Sea Glass Summer (29 page)

‘Twyla's amazed the Cullys didn't nix Oliver's visits here for fear of her trotting down. She's the one they tried their best to close the door against. As it is, if she, Gwen and Sonny don't come to us for an hour or so during Evan time, as Oliver and I call it, we go to them. By the way,' Sarah turned her head to smile at Libby, ‘Gwen's so grateful to Sid for his kindness to Sonny, taking him out for rides and treating him as if they're two regular guys who enjoy spending time together.'

‘Sonny seems to prefer it that way – without me cutting in.' Libby sat with her arms wound round her knees.

‘I hope he knows how grateful I am that he painted the staircase walls.'

‘He does, but doesn't understand why you should be. That's the main reason I married Sid – he's nice. That sounds dull, but I'd learned from life with my first husband that great sex and drowning in each other's eyes isn't half enough. It can even end up tasting like stale bread. But the man who brings you up a cup of tea in bed, and rarely leaves the dinner table without telling you how lucky he is to have a wife who can make shepherd's pie or whatever taste gourmet, gets to be more of a turn-on every day.'

‘Sounds anything but dull to me.'

‘You've got it right, Sarah. Having a platonic male friend you can be completely yourself with isn't to be sneezed at. What time are you expecting Evan today?'

‘Around noon. He plans on staying until Sunday afternoon or evening.'

‘What does he say about the Wealthy Poor House, B&B?' The place had gotten its name from a Mr Poor marrying a Miss Wealthy at the tail-end of the nineteenth century.

‘Can't say enough about the comfort and welcome from the owners. They serve such a bountiful breakfast he ends up having two. One there and one here, though mostly mine doesn't stretch to more than muffins, fruit and coffee. Oliver and I are boggled that he stays so trim. Being tall has to help, but even so he should by rights have gained ten pounds in the last month.'

‘Is it still on for you to bring him and Oliver to Potluck?' It was the Jennson's turn this month to host, and Libby had already told Sarah that they would be providing a main dish of spiral ham and au gratin potatoes.

‘They're both really looking forward to it. We're all set to make fudge-topped brownies this afternoon. The super-good news is that Oliver gets to sleep over both nights. I did tell you I got a double bed – a queen would have been too big for the spare room.'

‘Yes. Do you need a loan of sheets and pillows?

‘All set, thanks. Evan asked if it would be all right to bring his aunt this weekend, the one he took out to dinner on her birthday, and we were really looking forward to meeting her, but she'd forgotten she had to be at a wedding.'

‘Well, I can't wait to meet him.' Several people came striding along the water's edge. Libby unwrapped her knees to stretch both arms above her head, in demonstration, perhaps, should they glance sideways, that those who sit aren't necessarily incapable of getting a workout. As it happened Libby was anything but an exercise sluggard. She did badminton once a week and aerobics twice, and never missed taking Sheridan on a good walk. For all his mini-size he was no slouch either. What she didn't do was run, which Sarah loved to do, especially on the days she had Jumbo alongside. ‘What about Evan's parents? Any mention of a get-together with them? Don't they live in Boston?'

‘They did, but both are gone now. His mother died four years ago and his father a few months later.'

‘You said he's forty, so that probably put them in their late fifties at the time. That's horribly young these days. Sid's already had his sixtieth.' Libby turned her head to look up at her house. ‘I hope Sid's not stuffing his face right this minute with a full English breakfast, including the fried bread. The only thing that might put him off what he calls good old-fashioned grub is if enough people told him it's now called health food. Perhaps tomorrow evening at the potluck you could casually mention that fresh fruit and green veggies are now considered the forbidden foods. And toss in yogurt and cottage cheese while you're at it.'

‘And have him decide I'm not the sort of woman he wants living next door? I don't think so! Anyway, no need to panic. Evan's father was in his eighties and mother her late seventies when they died. They'd been married for over twenty years before he showed up.'

Libby visibly relaxed. ‘Any brothers or sisters?'

‘No. He was the late-life surprise. And he said he couldn't have asked for more wonderful parents. Now he only has his aunt – his mother's younger sister – as a close relative. But fortunately they're very close. She sounds delightfully eccentric and I would like to meet her.'

‘I hear a “but” coming.'

‘There isn't one.' Sarah hesitated and the words wandered out, ‘Except that I wouldn't want her to get up any false hopes about Evan and me if she's hoping he'll marry again. Because, even if our friendship did deepen into something more, I don't see it working out long term. We've talked briefly about our divorces. I told him that in the end there wasn't enough left between us to stop Harris from falling in love with someone else and he said he and his wife had come to realize they wanted different things out of life. He wanted a family – at least one child – and she didn't.'

‘Hadn't they discussed that along the way?'

‘People change their minds and she had. It was the same with Harris. He was for, then against, then for again with Lisa. Evan's wife said they'd reached an impasse. So what's the point of dragging on a marriage with him unhappy and her feeling guilty? As in my situation, there wasn't enough love remaining to keep the marriage intact.'

‘Did you tell him that it was the reverse in your situation? That you continued wanting a child when Harris didn't?'

‘Why get into that? I couldn't produce a baby in the three years we tried. None of the fertility treatments worked.' Sarah got up off the steps. ‘The last resort would have been in vitro and by then Harris had gone off the idea.'

Libby also stood up. Uncertainty as to what to say showed in her eyes. ‘But it's still out there as an option.'

‘Doesn't always work.'

‘OK. Let's say your friendship shifts into higher gear – what about adoption?'

‘I've thought about looking into that on my own. Lots of single women who want children are doing it. But Evan may be someone who's set on his own flesh and blood. I know Sid looks on Phoebe every bit as much his daughter as yours, but not every man can make that leap.'

‘But look how he's taken to Oliver. You've told me those two have so much in common they might be twin souls. It could be the same with a child he brought up.'

‘Being a father involves more than being a friend. Besides, Oliver's one of a kind. He's already stolen our hearts and he's not available.' Sarah looked at her watch. ‘The aunt and uncle will be taking him back with them to Manhattan for the start of the school year. That thought is enough to deal with on its own without throwing in unlikely complications.'

‘I shouldn't have butted in,' Libby apologized.

‘You didn't.' Sarah smiled at her. ‘What's the point of having a friend you can only skim the surface with? When do you have to pick up Sheridan from the groomer's?'

‘What time is it?'

Sarah checked her watch. ‘Nine thirty.'

‘Whoops! I'd better be making tracks. He didn't really need to go in, but I want him looking spiffy for the potluck. I thought about going full hog with white tie and tails, but as everyone else will come casual he'd feel a fool and that's when he turns his most uppity and chases the cat. Your little Dusk has come on well. I was telling Sid the other night how's she's filled out.' Libby waved before mounting a couple of steps, and then turned back. ‘Last thing.' This was typical of their partings – one of them always remembered that last thing. ‘I did tell you I invited Gwen and Twyla, leaving them to decide who would stay with Sonny? Yesterday afternoon Gwen called back and said it was pretty much decided it would be her coming and would it work for her to bring Twyla's shrimp Creole and rice.'

‘I've had it and it's fabulous; one of Oliver's favorites.'

Now they really were on the move, Libby up her steps, Sarah heading toward hers. The kayaks and dory she had noticed on her first morning down on the beach were still tucked under overhanging shrubbery. She had never discovered who owned them or seen any sign of them having been moved. Evan thought it very unlikely they had belonged to Nan Fielding. She had never mentioned boating of any sort in her letters. That had come up after his saying he'd sailed in college and would like to take it up again. Sarah had said she'd been thinking about taking lessons, but when asked his opinion Oliver had been less sure, admitting to being afraid of deep water even though he loved to swim – so long as his toes could touch the bottom.

She'd reached the top of the steps and was crossing the lawn, re-picturing his face at that moment – so open and trusting. She felt such a rush of tenderness and love for Oliver, and it scared her. It was one thing to have grown fond of him – who wouldn't? – he was a delight. But to have this strength of feeling for him was the way to heartbreak. And she hadn't been completely honest with Libby about Evan.

She more than liked him and would have needed to be unconscious not to know he was physically attracted to her too. But she'd given no indication of wanting to move things beyond a kiss on the cheek when he left to return home at the end of the previous weekends. And he'd done nothing to maneuver for more. If not for Oliver she would have taken the chance of mentioning she might never be able to have children and seeing what happened. But knowing how devastated she would be when Oliver's aunt and uncle took him with them to New York, she couldn't risk losing Evan as a friend when she was going to need him most. She knew him so well already. He was decent, kind and considerate. If he decided there was no future for them as a couple – but sensed that was what she wanted – he would get out of the picture for her sake. And the thought of his not being there when her life was empty of Oliver was unbearable.

She liked Libby – liked her a lot – but the person who would understand every nuance of what she was feeling was Gwen. Talking to her was often like thinking out loud. But how could you tell a woman, who was watching her son disappear behind a fog of forgetfulness and would at sometime lose him completely in death, that you were anguished at the prospect of being separated from a child who had never been yours? What she could do was seek to draw strength with Gwen from her example of courage, the serenity that seemed to bathe the air around her. It also wouldn't be fair to dump any of this on her mother who, along with her father, were delighted that she had settled so happily in Maine. But she must not let any of this cloud her anticipation of Oliver and Evan's arrivals. Once she was with them all this would fade into the background; there would be no room for anything but happiness.

Sarah went in by the kitchen's sliding doors. It now looked exactly the way she had wanted it, with the white cabinets and custard-yellow walls. The periwinkle and white-tiled floor left no regret that she'd gone for vinyl tiles rather than the real thing. The butcher block counter glowed from its recent oiling. In the center of the round kitchen table was a small bowl containing her growing collection of sea glass. On the stove was a baking tray of cinnamon rolls she'd made at six a.m. Gwen had given her the recipe from one she had gotten years ago from her housekeeper in Boston. It had required not only raisins soaked in heated orange juice and vanilla, but using fresh yeast, which Sarah had found rather intimidating. But the delicious aroma was well worth the effort. She followed Dusk who shifted off a kitchen chair to wander into the living room. She was also pleased with muted aqua walls offset by the trim, white fireplace and bookcases on either side. Her beige slipcovers had come into their own. As in the kitchen with the kettle, she had included a pop of tomato red, in this case a cushion on the sofa and ginger jar on the table under the front window. The same shade showed up amongst other vibrant colors on the unframed abstract canvas above the fireplace. She scooped Dusk up from one of the armchairs and rested her chin on the furry head.

‘Have to make the most of this togetherness,' she murmured. ‘Once the guys get here I'll be out in the cold. Do you have to stick in my face that you prefer male company?' It was true. Every time Evan or Oliver sat down Dusk was on his lap. When they were together on the sofa Dusk spread herself between them. If she could have doubled in size she would have done; but to be fair both made it clear they couldn't get enough of her. Oliver had explained that he'd wanted a cat almost as much as a dog, the optimum being both. And Evan had a cat at his condo named Fagin. Sarah had listened meekly while together they filled her in on who that character was in
Oliver Twist
. The book was on the coffee table waiting for them to read the final chapters. Only two more, they had told her with regret. The pattern had been Oliver reading stretches on his own, and Evan then joining him to continue out loud. Those were among Sarah's most treasured moments when the three of them were together. Oliver had said he was sure his grandpa hadn't introduced him to the book because the fictional Oliver's mother had died when he was born and he didn't have a father. It might have made him feel too sad. Instead he felt more blessed than ever. Imagine growing up in a workhouse and having to face up to the wrath of the beadle when asking for more porridge? Even having to live with Gerard and Elizabeth wasn't that bad. His grandpa had smiled when he'd explained that to him.

Sarah returned Dusk to the armchair and looked up at the painting above the fireplace. Nellie Armitage had observed on seeing it that her usual opinion of abstracts was that a child of six could have done them, but this one she actually liked. Not wishing to burst her bubble at having arrived as an art connoisseur, Sarah didn't let on that this one was the work of a six-year-old. Julia, on one of her visits, had kept herself occupied daubing away with acrylic paints on a spare canvas brought out from a cupboard. When Sarah repeated the Nellie anecdote to Oliver he had asked for more stories about Julia which had led to her showing him the sample sweater she had knitted her niece's name into. Instantly she'd seen the longing look in his eyes and been surprised. She'd assumed he'd believe himself too old for one but quickly told him she'd be glad to make one for him. She needed a name for the boys' sample and could use his, then make a second one. But that hadn't been Oliver's hope. He'd asked if it would take too much time to knit a throw blanket with ‘Grandpa' on it. She'd replied that it was a brilliant idea and she should have thought of it herself. In future when it came to working on children's patterns she would, if he didn't mind, use him as a consultant. The finished throw in a deep blue – Oliver's choice – lay folded in a plastic bag on the pine dining room table so Dusk didn't add fiber. What she hadn't told him was that between work projects she was knitting a charcoal gray one with another name knitted into it. It was a color she had noticed that Twyla wore frequently.