no one.

“I know it’s late,” Beryl said finally, “but we have to stop at the shop.”

Rumer, who’d been fiddling with the radio and just settled on a country station playing a Kenny Chesney song, looked over at her little sister with raised eyebrows. “Did you forget to feed Thoreau again?”

Beryl laughed. “Hey, I’ve had a lot on my mind. You’re lucky I remembered you!”

“By the way, did you get my message?”

“I did—after I was at the airport.”

“Oh, Ber, don’t you check your phone?”

“Sometimes . . .”

Rumer shook her head. “How are Thoreau and Flan-O?”

“They’re fine for two old coots! Flan is as flatulent as ever and, when it happens, she looks back at her hind end curiously like she doesn’t have any idea where the sound came from . . . or the wonderful smell. She’s too funny. When I brought her to the house today, she marched in like she owned the place.”

“Has she adjusted to living with you?”

Beryl laughed and shook her head. “Of course, nothing fazes that dog. She takes everything in stride—I should say waddle.” She paused. “Did I tell you I used to bring her to the nursing home?”

Rumer laughed. “No . . .”

Beryl nodded. “Yup, she’d trot down the hall, saying hello to everyone. The patients loved her. Even Millie, who never acknowledged anyone, always whispered hello to Flanny—that’s what she called her. She was such a character.” Beryl paused, then added softly, “I guess she still is. . . .”

Rumer looked over at her sister. “It was great that you could bring Flan.”

Beryl nodded, thinking of all the patients who had always been lined up in their chairs or wheelchairs along the hall. “They’re going to miss seeing Flan,” she said, suddenly realizing that her absence might actually affect the lives of the remaining residents. “Smiling John, and Ethel, who always bickered with Ruth, but stopped when she saw Flan coming along; and Millie, who always saved a cookie for her; and George, who paced the halls; Frank and Jim and Betty, who never had any visitors.” Tears stung Beryl’s eyes and her sister looked at her in amazement.

“Ber, you know all the other patients’ names?”

Beryl brushed back her tears. “Silly, isn’t it?”

“No, sweetie, it’s not silly—it’s so you!”

“Well, they’re going to miss seeing Flan. . . .”

“You can still take her to see them. After all, it seems Flan enjoyed her role as therapy dog.”

Beryl nodded. “You’re right, maybe we will. Otherwise, Millie will end up with a whole pocketful of cookie crumbs just waiting for Flan to come see her.”

“You are too funny,” Rumer said, shaking her head.

Beryl parked under the streetlight outside the shop and Rumer looked up at the sign over the door. She had designed and painted the wooden teacup with the word
Tranquility
floating steamily above its rim, and given it to Mia for Christmas the year she’d opened the shop; and although she’d given it a fresh coat of paint in recent years, it definitely needed another one. Beryl followed her gaze and read her thoughts. “Maybe while you’re home . . . ?”

“Maybe,” Rumer said with a smile. “Although we’re going to be pretty busy.”

Beryl sighed in agreement. “You’re right.” She unlocked the door to the shop and turned on the light. Thoreau looked up, blinking his eyes. “Sorry, buddy.”

Rumer closed the door behind her and Thoreau, spying his old friend, hopped down and brushed against Rumer’s legs, purring loudly. Rumer knelt down and scratched his head. “How are you, old pie?” Thoreau jumped up, lightly placing his paw on Rumer’s knee, and greeted her, nose-to-nose. “Thanks for the warm welcome in the middle of the night,” she whispered, stroking his soft fur. The old cat purred happily while Beryl looked on.

“Hey, you, where’s my hello?” she teased.

Rumer grinned and whispered, “It’s okay if you don’t want to say hello to her. I know she forgot to feed you—again! I’d ignore her too.”

While Rumer and Thoreau got reacquainted, Beryl went behind the counter and filled his bowl. Thoreau heard the sound of kibble hitting plastic and darted after her. “Wow! Good thing we came by. Are you sure you fed him yesterday?”

Beryl paused, trying to remember. “I think so—these last few days have been a blur.”

“Speaking of food . . .” Rumer began.

Beryl looked up in surprise. “Have you eaten?”

Rumer shook her head. “I wasn’t very hungry—especially for airplane food.”

“You should’ve said something. We could’ve stopped.” She looked in the refrigerator. “I can warm up some croissants.”

“That sounds good.”

Then, in her best
Downton Abbey
accent, Beryl asked, “Can I interest you in a spot of tea?”

Rumer laughed. “What do you have in mind?”

“We have a new Lemon Myrtle.”

“That sounds good too. Need help?”

“Nope,” Beryl answered, filling the teakettle.

Rumer plopped down in the warm spot Thoreau had just vacated and looked around. The shop was exactly as she remembered.

Once home to a small market, the little storefront had sat empty for many years until Mia, seeing its potential, gathered her meager savings and what was left of Tom’s insurance and bought the space outright. She’d sold the two big freezers and, with the profit, completely transformed the interior.

Donning face masks and coveralls, they’d pulled down the cracking plaster walls and swept up the debris; then Mia had hired a local contractor to Sheetrock, tape, sand, and install wainscoting. Keeping the wide oak floor had been the easiest decision; Mia had rented a sander and refinished it herself, and although the finish had since worn through in the entrance and around the counter, most of it had aged to a warm honey hue. They’d painted the new walls and the original tin ceiling a creamy white, and offset it by painting the wainscoting a lovely ocean green. When it came to furnishings, Mia had finally settled on a classic arts-and-crafts style of café tables and chairs. Rumer still remembered poring over the catalogue with her sisters until they’d finally convinced her to buy the style she liked best. Even though it had been more expensive, it had obviously been a good choice because the cherry finish—wiped down thousands of times since then—still glowed in the soft, warm light of the lamps that hung over each table.

On the far end of the room was an old tile fireplace that Mia had always dreamed of having restored. She’d gotten as far as having an oak mantle installed above it and decorating it with tiny white Christmas lights woven into a faux garland of red berries. The effect was festive and cozy, and she ended up keeping the lights up year-round, adding stockings and ornaments at Christmastime. Above the fireplace hung a beautiful landscape painting, and beside it was a tall wooden bookcase where gift items—mugs, teapots, linen napkins, beeswax candles, and bluebird houses that a local craftsman sold on commission—were displayed. There was a second bookshelf with a sign above it that said B
OOK
E
XCHANGE;
this was a favorite draw for the regulars who liked to drop off their latest read and peruse the ever-changing selection for a new one.

There was a glass case in front of the counter that was usually full of tarts, pastries, croissants, and cakes, but Rumer noticed it was empty and decided her sister must have cleaned it out and put a hold on orders. The shelves displaying every kind of tea imaginable, however, were neatly stocked and arranged by country of origin. Finally, on the wall behind the counter, painted in mission-style lettering, was one of her mom’s favorite Thoreau quotes:
“Go confidently in the direction of your dreams! Live the life you’ve imagined.”
It was the one last touch—along with some stenciled paintings of teacups and steam—that Rumer had painted.

Beryl peered over the counter, interrupting her sister’s thoughts. “Mug or china?”

“Mmmm . . . mug.”

A moment later, Beryl came around the counter carrying a tray on which was a sunny yellow teapot, two croissants oozing with melting chocolate, and two sea green mugs with the word
Tranquility
painted inside their rims. She put the tray on a table and Rumer joined her.

“Ber, did Mum ever tell you where she got that painting?”

Beryl looked up at the beautiful old painting above the mantle and shook her head. “She didn’t, but sometimes I saw her gazing at it for a long time—seeming to be lost in her thoughts.” The evocative painting depicted a rosy sunset filtering through lazy autumn leaves. Long shadows contrasted against long angles of sunlight that stretched across the canvas, drawing one’s eye to a small cabin tucked back in the sun-dappled woods. Beside the cabin was a tremendous oak tree that must have been centuries old. The windows of the cabin glowed warmly, and wisps of white smoke drifted from its chimney. Beryl had always been drawn to the scene. Who lived in that cabin? And what did he do with his time?

“I guess we’ll never know . . .” Rumer mused as Beryl scooted into the chair across from her.

“I guess not,” Beryl agreed with a sigh. She leaned back wearily. “I’ve missed doing this.”

Rumer looked up. “Doing what?”