“Try to relax. They’re both young. You’ve got a long way to go.”
“Look who’s talking,” Julia said with a laugh. “Hope is only six!”
“God help us.”
Julia bent to retrieve her cup. “Thanks for listening.”
“Feel better?”
She scrunched her lips and shook her head. “Not really. But calmer. I swanny, I hope I survive to see those two children of mine married and settled.”
Cara brought her cup to her lips to swallow any more words she might be tempted to say.
chapter twelve
One of the most beautiful surprises coming out of the pandemic was how a lot of creative people were finding new and unique ways to use their energies and imagination.
OUTSIDE THE WEATHER was dreary, all overcast gray skies that didn’t show any signs of clearing. Inside, it was just as dreary. The pod, as Linnea now called the group, was hanging out in the living room, slouched on chairs and sofas, drinking wine or beer or their alcohol of choice. She couldn’t count the number of wine bottles in the recycling bin these days. She would have been embarrassed to put the bin at the curb except that everyone else’s bin was full of wine bottles too.
The ever-present television was on, something she abhorred. Gordon and Cooper were watching some sporting event that was not even in real time. Anna and Pandora were reading, Anna with a real paper-and-spine book, Pandora listening to an audiobook.
“What are we doing here?” Linnea asked nobody in particular. “I can feel my life slipping away, a minute at a time.”
Cooper propped his feet on the coffee table, his hands clasped behind his head. “You think this is bad? Remember the weeks spent in the aftermath of hurricanes? The Internet down, electricity off. I was counting the toes on my feet for something to do.”
“Look out there,” Linnea said, gesturing toward the window. “It’s been like that for days. I think I have seasonal affective disorder.”
“It’s real,” Gordon said, and patted the sofa beside him for her to join him. To the others he said, “I came from spending a few weeks on the Cornish coast on a tank of a boat doing research. We were glad to have a gray day, if it wasn’t raining. I feel right at home.”
Linnea laughed and sat next to him, offering him another beer. She tucked up her legs, then bent to pick up Luna, who was standing on her hind legs, begging with those big brown eyes, to go up on the couch. She placed the dog on her lap and immediately Gordon began stroking her ears.
“Did I tell you my mum has Cavaliers?” he said. “Four of them.”
“You didn’t. What kind?”
“She likes the whole colors. She has two ruby and a black and tan, and a Blenheim like Luna. They’re sweet dogs, but I warn you, they don’t take to house-training readily.”
“Oh yeah,” Anna said, looking up from her book. “I meant to tell you. She left a gift in the bathroom. It’s still in there.”
Linnea groaned. “I told you to keep the door shut. And why didn’t you just pick it up?”
Anna snorted and said, “Not in my job description,” and put her nose back in the book.
Gordon patted Linnea’s leg in commiseration.
Cooper reached for the remote and began flipping through the channels. “Nobody is playing anything. Sports are all canceled. Even NASCAR. Oh, check this out—Bobby Flay. My day is saved.” He smirked.
“Wait, keep it!” Pandora exclaimed, pulling out her earbuds. “I love him. I was thinking,” she said, turning to Linnea. “We should start cooking together. Really fun, fabulous meals. What do you say?”
Linnea glanced at Anna and raised her brows. “I absolutely love that idea. Let’s do it.”
“Fabulous,” she said, using what Linnea was figuring out was her current favorite word.
Cooper was still flicking through channels. “What have you all got against Bobby?” Pandora protested.
“I don’t know. Maybe because I don’t know an oven from a sofa,” Anna said. “I happen to love the news. There’s so much going on.” She turned to Cooper. “Put on CNN.”
“No news!” everyone called out at once.
Pandora said, “With all of us gathered under one roof, better to keep politics to ourselves. Especially in an election year.”
“Uh, Pan,” Gordon said, “I’m pretty sure everyone in this room is on the same side. And I’m not talking Brexit.”
Pandora put her hand up. “No, don’t tell me. No divisiveness in the pod.”
“What else you got?” Linnea asked her brother.
“Man, slim pickings. There are some reruns. How about Wimbledon.”
“Ooh, Wimbledon,” exclaimed Pandora.
“How about some surfing in Australia?” asked Gordon. “Check ESPN.”
Everyone perked up at this suggestion.
“Yeah, surfing,” said Pandora, smiling at Gordon.
Linnea groaned inwardly at Pandora’s increasingly obvious effort to always take Gordon’s side.
Anna rose and said, “I’m going for a refill.”
“Slow down. It’s only one o’clock,” Linnea said.
“It’s five o’clock somewhere. Anybody want something?”
The porch door slid open and John came in like a breath of fresh air. His face was lit with excitement as he stepped into the room and clapped his hands.
“Up and at ’em!” he called out.
Cooper groaned and threw a pillow at him.
John caught it in midair and tossed it back. “Seriously, man, all hands on deck! I’ve got a great idea.”
More groans sounded in the group.
“Do you know what this bunch of zombies needs?” When no one answered, he pushed on. “A fort. A man cave. Sorry, I mean a pod cave. And I’ve found it.”
Everyone turned their heads lazily and without enthusiasm.
“Come on, follow me. I’ll show you.”
No one moved.
“Hey, I said come on! Look, it’s got to be better than this, right?”
“We’re fine,” Gordon said, and slipped his arm around Linnea’s shoulders.
Cooper clicked off the television, rose, and tossed the remote on the table. “He’s right. I’ve got to get out of here.” He put his hand out to Anna. “Let’s go, babe.”
Pandora rose and reached for Gordon’s hand. “Come on, grumpy.” Begrudgingly, he took her hand and rose. “Come on, Lin,” she added with a bright smile.
Linnea tilted her head, curious about Pandora’s brazen grabbing of Gordon’s hand.
“Far be it from me to be the spoilsport,” she said, and, lifting Luna, followed the group out the porch door. She giggled to herself as they marched in single file across the driveway and through the white picket fence gate into Emmi’s yard. They looked like they were playing follow the leader, and leading the troupe was Peter Pan. The boy who wouldn’t grow up.
John stopped in front of the carriage house. Linnea had spent many hours upstairs in the loft apartment that summer with John, the amazing place that once was Flo’s mother’s abode. But in all the years she’d been staying at the beach house next door, she’d never seen the inside of the lower area that had been Miranda’s studio.