Florie
It was her fault. Wasn’t it? Wasn’t it kind of Mabel’s fault, too?
Last night, when she met Mabel at the corner of Orange and Main, they’d hugged each other as if they’d both just returned from other planets.
“Oh my God, I missed you so much!” Mabel had cried. “I don’t think I can stand it if you go back to Boston.”
“He’s stable. He’s on a new medication. I’ve gotten him a fancy new wheelchair for Christmas. He hasn’t seen it yet.”
“He’s so lucky he has you,” Florie told her friend.
“I’m so lucky I have him,” Mabel replied.
Mabel’s father had abandoned her mother when she was seven, and her mother’s father had taken care of them, moving them into the large old house on Lily Street where he’d lived with his wife, Mabel’s grandmother, who died young.
He’d provided warmth and support and stability for his daughter and Mabel, and it was because of him, whom she called Pompom, that Mabel believed there could be good men in the world.
Florie and Mabel had met in preschool, bonding over a shared passion for building blocks and Legos, uninterested in the baby dolls and ponies the other girls loved.
As the years passed, they had become more like sisters; even better than sisters, they’d told each other everything and forgave everything.
It was always hard for Mabel that Florie had such a loving family.
In their teens, it had been difficult for Florie when Mabel fell in love with Patrick McGuiness and spent more time with him than with Florie, and it had been dramatically difficult for Florie when Mabel stopped telling her everything that she and Patrick did in the long summer evenings.
Eventually Florie fell in love, or something like it, with Johnny Stanley, and spent most of her free time with him, and then Patrick left for college—he was a year older than Mabel, which had made their relationship even more exciting—and very quickly disappeared into his new life and ghosted Mabel.
It had been a terrible time. Mabel had lost weight, stopped studying, stopped talking with anyone, even Florie.
That summer, as soon as school was out, Pompom had taken Mabel to Paris, London, Amsterdam, and Rome.
Mabel returned home her normal self, even happier than her normal self, because she’d met a guy on a cruise down the Danube and had a scorching hot affair, with Claude speaking in French and bad English and Mabel speaking in English and bad French.
Mabel didn’t cry when she said goodbye to Claude.
She came home feeling sophisticated, gorgeous, and ready to take on the world.
Florie had spent that same summer working for a landscaper, a hard, backbreaking job.
All three children had worked during the summer from the age of twelve.
The pay was always high, and they made a pact with one another to save half for Christmas presents and use the rest whenever they wanted.
Their parents were always surprised by the truly nice presents their children gave them.
Florie had been glad that Mabel was herself again, but the truth was that Florie was so jealous of Mabel’s grand tour of Europe.
Florie wanted to see foreign cities, hear foreign languages, perhaps even try her small vocabulary of French.
Sometimes, at night when her family was all asleep, she sat gazing at the photos Mabel had sent.
The Eiffel Tower. The lions at Trafalgar Square.
An Amsterdam canal cruise complete with glittering lights and champagne. The Barcaccia Fountain in Rome.
Mabel’s passion was cooking. On her European trip she discovered so many dishes, pastries, and sauces that she wanted to try, she realized that she wanted to have her own island restaurant.
She didn’t go off to college but stayed home, working as a sous-chef at Island Kitchen and taking care of her aging grandfather.
She and Florie texted each other during the school year and had long phone calls on weekends.
Last night, as Florie strolled along the brick sidewalks with Mabel, she’d said, “There’s something I need to tell you.”
“That sounds terribly serious,” Mabel had said in a pretend pompous British lord voice.
“After graduation, I’m moving to Milwaukee with Daniel.”
Mabel snorted. “Sure, you are.”
Florie pulled Mabel to a bench in front of a clothing store. “Sit down. I’m not kidding.”
“Don’t be silly,” Mabel said, plopping down on the bench. “You’re going to live in Boston and travel the world and spend weekends with me on Nantucket.”
Florie put her hands on Mabel’s shoulders and forced her to focus. “People change, Mabel—”
Mabel interrupted her. “Oh, really? People change? I didn’t know that! My father didn’t change his mind about living with me or even seeing me, but I don’t know that people change! Patrick, who I loved with all my heart, dumped me, but I don’t know that people change! My mother died—”
Florie’s heart began to race. Mabel was more than upset, she was working herself into one of the rants she often went into whenever she feared that someone else was leaving her.
“Mabel, you will always be my best friend. But I love Daniel, and he’s going to teach at the University of Wisconsin in Milwaukee. I’m going to live with him there, starting this summer.”
Mabel pulled away. “Got it. You’ll be so far away we’ll never be together. Well, don’t worry about me. I’ve been seeing a guy and we’re getting serious and I have my own secrets but I’m not going to tell you what they are.”
Before Florie could answer, Mabel hurriedly walked off, her back ramrod straight, not looking back once.
Now Florie forced herself to stop obsessing.
She rose, hoping sheer movement would force her to switch moods.
And there it was, her happy thought: Daniel.
Thinking of Daniel made her happy. Daniel was arriving soon, but she wished he were here with her now, to make their love, their future, feel more real.