Every Last Cuckoo (17 page)

Lottie blissfully hugged both parents, catching Charlotte off guard. Luke was furious at the prospect of being an only child with no one to share the heat of his parents' scrutiny. Lottie thumbed her nose at him behind Charlotte's back.

Sarah wasn't so sure she wanted a full-time teenager, and she didn't want to become the new Charlotte in Lottie's eyes. It wouldn't be a permanent arrangement, though. Lottie would surely move back home when school let out. That was only six weeks off.

Sarah gave Lottie Stephie's old room at the far end of the hall from Sarah's and across from the bathroom that all her children had used. This way they would intrude on each other as little as
possible. She knew Lottie would want privacy, as she did herself. She also didn't want to hear the music Lottie favored, with its thumping bass, its furious, incomprehensible lyrics, and its bizarre electronic noises—squeals, buzzes, howls. Sarah had heard enough of this noise at Charlotte and Tom's.

Lottie brought two suitcases, her computer and schoolbooks, a box full of CDs, and a pocket-size portable player with headphones. She unpacked in minutes and clattered happily down the stairs to help David and Tess, who were moving some boxes of Charles's goods. The others would stay in his office, safe from the damp and awaiting final disposition after everyone had searched for items they wanted. Right away Lottie claimed a baggy wool sweater, a heathery brown crewneck that Charles had loved. It matched her hair exactly.

Most boxes went into the back of Charles's pickup for delivery to the library, charities, or the landfill. They were labeled neatly and arranged by destination. Once they were delivered, Sarah would sell the truck, which was nearly new. She planned to keep Charles's car, a slightly older Subaru than her own. Lottie would soon have her driver's license.

Sarah stood in a patch of sun as she directed the loading of the truck. This was the warmest day so far, with the temperature heading into the low eighties though it was still only April. The snow was nearly gone; only thin patches remained in the woods and on the north sides of the house and barn. The mud would go, too, if this early dry spell held. It still lay wet in low spots, but in well-drained areas it was already hardening.

After the truck was loaded, and David had driven off to Cambridge with Tess and Hannah, Sarah invited Lottie to walk down to the cabin with her.

“What for?” Lottie asked. “I thought you never went down there anymore.”

“Someone's moving in. But you can't tell anyone for a while.”

“Who?” Lottie asked avidly. “Why can't I tell?”

“Peter Marks's cousin from Israel. He needs a place to write. And you can't tell, because then your parents won't think I need you for protection and might make you move back home.”

Lottie shuddered at the thought. “Got it,” she said.

They slogged through sopping brown grass in the low parts of the meadow, followed a path alongside the birches and hemlocks, and finally reached an overgrown stone walkway that led to the cabin's back door. Rough wooden stairs fronted a small porch about four feet square. Sarah was surprised when the aluminum storm door opened without sticking. The wooden inner door resisted, though, and Sarah bumped it open with her hip. She and Lottie stepped inside, leaving their mud-caked Merrells behind. Sarah quickly circumnavigated the room, sweeping twill curtains back along the thick dowels that held them. Sunlight poured in, brightening the dark interior through layers of dust on the windows.

“Musty!” Lottie said, and sneezed. “Mousy, too. Bet there are turds everywhere.”

“No doubt,” Sarah sighed. “How would you and some friends like to clean it all up?”

Lottie managed to turn her mouth down and wrinkle her nose at the same time. “Eeuuw,” she said. “Is this my moving-in fee?”

“Of course not” Sarah said. “In fact, I was going to pay you, all of you.”

“Sorry,” Lottie said, abashed. “I didn't mean it the way it
sounded. You don't have to pay us.” She thought a moment, eyeing her grandmother with a sudden calculating gleam, and said, “Unless . . .”

“Unless what,” Sarah responded skeptically.

“Well. Do you think we could spend the night here, and get pizza, once it's all clean?”

“Who's ‘we'? And how many sexes are we talking about?”

“Um. Two?”

“Tell me more.”

Lottie counted on her fingers. “Me. Jenna Sterling, Lori Mellender. That's three girls. Then two guys, Tony Clausen and Guy Sproul. Five of us. No couples, Nana. We're all just friends. Please?”

“I'll have to talk with all the parents,” Sarah said firmly.

“
Yes
. Thank you, Nana!”

“Including yours,” she added.

Lottie started to roll her eyes, then caught herself. “Do you think my mom will let me?” she asked, screwing her face into doubt.

“I'll handle it,” Sarah told her. “You just get the place clean—and I mean spanking clean, everything. Windows. Inside the woodstove. All the furniture and throw rugs. Take the mattress and rugs and cushions out onto the deck and beat them to death.” She was smiling broadly at Lottie's pleasure. “I'll wash the curtains if you'll get them down.”

The cabin was dirty and cobwebby and had the distinct odor of mouse that Lottie had complained about, but Sarah remembered how bright it could be and how safe it felt, tucked away out of sight, visible only to birds and other wildlife. Its main
room was twenty by twenty-five feet, large enough for a dining area in one corner, a workspace in another, and a big, cozy seating area. Two down-filled sofas faced each other from either side of the big iron woodstove, which sat on stone tiles against the inside wall of the main room. The sofas were wrapped tightly in heavy plastic, drop cloths, and duct tape. Sarah hoped they were not nests for mice by now, in spite of these barriers.

Cut into that same inside wall was the entrance to a small kitchen, which opened into a bedroom and from there into a bathroom and miniature laundry and back out to the main room. Thus every room opened into the next, and they all circled the heart of the cabin, the woodstove. A good blaze, well banked, could keep the rooms warm all night long in the bitterest weather. The cabin's walls, with their siding of tight, squared logs, held the heat for as long as two days once thoroughly warmed. Theoretically. Sarah couldn't remember anyone using the cabin in winter, though someone might have before she and Charles had bought the property.

A big fan hung in the ceiling of the main room. She and Charles had used it on rare nights when the bedroom was stifling and they could catch no breeze on the deck. They had either dragged the mattress from the bed to the larger room, or they had collapsed onto the two couches. They had probably been in their forties the last time they had stayed out here for any length of time, but they were still young. Vigorous, happy, busy in their lives.

“What's wrong with this, Nana?” Lottie was standing inside the kitchen door, flipping a light switch to no avail.

“Burned out?”

“Nope,” Lottie said. “I tried the light over the sink, too. And I plugged in the fridge. No juice. But the other rooms are okay.”

“I'll check the breakers later.” She'd better check the plumbing, too, and replace the propane tank for the stove. The old one had probably rusted through. “Are you sure your friends will be up for this?” she asked.

“Are you kidding? For a night away from home and no adults eavesdropping?”

Sarah leveled a stern look.

“Really, Nana, no funny stuff. It's just that parents are so
suffocating
. God!” She put her hands to her throat and thrust out her tongue, gasping harshly.

Sarah laughed. “What about grandparents? I could sneak down here and spy on you and you'd never know.” No harm in planting that idea, though she was unlikely to carry it out. The fact was, she didn't believe there was much these kids could get up to. She was pretty sure that Lottie's crowd didn't drink much alcohol. She suspected they preferred pot, but Charles's change of heart about that had somehow eased her mind. Sex could be a problem, of course. Sarah was anxiously aware that early sexual activity was commonplace, but all she could do was talk to the various parents and make sure they understood the conditions under which their children would spend the night. Times had changed.

L
OTTIE PAID A DUTIFUL
call at home that Friday night, then returned to Sarah's on Saturday morning with her four friends. They arrived in Jenna Sterling's parents' truck, having picked up, at Sarah's expense, a rented floor polisher, a bag of apples, another of bagels, and a plastic tub of cream cheese.
Jenna had even brought her mother's handheld steam vac for rugs and upholstery.

Jenna was tall and Lori about an inch taller; both had thatchy hair whose natural color was dark blond, but according to Lottie, Lori's was a different color weekly. Today it was liberally streaked with blue. Guy Sproul was big-boned, rangy, freckled, and polite. His brown hair was shoulder length and straight; he wore a woven leather headband to keep it from his eyes. He was dressed in loose canvas pants and a threadbare T-shirt with
Phish
on the front. Tony Clausen—about five ten, slim, and handsome—had a band of Celtic knots tattooed around his left upper arm and wore five rings in his right ear that reminded Sarah of the spiral binding on a notebook. He was clean-shaven except for a small goatee, no mustache.

All five teenagers got down to work with industry. In only a few hours, the girls had moved the rugs, loose cushions, and mattress outside and had spot-cleaned and pounded the dust out of all of them. Tony and Guy had scoured the inside of the woodstove and washed down the outer surfaces. The stone tiles beneath it were free of dust and soot. Even the stove's glass doors shone clear, and the brass fittings gleamed.

The big windows were all clean, inside and out, when Sarah ventured down to the cabin with sandwiches and two big thermoses of soup. The girls had used a long-handled squeegee for the large panes, sponges and wadded newspapers for the smaller ones, and steaming vinegar water for all. They were about to start on the small, high windows when Sarah came through the back door with her arms full.

“Nana, where's a stepladder?” Lottie asked her, taking her burden of food. “We're almost done with all the windows, but
somebody has to get the bugs out of the overhead lights. Kitchen stool's too rickety. If we had about
three
stepladders, we'd get done faster.”

Sarah told them where to look under the deck and in the barn. She scanned the room and praised the fast progress. She ate lunch with her workers and took stock of what remained to be done. The kitchen and bathroom still needed to be cleaned, but that would occupy only some of the crew for only a couple of hours. It was clear, at the rate they were going, that there was time to put a coat of paint on the living room walls. She posed the question, adding, “I can run into town for paint and rollers and pans. And I would insist on paying you for the extra work. This wasn't part of our deal.”

They settled on the terms, and Lottie offered to go with Sarah. “The paint will be heavy,” she pointed out. She also wanted to drive. “I have my permit,” she reminded Sarah. “But I hate driving with my mom. She's so critical. She even tells me how to hold the steering wheel. She makes me a worse driver than I'd ever be if she'd just leave me alone.”

Sarah was glad for the company. The girl reminded Sarah of her own young self, anticipating New York and liberation.

Lottie got behind the wheel of Sarah's Subaru with a happy shimmy of her shoulders. She pulled the seat forward a couple of inches, saying, “Mom didn't get the tall genes from you and Papa, and Dad's too short to make up for it.”

“I know, honey. It's just a shame you got saddled with those two, isn't it?” She cut her eyes sideways at her granddaughter. “Let's see, whose parents would you rather have?”

“Tony Clausen's,” Lottie answered promptly, backing the car around so she could head out of the driveway facing front.

“Why Tony's parents?”

“Oh, they're so
cool,
Nana! His mom's a singer and his dad plays jazz piano and everybody in the family does music together. Tony plays drums, his brother plays saxophone. He has a little sister, and she plays piano, like the dad. His parents even made a CD a little while ago, and it's been getting reviews in
national
music magazines. And they live in this incredible house up near the Notch in Middlesex, with a waterfall right behind.”

Sarah was suddenly less sure there were no couples in this team of workers she had hired. She said nothing, though. She would not perch on Lottie's shoulder.

When they returned from town, she noted with new interest that Tony Clausen ran out to help them carry the paint supplies, and she thought she felt a certain energy in the air that she had missed before. Or maybe she imagined it. Either way, she wouldn't interfere. If Lottie was in love with Tony, if the two of them were just beginning an attraction or had been acting on it for months, there was nothing any adult could do or say about it. Sarah didn't mind that thought. Lottie was a decent, smart girl, given to strong emotions but also to healthy self-scrutiny. She had her own life to live, and it stretched out before her in a grand, dim haze in which people and events would grow clear only as Lottie approached them.

Meanwhile, Sarah, looking back, had recently begun to perceive with fond amazement that many long-past people and events in her own life were regaining clarity. Where once they had seemed to recede into haze, something in the present had started burning the haze away. She wondered whether even older memories would emerge before long, perhaps the oldest of all, which she and Tess had been watching Hannah forget.

W
HEN
M
ORDECHAI ARRIVED
at Peter and Vivi's in May, Sarah was invited over for dinner, two days before he would move into the cabin. She drove over in the mellow, early evening, her car windows down, a silky breeze winding around her neck like a scarf. She hoped Mordechai was not the kind of man who would get lonely and intrude on her shrinking privacy.