Firefly Summer (8 page)

Birdie raised her eyebrows. “A Munchkin girl? Really?”

Sailor laughed. “I guess I did. We met at a Dunkin' Donuts—that's probably why he brought them.”

“What's his name?” Birdie asked.

“Josiah Gray.”

“Any relation to Christian Grey?” Remy asked.

Sailor laughed at the reference. “OMG, Remy, did you read
Fifty Shades of Grey
?!”

“I did,” Remy said sheepishly. “I wanted to see what all the hubbub was about.”

“What did you think?”

Remy shrugged. “It wasn't anything to write home about.”

“That's for sure,” Sailor said.

“Did you read it, too?” Remy asked in surprise.

“In a moment of weakness,” Sailor admitted. She looked at Birdie. “And you?”

“Pshaw! I don't have time for such nonsense,” Birdie said indignantly.

They all turned and looked at Piper, who just smiled. “I have my own Christian Grey.”

Sailor chuckled. “I don't think Nat's cravings are
quite
like Christian Grey's ... but if they are, I'd rather not know.”

Piper's phone made the sound of a cricket chirping and she picked it up and looked at the screen.

Birdie raised her eyebrows and Piper laughed. “Elias's home—he says since I'm out with the girls, he and Nat are going out for boys' night.”

“Tell them to come here!” Sailor said.

Piper continued to read. “They're going to Yarmouth Pizza—he has a craving.”

Sailor grinned. “He takes after his father!”

Piper laughed. “I hope not. Some of Nat's cravings are pretty X-rated.”

“Yes, we know,” Birdie said, chuckling as she refilled her glass.

The sisters whiled away the evening, catching up on each other's news and relishing each other's company. It had been several weeks since they'd all been together on a Friday night, but now that summer was here—and Sailor had moved to the Cape—they hoped it would become a weekly occurrence.

“Who's ready for pie?” Sailor asked as the evening wound down.

“Let me help you,” Remy said, getting up.

She followed Sailor inside and took the ice cream she'd brought out of the freezer. “Anyone want ice cream?” she called.

“What flavor?” Birdie asked.

“What flavor do you think?” Remy asked, peering out the window.

“Vanilla!” they chorused.

C
HAPTER
15

W
hen Piper pulled into the driveway, Nat and Elias were sitting on the porch with Chloe stretched out between them. She parked behind Elias's old pickup—a hand-me-down from Nat—and saw Nat say something to him, and then they both looked up and grinned.

“You two look like cats that ate canaries,” she said as she stepped onto the porch. Chloe thumped her tail in greeting but didn't move from her spot near Elias's feet. “Don't get up,” Piper teased, looking down. “I'll come to you.” She knelt down and scratched Chloe's ears, making her flag of a tail thump even harder. She stood up and looked at her son. “
You,
on the other hand,
do
have to get up to give your mother a hug.”

Still wearing a grin, Elias stood, his lanky body—just like his dad's—towering over her petite five-foot-two frame. He wrapped her in a hug. “Hi, Mom,” he said.

“Hi, hon,” she murmured. “Missed you.”

“Missed you, too.”

She stepped back and held him at arm's length. “You look like you grew another four inches . . . and you're so skinny! Have you been eating? We spend a lot of money on that meal plan, so you better be making the most of it!”

“I've been eating,” he assured her.

She smiled. “How was traffic?”

“Not bad. Pennsylvania, New York, and Connecticut were fine. It didn't get bad till I got to the bridge.”

“Tappan Zee?”

“No,” he said with a laugh. “Sagamore.”

“That's because it's Memorial Day,” she said matter-of-factly, just in case he hadn't looked at a calendar lately.

“I know,” he said, rolling his eyes. “It'll be a lot easier when I'm able to fly home.”

“There's no eye-rolling,” Piper teased. “And I doubt you'll be able to fly home because you don't have a plane.”

“I don't yet,” he said with a grin.

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes.

“Hey, there's no eye-rolling,” he teased.

She laughed. “Touché! So, what did Chloe do when you pulled in?”

“She launched herself into his cab and sat down on his lap,” Nat said, chuckling.

Piper laughed. “That's the best welcome there is.” She knelt down again. “You missed him, didn't you, old pie?” and Chloe thumped her tail some more.

She looked back at Elias. “She's been sleeping on your bed, you know . . . so I don't know where you're going to sleep.”

“She's just going to have to move over,” he said, loving the easy feeling of being home with the people who loved him most.

“Want a beer?” Nat asked, motioning to their bottles as she pulled a chair up next to them.

“No . . . no, thanks. I had a glass of wine at Sailor's and I can hardly stay awake. I'm sure if I have anything else, I'll just fall asleep sitting here.”

“That's all right,” Nat said. “We'll just throw a blanket over you, won't we, E?”

“Maybe,” Elias teased.

Piper leaned back and listened contentedly to her husband and son talk about school, running, flying lessons, and the funny noise his truck was making. She didn't feel the need to say anything. It was more than enough to just sit and listen to the lovely voices of her two favorite men. Suddenly, she felt her face flush as a wave of heat washed over her. “Are you guys hot?” she asked, sitting up.

They both looked up and shrugged. “Not really,” Nat said. “There's a nice breeze out here.”

“Well, I am,” she said, getting up to get a glass of cold water.

She came back and sat down and watched Chloe rest her chin on Elias's shoe. It reminded her of how, when she was a puppy and Elias was at school, she used to curl up on his shoes in the mudroom—the smellier they were, the better! She'd never forget the day Nat brought Chloe home. It had been in the fall—she remembered because she always thought the best time to get a puppy was late spring or summer so you didn't freeze when they had to go out in the middle of the night, but Nat had showed up with the soft, golden ball of fur in his arms in early November. Chloe had been just eight weeks old, and although she'd been the only female in a litter of ten, her mom's owner said she was just as rough and tumbley as her brothers. The first night, however, you'd never have guessed it because she cried and cried for her brothers, and although Piper tried to comfort her with an old, soft blanket, it wasn't until Elias snuck her up to his bed that she finally fell asleep. After that, Chloe happily adopted Elias as her
new
brother, and they became inseparable.

Inseparable, that is, until Elias went off to college; then Chloe was lost. Every day, when she heard the school bus rumbling down their street, and even though Elias hadn't taken the bus in years—he'd driven to school his junior and senior years—her ears would perk up and she'd hurry over to rest her chin on the window stool, watching and waiting and wagging her tail. It was heartbreaking to watch—Chloe's heart was so full of hope, but then the bus would pass by without stopping and she'd turn and walk sadly back to her bed, lie down, and rest her head between her paws.

One more year,
Piper thought.
One more year and Elias will move back home
. Piper knew that most parents hoped their children would become independent after college, but Piper hoped Elias would find a job nearby and move back home. She'd dreaded him going away to college and now she dreaded him moving out for good. There was something so final about it, and besides that, it made her feel old.

“I bought Chloe a present,” Elias announced, suddenly remembering the gift he'd left in his truck.

“You did?” Piper said as Chloe lifted her head.

He nodded and stood up. “Want to come see?” he asked softly, looking down at her. Chloe clambered to her feet and trotted after him. A moment later, Piper and Nat heard squeaking, and the moment after that, Chloe emerged from the shadows, proudly carrying a floppy, cream-colored stuffed animal.

“A new Zoe!” Piper exclaimed as Chloe wiggled happily up the steps.

C
HAPTER
16

I
n the fall of '78—after Piper had gone back to UNE for her senior year—Nat gently broke off his engagement to Katie Markham, the girl he'd been dating since college, and drove to Maine to give a talk to the marine biology students at New England University about the plight of the sea turtles in New England waters.

Piper had known he was coming, but she hadn't had a chance to see him before he spoke, so when she saw him walking into the lecture room, her heart skipped a beat; and as she watched him stand in front of her classmates and describe what it was like to untangle a turtle from floating debris or try to put a dropper full of medicine into a sharp beak, her heart pounded. His hair was longer, she noted, and it was so odd to see him wearing real clothes—faded jeans, hiking boots, and a cobalt blue Cape Cod Marine Wildlife Sanctuary fleece—instead of swim trunks and a T-shirt . . . or
no
shirt. She was mesmerized by his easygoing mannerisms and his soft voice as he clicked through a slideshow of the turtles he'd rescued, including an old leatherback whose neck and beak were so entangled it couldn't close its mouth; and when there was a collective chorus of surprise at the sight of the jagged stalactite spines in the leatherback's throat, his smile stole her heart all over again. “Can you imagine putting antibiotics in there?” he asked and everyone laughed, including Piper, whose heart was now flopping like a flounder out of water.

After the lecture, Piper hung back while Nat fielded questions and spent time with students who were interested in becoming marine biologists, but after everyone left, he pulled her outside, searched her eyes, and with snowflakes swirling around them, kissed her for a very long time.

The following spring, Piper accepted a full-time position at Cape Cod Marine Wildlife Sanctuary and announced that she was moving back to Whit's End. Her mom—widowed three years by then—was delighted, and her sisters—who were still living off the Cape—were relieved. Not only did their mom's health seem to be in a steady decline, she was also very lonely.

Life at home, though, was hectic. Piper worked long hours at the sanctuary and often went out with Nat after work, but she constantly worried about her mom. Martha, for her part, loved having one of her daughters back home—it gave her life purpose again—and as she packed Piper's lunch, washed and folded her laundry, and kept a plate of supper ready for her to heat up when she got home, she thanked God for her blessings.

As the months slipped by, Piper's concerns grew. She constantly pictured her mom puttering around the house alone all day—she didn't sew anymore, and although she'd once been an avid reader, she barely read her
Guideposts
magazine when it came, never mind a book. Piper also began to feel selfish for spending most of her free time with Nat—time that she could be spending with her mom. She knew how much her mom would enjoy her company, too. To alleviate some of the guilt, she tried to convince her to join the senior center or go out to lunch with her friends, but Martha wasn't interested. She said she'd much rather spend time with her daughter, and although she meant well, it only made Piper feel worse . . .
and
a little resentful. She loved her mom with all her heart, but where were her sisters in all of this? Their lives weren't the least bit affected, and they certainly weren't dragging around guilt like an old, barnacle-covered anchor over their mom's loneliness.

Sometime during her second summer home, Piper noticed Martha was becoming much more forgetful. She constantly forgot to take her pills. She also forgot essential ingredients in recipes that she'd been making for years and should know by heart; and she was always misplacing things—on more than one occasion, Piper had found her pocketbook in the kitchen cabinet and her glasses under the bathroom sink.

Finally, not knowing what else to do, Piper decided to cut back her hours so she could spend more time at home. She bought a pill tray and began keeping track of her mom's meds. She did all the food shopping, baking, and cooking; she kept the house tidy and the laundry under control, and she mowed the lawn.
And
she had had little time for anything else, especially Nat. Sometimes, during the day, she'd find her mom sitting, slightly slumped in a chair. “Mom, what's wrong?” she'd ask in a worried voice.

“I don't know,” Martha would mumble. “Just tired, I guess . . .”

And then she'd rebound and be herself again and Piper would be relieved, but the irreversible damage of every unrecognized mini-stroke was taking its toll; and years later, when Piper looked back, she wished she'd had a better understanding of what was happening. She wished someone had sat her down and explained how much damage mild—and barely recognizable—strokes would do.

Finally, Birdie came out to the Cape for a visit and immediately realized how much strain their mother's care was putting on Piper. By then, Martha was spending most of her time just gazing out the window. Her gait was unsteady and her once-beautiful handwriting was barely legible. Piper had cut back her hours to part-time, and sometimes, she didn't go in at all.

“Why didn't you tell us?” Birdie asked in dismay after she'd helped Piper get Martha ready for bed.

Piper shrugged. “I don't know—you're busy . . .
and
far away.”

“Honestly, Pipe, I don't think Mom should be left alone at all. It's not safe,” Birdie said, pouring a glass of wine.

“I know, but I
have
to work,” she said, dunking her tea bag. “Do you think we could get someone to stay with her while I'm working?”

Birdie took a sip of her wine. “I don't know,” she said softly. “She's only going to get worse. I think we should think about looking into a nursing home.”

“We can't do that,” Piper countered. “She always said she never wanted to be in a nursing home.”

“I know, Pipe, but her care is getting to be too much.”

Piper bit her lip. “Why can't we at least
try
having someone come in?”

“It's expensive.”

“So is a nursing home.”

Birdie shook her head. “I don't know what the answer is.”

“There is something
so
wrong with the cost of elder care!” Piper said in frustration.

“I agree,” Birdie said, nodding.

“I think we should try having someone come in. . . .”

Birdie sighed. “Piper, the day is coming when she won't even recognize us. . . .”

“Well, until that happens, I want to have someone come in. I will pay for it myself.”

Birdie smiled sadly. “Okay, we'll try having someone come in, but you're not paying for it all. I'm sure Sailor and Remy will help.” She paused and eyed her sister. “But when it gets to be too much or safety becomes an issue, then we have to move her into a nursing home.”

“Okay,” Piper agreed, relieved that her sister was willing to give it a try ... and relieved that she would finally have a little time to herself.

Six months later, after several falls and several episodes of wandering off—“going home,” Martha said—they moved her into a nursing home with a memory care unit, and six months after that, she stopped swallowing, and because her living will ruled out feeding tubes or any other form of intervention, they brought her home. She lasted five days, passing peacefully on the day before her eightieth birthday.

The four heartbroken sisters felt as if they'd endured more than their share of loss, and on the summer evening after they'd laid their beloved mom to rest beside her husband and son, they gathered at Whit's End. Remy and Jim with their three little ones, Payton, Eliza and Sam; Sailor and Frank, with their two, Merry and Thatcher; and Birdie and David, who had just endured the most recent of three heartbreaking miscarriages—which Birdie believed was God's way of telling her she wasn't fit to be a mother. Nat was there, too, of course.

Nat was always
there
for Piper; he'd helped her when she was overwhelmed with her mom's care. He'd held her tight when she cried after helping move Martha into a nursing home. He'd made her eat something when she wasn't hungry, and he'd made love to her when she felt unlovable. Nathaniel McCabe, Piper believed, was an angel sent from heaven, and her sisters all thought so, too. They also wanted to know when the wedding would be.

Piper loved Nat with all her heart, but when he asked her—and he'd asked several times—something deep inside wouldn't let her say yes. It wasn't until she felt Elias growing inside her—pushing her heart open wide with all the mystery and wonder a child brings—that she felt she
could
say yes. Sadly, by then, Nat had given up.