Nan Rossiter - The Gin and Chowder Club

Asa handed Isaac his untouched beer and reached into the river for another one. He opened it, tapped it against Isaac’s, and took a sip. “So, how’s fatherhood?”

Isaac sat in Asa’s chair and smiled. “Great!”

He and Nina had wasted no time starting a family. He took out a picture of a rosy-cheeked cherub with strawberry-blond locks and showed it to his brother. “She’s so good-never cries, smiles all the time, and loves to laugh. Thank goodness she doesn’t take after her moody uncle.”

Asa sat on a stump near the chair and looked at the picture. “Thank goodness she doesn’t take after her funny-looking father.”

Isaac glanced at the book on the arm of the chair. “Are you reading this?”

“Just finished-thought you might like to read it.”

“Already have. The story of Howard Roark is on the unauthorized reading list for architecture students.” He glanced around at the clearing. “It’s looking good. When do you hope to break ground?”

“Two weeks, if all goes well.” Asa paused. “What brings you up here anyway?”

“Dad sent me.” Asa watched his brother look out at the river and waited for him to continue. “Asa, Uncle Nate had a heart attack.”

Asa stared. “Is he okay?”

Isaac shook his head. “No, Asa…”

Asa looked at the last rays of sunlight filtering through the trees and absently wiped at the condensation on his bottle. He realized that the only other time he had seen Nate, after Noelle’s funeral, was at Isaac’s wedding. Isaac had pointed him out from across the room. His hair had turned snow white, and Asa had hardly recognized him. Nate had made his way over to greet them, and Asa had felt a wave of shame as he grasped Nate’s firm, honest handshake. He had searched Nate’s eyes-they still sparkled, but he knew they had seen more than their share of sorrow.

Over the years, Sarah had occasionally mentioned the little boy, Noah. She had reported that he was walking, then starting school, growing like a weed, and she had quietly told Asa that he should come home and see him. But Asa had stayed away-from the memory, from anything that reminded him of Noelle.

At the wedding, Asa had asked Nate about his son, and Nate had slipped a recent photo from his wallet. Asa had studied the picture and said, “He has Noelle’s eyes.” Nate had looked at Asa in an odd way. “Do you think so?”

Asa had nodded and, with tears in his eyes, started to excuse himself, but Nate had put his hand on his shoulder.

“Asa…,” he had said gently, “it’s okay…”

“Asa,” Isaac interrupted his thoughts. “You need to come home.”

Samuel stood at the railing in a pressed white oxford and black slacks. He looked out at the endless procession of whitecaps rushing toward the shore. Swirling his glass, he took a sip and whispered, “This one’s for you, old pal.” He looked around one last time at the vase of blue hydrangea blossoms on the linen tablecloth and mentally checked his list of preparations. He glanced from the old metal tub full of ice and bottles to the oak side table set with glasses and mixers.

Long ago, he and Nate had agreed that if anything ever happened, the one who was left behind would make sure that the other’s life would be remembered-and celebrated-with a traditional gathering. Samuel could hear the sounds of Tommy Dorsey’s band drifting out through the kitchen window and remembered that the chowder was still simmering on the stove. He had had a new helper with the clams this year, and his new helper had even known to rinse the clams. Samuel smiled as tears rolled down his cheeks. “You were a good dad,” he whispered.

An hour later, Samuel looked around at the many friends who had gathered to honor Nathaniel Shepherd. He looked at Sarah and the slight, blond-haired boy holding her hand. “Forgive me,” he began, “if I don’t get through this”-he ran his thumb under each eye-“without a few tears. I know Nate wanted it to be a celebration, but hopefully he will forgive me.” He paused again, blinked, and bit his lip. “This gathering is not the same today without Nate, although I know he is with us in spirit. I always thought Nate and I would be sipping gin and tonics together in our rocking chairs.” Those gathered chuckled warmly. “But I guess that is not to be…” Tears welled up in Samuel’s eyes again, and he pressed his lips together in a half-smile, fighting them back. “Instead, the good Lord has seen fit to bring Nate home, and He couldn’t have a finer servant. Nate was the best friend a man could ask for-kind and generous, loving and forgiving.” Samuel looked around and saw Isaac standing by the door and then realized that Asa was standing beside him.

Tears spilled down Samuel’s cheeks as he struggled to continue. “Nate weathered much sorrow, bittersweet sorrow, but… through it all, his faith was unwavering.” He looked down and smiled, through his tears, at the small boy watching him. “But Nate knew joy too-immeasurable joy.” Samuel wiped his eyes. “Okay, enough.” He held up his glass, and everyone else did the same. “To our dear old friend… may God bless him…”

The voices joined together in the melancholy toast…

“To Nate…

’Tis the chowdah that waarms a man’s belly…

But aye, ’tis the gin that waarms his soul!”

Asa stood silently, watching the ebbing tide. He noticed a circular formation of old bricks being revealed by the tide. As he watched, the wet sand gently blanketed the edges of the worn edifice, and then the waves washed the sand away again. It had been years since Asa had walked along this beach, years since he had stood in this spot, but he was certain that the old foundation had not been visible when he was a boy.

“I thought I’d find you here,” a quiet voice said.

Asa looked up and saw his father standing beside him.

Asa nodded. He motioned to the bricks. “Was that always there?”

“I suspect it’s been there for a very long time,” Samuel answered, “but time and erosion have now made it more visible.”

“It looks like the foundation of a lighthouse.”

Samuel nodded. “I’m sure it’s from one of the Three Sisters.”

They stood in silence for a while and watched as more of the foundation was exposed. Finally, Samuel said, “I have something for you.”Asa looked up, and Samuel handed him a book. Asa took it and smoothed down a small tear in the cover.

“It was with Nate’s papers,” Samuel began, watching his son. “Asa, I knew Nate better than anyone, but it’s impossible to know someone completely. Sometimes a person doesn’t even know himself.” He paused and looked back at the foundation. “But, Asa, God knows… He knows what we do before we do it. He knows what we say before we say it, and He forgives us-long before we are ready to forgive ourselves.” Samuel paused again and looked at his son. “And then… Asa… God goes one step further and continues to bless us-no matter what we have done.”

Samuel hesitated. “Asa, I don’t know what happened all those years ago. I don’t know what led Noelle and you into such a tragic situation. After all this time, though, you continue to stand there, angry at God for what you believe he has taken away, and, I think, angry at yourself for being a part of it. But, Asa, have you ever stopped being angry long enough to consider all that He has given you?”

Samuel turned to walk away, and Asa looked after him. “Dad…” Samuel turned back. “I’m sorry.” Samuel smiled sadly and nodded.

Asa looked down again at the cover of the book. He remembered it well-the simple illustration of a tree on a brown background. He opened the cover and he saw his father’s inscription: