“Go,” he says. “Quickly, go!”
The learning curve is steep once you discover you are terminal. Kelley understands so much more about life now than he ever did when he was well. On the one hand, it’s frustrating—what good will his newfound knowledge do him once he’s six feet under? On the other hand, he’s grateful. That’s actually the first and last lesson: gratitude for every experience. Gratitude for two packets of sugar in his well-steeped black pekoe tea. How many times in his life did he take something this simple for granted? He feels enormous, tearful gratitude for the first bite of his contraband sandwich: lightly toasted, buttered slices of rye containing luscious ham and pickle salad and crunchy, crisp iceberg lettuce. How many times did Kelley wolf down a similar sandwich while sitting at his desk on Wall Street? He barely tasted those sandwiches, much less reveled in their nuances. If only someone had been there to remind him that his life, someday, would be over and he should pay attention and enjoy while he could.
His next adventure is two Lay’s potato chips, one flat, one folded over. Folded-over chips are preferable to flat chips—why is that? It’s one of life’s ten million mysteries. That has been another lesson. So many things can’t be explained; they just are. Love, for example. And illness. Why should Kelley be struck with brain cancer at the youthful age of sixty-four? He had expected to live until ninety. Okay, maybe not ninety, but long enough to make certain all of his kids turned out okay.
And he has done that, hasn’t he? Patrick is out of jail and he has some kind of new investment concern going. Jennifer is decorating houses for every Mayflower descendant in Beacon Hill, and the three boys are busy with fall lacrosse and fantasy football. (Kelley still doesn’t understand fantasy football, and now, he supposes, he never will, a small regret.)
Kevin and Isabelle just ended a wildly successful season at Quinns’ on the Beach—the liquor license more than doubled their income, Kevin confided—and Isabelle worked alongside Kevin until three days before she gave birth to Kelley’s fourth grandson, Kelley Jacques Quinn, known as KJ. Kelley is honored to have a member of the new generation named after him; however, he’s also glad they decided to use the nickname KJ, because Kelley can’t count the number of times in his life that someone saw his name and thought he was a girl. Woman. Whatever the proper terminology. (Terminology no longer matters to Kelley, if it ever did, but pronouncing Lara’s name correctly very much matters.)
Ava has, perhaps, made the greatest strides of all the children. She is living in Manhattan. Kelley initially feared that she would rent a place in Brooklyn, start wearing vintage clothes, and get upset about the distinction between girl and woman. But Kelley needn’t have worried. Ava settled in the borough of her youth. She is paying her own rent, working at a prestigious if elitist private school teaching music, real music, not just kids banging on wooden blocks. And she’s dating a very nice man, a real man, not one of the boys-slash-clowns who dominated her life the past three or four years. Kelley never held a very high opinion of Nathaniel Oscar; he was far too handsome, and Mitzi enjoyed his company way too much. Scott was better, but ultimately, Kelley suspected, Ava would have grown tired of him. This new fellow—at the moment Kelley can’t come up with his name—is a professor at Columbia, and he has a son who lives in California with the mother. He seems just right for Ava, or at least right for now. The important thing is that Ava is finally getting some air under her wings, and she’s getting to see more of her mother, which Kelley knows is something she missed growing up.
Bart is home safely from Afghanistan after being held prisoner for nearly two years. Kelley has tried to talk to Bart about what happened overseas, but Bart is tight lipped, just as Kelley’s own father was silent about what happened during the years he was stationed in the Philippines during World War II. Kelley talked with Mitzi about getting Bart to a therapist, but Bart flat-out refused. He wants to work through things on his own, he says—meaning, it seems, that he wants to sit in his room and smoke dope. He has reverted to the same behavior he exhibited before he joined the Marines. Has nothing changed? He did go to work for Kevin and Isabelle at Quinns’ on the Beach. But the crowds and the fast pace caused Bart to have panic attacks, and after two weeks he quit. There was then talk of Bart working as Kevin and Isabelle’s nanny, but that idea got shot down as well. Bart isn’t qualified to work for Patrick, even at the entry level. And now there is no business at the inn for him to help out with.
Kelley is worried about Bart.
Mitzi is worried as well, although by necessity her worrying has to be divided between Bart and Kelley. She’s putting up a pretty strong front, stronger than Kelley thought possible. Likely, she’s in denial. She talks about getting the most out of the time Kelley has left, but she’s also praying for a miracle. She prayed for a miracle with Bart—and look what happened! He came home, safe and sound.
Here Kelley would like to point out that there is probably a one-miracle-per-family limit; otherwise, it wouldn’t be fair. Kelley knows there won’t be a miracle where he’s concerned. He feels his body shutting down. He’s going to die and he’s okay with that. He had a long, elucidating conversation with his old friend Father Paul, and they agreed that Kelley should make his peace with the people he’s leaving behind and then have faith that God will take over from there.
Kelley can’t share this philosophy with Mitzi, however. She will accuse him of giving up.
Kelley is worried about Mitzi. He doesn’t think she can or should run the inn by herself. She should sell the inn and buy something smaller or move away altogether. Her parents have died; her brother died. Her only family once Kelley is gone will be Bart and Kelley’s other kids.
Kelley has had serious conversations with Patrick, Kevin, and Ava: they are not to let Bart and Mitzi fall through the cracks.
We won’t, Dad, they said.
Kelley tells himself that he will have a brass-tacks conversation with Mitzi about selling the inn this week.
At that moment Mitzi bursts into the room. What remains of Kelley’s sandwich is on the lunch plate before him, along with an untouched dill spear and the half-empty bag of chips.
“You are a very naughty patient,” Mitzi says, and she leans in to kiss his greasy, salty lips. She always gives him long, lingering kisses now, and he savors each one. She smells like woodsmoke and fresh air. Her cheeks are pink and her curly hair is windblown. She grows more beautiful each day, at least in Kelley’s mind. He feels he’s adjusting well to his prognosis, but he won’t lie: he experiences fiendish jealousy whenever he thinks of the man Mitzi will fall in love with after Kelley is gone. If he were to voice this thought, Mitzi would throw herself headlong into his arms and vow that she will never meet anyone else. She will remain faithful to Kelley until her own death. And whereas, selfishly, this is exactly what Kelley wants, he knows it is unfair and unrealistic. Mitzi is exactly like one of the heroines in Danielle Steel’s novels. Kelley will die and Mitzi will think her own life is over. She will never find love again. She will consider joining an ashram or adopting a cat. But then one day she’ll be shopping at Annye’s Whole Foods, and she will reach for the last package of flaxseeds—no, kale chips!—at the very same time as a handsome stranger. After deflecting her gentle protests, the stranger will insist Mitzi take the kale chips, and as they’re standing in line, he will reveal that his beloved wife of thirty years has just died of MS and he has come to Nantucket to take long walks on the beach and reflect on his loss.
Or… Mitzi will take a trip to Sedona, a place Kelley knows she has long wanted to visit. She will wander into a crystal shop and suddenly feel a hand on her back. It will be the mysterious, bearded owner of the crystal shop, who will ask if Mitzi would like to join him in a cup of matcha. Mitzi will not believe the way the universe provided for her at—literally—her lowest moment.
Mitzi breaks the spell of Kelley’s awful reverie. “I just had the best conversation with the caterer! This party is going to be So. Much. Fun.”
Party? Kelley thinks. What party? He wonders for an instant if Mitzi is already planning his funeral reception. Why else would she need a caterer? Then he remembers Bart’s birthday party at the VFW. Kelley tried to discourage Mitzi from planning this party. Why would she take on such an enormous project when her husband was dying and her son was depressed?