Chapter Eleven

ELEVEN

SEPTEMBER 1987

The ER doctor told Irving to take it easy. “Stay inside and avoid the sun,” he said. “At least for the next few days.”

Harold gave Augusta the full report when he called her on the phone the next morning.

“Thanks for the update,” she said. “I’m glad Irving has such a thoughtful friend.”

“I’m sure he’d do the same for me. Irving is a mensch, you know. He’s the best friend I have.”

Harold spoke gently, in a voice that sounded as if he wanted to say more. “He puts on a good show, but don’t be fooled—Irving has had some hard times in his life. He’s been through a lot of heartache.”

What exactly was Harold trying to say? Had Irving told him to speak to her? She knew a few things about heartache herself, but she didn’t go around advertising that to strangers. Frustration gathered in her chest and she decided it was best to end the call. “I have to go, Harold,” she said abruptly. “I have some errands I need to run.” She hung up the phone, determined to avoid thinking about Irving for the rest of the day.

Then she remembered how he’d left her the bag of saltines and the ginger ale when she was sick. If he went to all that trouble for her, how could she do nothing for him now? She decided that it would be mean-spirited to ignore him after his trip to the hospital. She would pick up a small get-well gift—she didn’t know what—in the course of her daily errands.

But as she made her way from the post office to the strip mall, she struggled to come up with an appropriate token. Flowers felt too intimate, but wasn’t a potted plant impersonal? She thought about buying a simple get-well card, but she had no idea what to write inside it. Then later, at the supermarket checkout line, a pile of yellow-wrapped Oh Henry! candy bars caught her eye. Before Augusta finished paying for her groceries, she threw two of the candy bars on the conveyor belt.

The first time any of them had seen an Oh Henry! bar was when a shipment arrived at her father’s drugstore. The chocolate peanut bars were such a hit in the neighborhood that all of them were gone before the morning was over. Unsure of what all the fuss was about, Augusta’s father saved one for her. Later, when Irving got to work, Augusta cut the bar in two and passed half to her friend.

Irving didn’t have much of a sweet tooth, but he never turned down food. When he bit into the Oh Henry! bar, his expression went from curious to ecstatic. In the years to come, the two friends tried dozens of other kinds of candy. But Irving never found another to rival the confection that was his first love.

Augusta went over to Irving’s in the late afternoon with the two candy bars tucked inside her purse. She’d tied them together with a scrap of red ribbon she’d saved from a present her niece Jackie had given her.

When he opened the door to his condo, a flicker of surprise flashed across Irving’s features. “Goldie!” he said. “I wasn’t expecting you! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” If he hadn’t looked so much paler than usual, she would have reminded him not to use her nickname. But this time, she let the matter slide. When he leaned forward to kiss her cheek, she pulled back clumsily so the peck landed on her chin. She tried to ignore the strange knot in her stomach and the unfamiliar sensation in her knees.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“A little tired, but otherwise fine. That was some crazy tennis yesterday.”

“It certainly was,” she agreed. I was worried about you.

A voice like squealing brakes on pavement interrupted their conversation. “Irving! Who are you talking to?” Irving pulled the door open farther to reveal a woman in a black sequined blouse standing in his foyer. She wore heavy black eyeliner and the longest false eyelashes that Augusta had ever seen.

“Vera, this is Goldie. Goldie, Vera.” Was it Augusta’s imagination, or did Irving seem suddenly sheepish? Who is this woman?

“Vera is my neighbor. She’s a snowbird,” Irving said. “She got here last night from New Jersey.”

Is it normal for people from New Jersey to wear sequins at four o’clock on a weekday? “Welcome back,” said Augusta, wondering whether Vera could hear the insincerity in her voice.

Vera didn’t seem to notice. “It’s a good thing I got here when I did,” she said. “I go away for a few months, and this one ends up in the hospital. Sunstroke at a tennis match! Can you imagine such a thing?”

“I can,” said Augusta, trying not to notice how close Vera was standing next to Irving. “I was there yesterday. I saw the whole thing.”

“Oh?” said Vera, eyelashes fluttering like miniature bat wings beneath her brows. “What were you doing at the tournament?”

“Goldie just moved to Rallentando,” said Irving. “But—here’s the crazy part—we grew up together! I used to work at her father’s drugstore. I was the delivery boy.” He shook his head and smiled at them both. “It sure is a small world, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh,” said Vera, placing one hand on Irving’s shoulder and pulling him ever so slightly toward her. “It’s awfully sweet of you to come by, Goldie, but the doctors said Irving is supposed to take it easy. He’s going to have a nap before dinner. I’m making his favorite—my famous turkey meatloaf.”

Who makes meatloaf in this heat? Augusta wondered. She flashed Vera her most saccharine smile. “Of course,” she said. “I’ll get out of your hair.” She pulled the Oh Henry! bars out of her purse and practically threw them at Irving.

She’d been planning to say, I remembered how you loved these. Or maybe I know these used to be your favorite. But she was too irritated now to say anything of the sort—anything that would serve as an admission of how much she used to care about him.

When Irving looked down and saw the candy, his eyes grew wide with delight. “Would you look at that,” he said dreamily. “I can’t believe you remembered.” He smiled at her then, the way that he used to, back when the two of them were still young, back when a candy bar still had the power to turn a crummy day around.

The next moment, Vera reached for the bars and tugged them out of Irving’s hands. “I’ll put those in the kitchen,” she said. “Irving, you really need to rest. Goodbye now, Goldie. See you around.”

“Thanks so much for coming over,” said Irving. “This heat wave is supposed to break tomorrow. I’ll be back at the pool in a couple of days.”

As she made her way home, a seething Augusta suppressed the sudden urge to scream. She never should have bought that candy. She never should have knocked on Irving’s door. How could she have let down her guard again? Had sixty-two years taught her nothing?

The next morning, in an effort to boost her mood, Augusta put on her new swimsuit. In the mirror, she admired the wide red straps, which showed off the elegant line of her shoulders. Not that she expected anyone to notice.

Rage propelled her through the pool, fueling her strokes with an intensity that translated into the speed and strength of a woman half her age. With every stroke, her mind raced ahead. Was Irving still with Vera now? Why hadn’t he mentioned her before?

As Augusta’s arms cut through the water, she was aware of another body beside her. There were three lap lanes on one side of the pool, but usually Augusta was the only one in them. Now, however, someone was matching her, stroke for stroke and kick for kick. Not racing against her exactly but doing his darndest to keep up. It was a man, but no one she recognized, especially not when all she could see was the blur of his forearms and fluttering feet.

She swam a few more laps than usual, and when she finally stopped, he stopped, too, pulling the goggles from his face and the swim cap from his head. In her experience, men who wore swim caps were usually covering up a bald spot. But this man shook out a copious mane of slightly tousled, thick white hair. Her first thought was that his face was familiar, like someone she had seen before. Powerful features; rough, tanned skin. Who did he remind her of?

“You have an excellent breaststroke,” the stranger said.

“I bet you say that to all the girls.”

He barked out a short, embarrassed laugh. “I apologize. That didn’t come out the way I had hoped. I meant to say that you’re a very strong swimmer. I’m usually the only one doing laps around here.”

“We must be on different schedules, then—this is the first time I’ve seen you.”

“Until yesterday, I was still up north. September is when the great migration begins—all of us snowbirds heading down south.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Augusta murmured.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, nothing. Yesterday I met another one—a returned snowbird, that’s all.”

“Ah, I see.” He held out his hand. “I’m Nathaniel,” he said. “Nice to meet a fellow swimmer.”

Something clicked in Augusta’s brain. When she squinted, she could see the stranger not as he was, but with darker hair, leaner cheeks, and all the sharpness and flash of youth. “Oh, my goodness. Nathaniel Birnbaum? I haven’t seen you for sixty years!”

“Augusta?” he said, incredulous. “Augusta Stern… I can’t believe it!”

She turned her head to scan the crowd. “Is Evie here? How is she?”

His face was already wet from the pool, but Augusta saw the tears well up in his eyes. “We lost her twelve years ago. Ovarian cancer. It happened fast.”

“I’m so sorry. I have such vivid memories of the two of you on the floor at all those dances. You were a beautiful couple.”

“You know, Evie never stopped talking about you, even after we moved to Boston. She admired you so much. She used to say you were the smartest woman she had ever met.”

“I’m sure that isn’t true, but it’s nice to hear.” She paused for a moment, her head spinning. “You know, you’re the second person from our neighborhood I’ve run into since I moved here. What are the odds that three of us would all end up in the same place?”

Nathaniel’s lips twisted into a grimace. “You’ve already seen Irving then? Ah, well…”

Augusta frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing. It isn’t important.” He followed her to the swimming pool steps and pulled himself up out of the water. “It was such a nice surprise to see you, Augusta. I’m sure we’ll see quite a bit of each other now.”

“I hope so, Nathaniel. Enjoy your morning.”

When she got to her lounge chair, Shirley was waiting with a bottle of sunscreen and a mischievous grin. “I see you met Nathaniel,” she said.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because Dr. Nathaniel Birnbaum is far and away the most eligible bachelor at Rallentando Springs. Half the women here are in love with him, but he never seems to take any interest. The two of you looked very cozy, though.”

“Don’t get so excited,” Augusta said. “I knew Nathaniel back in Brooklyn. His father was a doctor, too, and a good friend of my father’s. He married one of my closest friends.”

Shirley slapped one hand against her thigh. “Of course!” she squealed. “Irving knows him, too. I should have put that together.” She tapped one finger against her scalp. “I’m not as sharp as I used to be.”

“Nathaniel seemed uncomfortable talking about Irving. Is something going on there I should know about?”

Shirley nodded slowly, for dramatic effect. “No one knows how that feud started, but Nathaniel and Irving are definitely not friends.”

“Well, I met one of Irving’s friends yesterday,” said Augusta, “and I wasn’t exactly impressed.” Her voice boiled over with irritation.

“You must mean Vera,” said Shirley. “That woman has had her sights set on Irving for at least the past two years. Ever since she moved here.”

“I’d say her patience finally paid off. She was at his apartment, nursing him back to health and making him turkey meatloaf for dinner. Apparently, it’s her signature dish.”

“Who makes meatloaf in this heat?”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking!”

“Anyway, that doesn’t mean the two of them are together.”

“I don’t know. They seemed very close.” Augusta rubbed some lotion onto her arms. “In any event, I’m putting it out of my head. I don’t care. I couldn’t care less.”

“That’s not what it sounds like to me.”

“Irving and I grew up together. We have a shared history, that’s all.”

“History, huh?” Shirley lowered her voice. “I’d love to hear more, but it looks like Nathaniel is on his way over.”

Sure enough, when Augusta looked up, there was Nathaniel, at the foot of her chair. He’d dried off a bit, and thrown on a polo shirt—a nice crisp white one, Augusta noticed.

After he and Shirley exchanged pleasantries on how they’d spent their respective summers (Shirley had been stuck in the Florida heat, while Nathaniel escaped to his cottage in Maine), Nathaniel focused his gaze on Augusta. “I know this is awfully last minute,” he said. “But I have two tickets for the Palm Beach Symphony tonight, over at the Royal Poinciana Playhouse. Any chance you’d like to join me? We can catch up a little more.”

Augusta had little interest in classical music, but an evening out was an enticing prospect. The truth was that she could barely remember the last time she’d gone anywhere with a man. At some point, it stopped being worth the trouble. The men who asked were either too frail, too hunched, too forgetful, or too needy. Her thoughts turned to the scene at Irving’s apartment—Vera, telling Irving it was time for his nap. Vera, cooking dinner in Irving’s kitchen. The more she went over it, the more she realized that she had most likely dodged a bullet. Who wanted to be stuck playing nurse? Let Vera take care of him, Augusta thought.

Nathaniel, on the other hand, seemed like a man who took care of himself. Why shouldn’t she go to the symphony with him? Maybe an evening with an old friend was exactly what she needed.

“Thank you, Nathaniel. I’d love to.”