Winter Garden

“I remember,” she said quietly.

“We have a thousand memories like that. ”

“Yes. ”

“I’ve tried to fall out of love with you, Mere. I couldn’t do it, but I thought sure as hell you had. ”

“I didn’t fall out of love with you, either. I just . . . fell. Can we start over?”

“Hell, no. I don’t want to start over. I like the middle. ”

Meredith laughed at that. She didn’t want to go back and be young again, either, not with all the uncertainties and angst. She just wanted to feel young again. And she wanted to change. “I’ll be naked more. I promise. ”

“And I’ll make you laugh more. God, I’ve missed you, Mere. Can you come home right now? I’ll warm up the bed. ”

“Almost. ” She leaned back into the sun-baked wooden bench.

For the next half hour, they talked like they used to, about anything and everything. Jeff told her he’d almost finished his novel and Meredith told him part of her mother’s story. He listened in obvious awe, offering memories that suddenly made sense, times when Mom’s behavior had seemed inexplicable. All that food, he said, and the stuff she said . . .

They talked about the girls and how they were doing in school and what the summer would be like with the house full again.

“Have you figured out what you want?” Jeff finally said. “Besides me, that is?”

“I’m working on it. I think I want to expand the gift shop. Maybe let Daisy run Belye Nochi. Or even sell it. ” She was surprised by her own words. She didn’t remember ever really thinking that before, but suddenly it made sense. “And I want to go to Russia. Leningrad. ”

“You mean St. Petersburg, but—”

“It will always be Leningrad to me. I want to see the Summer Garden and the Neva River and the Fontanka Bridge. We never really went on a honeymoon. . . . ”

He laughed. “Are you sure this is Meredith Cooper?”

“Meredith Ivanovna Cooper. That’s what my name would be in Russia. And yeah. It’s me. Can we go?”

She could hear the laughter in Jeff’s voice, and the love, when he said, “Baby, our kids are gone. We can go anywhere. ”

Twenty-four

Juneau was the epitome of the Alaskan spirit—a state capital built with no roads leading in or out. The only way to get there was by boat or air. Surrounded by towering, snow-clad mountains and tucked in between ice fields larger than some states, it was a rough-and-tumble city that clung tenaciously to its pioneer and Native roots.

If they hadn’t been on a quest—or it hadn’t been raining so hard—Nina felt sure they would have taken an excursion to see the Mendenhall Glacier. But as it was, the three of them were standing at the entrance to the Glacier View Nursing Home instead.

“Are you afraid, Mom?” Meredith asked.

“I wasn’t under the impression that he’d agreed to see me,” Mom said.

“Not precisely,” Nina said. “But sooner or later, everyone talks to me. ”

Mom actually smiled. “God knows that is true. ”

“So are you afraid?” Nina asked.

“No. I should have done this years ago. Perhaps if I had . . . No. I am not afraid of telling the story to this man who is collecting such memories. ”

“Perhaps if you had, what?” Meredith asked.

Mom turned to look at them. Her face was shadowed by the black woolen hood she wore. “I want you both to know what this trip has meant to me. ”

“Why do you sound like you’re saying good-bye?” Nina asked.