Postcards From Last Summer (44 page)

W
hen the phone beeped just before four in the morning, Darcy knew.

With a sick feeling twisting her stomach, she sat up in bed with her eyes closed and felt her way to the receiver, hoping to catch it before Maisy was awakened. “Hello?”

“She's gone,” Elle said in a warbly voice.

“Oh.” Darcy's voice fell in the dark stillness of her bedroom. She pushed her pillow against the headboard and crossed her legs. “We all knew it was coming, but somehow it's still a shock, isn't it?”

“It's true.” Elle seemed hesitant. “Darcy, I know your show just opened, but you gotta find a way to get out here. The wake's going to be at the house. The funeral at the Catholic church in Southampton.”

“Of course I'll get there,” Darcy said, alarmed that Elle would think otherwise. It was the third week in August, and it would be hell getting away from the show, with so many sold-out nights, but some things just stopped you in your tracks. “Why wouldn't I be there?”

“Oh, you know . . .” Elle said vaguely.

Darcy wondered if Elle was thinking of the distance that had grown between Darcy and Lindsay of late, the separation Darcy had nurtured out of guilt over Noah. Damn him! Darcy had vowed never to let a man get in the way of her relationship with a friend, and somehow, without even trying, Noah had pushed her and Lindsay apart.

“How's Lindsay holding up?” Darcy asked.

“It's hard for her,” Elle said quietly. “It's a big loss, but also a relief. Nobody wanted to see Mary Grace in that much pain.”

“She did so much for her mom,” Darcy said, thinking of the last time she'd seen Mary Grace, just weeks ago when she'd been able to walk and laugh and cajole Maisy. Somehow the conversation had gotten to the ingredients of a good marriage, and Darcy had asked Mrs. Mick how she'd made her marriage work for twenty-plus years. “Was it your good cooking that kept Mr. Mick in the game? Those yummy Irish meatballs?” Darcy had asked. But Mary Grace shook her head. “When we got hitched, I couldn't even boil an egg! That's how pathetic I was in the kitchen.” “So what was the secret to keeping it all together?” Darcy had asked her. After giving it some thought, Lindsay's mom had answered, “It's all about kindness. Be kind to others, that's all. Oh . . . and I should add, never wear blue eye shadow.”

How long ago had that been? Just two or three months. And though the doctors had warned that pancreatic cancer often moved swiftly, Darcy hadn't really believed them. Perhaps the only one who really got it was Mary Grace herself, brave, bold Mrs. Mick.

“Can you tell Noah?” Elle asked, bringing Darcy back to her dark bedroom. “Lindsay doesn't want to talk to him, but I think he should know, don't you?”

Darcy turned on her bedside lamp and drew away from the circle of yellow light. “I don't get why she doesn't want to tell him. Did they have a fight?”

Elle was silent, then she blurted out, “You don't know? They broke up, weeks ago. Didn't he tell you?”

“Well, no. We don't talk usually about personal stuff.” Darcy wasn't surprised that Noah hadn't mentioned anything, but what about Lindsay? Wasn't this something worth telling your best friend?

“Wait a minute! That's a royal waste of time,” Elle said. “So you two haven't . . . I don't believe this.”

“You two, who two?” Darcy asked as Maisy plodded into her room like a wraith in a flowered nightgown. She dove onto the bed and pressed her face into Darcy's thigh. “No, I haven't talked to Lindsay for at least a week, but she never mentioned this. What happened?”

Elle groaned. “I can't really go through it now—I've got these phone calls to make about Mary Grace.”

“And I've got Maisy here now.”

“We'll talk later,” Elle said. “But you'll tell Noah, right?”

“I'll tell him,” Darcy said, clicking off the phone with a feeling of dread. She didn't mind telling Noah; the difficult one would be Maisy. Six years old and she'd now lost the only person who'd ever been a grandparent to her. Darcy felt a tear sting her eyes and she found herself wishing she could spare her daughter this pain.

“Mommy?” Maisy moaned without lifting her head. “Who was that?”

“It was Aunt Elle about Grandma Mick.”
Your only grandparent,
Darcy thought.
A gift to both of us.

Maisy lifted her head. “Did she die?”

Darcy nodded, then pulled her tearful child into her arms.
Please, let me be half the mother that Mary Grace was,
she prayed. Darcy could only hope that some of the older woman's generosity and kindness and goodness had rubbed off on her.

I
stood on the threshold of the porch door, signing the truck driver's voucher. The man and his crew had loaded our rented hospital bed into their truck, and now the screened porch of the Southampton house looked hollow and empty, like the gaping hole in my heart. “You'll heal in time,” my mother had promised before she went. “We all do. Adapt or die—it's our only choice.”

I'm just getting a little sick of adapting to disappointment,
I thought as I tore off my receipt and handed the mover his clipboard and a tip. “Thank you,” I said, glad to have yet another onerous task off my list.

When I turned away from the door, Tara was already on the porch, sweeping sand and dust bunnies into a pile. She and Steve had arrived two nights ago and were still struggling with the time change. “You know, Linds, you're brave to have the wake here at the house. In a few hours you're going to have more than a hundred people streaming through here.”

“That was what Ma wanted,” I said, sliding one of the porch chairs out of its corner so Tara could sweep. “All the grandchildren and neighbors and friends. A good old Irish wake, she called it. She didn't want her grandchildren creeped out by having to go into a funeral home with bodies lying about in coffins. Ma always believed you've got to feed the grieving, and a little drink doesn't hurt, either.”

“Looks like there'll be plenty of both,” Tara said, brushing the debris into a dustpan. “Your neighbor Nancy recruited all her friends to cook, and the Red Hatters are coming with desserts, I hear.”

“Which just leaves booze.” I hugged myself. I had volunteered my brothers from upstate. “Think the brothers can handle it?”

“The McCorkle brothers?” Tara tossed her head. “They know their way around a bar. It'll be fine.”

As Tara dumped the dust into the kitchen trash, I found the woven India print mat in the closet and lugged it out. “This will help fill the space on the porch,” I said.

“And we can open up the table and push it toward the center of the room,” Tara said as Steve joined us, his hair wet and fresh from the shower.

“Help us with this stuff, will ya, sweetie?” Tara asked, and he hoisted the heavy mat onto one shoulder.

As we worked, Tara asked about my book. “I'm glad it happened while Mary Grace was still alive to see it,” Tara said. “But I have to tell you, it makes me nervous to think that my life is going to be on display for the world. I still hate the way my father plays to cameras.”

“I'll get you a copy of the galleys to read,” I said. “Trust me, I didn't give up anything personal,” I added, hoping it wasn't a lie. Had I gone over the line? Had I revealed any personal secrets of Tara's? At the moment, my brain felt too compressed to recall my own story.

“Did Mom get to read it?” Steve asked.

“Her eyesight was going, so I read it to her,” I said. “We finished two days before she died, and let me tell you, I was reading fast in the end. Calida, the hospice worker, had warned us that Ma was going into systemic failure. I wanted to finish before she slipped out of consciousness.”

“That's speed-reading for you,” Steve said, with a laugh.

I laughed along, but my giggles quickly turned to sobs. “I just wanted to finish,” I said, recalling my mother's approving smile as I sat at her bedside reading.

“Aw, Linds . . .” Tara touched my back gently, and Steve swept me up into a bear hug.

“It's okay to cry,” he said. “You did it all. You did everything for her in the end, and we're all grateful for that.”

I let myself cry on his shoulder, thinking that the tears would subside one of these days, that it would be time to move on with my life, a thought that truly terrified me. I wanted to tell Tara and Steve that I'd just lost my mother and my boyfriend and maybe my job, and I wasn't really sure how to start rebuilding my life.

Instead, I could only manage, “I'm going to miss her.”

 

With a rigorous crying jag behind me, I felt ready to face the mourners two hours later with a glaze of peace and good humor. I bounded down the stairs, surprised to find Darcy Love helping my brother Tim McCorkle set up a drinks table in the dining room.

It was difficult to look at Darcy, her skin gleaming and blond hair sparkling as if she had glitter in her genetics. Even in a black tank dress, she looked stunning. Gorgeous as always, while I had given up trying to cover up the red blotches that always appeared around my eyes when I cried.

“Hey, you.” Darcy stepped up to the stairs and waited as I slowed at the landing. “I was hoping we'd have a chance to talk before the masses arrive.”

“Looks like the first wave is here,” I said, scanning the downstairs. “That's just the McCorkle family, though I think our numbers rival a small army. I'm trying to avoid my sister-in-law Ashley, who seems to think we pulled a Kevorkian on Ma.”

Darcy rolled her eyes. “There's one in every family.”

“I think she's in the kitchen.” I nodded toward the front door. “Let's get out of here before they make us serve ziti or hand out mass cards.”

Outside, we wound around the house and found a shady spot in the garden near the shed. The old stone table held half a crate of impatiens, their stalks leggy and yellow, bending to withering pink buds. “Ma never finished with these,” I said haltingly.

Turning toward the shed, Darcy disappeared and returned with a pair of potter's gloves, empty pails, and two spades. “There's some potting soil in the shed. Here, I'll be lefty,” she said, tossing me the right glove.

“So, Martha Stewart, besides repotting impatiens, what's on your mind?” I asked.

“I know this might sound self-centered,” Darcy began.

“Who, you? Self-centered?” I gasped with mock surprise.

“However,” Darcy continued, “I keep thinking back to that summer when my life was falling apart. I mean, my parents are still alive and healthy, but my father was going off to jail and my mother went off to a younger man and a very different life that didn't include me. And we were losing the beach house. And the Visa card. And all the status. There wasn't enough money to finish college, my boyfriend was marching off to fight fires, and then I found out I was pregnant. Remember how I cried in my salad?”

I shook a plant loose from its plastic container, recalling those days well. “You were so freaked about your father's reaction to the pregnancy,” I said. “And remember what Tara said? ‘The man's in the big house for fraud; do you think morality is actually high on his list?' ”

Darcy smiled, a dimple showing on one side. “I was such a mess. But you guys pulled me out of it. You gave me a place to live. Your mom helped me so much with Maisy. Elle loaned me the money to finish school. And then she bought the damned Love Mansion and turned it into our summer spa.” Darcy swiped a strand of hair out of her eyes as she pressed a flower into its new pot. “You guys saved my life. And I know this is different for you, but I want you to know I'm here to help, in any way.”

“I think I know that.” Slowly, I tapped the spade against the table to remove some dried dirt. “But I have to admit, I was pissed at you for a while.” I caught Darcy's eye. “The Noah thing.”

Darcy shook her head. “I am so sorry.” When I waved her off, Darcy lunged forward and grabbed my arm with a soiled glove. “I mean it. I never went after him. Whatever developed between us, it just happened. Sort of work related.”

“I felt so stupid when I had it pointed out to me. I didn't see what was going on before my own eyes.”

“But nothing was going on,” Darcy insisted, slamming a spade against the stone table. “And I was guilt ridden just because of what I was thinking about him.”

With a deep breath, I looked down at the spade in Darcy's hand. “I think you've knocked that one clean, Darce.”

She let the spade drop onto the table. “Are you still mad?”

“Nah. I went from mad to jealous to just a little envious of what you guys have going on. There's real chemistry between you,” I said.

“I know what you're saying, but I'm not sure Noah feels that way.” Darcy stripped off the garden glove. “He hasn't made a move. I didn't even know you guys broke up until Elle told me the other night.”

“Are you crazy? He's totally into you. I've seen it myself.”

“Well, he's holding back pretty well.”

I potted the last plant and swept soil from the table with my gloved hand. “Maybe he's waiting a respectable amount of time after the breakup with your friend.” I burst out laughing. “What's a good cool-down period? A year? Two?”

Darcy snorted. “Go on, laugh! The pathetic part is, that I'd wait that long for Noah.” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “I should be embarrassed to admit that, but somehow I'm not. It's just that there's this connection between us.” She shrugged. “It works. Like your morning latte or yoga three times a week. You just know what works for you. Have you ever felt that way about someone?”

“Aaargh, a million years ago, back in the stone ages, in the days when you really were self-centered.” Conjuring memories of Bear, my surfer guy, I fell back on a bench and motioned Darcy beside me. “You've changed a lot, Darcy. I think Maisy made you grow up fast.”

“We've all changed,” Darcy said, sitting beside me. We leaned against each other, our heads touching. “You know, I used to think my life would come together perfectly when I met the right guy. Big mistake. I didn't realize that life sort of assembles itself in bits and pieces, in stages. And it's my friends who really did the assembling. The romance thing—that relationship can only happen when you've pulled yourself together. And who helps you do that? Your friends.”

“Maybe that was why things didn't work out for Bear and me,” I said, my mind still stuck on his image, that broken-tooth smile, dimples, flashing blue eyes. “I still think about Bear, you know. He was the one who worked for me, my morning latte.”

“What's he up to? Is he still surfing?”

“Living in Hawaii. Married. Probably has a boatload of little hula dancers by now.”

“The bastard.”

I leaned forward to look at my friend. “Promise me that you won't let Noah slip through your fingers. It would be really pathetic for both of us to end up as old maids.”

Darcy smacked her shoulder. “Nobody says old maid anymore. We're independent women of the new millennium.”

“Promise me,” I said sternly, relieved that Darce and I had cleared the air.

“Okay.”

“And now, I hate to say it, but I'd better get inside to meet and greet,” I said reluctantly.

“Yup.” Darcy stood up, tugging me by the arm. “Come on, old maid, time to wake the dead.”

 

Overall, it was a fairly good party, or so I thought as I squeezed into the kitchen. Attendance was huge, with people overflowing from the house into the yard and gardens, food from the neighborhood ladies was delicious, and the grandchildren set up a table in the attic where they began to sort through Grandma Mick's old photos to make a collage for everyone to see at the funeral mass.

I tried to be a good hostess, despite my awkward track record. At one point Nancy handed me a plate and ordered me to load it up and eat before I withered away to nothing.

“Like that'll ever happen,” I muttered as I sampled Mrs. Giorgetti's lasagna and Nancy's sesame pork roast from the buffet table. I was about to take my first bite when the image hit me like a flash.

There he was, standing in my living room, three-dimensional and in vivid color.

“Bear?”

I dropped a piece of Mrs. Washington's cornflake-fried chicken back onto the plate and tore out of the dining room to where Bear, Steve, and Skeeter were talking beside the old stone fireplace.

“Lindsay.” Bear put his beer on the mantel and turned to me with open arms, and suddenly the face I'd memorized so long ago was a reality before me.

“Bear!” I hugged him but quickly pushed out of his arms to make sure it was really him, not some trickster in a mask or body double Steve and Skeeter had brought in to put me over the edge. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean?” He lowered his head, that familiar flicker in his blue eyes. “I came for you, Linds. When Steve called, I knew I had to get back here.”

Emotion welled up inside me at a crazy rate. I wanted to know everything at once, then realized this was not what it seemed. Bear had gotten married. He lived in Hawaii. “How've you been?” I said, trying to bring my excitement down a notch. “How's your wife? Is she here?”

“Theresa?” Bear touched the top button of his tropical print shirt. “She's not here. Actually, she's not my wife anymore. It didn't work out.”

“Oh?” I gushed with hope. “Sorry,” I lied, trying to sound more sympathetic.

“Didn't Steve tell you?” Bear asked.

“No!” I slugged my brother in the arm. “He omitted a few updates. Like the fact that you were on your way.” I punched him again.

“Ow, enough already.” Steve stepped away from me, rubbing his upper arm. “What am I, a voice-mail service? You two figure it out.” And he and Skeeter went off to get some food at the buffet table.

Once I had Bear all to myself, the two of us engaged in a rapid-fire game of fill-in-the-past-eight-years, why-don't-ya? Later that night, as I lay in bed, I tried to remember our conversation word for word, but could only bring back the most eye-opening segments.