Summer's End (32 page)

She did not fit in. She had never felt that way before, but there was no question now. She was not like Hal's
friends. They were all couples, people who had known each other for more than thirty years. They had been struggling young assistant professors together; their kids had grown up together. The women had been Eleanor's friends, and while they seemed like very nice people, Gwen could tell that she had little in common with them. She was the only woman in the room with polished fingernails; she was the only one wearing tinted stockings. Her skirt were linen, her shirt was silk; the other women were in easy-care knits.

They were more interested in politics than she was, and they had traveled more. They openly discussed their husbands' health, raising subjects which Gwen had always considered private. They spoke about the college administration in a way no navy wife would ever dream of talking about the commanding officers.

They were now inviting her to join the faculty wives' book club. Gwen had been in a book club in Washington, and she had enjoyed it. They read current fiction—some of it was rather difficult—and Gwen had liked reading the books that book clubs all over the country were reading. But this book club disdained contemporary fiction. They were reading
Anna Karenina
for the September meeting.

It had never been like this on a navy base.

 

The news from California was not good. Gwen ached for Hal every time he spoke to Ian on the phone.

Joyce had taken Maggie and moved out, withdrawing from Ian, Scott, and Emily's lives. “This is such a difficult time for Maggie,” she had told Ian. “She needs me. Scott and Emily will be fine.” Her identification with Maggie was complete. Maggie was all that mattered. It was as if the last fourteen years hadn't happened. Joyce was once
again the abandoned mother of a helpless infant, unable to see beyond herself and her child. Even Scott and Emily had become a part of the outside world.

Ian and Joyce had chosen their house because of its proximity to her job, not his, and so if one of the kids had a dentist appointment, was in a school play, or became sick, Ian now had to drive for nearly an hour to reach them. The length of his commute added to time that they were in after-school-care programs.

His work was suffering. But how could he tell himself he could slow down? His subjects, these sole surviving speakers of Native American Indian languages, were dying, taking their linguistic knowledge with them. No one else had the funding to study them. On the other hand, his kids were desperate, floundering and bewildered, feeling deeply rejected that their mother had left, taking their sister but not them.

Finally he made a choice. He had to tend his own garden. He took a leave of absence for the rest of the semester.

But even that wasn't enough. He felt that he was doing nothing but going to the grocery store and trying to keep the clean clothes separate from the dirty ones. He and Joyce had been committed to public education for their children, but now that he went to the school activities, he could see how crowded and underfunded the school was.

The school was chaos; the house was in shambles; the kids were a mess; he was exhausted.

Reluctantly he picked up the phone. “Dad, Gwen, can I bring the kids home?”

 

Amy was outraged. “How can he do that to Gwen?” she fussed at Holly, who had called to tell her that Ian was going home. “It's so unfair. Why should she have to pack lunches for his kids?” Ian had money, his share of their mother's trust fund. Her share had paid for her skating. He could hire a housekeeper and put his children in private school.

“She doesn't mind,” Holly answered. “She loves helping people.”

But two hours later, Holly called back, her voice very different.

“What is it? What's wrong?” Amy asked instantly.

“I'm not sure. Jack asked me to call you. We spent twenty minutes bickering about why he couldn't just call you himself, but he seems to think that he can't.”

Amy sighed. What a mess this was. He loved her, but he couldn't call her. “What did he want to say?”

“He's worried about Mother.”

“Of course he is,” Amy said. “Ian's about to descend on her.”

“It's not that. She can handle that. She raised Jack, didn't she?”

That was unanswerable. Jack had probably been a naughty little boy. “So why did Jack want you to call me?”

Holly sighed. “Amy, I don't like doing this. I don't like putting this pressure on you, but he was so insistent. I feel like I'm having to choose between the two of you. It isn't right to ask you this, but he is my brother, and—”

Amy interrupted. “What is he asking?”

“For you to go back to Iowa for a week or so. I know it's impossible,” Holly added immediately. “I know that this is the time you prepare for the entire year. I told him all that, but he kept saying that we needed to ask you.”

Go back to Iowa? September? The professional season was getting longer and longer. Her first major competition was in early October. And her programs were promising to be so good. She wanted her skating to be worthy of them. She couldn't go back to Iowa. “I am keeping the whole week before Thanksgiving clear. I'll go back then, but I can't go now.”

“I knew that. I'll call Jack and tell him.”

“No, wait.” Amy had no idea why she said that. “Don't call him, not just yet. Let me think. Why does he think I should go? What good will I be? It's not like I'm going to be much help in the kitchen.”

“I'm not sure he knows why. All he said was that you were on her side. He's having another one of these moments of his, complete certainty that he can't explain or justify.”

That made Amy pause. “Isn't he usually right when he gets like that?”

“Well, yes.”

Then perhaps she should go.

Last Christmas, shortly before her father had met Gwen, Amy had known that something was wrong with him. He had been thin and pale. She had been concerned.

But what had she done? Nothing. She hadn't given a minute's thought to doing something. It had never occurred to her that there was anything she could do.

But there had been.
Come on tour with us for a week
. She could have said that. He understood so much about the music; he might have enjoyed seeing everything else.
I've got five down days in Europe. Meet me in England. Show me Oxford. Show me where you met Mother
.

Had she done any of that? Had she made any gesture, assumed the slightest responsibility? No. If Dad needed
taking care of, if something needed to be done, she had assumed that Phoebe would do it.

How could she help Gwen? She had never done anything for the family before. She had always stepped back and let Phoebe do everything.

But if Jack thought Phoebe could help, he would have called Phoebe. He had instead had Holly call her. Of course, he “knew” nothing, he understood nothing; these were only senses, impressions, intuitions. How could she disrupt her training schedule because of something so vague?

Because the senses, impressions, and intuitions were Jack's.

She could hardly tell her father and Gwen the truth.
I'm coming because Jack thinks you need me
. Gwen would hate having anyone worry about her. Nor could she say that she was coming to help with Ian's kids. Who would believe that? So she had to make up a reason.

“I am having such good luck changing the content of my programs that I thought I might try shaking up my training routine a little.”

How selfish that sounded.
I, Miss Amy Legend, am interrupting your lives on the slight chance this will be good for my training routine
.

But when she called before going to the rink the next morning, Gwen seemed so delighted that Amy was coming that she paid no attention to her reason, and Dad…well, he was probably used to Amy sounding selfish.

I haven't meant to be. I didn't know I was
.

“That's wonderful,” Gwen exclaimed. “When will you get here? How long will you stay?”

“I'll know more this afternoon,” Amy promised. “I've got to work out the ice time first.”

The others were already at the rink when she got there. At the first break, she told them. “My brother's
marriage has broken up, and he's taking his two younger kids back to Iowa. I need to go too. I don't know how long I will be gone, but it will be more than a week. I'll train by myself.”

Oliver's jaw sagged. Tommy's eyebrows went up. Henry stepped forward almost threateningly.

She held up her hand. “You can say whatever you like, but you aren't talking me out of it. I'm going. My family needs me.”

“What are you?” Henry asked. “Cinderella?”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Oliver asked. “You've never trained alone.”

“I know that, but this is necessary.” She turned to Henry. “And I'm not going as Cinderella. My family may not understand me, but they aren't stupid. They know I'm hopeless in the kitchen.”

“So why are you going?” Henry demanded. Then he stopped and waved a hand. He wasn't going to be able to talk her out of this. Why try to understand? “You're still with the program, aren't you?”

Amy knew what he was talking about, what the program was—the three of them skating together, touring together as long as their names would sell tickets and their bodies would hold together. Over time they would do more and more work for other skaters, producing, choreographing, designing. Skating would be their lives; they would never have to find other occupations.

She looked at Henry. He had always been the one most intent on their future—not only because he was the most intent about everything, but because the future would probably arrive first for him. His style of skating was more demanding physically than hers or Tommy's. She and Tommy would be skating in front of crowds at least a decade
longer than he would be. Their routines wouldn't be as difficult as now, but they would find other ways to entertain.

Yes, she still wanted that, yes, she was still “with the program,” but only if there was more in her life than that.

At lunch, she went into the office and settled down with Gretchen to make arrangements. She was serious about continuing her training, and she needed an Olympic-size rink with private ice time.

The college had a new rink, and even though Amy had contributed a fair amount of money toward the building of it and had skated at its opening, she could never get it for as long as she would need it. The college community needed it; that's why it had been built.

But a couple of years before the new college rink had been built, someone had built a private rink on the edge of town. Again Amy called her parents' familiar number, and it didn't seem odd in the least to have Gwen answer. “Is the rink out on Fifth Street still open?”

“I hardly know where Fifth Street
is
,” Gwen answered, “much less anything about a rink. Do you want me to have your father call you? Although…wait, it's listed in the phone book.”

Gretchen was on another line, rescheduling some things. So Amy called the rink herself. She could do that. She was a big girl.

During the school year, the manager said, the rink didn't open until one o'clock, and yes, of course, they'd consider leasing it to a private individual—Amy had not identified herself—oh, except on Tuesday and Thursdays at ten, there was a little kiddie class.

Five days a week, mornings only, except for an hour on Tuesday and Thursday morning for the preschool class—plenty of skaters would have delighted with that much
private ice time. But Amy was used to much more.

She hoped she was doing the right thing. This could be a disaster. She had never trained by herself before.

But Jack had asked her to do it. She took a breath, identified herself, and reserved the ice.

If she left tomorrow, she would arrive before Ian. That sounded like a good idea. She asked Gretchen to call the airline. “And a car,” she said. “I will need a car.” Whatever was wrong with Gwen wouldn't be improved by having to share a car with Amy.

At the beginning of the summer Tommy had suggested that Amy rent a car and drive herself to the lake, and she had dismissed it as far too adult. But here she was, two months later, renting a car.

She called Holly, catching her eating lunch at her desk. “I'm going to Iowa tomorrow.”

Holly was shocked. “You aren't serious, are you? Isn't this when you practice so hard? How can you leave? Amy, Jack is crazy. Don't listen to him. Mother will be fine. If Jack's so worried, he should go himself. He's the one not doing anything.”

Jack did want to go himself. Amy was sure of that. He probably had had to slash his tires to keep himself from going. But he must know that he and Ian being together in one house would not solve a thing.

“If there's any chance that I can help your mother,” Amy said to Holly, “then I'm going. I want all the best for her. I love her.”

Holly was silent for a moment. “I can hardly argue with that.”

That night as Amy was packing, Jack called. “I'm asking for more than I know, aren't I?”

How good it was to hear his voice. “Probably, but that's okay.”

“So why are you going?”

“Because it was you who asked.”

“Oh.” Clearly he couldn't think of anything else to say. “Oh.”

“Jack, what are you up to?” she asked suddenly. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“What do you mean, nothing?” It was impossible to imagine him doing nothing. “How can you be doing nothing?”

“Because I have nothing to do. I thought maybe Pete—he's the guy I sold the business to—might need some help, but he doesn't.”

“What about learning to fly a helicopter?” Amy sat on the bed next to her folded clothes. “I thought that's what you were going to do next.”

“I'm not doing it.”

“Then what are you doing? What's your day like?”

“Like anyone else's, except I'm not doing anything.”

“Be more specific,” she ordered…it was possible that Jack's definition of doing nothing included digging a new trench to reroute the Ohio River.

“I get up. I shower. Then I decide whether or not to go to 7-Eleven for coffee or make it at home. I read the newspaper. Actually, I read several newspapers, which is odd because I don't give two hoots for world affairs. Then I shoot pool or play pinball or go to the batting cage. That's what my day is like.”

“And you're worried about
your mother?
” It sounded like he was the one with the problem.

“I do one other thing. I think about you. In fact, that's what I do most of the time. I think about you.”

 

Even though she was renting a car, her father would have liked to meet her at the airport. He wanted to help her claim her bags and get the rental car, but he had a class to teach.

“I'll be fine, Dad. I know how to get through an airport.”

She did indeed manage fine. She got her luggage, signed the rental agreement, and drove the thirty minutes to Lipton, carefully parking at the curb in front of the big, square red-brick house. Gwen must have been listening for her car. She was waiting on the white-columned porch, and it seemed completely normal to see her, hug her warmly, and walk into the house with her. Together they carried Amy's luggage upstairs.

“Do you mind sleeping in Phoebe's room?” Gwen asked. “The one thing that made Emily agree to come was the promise that she could stay in your room.”

Ian's daughter had just started first grade. “My room? Why would she want to stay in my room?” It was by far the smallest.

Gwen shrugged. “It seemed important to her, but that was before we knew you were coming.”

“If it's important to her, then that's fine. I can stay in Phoebe's…even though I won't get a moment's sleep because I'll be so worried that someone will come in and holler at me for playing with her makeup.”

Gwen smiled. “I think you can count on having to holler at Emily for coming in and playing with
your
makeup.”

“I will not mind in the least.”

“Yes, you will. She'll use your blusher brush in the eye shadow, and you'll find yourself with big brown streaks under your cheekbones.”

“I guess I would mind that.”

They were driving to Iowa City that evening to have dinner with Phoebe and Giles. Amy had not been at her sister's house since before their mother had died. Like their parents' house, it was brick, built at the turn of the century, with four square rooms on the first floor. The stairs were in a different location; the front porch was different; the kitchen had been redone, but it really was a lot like Mother and Dad's. Even the furniture was arranged in a similar way.

Amy hadn't noticed this before.
Didn't you trust yourself, Phoebe? Didn't you believe you could make a home for your family in a different style of house?

“This is such a treat,” Giles said, hugging Amy, his silky beard brushing her cheek. “How long are you here for?”

Amy hugged him back, hiding her grimace against his burly chest. Once again she didn't know how long she was staying. That was just the sort of behavior that Phoebe had complained about. It probably did make her seem very much the prima donna.

And she couldn't even give an honest answer. “That's so hard for me to answer because I don't know how training alone will go.”

“You've never come home before,” Phoebe said.

You never came home when Mother was alive
. That was what Phoebe was saying.

Amy took a breath.
You're right. I probably wouldn't have come home if Mother was alive. Gwen feels more like my true mother than Mother ever did
.

Phoebe had to know this, and it chewed at her, this
sense of her younger sister's disloyalty.
By your standards I have been disloyal, but I cannot run my life by your standards
.

 

The next morning Amy drove herself to the rink and adhered faithfully to the workout that Oliver had designed for her. During the hour that the preschoolers and their moms were using the rink, she drove to the college and used the weight room. Then she returned to the rink and continued with her practice. At twelve-fifty, the rink manager came to resurface the ice for the public session, and Amy went home.

Gwen was changing sheets, getting ready for Ian and his kids. “I'd hoped to get this done before you got back,” she apologized. “I didn't want you to feel like you had to help.”

“I don't mind.” Amy moved around to the other side of the bed. “You'd expect Holly to help, wouldn't you? Think of me as Holly.”

Ian was arriving on Saturday. Hal borrowed a station wagon, and Gwen and Amy drove to the airport with him. Scott and Emily were quiet, weary after the plane ride. Ian looked thin and tired just as Hal had last Christmas. He hugged Amy briefly. “Emily was thrilled that you were going to be here.”

Amy glanced at the little girl. She had to admit that she had never paid much attention to this particular niece. At family gatherings Emily and Claire were together all the time, and everyone treated them as a single being. The only time Amy had ever thought of her separately was when she noticed that Claire, Phoebe's daughter, was better behaved and less demanding.

And if she had thought about it, she would have
assumed that Emily was paying no more attention to her. But here Emily was, slipping her hand into Amy's, asking if Amy would sit with her in the way back of the borrowed station wagon.

“I'd love to,” Amy said. And suddenly brown eye shadow on her blusher brush didn't sound so bad after all.

The flight had arrived in Iowa City, so they went directly to Phoebe's for lunch. Amy expected Emily to forget all about her as soon as she saw Claire, but Emily did not want to have one thing to do with Claire. She would not go see Claire's new bike, she would not play in Claire's room, she would not even sit with her at lunch. “What's going on?” Amy whispered to Phoebe and Gwen as they were clearing the dishes.

“Emily's mad at Claire,” Phoebe said, “because Claire has a mother and Emily does not. Of course, it's really Joyce that Emily's mad at, but she won't admit that.”

That was almost exactly what Gwen had said about Phoebe earlier in the summer, that Phoebe was mad at her mother but couldn't admit it.

“I hope you don't mind that she's turned to you,” Gwen said to Amy.

“Not at all. I'm flattered.”

Finally Ellie was able to persuade all four kids to walk down the block to the park, and the adults were able to sit down and talk.

“Are things as bad as they seem?” Giles asked.

“Yes,” Ian answered, but he wasn't whining and he didn't sound depressed. “All three of us are a mess, but we're going to get better.”

“Do you have any expectation that you and Joyce will get back together?” Hal asked.