I said, “But however different they may be, they are our parents. Even as adults, they are our parents. For good or bad.” I was in a pontificating and contemplative mood.
“Sometimes when I visit Chappaqua,” I said, “I see or hear something, maybe even smell something, and suddenly I think of her. It doesn’t happen as often as it did at first. Then it was terrible. Everything reminded me of her. Now it’s almost random. When I was last there, it was the field where she always watched my horrible soccer games. A bunch of kids were playing in the same-colored uniforms we wore, and I could almost see her in the stands. It made me sad. I thought of some of the mothers sitting in those stands and wondered whether any of them would be taken too young and how her daughter would ever recover from it.” I took a slow but long drink from my glass.
The two girls were like sisters to me. Without thinking, I spoke to them of things I never told anyone else. Whether it was the conclusive termination of my curiosity about lesbianism or the day Jack Olson, M. D., S. O. B., P. O. S., dumped me in a hospital cafeteria or now when I was drunk and feeling a wee bit sorry for myself but needing to open myself up. I had these two.
But soon I at least also had a combination of a light head, a desperate urge to urinate, and a stomach somewhat at risk of exploding—and I mean that literally and since I am a doctor I would know—and it looked like Kerry and Suzanne were upright solely because they were leaning against one another. I would give my kingdom for a burly man to lift me to my bed and just leave me there but seeing how that was unlikely I pushed myself up from the arms of the chair and announced to the girls that I at least was retiring for the evening. I actually said, “retiring for the evening,” and they both giggled. Kerry said, “Save yourself and bury us together” as I left the room and struggled up the amazingly steep and surprisingly wide staircase. “Tomorrow is another day” indeed.
Somehow I made it to my room. I brushed at least some of my teeth and got into bed, though I did not get out of my underwear since I was in my bra and panties when I heard a banging on the door. It was the woman innkeeper so I am sure she was not banging, but it sure sounded like banging to me.
“Dr. Doyle. It is eight o’clock. You asked to be awakened.”
She knocked a second, or perhaps a third, time.
“Dr. Doyle. Are you alive?”
Her voice was a mix of concern and amusement.
“I’m up,” I somehow managed to say.
“Very good. I will just get the other girls, shall I?”
She was gone, and I dragged myself out of bed. Which is when I realized I was wearing my, frankly, fetching lingerie. Yes, when out of town, hope springs eternal. Even in western Massachusetts in mid-March.
As I said, the wedding was to be in the inn’s garden. In addition to the bride and groom and we Tres Amigas, there would be Jen’s folks and her sister Abby and my dad and Eileen plus several people from their jobs, including the best man and maid-of-honor. It would start at eleven, and there would be a small luncheon afterward.
Before that, though, there was something I had to do.
It was about eight-twenty. I sat in the dining room with a black coffee and scrambled eggs and toast, prepared by our host. I needed the caffeine to wake up and the eggs and toast to keep me going for the ceremony. As I ate, I heard Kerry and Suzanne come down the stairs. The pair looked almost as bad as I felt. Kerry was the most chipper of all three of us. Annoyingly so.
“I need to borrow your car,” I said when they sat with their coffees, waiting to say how they wanted their eggs. Suzanne was already several bites into a Danish.
“I’m sorry. Why do you need to borrow the car?” Kerry asked.
“I’ll be back in plenty of time. There’s…There is something I need to do.”
The two looked at one another until Suzanne got up, took a sip of her coffee, and went to their room. While she was gone, I told Kerry I needed to speak to my brother about something important.
Her eyes got big. “Just tell me it is not some family secret or something about Jennie like you have test results and she only had forty-eight hours to live or that she is your long-lost sister.”
“I need to talk to him about our mom. Like I did with you. I need to know his feelings for her. We’ve never shared. And I just think it is important that we both know.”
“Know what?” Suzanne asked as she returned.
“I’ll tell you in a minute, love,” Kerry said.
I quickly finished my coffee and got up and gave Suzanne a peck on the top of her head in exchange for the car key as I hurried, insofar as I was capable of hurrying, to get my purse.