Instant Family. Donna Gartshore

just nodded. “That’s tough,” she said. “So—what’s next?”

      “That’s what I’m trying to figure out this summer.”

      “You’ll get there,” Lydia said in a comfortable way. “Do you journal? I find that’s a good way to sort through things and figure out where you want life to take you. It always works for me.”

      The thought came into Frankie’s mind that Lydia didn’t look like the journaling type, but she was learning that you could never tell what people had inside of them—good or bad—by how they looked.

      “That might be a good idea,” she said, pondering. “Is there somewhere in town that sells journals?”

      “Maeve’s Miscellaneous. It’s right beside the beauty salon. We can walk that way, if you like.”

      Frankie nodded. “I know where that is.”

      Maeve’s Miscellaneous was an overcrowded shop that, true to its name, featured an eclectic collection of items ranging from kitchen gadgets and packets of spices to silk scarves and handcrafted jewelry.

      “The journals are usually up by the front,” Lydia said, leading Frankie through the maze. “Ah, yes, here we are.”

      Frankie selected one that had a white cover with a monarch butterfly on the front—it reminded her that she, too, was on a long journey of sorts.

      “So, what do you think you’ll write about?” Lydia asked when they were back outside again. “Your goals? Never mind—you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

      “I want to become a nurse,” Frankie said. Once again, it felt good to say the words out loud. She explained the work she had done up to this point and how she felt she had an affinity for it and could do more if she was properly trained.

      “Write it down,” Lydia urged. “If you write it down, you’ll have a better chance of really committing to it.” She looked at her watch. “I have to get back to the center. Listen, you should take one of the delicious cinnamon buns from the Beachfront Confectionery, go down to the beach, and take your journal there and just write. Maybe write your questions about him, too.”

      “Him?” Frankie asked.

      “Your friend, Ben. And don’t even pretend that you haven’t wondered if you could ever be more than friends. The air is pretty thick between you two.”

      Her head buzzing with Lydia’s comment about Ben, Frankie bought a cinnamon bun at the Beachfront Confectionery and carried it and her journal to a relatively quiet spot on the beach. She positioned herself half in the shade, rested back against a rather large rock, opened her journal and paused. She looked out at the water and took a reflective bite of the bun.

      It took some effort, but she pushed Lydia’s parting remarks to the back of her mind. She meant well, Frankie was sure, but clearly she didn’t always know what she was talking about. She took the last bite, and dusted the cinnamon and sugar off her fingers with a napkin. She opened her journal and quickly, decisively, wrote, “Become a Nurse” and circled it three times.

      Immediately, dissenting thoughts began to quarrel with her: Where will you get the money? What about Rae? Shouldn’t her needs come first? You’ve been out of school for a lot of years now, Frankie. Are you sure you’re not just setting yourself up to fail?

      She put her pen to the side and clenched the new journal, willing herself not to succumb to the negative thoughts. She looked out at the water and tried to use its gently rolling pulse as a way to focus and calm herself.

      Then she heard, faintly, a shout in the distance.

      She turned her head in the direction of the noise and could see Ben and Al standing on a dock, at the end closest to the water.

      It was funny, Frankie mused with a strange twinge in her stomach. She knew with complete certainty it was them, even from her vantage point. She would like to be able to say that it was only Al’s hunched, apprehensive posture, typical of those with Alzheimer’s, that gave them away. But the truth was that her eyes would know the strong lines of Ben’s physique anywhere. Lydia’s observation pushed its way back to the forefront of her thoughts again.

      She couldn’t help watching them to see what they were doing.

      It appeared that Ben was trying to draw his father’s attention to something. He had his hand on one of Al’s shoulders and seemed to be trying to gently turn him while he pointed out at the water.

      Al kept moving his shoulder out from Ben’s touch. Frankie could see by his body language that he was becoming increasingly agitated. His voice grew louder as he began to shift quickly, almost frantically back and forth.

      She could see Ben trying to soothe him, trying to take hold of his father’s arms, which Al had begun to thrash around.

      Then Al suddenly stopped and, in a quicksilver flash, his arms shot out, his hands pushing hard at Ben’s chest.

      Frankie gasped as she watched Ben stumble back, frantically spinning his arms to regain his balance. His efforts failed and he flew off the dock, landing in the water with a large splash.