Charlie St. Cloud Page 0,56

or it’s not enough and they crave more. Either way, it just makes things worse. That’s why we never touch them.”

“But don’t they know it’s us? Can’t they tell?”

“No, they don’t get it. They think they’re hallucinating or they end up drinking too much or popping Valium.”

“But she seems so upset.”

“No one’s going to stop you from doing whatever you want. You can hug her or kiss her, but eventually, you’ll see there are much better ways to let her know you’re here.”

“Will you show me?”

“Sure, but you’ll figure it out.”

Tess stepped back and watched Grace finish preparing the chowder. A few of the last ingredients were laid out on the counter. It was Great-grandma Carroll’s recipe, with haddock, salt pork, onions, leeks, carrots, and one pint of heavy cream. They had argued endlessly over the deadly fat in that last ingredient. For years, Grace had tried to cook more healthfully, especially for George, and she often skimped on the cream. Tess thought that was downright sacrilegious. She called it Chowder Lite, and it belonged with Diet Coke, Low-Carb Beer, and Lean Cuisine on her MOST HATED list. Whatever the consequences, she was sure that special things in life were worth all the calories and cholesterol.

Tess heard the kitchen door swing open. It was Reverend Polkinghorne, who had shown uncommon interest in Grace ever since her husband had died. As always, he was sporting the greatest hits from the L. L. Bean catalog: a blue checked sweater, tan cords, and Blucher moccasins. “You’re working too hard,” he said. “Won’t you let me do anything? I’m very handy in the kitchen.”

“You can bring some dishes into the other room.” While Grace pulled bowls from the cabinet, Tess saw an opportunity. She hurried over to the stove, checked that no one was looking, and poured the pint of heavy cream into the pot. Then, out of habit, she tossed the empty carton toward the trash near the door. It banked off the rim and landed on the floor.

Grace spun around. She saw the container on the ground and walked over to it. She kneeled down, picked it up, and shook her head. “I must be losing my mind,” she muttered, throwing it away. Back at the stove she gave the chowder a few stirs and touched the wooden spoon to her lips. Delicious. She went to the fridge, pulled out another carton of cream, and emptied half into the chowder. Then she churned it a few more times, picked up the pot with oven mitts, and headed into the dining room.

Tess and Sam followed. The living room was filled with friends. The ladies from the Female Humane Society were ensconced in one corner, while Bony and the guys from the wharf were sipping cider in another. Fraffie Chapman and Myrtle Sweet of the Historic District Commission were nosing around the entrance hall and examining the architectural details. The Four Seasons played softly on the stereo, the television flickered silently, and Bella Hooper, The Woman Who Listens, sat patiently waiting for someone who wanted to talk.

Tess moved around the room, eavesdropping on conversations, not surprised at all by what she heard. These moments were always awkward and uncomfortable, and folks carried on about the darnedest things. Fraffie and Myrtle were grousing about the historically unacceptable shag carpeting on the front stairs. Myrna Doliber, the funeral director in her helmet of black hair, was wedged on a couch with some friends relaying another superstition: “If three people are photographed together, the one in the middle will always die first.”

Then in a flat, strained voice, Grace called out from the dining room: “Come ’n’ get it,” and she stood patiently at the buffet table ladling chowder into bowls. When everyone had been served, Reverend Polkinghorne led them all in prayer. “Let us thank God for food when others are hungry, for drink when others are thirsty, for friends when others are lonely,” he began. “And may God’s light surround our beloved Tess wherever she is. May God’s love enfold her, God’s power protect her, and God’s presence watch over her. Wherever she is, God is. And may He bring her home to us safely.”

“Amen.”

From the corner, Tess stood and watched them devour her mom’s soup. Then came the usual compliments, and she couldn’t help grinning. “Wow, it’s so creamy,” said Todd Tucker, her favorite sail cutter from the shop. “Did you put the whole cow in here?”

“You know, the first settlers in Marblehead in 1629