Firefly Summer (17 page)

“There is more to what has shaped my life than Easton's death,” Birdie countered, sounding annoyed. “You seem to have forgotten all the miscarriages I had.”

Sailor was quiet. “I haven't forgotten, Birdie. It's just that life goes on . . . and at the end of the day, what's most important is the lives you've touched and how you've—” But before she could finish, the screen door swung open again and Piper came out carrying four bowls of warm rice pudding topped with cool, melting whipped cream.

“This is going to bring back memories,” she said with a smile.

C
HAPTER
36

P
iper and Nat stood in the driveway, looking up. Piper focused her phone on the tops of the trees and they both waited. Moments later, they heard the sound of an engine. “Here he comes,” Nat said. Piper pushed the Record button and a second later, a small plane buzzed the tops of the trees, wagging its wings. “There he is!” Nat said, smiling and waving, even though he knew Elias probably couldn't see them.

When the plane was out of sight, Piper pushed the button again and looked down at her phone. “That was so cool!” She started to watch the video but heard the sound of the engine growing louder again and refocused her phone on the sky above the house.

“Here he comes,” Nat said and Piper pushed the button just as the plane buzzed the roof of the house before soaring back out over the Bay. “What a lucky kid,” Nat said with a hint of envy in his voice. “I always wanted to learn to fly.”

“You still could,” Piper said.

“Nah,” Nat said. “I'm too old.”

“No, you're not,” she countered as she watched the new video.

Nat heard the sound of the engine coming from her phone and looked over her shoulder. “I can't believe he's up there all by himself.”

Piper looked up in alarm. “He's by himself?”

“Didn't he tell you?” Nat said. “He's soloing today.”

“Noo . . . he didn't tell me!”

Nat chuckled. “He probably didn't want you to worry.”

Piper knew Elias had been taking flying lessons since the previous summer and he'd had countless hours in the sky with his instructor, but to find out he was a thousand feet above the earth in the metal contraption
alone
was unsettling. “How did he text us to tell us to come outside? There's no texting and flying.”

“I don't know,” Nat said. “He probably typed the message before he left and hit Send when he got close.”

“I hope so,” she said skeptically.

Nat put his arms around her and pulled her close. “Now
we
have just enough time before he gets home,” he murmured.

“Time for what?” Piper asked, frowning, although she knew very well
what
he meant.

“You know what . . .”

“Oh, I don't think so,” Piper said with a groan. “Not while he's up in that plane
alone
. I can't think about anything else when I'm on alert.”

Nat looked puzzled. “ ‘On alert'?”

“Yes, that's what moms do when their only child might plummet to the ground at any moment.”

“That's not going to happen.”

“Maybe not,” Piper said—she didn't think she'd ever felt less in the mood. “But I'd just be going through the motions . . . and it definitely wouldn't be fun.”

“Elias wasn't flying last night,” Nat pressed, “and you didn't want to then, either.”

“That's because he was home,” Piper said, as if the reason should be obvious.

“So?”

“So ... he might hear us.”

“He's never heard us before. He never hears
anything
.”

“It's different now ... he's older. Besides, we have stuff to do,” she added, putting her hands on his chest and gently pushing him away. She was suddenly feeling very warm and his body was making her downright hot.

“Whatever,” Nat said, backing off.

“Don't be mad,” she said—she hated that word—“
whatever
.”

“I'm not mad.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I'm not.

Piper shook her head and turned to walk to the house, but when she heard Nat's truck starting, she looked back. “I thought we were going to get some things done around here,” she called, “like weeding and painting and cleaning out the garage. The picnic is in a week and a half.”

“I have things to do at the sanctuary, too,” he said, putting his truck in gear.

“Whatever,” she muttered. She didn't even look up as he pulled away. Maybe Birdie was right—maybe living alone
would
be easier! She leaned down to tug on a huge dandelion that was flourishing in the walkway. “I think I've tried to pull you out before,” she said, kneeling on the warm slate and digging her fingers into the dirt, but when she pulled on it, it snapped off at the ground.

“Damn it!” she muttered, standing up and walking stiffly toward the shed. She returned with a long metal-pronged tool and a sturdy wooden bushel—both of which had belonged to her grandmother. She could still see her Gram's hunched figure, kneeling in her yard, painstakingly digging up dandelions, one by one. “This one's for you, Gram,” she said, stabbing the sandy ground around the dandelion. She pried and pulled and dug, and after a fierce struggle, the foot-long carrot-shaped root released its stubborn grasp on the earth and was promptly and unceremoniously tossed into her grandmother's old bushel.

Piper moved on to the next dandelion, pushed the weeder into the ground, pried the sandy dirt, and pulled again. As she worked, she thought about her grandmother.

Gram—her mom's mom—had been the most fiercely independent woman Piper had ever met, especially after her husband died. Gram had been only fifty-two when Gramp died, living just long enough to hold his newest little granddaughter in his lap. Two weeks later, he succumbed to Lou Gehrig's disease, and after he died, Gram had soldiered on, alone. “It was for the best,” family members said, believing Gram would be more at peace now that Gramp—an alcoholic—wasn't causing her so much heartache and misery.

Gram had always been set in her ways, though, so her outlook on life didn't change much. She had survived the Depression with a husband who squandered the little income they had on booze and, as a result, she'd learned to get by on next to nothing—a lesson she never forgot. Even after she started to earn her own income—which had been more than enough for one person to live on—she continued to be thrifty. She often mixed her cereals, having a bowl of a new cereal mixed with whatever needed to be finished. They could be as different as Rice Krispies and Corn Flakes, but she always insisted they tasted good together. She also kept her refrigerator neat and bare—only the essentials—and the shelves always sparkled. She wrapped her bread tightly in several plastic bags to keep it fresh, and she always had a piece of hard candy in her pocketbook, but what Piper remembered most about Gram was how much she loved having her granddaughters stop by for a visit, and how she always had on hand the makings for her famous ice-cream sodas—ginger ale and sherbet.

The only time Piper had ever seen her grandmother cry was when Easton died, and even then, her tears had been silent and her grief, solitary.

“Why did God take Easton up to heaven?” she asked her one time when they were playing rummy.

“Oh, I think He must've needed a good pitcher on his Little League team,” Gram said, studying her cards. Piper sat across from her, considering this while she sipped her frosty, creamy ginger ale through a straw, and finally, she decided Gram was probably right—Easton had been a really good pitcher.

Piper wiped her brow now—which was drenched in perspiration—and realized she'd lost track of time
and
forgotten to put on sunscreen. She heard crickets chirping, wiped her hands on her shorts, and reached into her pocket for her phone. She had two messages—one was from Elias, telling her he was back on the ground—which he'd sent a half hour ago! And the other—just now—was from Nat:
Sorry. Be home for lunch.
She stood up and typed back:
Sorry too.
She looked over at Chloe stretched out in the shade and then added:
Would u mind picking up some ginger ale and sherbet?

C
HAPTER
37

“T
hat's great,” Sailor said as Josiah opened the bottle of wine they'd just bought. “Should I say ‘Congratulations'?” she asked uncertainly. What
did
you say to someone whose divorce had just been finalized? Was that what people would say to her when she was finally free of Frank?

“Thanks,” Josiah said, pouring two glasses and putting the bottle in the bucket of ice the waitress had brought. “You don't need to say congratulations, though. Some of my friends have—because I'm finally free—but I have mixed feelings. It's not like it's some great achievement . . . it actually feels more like failure.”

Sailor nodded, knowing just how he felt. She looked out the breezy window of Moby Dick's Restaurant—they'd found a great table upstairs—and all of a sudden, she felt like she wanted to go home. When Josiah had originally asked her to dinner, she'd declined, but when he texted her again later and said he was going to be in Truro to show a house, she'd relented. But now, she wished she'd stuck with her original answer. Ever since she'd met with Frank, she hadn't had much of an appetite, and now, sitting across from Josiah, she felt even less hungry.
What
is
wrong with me? It's a simple date with a nice man—why can't I just enjoy it?

“A penny for your thoughts?” Josiah said, taking her hand.

“Ha!” Sailor said, shaking her head and pulling her hand away. “You would ask me that now.”

Josiah raised his eyebrows curiously. “Why?”

Sailor sighed. “How long did it take for your divorce to go through?”

“Oh, I don't know,” he said, thinking back. “I guess everything started to fall apart last fall—when I began to suspect she was fooling around . . . and then I confronted her on Thanksgiving at her brother's house—it was pretty poor timing on my part.” He smiled and shook his head, remembering the discussion that had evolved into an all-out scene. “She was sitting on the couch before dinner, sipping her wine, and everyone was chatting, but she kept looking at her phone and smiling, and since everyone we knew was there, I wondered who she could be texting that would make her smile like that.”

“I know just what you mean,” Sailor said. “It's like they're in their own little world and they think no one is noticing their stupid, goofy grins.” She shook her head. “Frank used to do the same thing. It's insulting because they're sitting there, having a private little party on their phone, and they think we don't know!”

Josiah nodded. “The whole cell phone thing
is
insulting—which is why I lost it in front of everyone. Talk about ruining everyone's holiday! Anyway, we filed for divorce before Christmas, and now it's the end of June, so I guess it took”—he calculated—“almost seven months.”

Sailor shook her head. “So, we
just
filed. I'll be lucky if mine's
wrapped up
by next Christmas, and so much of it depends on how long it takes to sell the house. I'm dreading the next several months. I just want it to be over.”

As she said this, a waitress came up the stairs and called Josiah's name. He waved his hand and she brought over their order. “Do you need anything else?” she asked and they looked over the tray, shook their heads, and thanked her.

Josiah immediately dug into his Moby Burger. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I'm starving!” Sailor, on the other hand, just picked at her broiled scallops and shrimp. “It's really good,” she said apologetically. “I'm just not that hungry.”

Josiah wiped his mouth and eyed her scallops. “Go ahead,” she said, pushing the basket toward him.

He popped a large, golden brown scallop in his mouth. “Mmm . . . better than sex,” he said, laughing.

Sailor raised her eyebrows. “
Really?!
”

Josiah's cheeks turned bright red. “I'm just kidding,” he said, grinning sheepishly.

Sailor looked down.

“What's the matter?” he asked. “I really
was
kidding . . .”

“I know,” she said. “It's not anything you said.” She looked up, searching his eyes. “And it's not you—I think you're wonderful, Josiah. It's just . . .”

He frowned, waiting for her to continue.

Sailor took a deep breath. “It's just, as much as I like you, I don't think I'm ready to jump into another relationship just yet.”

He nodded slowly. “I had a feeling you might say that,” he said softly. “I remember how I felt—lost and confused and sad all at once.”

Sailor nodded. “I'm really sorry, Josiah. Maybe down the road, when this is all behind me . . . I'll be ready, but right now . . .”

“You don't need to explain,” he said, smiling.

Sailor nodded and took a sip of wine.

“Need a refill?”

“
Do
I?” she said with a sad smile.

Josiah pulled the bottle out of the bucket and refilled her glass and Sailor pushed her plate toward him. “I hope you won't let this seafood go to waste. . . .”

“No worries there,” he said, grinning. “Especially since they're better than sex . . . and there's none of that in my near future.”

Sailor laughed. “Nor mine.”