Good Harbor (24 page)

“I knew him so well when he was a little boy, and even in high school . . . I thought
I did.” Kathleen stopped. “How did I get all of this so wrong? Was I just not paying
attention?”

“I have no wisdom or comfort to offer here,” Joyce said. “I feel like a total washout
in the intergenerational family communication department.”

“I’m hoping to get another chance with Hal, now that he’ll be closer to home. And
I suppose motherhood is a work in progress. Oh, dear. That sounds like a sampler,
doesn’t it?”

“I’d put it up in my kitchen.” Joyce laughed and put her arm around Kathleen’s shoulder.

“Failure, success. It’s moment by moment.” Kathleen looked at the sky. “This is a
beautiful moment. I feel like we’re walking right through the clouds in these shadows.”

Joyce turned to admire Kathleen’s profile. “My turn to ask you something,” she said
softly. “What will you do on August eighth?”

“Oh.” Kathleen took a quick breath at the turn in the conversation. “Nothing, really.
We go to the cemetery and light the anniversary candle on the fourteenth.”

“Do you think that Hal’s anger has something to do with Danny?”

Kathleen stopped and turned to Joyce.

“I’m sorry,” Joyce said. “It was just a thought.”

“But you’re right,” Kathleen said, a little breathless. “That’s it. And of course,
he has every right to be.”

“What? Oh, for heaven’s sake, Kathleen. What are you blaming yourself for?”

“I wasn’t there.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was in the house when it happened, when the car . . . The phone rang, and I went
in the house to get it. That’s when it happened.

“People used to say to me, ‘How horrible to see your child struck by a car.’ And I
never corrected them. But Hal knew that I didn’t see it at all. Only Hal saw it.”

“And you think he’s angry at you because of that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Kathleen said, suddenly unsure of that theory. “I really don’t.”

“Couldn’t you ask him?”

“I could. I mean, it’s possible to ask. I just don’t know if I have the nerve. We
never talk about Danny.”

“Never? In all these years?”

“It was too painful. Too painful to bring it up.”

“For whom?”

“For Buddy. He couldn’t even bear to hear Danny’s name, so I didn’t . . .”

“And with Hal?”

Kathleen shook her head.

Joyce took Kathleen’s arm and they walked quietly back to the footbridge. Turning
for a last look at the beach, Kathleen said, “Look at that,” pointing at the sky.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen such perfect clouds.”

Joyce turned to Kathleen. “You’re healthy, Kathleen, aren’t you?” she half-asked,
half-challenged. “You don’t have cancer anymore, right?”

“I suppose so. I mean, there’s no medical evidence that there’s any left, and the
radiation is supposed to make sure of that. But, it’s still with me. When I go to
sleep at night and when I get up in the morning. I try to tell myself how lucky I
am, that it was only DCIS, that it didn’t spread. But it’s always there.”

“Oh, Kathleen,” Joyce said, her voice full of frustration and good wishes. “I want
to be able to make it all better for you.

“I love you, you know.”

“I love you, too,” said Kathleen. “And that helps.”

IT WAS THEIR LAST
trip home from the radiation clinic. Kathleen was finished. She should have been
smiling and sharing a sigh of relief with Buddy. But instead, Kathleen wept quietly
into her hands, unable to explain why.

Rachel and Terry had bantered with Kathleen as she moved into position. Over the intercom,
Kathleen heard them count to three and suddenly break into song: “Is Miz Levine all
set?” to the tune of “I Could Have Danced All Night.” Kathleen laughed so hard, Rachel
had to come out and make sure she hadn’t moved off the mark.

Afterward, they escorted Kathleen to the staff coffee room for cake and a card signed
by everyone. The girls kissed her. Marcy hugged her and didn’t say anything about
support groups, which Kathleen took as a parting gift. Dr. Singh dropped by and ended
the celebration with a kind of benediction: “Whenever this time comes to mind, may
you recall the kindness of these faces.”

As they neared home, Buddy said, “I wish I could say something, Kath. I wish I could
do something.”

She blew her nose. “There’s nothing you can do. I’m just, well, it’s just an emotional
day.”

“What’s this?” Buddy exclaimed as they pulled in behind a Ryder van parked in their
driveway.

“What’s going on?” Kathleen asked.

“Beats me.”

Jack opened the front door as they got out of the car.

“What’s with the truck?” Buddy called.

“Hello to you, too,” Jack said, reaching out to hug Kathleen. “Congratulations on
being done, Mom.”

“Thanks, hon. But what’s in the truck?”

“I should have called, I guess, but I didn’t want you to worry. Where’s Hal?”

Hal, Buddy explained, had taken his mother’s car to Boston to run some secret errand.
“Do you know what he’s up to?” Kathleen asked.

“No clue.” Jack had already turned the kitchen upside down, a griddle set out and
pancake batter ready to go.

“And the truck?” Buddy asked again.

The truck, Jack explained, was full of his stuff because Lois had gotten the lead
in a touring production of
The Music Man
, and the sublet in the apartment was up.

“Oh, Jack, I’m so sorry,” said Kathleen.

“It’s not that big a deal.” He shrugged.

“Separating with Lois isn’t that big a deal?”

“Separating? We were roommates. Friends.”

“You were?” said Buddy.

“You were?” Joyce said.

“You didn’t think we were, oh.” Jack shook his head. “No, no. We’re good friends.
She still wants to meet you guys.

“But jeez, parents, aren’t you curious about why I’m
here
with all of my stuff in a truck?”

“No guessing games, Jack,” Buddy said. “Not today.”

“Okay, okay. Do you remember Ed Frisch? He was on the wrestling team with me in high
school? Big guy with kinky, blond hair? Anyway, he’s a developer in Boston now, and
he’s opening a new seafood restaurant in the new waterfront hotel downtown? And” —
Jack paused for effect — “you are looking at its new executive chef.”

“Wow,” said Buddy, who hugged Jack and started pumping him for details. “When do you
open? Do you get to design the whole menu?”

But Kathleen only smiled and nodded. She was still on the verge of tears and ashamed
that she couldn’t muster any enthusiasm for her son’s news. She fled to the bedroom
and, when Buddy checked on her a few minutes later, pretended to be asleep.

Life was crowding in on her. Jack was home. Hal was home. She had finished treatment.
So many prayers answered. And here it was, August 8, again. Tomorrow.

Every year, Buddy asked whether she wanted him to stay home. Every year she told him
to go to work, assuring him that she would be all right and that they’d be together
on the fourteenth. He always stayed home on the fourteenth.

She listened as Buddy and Jack banged in and out of the house, carrying boxes into
the basement and garage. In the bathroom, Kathleen locked the door, unbuttoned her
blouse, and forced herself to look in the mirror.

The scar wasn’t quite so red, the skin no longer chapped, but the breast didn’t seem
to belong to her anymore. She stared at it. Her babies had nursed there. Buddy had
fallen asleep there. Now, it looked like a war zone. “Armistice Day,” she whispered,
buttoned her blouse, and readied a smile.

She walked into the kitchen but found Jack on the deck, ordering Buddy to wash down
the weathered picnic table.

“Where did these come from?” Kathleen asked, fingering a set of peach-striped linens.

“Souvenirs from the big city.” Jack grinned. “I’m making you a fabulous dinner tonight.”

“So what else is new?” Kathleen smiled.

As the day’s heat faded into a cool seaside evening, Jack set out an old brass storm
lantern he had brought with him, lit it, and pulled out a chair for Kathleen.

“Should we put that on the menu?” he asked about the grilled-eggplant appetizer, the
marinated swordfish, the garlic mashed potatoes, the roasted asparagus.

“Why wouldn’t you?” said Kathleen. “It’s all delicious, Jack. You’ll be a big success,
no doubt about it.”

“Can you get bread like this in Boston?” Buddy asked, twisting off another piece of
the crusty baguette Jack had brought from Manhattan.

That launched them into a discussion of suppliers. Buddy asked if Jack would be part
owner of the restaurant. “If you need a lawyer, David Koch has always been a stand-up
guy for me.”

Kathleen watched the two of them talk business, approving of the way they listened
to each other, seriously and generously.

“Earth to Mom,” Jack said gently, and put his hand on hers.

“Dessert?” he repeated.

“You had to ask?”

As Jack served warm peach upside-down cake, the phone rang. “It’s Hal,” Buddy announced,
and handed the phone to Jack. “He wants to talk to you.”

Jack returned ten minutes later and announced that Hal probably wouldn’t be back until
Friday.

“What’s Mom supposed to do without a car until then?” Buddy sputtered. “What the heck
is he doing down there?”

Jack shook his head and shrugged, but couldn’t help smiling.

“Oh, so you know?”

“Maybe I do, and maybe I don’t. I’m going to take the train into the city tomorrow
and hook up with him. And if it’s okay, I’m going to use Mom’s car to check out some
local produce vendors and a baker or two. Hal and I will probably drive back together,
by Friday at the latest.”

“It’s okay about the car,” said Kathleen. “So we’ll all be together for Friday-night
dinner?”

“Do you know that your brother is going Hasidic on us?” Buddy said.

“That’s overstating it a little,” Kathleen objected.

“I’ll get a kosher chicken,” Jack said. “They really do taste the best.”

Kathleen smiled. “Hal will approve. But if you two moguls will excuse me, I think
I’m going to lie down.”

Jack walked her down the hall and gave her a long hug. “You’re going to be fine, Mom.”

“It’s great to have you home, hon.”

She lay down on top of the bedspread and looked at the ceiling. What had she been
doing twenty-five years ago, right this minute?

WITH THE WEEKEND
behind her, Joyce started waiting for the phone to ring. Frank called. A telemarketer
called. The mail arrived. She walked with Kathleen. Frank called again. She wrote
to Nina. The day passed.

After dark, Joyce drove to Rockport and passed Patrick’s apartment. The windows were
dark. She went around the block two more times, but no one was home.

The next day, Kathleen called to say Jack had arrived: her house was in an uproar
and she wouldn’t be able to walk. Joyce thought about killing some time at the mall,
but in the end she painted the stairwell to the basement. At night, she drove to Rockport,
past dark windows, again.