Zoe, now fifteen, could still be a royal pain in the butt, but not as often as before. She was actually starting to think about life after high school and was more sensible about boys now, less needy and prone to heartbreak. That was a good thing because there were a ton of them pursuing her. I was glad to have Bob in the picture. Any boy who wanted to take Zoe out first had to meet and pass muster with Bob, who pulled them aside and, with a heavy hand on the kid’s shoulder and menacing smile on his face, explained exactly what would happen to him if he disrespected or hurt Zoe, and didn’t have her home by ten.
Zoe ran toward me, waving her flag over her head and shouting, “Ciao, Bella!” She hugged me so hard I could barely breathe.
“Wow!” I said when she let me go and threw herself into Bob’s arms, hugging him just as hard. “That was some greeting. Did you miss us?”
“So much,” she chirped. “What did you bring me?”
“Uh-huh. I see how it is. Don’t worry,” I laughed, “we’ve got presents for everybody. Jean, your son picked out a Fendi handbag for you that’s going to make you drool.”
“Oh, honey,” she said, grinning as Bob hugged her hello, “you didn’t have to do that. What color is it?”
Alex, who had been hanging back a little, came forward, gave Bob one of those manly handshake-backslap things, then one-arm hugged me before taking my bag from my shoulder and carrying it toward the escalator.
“How was camp?” I asked as we walked.
“Good,” he said. “Really good. And I’ve got some good news.”
“Oh, yeah? What?”
“I’ll tell you later, in the car. First, how was Italy? Bet you were sad to leave, eh?”
I looped my arm loosely around his waist.
“Italy was fantastic. Amazing,” I said. “But it’s great to be home. Really, really great.”
Chapter 44
Nan
Brianna, Emily, and I were sitting at the patio table, splitting a bottle of wine and eating bruschetta made from the first of the summer tomatoes and basil. James and Dan were ferrying back and forth from the kitchen to the deck, carrying platters, plates, pitchers, and bowls to the table. Matt and Kyle were standing by the barbeque, conferring about the doneness of the steaks and burgers, which I reminded them mustn’t touch my veggie burgers. Barefoot grandkids and barking dogs were galloping all over the yard, hooting and whooping and sometimes somersaulting across the wet grass, having the time of their lives.
So was I.
The second weekend of July has always been our Homecoming Week, when all my kids and grandkids—well, almost all—come to Portland for eight days of food, fun, and family time. It’s my favorite week of the entire year, now doubly so because, during last year’s Homecoming Saturday barbeque, Malcolm and I were married.
The ceremony was casual and perfectly lovely. I wore a simple white sheath overlaid with crocheted lace and carried pink roses from the garden, Malcolm wore a khaki summer suit with a white shirt and pink tie, Blixen wore a pink silk bow around her neck, and Nelson and Stuart had baths.
Later, after the champagne had been poured and the pictures taken, Malcolm changed out of his suit and joined in the grandkids’ annual game of tag. When he suggested the addition of sprinklers and dogs to the game, the kids started calling him Grampy.
They just love Malcolm. So do I.
Our life together is incredibly rich and full. But, unlike before, when I filled my days with activity as a means of staving off loneliness, now my life is filled with activities I truly enjoy, including “vegging out” as Malcolm calls it. Yes, with Malcolm’s help, I have actually learned the value of sitting still and doing absolutely nothing. But that’s not all we do. We travel quite a bit, Malcolm has a little teardrop trailer that we’ve taken on camping trips to the beach, the mountains, and Glacier National Park in Montana. For our honeymoon, we took it down to Ashland and spent a whole week at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. That was fantastic. I can’t wait to go back. In the fall, we’re planning a trip to Scotland to visit Malcolm’s relatives. It will be my first overseas trip. I’ll probably need a prescription for some antianxiety medicine, but with Malcolm’s help, I know I can do it. I’m very excited.
We do a lot here in Portland too. Stuart and Nelson are both certified therapy dogs now, so we visit local hospitals and nursing homes and are on call in crisis situations. And, of course, we’re both still involved with Rainbow Gate.
The third annual Dogmother’s Ball raised close to ten thousand dollars. We moved it to an outdoor event venue in Oregon City for the second year. That way we can accommodate more people, and we have a whole staff of professionals to handle the actual event—meaning Malcolm doesn’t have to climb ladders to deal with dicey electrical wiring anymore and we have more time to do other things we enjoy. I bought Malcolm a little eighteen-foot sailboat as a wedding present and we both took lessons. Sailing with your husband, I have learned, is a real test of a marriage. But, in spite of that incident with the jib sheet, and the yelling, and the boom, we’re still together. And, in spite of the results of Malcolm’s recent prostate biopsy, results that we aren’t ready to share with the kids just yet, we’re incredibly happy and fortunate. If someone had told me three years ago that I would be happily married to the most wonderful man on earth, I’d have said they were dreaming. Now, I’m
