Firefly Summer (12 page)

C
HAPTER
25

“T
hey're here!” Remy called, holding the door open for her sister and brother-in-law and Bailey, who was taking her sweet time sniffing every plant along the way, but upon seeing Remy, wiggled happily up the rest of the walk to greet her. “Hello there, ol' pie,” Remy said, kneeling down. Bailey promptly licked her face and Remy kissed her on her sweet brow.

“Happy birthday, my dear,” she said, standing to give Birdie a hug.

“Thank you, Rem,” Birdie said, stepping through the door.

Sailor and Piper were inside, waiting, and when Chloe heard new voices, she trotted to the kitchen, carrying her new Zoe, but when she saw Bailey, she dropped her and went right over to greet her
real
friend.

Birdie's three younger sisters all knew Birdie expected a fuss to be made on her birthday, so they each gave her a long hug and wished her a happy birthday.

“Did you see my Facebook post?” Sailor asked.

“No, I haven't been on today,” Birdie said.

When Birdie used her computer, it was to correspond with colleagues, catch up on news, or log unusual bird sightings. She rarely visited her Facebook page—which she'd only set up at Sailor's prodding, and had then been surprised by the number of people who wanted to be her “friend.” Birdie fully believed that as she'd journeyed through her life, she'd left a trail of people whom she'd summarily dismissed because they'd become too clingy, complained too much, were overly dramatic, manipulative, or with whom she didn't agree; and ever since she and David had moved to the Cape, the circle of people with whom she spent time had narrowed dramatically, making her even more of a recluse. Sometimes, however, when she was bored, she scrolled, or as Sailor called it, trolled—the term used for viewing posts without commenting or liking—through her newsfeed and found out quite a bit about people—some of which she felt should really be kept private. She was haunted by the commandment,
Thou shalt not judge
. She knew she was judgmental. It was probably her biggest fault and she fully believed there was going to be a price to pay when she got to heaven. She could just see Saint Peter, waiting at the gate, checking his iPad, and looking up at her with raised eyebrows. She couldn't seem to help it, though—the older she got, the less tolerant she became. Life was hard enough without having to deal with people who didn't seem to have a clue. She didn't know if it was because of all the things that had happened to her in life, but she just didn't play well with others anymore, and she prayed she didn't grow tired of David, too.

“I think you received quite a few birthday greetings,” Sailor continued. “You should look when you get home.”

“I will,” she said.

“I left one, too,” Piper said cheerily.

“You
know
I didn't,” Remy said, laughing as she took the salad bowl from her sister's arms. She was a Facebook holdout.

“You're the only smart one,” Birdie said.

“So, what's the birthday girl drinking tonight?” Sailor asked. “We're having frozen margaritas,” she said, pointing to a blender on the counter.

Birdie eyed the lime green mixture warily. “I think I'd better stick to my usual.”

Sailor nodded and turned to David.

“I'll have a margarita,” he said with a smile.

“Salt or no salt?” Piper asked, gesturing to a plate of flavored sea salt on the counter.

“Salt,” he confirmed.

Piper ran a lime around the rim of a margarita glass, swirled it in the salt, poured the frosty mixture into the glass, and handed it to him.

Meanwhile, Sailor opened the bottle of wine Birdie had brought in, poured a generous amount into a big goblet, and handed it to her.

“Cheers!” Birdie said, holding up the glass.

“Never mind ‘cheers',” David said, holding up his, too. “It's happiest of birthdays to our dear Birdie!”

“And many happy returns!” Remy said with a smile.

“Hear, hear!” Sailor and Piper said in unison.

Birdie sighed peacefully—she was never more content than when she had brimming stemware in her hand. It was the ultimate comfort food ... or drink, as the case might be. She held the stem between her fingers, recalling an article she'd recently read explaining that the only time you should hold the bowl of a glass was when the wine had been served too cold, because the warmth of your hand would take away the chill.

“Look at that cake!” Birdie exclaimed, eyeing the Boston cream pie on the counter. “Remy, you've outdone yourself!”

Remy nodded and watched as her sister also eyed the “Over the Hill” napkins.

“Cute,” she said wryly. “Very cute.”

Remy chuckled. “It's all I had ... unless you want ‘Fifty' or ‘Sixty' ...”

“Either of those would have been better,” Birdie said with a laugh. She still couldn't believe she was closing in on “Seventy”!

“Shall we go out on the deck?” Remy asked and then eyed David. “I hope you'll do the honors,” she added, holding up the grilling spatula.

“I'd be happy to,” David said.

They went outside and sat down around a glass table covered with snacks—chunks of sweet pineapple, cheese and crackers, shrimp cocktail, and Sailor's famous layered dip. Piper leaned forward and scooped into the dip. “I love this dip, Sailor! Every time you make it, I mean to ask you for the recipe,” she said, popping the chip in her mouth.

“It's easy,” Sailor said, nodding as she reached for a shrimp. “The bottom layer is half cream cheese, half sour cream. Then”—she paused to eat the shrimp and then kept talking—“you sprinkle it with taco seasoning, then chopped lettuce, chopped tomato, a small can of chopped black olives, a jar of salsa, and a bag of shredded Mexican cheese.”

“How much of the tomatoes and lettuce?” Remy asked, jotting it all down on a scrap of notebook paper.

“Just to cover.”

“It's so good,” Piper said, taking another scoop.

Sailor nodded. “It doesn't travel well, though. I've found it's better to wait until I get where I'm going before adding the salsa and cheese, otherwise the salsa leaks everywhere.”

Remy nodded as she wrote down this tip, and Birdie, who was watching her sister, teased, “Are you going to a party, Remy?”

Remy looked up and blushed. “Well, no . . .” She knew her sisters knew that
they
were the extent of her social life. “But you never know, I
might
get invited to a party,” she added, sounding a little wounded.

“I was just teasing,” Birdie said.

“I know,” Remy said, although her sister's words stung. “I
am
thinking of going to my class reunion, though, at the end of the month.”

“You are?!” Sailor and Piper looked up in surprise. Remy was the biggest homebody they knew, so if she was planning to venture off-Cape it was big news.

“In Vermont?” Birdie asked.

Remy nodded. “I haven't decided yet,” she added, just in case she changed her mind.

“You
should
go!” Sailor said.

“Yeah, it would be fun,” Piper added.

“Maybe,” Remy said. “I saw Dr. Sanders last week . . . because after you said he was retiring, I decided I better make an appointment, and Mary, his receptionist, said he'd just had a cancellation so I took it.”

“Did he tell you he was retiring?”

“He did,” Remy confirmed.

“Did you act surprised?” Birdie asked.

Remy nodded and David looked at Birdie with raised eyebrows.

“I didn't tell anyone . . .
else,
” she said defensively.

Sailor reassured him, “Don't worry, David. We're taking
all
of our secrets to our graves. In fact, you're lucky we let you come tonight.”

David chuckled, knowing all too well the impenetrable bond the four women—in whose presence he was blessed to be—shared.

“Anyway, we got to chatting, and I told him I was thinking of going to my reunion, and he said I should definitely go. He said he loves Vermont and looks for any excuse to go there . . . and so then . . . I jokingly told him he should be my escort.”

“You did not!” they all said in surprise.

“Well, I was only kidding, but he asked me when it was and then he checked his calendar and said if I decided to go, he'd love to take a drive up with me. Did you know he went to Dartmouth?”

“I did,” Birdie said, finding this turn of events—in light of John's comments at
her
appointment—
very
interesting.

“Yes, I've seen his degree in the office,” Sailor added.

“Well, now you should definitely go,” Piper said. “You'd have a great time! It would be so much more fun to go with someone.”

“That reminds me,” Birdie said, looking at Piper. “How come you're flying solo tonight? I thought Nat and Elias were coming.”

“They were,” Piper said, “and they said to tell you they are very sorry. But we rescued a beautiful old loggerhead this morning—she was all tangled up in buoy line and netting, and after we got her stabilized, Nat thought she should go to the aquarium, so he and Elias took her to Boston late this afternoon. They said they will make it up to you.”

Birdie nodded. “Do you often see loggerheads in the Bay?”

Piper shook her head. “No, it's pretty rare, but this one was so weighed down, the ocean swells probably pushed her off course. Two of her flippers were so badly injured she could hardly swim, and there were several scars from boat strikes on her shell—she looked like she'd been through the war.”

“Poor thing,” Remy said sadly.

Piper nodded. “If she survives and heals enough to be released, you should come watch. It's amazing to see.”

“I'd like that,” Birdie said, taking a sip of her wine. “Well, please tell Nat and Elias they are forgiven. They're good men doing a good deed, helping an old sea turtle.”

Piper nodded. “She really
is
a grand old lady.”

Remy stood up. “So, what do you think? Should we start the grill?”

“Yes,” they all said in unison.

David finished his margarita and stood to help.

“Want a refill?” Piper asked him as she reached across the table for Sailor's glass.

David considered and then shook his head. “It was good but I'm all set.”

“Party pooper,” Birdie murmured.

“I'm not a party pooper. I'm your designated driver and I probably shouldn't even have had one. The designated driver isn't supposed to have
anything
to drink.”

“Oh, please,” she muttered.

David ignored her comment and turned his attention to the grill while Sailor followed Piper inside to help Remy. “So, I have some news,” she said.

“Ooo! Do tell!” Piper said, her ears perking up.

“Well,” Sailor said, refilling all of their glasses, “Josiah texted me last week and we met for coffee. On Wednesday we went to the Ocean House for drinks and lobster rolls . . . and tomorrow we're going to P-town.”

“Wow!” Piper exclaimed. “That's moving fast.”

“When are we going to get to meet him?” Remy asked.

“
I
already met him,” Piper quipped.

Remy frowned. “You did?!”

“Yes, remember . . . I was there when he brought the Munchkins?”

“Oh, yeah,” Remy said, sounding deflated, and then her face lit up. “You should've brought him tonight!”

Sailor laughed. “He's definitely not ready to meet all of you. You'll scare him off!”

“No, we won't,” Piper said. “He'd be lucky to be included.”

Sailor handed them each a refilled glass. “Well, one of these days . . .
if
it continues. In the meantime,” she said, holding up her glass, “here's to a fun summer.”

They each took a sip and then Piper headed out to the porch with the wine bottle. “Need a refill?”

“Please,” Birdie said, holding out her glass.

C
HAPTER
26

W
hen the phone rang, Remy was stirring her steel-cut oatmeal and sipping a mug of warm water—into which she'd stirred one tablespoon of honey and one tablespoon of the elixir she'd just ordered from the Vermont Country Store,
Strength of the Hills
. She'd seen an ad for the liquid supplement in
Yankee Magazine
. . . or maybe it was
Vermont Life
—she couldn't remember which—and it had touted the elixir's wonderful health benefits. She turned the burner down, left the oats simmering, and answered it.

“Hello? Oh, hi, Dr. Sanders,” she said, her face brightening. “How are you . . . Yes, everything's fine. . . . Oh, you're so welcome.... Rhubarb's my favorite, too. I'm glad you liked it . . . I had so much rhubarb this year, I didn't know what to do with it all.... No, I haven't decided yet, but I'll definitely let you know.” She paused, frowning, and listened as he spoke. “Okay . . . Do you want me to go today?” She nodded. “That's fine . . . an ultrasound. . . one o'clock . . . drink lots of water and fast for four hours.” She looked at the clock. “I can do that.” She nodded. “Okay, I won't worry. Thank you.”

She hung up the phone and stared out the window. Not worry?! How could she
not
worry when there was blood in her urine? She remembered giving a sample when she'd had her physical—it had been no big deal and she certainly hadn't noticed any blood. She glanced at the clock—it was already eight thirty and she hadn't showered or even had breakfa—
her oatmeal!
She hurried back to the stove and picked up the spoon she'd left in the pan, but the spoon was hot and she dropped it, spattering oatmeal on the floor.

“Sugar!” she exclaimed, removing the pot from the burner and reaching for another spoon. She stirred the oatmeal—which was sticking to the bottom, so she scraped vigorously, salvaging what she could, and plopped the thick clump into a bowl. Then she turned to clean up the mess on the floor but Edison was already licking it up. “It's hot,” she warned, but the little cat was undeterred.

She looked at the clock again and quickly did the math—she had a half hour before she had to start fasting and then she had to make sure her bladder was full—which was never a problem. She sprinkled flaxseed meal and chopped walnuts onto her oatmeal and poured a little extra almond milk on top so it wasn't quite so clumpy. Then she took her supplements—fish oil and a probiotic—and wondered if it was something in her diet that was causing the problem. Maybe it was the
Strength of the Hills
—that was the newest thing she'd added. She opened the refrigerator and studied the ingredients: Vermont apple cider vinegar (made from organic apples), grape juice, apple juice, American ginseng, black cohosh—whatever that was—black walnut, chickweed, cinnamon, clove, echinacea, fenugreek—another question mark—ginger, star anise, and turmeric—which she'd read somewhere was supposed to be good for arthritis, but none of the ingredients sounded harmful.

She opened her laptop, propped it up in front of her, and as she ate her lumpy oatmeal, Googled “
black cohosh
.” It was an herb—the root of which had been used by Native Americans for medicinal purposes, namely women's health issues, so that could only be helpful. Next, she Googled “
fenugreek
” and learned it was another plant used for all kinds of ailments—from digestive issues to hardening of the arteries to kidney ailments—another positive as far as she was concerned. She looked up “
star anise
”—which, it turned out, was a star-shaped fruit from an Oriental tree, used in all kinds of medicinal teas, and extolled for a whole host of healing properties—another winner! Finally she looked up “
causes for blood in urine
” and the first possible cause that came up was urinary tract infection.
Of course!
she thought with a sigh of relief—
that's what it must be!
She probably even had some antibiotics left from her last UTI. She got up to look in the cabinet and found a bottle from three summers ago—
had it really been that long?
She opened the bottle—there were six pills left. She read the directions and popped one in her mouth—she'd fix the problem all on her own.

Already feeling better, she sat back down to finish her oatmeal. Then she started scrolling through some of the other potential causes. Dr. Sanders had assured her that it was probably nothing, but according to the Internet, there were all kinds of possibilities, and the one that stood out like a sore thumb—and made her heart pound—was bladder cancer. Maybe she shouldn't have taken that antibiotic. Maybe she should've waited, because now, she suddenly didn't feel so well.

She typed in “
side effects of ciprofloxacin
” . . . and discovered there were many—the most common of which was diarrhea, followed by a very long list of rare but other possible inconveniences—everything from change in urination to nausea, dizziness, dark stools . . . you name it! Why was she so stupid? Within ten minutes of receiving Dr. Sanders's call, she'd already taken matters into her own hands and quite possibly upset the entire apple cart. She looked down at her oatmeal. The thought of finishing it made her feel sick. She looked at the bottle again. It plainly said, “Do not take with dairy.” Almond milk wasn't a dairy . . . or was it? Maybe she hadn't finished the pills three years ago because it had bothered her stomach then, too.

She stared blindly at the screen. Someone had told her never to look up symptoms or ailments on the Internet. Whoever it was, was right!

She called the doctor's office back and asked Mary whether Dr. Sanders thought it might just be a UTI. Mary asked her to hold on and went to ask, but when she came back, she said he didn't think so because there would be other indications. Remy nodded, thanked her, and hung up. Well, that confirmed one thing—she shouldn't have taken the antibiotic. She wondered how hard it was to make yourself throw up.

She scraped the rest of her oatmeal into the garbage, poured her glass of water down the drain, scrubbed the oatmeal stuck to the bottom of the pot, and washed the rest of the dishes. As she dried her hands, she saw something moving in the corner of the window, and when she looked more closely, realized a spider was wrapping a bug with its silk—a practice Remy considered to be utterly macabre! She put her reading glasses on and tried to discern the species of bug—if it was only one of those pesky greenheads, she would look the other way . . . but if it was something else . . .

“Oh no, you don't!” she said, sweeping her hand into the web, startling the spider. She put the mummified ladybug on the counter and gently worked it free from the spider's sticky thread. Moments later, she had most of the silk off its back, but its legs were still stuck to its belly—that was the tricky part—pulling the sticky thread off without pulling off any legs. At last, she was able to get it all off, losing only one leg in the process. She gently flipped the ladybug over, and it immediately hobbled back across the counter in the direction of the window. Horrified, she scooped it up again. “Didn't you learn anything the first time?” she scolded. She carried the ladybug outside and blew on it. Off it flew into the sky—freedom! Then she went back inside, caught the spider, and put it outside, too. “You can catch all the bugs you want
outside!
” She came back in, remembered her appointment, looked at the clock, and hurried upstairs to shower.

The next three hours ticked by slowly. Foremost on Remy's mind, besides the worrisome presence of blood in her urine, was
when
she should start drinking. She didn't want to have to stop on the way to the clinic to find a bathroom—which was usually what happened. She knew the location of every public bathroom on Route 6. Her favorite restroom—although not the most convenient—was the one in the back of the Birdwatcher's General Store—it was wallpapered with funny bird cartoons; one time she'd stayed in there so long, reading them, Birdie had called through the door to see if she'd fallen in! Finally, just before leaving the house, she went to the bathroom one last time, drank a very large glass of water—at least sixteen ounces—and then filled her water bottle to drink on the way.

An hour later, she checked in to Imagery and Radiology, and after finding a seat in the waiting area, continued to sip her water. “Mrs. Landon?” a voice called and Remy looked up and gave a little wave to the stout woman holding a clipboard. “Come with me,” she said in a foreign accent that Remy couldn't quite place, but as she stood up, her nerves kicked into gear. She hated anything that was outside her usual routine, and this entire trip was light-years out of her routine. “Is your bladder full?” the technician asked.

“Yes,” Remy said.

They walked into a small, dark room and the woman directed her to lie down and unzip her pants. Remy obliged and the woman squirted warm gel on her belly. Remy took a deep breath as she felt her run a quick scan over her abdomen. “Your bladder is completely empty,” she said abruptly.

“It can't be,” Remy said in a flustered voice. “It's
always
full
and
I drank a big glass of water before I left.”

The technician shrugged as if she'd been expecting it. “I will do your kidneys. Roll to your side.”

Remy rolled and waited. There was no way her bladder was empty—that was impossible!

The technician finished taking pictures of what looked to Remy like a dark, ominous cave filled with diseased tumors and instructed her to go to the cafeteria and drink more water.

“This isn't enough?” Remy asked, holding up her water bottle.

The technician looked at the half-full bottle and shook her head dismissively.

Remy zipped her pants, walked to the cafeteria, and bought a bottle of cold water for a dollar fifty—“What a rip-off!” she muttered—and drank it as fast as she could. She went back to the waiting room, and by the time the technician came to get her a second time, she was shivering.

After more dark pictures—which also looked cancer-ridden—the technician told her to empty her bladder and come back in. Remy obeyed and two pictures later, she was set free.

On the way home—because she deserved it—Remy stopped at Sundae School in Dennis Port and treated herself. She almost ordered her usual, vanilla, but at the last second, she threw caution to the wind and ordered a large amaretto nut waffle cone.