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“October and November. Mrs. Bell told me. Allie.”
“You met her.”
“Yes indeed. Her and the twins. Jacob and Joseph. At least I met their shorts and shirts.”
There was a pause. Then Greg said, “Are you okay with that? I was thinking about Donna when I offered you the place. I never thought about how it might make you remember—”
I didn’t want to go there, even after all those years. “It’s fine. You were right. Allie Bell seems like a very nice woman, otherwise. Offered me cookies.”
“You’ll love them.”
I thought of the little round spots of color in her cheeks. “She assures me she doesn’t have Covid—which she called the new flu—and she wasn’t coughing, but she didn’t look exactly healthy.” I thought of the double stroller with its empty shirts and shorts. “Physically, I mean. She said something about having medical issues.”
“Well, she’s in her seventies—”
“That old? I guessed sixties.”
“She and her husband were the first ones to build on the north end, and that was back when Carter was president. All I’m saying is that when you get into your seventies your equipment is off the warranty.”
“I haven’t seen anyone else, but I’ve only been here three days. Not even all unpacked.” Not that I’d brought much. Mostly I’d been catching up on my reading, just as I’d promised myself I’d do when I retired. When I watched TV, I muted the commercials. I’d be happy to never see another ad in my life.
“Buddy, it’s summer. The summer of Covid, no less. Once you’re past the swing gate, it’s just you and Alita. And—” He stopped.
“And the twins,” I finished. “Jake and Joe.”
“You’re sure it doesn’t bother you? I mean, considering what happened to—”
“It doesn’t. Bad things happen to kids sometimes. It happened to me and Donna and it happened to Allie Bell. Our son was a long time ago. Tad. I’ve put it to rest.” A lie. Some things you never put to rest. “But I have a question.”
“And I have an answer.”
That made me laugh. Greg Ackerman, older and richer, but still a smartass. When we had the Brite Company’s soft drink account, he once came to a meeting with a bottle of Brite Cola, with the distinctive long neck, sticking out of his unzipped fly.
“Does she know?”
“Not sure I follow.”
I was pretty sure he did.
“Does she know that stroller is empty? Does she know her little boys died thirty years ago?”
“Forty,” he said. “Maybe a little longer. And yeah, she knows.”
“Are you positive or only pretty sure?”
“Positive,” he said, then paused. “Almost.” That was Greg, too. Always leave yourself an out.
I watched the stars and finished my drink. Thunder bumbled and rumbled on the Gulf and there were unfocused flashes of lightning, but I thought those were empty threats.
I finished unpacking my second suitcase, something that should have been done two days ago. When that was done—it took all of five minutes—I went to bed. It was the 10th of July. In the larger world, Covid cases had passed three million just in the United States. Greg had told me I was welcome to stay in his place all the way through September, if I wanted. I told him I thought six weeks would be enough to clear my head, but now that it had cooled off, I thought I might stay longer. Wait out the dread disease.
The silence—broken only by the sleepy sound of waves hitting Greg’s shingle of beach—was exquisite. I could get up with the sun and take my walks earlier than I had today… and maybe give Allie Bell a miss by doing so. She was pleasant enough, and I thought Greg was right—she had at least three of her four wheels on the road, but that double pram with the shorts of different colors on the seats… that was creepy.
“Bad and Badder,” I murmured. The master bedroom’s slider was open and a puff of breeze lifted the thin white curtains, turning them into arms.
I got Greg’s concern about the phantom twins as they related to me. At least now I did. My understanding came late, but wasn’t better late than never the accepted wisdom? I had certainly never made the connection to my life when he first told me about Alita Bell’s eccentricity. That connection was to my son, who also died, and at roughly the same age as Jacob and Joseph. But Tad wasn’t the reason I felt I had to get away from New England, at least for awhile. That grief was old. In this ridiculously oversized house and during these hot summer weeks, I had a new one to deal with.
I dreamed of Donna, as I often did. In this one we were sitting on the couch in our old living room, holding hands. We were young. We weren’t talking. That was all, that was the whole dream, but I woke up with tears on my face. The wind was blowing harder now, a warm wind, but it made the curtains look more like reaching arms than ever. I got up to close the slider, then went out on the balcony instead. In the daytime you could see the entire sweep of the Gulf from the upstairs bedrooms (Greg had told me I was welcome to use the master, so that’s what I did), but in the early hours of the morning there was only black. Except for the occasional flashes of lightning, which were closer now. And the thunder was louder, the threat of a storm no longer empty.
