Good Harbor

When they arrived at the beach, Hal and Kathleen leaned on the hood of the car and shared the view until Joyce arrived.

“Here he is,” Kathleen said triumphantly.

Kathleen watched as Hal and Joyce exchanged hellos and sized each other up. Then Hal kissed his mother on the cheek, made a formal little bow to Joyce, and left.

“Wow,” Joyce said. “He’s a hunk.”

“Isn’t he, though?” Kathleen threaded her arm through Joyce’s. The sand burned the soles of their bare feet, so they rushed toward the water’s edge.

“I have so much to tell you,” Kathleen said, and described Hal’s arrival, what seemed like a flirtation with the rabbi before her very eyes, his announcement about moving East. She let it spill right out . . . like a pile of blessings, she thought, and stopped in mid-sentence.

Suddenly she was aware of the heat rising from the sand, the heaviness in the air, the sweat trickling down from under her hat-band, the thumping in her chest. The panic from the car had followed her, even here.

“I think I need to go back.”

“Sure,” Joyce said, alarmed at the change in Kathleen’s voice and posture. “It’s way too hot out here.”

“WILL YOU MISS US?” Rachel asked as Kathleen got up from the table.

“You’re going to have to let me know about the baby,” Kathleen said.

“You’re already on the mailing list,” Rachel said, patting her belly, which now pushed against the buttons of her blue smock.

Buddy reached over for Kathleen’s hand as they crossed the bridge on their way home. “Last Friday,” he said.

“What?”

“This is our last Friday. Next week you can start sleeping in.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she said, thinking only that next week she wouldn’t have to ride over the damn bridge twice a day.

At the house, Hal relayed phone messages from Brigid, who was mailing something to Kathleen, and from Michelle, who had told him about the temple library project.

“I’m planning to go to services tonight, Mom. Want to come?”

Kathleen said she was too tired. “Next week. I’ll be done with radiation then.”

Hal looked disappointed but didn’t insist.

Joyce called a little later and announced that it was too hot for an afternoon walk, but that she was coming over for a visit. She arrived at two with a paper bag from which she produced a dozen limes, a bottle of tequila, and margarita mix. “Take me to your blender,” she said.

As they sat in the den with the blinds drawn against the heat, Hal regaled them with San Francisco stories. Slightly tipsy, Kathleen put her feet up on the couch and listened as her friend and her son engaged in a spirited conversation about movies she’d never seen and pop music she’d never heard. She beamed at the sight of Joyce being charmed by her charming son, and at Hal, impressed by her wisecracking friend.

But when Hal asked Joyce about her work, Kathleen heard Joyce’s voice go up a tone and saw her smile turn tight and artificial. I don’t ask enough about what’s going on with Joyce, Kathleen thought. Joyce was taking good care of her, but she wasn’t returning the kindness.

Kathleen dozed off. Waking up in the darkened room, she realized that she was only a little embarrassed; if she had fallen asleep like that in front of anyone but Joyce, she’d be mortified for life.

It was past six. Joyce was long gone and Hal had set the dining room table with the Sabbath candlesticks and wine cup.

Standing by the table, Kathleen realized she was deeply touched by Hal’s new interest in his Jewishness. Not that she could say why. Religion had never been central to her life, not in an obvious way. And yet she was moved at the sight of Hal carrying a challah and wearing a crocheted blue yarmulke. He’d bought the challah at the supermarket, along with a roast chicken and salad. “My brother would shudder,” Hal said, pointing at the ready-made feast.

“Your grandparents would be tickled,” Kathleen said.

As she lit the candles, she remembered how she’d done the same thing two months before, when she’d found out that the cancer wasn’t going to kill her. She stared at the flames.

“Mom?”

“I’m okay,” she said, wondering whether he would disapprove of her Hebrew pronunciation, now that he’d gotten so religious. But he smiled as she recited the prayer, then hugged her tight. “Shabbat shalom,” he said, hugging Buddy next.