Dolly All the Time(80)
So I tell her. The Post and the boat and the sex. The way he said he’d change the world for me. The gala, the check delivered by messenger.
She’s cross-legged, facing me now. “You totally lied to me. And Mom would lose her shit over you having sex in that house. But I know that’s not the point. So then what? He must have apologized.”
“Never heard from him again. There wasn’t even a note with the check.”
“Wow,” she says. We’re quiet for a bit, and the night sky is completely black, with a single star that’s probably just an airplane.
“Yes,” I say. We sip our tea for a bit in silence. “The Niles thing hurt, but as soon as Gus was born my focus totally shifted anyway. It’s kind of felt comfortable, familiar, to be on my own for so long. But I fell for Stewart. I fell for the whole thing. And my brain is screaming at my heart to move on, but it’s like I’m addicted to thinking about him.”
“What a jerk,” she says.
I’m quiet for a beat as I wait for that phrase to ring true. “That’s the thing. He’s not. Which is why this makes no sense. He either loved me or he’s a sociopath. But he’s not a jerk. I haven’t lost anyone worth grieving since Maud. And this feels like grief.” Patsy takes my hand to comfort me, and I let her. I close my eyes and feel that solid brick of pain in my chest. “I should be in therapy,” I say.
“You should for sure,” she says. “Do you ever talk to Busy?”
“No. She sent me a sweet text about staying in touch, and I said thank you, but that was it. It’s easier not to.”
“Was there a horse?” she asks, and I smile.
“One white, one black. I got to keep neither.”
Patsy adjusts the blanket so it covers me as evenly as it covers her. I feel the weight on my legs and let her hold me.
* * *
In traffic on the drive back to Boston, I tell Gus what I’ve been thinking about since I sat on that porch with Patsy. “It was nice to be with everyone,” I say.
“Sure,” he says. He’s looking at his phone.
“I’ve been thinking about how nice it is in Whitfield in the winter. And also in the spring.” He doesn’t look up. “I want to move there full-time.”
He puts down his phone and turns to me. I have his full attention. “Really?”
“Yeah. I mean, I love our life in Boston and our place. But we could try it out. Sublet our apartment. I could take a leave of absence.”
“Would you get a teaching job in Whitfield?” he asks.
“I could try. Plus we’d be living with Pops for free, so we’d be okay for a bit.”
I can see his biggest smile out of the corner of my eye. “Or maybe you’d finally do all the things you want to do at the fish house?”
“You know how Pops feels about that. I’m sure I can substitute-teach until a job opens up. But what do you think, generally? Would you want to move?”
“Yes. A hundred percent,” he says. He starts texting furiously but is still talking. “I’m going to join the hockey team because all the lifeguard kids do that, and I’m going to work at the fish house after school and you and I are going to turn it into an empire.”
I laugh. “We’ll see what Pops has to say about that. You know I don’t want to run it the way he has it set up now.”
“I’ll handle Pops,” he says. “I’m a Brick, you’re a Brick. We’ve got to keep it going.”
Chapter 35
In December, I throw a big snowman party and introduce my students to their post-holiday teacher. She smells like gumdrops and owns multiple sweaters with kittens on them, so it isn’t a hard sell. As soon as school is out for winter break, the Bad Teachers help us pack up a U-Haul trailer, and Gus figures out how to attach it to my car. We drive the whole way with Fern secured between two pillows in the backseat. I feel good leaving Boston, the place where Stewart lives. I feel good moving back to a town that feels more mine than his, regardless of the name. Patsy comes for Christmas and she brings the roast, complete with spices and a plan for how to cook it. She enlists the help of the twins and Jeremy, and Gus and I stand back in disbelief. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen another woman cook in this kitchen. Since I wasn’t responsible for dinner, I spent Christmas Eve baking a B?che de No?l, complete with little meringue mushrooms. It was heavenly.
On New Year’s Day, Gus wakes up with a fever. I make him tea with honey and put him back to bed with some Tylenol. He sleeps all day, and in the middle of the night he is burning hot. I call my doctor in Boston and am told to go to the emergency room.
I bundle Gus up and drive the icy road to the hospital in Harvey. I leave my car at the door and walk us both to the front desk. There are so many sounds, the lady typing, someone on the overhead speaker, people being wheeled around. The only thing I can feel is Gus’s arm, hot under my hand, like he’s been sent to the fiery pit of hell. If I let go, he will fall into it forever, this is the only message my brain is receiving.
A nurse takes us back to triage and then into a room and tells us the doctor will be right in. Gus looks like he’s about to fall asleep. Like he’s slipping away. I hold his hot hand, and I pray for a quick diagnosis and an easy fix. Prayer doesn’t feel aggressive enough, so I start making deals. I ask God to send us the doctor who will know exactly what to do, the one who’s seen this a million times and has the right pill in her pocket. In return, I’ll be a better mother. In every single way. I’ll stop ruminating over everything. I’ll plant lavender even though I don’t want the bees around. I’ll bake and sew and fetch and hug and fix, and you will be so glad you let me keep him.