Chapter 4 - What a Break! For Heaven's Sake

Every year he passed in Cabot Cove was a mysterious gift from the God he believed in enough only to shake his fist at on the anniversary of Ruthie's diagnosis. Her death was such a relief from the pain that he couldn't bring himself to mark that date in any other frame of mind save gratitude.

In those last few days, Ruth had extracted her own pound of flesh from him. She'd somehow managed to make him promise that he wouldn't shut himself away from the world after she died. He'd promised to resurrect his practice and he'd even promised, in a rash moment, to "keep his heart open." He could feign ignorance as to what Ruthie had meant by that, seeing as how she'd left the phrase mercifully open to interpretation. She knew him well.

"Seth, you've been a wonderful husband and father."

"Ruthie-" Seth interrupted.

"Please, Seth. Let me finish." She took a deep breath and reached for his hand. "I've had such a wonderful life. We've been so happy." She smiled. "I know we always wanted more children, but Margie's been such a blessing."

"Most of the time," Seth agreed with a mischievous grin, and Ruth laughed.

Seth kissed her hand. "Well, there were her teenage years."

"Don't remind me!" They laughed companionably, though admittedly Margie had given them more than a few anxious nights.

"But we've been happy. Truly happy, Seth." She gripped his hand. "And now I have to leave you."

Seth made to speak, but Ruthie shushed him with a look. "No, Seth. We both know it. And I don't want to leave without your knowing how much I love you and how happy you've made me, even when you left your scrubs in a pile in the corner of the bathroom!"

They laughed over one of the few bones of contention in their long and happy marriage.

"I knew I could always come to you, that you would always listen to me, understand me, love me. We've had the blessing of a happy marriage…so much to be grateful for." Seth squeezed her hand and leaned closer to gently kiss her cheek. "And when I'm gone-"

"Ruthie," said Seth brokenly.

"When I'm gone," said Ruthie firmly, "I want you to keep your heart open." She looked at him tenderly. "I know it won't be easy. I know how sad and angry you and Margie are. But I want you to remember the good times and I want you to make more good times on your own. I want you to live, Seth. I want you to enjoy yourself. I want you to keep your heart open." She was quiet for a moment. "Will you promise me that?"

Seth cleared his throat. "Ruthie, I'll promise you anything."

"Good," she smiled. "And maybe you'll keep your dirty clothes in the hamper instead of the floor?"

"That might be a step too far," he said as a tear rolled down his cheek.

During that first long, lonely winter, he'd actually considered the possibility of a new relationship, though even thinking the word caused his face to settle in a moue of disapproval. There were things he missed about marriage; of course there were, even apart from the obvious. He missed the easy domesticity, the camaraderie, that feeling of being a part of someone's life, of being important to someone. But he'd had an exceptionally happy marriage, and he was certain that lightning couldn't strike twice.

But as often as Seth shook his fist against the absence of his Ruth, almost as often he marveled at the new life he'd come to know in this small village and at Jessica who had become the beating heart of it. All the good his new life had to offer he attributed to Jessica. He could admit to himself that it was she who kept him from becoming an irredeemable misanthrope. He tended toward the melancholy and Jessica's generally sunny temperament warmed him as well as a July day at the beach. He came to rely on her companionship, and her good opinion of him mattered more than he allowed himself to contemplate. To have only one friend of her caliber was to be rich indeed.

After Seth had absorbed the surprise publication and subsequent success of The Corpse Danced at Midnight, he bragged to any who would listen that his best friend was now a famous, bestselling author. Of course, it was mostly to Margie and Ruth that he bragged, but still. He was proud. Ever since that day in the library, he'd suspected she'd been up to something, a secret of sorts, but Seth was a very great respecter of privacy. He had little use for the town busybodies, in particular those who populated Loretta's beauty parlor. He was of the opinion that when you wanted somebody to know something, you told them straight out. So he was content to accept whatever Jessica thought him entitled to know. But when the news of her bestseller status broke, it pleased him to be the first Cabot Cover she told, and he celebrated as though he'd been awarded the title of Grandmaster.

"Jessica?" He called as he walked in through the back door. "Jessica, where are you?"

"I'm upstairs, Seth! I'll be down in a moment."

He put the bottle of chilled champagne he'd been carrying on the table and began rummaging through her cabinets for champagne glasses. "You'd think this kitchen would be better organized," Seth grumbled.

"It's perfectly organized for the woman who lives here," Jessica said tartly. "What is it you're looking for?"

"Champagne glasses, woman! We can hardly celebrate a bestselling author with jelly glasses, can we?"

"Celebrating?"

"Yes, celebrating! Do you know any other bestselling authors in Cabot Cove?"

She chuckled self-consciously and gestured to the champagne. "I do appreciate it, Seth, but I'm sorry to report that I don't have champagne glasses." She paused. "Not anymore."

Long association with that tone told him the story behind it was best ignored. He wouldn't get it out of her regardless. "Well, then. Jelly glasses it is. Just don't tell the New York Times!"

She laughed as he took two glasses from the cupboard with a flourish. "Here, hold these." He pushed the glasses into her hands, then grabbed a dish towel from Jessica's counter and wrapped the cork and cage with it. He untwisted the wire and deftly twisted the bottle to slowly loosen the cork. He smiled at Jess and jerked his chin toward the glasses in her hands. "Let's see those glasses."

Jessica stepped closer, and Seth placed the towel with the cork and cage on the table so that he could pour the sparkling wine into those terrible glasses.

"I've never seen anyone pop a bottle of champagne like that."

Seth chuckled. "I've done enough ER rotations on New Year's Eve to take the time to learn how to safely pop the cork on a bottle of bubbly." He finished pouring, then set the open bottle on the table. "Now," as Jessica handed him a glass, "a toast. To the best darned mystery writer in Cabot Cove!" Jessica laughed. "The world, I mean."

She inclined her head gracefully. "Thank you, Seth!" she said playfully, and they clinked glasses before taking a sip.

Of course, had he known how much their lives would change, he might not have toasted her. It was selfish, of course it was, and he despised that petulant, childish part of him. But the fact remained that he resented anything that took her from Cabot Cove, though he did his best to hide it. He thought Jessica suspected, but her stubborn independence, which normally he considered one of her chief virtues, kept her from allowing him even a toehold on her decision-making when it came to her books or her legion of nieces and nephews whose troubles (mostly Grady's) consumed so much of her time and energy. Not that he had any claim on her other than friendship.

"I might be irascible, Ruthie, but I'm also practical. I follow the Serenity prayer and accept what I can't change." He smiled ruefully, knowing that Ruthie could name a few situations of which he hadn't been so accepting, but he recognized that even if she could point them out, she wouldn't. Ruthie was always kind that way.

"Alright, alright. I don't like it when she's away. You know that. I just don't get on with anyone else. Least not as well." He paused. "And I'm tired of playing chess against myself. You know," he mused, "she did turn out to be a worthy opponent." Embarrassed, he flapped his hands in the direction of one of his ongoing matches. "But enough of that. I forgot to tell you what Beverly got up to today…"

He would never admit it to anyone, least of all Jessica, but he followed her career quite closely. He pored over the major papers for mentions of her, watched her interviews when he could catch them, and listened attentively to all the stories she shared with him when she blew back into his staid Cabot Cove life like a gale.

He fixed on those tantalizing names she dropped: Haskell Drake, Michael Hagerty, Dennis Stanton. That mischievous light would flash in her eyes as she sketched her latest escapade. Seth could well appreciate her talent for storytelling and her keen eye for detail, but his heart pulled treacherously when she fell silent at the end of one of those stories, clearly withholding some detail she considered private. What he wouldn't give to know what she was remembering. What he would give never to know.

For some absurd reason that he never cared to dissect, he couldn't help but compare himself to those phantom men, those faint shadows of a life he had no part in. They were handsome, tall, thin (and that last one did rankle a bit-he intended to do something about his weight, and he would, too). He wondered, not idly, what conversations Jessica might have with any of those fellows. Did any of them know that she'd been so jealous of her older brother's cast and the attention he'd received that she tried to break her own arm by repeatedly running into the side of her childhood home? She'd been unsuccessful, thank goodness. Did they know she'd won several blue ribbons for her blueberry cobbler at the county fair? Did any of them know he sometimes stopped by after an emergency had taken him to the hospital, knowing, as he did, her propensity to be awake at odd hours, either banging away on her typewriter or staring into space with a half-drunk, cold cup of tea in her hand?

No question that Jess was his dearest friend. She was the only person he could reliably tolerate. She challenged him, chastised him, consoled him, tempted him with baked goods his waistline hardly needed. She cared for him, he knew that for sure and certain, and he was more than grateful for her friendship. It was a blessing he gave thanks for every day, whether she was home or away. But a small, niggling part of him wondered if he mightn't ask for more someday. You're a fool, Seth Hazlitt. A born fool. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, and the bird you've got hops out of your hand every chance she gets. Be grateful for what you do have, and let that be an end on it!

So he carried on, seeing patients, cooking, fishing when he could, and spending time with Jess whenever she was available. It was enough. It had to be.