Chapter 4
“I binge watched the first season of The Crown again yesterday.” Jill shook her head. “What did we ever do before Netflix and Acorn and Hulu?”
Nell dumped a measure of flour into the food processor and smiled. “We read a lot more.”
Jill Smith, Nell’s neighbor and closest friend in Yorktide, was a youthful seventy years old. Her hair was thick and silvery and she wore it in a sharp bob. Jill had an impressive collection of jewelry set with all sorts of stones, from pyrite to malachite, from jasper to peridot, from rough diamonds to rutilated quartz. This morning she was wearing a suite of turquoise stones set in yellow gold. The bright blue of the stone complemented the bright blue of her eyes.
“Nothing against books,” Jill said, “but TV really is pretty fantastic these days.”
Nell added a bit of water to the mixture she was concocting. “You’re a television addict, Jill,” she said.
Jill shrugged. “I’m retired. I’m allowed to vegetate.”
“You’ll never vegetate,” Nell remarked. “You’ll be surprising us all until the very end, and I hope that end is a long way away.”
“Sheesh,” Jill said. “Me too. I’ve survived too many rough times to chuck it all in now.”
Life had indeed challenged Jill Smith, Nell reflected. When some forty-odd years earlier she found out she was pregnant, the father of her child demanded she have an abortion. When Jill refused, the cad hit the road, leaving her to raise her son on her own while building a successful gardening business. Jill had sold the business a few years back but still occasionally consulted for the new owners, had many friends, and was a docent at no fewer than three historical sites in Maine and New Hampshire.
But retirement wasn’t all rosy. Jill’s long-time beau had died the previous summer after a brief illness. Nell still had trouble accepting the fact that Brian Speer, a veritable force of nature, was gone from their lives. Brian, a retired banker, had been widowed when his son, Charlie, was only six and had raised the boy on his own. Charlie, now in his forties, had considered his father his dearest friend and had taken to Jill from the start. Jill’s son, Stuart, not the most predictable fellow, had nevertheless taken to Brian. How Jill managed to bear her loss without falling to pieces was anyone’s guess.
“What’s in the oven?” Jill asked, interrupting Nell’s musings.
“Blondies. I found a recipe that calls for the addition of coconut flakes and I thought it sounded interesting.”
“Never a big fan of coconut,” Jill said. “But if you’ve got any of those marzipan thingies left, I’ll have one of those.”
There were indeed still a few marzipan fruit-shaped candies left over from the other day’s candy making, and Nell fetched the tin. “I’ve got some very upsetting news to share,” she said, handing the tin to Jill.
Jill took a bite of a candy. “I’m listening. Yum. I love almond.”
So Nell told her what Molly had announced earlier. “She contradicted herself,” she said at the end of her tale. “On the one hand she said she wants to be with other men. On the other, she implied that the reason she’s breaking up with Mick is because he won’t leave Maine.”
“Sounds like she doesn’t really know what she wants. Not uncommon at her age. I read somewhere that it takes the human brain twenty-five years to fully mature.”
Nell shook her head. “I had visions of being one of the grandmas down the road. I just assumed that Molly’s life was going to play out the way she said it would and that my own life would follow right alongside.”
Jill raised an eyebrow. “You know what they say about assuming?”
“Yes, I do. It’s foolish. But Molly seemed to be promising she would stay here in Maine.”
“Promising who?” Jill challenged. “Not you, Nell. Maybe Mick and maybe even herself, but not her mother.”
“I know but . . .” Nell sighed. “I always expected that Felicity would fly far from the nest one day. But not Molly. She’s always been so rooted and content. You know, I was planning to give her my great aunt Prudence’s favorite serving platter for Christmas. Now I’m not so sure Molly would appreciate the platter, not since she’s turned her back on getting married and starting a family.”
“Single women need platters, too, Nell,” Jill pointed out. “They give dinner parties just like married women.”
“I know. I’m being silly. It’s just that I pictured going to Mick and Molly’s house on Sundays for dinner and Molly using the platter to serve the roast chicken and my helping to clean up afterwards and . . .”
“And all of you living happily ever after?” Jill sighed. “Sounds like you’ve got a major case of empty nest syndrome, Nell. Even the rooted ones move on. At least, they should.”
“Were you devastated when Stuart left home?” Nell asked.
“Not devastated, no,” Jill explained, “but not entirely happy, either. It was just the two of us for so long. Look, have you considered reaching out for some advice on how to handle the girls fleeing the coop?”
“No,” Nell admitted. “I haven’t, but it’s probably a wise idea.”
“Good,” Jill said, reaching for the woolly scarf she had tossed onto the counter upon her arrival. “Then I’ll leave you to your blondies. Um, could I have another marzipan thingie for the road?”
“Take the tin. I’ll make more. And by the way, what I told you is top secret. Molly doesn’t want anyone to know yet, not even Felicity, but I really needed to talk.”
Jill smiled. “My mouth will be too full of candy to say a word.”