The Parsonses
Evangeline, Brick Jr.’s first wife, Grandmom to Lydia, Florie, and Lucas, had been beautiful, energetic, and naturally happy.
She was radiant when she was around people.
She’d chaired boards, given parties, sung in the choir of St. Paul’s Episcopal church, helped at summer galas—always an overwhelming task—attended her children’s and grandchildren’s games and concerts, and was always as gleeful as a Labrador puppy to meet someone new.
Three years ago, Evangeline died. The children took her death hard.
Well, Brick Three and Jane and the entire town took Evangeline’s death hard.
People said that Evangeline was still in their lives, like a new star shining down on them from the sky, but Lydia, Florie, and Lucas wanted her right there next to them where they could hear her laughing at their jokes and feel her soft, plush, squeeze-the-breath-out-tight hugs and see her eyes following their every move.
Jane hoped the kids would learn to like Beatrice.
When Brick Jr. was younger, his grandchildren absolutely threw themselves at their grandparents when they entered the house.
Brick Jr. would pick one of them up to sit on his shoulders while the other two hugged Evangeline’s legs—or waist—or shoulders.
As everyone grew older, the first sightings were less athletic, but always joyful.
The first Christmas after his wife’s death, Brick Jr. had been almost immobile with grief.
He came for Christmas Eve dinner and Christmas morning, but he was so thoroughly steeped in his grief that he simply didn’t see anyone else or at least care that he saw them.
The children understood and gave him the respect of their distance.
Anyway, they were all in college, off-island, as busy as bees creating the honey of their own lives.
Brick Jr. began to complain about a few minor health problems. Arthritis gnarled his fingers and bit at his knees.
Indigestion prevented him from enjoying many of the spicy or sweet foods he’d once devoured.
His hearing declined and his hearing aids itched.
Old age moles spotted his face, and back problems prevented him from cutting his own nails.
He walked with a cane and carried heart medications in his pockets.
He was no longer handsome or charming or proud.
He no longer wanted to attend sports events and summer galas.
But he still came into the insurance office and checked things over on a regular basis, although he was always cranky when he showed up.
Brick Three and Jane tried their hardest to keep the older man involved with the town’s activities and interested in his grandchildren. They were discussing antidepressants for Brick Jr. when, miraculously, Beatrice appeared.
Brick Jr. and Beatrice met, in a gentle joke of fate, at the Nantucket Pharmacy where they were having their prescriptions refilled.
It was summer, and the island population had exploded from twenty thousand in January to eighty thousand in July.
Their prescriptions weren’t ready, but would be in a few minutes, the pharmacist assured them.
When Brick Jr. grumbled that he couldn’t just stand around because his knees hurt, Beatrice had timidly suggested they sit at the soda counter and enjoy a dish of ice cream while they waited.
That had seemed to Brick Jr. like the best suggestion he’d heard in a long time.
It was the beginning of their life together.
Brick Jr. remained arthritic and cranky, but Beatrice’s husband had been perpetually grumpy and fault-finding, so Brick Jr. seemed sweet-natured to her.
As he grew older and passed the seventy-years mark, Brick Jr., once manager of a staff of twelve, president of the Rotary, treasurer of the local library, was more than content to let Beatrice arrange their days together around the PBS Masterpiece calendar.
They did take two health walks a week and Brick Jr.’s leg strengthened.
Beatrice cooked healthy meals and provided carrots instead of candy for Brick Jr.’s snacks.
Brick Three and Jane were aware of all the good things Beatrice was bringing to Brick Jr.’s life.
The older couple had been married for two years now, and Brick Jr. was as happy as they’d seen him since his first wife died.
Beatrice joined her husband and his family for special occasions, mostly birthdays and Christmas dinner.
Friday night, a fire roared in the Parsonses’ living room, and cinnamon-topped, rum-filled eggnog scented the air. This was the family’s private Stroll weekend family dinner.
Brick Three wore his damn red-and-green flannel shirt—he’d wear it again at the Stroll and then on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, but over the years it had shrunk in the wash and gotten uncomfortably tight around his waist. His Nantucket Reds pants had shrunk, too, it seemed.
Jane wore khaki trousers and one of the many Christmas sweaters her children had given her.
The sweaters were all different sizes, but in the past fifteen years, she had been all different sizes, too.
During the four long winter months, Jane and Brick often had friends over for dinner, which meant Jane got to experiment with new casseroles, breads, and desserts, and how could she expect to resist her own delicacies?
The three children came home in the summer, and often brought friends, and Jane spent many afternoons at Cisco Beach, swimming and chatting with her friends, so in the summer, completely unintentionally, she lost weight.
She didn’t mind losing or gaining weight.
Jane was always eager to surprise herself with a dress or sweater she’d forgotten she had.
She even kept a few of her stretched-out pregnancy dresses in the attic.
They were so pretty, maybe too pretty. She’d worn loose tops and flowing dresses that buttoned up the front so she could nurse when the baby was born.
Now the fashion was to wear a skintight dress that hugged the beach ball stomach.
She might buy one to wear for the next three months, but she remembered how she felt in the last three months, like an overweight kangaroo on the tipping point, and she knew she’d want to wear the loosest clothes she could find.
Lydia, the oldest and trying to be as calm and sophisticated as Jari, wore a pretty red holiday dress, one that was both sexy enough for Jari’s notice and not too sexy for her grandfather and his new wife.
In the deepest hidden part of her heart, Lydia believed that her grandparents loved her the best because she’d come first, but last year, when her grandfather and Beatrice came into the house, she’d rushed up to hug him and kiss his cheek as she’d always done and Brick Jr. recoiled as if she were a thundering elephant.
He’d wobbled and would have fallen over if Brick Three hadn’t steadied him.
Oh, that had been a terrible moment, one Lydia would never forget.
Her beloved, adored, powerful grandfather was suddenly weaker than she was.
She hadn’t been prepared for this. Who could be?
Florie wore a long green satin film-star kind of dress that had once belonged to her grandmother Evangeline way back in 1960.
She sat on the sofa so close to Daniel she was almost on top of him.
Lucas wore an L.L.Bean plaid shirt and the light-up bow tie that he kept in his dresser drawer and brought out only a few times a year.
Lucas was itching for everyone to arrive so the family could eat and then Lucas could leave to be with Sheila.
They were invited to a party in ’Sconset, which was only ten miles away but often felt like the far side of the moon.
A muffled knock came at the door—everyone knew the sound of Brick Jr. hitting the wood with his cane.
Lydia, Florie, and Lucas rushed to hug Brick Jr. as he and Beatrice stepped into the warmth of the front hall. Talking over one another, they helped their grandfather and new step-grandmother out of their bulky coats.
“Come in, come in,” Jane said from the living room door.
“Happy Stroll!” Brick Three said, and together the mob wobbled into the living room and found their seats.
Brick Jr. sat in his son’s favorite chair, a burgundy leather armchair much like the recliner he had at home, which explained why he kept searching for the lever to lift the footrest. Beatrice sat in a dining room chair next to him, so close that they could hold hands.
Brick Three presented Beatrice with a sparkling cut-crystal glass of Jane’s eggnog.
“I’ve been waiting all year for this,” Beatrice said.
Brick Three offered a glass to his father, who accepted it gratefully because he knew his son had added a few more ounces of rum to it.
Lydia leaned forward. “Grandfather, my friend Jari is from Finland. He’s involved with the manufacture of bots.”
“Great place, Amsterdam,” Brick Jr. replied. “Excellent place to get bulbs. Evangeline used to order her tulips from there.”
Lydia sent a quick questioning glance to her mother. Jane carefully shook her head. This was the way more and more conversations with Brick Jr. were happening these days. Lydia exchanged a loaded look with Florie, clearly passing her sister the conversational ball.
Florie thought she’d give Beatrice a try.
“Beatrice,” Florie said, “do you like poetry? Because Daniel is a poet, and a very distinguished one.”
Beatrice lit up. “Oh, how exciting! I love Mary Oliver and Billy Collins.”
Florie gasped. “Beatrice, I love Mary Oliver!”
Florie twisted toward Daniel to bring him into the conversation but at that moment, Jane announced, “Daniel asked me to allow him to say a few words about Christmas.”
“What’s going on?” Brick Jr. demanded. “Do we have to listen to poetry?”