Good Harbor

“I hope it won’t come to that.” Frank looked so pathetically grateful that Joyce had to turn away. She got up, emptied a box of spaghetti in the boiling water, and stirred, keeping her back to Frank. He wants me to forgive him?

I’m risking my whole life — Nina’s life, Frank’s life — for a roll in the hay with a man I barely know? What do I know about Patrick after all? That I love the way he smells? That I love the way he doesn’t stop kissing me until I’m on the moon?

Is it really just about sex? God, I am such an asshole. Besides, it’s over. He hasn’t called in a week.

They ate dinner without saying much. “I’ll wash the dishes,” Joyce said and watched through the kitchen window as Frank walked around the yard.

Maybe I’ll go down to Belmont for a few days, Joyce thought. I should call Mario. I should get back to work.

What am I waiting here for anyway? Patrick isn’t calling. And the next time he does, I’ll tell him it’s over. That’s what I’m going to do. If he ever calls me again.

KATHLEEN PUT ON the old pants she wore for gardening and said good-bye. Buddy offered to come back after he dropped Jack at the train. She told him no. “Joyce is coming by,” she said, and waved them off.

Kathleen hung up after Joyce’s phone call and sat at the kitchen table as the coffee cup cooled between her hands.

Finally, she stood up and walked into the den. She pulled out the one album with all the photographs of Danny and leafed through it, as she did every year, page after page, remembering the way he waddled, the way the little toe on his right foot turned in, his giggle, his passion for mashed peas.

Kathleen remembered the smell of his hair when it was wet. The way he twisted his hands, like a Balinese dancer, whenever he was excited or tired.

She began to weep and closed the book, taking her tears down to the basement, to the laundry room, where she lay down on the cold cement floor, letting herself fall all the way down to the bottom of her grief.

She cried, loud and hard, until she had no tears left, until her back ached and her bones were chilled. Then she went upstairs and took the coldest shower she could bear. Wrapped in a towel, she sat on the edge of the tub, her limbs heavy, her head throbbing.

An involuntary shudder took her to her feet.

She went back to the den, to the desk, to the check register, to see that Buddy had performed his annual ritual, too: $100 to the Sisters of Saint Joseph Retirement Fund, for Pat; $100 to the Jewish National Fund, for Mae and Irv; $500 to the Daniel Levine Memorial Fund, so that no one should ever have to buy a coffin for his own little child. She found a few more tears.

Buddy came home at four, with daisies. They walked around the block, holding hands. After a dinner made from Jack’s copious leftovers, they sat on the deck and talked about their sons: Was Jack just sparing their feelings with that story about him and Lois? Would Jack make a good enough living to afford a decent apartment in Boston, now that rents were so high?

They tried to guess what Hal was up to. Was he looking for a job? Were they way off-track about his interest in the rabbi; they’d been plenty wrong before. Maybe he had a girlfriend in the city.

“I hope he finds something to keep him nearby,” Kathleen said. “I don’t suppose he’d actually live up around here.”

“Why not?” Buddy said. “It’s a great place to live.”

They fell silent and Kathleen felt Danny’s memory settle over her again. She closed her eyes and remembered the day Buddy had taken him for his first haircut. She thought the barber had cut it too short, and they had quarreled.

Buddy took her hand in the gathering darkness and cleared his throat.

“Are you catching cold?”

“No,” he said, blowing his nose. “I’m okay. And you?”

“I’m okay, too.”

ON FRIDAY MORNING, Hal and Jack returned with a carful of groceries. As Jack ferried bags into the house, Hal presented Kathleen with a small brown package: “This is from both of us.”

She unwrapped a signed, first edition of Sendak’s In the Night Kitchen. “Hally, it’s wonderful. But what’s the occasion?”

“Occasion? Let’s see. How about the end of your treatment? How about, oh, I don’t know, the beginning of my course as a paramedic at Northeastern? How about me checking out the MCATs schedule? Is that enough to celebrate?”

“Oh, my,” she whispered, holding the book to her chest. “I’m so glad. I can’t believe you’re both going to be close to home again.”

“Leave it to Jack to steal my thunder and do it the same month.”

“Oh, Hal.”

He put his arm around her. “Just kidding. And I’m sorry I was gone so much this week.”