Only Theresa could negotiate the Storm; she’d put on her metaphorical Hunter boots, zip up her waterproof jacket, and wade right in. Sometimes she’d get batted away, but more often she’d get Mae to see reason.You can’t wear a bathing suit to school because it’s January,but you can wear it in the bathtub tonight. We are not having chocolate for dinner because I made roast chicken but I’ll make chocolate pudding for dessert.For the zillionth time in the past two years, and at least the thirteenth time today, Jordan wishes her mother were here.
Jordan looks at the tattoos on Mae’s arms. She had started so small and innocuously—a hip, an ankle, the small shooting star on one forearm—but now she has dozens, and that seems to Jordan to be a whole different direction than adorable. She looks more closely and sees something on Mae’s right wrist. She reaches for Mae’s hand and holds it, opening the wrist out so she can see it. Mae doesn’t pull back, she holds her arm steady, and when Jordan meets her eyes they’re both tearing up. “When did you get this?” Jordan whispers. “How come I didn’t notice it before?”
“This was one of my early ones,” says Mae.
Jordan traces the tattoo with the index finger of her other hand.Love, Mom, in Theresa’s distinctive handwriting, a precise cursive, the same cursive she wrote her grocery lists in, her thank-you notes; the same cursive she lamented over and over again that kids were no longer taught with regularity.
“There’s a whole section on the website,” says Mae, her voice catching. “Handwriting tattoos. It’s really popular as anin memoriamthing.” Jordan nods, too affected to speak. Several seconds pass, and then Mae takes her hand back, says, “I really, really wish I could live right here forever.”
Instead of going through all the reasons why this makes no sense, Jordan says, “That sounds really lonely. Especially in the winter.” In the winter, she’d see only surfers and dog walkers on the beach. Portsmouth remains lively, but life on the waterfront shuts down. Most of these houses are summer homes.
Mae takes a deep, shuddering breath and for a moment it seems like she’s not going to say anything at all. Then she stands and walksto the window, looking out at the water. The tide is in, so the beach is smaller, but it’s still bigger and wider than most beaches around. It’s still the best beach. Mae says, “To me it sounds less lonely than the rest of life feels now.”
“Mae!”
She turns. “It’s true.”
“I thought you loved it out there in Boulder.”
“I did. I used to. Sometimes I do. But it feels different now.” The last time Jordan visited Mae in Colorado was before Theresa got really sick. They’d all gone as a family for a long weekend. Even Natalie, who’d left the farm for two nights. They’d all loved the way the sun set behind the mountains; the way people were so much more laid-back and friendly than they were on the East Coast; the way you could witness the country’s western expansion in the hard-packed hiking trails; the land beyond the city, which went all the way to the horizon, unbroken by the thick woods that line the highways in New England.
Has it really been that long since Jordan has been out there?
“What’s different?”
Jordan’s phone buzzes and she flips it so she can see the screen. It’s Bernadette, of course. She flips it over. It feels important that she give Mae her full attention.
“It got different after Mom died. It turned out to be a really hard place to grieve, you know? It’s so—dusty.” Jordan moves closer to Mae so that their hips are touching. Poor Mae, all lonely and dusty and sad. “Everything there feels transient. People are always moving in, moving out, working all these small jobs to try to get them to add up to one job. Me too. Next year I’ll be thirty, and I don’t even have health insurance.”
In retrospect, Jordan realizes this is not the hill to die on, but before retrospect arrives she says, “Hold up. You don’t havehealth insurance?”
Mae bristles. “Jesus, Jordan. That is so not the biggest of my worries right now.”
“Does Dad know?”
Mae’s voice rises. “I don’t know if Dad knows!” The Storm is coming back.
Jordan’s voice goes louder to match Mae’s. “Youhaveto have health insurance, Mae!”
“God, Jordan. Get off my back.”
They both stop, because Evangeline is there, as unobtrusive as a butler, saying, “Mommy wants to know if Auntie Mae can help her in the kitchen.”
Natalie doesn’t actually need help with dinner. (From Mae?Please.) But she heard Jordan’s and Mae’s raised voices so she’d sent Evangeline as a small emissary.
“Did you forget that I can’t cook?” Mae asks, sulking her way into the kitchen.
“If you can chop, you can cook.” Natalie sets Mae up with an onion, a cutting board, and a knife. “Careful you don’t cut yourself,” she says. “The knives in this house are so dull. They’re a disgrace to knives. I don’t think they’ve been sharpened since before Mom got sick.” Mae sets to work on her onion. Natalie clears her throat and says, “Hey, have you looked at any of my accounts since you’ve been here?”
Mae shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I usually keep up. I guess I got busy with Leo. Is there something new I should see?”
“No,” says Natalie quickly. “Nope, nothing new. I haven’t posted any new content since I’ve been here, actually. I’m sort of taking a little break.” She’s popped online a couple of times to check the comments on her accounts, and then she’s popped right back off with her insides churning, her stomach tied in knots. Nobody is talking about the lovely photos of the farm in the article, and how adorable her children are, and what a beautiful family she and Austin have created. Nobody cares that she can milk a cow and that her children are growing up virtually screen-free and that Evangeline has assisted at a calving.Everyoneis talking about Austin’s quote.
She crouches down and looks in the lower cupboards, the ones with all of the random items like the giant lobster pot and the little ramekins they use only for lobster butter. It’s been years since they’ve cooked lobster here!
“What are you looking for?”
“A lemon zester. There’s no proper lemon zester here. I’ll just use a cheese grater. It’ll do. Now, chop, please.”
