Miracle On 5th Avenue (From Manhattan with Love 3)

“Why did you leave Puffin Island?”

“I went to college.” She added a tiny drop of truffle oil to the pasta she was making. “Grams decided it was time for her to make a change, too.”

“That was brave of her.”

“She was an amazing woman. She always looked forward, not backward, and she never doubted that she could do something. She moved to New York City after living on a rural island in Maine, and she made it her home.”

“Having been an English professor she must have enjoyed the access to culture.”

“She did. And for the first few years she had a small apartment on the Upper West Side. Being close to Central Park was her way of keeping green space in her life. We used to take picnics to the park. I loved feeding the ducks.”

“Did she miss the island?”

“I don’t think so.” Eva served the pasta and put the plates on the table. “She thought it was marvelous to be able to listen to outdoor concerts in the summer, and to be able to buy any ingredients she wanted and not rely on the one store on the island to have it in stock.”

“Did you miss it?”

“No.” She sat down opposite him. “I loved the island, but New York City was like paradise for me. The day I discovered Bloomingdale’s was the day I knew I was home. That, and the shoe floor of Saks Fifth Avenue. It’s big enough to earn its own zip code. There’s even an express elevator that takes you straight there.”

“Straight to heaven?”

“Something like that.”

“Your grandmother sounds like an extraordinary person. It’s no wonder you had a special bond.”

“She was my everything,” Eva said. “My whole world. She was the type of person who tried always to focus on what was right in her life, not what was wrong. If I looked out of the window and said ‘it’s raining, Grams’ she’d say it would be good for the plants, or that we’d be able to go out and have fun splashing in puddles. We were snowed in for half the winter once, like the rest of the island, but she never complained. She said it was the perfect weather to cozy up in the kitchen and cook. She was so—sunny.”

“She passed that on to you.”

“I used to think so, but now I’m not so sure.” She poked at her food. “Since she died, I feel more like a raincloud than sunshine. She was the most important person in the world to me and I don’t think I’m adjusting very well to being without her—” She blinked, automatically hauling her feelings back inside. “Sorry. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Do you want to talk about something else?”

No. She wanted to talk about her grandmother. She wanted to talk about her feelings. “I don’t want to moan on about my problems.”

“Because that’s what your grandmother taught you?” He studied her thoughtfully. “You’re allowed to feel down, Eva. And you’re allowed to talk about feeling down.”

“I think part of me is afraid that if I start, I won’t stop. My friends have been so good, listening to me and hugging me when I’m upset, but I know I need to sort myself out.”

“You were the one who told me there was no time frame to adjusting to loss.”

“I feel as if I’m letting Grams down. I’m trying really hard to be the way she taught me to be, but it’s hard.”

“Could it ever be anything else? After Sallyanne died I read a lot about the theory of grief, but grief is personal and in practice all you can do is keep going, day after day, and hope it gets better.”

“What do you miss most about her?”

“Sallyanne?” He put his fork down. “I don’t know. Probably her irreverent sense of humor. What do you miss most about your grandmother?”

“The feeling of being wrapped in love. The sense of security that came from knowing she loved me no matter what. Since I lost her, I feel as if I’m lying in a big cold bed and someone has ripped the covers from me. And then there are the hundreds of small things I miss. Like calling her to tell her my news, and hearing her tell me what’s been happening in the assisted living community she was in—the latest funny thing that Tom said, or how Doris left her teeth in a cup and scared the mailman. I used to go to their Christmas party. I miss that.” She reached for her wine and gave Lucas an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Self-indulgent rant over.”

“Don’t apologize. And for the record, I don’t think you’re self-indulgent. Far from it.” He helped himself to more food. “From what you’ve told me, I think you’ve been keeping too much of it to yourself. You should talk. It’s important.”

“You don’t talk.”

“I write. That’s my way of relieving tension.”

“You kill characters?”