Firefly Summer (15 page)

“That sounds fun,” Sailor said sympathetically. “Who does that?”

“A urologist,” Remy said resignedly. “I'm going Monday.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Piper asked.

“No, no,” Remy said. “Don't be silly. I'm sure I can handle it.” She smiled, even though she wasn't looking forward to it.

“Did John say what causes it?” Birdie asked.

“He said kidneys can sometimes leak a trace amount of blood cells—it's common in runners and people who do a lot of lifting.”

Birdie nodded. “Well, you do a lot of walking, maybe it's that.”

“Maybe,” Remy agreed. She hadn't thought of that before, but now that Birdie said it, it probably
was
the reason! Suddenly, she felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. “It's no big deal,” she said again, reaching for her wine glass and a bit of Brie on a cracker. “Oh. My. Goodness! Sailor, this is amazing,” she said with her mouth full.

Sailor smiled. “I'm glad you like it. Now, tell us you're going to go to your reunion.”

Remy laughed. “Okay, okay, I'll go to my reunion.”

“All right!” her sisters cheered, and the dogs—who'd been lying on the porch, waiting hopefully for tidbits to hit the floor—pulled themselves up and wiggled around happily, too.

C
HAPTER
31

P
iper pulled off her running shoes, eyed the worn soles and tattered mesh tops, and decided she really needed to get new ones. She pushed them under the bench, leaned back, dripping with perspiration, and watched Chloe—lying on the cool tile floor—lapping up the last of her water. Wearily, she stood up to refill the bowl and immediately felt her socks soaking up water. “Great,” she said, shaking her head. “You should try to keep your water in your bowl,” she scolded, and Chloe thumped her tail in agreement.

“Hey, Mom,” Elias said, coming into the mudroom with his backpack over his shoulder.

“Hey,” she said. “Watch where you're walking—the floor's wet.”

“Nice,” he said, eyeing Chloe. “Did you do that?” he teased, and she thumped her tail some more—
yes, it was me
.

“Where're you heading so early?” Piper asked.

“Flying lesson.”

“Oh, right,” she said, remembering. “Do you know where Dad is?”

“Running an errand.”

“Will you be home for dinner?”

“I'm not sure. What are we having?”

“Spaghetti.”

“I'll be home,” he said with a grin.

“I knew that would work.”

He laughed. “Okay. See you later.”

“See you later. Text me when you're back on the ground.”

“I will,” he said, pushing the screen door open. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

She watched as he pulled away.

“Moving on!” she said, turning her attention back to the day. She looked at the old Seth Thomas clock hanging on the kitchen wall. “First, coffee. Then, shower.” She walked over to put a pot on and was surprised to find one already waiting. She poured a cup and hurried up the stairs to shower.

She turned the temperature to cool, peeled off her running clothes, and looked at her reflection—her face, neck, and “bib”—the area below her neck that was permanently tan and freckled from a lifetime of wearing bathing suits and tank tops
and
getting too much sun—were even redder from running. She sighed, pulled back the shower curtain, climbed in, and let the cool water cascade over her head and shoulders. She quickly washed, and as she rinsed, she remembered reading how Katharine Hepburn had loved taking ice-cold baths and swimming in the frigid Long Island Sound year-round.
Year-round! And
she'd lived to be ninety-six—there must be something to the idea of shocking the system! Piper turned the knob a little to the right and laughed as the chilly water rushed over her head, and then she braced herself and turned it all the way to the right. “Woo-hooo!” she squealed in delight.

She heard the bathroom door open, and a moment later, Nat peered around the curtain. “What the heck's going on in here?” he teased. “How come I didn't get invited to this party?”

“You're welcome to join,” Piper said, laughing, “
if
you can handle the temperature!”

Nat put his hand under the icy stream of water and shook his head. “Ha!”

“Chicken!” she teased.

“I'm not chicken,” he said, pulling off his T-shirt and dropping his shorts and boxers in a heap onto the floor. A moment later, he was shaking his wet head and pulling her against him.

“I was wrong.
You
are very brave,” she said, laughing and feeling how aroused he was. He kissed her neck, and as she leaned back against the wall, he slid his hands down her back and they both watched as he teased her.

“Mmm,” she murmured. “I'm going to start taking cold showers every day.”

“Mmm, me too,” he said, grinning.

They heard footsteps followed by clicking paws coming up the stairs, and in alarm, stopped talking. “I forgot my headset,” Elias called.

“Okay,” Piper called back, trying to sound normal. “Be careful!”

“I will,” Elias said.

They heard him tromp back down the stairs and Nat smiled and pulled her closer, but a moment later, they heard paws clicking across the bathroom floor, and a moment later, a furry head pushed its way around the curtain and peered at them.

Piper laughed. “You stay out there!”

C
HAPTER
32

S
ailor sat down at her drawing table, switched on the light, and realized she hadn't replaced the fluorescent bulb yet. So much for working under pure light, she thought, scratching the poison ivy that still lingered between her fingers. She leafed through the sketches for her children's book, which had been sitting in a pile for three weeks, waiting for attention, and although she was anxious to have everything approved so she could start painting—she'd feel better once she had a paintbrush in her hand—she just couldn't seem to focus. Plus, she hadn't given any thought to the release of her new children's book—which was in just a couple of weeks! In fact, the only book signing she'd set up was at a bookstore in Chatham over the Fourth of July weekend. She hated when she had to shift gears to promote a book when she was in the middle of working on a new one. The two activities were as far apart as day and night—as was the required mind-set!

Frank's attorney had been in touch with hers that morning, and she'd learned that he'd begun making arrangements to put their house on the market—which meant he didn't want it, either. It was a shame they'd be selling when the housing market was still in the tank—they'd probably take a big hit. She also learned that their official divorce papers were being drawn up, and although she'd tried really hard to get out of it, her lawyer had pressed her for a meeting to work out the details of dividing up their assets. He'd actually used the word
imperative
.

With a sigh, she opened her laptop, checked her e-mail and the news—which was as gloomy as ever—and then clicked on her Facebook page. She hadn't been on since before Birdie's birthday and she wondered how many other birthdays she'd missed. Oh well, her close friends—who knew her life had been turned upside down—would understand.

In the beginning, when Facebook had been all the rage and her friends had constantly sent her invitations, she'd been reluctant to join. People didn't need to know her business, and she didn't know what she'd post anyway. But finally, at the prodding of her publisher, she'd set up a fan page for her children's books and was unexpectedly surprised by the number of people who “liked” it. Later, she discovered that her fan page didn't allow her to see or “like” other people's posts, so she set up a personal page, too, and for the first six months, she'd been addicted! When did she get to be such a busybody? Finally, a friend told her about
SelfControl,
an app for people (like her) who didn't have self-control; they could use it to block their own Internet access. You just logged in, set the amount of time you wanted to block, and then focused on your work. Of course, if you started to go through withdrawal, you could always go back and change the time. Sailor had found the app an indispensible tool in getting work done, and she also found it helped her gradually wean herself off the social media site—a feat she felt oddly proud to have achieved.

Now, as she scrolled through her friends' posts, watched some cute pet videos, and scrolled past a ridiculous number of political posts—no surprise, since it was the heat of the election season—she began to feel like she was wasting precious time, so she clicked off, closed her laptop, and then closed her eyes. She was already dreading going into Boston, especially on a Friday—traffic would be miserable, not to mention it was her turn to host girls' night and she wouldn't have any time to get ready. On top of that, the thought of sitting down across from Frank made her hands shake. She'd need a double dose of Prozac just to get herself there. She opened her eyes and looked down at the box of photographs still sitting on the floor.

Everything was
waiting
—the pictures were waiting, her book was waiting, Josiah was waiting for her to call back—and now, her divorce papers were waiting, and she didn't feel like dealing with any of it. She felt like she was in limbo—unable to function or accomplish anything. She'd moved to the Cape with so much gusto, and now she felt as if she'd lost all her steam.

She went into the kitchen, refilled her coffee cup, found a hammer and the bag of picture hangers she'd purchased the day before, and walked down the hall. She clicked on her old radio—the one she'd had since college—and heard Cat Stevens's unmistakable voice singing “Trouble.” She smiled and started to sing along softly, remembering the famous scene from the classic film
Harold and Maude
—the one in which Harold, after learning of Maude's death, drives his Jaguar—which he's converted into a hearse—up a mountain road and off a cliff. In shock, moviegoers think that Harold—devastated by loss—has committed suicide, but a moment later, they see him standing on the edge of the cliff, playing the banjo Maude had given him. From loving Maude, Harold learned that life is too precious to waste, and because Maude charged him with going out and loving again, that was what he would do.

Sailor sighed. How many times in her life had she felt like Harold? Too many to count, she was sure, but as she laid the pictures across the floor, she knew Maude was right. Life was too precious to waste, and she, too, would find someone to love again. Just, maybe, not so soon. Maybe the fact that she'd started seeing Josiah before the ink was even scrawled across her divorce papers—never mind dry—combined with everything else that was going on, had taken the wind out of her sails. Maybe her divorce bothered her more than she realized. After all, how could you be married to someone for thirty years and not be a little upset when it ended? “Ah,
trouble,
” she murmured with a sad smile.

She gazed at the photos, trying to decide the best way to hang them. Finally, she determined it would be easiest to start in the center and work out. She picked up a photograph—one in which they all looked like they were in their late thirties—all except Piper, who never aged, and who, in the picture, was wearing a Red Sox cap. Funny, she'd never noticed her wearing that cap before. As she gazed at it, another photo—one of a much smaller Red Sox cap that had washed up on Nauset Light Beach—filled her mind. The photo had been in the newspaper after Easton had gone missing. The heartbreaking headline had read:

 

EIGHT-YEAR-OLD EASTHAM BOY STILL MISSING—FEARED LOST

 

Sailor had found several copies of the clipping in her mom's Bible and she'd slipped one out and tucked it away, and although it had been years since she'd seen it, she could still picture it. Tragically, two days after that headline was in the paper, the owner of the Beachcomber Inn had found a young boy's body washed up on Cahoon Hollow Beach—eight miles from where they'd been hiking.

Finding Easton's body had been both a blessing and a curse. It had given her family closure and a body to bury, but it had also made her brother's death
real
. Their sweet, fun-loving brother was never coming back. He would never again make them laugh or lift their spirits with his winsome smile. He would never again make their family whole.

Sailor found the center of the wall, tapped a nail through a hook, hung the picture, and stepped back. She reached for her coffee, took a sip, picked another picture, tapped in a nail, and hung a second picture beside it. As she hung each picture, she thought about where they'd been in their lives at the time, and as she continued to work, she began to feel the easy satisfaction of accomplishing something. Surely, she'd once again feel—as her father used to say—fair winds and a following sea. She just had to get through Friday—even if it took a double dose of Prozac!

She hung the last photo and stepped back. The pictures, hanging side by side, were an amazing collection. They belonged in an art show! She'd always had an eye for composition, but when she'd hung the last photo, she realized one spot looked a little empty. She sighed—she'd have to fix it later, because right now she was hungry!

She reached for her empty coffee cup, turned up the radio so she could hear it in the kitchen, and headed down the hall to see what there was for lunch. She filled her cup with sudsy water, turned off the tap, and heard Frank Sinatra's voice drifting down the hall. She leaned against the counter, picturing her parents dancing around the living room to “Summer Wind.” The kids had stood watching and giggling as their handsome dad had swept their mom off her feet; even seven-year-old Easton had pulled five-year-old Piper out onto the middle of the rug, too. She smiled wistfully, remembering. Then she shook her head. After Easton died, they never saw their parents dance again, and suddenly, it dawned on her why there seemed to be an empty space on the wall of pictures.