introduced Joyce and mentioned the house on Forest Street.
“Mary Loquasto’s house,” Ginny said, nodding. “You the writer?”
Joyce blushed and nodded.
“It’s a nice house,” Ginny added, almost daring Joyce to disagree.
“We’re very lucky,” Joyce said.
“There are no secrets in a small town, you know,” Kathleen whispered. She bought a
loaf of scali bread; Joyce ordered three dozen cookies for Nina’s soccer team. Dean
Martin followed them out into the street. “Sometimes they play opera,” Kathleen said,
pointing up at the speakers under the awning. They stood for a moment and listened
to the end of “Return to Me.”
“Are you in a rush?” Kathleen asked. “The pastry shop over there has wonderful cappuccino.”
As they walked into the café across the street, the woman behind the counter said,
“Hi, Mrs. Levine.”
“Hi, Philomena,” said Kathleen. “Is Serena over her cold?”
“She’ll be back in school next week,” said Philomena, who lowered her voice and added,
“And I hear you’re going to be okay, right?”
Kathleen brushed off Philomena’s question and the quizzical look on Joyce’s face.
“I’m fine. Can we have two of the world’s best cappuccinos?”
As she steamed the milk, Philomena got started on other people’s business. “So, is
that Mrs. Fry who teaches second grade pregnant, or not?” She set down a couple of
biscotti with the coffees. “On the house.”
Philomena was about to pull over a chair to join them when the phone rang. Kathleen
and Joyce exchanged relieved glances. They stirred their coffees with exaggerated
care, each wondering where to begin.
Maybe I’m too old, thought Kathleen. She tried to remember how she and Jeanette had
started to be friends. It had taken them two years to talk about anything more important
than the weather. And now Jeanette was out of her life. Kathleen knew why she hadn’t
called: too many friends and family members had been diagnosed with cancer in the
past few years, and Jeanette was terrified. Still, Kathleen would never be able to
forgive her. For a moment, she considered sticking to the weather. But then Joyce
smiled, revealing two perfectly matched dimples Kathleen hadn’t noticed the other
night at temple.
“What brought you to Gloucester in the first place?” Kathleen asked.
“Actually, Nina found it,” Joyce said. “She was a colicky baby . . . what a horrible
three months that was. She would only sleep in the car, and even then we had to be
doing at least fifty. Frank and I drove up and down 128, taking turns napping. So
one night, late, maybe three in the morning, Frank pulled over alongside Good Harbor
beach. There was no moon, and the stars were just staggering. I could see the Milky
Way like it was an address, you know? Like a real pathway through the sky. Eventually,
all of us fell asleep, and when we woke up, the sunrise closed the sale.
“After that, we came up for vacations. We rented cottages all over the place: Annisquam,
Lanesville, Rocky Neck. We were in an apartment near Bass Rocks for three years until
the place went condo. By then, I swore if we ever had the money, we’d buy a place
up here.”
Kathleen nodded, her eyes fixed on Joyce’s expressive face. She must be forty, Kathleen
thought. I can see the little lines around her eyes. Gray eyes, very striking with
the black hair.
“Of course we couldn’t afford what we wanted,” Joyce went on, “which is a water view.
Our place is about three blocks up from Smith’s Cove, near the theater. Oh, right,”
she said, remembering Ginny’s comment. “I guess everyone knows that.”
“It’s not bad, to be known by your neighbors.”
“I’ll have to get used to it. Belmont is totally anonymous by comparison.”
Kathleen nodded, encouraging Joyce to go on with her story.
“I love it up here. But when I try to explain what made me pick Gloucester, I end
up
“Mary Loquasto’s house,” Ginny said, nodding. “You the writer?”
Joyce blushed and nodded.
“It’s a nice house,” Ginny added, almost daring Joyce to disagree.
“We’re very lucky,” Joyce said.
“There are no secrets in a small town, you know,” Kathleen whispered. She bought a
loaf of scali bread; Joyce ordered three dozen cookies for Nina’s soccer team. Dean
Martin followed them out into the street. “Sometimes they play opera,” Kathleen said,
pointing up at the speakers under the awning. They stood for a moment and listened
to the end of “Return to Me.”
“Are you in a rush?” Kathleen asked. “The pastry shop over there has wonderful cappuccino.”
As they walked into the café across the street, the woman behind the counter said,
“Hi, Mrs. Levine.”
“Hi, Philomena,” said Kathleen. “Is Serena over her cold?”
“She’ll be back in school next week,” said Philomena, who lowered her voice and added,
“And I hear you’re going to be okay, right?”
Kathleen brushed off Philomena’s question and the quizzical look on Joyce’s face.
“I’m fine. Can we have two of the world’s best cappuccinos?”
As she steamed the milk, Philomena got started on other people’s business. “So, is
that Mrs. Fry who teaches second grade pregnant, or not?” She set down a couple of
biscotti with the coffees. “On the house.”
Philomena was about to pull over a chair to join them when the phone rang. Kathleen
and Joyce exchanged relieved glances. They stirred their coffees with exaggerated
care, each wondering where to begin.
Maybe I’m too old, thought Kathleen. She tried to remember how she and Jeanette had
started to be friends. It had taken them two years to talk about anything more important
than the weather. And now Jeanette was out of her life. Kathleen knew why she hadn’t
called: too many friends and family members had been diagnosed with cancer in the
past few years, and Jeanette was terrified. Still, Kathleen would never be able to
forgive her. For a moment, she considered sticking to the weather. But then Joyce
smiled, revealing two perfectly matched dimples Kathleen hadn’t noticed the other
night at temple.
“What brought you to Gloucester in the first place?” Kathleen asked.
“Actually, Nina found it,” Joyce said. “She was a colicky baby . . . what a horrible
three months that was. She would only sleep in the car, and even then we had to be
doing at least fifty. Frank and I drove up and down 128, taking turns napping. So
one night, late, maybe three in the morning, Frank pulled over alongside Good Harbor
beach. There was no moon, and the stars were just staggering. I could see the Milky
Way like it was an address, you know? Like a real pathway through the sky. Eventually,
all of us fell asleep, and when we woke up, the sunrise closed the sale.
“After that, we came up for vacations. We rented cottages all over the place: Annisquam,
Lanesville, Rocky Neck. We were in an apartment near Bass Rocks for three years until
the place went condo. By then, I swore if we ever had the money, we’d buy a place
up here.”
Kathleen nodded, her eyes fixed on Joyce’s expressive face. She must be forty, Kathleen
thought. I can see the little lines around her eyes. Gray eyes, very striking with
the black hair.
“Of course we couldn’t afford what we wanted,” Joyce went on, “which is a water view.
Our place is about three blocks up from Smith’s Cove, near the theater. Oh, right,”
she said, remembering Ginny’s comment. “I guess everyone knows that.”
“It’s not bad, to be known by your neighbors.”
“I’ll have to get used to it. Belmont is totally anonymous by comparison.”
Kathleen nodded, encouraging Joyce to go on with her story.
“I love it up here. But when I try to explain what made me pick Gloucester, I end
up
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