Flying Solo(25)

“How’s your mother? We haven’t talked in a while. Your aunt Colleen told me she’s been swimming.”

“Well, she’s been swimming ever since they moved down there, it’s practically the state sport. But yes, she started doing senior synchronized swimming at the Sarasota Y recently. She’s going to be in a recital. The theme is Hooray for Hollywood.”

The sound Dot made was closer to a hoot than a laugh. “Good for her. Whatever it takes to get your legs over your head. She’ll be a regular Esther Williams.” She paused for a sip. “I know you don’t know who that is.”

“I know who she is. She was the underwater movie star.”

“That’s right, she was. And she lived to be ninety-one.” Dot was a student of famous nonagenarians: which diseases they had, how much money they died with and which relatives tried to extract it through various sketchy methods, and especially whether they stayed in their own homes to the very end. She insisted she was living at her last address, and she was right, of course.

These calls went the same way every time. First came what Laurie was doing, then what Dot was doing, then Laurie’s brothers, then her parents, then the other relatives in descending order of importance until Dot lost the ability to fake interest or Laurie ran out of gossip. Then they would cover any recent discoveries on Netflix—on this occasion, Dot was excited about something she claimed was called Handsome British Army Doctors “or something dashing like that”—and then the news, which included a U.S. senator who had recently been indicted for fraud, whom Dot called “that liar, that disgraceful liar.” This was their routine.

“All right, love,” Dot finally said, “I’m off to the tub with my wine. I’ll call you soon. I love you so.”

“I love you too. Have a good bath. Behave yourself in there.” She put the phone down beside her on the floor. Dot had recently installed a special tub she had seen advertised during The Price Is Right that had a door in the side she could step through to get in and out easily. She was not willing to leave her daily soaks, she said, to the vagaries of her “incorrigible New England joints.”

Talking to Dot always made Laurie think about the way Dot’s house had saved her life, or at least her sanity. What would she have done without the quiet retreat she didn’t even know she needed yet when she was a kid? It wasn’t that Dot spoiled her or gave her things her parents wouldn’t. She was just there, and she’d open a door, and inside was peace. No negotiating like there always was in a house of seven people; no bargaining. They’d just take the two ends of the couch and watch Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman or Dot’s VHS copy of South Pacific until Laurie’s mom showed up to take her home.



* * *



—

Laurie, June, and Nick were about halfway through the Polaroid boxes when June’s phone rang. She looked down at it and said she had to take it, but she’d be right back. “It’s my husband,” she said. “He apparently needs me desperately.” She disappeared into the bedroom.

“I’m going to pick up some of this stuff and get it into the dishwasher before I break something,” Laurie said, getting to her feet and carrying a few small plates and glasses to the kitchen. Nick followed, and he stood a barely platonic distance from her as she ran hot water in the sink. “Is this fascinating, Cooper?” she asked. “Me doing the dishes?”

He smiled. “Don’t knock it. I’m just soaking everything up before you leave again.”

She felt his eyes on her, and she knew she was blushing, and as much as she tried to swallow the smile, there it was. “Here we are again,” she said. “Flirting in the kitchen. This is how we got in trouble at Dana Koppke’s sixteenth birthday.”

He frowned. “I’m pretty sure you started it at Dana Koppke’s sixteenth birthday. I was just doing the dishes, up to my elbows in soapy water. And you”—he stepped closer—“kissed me right on my clueless mug.” He pointed to his cheek. “I’ve never washed it, you know.”

“Oh, brother,” Laurie muttered down toward the glass she was cleaning, and she heard him chuckle. “My greatest hits. For the record, I was at least smart enough that I was mortified.” She glanced at him for the shortest moment she could manage. “I can only imagine what you told everybody.”

“I didn’t tell anybody. I was trying to figure out my big move.”

She swirled water in a glass. “You waited a week to call me, you know.”

“Of course I did. I thought I might have imagined it, since you immediately ran out and never said anything about it again.”

She opened the dishwasher, and he had to step back. “Exactly. It was step one in my big romantic plan in which I had absolutely no step two.” She lined up the plates and the glasses and shut the door, wiping her hands on a towel that was folded on the counter.

“Well, it worked on me,” he said, taking hold of a salt shaker on the counter and spinning it in his fingers. “So there’s that.”

“Yeah,” she said, “there is that.” She looked at his hand moving. “I forgot how fidgety you are.”

“Ah, that. Becca called it ‘twitching.’ It drove her nuts.”

“Ah,” Laurie said. “Is that why she so foolishly let you go?”