Good Harbor

Oh, well, at least no one has left any wreaths lately, thought Joyce, as she got down on her knees and reached for the tall grass that had grown past the statue’s knees. A moment later she was back on her heels. “Oh my God,” she whispered.

The overgrowth was a blind, hiding a heap of trinkets and coins. Joyce picked them up, one by one: six religious medallions (four Marys and two St. Christophers), a tarnished silver thimble, a collection of tricolor ribbons from St. Peter’s festival. She found a miniature china teacup and saucer, and a pile of nickels and dimes.

The soil under the coins had been turned over. With one turn of the shovel, Joyce unearthed a diamond engagement ring and a pair of pearl earrings. Oh, no, she thought. That poor woman is really crazy.

She wrapped the “offerings” in a kitchen towel and called Kathleen, who agreed to meet for a walk. “I feel a little like I robbed a grave or something,” Joyce said as they set out under a dramatic, cloud-filled sky. “But I couldn’t just leave it all there, could I?”

“You did the right thing,” Kathleen said. “It sounds like Theresa is now way past reverence for the Virgin. She’s got to be eighty. She lives just around the corner from you, with her daughter, Lena. Maybe you should call Lena.”

“I’ll do that.”

They walked on quietly for a few moments. A steady wind pushed the high cumulus clouds, blocking the sun and then revealing it. Huge shadows fell on the sand, so that Joyce and Kathleen walked through disappearing walls of warmth and light.

“Joyce, what’s going on with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You seemed sort of edgy when Hal asked about your writing.”

“Oh, that.” Joyce brushed the question away with her hand.

Kathleen waited for an answer.

“I haven’t written anything all summer. Sometimes I think I’ll never write anything again.”

“You’re just becalmed.”

“That’s a nice word,” Joyce said wistfully.

“You’ll catch a breeze. You won’t stay becalmed. Or maybe you could think of it as lying fallow.”

“That’s a less attractive image.”

“Not really. You’ve only just started digging around in your garden, but after a year you’ll get to see how flowers thrive in places that have been uncultivated. Those will be the most beautiful parts.”

“Actually, I had a thought about Magnolia while I was rooting around out there. I imagined one of her descendants living up here, planting a kitchen garden.”

“So Magnolia becomes a mother, does she?”

“I suppose she does, eventually.”

“Then you can plumb your own mother-daughter issues.”

“Oh, great,” Joyce said, shaking her head. “Part of me can’t wait for Nina to come home and another part of me is dreading the fray. Sometimes, I fantasize that she comes back as ten-year-old Nina who wants to play Monopoly with me. Sometimes, I imagine that she’ll be totally mature and my best friend. But then reality strikes and I remember that we’re only just starting the whole adolescent thing.”

“You know,” Kathleen said, “I sometimes wonder if people who see us walking on the beach think we’re mother and daughter. I don’t think of you as my daughter, not at all, though you’re young enough to be.”

“I sure don’t think of you as my mom. Mothers and daughters, huh? It’s never easy.”

“Mothers and sons are complicated, too. Hal seems angry with me these days.”

“Why?”

“I’m not entirely sure. I used to think we were close, but now I’m wondering whether the reason he moved to California was to get away from me. I suspected that he was gay,” she said, turning toward Joyce. “Did I ever tell you that? For years, I assumed that’s why he lived in San Francisco with Josh. But I was wrong. And now I feel like I don’t know him at all, and that it’s my fault.

“I knew him so well when he was a little boy, and even in high school . . . I thought I did.” Kathleen stopped. “How did I get all of this so wrong? Was I just not paying attention?”

“I have no wisdom or comfort to offer here,” Joyce said. “I feel like a total washout in the intergenerational family communication department.”