Summer Secrets (22 page)
Authors: Jane Green
It does have the requisite hydrangeas, although they’re rather sorry for themselves, struggling to bloom in the shade of a gnarled old tree on the side of the driveway.
“
This
is where we’re staying?” Sam says, and I know he’s disappointed.
“It’s not grand but what did you expect?” I ask. “Do you have any idea how lucky we are to find anything? It will be fine. I know you’d like us to have one of those mansions, but this is perfect.”
“I love it!” Annie dances out of the car, and I turn to Sam, speaking quietly.
“We’re on vacation, Sam. It doesn’t matter what the house is like. We’ll probably barely be at home anyway.”
He sighs. “You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry I’m being princessy. I’ll stop. Let’s go inside.”
* * *
The house is perfectly comfortable. It’s not the white-slipcovered, French-doored, white-marble-kitchened stately home that clearly Sam had hoped for. It doesn’t have a swimming pool, or en suite bathrooms (other than the master, which I give to Sam, if only to shut him up for a bit), or a brand-spanking-new stainless steel fridge.
But it is clean, and bright. And it has a screen porch that has an old but incredibly comfortable-looking wicker sofa on it, and I know we will all be perfectly happy here, if Sam can get over his disappointment.
He walks around the house, not saying anything. He glances at the greige suedette sofas in the living room, and says nothing. He looks at the slightly orangey pine coffee table upon which sit a remote control and a wire basket of fake lemons, and says nothing. He takes his Louis Vuitton suitcase upstairs, then clatters back downstairs minutes later, his face now lit with excitement.
“I’ve got it!” he says. “I need to dress the house. I’m sorry, darling, I know it’s fine for you, but I can’t. I just can’t. It offends me sartorially, and I need to be happy where I live. It won’t take much, just a few things. I already saw the perfect shop on Main Street. It won’t take long. I just need to
zhuzh
it up.”
I roll my eyes. “Sam, that’s ridiculous. You’re going to go out and spend money on a house that isn’t yours just so you can be happy for two weeks? It’s a complete waste of money, and I won’t let you.”
“Darling, I can have you write a feature about it, so I can expense everything. How to turn your bland rental into a summer palace. Done! Commissioned! And now we’re going shopping. Don’t look like such a sourpuss. I promise you’ll be happy when it’s done. And we can go get ice cream at the juice place too.”
“Yes!” shrieks Annie from her tiny bedroom upstairs. “Let’s go!”
We start with the ice cream, joining the end of the ridiculously long line at the Juice Bar, with me, the woman who has the patience of a fruit fly, not minding in the slightest that we have to wait. Being back on this island has transported me into a different state of being, one that is infinitely more relaxed than my London persona.
We go into the Sunken Ship and laugh at the crazy hats, Annie insisting on trying each one on, then we each buy a T-shirt imprinted with the word
NANTUCKET
.
We mosey up Main Street, with memories flooding back. The pharmacy, the bookstore, the Hub, where I remember getting the papers with Brooks all those years ago.
Everywhere we go, I think I see Julia. It seems that every woman we pass is tanned, pretty, my age. Every woman we pass wears shorts and a T-shirt, has the same body type I remember her having, and each time I see her my heart thumps a little bit harder, the relief sweet at it not being her.
I have prepared what I am going to say, but I am not prepared to bump into her unexpectedly. I can’t wander down the wharf, going in and out of the tiny stores, looking at paintings, clothes, jewelry, until this is out of the way, until I have made my amends, and although that’s what I’m here for, let me enjoy this day, let me try not to think about it until it is actually upon me.
And please, God, let me not bump into her before I am ready.
Sam finds everything he needs in two of the stores. Shell-shaped pots, oversized white clay starfish, blue and white cushions patterned with coral. Woven trays, glass hurricane lanterns with rope handles. Inexpensive bamboo throws that are as soft as cashmere at a fraction of the price. At least for us, given the exchange rate right now. Were it not for that, I suspect everything on this island is actually three times the price that it would be anywhere else.
We all carry the bags to the car, and Annie and I bring our books to the porch while Sam whirls around the house “decorating,” coming back in for the big reveal, whereupon both Annie and I start laughing, clapping our hands in delight.
“You should be a decorator!” Annie says. “Not work in journalism!”
“I know.” Sam grins. “It’s my hidden talent.”
“Not very hidden,” I say, looking around with pleasure because a few bagfuls of accessories have in fact transformed our rather bland house into a dream beach house.
The orange pine coffee table is hidden by a large woven tray; silver candles and starfish are dotted around on various surfaces. The suedette sofas are unnoticeable underneath the glorious bamboo throws, and the cushions are perfect.
“It’s gorgeous!” Annie sinks onto the throw, gathering it around herself.
“No!” snaps Sam in a panic. “It’s just for show.”
“Tell me you’re joking.” I turn to him in alarm. “Tell me you didn’t actually just say that.”
“You’re right, you’re right. Old habits die hard. Wrap yourself as much as you want. I’m sorry,” he sighs. “What are we going to do for dinner? I have to tell you, I’m completely jet-lagged and exhausted. Can we make it quiet?”
“I tell you what,” I say, realizing suddenly that I too am exhausted. “How about I run up to the grocery store and cook tonight?”
“Would you mind? That would be fantastic!”
“Of course,” I say, grabbing the keys to the car and kissing Annie, who is happy to bury herself back in her book, good-bye.
* * *
Stop and Shop for vegetables, Nantucket Seafoods for the scallops I remember so well from all those years ago.
Fresh corn from a farmstand, and on the way back, I check the map, driving along Vesper Lane to scout out where I’m going to be tomorrow morning, at the Drop In Center, at 7 a.m. sharp.
Because I never fit in as a child, I always felt as if I were standing slightly on the outside, looking in, but at this relatively late stage in life, I have been astonished to find that the one place I always fit in, the one place I always feel at home, is in an AA meeting.
It doesn’t matter whether it’s my regular meeting in London or one in an unfamiliar place. It doesn’t matter whether I recognize a soul in there, for wherever I am, as soon as I walk in, I know I’m home.
I remember clearly, when I was here to meet my father, knowing there were meetings on the island but not going to them.
Perhaps if I had found my way to them, what happened with Aidan wouldn’t have happened. I can’t dwell on the what-ifs, though; I can only make sure I don’t fuck up again, and the best way I know to stop that happening is to get to a meeting, as soon as I possibly can.
* * *
I get the shopping done, and we make it through dinner, but only just. We are all so tired we can barely keep our heads from falling into our pan-roasted scallops with brown butter and herbs. We don’t even bother washing up, just pile the plates into the sink, hug one another good night, and go upstairs to our respective rooms.
Tomorrow is, after all, another day.
I drifted to sleep last night thinking I would creep out of the house in the morning, not waking anyone up, but of course we are all on British time, and I’m the last one down. Sam is trying to figure out how to use the coffeemaker; Annie gets up from the sofa on the sun porch to come in and give me a hug. She is bikini ready, and I watch her go back to the porch, a little stunned at how womanly she is. I still think of her as such a little girl, yet look at her in this bikini, curvy as anything, her waist a tiny hourglass. She is not my little baby anymore, much as I want to pretend she is
“I’ve got it!” Sam announces, sliding the filter holder out of the machine and pouring the ground coffee in. “Thank Christ! Finally figured out how this bloody thing works. Annie? Do you still want coffee?”
“What?” I say. “Since when does Annie drink coffee?”
“She said she’d have some when I figured it out. Is that okay?” He looks at me doubtfully.
“I suppose so.” I shake my head. “I just … I’m realizing she’s much more grown up than I think.”
“With a figure like that?” says Sam. “You
think
? Where are you off to, anyway?”
“A meeting.”
“Here? On vacation?” He grimaces. “Isn’t this the time you should just be relaxing?”
“No. This is exactly the time when I need a meeting most! When I’m off my guard. I told you the story of what happened last time. I definitely need a meeting.”
“Don’t you think what happened last time was because you were young and foolish rather than because you hadn’t been to a meeting?” He is as skeptical as he always is when the conversation veers toward alcohol, and I wonder, not for the first time, why he is so resistant to the subject.
“If you stay away from meetings,” I say, “you forget what happens to people who don’t go to meetings.”
He opens his eyes wide. “Ominous! What happens? They get to spend the day on the beach sunbathing?”
“Ha ha. I’m not cutting into sunbathing time. It’s six thirty in the morning, for God’s sake.”
“I know. I don’t think I’ve seen six thirty in the morning in twenty years.” He peers out the window. “It’s rather lovely. I might go for a run.”
“I’ll see you later.” I blow him a kiss before climbing into the car.
* * *
I have never been to this center before, never been to this building, yet I know every person in here. I know the faded Oriental rugs on the tiled floor, the old dark brown kitchen cabinets in the corner, know I can step into the little kitchen and find a pot of fresh coffee and something sugary and sweet.
I know the big poster hanging on the wall, the 12 steps, by heart. I know the needlepoints of the Serenity Prayer, and the faded old prints on the wall, all with an AA theme.
And I know the people. I recognize the look we have, all of us who have lived a little too hard, partied a little too long, done everything a little harder, faster, longer. Addicts and alcoholics. People of extremes.
We are, as a group, often too fat, or too thin. We are too tanned. Our fashion sense is out there. But our hearts? Our hearts are as big as the ocean.
Everyone smiles a hello, reaching out a hand to introduce themselves. I grab coffee, then sink down onto a suedette sofa to one side—what is it with suedette sofas in this country?—as people start to fill up the rows of chairs facing two chairs in front of the sliding French doors.
We start with the Serenity Prayer, then go around the room introducing ourselves. There are a couple of other visitors, but most are islanders, and as I sit, listening to the readings, to people starting to share, I know this is exactly where I am supposed to be, and I know, with a sense of peace, that however Julia reacts when I find her, when I say what I need to say, it will all be fine.
I raise my hand, needing to speak, to claim my place in this room.
“Hi, I’m Cat. I’m an alcoholic.”
“Hi, Cat,” murmurs the room.
“I just wanted to claim my seat. I’m so unbelievably happy to be here. We flew in yesterday, from England, so I’m completely jet-lagged, and actually I’ve got no idea what day it is, but the last time I was here was about fifteen years ago. I was newly in program, and I never went to a meeting, and I lost my sobriety right here on the island. It took me over thirteen years to properly get it back. I loved so much of what I heard today; that when you’re drinking nothing moves, nothing changes, nothing gets better. Wow. That hit me.” I am aware that people around the room are nodding their heads.
“I was drinking for the best part of my marriage, and I screwed that up, blaming him, blaming everyone else, for nothing ever changing, nothing ever getting better, with no idea it all started with me. Anyway, I’m here, on this island, to make amends. When I was here, I was drinking, and I did something awful. I was here to meet family I’d never met before, and I ended up betraying my … urgh. I probably shouldn’t … Well. My half sister. I have no idea how she’ll even react when she sees me again, although my sponsor says that’s irrelevant. The only way through this discomfort is through it, I suppose. I’ve been putting it off, but I’m making a commitment here today to try to find her. Today. I need to make this amends so at least I have maybe a shot of enjoying this vacation.
God.
Procrastination is something I’ve always been very good at, especially when I was drinking. I couldn’t stand to be in any kind of discomfort, which of course was one of the excuses I used to justify the drinking. And now I’m learning to live with it, to focus on the present, to trust in my Higher Power that everything is exactly where it needs to be. I’m just … hugely grateful to be here. Thank you.”
I sit back, happy to have spoken. When I first came back in, this time, I spent the first two or three months just listening. I wanted to be invisible. I wanted to soak up what everyone else was saying without being seen. Maureen got me to speak. She told me I couldn’t be part of the group unless I was part of the group, that I had to claim my seat, that my recovery would grow exponentially when I reached out to others, and allowed myself to be both seen and heard.
She was right. The woman next to me, older, with white hair and a deeply tanned, creased, kind face, reaches over and gives me a reassuring squeeze and a smile, and once again, I am glad I came.
I only ever feel awkward after a meeting. That moment when you’re not sure whether to stay or go, who you should talk to, what you should talk about. Occasionally there is someone who has shared something that has resonated with you so strongly, it is easy to walk up and talk to them, tell them how you felt about their share, what you’re going through. But often it is, at least for me, weird, and clumsy, and I walk out with my head down, careful not to make eye contact so I won’t have to talk to anyone.