Good Harbor (28 page)

JOYCE SPENT FIVE
frantic minutes trying to locate Nina. The woman at the front desk couldn’t locate
her name in the computer, then sent Joyce to the wrong room. When she finally opened
the right door, she found Frank and Nina sitting on the bed, calmly watching TV. Nina’s
arm was in a sling, her hair pulled into a neat bun. For a moment, she looked composed
and grown-up, but the moment she caught sight of Joyce, she dissolved into tears.
“Mommy.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Joyce said, sitting down on the bed. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m sorry
it took me so long. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Nina said, snuffling.

“Just as long as you’re okay.” Joyce looked over Nina’s head and raised her eyebrows
in a question mark. Frank nodded slowly, but without smiling, signaling that he’d
give Joyce the full story later.

“No cast?” she asked.

“Not for the collarbone,” he said.

Nina clung to Joyce with her good arm, nestling against her chest like a baby. When
a nurse came in to check her vital signs, Joyce signaled for Frank to move out into
the hallway.

Frank hugged her close. “I’m so glad you’re here. She really wanted her mother.”

“I’m sorry, Frank,” Joyce whispered. “I got here as fast as I could.” She pulled back,
tucked her hands into her armpits, and asked, “So what exactly did the doctors say?”

“She wasn’t groggy after she came to, and they don’t think the concussion will have
any lasting effects. Since I couldn’t find a motel room close by, they’re going to
let her stay here the night. We can stay with her. We have to wake her up every hour
or so.”

“Mommy?” Nina called in an urgent voice. Joyce and Frank rushed back; Nina was pointing
to the TV screen.
The Simpsons
was about to begin, a rerun of one of the show’s many Halloween specials. “Halloween
in August?” Joyce asked.

“Why not?” Nina said with a flash of impatience.

Joyce and Frank sat on either side of the bed and the three of them watched as aliens
devoured Bart. Frank reached for Joyce’s hand behind the pillow, and she held on tight.

Downstairs, Kathleen found a bathroom. Using Joyce’s hairbrush and some paper towels,
she cleaned herself up as best she could before searching for Nina’s room. Waiting
for the elevator, someone grabbed her elbow from behind.

“There you are,” Buddy said.

“What are you doing here?” Kathleen yelped.

“Nice welcome,” he said as they got on the elevator together.

“Buddy, how did you get here?”

“I flew,” he joked, but Kathleen wasn’t smiling.

“I had a delivery near home around two, so I stopped by. The car was gone, but when
I went inside, your purse was sitting on the table, and drawers were open all over
the place, so I got worried. But when I went to pick up the phone, I saw there was
a message; it was Frank Tabachnik looking for Joyce because their daughter was hurt
in an accident. Their number isn’t listed, so before I called the cops, I ran over
to their house. The back door was wide open, and the phone machine was flashing away,
so I listened to the messages and figured out you must have headed up here with Joyce.

“I got in the car and flew. Honest, Kath, you wouldn’t believe how fast I drove.”

Kathleen shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re here.” She opened the door to Nina’s
room and announced, “The cavalry has arrived.”

When Joyce and Frank started settling in for the night with Nina, Buddy caught Kathleen’s
eye and glanced at his watch. She nodded and said, “Give me a minute.”

Kathleen took Joyce into the hall and asked for her car keys. “I’ll drive with Buddy
and get your car back to your house.” Handing over her own key, Kathleen added, “Bring
mine whenever you get back.”

“There is no way I can thank you,” Joyce said as they hugged good-bye.

“Thanks returned, dear one.”

Buddy pulled onto the highway and Kathleen closed her eyes. She woke to see the sign
welcoming them to Massachusetts.

“I guess you were pretty done in,” Buddy said, patting her knee.

“Buddy,” she said, sitting up and rubbing her stiff neck, “I have to ask you for a
favor, no questions asked.”

“You want me to stop at the next rest stop?”

“It’s serious, Buddy. I need you to do something for me without asking me why, ever.”

He glanced at Kathleen, her eyes fixed on his face. “Of course.”

“We have to drive to Rockport. You’ll drop me off and then meet me back at the Tabachniks’
house.”

“Sure,” he said evenly.

“Okay.” Kathleen nodded. “Thanks.”

A piano concerto filled the car as they headed up the home stretch, passing the barely
visible gates of the cemetery. “I’m going to ask Hal to come with us. And Jack, too,”
Kathleen said softly.

“Good,” Buddy said.

“It’s twenty-five years.”

Buddy was quiet for a moment. “We never talk about him, do we, Kath?”

“You didn’t want to talk about him. You told me it hurt too much.”

“I said that?”

“Of course you did. You said that hearing his name felt like a knife in your heart.”

“When did I say that?”

“A month after he died. It was a Friday night, at temple. You said his name was like
a knife in your heart.”

Buddy frowned. “It must have been a bad day. Or maybe it was all the people coming
up to me and asking how I was doing. But, Kath, I didn’t mean forever. I didn’t mean
I never wanted to talk about him ever again.”

Kathleen was quiet.

“Did you think I meant forever?”

“I guess I did.”

“All this time?” He shook his head. “I thought it was you who couldn’t stand to .
. .”

Kathleen turned off the music. All those years of unspoken grief and unheard condolence.
“Maybe it was me who couldn’t bear to talk about him, and I just laid not talking
about it on you. I’m sorry, Buddy. I’m so sorry.”

“No need. No need.”

Kathleen put her fingertips to Buddy’s cheek. “I was talking about him to Joyce on
the drive up. I told her about the trucks. Remember how much he loved trucks?”

“Trucks and coffee ice cream.”

“Coffee ice cream! I didn’t tell her about that. That was your father’s doing. Danny
Levine was the only little boy in America who preferred coffee ice cream to chocolate,
or vanilla or strawberry.

“We should talk to Hal about Danny, too,” Kathleen said softly.

“I do. Or I have.”

“What does he say?” Kathleen was crying.

“He used to feel terribly guilty, I think. Like he should have been able to protect
Dan. But” — Buddy took a breath — “he says he worked through that in therapy. He worries
about you, though. He thinks you’re still — oh, what did he call it? — unresolved.
But he can’t understand what it means to lose a child. A baby. You don’t ever get
resolved. You just get, I don’t know what, you just get older, and life goes on.”

“When did he tell you that?”

“He came by the store the other day. We had lunch.”

Kathleen looked at Buddy’s profile in the passing lights. “And Jack?”

“I haven’t talked to Jack about Danny,” Buddy said. “He never asked me. Did he ask
you?”

“No,” Kathleen whispered, wondering how she’d taught him not to ask. “Never.”

Kathleen put her left hand over Buddy’s right on the wheel. He held her fingers between
his as they made their way over the bridge, past the turn to their house, up the road
to Rockport.

Buddy dropped Kathleen in front of the sub shop. The only sound was the hum of the
streetlights, vibrating in the fog. “I’ll see you there,” he said, and pulled away.
Kathleen followed Joyce’s directions to the tan Corolla, pocketed the parking ticket,
and got in.

In the ten minutes it took to drive back to Gloucester, Kathleen felt her senses sharpen.
It had rained earlier, so the road gleamed in the headlights. She opened the window
and inhaled mulch, brine, tree sap, honeysuckle, grass, brine again, all of it sharpened
by the darkness, heightened by the moisture in the air. Kathleen shivered with pleasure.

My husband is a better man than I knew, she thought. My sons have come home. I’m going
back to school in September. I have a true friend. The cancer is gone.

Thank you for Buddy. Thank you for Hal and Jack. Thank you for Pat, and for Mae and
Irv. For my gran, for my poor mother. Thank you for my health. And for Joyce.

Thank you for books and work and for kindergarten children and for my garden. For
my life in this garden. For these trees. For this perfumed night. For this wind on
my face.

Thank you for Danny. I haven’t counted him as a blessing for twenty-five years, have
I? God forgive me, I must have wished he’d never been born.

Thank you for Danny. For letting me love him. For his love. For all my sons. Thank
you.

“Amen,” she said, pulling into Joyce’s driveway, past Buddy’s truck, idling at the
curb. “Amen and amen.”

T
HE TABACHNIKS’
yard looked like a combination interfaith garden party and construction site. The
priest, wearing a clerical collar, short-sleeved shirt, and dark pants, and the rabbi,
in a navy suit and yarmulke, shook hands as a flatbed trailer truck hauling a backhoe
pulled up.

“Steve!” Father Sherry called out. “Why the big rig?”

“Sorry, Father,” Steve said, “but I’ve got to move this thing today, and it’s on my
way.”

“Sheesh,” said the priest.

Father Sherry had enlisted the contractor to cut the statue free and deliver it to
the Lupos, who were glad to give it a home. When the priest had named the date — Sunday
around three — Joyce had asked whether she should ask some of the neighbors for a
little block party. “That would be lovely,” Father Sherry said, and offered to invite
the Loquastos. Joyce was a little nervous at the thought of them seeing how much she’d
changed their home, but she told Father Sherry to go ahead.

The lawn was cluttered with assorted plastic chairs, most of them owned by the Levines,
who had arrived early to help set up. Buddy and Hal were arranging lawn furniture
with Ben and Eric, from next door. Jack, in the kitchen with Ed, was assembling strawberry
shortcake.

Kathleen followed Joyce to the front steps and whispered, “Did you get the clippings?”

Joyce nodded. The police blotter from the Rockport paper had announced the arrest
of seven men on drug charges. A story in the
Gloucester Daily Times
about drug running on Cape Ann noted the participation of “Russian and Irish nationals.”

“Well, look who’s here!” Father Sherry boomed as the Loquastos pulled up to the curb.
He opened the car door for Mary, who clutched at a black patent-leather handbag, and
escorted her into the yard for introductions. Joe, wiry and thin, trailed behind.
He lit a cigarette and peered at the house as if it were an attraction at Disney World.
Joyce invited Mary inside for a look, but she smiled shyly and said, “Maybe later.”

Both Loquastos perked up when Lou and Marge Bono walked across the street. The priest
made the introductions. “All our kids grew up together,” Lou explained to Frank, who
was offering drinks. “You should have seen the neighborhood back then,” he said, accepting
a Diet Coke. “The children, all running in and out of each other’s house. We got the
city to put up that sign Children at Play. It’s still there, isn’t it, Marge?”

Frank called Nina over for introductions. Nina, who’d been painting her toenails on
the front step with her friend Sylvie, stood up reluctantly.

“Oh, that’s a hard age,” Mary Loquasto said when Frank started to apologize for Nina’s
bad manners.

All conversation stopped with the arrival of the Lupos. Theresa, four feet ten inches
at most, wore a black crepe dress with a crocheted white collar and a new pair of
Nikes. She headed straight toward the statue and patted its cheek, as though it were
a favorite niece.

Lena, a few inches taller and quite a bit wider than her mother, was in black leggings
and a pink tunic. Her manicured nails splayed over her hips as she apologized to Joyce,
again. “Burying all that stuff in your yard like that?” She rolled her eyes. “I’m
so sorry.”

“Why do you say
you’re
sorry? It was not your fault,” Theresa exploded. “Not my fault, too. Don’t make no
apologia
for me. It was from the doctors, from the medicine. No old-heimer’s.
La miseria
.”

“Okay, Ma,” said Lena. “Everyone knows you’re all there, Ma.”

Taking Rabbi Hertz’s arm, Father Sherry quietly explained that Theresa had been prescribed
two medications that shouldn’t be taken together. “No old-heimer’s,” Theresa repeated,
guessing that the priest was talking about her.

Lena’s teenage son, Mike, walked over to the statue, where Steve had already dug a
trench around the concrete base. “Hey, Joe,” Steve called out. “This thing could have
lasted until the next ice age.” Joe Loquasto acknowledged the compliment with a wave.

The guests gathered around the Madonna. Safety goggles in place, Steve started the
drill, which set up a painfully loud, high-pitched squeal. Five minutes later, Mike
and Frank helped him lift the Madonna onto a hand truck. Lena and Theresa wrapped
the statue in woolen blankets and tied it with bungee cords for the short trip to
their house.

As they covered the face with a towel, Joyce realized she was sad to see “her” Mary
leave. Early that morning, before Frank or Nina had been awake, she’d gone outside
to say good-bye. “I’m sorry if there’s any indignity to all this,” she had whispered.
“I won’t let anyone look up your skirt. But I think you’ll be happier with the Lupos.”
She had slipped her palm under the Virgin’s outstretched hand, but the mild face seemed
turned away.

Father Sherry raised his paper cup and, in a jovial but decidedly formal voice, began,
“Ladies and gentlemen?

“I would like to take a moment to thank our hosts, the Tabachniks, for turning this
moment of transition into a celebration, indeed, an affirmation of our community.

“You know, we Catholics are enamored with the idea of incarnation. We speak of the
incarnation of God’s love in the person of our Lord, Jesus Christ. This sublime metaphor
— the creation of an all-powerful metaphor-maker — is extended in our tradition to
include the saints, and especially the Blessed Mother.

“Nevertheless, the idea that God’s love is incarnate in the world is not limited to
Catholics, I think. For all of us here” — the priest nodded toward the rabbi — “Jews
and Christians alike, God’s love indeed does take shape in the world. In the glory
of sky and sea. In the beauty of forest and garden. And most of all, in the faces
of the people who surround us with understanding and compassion, with friendship,
respect, and with love.”

Father Sherry raised his glass above his head to murmurs of “Amen,” “Salud,” and “L’chayim.”

He beamed, turned to Michelle, and said, “Rabbi?”

“I was tempted to tell one of those jokes that starts ‘A rabbi, a minister, and a
priest were in a rowboat.’ But maybe I won’t,” she said. The Loquastos looked relieved.

“We Jews like to say blessings,” the rabbi continued in a more sermonic tone. “There
are Jewish blessings for almost everything that happens in the course of a day. There
is a blessing for waking up, a blessing before and after eating, a blessing for seeing
planets in the sky. There is even a blessing to say if you should hear bad news.

“If we happen to forget which special blessing we’re supposed to use, or on a uniquely
happy occasion such as this, there is an all-purpose blessing of thanks. It is called
the Shehecheyanu, and it praises God for the gifts of the moment. So at this precious
moment of fellowship and good feeling, I am moved to say:

“Baruch Ata Adonai, eloheynu melech ha-olam:
Holy One of Blessing, Your presence fills creation.

“
Shehecheyanu:
You have kept us alive to reach this glorious afternoon among our neighbors.

“
V’keyamanu:
You have sustained us with bonds of friendship.

“
V’higianu lazman hazeh:
And you have enabled us to reach this precious moment in this sun-drenched place
of beauty.”

At that moment Jack emerged from the kitchen with an enormous tray, and the rabbi
quickly added, “And this amazing strawberry shortcake.”

Nina and Sylvie squealed in high-pitched unison at the sight of the desserts. Everyone
laughed.

“Amen,” said Father Sherry, reaching for the first plate.

As people helped themselves and found seats, Kathleen and Joyce walked into the kitchen.

“How’s it going?” Kathleen asked in a low voice.

“It’s going,” Joyce said with a slight shrug. She turned on the faucet and started
rinsing whipped cream from the beaters. “Frank started his new job last Monday. We’re
being nice to each other. The money situation makes things kind of tense, but at least
that’s out on the table. Taking care of Nina pulled us together — we’re both so grateful
she’s okay.”

“Nina looks good.”

“She’s on the stationary bike for hours at a stretch, trying to keep her legs in shape
while the bone heals.”

“Did you find out what she was doing in that tree?”

“It was a dare from one of the boys,” Joyce said. “I thought she was smarter than
that, but she’s not only a jock, but a show-off. She feels pretty stupid about doing
it. She did tell me that.”

“And what about you?”

“I’m writing about bus safety. And you’ll be glad to hear that I’ve finished sixty
pages of
Magnolia’s Haven
.”

“Joyce! That’s great!”

“Jordan had to go so Magnolia could have a new love interest.”

“Poor man. How did he die?”

“A shipwreck off Rafe’s Chasm, but back then it was called Rafe’s Crack.”

“You’d better go with the old name, or the local history buffs will hang you out to
dry.”

“The other big news is that I started therapy,” Joyce said. “I’m still trying to understand
why I did what I did.”

Kathleen frowned. “You made a mistake.”

“Yes, but I still need to work it out. She says that Frank’s absence was a big part
of —”

Jack poked his head through the door. “We need more ice.”

“Be right there,” Joyce said.

“We need a walk at Good Harbor,” Kathleen said.

Joyce nodded. But with Nina starting school and deadlines piling up, it would be at
least a week before she could come back to Gloucester. “Give me the headlines.”

“Oh, dear,” Kathleen said. “There is so much to tell. We all went to the cemetery
on the anniversary of Danny’s death. Jack and Hal brought pebbles from Good Harbor
to leave at the grave, and Hal said the kaddish. Afterward we went out for coffee
ice cream. I forgot to tell you that Danny loved coffee ice cream.

“Hal remembered the funniest things about him. Like the way he used to kiss the dog’s
ears.” Kathleen paused for a moment. “Jack asked about a hundred questions about Danny.
It was a good day — sad but good.

“And what else; Jack is moving into Ed’s apartment until he finds a place, and we’re
invited to dinner there next week. Hal is going to read from the Torah on Yom Kippur.
I’ve got an appointment to talk to an oncologist about tamoxifen.”

“That is a lot. And by the way, you look wonderful. This haircut —”

Nina and Sylvie walked in looking for the ice. Michelle followed, in search of napkins.

Kathleen and Joyce smiled at each other. That would have to do for now. They could
catch up on the phone, and they would walk on the beach next week. Rain or shine,
they promised.

They would meet on the footbridge and exchange a hug. They’d take off their shoes
and walk from one end of Good Harbor to the other, then take another turn, back and
forth.

They would talk about their husbands and their children, their work and their bodies.
Next week and the week after. Wet feet and dry feet, barefoot and shod, in heat and
fog, and then bundled up against the cold.

With Kathleen’s dog racing ahead. With Buddy and Frank walking a few paces behind.
With Joyce’s old friends, visiting from out of town. With red and yellow plastic buckets
for the grandchildren, eventually. Together, at Good Harbor, they would see how it
all turned out.