Tips for Living(99)

“Margaret told you that?”

“Crawley did. He said the cops had been looking into Tobias since the beginning of the murder investigation.” She picked up the coffee carafe, carried it to the water cooler and began filling it. “I bring Crawley doughnuts when he’s parked at those speed traps, so he gives me some pretty good tips.”

I could learn a few things from this girl.

“You know, you’re an excellent reporter, Lizzie. In case I haven’t mentioned it.”

“Thanks.” She beamed. “You want coffee?”

“Nope. I’m off caffeine,” I said.



The Coop was filled with the mouthwatering smells of the feast that Grace and I prepared together: turkey and gravy with chestnut stuffing, cranberry sauce, sweet potato casserole and green beans with pearl onions. It was also full of the people I treasured. Ben. Grace, Mac and the kids. Aunt Lada. She’d gotten the okay from her doctor to celebrate with us as long as she took it easy. Ben and I picked her up in his Rover, along with her wheelchair. “She won’t need it for long,” her cardiologist said. “She’s recovering beautifully.”

There were also guests I looked forward to knowing better. Like young Sam. Also, my neighbors, Jack Mance and his boyfriend, David. They wanted to check on their house, so I invited them. The police had located Jack’s stolen gun the day before. It turned up in a botched gang robbery at the Massamat Pizzeria. “Now there’s a story for the Courier,” Jack said.

We were about to sit down to our meal when I remembered that in the bustle and prep of the holiday, I’d forgotten to take my pill. I excused myself and sneaked off to the bathroom. “Take one pill every morning, just before breakfast,” Dr. Patel had instructed.

I reached into the medicine cabinet and removed the high-dose magnesium supplements Dr. Patel prescribed, filled a glass with water and then examined myself in the mirror. I looked rested for the first time in months. My skin was in great shape, the scratch under my eye barely visible. I placed the bottle back in the cabinet, turned toward the tub and popped the horse-size pill in my mouth. As I drank the water, I watched the light play on the snow-covered field through the window and listened to the voices rising and falling in my living room. The laughter.

The afternoon sun was reflecting strongly off something outside directly under the window, flashing sparks of light on the glass. I leaned over the tub awkwardly to see exactly what it was. Near the Coop’s foundation, half buried in snow, my hand hoe lay next to a pile of dead rose branches and a burlap bag emptied of daffodil bulbs. The hoe’s silver tip was glinting in the sunlight.

I touched my cheek. The scratch. That was where I’d gotten the scratch. I must’ve ripped out the dead, thorny branches and planted the bulbs during one of my sleepwalking episodes. A twig and leaves had stuck to my hair and clothing. I’d knelt right there by the light of the moon and dug holes with my hoe. I smiled to myself. There would be blooms in the spring after all.

Maybe this was a sign. Should I ask Jack Mance if he was willing to sell the Coop? I could make a bid with the sketchbook money. Despite the Coop’s flaws, I was fond of it, and I’d already put down roots. It looked like there’d be a windfall—enough to pay for a renovation.

As I straightened up, I saw him standing in the field midway between the Coop and the forest. The wind was blowing sprays of snow from the ground into swirls of powder around him. His noble head was lifted, nose to the sky. Long whiskers graced his muzzle. His rack was high and wide, his chest massive and his waist almost as big, giving him the shape of a small cow. He was the oldest buck I’d ever seen.

“How have you lasted through such cold, harsh winters and with so little food?” I wanted to ask him. “How have you escaped the hunters? Avoided getting hit by a car? How have you survived this long? Dealt with your losses and traumas? Do you have any tips for living? You must have tips.”

He turned his head toward me, tilted it and shook his antlers as if to say, “Lady, I’m a deer,” as the rest of them approached.

They came out of the forest one by one, walking slowly in a line. All shapes and sizes. Fawns, does, yearlings and younger bucks. They stopped and gathered around him for a moment, protecting each other from the wind, steam rising off their warm bodies. Then they began to move back toward the forest, forming their line again with the old buck at the head. They walked into the woods with their white tails flashing in the last of the light.

“Nora, come on! We’re hungry!” Ben called out from the living room.

They were all out there. Waiting. And they weren’t going to start without me.





From the Pequod Courier

Tips for Living

by Nora Glasser

Aunt Lada’s Advice

Do the best you can. Give it your all.

And if things don’t come out well the first time, try again.

As the Russians like to say: “The first pancake is always a blob.”

And, furthermore, “She who takes no risks, never gets to drink champagne.”





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I am grateful to all the readers, advisers and encouragers who helped bring Tips into the world, starting with my elementary school librarian, Mrs. Walker. She sat me down with magical books and a safe space to read. Lucy Childs, my supersmart and determined agent, never stopped pushing to make Tips a better book. Melanie Fleishman provided wise editorial input and unceasing support. Susan Scarf Merrell read the first draft and left the “go, go, go, go, go!” voice mail that spurred me on. Bettina Volz and Libby McGuire cheered, too. Mary Corey prompted the addition of a crucial ingredient. Susan Dalsimer gave invaluable notes and confidence. Florence Falk gave me faith. For decades.