Winter Garden

“It’s about time,” Nina said, smiling. “I’m tired of being the only screw-up in this family. ”

“I love Jeff,” Meredith said, feeling both miserable and elated.

“Of course you do,” Mom said.

Meredith turned to them. “What if it’s too late?”

Mom smiled, and Meredith was struck by both the beauty and the newness of the face she’d studied for decades. “I am eighty-one years old, telling my life story to my daughters. Every year, I thought it was too late to start, that I’d waited too long. But Nina here won’t take no for an answer. ”

“Finally. Being a selfish bitch pays off. ” Nina reached into her camera bag and pulled out a clunky cell phone, flipping it open. “Call him. ”

“Oh. We’re having fun. It can wait. ”

“No,” Mom said sharply. “Never wait. ”

“What if—”

Mom laid a hand on her forearm. “Look at me, Meredith. I am what fear makes of a woman. Do you want to end up like me?”

Meredith slowly reached out and removed her mother’s sunglasses. Staring into the aqua-blue eyes that had always mesmerized her, Meredith smiled. “You know what, Mom? I’d be proud to have your strength. What you’ve been through—and we don’t know the worst of it, I think—it would have killed an ordinary woman. Only someone extraordinary could have survived. So, yeah, I do want to end up like you. ”

Mom swallowed hard.

“But I don’t want to be afraid. You’re right about that. So give me that damn cell phone, Neener Beaner. I’ve got an overdue call to make. ”

“We’ll meet you on the boat,” Nina said.

“Where?”

Mom actually laughed. “The bar, of course. The one with the view. ”

Meredith watched her sister and mother walk down the sidewalk, away from her. Although the wind was blowing slightly, tapping a seashell chime in the eaves beside her, and somewhere a boat honked its horn, she couldn’t hear anything except the lingering echo of her mother’s laughter. It was a sound she’d keep forever, and pull out whenever she stopped believing in miracles.

She crossed the street, stopping traffic with a smile and an outheld palm. Passing the family still taking pictures of each other, she went to a small wooden bench that read: IN MEMORY OF MYRNA, WHO LOVED THIS VIEW.

She sat down on Myrna’s bench and stared out at the gaggle of fishing and pleasure boats in the marina below. Masts cocked and swayed with every invisible movement of the water. Seabirds cawed out to tourists and dove for golden fries.

She glanced at her watch, calculated Jeff’s schedule, and dialed his number.

It rang so many times she almost gave up.

Then, finally, he answered, sounding out of breath. “Hello?”

“Jeff?” she said, feeling tears rise up. It was all she could do to hold them back. “It’s me. ”

“Meredith . . . ”

She couldn’t quite pinpoint the emotion in his voice, and that bothered her. Once, she’d known every nuance. “I’m in Sitka,” she said, stalling.

“Is it as beautiful as they say?”

“No,” she decided. She wasn’t going to be afraid and she wasn’t going to waste time on the kind of facile conversations that had gotten her into this mess. “I mean yes, it is beautiful here, but I don’t want to talk about that. I don’t want to talk about our daughters, either, or our jobs, or my mom. I want to say I’m sorry, Jeff. You asked me if I loved you, and I hit the brakes. I’m still not sure why. But I was wrong and stupid. I do love you. I love you and I miss you and I hope to hell I’m not too late because I want to grow old with the man I was young with. With you. ” She drew in a sharp breath. It felt as if she’d been talking forever, spewing really, and now it was up to him. Had she hurt him too much? Waited too long? When the silence went on—she could hear a squeaky spring as he sat down on a bad sofa, and then his sigh—she said, “Say something. ”

“December 1974. ”

“What?”

“I was in line at the CUB. Karie Dovre elbowed me and when I looked over, I saw you standing by the tetherball. You’d been avoiding me, remember? After the Christmas play? You wouldn’t even look at me for two years. I tried lots of times to walk up to you, but I always lost my nerve at the last second. Until that day in December. It was snowing, and you were standing there, all by yourself, shivering. And before I could talk myself out of it, I walked over to you. Karie was yelling that I’d lose my place in the food line, but I didn’t care. When you looked up at me, I remember how hard it was to breathe. I thought you’d run away, but you didn’t, and I said, ‘Do you like banana splits?’ ” He laughed. “What an idiot. It was probably twenty-five degrees outside and I ask about ice cream. But you said yes. ”