Chapter Three

THREE

SEPTEMBER 1987

Of all the retirement communities in southern Florida, why did Irving Rivkin have to end up at hers?

He followed Augusta to her lounge chair and plopped himself down on the seat beside it. “You look terrific!” he said approvingly. “You’ve still got those long legs, like when we were kids.”

“Well, now they’re covered in varicose veins.” Honestly, what could be more embarrassing than this damp, half-naked, forced reunion? Augusta wished she had worn one of her newer swimsuits—one that hadn’t lost all its shape. Better yet, she wished she was wearing clothes. She’d never been prudish about her body, but now she wrapped the pool towel around her middle and covered as much of herself as possible.

“Not from where I’m sitting,” Irving said. “Hey, how are Bess and George doing? Are they down in Florida, too?”

Augusta bit the inside of her cheek. She shook her head. “George died back in 1983, and we lost Bess six months ago.”

“Shit, I’m sorry. Bess and George were the greatest.”

Finally, something they could agree on. “She was the best friend I ever had.”

“You must miss her.”

“Every day. But her kids have been a huge comfort––especially her daughter, Jackie. Peter, the oldest, moved to Seattle, and Andy is a doctor in Connecticut. Jackie opened a boutique in the city, and since she stayed in New York, she’s the one I see most. She has two wonderful kids.” As Augusta talked, she grew more relaxed. Keep going, keep going, she told herself. Answer his questions. Ask about his life. Get all of this over with and out of the way. Once the two of you are caught up with each other, there will be nothing left for him to say. He’ll get bored and leave you alone.

“What about you?” Augusta asked. “How is…” She paused, pretending that the name of Irving’s wife wasn’t permanently etched on her brain. “Lois? The last I heard, you had twin sons.”

Irving smiled. “Bill and Michael, they’re doing great. Bill is a math teacher back in Chicago and Michael’s an anesthesiologist. They’re both married, both got a couple of kids. Michael was in Florida with his family last month. They’ll be back for Christmas break in December.”

“And Lois? Is she still…”

Irving’s smile disappeared. “Healthy as a horse, apparently. Lois left me back in ’42. Ran off to Las Vegas with one of her friends. The boys were teenagers by then—we gave ’em a choice, and they stayed with me. She was happy enough with the arrangement—it wasn’t like she wanted them with her anyway.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Augusta wasn’t the least bit sorry. But she was surprised by Irving’s tone. He’d been so besotted with Lois once. So desperately in love with the young woman that he’d proposed to her and followed her to Chicago within the span of a single week.

“You probably don’t remember much about Lois, but she wasn’t exactly the maternal type.”

Augusta remembered Lois perfectly, but she certainly wasn’t going to say so. She could still see Lois’s dark, wavy hair, her flawless skin, her pouty red lips.

“You were a single father in 1942? You couldn’t have had much company.”

Irving chuckled. “You got that right,” he said. “But those boys were the light of my life. Still are, of course. Them and the grandkids.

“How about you?” Irving continued. “Tell me about your husband. How many kids do you have?”

Beneath her towel, Augusta’s body stiffened. She wanted to punch Irving right then and there. How she loathed the cavalier way he spoke about marriage and motherhood! As if either or both were hers for the taking if only she’d chosen to partake. As if love was as common as breaking a nail.

“I have no children,” she said sharply.

He stared at her blankly, as if the words pained him. “Really?” he said. “I thought I heard you had a daughter.”

“Absolutely not,” she snapped. “And, for the record, I’ve never been married.” The response came out more forcefully than she’d intended, and Irving seemed slightly taken aback. He lowered his sunglasses to study her face, but she turned her head to read the sign that hung over the snack bar window. “How’s the food over there, by the way?” she asked. “Are the sandwiches any good?”

“They got a nice turkey club. But whatever you do, don’t get the tuna.” Before she had time to contemplate the strange intensity of Irving’s warning, he reached his hand out and patted her knee. “I hope life hasn’t been too rough on you, kid.”

The pity in his tone was more than she could bear—a slap in the face would have been more welcome. “It hasn’t,” she assured him, swatting his hand away. “I took over the pharmacy when my father died. I ran it myself for twenty years before I sold it. After that, I worked at a couple of hospitals. I only retired a few months ago.”

“You’ve been working full-time all these years?”

Augusta shrugged. “Why not?” she said. She did not explain that work had been her salvation—her greatest escape from heartbreak and loneliness. She did not tell him how she needed to keep her hands and mind busy so as not to dwell on the disappointments of her past. She did not tell him how she’d lied for years about her age because the idea of retiring had terrified her. “I love my work,” she said instead. “Why would I want to give it up?” She gestured to the bowling ball of a stomach that swelled over the top of Irving’s swim trunks. “It’s better than sitting around, getting fat.”

He patted his bump with both hands. “Watch it, kid,” he said, amused. “I’ll have you know that I’m proud of this belly. You remember how skinny I was when you met me? My mom could barely afford to put food on the table, which was why I was always so grateful to your dad for giving me that delivery job. I used to tell myself that when I got older, I’d eat as much as I wanted.” He patted his belly again. “Life is for living and enjoying. I don’t regret one inch of this beauty.”

“Speaking of food,” Augusta said, rising abruptly from her lounge chair, “I have to get back and unpack my kitchen. I have half a dozen boxes full of plates and glasses, and I need to figure out where to put them all.” She tucked her sunscreen and goggles back into her canvas tote bag.

“You really gotta go so soon?” asked Irving. “You and me, we were just starting to catch up.” There was a sweetness to his clumsy smile that Augusta remembered from her youth. You fell for that smile once before, she told herself. You will not fall for it again.

“I’ve told you everything there is to know,” she answered.

“Impossible,” Irving said. “You can’t catch up sixty-two years in fifteen minutes. Come on, Goldie. I can’t let you off that easy.”

At the second mention of her childhood nickname, Augusta pursed her lips together. She murmured a hasty goodbye, walked through the pool gate, and headed quickly toward her condo. Five minutes later, she slammed her door shut, locked it, and lowered her blinds.

How on earth was she going to get rid of him?