Nan Rossiter - The Gin and Chowder Club

“What would you like to drink? That’s one thing I forgot to get, so I don’t have much. Let’s see,” she said, opening the refrigerator. “Iced tea, which is almost gone, orange juice, milk, and”-she laughed-“beer. You don’t drink beer, do you?”

“That sounds good,” he said.

She looked up, surprised. “Are you old enough?” she teased.

“Of course!” Asa’s eyes sparkled as he grinned at her.

“Hmmm,” she said thoughtfully, “okay, but don’t tell anyone.”

“Promise.”

Noelle took out two beers, set them on the counter, and started rummaging through the drawer for a bottle opener.

“I do know when your birthday is,” she said, thinking out loud. “Give me a minute… August, right?”

“Yup,” Asa replied, taking the magnetic bottle opener off of the refrigerator. It was being used to post the tide chart, but he put a different magnet on the chart and opened the bottles.

Noelle heard the sound and turned from the drawer. “I always forget about that one.”

Asa handed her one of the bottles. “It’s when low tide is at eleven fifty-nine a.m.”

“What is? Oh, your birthday! Let’s see…” She stepped closer to him so that she could scan the chart. He looked over her shoulder. She smelled of soap, and Asa decided she must have just showered. He slipped his arms around her, and she leaned into him. “Here it is,” she exclaimed. “I knew that -August thirty-first. How could I forget?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, grinning again. “After all these years, I would’ve thought you knew it by heart.” She gently pulled away, and he leaned against the counter.

“After all these years,” she said solemnly, “I do know it by heart, Asa. I was just teasing.” She hesitated before continuing. “And after all these years, I hope you know how much our friendship means to me, because it’s getting harder and harder for me to resist you. I’m very afraid of this path we’ve started down. I’m afraid of what could happen, and I’m afraid of the heartache it would create.” She shook her head and looked away. “I don’t know what to do. I keep trying to not let anything happen,… but when you are standing in front of me, I lose all resolve.” She looked at him again. “Asa, you must be so confused… and I am so sorry.”

Asa nodded slowly, his heart aching. Noelle turned away with tears in her eyes and busied herself reaching into the cabinet for the plates. Her blouse pulled out from her shorts as she stretched, and Asa couldn’t help but notice the smooth brown skin of her lower back. But this time he forced himself to look away; he would do whatever she asked, no matter how much it hurt. He didn’t want to think about it anymore; he just wanted everything to be the way it used to be.

He picked up the book that Noelle had been reading, determined to change the subject. Tears filled his eyes as he tried to focus on the title page, and one tear fell onto the writing before he could brush it away. It was then that Asa realized the book was an original volume of Leaves of Grass -and that it was signed.

“Where’d you get this?” he asked, astonished by the famous signature.

“My grandfather was a book collector,” Noelle answered, thankful for Asa’s simple question. “He gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday.”

Asa looked at the publication date, 1855. “Gosh, it must be worth a fortune! Have you ever had it appraised?”

“No, I haven’t,” Noelle replied as she divided the last of the cobbler onto two plates. “I’d never sell it.”

“I have the deathbed edition, but it isn’t original or anything. I’m jealous!”

“Then I probably shouldn’t tell you that I also have a signed Walden .”

“You do?” Asa was incredulous. “Where did your grandfather find such treasures?”

“I’m not sure about Walden, but the Whitman”-Noelle nodded to the book in Asa’s hands-“he found in a dusty little shop in Cambridge.”

Asa gently leafed through the pages and ran his fingers lightly over the distinctive signature before stepping out on the porch and carefully putting it back on the table. When he came into the kitchen again, Noelle handed him his cobbler.

“Thanks,” he said, reaching for a fork.

Asa leaned against the counter and was lifting the fork to his mouth when Noelle said, “By the way, how is your poetry?”

Asa smiled. He knew that Noelle knew he wanted to be a poet-they had talked about it often enough-but still, he teased her. “What poetry?”

Noelle was at the sink, filling the glass baking dish with hot, sudsy water. She finished, turned to look at him, and said, “Asa, you keep promising that you’re going to let me read some poems, but you never do.”

“Well, lately, I haven’t made much progress. I don’t know what it is-no inspiration, no ideas. Maybe it’s just not meant to be.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Noelle consoled. “You’re so busy with work that you probably don’t have time to write. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Asa was surprised by Noelle’s insight-it was almost as if she had read his mind. He took a sip of beer. “How do you like beer with your cobbler?” she asked.

He smiled. “Oh, beer’s good with anything.” It was quiet for a minute, and Asa looked down. The tension was palpable as they tried to retrace their steps back to the carefree innocence they had once shared. Finally, Asa looked up. “So, who are you taking care of now?”

Noelle let Martha lick her plate and put it in the sink. She took a sip of her beer and sighed. “Oh, you don’t want to know,” she started. “For the last year, I’ve been taking care of this crotchety old codger who no one else can bear,” she replied. “He’s ninety-two and as grouchy as can be. His family doesn’t even like to visit him because he’s so ornery. The good thing is he’s not terminal-that is, unless you can die of a poor disposition! After David and Annie, I had to take some time off, and when I finally went back, I put in a request for no more terminal patients… at least, not for a while.”

“Who was David?” Asa asked. He watched Noelle’s eyes suddenly fill with emotion, and he wished that he hadn’t asked.

“David was a young boy who had leukemia. He was as sweet as could be, and he never complained. He was very wise for his age-so insightful about life and living. Some adults aren’t even able to see life the way David did-like the old codger I care for now.” Noelle paused reflectively and then went on. “Unfortunately, David’s mother had a very hard time dealing with his illness, and she completely withdrew from him. She left his care completely to me, and I became very attached- too attached. He was my first case, and I tried to keep from becoming emotionally involved, but it was impossible. In the end, I came to love him as much as I think I would love my own child.” Noelle studied Asa. “If he had lived, I think he’d be about your age.” She hesitated again. “At the time, it seemed so unfair… It still does.” She picked up Asa’s plate and put it in the sink too. “But, Asa, God always has a plan, even though we often can’t comprehend the reasons. I am just glad to have had the privilege of knowing David, even if it was only for a short time.” She paused and took another sip. “How in the world did we get onto this anyway?” she asked, smiling at him.

“I asked,” Asa said. Then, not knowing what else to say, he added, “I’m sorry about David.”

He looked at Noelle as if seeing her for the first time. She had always been a part of his life, and yet there was so much about her that he still didn’t know. Before that moment, he wouldn’t have even been able to say exactly what color her eyes were. But now, as he looked, he discovered that they were the deepest blue, and behind them were secrets about living that he hadn’t even begun to understand. Noelle’s eyes had seen so much of life and love and death, and now those same dark eyes were looking openly at him. He ached to take her in his arms, but her plea for restraint continued to play through his mind.