Surfside Sisters(54)

“Mom, you could never be a hag!”

“I agree. And I’m not. So stop fussing.”

Still, Keely called her mother almost every day. Still, she worried. The hospital had been her mother’s life for over forty years. Her family and her work had been her world. Now she was on her own.



* * *



—

As the days grew longer, Keely and Gray had dinner several times a week, often at her apartment or his. They took turns making dinner and watching movies about writers and doctors. MASH one night, Julie and Julia the next week. Night Nurse, and a week later, The Ghost Writer. Maybe, Keely thought, this was the way Gray could spend time with her without having to talk about himself.

    Or to make love.

Gray was such a puzzle to Keely! He was attentive and often affectionate. He phoned or texted her every day. He often treated her to restaurants she never knew existed, many of them in private clubs she’d never heard of. He took her to fabulous parties and he also took her to meet other couples for dinner. He began to say, “You remember Keely,” as if it was understood that she was a permanent part of his life.

Keely had had sex with a guy in college, but she’d made love only with Tommy. So she didn’t have a wide experience to judge from. But one April evening, she couldn’t stand it any longer. They were at his apartment. He’d prepared a complicated beef Wellington, which involved fillets of beef and wild mushrooms and a flaky puff pastry.

“Beef Wellington! Gray, how fabulous. I’ve never had the courage to make one. It’s magnificent. I almost don’t want to eat it.”

“And I have an excellent wine to go with it,” Gray said.

He’d set his small table with a snowy white cloth, silver candlesticks, and sterling silver utensils. Side plates held green salads. Keely cut through the pastry into the tender beef and groaned with pleasure. They barely spoke during dinner, except for appreciative moans.

When they’d finished, they carried their dishes to the dishwasher. Gray liked things to be tidy.

Keely said, “If you weren’t here, I’d lick this plate.”

Gray smiled. “For dessert, we’ll have fresh raspberries—the parents of a patient of mine brought me some they had specially flown in from Mexico. We’ll have champagne with the berries.”

Keely stood next to him, eyeing him with pretend suspicion. “I think you’re trying to seduce me.” She decided to be brazen and leaned in close, sliding her breasts against him.

    He didn’t look her in the eye, but a blush colored his cheeks. “And beef Wellington is the magic charm in seduction?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely.” She stepped closer.

Finally he turned and took her in his arms and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back. He took her hand and led her into his bedroom, and they lay together for a long time, kissing, slowly removing their clothes, gently touching one another.

Afterward, they lay spooning in the dark bedroom.

“Now are you ready for raspberries?”

Keely was glad he couldn’t see her face. It gave her the courage to say, “Not just yet, Gray. I’d like to talk…really talk.”

Gray hesitated. “All right.”

“Gray, I often feel that you’re…isolated, even when you’re with me.”

After a long moment, Gray said, “I’m an only child.”

“I’m an only child, too,” she told him. “I know it can be lonely.”

“Yes. Also…” Gray hesitated. “My family wasn’t all that happy. I don’t mean abusive. Nothing like that. My father was a physician. We had a nice house. I had friends. I did well in school. I took piano and played in recitals.”

“Gray, I’m not trying to be mean, but it’s almost as if you are filling out a form. I can get the surface stuff from you, but nothing…deep. Nothing important.”

“You haven’t told me anything deep,” Gray responded.

“Maybe not. But I’ve always been myself. Open to you. And I’m willing to tell you about my childhood. But first, I want to hear you talk.”

Gray took his arm from around Keely and turned on his back, arms behind his head, facing the ceiling.

“My mother had three miscarriages after I was born. Second-trimester miscarriages. Very painful physically and emotionally. Traumatic. Her heart was broken.”

“Gray. I’m so sorry. How sad for her. For all of you.”

    “I felt like it was my fault. I know now it wasn’t, but when I was little, three and five and seven…I wanted to make it right for her. She wanted another baby so much. She was happy when she was pregnant, and then so sad when she lost the baby. She grieved so much…she lay in her bed and wept all the time. She couldn’t find the energy to cook or do laundry. My father helped her. And he cooked dinner for us, although if Mother came to the table, she couldn’t really eat. He was a good dad. He told me Mother loved me, and Mother loved him, too, but she was going through a grieving process and it would take time. I heard his words, but I felt—unnecessary to my mother. My presence could not bring her joy. I worked hard to get good grades. I learned to play the piano. I was good, I could have entered competitions, but when I did perform at recitals…my mother never came. I wasn’t…relevant to her life. I wasn’t anything that could make her smile.”