Kindred Spirits (10 page)

It had been hard going, coming to terms with the fact that she would never experience the miracle of life growing within her. But as the years went on, she’d made peace with her body. To have to revisit all that with Drake would mean ripping open old wounds, and Mary Kay found it much easier to simply pretend everything was A-OK. Yes, sometimes it made her blue to realize they could never conceive a baby of their own, but she took comfort in the knowledge that she
had
been a mother in every meaningful way—to Tiffany.

Tiff was all Mary Kay had left of her older sister, Ellen, who, along with her husband, had died in a car crash outside Hartford. Mary Kay was working as a nurse in the Alaskan outback when she got the horrible call. She immediately dropped everything and ditched her old life four thousand miles away to raise her niece in the only home she’d ever known, Ellen’s pristine Victorian, commonly referred to in Marshfield as the Patterson House.

She and Tiffany had been a team ever since. Mary Kay threw herself into the brand-new role of single motherhood with her customary gusto, legally adopting Tiffany as her own, joining the PTA and volunteering as a room parent, reading to her every night and making sure Tiff practiced her piano daily as Ellen would have demanded. Mary Kay also taught her how to ride a bike without holding on to the handlebars and how to walk a certain way so boys followed like dogs, imagining with glee how Ellen would have been appalled.

And when the big day arrived, Mary Kay designed Tiffany’s prom dress, sniffing back tears as she descended the stairs in a strapless pale lavender satin gown, her dark hair piled high, Ellen’s amethyst necklace at her throat, looking every inch like her mother, right down to her sweetheart chin.

Those were magical years.

So devoted was she to ensuring Tiffany enjoyed the best childhood possible, Mary Kay had sworn off men until her daughter left for college. It wasn’t that hard, actually, since so many guys who crossed her path seemed to be jerks. But when Drake came along, it was a different story. By then, Tiff was completely out of the house, working as a rookie nurse at Mass General, and Mary Kay was ready to release all the sex, love, and passion that she’d bottled up within her. The timing of Drake’s arrival couldn’t have been better.

The irony was, of course, that when Drake finally did ask her to marry him—on the night before they found Lynne—she couldn’t accept his proposal. It was impossible to be his wife when for two years she’d misled him about her ability to bear children. She loved him too much for that.

Be careful what you wish for
, she thought sadly as Drake sauntered into the bathroom in nothing but his cotton drawstring pants.

“Thought you could slip away without saying good-bye, eh?” He came from behind and wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing her neck.

She checked his reflection in the mirror, admiring how the slight brown hair on his firm abs narrowed to a
V.
It was pathetic how thrilled she was by the superficial aspects of their relationship—that he was taller than her, that other women turned when he passed and waitresses flirted with him right in front of her. She found secret pleasure in knowing that while they might wonder how he was in bed, she
knew
.

Recapping her mascara, she said, “I didn’t want to wake you on a Saturday when you could sleep in.”

“You were trying to sneak off; don’t deny it.” He ran his hands over her smooth white shoulders. “Three, maybe four whole days. How will I stand it without you?”

“Take-out?”

“Man cannot live by Thai alone.”

She dropped the mascara into her makeup bag and zipped it shut. Turning, she kissed him lightly on the cheek and said, “Oh, I think you’ll manage just fine.”

He lifted her hand and frowned at her unadorned fingers. “Hey. What gives?”

Her knuckles curled slightly in apprehension. “Since I haven’t told Beth and Carol yet, I thought I’d wait until I got back,” she fibbed.

He wasn’t buying it and looked so disappointed she figured what the hell. Fetching the small black velvet box from the table by the sink, she said, “Would you do the honors?”

“Gladly.” He slipped the ruby and diamond engagement ring on her finger slowly and pressed himself into her with a soft kiss. “I love you, Mary Kay. Come back and be my wife.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Actually, it is. It’s just a matter of saying yes.”

Beth was almost ready, except for a few things she was standing on tiptoe to retrieve from her kitchen cabinet. Olive oil. Oregano. Maybe a bottle of balsamic vinegar. In other words, the essentials.

Marc slid his laptop onto the kitchen table and carried his cup to the coffee maker for a refill. “You know, Beth, there are these inventions called restaurants where they cook the food for you.”

“As if.” She debated basil and maybe turmeric, in case they wanted to do an Indian something-or-other. “Carol said she’d reserved suites and most of them have kitchens, albeit poorly stocked ones.” Should she bring the salad spinner? Definitely a whisk. “Besides, we’re trying to save money, remember? And this trip is going to be expensive enough.”

“Don’t worry about the money.” He leaned against the sink and sipped his coffee, watching her pack away the spices. “You worry too much.”

“I worry because we don’t have any.”

“We have enough.”

“Maybe I should let Carol and Mary Kay do this without me,” she told Marc. “I’m sure they could handle it just fine by themselves.” She pulled a jar of basil out of the cabinet. “Besides, what about my dad? What if he needs me?”

Beth’s father, Chat, had undergone cardiac tests shortly before the funeral and was slated to receive the results Monday. Beth had planned to accompany her parents to her father’s appointment, to hold her mother’s hand and talk rationally with the doctors since Elsie found it difficult to remember what questions to ask.

“My brain flies out the window when I’m under stress” was her mother’s pat phrase. “You’ll have to do the thinking for me, Beth.”

Already, Chat had survived two heart attacks and Elsie was at sixes and sevens about the prospect of number three. She’d spent a lot of time on the phone to her eldest daughter, Madeleine, who was not a doctor but whose A+ in high school biology somehow crowned her as the family medical expert.

In Maddy’s opinion, Chat should be seeing specialists in New York, not squandering his time and money with rinky-dink Grace Hospital. Grace was fine for the occasional broken toe or bee sting reaction. But with Manhattan so close, it was simply imprudent not to seek the best possible (and most expensive) care, especially when it came to the heart.

It had been Beth who had talked her parents into sticking with Grace because it was closer to home and friendlier. She couldn’t imagine her father dealing with the red tape at one of those mammoth urban medical centers, having to tolerate arrogant physicians, teams of residents, and crowded waiting rooms. Elsie agreed, mostly because she hated driving into the city.

After much debate she sided with Beth: Chat would have his tests at Grace.

Maddy was outraged.

Now, after all that wrangling, Beth wouldn’t be there Monday for the results and Maddy, helpless out in L.A., was urging Beth to reconsider the trip.

“This is our father,” she’d wheedled shortly after Beth returned home exhausted from cleaning out Lynne’s closet. “Our
father.
What could be more important? You know Mom’s not equipped to deal with bad news. You need to keep her on an even keel.”

Beth had to begrudgingly admit that Maddy was right, leading her to toss and turn all night debating whether to stay or go. Even as they were preparing to load the Highlander, she still wasn’t sure.

Marc picked up her suitcase and carried it out to the car. “You don’t want to stay home. Lynne was your best friend. If anyone should go on this search, it’s you.”

She followed with her box of cooking stuff, willing to be talked into a position. “But what about Dad? Like Maddy said, Mom can’t handle bad news alone. She’ll flip out.”

“You’re a cell call away, available around the clock. And if it makes you feel better, I’ll take off Monday and go with them to see your father’s cardiologist. Your parents trust me more, anyway.”

She slid the box of cooking stuff into the trunk and punched him lightly on the shoulder. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to get rid of me this weekend.”

“You don’t know better. I am.” He closed the hatch.

“Don’t get into trouble while I’m away,” she said with a smile.

“As soon as you get in the car, I’m planning to e-mail a query letter to each agent on my list. For all you know, by the time you get back I’ll be an author with a publishing contract.”

It was a nice thought, if a total fantasy. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she whispered, “I believe you will.”

He held her and smiled. “You’ve never lost faith in me, have you?”

“Not for a nanosecond.”

“Man”—he squeezed her tightly—“am I the luckiest guy or what?”

She kissed him on the nose. “Or what.”

The autumn fog after the rainy night had barely lifted from the deserted Danbury Station when Carol stepped off the train, towing her orderly black bag and matching computer case. She subdued a flutter of anticipation as she scanned the parking lot, checking for the familiar car. Not here yet.

Finding a wooden bench, she sat and applied a coat of neutral lip gloss to complement her ribbed cream-colored turtleneck and camel peacoat. Her blond hair, pulled neatly into a ponytail, was deceptively casual, since it was designed to show off her ultra-sexy hammered gold earrings that had cost Jeff a small fortune. A bit over the top for a Saturday morning at the Danbury train station, but so what?

She tried not to think about Scott in New York and how disappointed he’d been by her abrupt change in plans, though he rallied to her cause, as always.

“If Mohammed can’t come to the mountain, then the mountain must come to Mohammed,” he said when he showed up at her door after the funeral, an artichoke and olive pizza in one hand and a bottle of an excellent petite sirah in the other.

She was in nothing but old sweats and a towel, her face bare, but that didn’t stop her from throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him for being such a saint. Lesser men would have taken advantage of her vulnerability. Not Scott. He slowly removed her arms and took her in his instead, holding her with such quiet tenderness that she burst into sobs.

Then he led her to the couch, poured the wine, and handed her a glass, all the while listening earnestly as she recounted her day, from the joy of reuniting with Mary Kay and Beth to the sadness of seeing Lynne’s white coffin strewn with her own flowers. She related how making up with Michelle had been no big deal and how shocking it was to find Lynne’s letter and the secret that would upend their lives for at least the next few days.

The only thing she didn’t mention was Jeff.

“It couldn’t have been easy seeing him again,” Scott said, exposing the elephant in the room. “You were married for twenty years.” He passed her a slice of pizza on a paper napkin. She picked off an artichoke.

“It’s over,” she said. “He’s OK. I’m OK.” She shrugged and laughed, perhaps a little too loudly.

Scott said, “As long as you’re sure.”

“No question,” she said, and meant it. It barely even fazed her when Jeff called her after the funeral to say he had her shoes and asked if it would be better to mail them to her office or apartment.

“Why don’t you hand them over in person?” The offer surprised her as much as it shocked Jeff.

“What?” he asked, confused. “Really, it’s no problem for me to take them down to the UPS place.”

“I’m arriving on the eight a.m. train to Danbury to meet Beth and Mary Kay. There’s something we have to take care of. . . for Lynne. We could do a quick pass-off.”