Chapter 49
By mid-October, the purchase is complete and Ethan has moved into Phyllis’s house. He’s kept some of her furniture but has made it his own. He sleeps in an upstairs bedroom that faces mine, and to be honest, there’s a lot of sneaking around. He goes up to Devon once a week if he needs to be in court and to check in with the kids and the skate park, and when he comes back it’s as if he’s been away for a month.
Ethan’s devised a system for keeping tabs on Devon. Barb now calls her downstairs neighbor for quick emergencies, but she still calls Ethan a few times a week to talk, which may have been the point all along. He’s hired a guy from the YMCA to manage the skate park and Mort keeps an eye on the kids too. He has a ridiculous text thread with the Red Hot Pokers, which amounts to a bunch of old guys telling him he’s whipped. He still does the legal work for Rose at the animal shelter, and we’re all going up for the dog parade. Barb’s making Ferris a monkey costume. I have concerns.
Ethan’s been learning to garden on YouTube, and with what I remember from Phyllis’s routine we have kept things alive pretty well. Soon we’ll wrap the rosebushes in burlap for the winter. I don’t know why we do this, but it’s what we’ve always done. In the spring we will unwrap them, and they’ll thank us by blooming. We buy dozens of tulip bulbs from the local nursery and lie on a blanket under the weeping willow while my kids plant them around the yard and along the bank of the creek. I have never in my life had so much to look forward to.
The five of us have been trying to keep the feeling of summer alive by having dinner in my backyard most nights, and Ethan brought over a small fire pit to keep off the chill. Tonight I’ve grilled steaks and asparagus, and the heat coming off the grill helps. The creek is raging with water from a recent storm and the gate on the fence between our houses has come unlatched and is banging in the wind.
“Why do we even need that fence?” asks Greer. She’s cut her hair short in an unexpected burst of confidence. Seventh grade seems to be agreeing with her. She made the school’s modified soccer team, which has had the surprise benefit of the company of a totally different group of girls. I noticed when she sat down that she left her phone inside the house again. It’s been a month since Caroline texted her that she missed her so so much (sad emoji, of course) and asked her to come to a sleepover. That text has been sitting on her phone, un-replied-to, for one solid month. I think Greer is starting to understand the nature of power.
“Let’s get rid of it,” says Iris. “We’d have so much space.”
“And we could see all the way down the creek to Phyllis’s tree,” Cliffy says, and climbs into Ethan’s lap. Ethan lets him cut his steak and catches my eye. I don’t remember when this started happening.
“Fine with me,” I say.
“Let’s do it,” says Ethan. “I love the idea of two houses with one yard.” I love the idea of all of us in one house, but it’s too soon for that. Besides, being in this super-close relationship while also having my own space with my kids feels exactly right.
Ethan’s phone rings, and it’s his parents on FaceTime. “Hi, sweetie,” his mom says. Ethan holds the phone up to me and then to Cliffy on his lap.
“We’re just having dinner at Ali’s,” he says. “Tomorrow we’re taking the fence down.”
“Oh, just marry her already,” his dad says in the background. Mrs. Hogan shushes him. Greer and Iris exchange looks. Cliffy smiles the smile of a six-year-old boy who thinks this is the best idea in the world.
“I’m sorry to interrupt dinner,” she says. “But I wanted to let you know we’re coming up for Thanksgiving.”
“That’s great,” Ethan says. “We’re going to cook here. Frannie and fam are coming. Ali’s dad and Libby. You can stay with me.”
“That sounds so lovely, sweetie,” his mother says.
“Just tell them,” Mr. Hogan says. We see nothing but a ceiling fan for a few seconds, and when they’re back, it’s Mr. Hogan. “We’re coming for Thanksgiving and staying. We can’t live here all year. I’m sunburned as hell and we feel too far away.”
“Theo walked,” Mrs. Hogan says, taking the phone back. “And we missed it. By the time they get down here to visit, he’ll be running. I can’t take it. Our whole life is there.”
“Wow, that’s great,” Ethan says. “But you know the house isn’t ours anymore, right?”
“It’s fine,” she says. “We’re moving into the inn. Your grandparents’ apartment. It’s perfect for us. And they can cook all our meals when we’re old.”
Ethan looks at me for a reaction. I have none to give except that I’m excited there will be two more people at the table, all the time.
“When we called Harold this morning to tell him we were coming back, he asked for his old job back and we agreed. But the truth is we don’t want to manage that place. Frannie’s frantic to find someone new, because she doesn’t want it to fall on her.”
“I want the job,” I say. It comes out a little aggressively, which I’m not going to apologize for because my tone matches just how badly I want this job.
“Let me talk to her,” Mr. Hogan says, and Ethan hands me the phone.
“Hi,” I say. “I want that job. I’ve been sort of coaching Harold about things for a while, but major changes need to be made. The billing should be automated, the garbage contract should be totally renegotiated. The winter menu is too broad, and the linens should be dealt with on Mondays, not Fridays. I can totally do this.”
He smiles. “Well that’s…that’s an idea.”
Mrs. Hogan grabs the phone. “It’s the perfect idea. But please promise me the stress won’t make you dump Scooter.”
Ethan just shakes his head. They really do talk about him like he’s still in middle school. “I don’t think that’s something you should be worried about,” I say, and he takes my hand.
“You can work out of your house if you want,” Mrs. Hogan says.
“I’d like to go to the office.” I surprise myself by saying it. I am also surprised by the way my heart races a little at the thought of an office of my own, seven pencils in a cup, and a whole mess to set right. I know exactly what I’m going to wear.
“Okay, done,” Mr. Hogan says like he’s just won the lottery. “I’ll send a salary number over in the morning, as well as a full job description.”
“Thank you,” I say. “This is wonderful.” Ethan puts his arm around me and kisses me on the forehead.
“Enough business,” Mrs. Hogan says. “Frannie tells me she’s bringing all the pies to Thanksgiving dinner. Can I bring mashed potatoes and a salad?”
“Salad?” Iris and Greer say at the same time. Ethan hands them the phone and wraps his arms around me while his parents argue the merits of salad at Thanksgiving dinner.
“Ali Morris, running my family’s business,” he says.
“It’s sort of my dream job,” I say. I feel a jolt of adrenaline from the leap I just took. And for a second I understand what it would feel like to race up the half-pipe, turn in the air, and land exactly where you want to.
“Just wait till I negotiate your salary,” he says, and laughs.
He pulls me close and we watch my kids laugh with his parents. I feel all of it. The love for my kids that sometimes feels like it could engulf me in flames. The burning love I can still feel coming from my mom, like it’s something alive inside of me. And the way Ethan feels like a thing I have been waiting for my entire life.
“What do you think Pete’s going to say about you running the inn? I’m guessing Cliffy will tell him immediately when he comes for them tomorrow.” The kids have gone to bed and we’re sitting in the backyard listening to the water rush through the creek. The forsythias that line the path to the creek have turned their dark fall yellow. The hydrangea blooms are long gone, as are most of their leaves, leaving bunches of lifeless sticks all over my yard. A younger me would have thought those plants were dead, but Phyllis taught me otherwise.
I cover his legs with mine, and he covers us both with a blanket, as is our habit.
I am so happy that tomorrow is Saturday that I almost miss Ethan’s question. “I don’t think it really matters. Pete can think whatever he wants.”
“Good. I don’t even care if he calls me Scooter forever. I kind of like it when your kids do, actually.”
This makes me smile, Ethan finally letting Scooter be happy here. “Can we try the half-pipe again tomorrow?” I ask.
“I’d love to.” He pulls me close, and the wind rattles the old fence. “I didn’t expect it, but this is kind of a big night—your new job and the death of that ugly fence.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a little box. “I got you something, a while back. This feels like a good time.”
I hesitate, because a little box from the man you love could mean forever. But I can tell from the look on his face that it’s not a ring, and that somehow it still means forever. I open it, and inside is a tiny silver charm, a heart. I run my finger over its smooth surface, rounded in the middle with a sharp point at the bottom. “I can’t believe it,” I say.
I have tears in my eyes and he’s smiling at me. “What can’t you believe?”
The answers chase each other around my head. That I didn’t already have a heart on my bracelet. That in the hieroglyphics of my life story, my marriage was marked by a dress, not love. That I never thought there would be another charm for this bracelet. “That there are going to be more things, and it’s starting with this.”
I rest my head on his shoulder and silently thank myself for putting my heart on the line. It’s madness loving someone like this; I must be a natural born risk taker. In fact, it’s possible that I am just foolhardy enough to be happy. Spring is always coming, and I know for sure that I will always have a dog.