She takes a minute to digest what I’ve told her. “I’m proud of you,” she says. “Knowing one’s own mind is one of the secrets to a good life.”
“Oh? Any others you want to share?”
She thinks for a moment. “The ability to forgive, and friends worth forgiving,” she says. “Speaking of which, I’m very sorry I embarrassed you in front of Charlie. Though I’d wager it’s his opinion of me, not you, that took a wallop. He was none too happy with me after you left. Told me I was old enough to know better.”
I shake my head, holding back a smile. Nan begins to laugh.
“He’s a bold one, hanging up on your sister and father like that. A good match for you.”
I stare at her for a moment, because she’s right. Charlie and I respect each other—our similarities and our differences. I don’t think there’s a single thing I could say that would make him turn his back on me. “As my friend,” I tell her.
“Don’t forget I saw you two on the raft. Friends don’t kiss like that.”
“Sometimes they do,” I tell her. “It’s different these days, Nan.”
She gives me a disbelieving look but doesn’t press.
After dinner, I bring her a square of chocolate, and we sit in the living room. She’s reading on her iPad, and I’m on the floor with a puzzle.
“I haven’t spoken to John Kalinski in more than a decade,” she says.
I keep my mouth pressed firmly shut.
Nan sighs. “Ilovedyour grandfather.”
“I know you did.”
“I was fifty-nine when he died. We didn’t have nearly long enough together. I know it’s not his fault that he’s gone, but sometimes I get so cross with him for leaving me.” She smiles sadly. “I know I’ve been out of sorts lately. It’s hard being here without them.”
“Grandpa and Joyce.”
“And John, too. This place is full of memories. Not all of them good—it’s where I came after your grandfather died. I was alone here for a few days before Joyce joined me.” Her eyes are glassy. “When she died, I felt so lost. She’s been gone for thirteen years now, but I feel her everywhere here. It’s like losing her all over again, but it’s also a comfort. I talk to her all the time, mostly when you’re not around.”
She pulls a hankie out of her pocket and dabs her eyes. “John and I stayed close after she passed away. I filled his freezer with meals. Checked in on him. He wanted me to come up to the lake. His son had lost interest, and John didn’t want to come alone. But I didn’t think I could be here without Joyce. Three years after her death, I changed my mind. It felt like enough time had passed, and I missed these walls, the way it smells, the view.” She looks at the lake out the window before continuing.
“John and I came up together for two weeks. And it was nice—sharing meals with one of my dearest friends, watching the sun set together,laughing.”
“I’m sure,” I say. “It must have been such a relief for both of you.”
“It was. I think we got caught up in it.” She clears her throat.
Nan twists her hands in her lap. She’s nervous.
“There was just one kiss,” Nan says. She looks to the rafters, taking a deep breath. “I didn’t start it, but I didn’t stop it, either. We both knew it was a mistake, and John wanted to talk about it, but I felt so terribly guilty. Kissing Joyce’s husband under her own roof.” She shakes her head.
I move to the sofa so I can be closer. “Nan,” I say. “You both lost your spouses. Grandpa would have been gone for…”
I’m doing the math in my head when she says, “Eleven years.”
“Somehow I don’t think either Grandpa or Joyce or anyone could fault you for seeking comfort in a good friend.”
“Perhaps,” she says. “But the accusations I flung at John, the way I yelled at him, the things I said…it was very ugly, Alice. I insisted he take me back to Toronto the next morning. I didn’t speak to him the entire drive. It was the last time I saw him.”
I think of what she just told me about the ability to forgive, and friends worth forgiving. I think of how she faltered when I suggested we come to the lake until I told her John wouldn’t be here.
“Charlie said John wants you to give him a call. Why don’t you?”
She clicks her tongue. “It’s been too long.”
