Chapter 47 Reuben
Chapter 47
Reuben
Abigail was dying.
It would not happen this month, or next month, but the end was in sight and inevitable, as it was for everyone who walked the earth. Abigail, stoic as always, had accepted the diagnosis without hysterics, without tears, and even though she’d dreaded this first day of chemotherapy and knew she’d soon lose the long, luxuriant hair she’d always been so proud of, she had kept her head high as he’d wheeled her into the hospital. She’d even managed a smile and a wave when the nurse took her into the infusion room.
Reuben was the one who’d wiped away tears. Who’d needed to flee outside to pull himself together.
He sat on a bench in the small hospital garden, under the shade of a dogwood tree. It was a sweet little garden, maintained by hospital volunteers who kept it weeded and mulched, and on this day in June, the rugosa roses were in full bloom, spilling their fragrance into the air. He thought about what life would be like without Abigail. For him it would be easier, of course, something he felt ashamed to acknowledge, even though it was true. So much of his life had been spent caring for her—bathing her, cooking for her, driving her to her appointments—and he felt at a loss, wondering how he’d fill those hours once she was gone. No, he wouldn’t allow himself to think of that future just yet. It was disrespectful. And also unimaginable. He’d spent so much of his life caring for Abigail’s needs, and before that for their mother’s as well, that he scarcely knew how to attend to his own. Now everything in his life was about to change.
Just as it was changing for the Conovers.
He looked toward the hospital, wondering how Susan Conover was faring. That’s when he saw Jo Thibodeau stride out of the building. They spotted each other at the same time, and because of his many unfortunate brushes with the law, he automatically tensed up at the sight of her. Instead of climbing into her patrol car, she headed straight toward him.
“Mr. Tarkin?” she said. “Are you okay?”
Her question took him aback. So did the genuine look of concern in her eyes. Bewildered, he simply nodded.
“I just wondered. Seeing that you’re here, at the hospital.”
Now he understood the reason for her question. “I brought my sister. She’s getting her first chemo today.”
“Oh.” An uncomfortable pause. That’s what cancer did to a conversation; it made everyone nervous about saying the wrong thing. “She’s lucky to have such a good brother.”
He shrugged. “I could have been better.” It’s a universal truth, he thought. When it comes to the people you love, we all could be better. “How is Mrs. Conover?”
“They’re treating Susan for pneumonia. She got it from inhaling the pond water. But the doctor said she should be able to go home in a few days.”
“And her girl?”
“Zoe’s awake. She’s got months of rehab ahead of her, but she’s young. Those broken bones should heal up just fine.”
“I’m glad for them.” It felt strange, to be saying that about two members of the Conover family. For so long, he’d clung to his bitterness, had used it as a protective shield against the world. To let go of that bitterness now made him feel vulnerable. Adrift.
To his surprise, Jo sat down beside him on the garden bench. “Zoe doesn’t remember who attacked her,” said Jo. “The doctor said it’s retrograde amnesia. That can happen after severe trauma to the head. The first thing she remembers is waking up in the streambed.”
“Is she ever going to remember the attack?”
“Probably not. But aside from the amnesia, she is going to recover. And that’s good news.”
He nodded. Said the words again, the words he never thought he’d say about a Conover. “I’m glad.”
“I wanted to thank you, Reuben,” said Jo. “You saved Susan’s life.”
He found her steadfast gaze unsettling, and he turned away. He focused instead on the rosebushes with their sweet, extravagant blossoms. “What else could I do?” he said. “I saw them drag her out of the house. I heard her crying.”
“If you hadn’t stepped in, we might never know what happened to her. Even now, we’re still putting together the pieces. We think it all has to do with the bones. With the woman Brooke killed sixteen years ago.”
“Anna,” he said softly.
“You remember her.”
His vision suddenly blurred, and he swiped a hand across his eyes. “They said I’m the reason she quit. They said I scared her away. When all I ever did was bring her flowers.”
“Why?”
He finally managed to meet Jo’s gaze. “Because she was kind to me.”
For Reuben, that was enough, that a woman would look at him without recoiling, as everyone else in town did. That Anna’s smile was real, even though he also saw sadness there, a sadness that would lift, however briefly, whenever he brought her a gift of wild daisies or buttercups or Queen Anne’s lace. Every morning there she’d be, sitting on Moonview’s dock, waiting for him.
Until the morning she wasn’t.
“You didn’t scare her away, Mr. Tarkin,” Jo said. “In fact, you may have been the only friend she really had here.”
Until now, he’d been afraid to really look at Jo Thibodeau because of who she was, and what her uniform meant. But now he dared to face her, and he saw a woman who looked back at him with respect. A woman with a square jaw and a direct gaze and the unadorned face of a sturdy Maine girl.
“I see someone who wants to talk to you,” she said.
“What?”
She pointed to Ethan Conover, who’d just stepped out the hospital doors. “He was worried you wouldn’t want to talk to him . Maybe it’s time for you two to bury the hatchet?”
As Ethan crossed toward them, Reuben rose to his feet, prepared for ... what? He didn’t know. For too many years, the Conovers and Reuben had warily faced each other across Maiden Pond. Now Reuben and Ethan stood close enough for their fists to connect.
“I want to say, I’m sorry,” said Ethan. “I didn’t know, Reuben. I never knew, about your father and what really happened to him. About what my parents did to ...” He swallowed. “I understand, now. Why you hated us.”
Reuben was silent.
“I also want to thank you, for saving Susan. For being there, when I wasn’t. When I should have been ...” Ethan’s voice broke, and he couldn’t seem to say anything else. Instead, he reached out and placed his hand on Reuben’s shoulder.
Reuben stood frozen, feeling the weight of that hand, not knowing what to do with this gesture. He was relieved when Ethan pulled away, and he took a step back, as if to once again put a safe distance between them.
“When Susan’s better, when she’s out of the hospital, she’d like to come over and thank you in person,” said Ethan. “If that would be all right with you, Mr. Tarkin?”
Reuben looked at Jo, who cocked her head, waiting for his answer. “I suppose,” he finally said.
“And if you ever come to Boston, you’re always welcome in our home. I’m not just saying this. Please, come visit us.”
Although Reuben nodded, he knew this would never happen. They were summer people, and he was a local, and some chasms were too wide to reach across, no matter how well intentioned the invitation might be.
As Ethan walked away, Jo said to Reuben: “Maybe your feud with the Conovers is finally over?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“At least you’re talking. That’s a start.”
But the start of what? He didn’t know. He was glad that Susan would recover, and he’d decided that Ethan seemed a decent man. Maybe he should give these two a chance. Everyone, after all, deserved a second chance.
Even a Conover.