Page 36 of Starry Tides
Bethany tried to sit up in bed, but Rod reached for her and gently, gently laid her back down.
“I don’t want you to get worked up about this,” he said softly. “Close your eyes. Breathe. Can we talk about this tomorrow?”
Bethany said they could, she supposed. But what she was thinking was that Helena didn’t have very long left. Who was going to talk about her health if not Bethany?
The Saturday before school began,Bethany, Rod, Maddie, Tommy, and Phoebe went to the Sutton Book Club to eat dinner and hang out with the rest of the Suttons. Bethany’s father, holding down a large table next to his adopted son, Kade, looked formidable and intellectual until he smiled widely and stood to embrace Bethany’s family. He always seemed more of a bear than he was. Bethany hugged him, then sat gingerly, maintaining her smile. Kade raised a hand to say hello, then burrowed into a book by Dostoyevsky. It wasn’t exactly a light read.
“Good to see you slowing down a little bit, Bethy,” Victor said. “You were always too fast and furious.”
“Ha,” Bethany said.
“No, but seriously,” her father said. “We want you to be healthy. We want you to be all right.”
Bethany felt the intensity of the moment, then lowered her head when it felt too extreme. After not knowing her father for so many years, sometimes his love could feel like too much. She knew this was a trauma-hangover, something she needed to shake.
Soon after, Valerie was there with her baby and her husband, Alex. Alex came over to shake Rod’s hand and ask him a question about sailing, leaving Valerie to sit with Bethany and gush about Helena’s paintings.
“Look at how perfectly it suits the room,” she said, pointing out the framed painting that she and Rebecca had selected for the dining room.
Bethany had by then looked through Helena’s paintings online. But to see one in person was an entirely different experience. It was bold and extravagant and free. It spoke of a woman who was uninhibited and not done with being alive just yet. She smiled, knowing that this was one of the things that hadbrought Helena back to life. You could feel it in each swirl of paint.
Maddie, Tommy, and Phoebe were downstairs, flipping through some of the books their grandmother kept in the library section. Soon, they appeared with stacks of novels they seemed sure they would read before school started, as though they wouldn’t want to spend that time with their friends. Esme seemed terribly pleased. She told them what she liked about each novel and how magical their time with the stories would be.
Their grandmother had become like a book fairy to them over the years in Nantucket. Bethany felt a sudden, wonderful expectation for the books her mother would give her baby. She imagined Esme, selecting story after story as her child grew bigger. She imagined Esme teaching her child how to appreciate the wonders of the world through fiction.
It filled her heart.
That night’s dinner was lamb with spiced mashed peas and a decadent sauce. It wasn’t a traditional New England meal, and that’s what made it special. All around her, Bethany heard diners gushing about Rebecca’s incredible prowess in the kitchen. When Rebecca came out to say hello to the rest of the Sutton family, a glass of wine in her hand, numerous diners reached for her, wanting to say a word of congratulations and demand answers about how she’d made her sauce.
“Don’t get up, Bethany,” Rebecca said when she drew near, dropping down to hug Bethany in her chair.
Bethany rolled her eyes. “I am sick of being coddled!”
“Let yourself be coddled!” Rebecca said. “Maybe you can find a way to enjoy it?”
Across the table, Esme nodded her head furiously. “I remember after Larry died,” she said, her voice low so that Victor didn’t hear. “I went to San Francisco and lay around on Valerie’s sofa and did very little with my time. They werethe least constructive days of my life. And for the first time, I realized—maybe I don’t need to be productive all the time?”
The words struck Bethany as bizarre yet poetic, beautiful. Maybe a life well-lived wasn’t one of incredible productivity. Maybe it was one of love, of rest, of eating and sleeping and laughing.
Maybe she still had more to learn, and therefore more to teach her children, both the teenage ones and the one on the way.
20
It was the end of September, and already the weather had changed, dropping the nights into the mid-fifties. Helena woke up early, wrapped herself in sweaters and blankets, and went onto the patio to watch the pink light over the rolling ocean. At ten, she was meant to meet Matteo for a full day of sailing, after which they planned to grab burgers and maybe, maybe, wind up here.
Since they’d begun their dating adventures, Helena hadn’t once invited Matteo back to her place. They’d gone out sailing; they’d eaten dinner; they’d gone for walks. But each night, long before midnight, they’d kissed goodbye and gone their separate ways. Although Matteo was probably curious as to why they weren’t taking their relationship to the next level, he never asked her what was going on. He never made her think that she was anything but perfect.
Helena took a handful of liver-enlivening medications, then took a shower and drove the ten minutes to the harbor to meet Matteo. Already, he was preparing the sailboat for her arrival. The fridge was stocked with their favorite stinky cheeses and fresh fruits. There was a baguette from the French bakery andfish sandwiches for later, when they got especially ravenous. When he kissed her, Helena closed her eyes and thought,This is the best day of my life. What did I do to deserve this?
Out on the water, Helena and Matteo alternated between playful banter and wonderful silence, the kind of quiet you could only share with someone you were falling in love with. But Helena couldn’t possibly tell him that she was falling for him. She still hadn’t gotten around to telling him that she was dying, for goodness’ sake. Love felt besides the point. But it was also the full point, hilariously enough. What was she going to do?
“You good over there?” Matteo asked, frowning. He’d seen all those emotions crawl over her face.
“I’m great,” she said, fixing her face. “Maybe I’m just hungry.”
Matteo dropped the anchor near one of their favorite beaches. Even just a week ago, Helena might have swum in the water, but today, although it was sunny, there was a nip to the air that kept her aboard. She unpeeled the foil from the sandwiches and set them out on plates, while Matteo poured her a glass of nonalcoholic wine. He’d brought a beer for himself, just the one. Oh, she loved the way he looked when he drank beer like that, his eyes to the horizon. Oh, she loved him.
Again, what was she going to do?
