Rinker’s

[A sacred ladies’ lunch. SB SM]

July

“No fries for me, I’ll just eat hers.” Lorette gives her lunch companion an innocent, closed-mouth smile, complete with an eye flutter.

“And I will have… call me crazy… the hot turkey sandwich. Yes, on the fries.”

“Would you like gravy on the fries?” the waitress asks. Grace looks at Lorette with a cocked brow. Lorette answers with a pinched look and a quick head shake.

“No gravy on the fries,” she says.

“Perfect,” says the waitress. “I’ll bring you your waters.”

“Does this take you back, or what?” says Lorette.

“The Oasis didn’t have knotty pine paneling or antlers on the wall.” Rinker’s looks like a set from a Humphrey Bogart movie. “I feel like lighting up a cigarette.” Lorette snickers.

“There is nothing like this in Florida—and that ice cream window on the outside? That’s hysterical. Okay, let’s go. You or me first?”

“Go, girl…”

“Okay, showtime. I’m going to skip Ray and The Villages; we’ll cover those in the course of day-to-day. First, Brady. I declare the kid a complete success. He’s the general manager of the second-largest RV dealer in New England. Still lives in South Deerfield—big McMansion out in Birchmore Acres. Four kids, ages four to sixteen—I’ll show you pictures later—a hyuu-u-u-uge RV in the side yard, plastic shit everywhere, big above-ground pool. Jaynie, his wife, could lose a few pounds—so could Brady—but she seems to have it under control. I give them an ‘A’ and me an ‘A+.'”

“Can’t ask for better than that!” says Grace.

“Forty-eight hours in that house is more than enough, but what would you expect? It’s chaos. They come to The Villages for Spring vacation, and we unload the wallet taking them to the theme parks. We’re only an hour away from most of them.”

“Does he see his dad?”

“Yeah, they see him more than they see us. Brady only tolerates Ray, but hey… I tolerate Ray.”

“More than I can say…” says Grace.

“He loves getting under your skin. You’re the only reason I can get him to come to Vermont.”

“Brady hasn’t seen your boy Burton for a while, but the divorce is still the talk of the town. No one can quite figure out why he walked away from it all…” Lorette leaves an opening, which Grace fills only reluctantly.

“We’re still scratching our heads about that one, too. I’m envious of your grandkids.”

“Yeah, they’re so much fun! Ray’s got three, too, but they’re much older. What’s happening with your girls?”

“They’re both doing great, but they’re so damn far away.” The waitress arrives with their food. Lorette’s BLT with a side of coleslaw looks quite dainty compared to Grace’s hot turkey sandwich, smothered in gravy with a mountain of French fries. Lorette starts helping herself to a bunch of fries, using her fork and fingers to lever a handful onto her plate.

“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” says Grace with a wry smile.

“I brought extra cranberry sauce,” says the waitress, setting down two little paper cups next to Grace’s bountiful plate. “Enjoy!”

“I can feel my arteries clogging,” says Grace, seizing a knife and fork. “Harlow is still in San Diego, and she’s on a tenure track at the university. Bayley is two and a half, and I’d like to go out and help, but Bryan is a tech guy who works from home, so I’d really just be in the way. Loren is still in Bellingham, Washington, where she and Caleb publish the alternative weekly newspaper, The Sound View. It’s pretty much just the two of them—and Little Cal, of course, but they just bring him to the office. He’s part of the team. The business is more-or-less hand-to-mouth, but they’re excited. Of course, Henry’s daughter and her brood are still off studying giant clams in the South Pacific. We’ve made the trip once, but I’m afraid it’s in the ‘never again’ category for us now. It’s twenty-two hours to get there.”

“Kids…” says Lorette, as if the word, like a picture, is worth a thousand words.

“Kids,” Grace agrees between bites of hot turkey sandwich. “Comfort food,” she mumbles. “And how’s life with Little Ray?”

An involuntary laugh escapes Lorette. “I keep waiting for what they call ‘The Villages Phone Call.’ ‘Hello, Lorette, would you like the good news or the bad?’ ‘I guess I’ll take the bad.’ ‘Your husband Ray died on the sixth tee at the club this morning.’ ‘Oh, and what’s the good?’ ‘He double-bogeyed the fifth, but hadn’t written it on his scorecard, so I put it in as a birdie.’“

Lorette laughs. Grace smiles slightly, then admits, “I don’t get it.”

“Don’t worry,” says Lorette, “It’s a Villages thing.” The waitress interrupts:

“Dessert for you ladies? Coffee? Tea?”

“No thanks, we’re going to get a creemee outside.”

At the window, Grace orders a baby-sized chocolate. Lorette goes for a small maple-chocolate twist with chocolate sprinkles. They take seats at a picnic table painted a dark forest green. It’s an outrageous summer day. “Lick fast, bitch,” says Lorette. When they’re down to the nubs, she asks:

“You and Henry made arrangements yet?”

“For what?”

“For when you can no longer live at The ‘Stead?”

“You know something that we don’t know?”

“No, it can just happen so fast. Last fall, right before Christmas, we were at the mall, and Ray says, ‘I’m having trouble catching my breath.’ The next day at Urgent Care, they tell us he has A-Fib. Then the cardiologist tells us Ray’s a walking time bomb, although ‘it’s nothing that losing 125 pounds won’t cure.’ You can see how much progress he’s making on that front.”

“So what arrangements have you made?”

“The Villages makes this stuff seamless. You go right to independent living, then assisted care, then right to the pearly gates. We’ve even prepaid for the cremations and funerals. You guys?”

“Henry says he’s got some biodegradable bags. The first of us to go drags the other up to the compost, then waits there with the other bag open to fall inside.”

“In other words,” says Lorette, “no plan.” Grace nods.

“I’ll put it on the To-Do list.” She pops the rest of her cone into her mouth and savors it. “It’s so good seeing you, Lorette.” Grace reaches over and touches Lorette’s cheek.