Good Harbor (11 page)

Glancing out to check the tidiness of the deck, she noticed
Magnolia’s Heart
on the chair. Forgive me, Joyce, she thought as she hid it under a stack of magazines.
I suppose I’m hopelessly conventional, but I really don’t want the rabbi to think
of me as a randy old lady.

The doorbell rang a moment later.

“See? I really am right in the neighborhood,” Michelle said, taking both of Kathleen’s
hands in hers. She wore a long khaki shift and stylish black sandals that showed off
crimson toenails. “I didn’t realize that you were the one with the incredible rock
garden.”

Kathleen led her through the house — a thirty-year-old split-level, furnished with
big, comfortable chairs and local antiques. The rabbi slowed down to look at the family
photographs that covered the hallway walls, but Kathleen moved ahead, eager to show
off the beautiful part of her home. The kitchen sliders led onto a relatively new
redwood deck that overlooked the steep yard. Flowers bloomed around the granite boulders,
jutting up at odd angles on the hill.

“This is spectacular,” Michelle said. “And the rocks are like sculptures, aren’t they?
What’s that deep blue flower over there?”

“Lobelia.”

“And the yellow?”

“Alyssum. But you have to come see it once the rest of the lilies are blooming. The
whole place comes to life.”

“No vegetables?”

“A few tomato plants, a little basil and parsley.” Kathleen led the rabbi back toward
the table, set with iced tea and cookies.

“I didn’t mean for you to go to any trouble.”

“No trouble.” Kathleen felt her cancer take one of the empty chairs. She hated the
way her mind worked these days.

“Ah,” said the rabbi after taking a long drink. “That’s perfect. What did you put
in here? Mint?”

Kathleen nodded. “I grow my own. Though actually, mint grows itself.”

“Nice.” After another sip, Michelle put down her glass, took a breath, and leaned
forward. “But I have to confess to an ulterior motive in visiting.”

“What is that, Rabbi?” said Kathleen, smiling at how lightly the title sat upon this
young-enough-to-be-her-daughter woman.

“It’s the library in the temple.”

Kathleen frowned. “But there is no library in the temple.”

“Exactly. It’s a shame, don’t you think?”

“Well, yes. We tried to get one going but, oh, that was a long time ago.”

“I know. I was reading through old board minutes; you were on that subcommittee.”

“You’re reading minutes from the early seventies? That must be pretty dull.”

“You’d be amazed how much history you can pick up from them, and from the old temple
bulletins. I’m the new kid in town. I have lots to learn.”

Kathleen wondered if this was the rabbi’s way of telling her that she knew about Danny.
It was so strange to meet people, to know them for years even, without their having
a clue about the death of her second child. She never spoke of him. Not even to Buddy
— especially not to Buddy, who couldn’t bear to hear Danny’s name.

She thought about Danny every day. In the garden. On the beach. At school, when one
of the kindergartners giggled in the same key. Did Buddy think of him like that, or
was it just a mother thing?

Michelle Hertz let the silence last for a moment, gazing at the potted flowers on
the deck. “By the way, I did say that prayer for you.

“I only used your Hebrew name; that’s also in the records. Rabbi Flacks saved everything.
With your permission, I’ll keep saying it through the summer.”

Kathleen looked at her glass.

“I know I’m young,” said Michelle gently, “but I am no stranger to illness. Let me
know if I can help or if there’s something the congregation can do. And I mean anything
from dropping off food to driving you to appointments, to just coming over to say
hi. Okay?”

“It’s nice of you. But from what I hear, the radiation isn’t too debilitating. That’s
all I have to endure right now.”

“Well, whatever you need, we’re here for you.” Michelle took a cookie, broke it in
half, put it down again. “And if you feel up to it, I want to ask you to help me make
a library for the temple.”

Kathleen was startled. She shook her head, starting to make her excuses, but the rabbi
spoke first. “I just received a donation of five thousand dollars specifically for
the library. That’s a lot of money for a collection that, as of today, includes about
one hundred mostly outdated books with broken spines and torn pages. I’d like to make
a big announcement about it, call the newspaper, the whole schmear. But I don’t want
to do that until I have a committee in place. Since you’re the only professional librarian
in the congregation, you’re the natural choice.”

Kathleen pressed her lips together and tried not to look annoyed.

“You would be the official chair, but there would be no meetings, I promise, and no
heavy lifting, of course. I have a bunch of young moms who volunteered to do shelving
and carding and stuff like that. There are a couple of contractors in the temple who’ve
agreed to build new bookcases. I need help on the children’s section. I can suggest
plenty of titles for the adult collection, but I know almost nothing about children’s
books. Someday I hope to” — Michelle shrugged — “but not yet.

“I know there are loads of new Jewish books for kids, and I’d like to make sure we’d
be getting the best. The donor actually stipulated one-quarter of the gift for the
children’s section. So what do you say?”

Kathleen was put out. Here she thought she was getting a nice pastoral visit from
the rabbi, when she was actually being recruited for a fairly big job. She knew nothing
about Jewish books for children, though, of course, she could learn, and she did know
quality.

Kathleen realized she was also flattered. “It’s kind of you to think of me. I’m just
not sure I’m going to be up to it.”

The rabbi put her hand on Kathleen’s arm and said softly, “I went through this with
my mother. And while I don’t presume to know what it’s going to be like for you, my
bet is that you’ll be able to do some reading. All I’m really asking is for you to
go through what we’ve got and help with a list of titles. I’ll find you some catalogs,
and you could check out the Web, maybe visit a bookstore, or one of the big temple
libraries. I can even ask someone to drive, if you like.

“I really need this to happen. I’m trying to revive the religious school, and there’s
talk of starting a preschool. But we don’t have a single children’s book published
after 1975.”

“That’s terrible,” Kathleen said, professionally offended. “No one’s bought anything
since then?”

“If they did, the books are long gone.” Michelle glanced at the kitchen clock. “But
I’ve got to get going. I don’t want to be late for my first Cape Ann Interfaith Clergy
meeting. Jim Sherry told me there’d be a good turnout. Seems everyone wants to meet
the first lady rabbi on the North Shore. Cool, huh?”

Kathleen walked her to the door and thanked her for coming.

“I’m not letting you off the hook,” the rabbi said. “I really do need your help. More
to the point, the temple needs your help. Please say you’ll think about it.”

“I’ll think about it,” said Kathleen, smiling at the hard sell.

“Good-bye,” said the rabbi.

“See you,” said Kathleen.

“God willing.”

“God willing?”Kathleen repeated softly, closing the door. What an awful thing to say.
It makes me feel doomed, she thought, heading back to the kitchen. The meadow of Sweet
Williams on the deck flashed into sight. Doomed or blessed. Either way, the rabbi
was right. It was out of her hands.

JOYCE FELT AS IF
she’d wasted the first half of June in the car driving to and from soccer practices,
and soccer games, and soccer dinners.

Nina’s team had led their division all year and was now in the play-offs, and Nina
was a big part of their success. She was a great ball handler, a generous teammate,
and an apparently fearless player who inspired the other girls. Joyce was in awe of
her daughter’s athletic ability; Frank had to be the source of those genes, just as
he was the source of her long toes and shell-like, little ears.

Joyce went to the games because Nina wanted her there, especially now that each match
mattered so much. And Joyce was glad to be there, especially for the time-outs and
pauses in the action, when Nina sought her eye. Those moments recalled the days when
her daughter would shout, “Look at me, Mommy,” in the pool or on her bicycle or swinging
upside down on the monkey bars. “Mommy, look at me.”

By now, Joyce understood the language and basic strategy of the game; even so, soccer
bored her silly. She tried to distract herself by watching the crowds, but the other
parents were too predictable: white of skin, khaki of pant, never an amusing T-shirt
in the bunch. And unlike her, they seemed genuinely interested in what was happening
on the field.

“From the outside, I may look like a soccer mom,” she confessed to Kathleen on the
phone one night after a game. “But on the inside, all I want is for my kid to pick
up a book and read of her own free will. Don’t get me wrong, I’m really proud of Nina.
But I do envy the parents of kids who are into chess or dance or theater. I’d rather
watch sixteen performances of
Annie
than sixteen soccer games. Although I’m sure that gets old.”

Kathleen looked forward to Joyce’s calls and stories. Her own days dragged, hour to
hour. “All this waiting is doing me in,” she said. “First, there was the waiting for
the lab report, then waiting for the incision to heal, and for school to end, and
for treatment to start. I can hardly sit still long enough to read the newspaper.
My garden is keeping me sane, though. If I didn’t have to weed and water, I’d jump
off the A. Piatt Andrew Bridge.”

“Oh, you can’t do that,” Joyce scolded. “You promised to take me out to Salt Island.”
She loved hearing how Kathleen’s voice grew lighter during their conversations.

When Kathleen began the radiation treatments, Joyce mailed her a rusted toy metal
ray gun she found at a thrift store. Kathleen sent back a note on a postcard from
Three Mile Island. Whenever they spoke, Joyce found a new use for the word
zap
, and Kathleen laughed every time.

Nina’s last day of school was followed by the make-or-break soccer match of the year.
Belmont was playing Newton, which had won the past three state championships. Joyce
and Frank stood, shoulder to shoulder, cheering as Nina took the field. They high-fived
each other and hooted when she assisted on the first goal.

That turned out to be Belmont’s solitary score. “Let’s go, Nina,” Frank shouted between
cupped hands. “Go, Belmont,” he yelled until he was hoarse, but Newton racked up one
goal after another. Joyce felt her neck and shoulders get tighter and tighter. Finally,
mercifully, it was over.

On the way home, Nina asked Joyce to sit in the backseat and sobbed on her shoulder.
Joyce stroked Nina’s hair silently, remembering the days when she really could “make
it all better” for her daughter. But what could she say now that wasn’t totally stupid?
You had a good season? You’ll win next year?

At home, Nina shook her mother off, shut her door, and cried to her teammates on the
phone. Joyce and Frank sat at the kitchen table, wrung out by the loss, wrecked by
Nina’s disappointment. “It was so much easier when she was little,” Frank said, taking
Joyce’s hand.

It occurred to Joyce, once again, that their entire relationship revolved around being
parents. Less than a year after they’d got married, they’d started trying for a baby.
After another year, they’d begun infertility workups and treatments, miscarriages,
surgery, and finally her high-risk pregnancy.

The nurses oohed and aahed over the way Frank cared for Joyce through the months of
hospital bed rest. And he’d been a champion in the labor room, huffing and puffing,
weeping and beaming. “Hold on to this one, honey,” the anesthesiologist had advised.

She looked at Frank’s fingers, now interlaced with hers. They were good parents. Nina
could be a royal pain in the ass at home, but her teachers loved her and she had loyal
friends. That’s the way it’s supposed to be, Joyce knew. Nina was honest and bright.
She would grow up to be a good person.