Maine - J. Courtney Sullivan [142]
For Mother’s Day that year, Pat gave her the sessions with Raul, and for a moment she had wanted to cry or stamp her feet—what kind of gift was this? A reminder of how horrid she looked was supposed to make her smile? But then she did smile. Because she knew Pat’s intentions were good. And those sessions with Raul, which Pat had renewed every Mother’s Day since, were a godsend, really. Who could say how lousy she’d look without them?
The hardest part of menopause for Ann Marie was knowing that she’d never have another child. She attempted to explain this to Tricia, but her sister just laughed and said, “I didn’t realize you were trying.”
She knew it was irrational. She was a grandmother, for goodness’ sake. But it seemed so final.
Every day since Little Daniel had been born, the first thing she thought of when she woke up was her children, and they were still the last thing she thought about before she fell asleep at night. Parenthood by its very nature was the only job she knew of in which being successful meant rendering yourself useless. Who was she, if not the mother of Daniel, Patty, and Fiona Kelleher? That was something she thought about a lot lately.
She drove the speed limit, taking note of the staties parked on the shoulder, just chomping at the bit to catch some sucker with out-of-state plates going eighty. Her cousins were always willing to help get her out of parking tickets, but Ann Marie thought speeding was a different issue. She didn’t want to set a bad example for the kids.
While she sat in traffic at the New Hampshire tolls, she called Little Daniel at home.
“How you doing, honey?” she said cheerfully.
“Okay,” he said.
“Applied for any jobs this week?”
“Nope.”
“Well, it’s only Tuesday, right?”
“Yup.”
“How’s Regina, good?”
“She’s good. We went to Nantasket Beach on Sunday. We rode the carousel.”
“That sounds like fun.”
“Yeah. Regina had never been before. And we went to Castleman’s for lobster afterward.”
That sounds expensive, she thought. But she only said, “Good for you. Did you go to Mass at St. Mary’s while you were there?”
He chuckled. “Mom.”
“It’s a beautiful church, that’s all. I don’t think you’ve ever been. Which means you would have gotten three wishes.”
She had no idea who had decided that a person got to make three wishes whenever he entered a new church. Probably some desperate mother whose child was throwing a fit in a church parking lot. It had always worked well on Ann Marie’s children.
“I’m on my way to Maine now,” she said. “Going to head to the Cliff House at some point this week to do the food tasting so I can report back to Regina on what I like best. I’ll just try to narrow it down for her to save her some time.”
“Cool. Tell Grandma I say hi, and we’re excited to see her in July.”
“Will do. When are you coming?”
“Not sure yet.”
She pulled the Mercedes through the tollbooth and sped up. It wasn’t safe to be on the phone when you were accelerating. She hoped none of her kids would ever do it.
“I’ve got to go, honey,” she said. “But one last thing. Maybe you should invite Daddy to have dinner with you some night this week. I’m sure he’d like that. He’ll be lonely.”
“I would, but I’m totally strapped for cash.”
She thought about his lobster dinner the night before.
“You could go to our house. I made your favorite.”
“Ziti bake?”
“Yes. And there’s strawberry shortcake in the fridge, left over from Sunday. And plenty of wine. You could bring a bottle or two home if you want. Bring Regina too. I left those bridal magazines I told her about on my desk in the office.”
“Okay, I’ll stop by.”
She hung up. The guy in the car beside her looked a bit like Steve Brewer—that sharp chin and brown shaggy hair.
For the next forty minutes, she ran over their e-mail exchange in her head.
You’re a wonder, he had written. This calls for a celebratory drink.
She wished it could be just the two of them, and then she could tell him how she