The Goodbye Summer (37 page)

When Angie’s turn came, the announcer called her “Miss Angie Noonenberg,” not Angela Ann or Angela May. She looked beautiful. She’d cut her long hair after all, and it was very punk and stylish, chopped-off chunks shooting out in all directions. Caddie could swear she’d gotten taller. She had on a short skirt and boots, and a sleeveless top with sparkly beads across the chest. Caddie’s heart was pounding like a machine. She had to grab Nana’s hand when Angie lifted her violin to her shoulder.

She didn’t play “Man of Constant Sorrow,” she played a stark, raw ballad about the death of a coal miner in Harlan County, Kentucky. A hidden guitarist played acoustic accompaniment while she sang the lyrics in her natural voice, not the flat, nasal twang she’d affected for the other song. It was better this way; it was more honest. She played the haunting, minor-key melody with her eyes half closed, her body straight and tall and very much alone on the stage. Caddie had tears in her eyes before it was over and looked around to see if anyone else was as moved as she. Hard to tell, but the auditorium had gone very quiet; no one coughed or shuffled their feet. And when the applause came, it sounded serious, no whistling or calling out. That had to be a good sign.

It was—Angie won! The talent part, not the pageant—the girl who juggled won Miss Michaelstown. “What did you expect?” Nana said when the emcee announced it and Caddie groaned under her breath. “I knew she’d win, she had the biggest tits.”

When the house lights came up, all the contestants and their families and friends converged in front of the stage. “Nana, sit right here and don’t move, okay? I’m going to see if I can find Angie.”

“Why can’t I come with you? I want to see her, too.”

“Oh, okay, come with me. I didn’t think you’d want to.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know.” Because she hadn’t wanted to come to the pageant in the first place. Because on the way over she couldn’t quite remember who Angie was. Caddie took her arm and they went off in search of Angie.

They saw her in the middle of a milling crowd of pageant beauties and well-wishers in front of the first row. Trying to get close wasn’t easy. Nana nudged one of the unsuccessful contestants, a red-haired girl who’d played the clarinet and told the crowd her wish for the world was peace and rapture through Jesus Christ. “You were very good,” Nana told her. “You just need bigger—”

“You were,” Caddie cut in, “you were great—come on, Nan.”

Over the heads of her admirers, Angie saw Caddie and let out a whoop. “Hey!” she cried, waving, jumping up on her high heels. “Hey, Caddie!” A moment ago she’d been a sophisticated young woman in a sleek white
evening gown, but now she was a teenage girl again, the old Angie. She jostled people out of the way, Caddie did the same, and they threw their arms around each other. “You came!”

“
You
—you were fabulous!”

“Oh, I’m so happy you’re here.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t come? Angie, you
won,
you
won
—”

“I know! Did you like my song?”

“You should’ve won
everything,
you were robbed.”

“I don’t care about that, I just wanted to win the talent. And I did!”

“How’s your mother?” She could see her in the Noonenberg crowd, smiling and chatting, not a hair out of place.

“She’ll get over it. I’m done with pageants—I only did this one for her. So did you really like my song?”

“Oh, Angie, you were right and I was wrong. People weren’t even
breathing.
Because we knew it was real, it was
you.
From the heart!”

Angie got tears in her eyes, so of course Caddie did, too. “Then I guess you’re not mad at me anymore?”

“I never was—I thought you were mad at
me.
”

They laughed, giddy.

“I know I’m totally not going in the direction you wanted, Caddie, but I love what the band’s doing—it’s called Bitter Root, you have to come hear us—and if it weren’t for you I wouldn’t have had the guts to even
try.
”

“That’s not true.”

“It
is.
Be excited by your music, that’s what you always told me. Remember?
Be passionate.
You said it a million times. Nothing matters but what you love to do.”

“I said that?”

“So really, this is all your fault. When I’m rich and famous, I’m dedicating an album to you!”

It felt as if no time had passed since last summer; they could’ve been drinking Cokes in the kitchen after a lesson. Caddie hadn’t let herself know how much she’d missed Angie.

A woman with Mrs. Noonenberg’s haughty eyebrows turned Angie
around by the shoulders. “Aunt Chrissie!” Angie exclaimed, and the woman kissed her on both cheeks. Caddie smiled a goodbye and began to back away.

“See you, Caddie—don’t forget to come and hear Bitter Root!”

She blew Angie a kiss and turned around.

Nana was gone.

She found her outside, standing under a buzzing fluorescent light pole on a hillock of dead grass in the parking lot. A feathery snow had started to fall, had already dusted her black beret and the shoulders of her unbuttoned coat. She looked lost.

“Nana!”

“There you are,” she said in an airy voice, but relief was all over her face. “What took you so long?”

“What are you doing? Why are you out here?”

“I was—I can be out here, don’t talk to me in that tone. I wanted to wait in the car, is that a crime?”

“The car’s way over there—!”

“Well,
I
know that. I certainly know where the car is. You worry too much, that’s your problem.” She let Caddie take her arm.

“Don’t go
off
like that, you scared me half to death.” She was still trembly from panic. In the five or six minutes Nana was missing, she’d imagined a hundred horrible things.

Nana laughed and deftly changed the subject. “Let’s get ice cream on the way home; we haven’t done that in a long time. Let’s stop at Griffin’s and get sundaes.”

Caddie chafed her grandmother’s freezing hands as they walked through the crowded parking lot; Nana’s gloves were still in her coat pockets. “Okay, that sounds good.” Except Griffin’s had gone out of business about six years ago.

At home, Caddie ran a hot bath for her in case she was chilled, and afterward Nana put her nightgown on inside out. Caddie found her in front of the bathroom mirror, cursing the goddamn buttons, turning red-faced
from frustration. “Well, no wonder,” Caddie said, and zipped the flannel gown over her head, put it back on, and buttoned it. “There you go, that’s better.”

Nana brushed her teeth in a resentful silence, and later she grabbed the brush out of Caddie’s hand and dragged it through her wispy gray hair herself. “I can do it. I can do
something.
”

From her own room, Caddie heard her get in bed and went in to say good night. She could tell Nana wasn’t listening to her small talk about Angie and how the evening had gone, her music lesson schedule this week, what they needed at the store. Nana sat up and cut her off in the middle of a sentence.

“This is
exactly
what I didn’t want to happen. You and me in this old house, waiting for me to croak.”

“What?”

“Crack, I mean, not croak, crack. Go bonkers. Croak, too, but crack first. I put my goddamn nightgown on backwards.”

“Oh, Nana.” She dropped down on the bed.

“You’re laughing? You think it’s funny? It runs in the family—you won’t be laughing when it happens to you.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“Both my uncles on my father’s side. Winger blood. You could be next.”

She was right. It wasn’t funny.

“I hate this. I didn’t want to be
here
when it happened,” Nana mumbled, plucking at lint on the blanket. “You can feel it coming on, that’s why I wanted out.”

“I don’t understand. Even if it’s true, why is it better not to be in your own house?”

She turned her face away.

“Don’t you like it here? It’s true, we don’t have an elevator or motorized wheelchairs. And Mr. Lorton’s not around to be the oldest, so I’m afraid that’ll have to be you.”

She wouldn’t smile.

Caddie clasped her thin, wrinkled old hand. “When spring comes, we’ll start a new sculpture garden in the front yard. We’ll start all over. I’ll
do the muscle work, you just have brilliant ideas. You’re the creator, you just point to things and say, ‘A little to the left.’ ” A fat teardrop landed on the hand Caddie was holding. “Why are you sad, Nan? Why?”

She whispered something.

“What?” Caddie leaned closer.

“I don’t want…” Her lips moved, but no more words came out.

Caddie whispered, too. “What don’t you want?”

“I don’t want you to leave me.”

Caddie’s chest felt constricted, as if a cord were tightening around it. She couldn’t get a deep breath. “Nana.” She watched their entwined fingers gently clench and unclench on top of the blanket. “I will
never
leave you.”

“Shh,” Nana said, while silent tears slipped down her cheeks. “Bad luck.”

“No, I won’t. I promise. Do you know why? Because you never left me. Everybody else did, but not you. My crazy grandmother.”

Nana snorted and dashed at her eyes.

Caddie handed her a tissue. “I’ve never even thanked you.”

“Pete’s sake. For what?”

“For keeping me. After Mommy left me with you. Dumped me on you.”

“Oh, honey.” She honked her nose into the Kleenex.

“You were in your fifties, it must’ve been kind of a shock. But I always knew you wanted me. Oh, I was
so lucky.
”

Nana wiped her face and smiled, watery-eyed. “Course I wanted you. You were my baby.” Her face crumpled again. “But dammit to hell, I never wanted to be
yours.
”

Caddie hummed in sympathy, then ruined it by laughing. They slipped their arms around each other and held on, smearing the tears together on their faces.

“I love you.”

“I love you, Nan.”

“I’ve decided I don’t want you to shoot me anymore.”

“Oh. Good.”

“Which is funny, since I’ve never needed shooting more. But the whatchacallit’s always the last to know.”

“The shootee.” She kissed her. “Are you sleepy? Should we read for a while?”

Nana slid down in the bed and got comfortable, closing her eyes and folding her hands over her stomach. She used to love to read, but she said the words wouldn’t stay put anymore. “Where’d we leave off?” she asked, yawning. “I can’t remember.”

“I can’t, either. Shall we just start over?”

“Good idea.”

Caddie opened the book to chapter one. “ ‘It is a truth universally acknowledged,’ ” she began, “ ‘that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.’ ” It was where they started their story every night.

Caddie called her aunt on Christmas Eve.

“Your present just came!” Dinah exclaimed in a hoarse voice—she had a cold. “Who told you I had a sore butt from that school bus?”

“You did,” Caddie said, laughing. Dinah drove the elementary-school bus in the mornings while Earl stayed with Mother. Caddie had bought her a special foam-filled, shape-retaining, shock-absorbing seat pillow she’d seen on television. “Be sure and tell me if it works.”

“How could it
not
work? Did you get mine yet?”

“Yes, but I didn’t open it.
I’ve
got willpower.”

“Well, call me when you do, I want to hear what you think.”

“Will I like it?”

“Could be, could be. I just wish you could be
here
when you open it. Sherry and Phil and the grandkids are coming for dinner—I feel like I’ve been cooking since last month. And Earl’s gone overboard on the house again, I told him it looks like Chernobyl. I just wish you could
be
here.”

“I do, too,” Caddie said. “I wish I could, too.”

Dinah’s gift was a photograph album full of copies of all the pictures of Bobby she could find. Caddie sat with it on her lap on Christmas morning, looking and looking, feasting her eyes, wishing she’d opened her present sooner. Nana only cared about the pictures of Bobby with Jane, and there weren’t very many of them. But when she heard there was a tape—Dinah had also sent a copy of the Red Sky demo—she insisted Caddie play
it immediately. “Are you sure?” Caddie worried. “It won’t make you sad?” Nana made a face and said “Pshaw,” and Caddie played the tape.

Her grandmother listened as if she were hypnotized. “Play the second one again, Caddie, I love that high, sweet part. Oh, what a pretty voice she had. Play it again.”

Caddie played the song for her over and over.

It started to snow in the afternoon, big flakes sifting past the kitchen window, but before long Caddie could only see them under the street-lights. It got dark so early these days. Smells of the turkey she was cooking for dinner filled the house. It would be too much food for two people. Too much of everything, tree, stockings, the wreath on the door, candles in the windows, Christmas music on the radio, all for two lone women. It was stifling. Nana felt it, too; she claimed she was tired and went up to bed for the afternoon, leaving the whole overheated, overdecorated downstairs to Caddie.

She missed Thea. She had all day; she’d woken up missing her. She thought of calling Cornel, just for someone to talk about her to. He hadn’t gotten to read his poem for her in Cape May, and they’d probably never go back now.
Oh, Thea.
If she were here, she could help take this ache away, this pointless loneliness. Last night Caddie dreamed she was walking in a dangerous part of town and someone shot her in the back. It was a low-key dream; she wasn’t frightened or surprised. She could see herself from behind, a perfect, gaping hole in the middle of her, like a cartoon character shot with a cannonball. She could see right through herself.

She could call Magill. It was the only way she’d ever be able speak to him again; he wasn’t going to call her, that was for sure. And yet, all day she’d thought he might. Both times the phone rang, she thought it was him. But the first time it was Dinah and the second time it was Morris, her stand partner in the orchestra, inviting her to come to a party tomorrow night. Last-minute. She told him she couldn’t leave Nana and it was too late to get someone to stay with her.

So Christmas passed. Only a handful of students wanted to bother with lessons during Christmas week, so the short, gray days yawned dull and empty. She tried to fill them with trips to the mall with Nana for the
after-Christmas sales, violin practice on a new piece she was learning, reorganizing her lesson schedule for the new year. But the stretches of time when she only sat with Nana in the living room and stared at the TV or played sad songs on the piano came too often and brought her down. Even Finney, curled under the piano with his chin on his paws, looked depressed. Just the thought of New Year’s Eve made her want to run away from home. Then, in midweek, Brenda called.

“We’re having a party, can you and Frances come? It’s for New Year’s, but it’s also a farewell party for Cornel.”

“Cornel! Where’s he going?”

“His daughter-in-law talked him into moving down there with her and her son.”

“Oh, that’s
great,
” Caddie rejoiced, even though it felt like one more friend abandoning her. “Yes, absolutely, we can come.”

“Good. Eight-thirty, and don’t bring anything unless you want champagne. We’re only serving punch.”

“Is Magill coming?” she asked casually.

“I haven’t called him yet, but I hope so. It’s short notice, Cornel didn’t decide till yesterday.”

After they hung up, Caddie ran upstairs, thinking what a pity case she was, thrilled because she’d been invited to an old folks’ home for New Year’s. But even knowing she was hopeless couldn’t keep her from making a beeline for her closet to check out the possibilities.

“I’m not going,” Nana said. “I don’t feel like it. New Year’s Eve, I’m not going anywhere. Those days are gone.” Caddie argued, but she wouldn’t budge. What was the real reason? Every time Caddie suggested a trip to Wake House, Nana found an excuse. It was as if she’d shut a door on that life and nothing could make her walk back through it. “Okay, then. If you’re not going, I’m not, either,” Caddie threatened, but Nana said, “Good. We can watch Guy Lombardo.”

Caddie called Rayanne Schmidt, the teenage neighbor she’d been trading piano lessons for Nana-sitting with. She was free on New Year’s Eve. “You, Rayanne? You don’t have a party to go to?” Secretly she was delighted, but mystified, too—Rayanne was cute, bright, full of personality. Nana
loved her. “I did,” Rayanne said, “but I got grounded.” For? “Smoking. Mom walked in and caught me, she didn’t even knock.
She’s
the one who should be grounded.” Caddie didn’t ask, so she could only hope Rayanne was talking about tobacco.

The tasteful white lights across the front porch roof and the candles in all the windows of Wake House made Caddie think of Dinah and Earl and their little rambler in Clover, lit up “like Chernobyl.” She’d always wondered what kind of people did that to their houses at Christmas, and now she knew. People like Earl. She wished Dinah would send a picture.

She could hear music before she even got to the porch steps. And singing; Doré’s voice, that unmistakable atonal soprano. Could it be—the karaoke machine was out already? She saw Cornel in the foyer, talking to Claudette, but he abandoned her and darted under the chandelier—and the mistletoe—as soon as he heard the front door open. “Happy New Year,” he said perfunctorily, and kissed Caddie on the lips. Bull’s-eye; lipstick smears on his cheeks said his aim had been less deadly with others.

“Happy New Year. You’re leaving!”

“She wore me down, I got tired of saying no.”

“I think it’s
wonderful.
Richmond, that’s not so far, I’ll come and see you all the time.”

“Richmond.” He sniffed. He had on his brown suit with a festive red tie. “They wave the Confederate flag down there at the drop of a hat, y’know. Just what I—”

“Now, don’t you start. You’re going to like it, Cornel, you’ll be with your own family, your very own
grandson.
”

“Kid’ll probably ignore me, probably be ashamed of his old—”

She grabbed his shoulders and shook. “Quit it.”

“What?”

“Being an old grump.”

“I
am
an old grump.”

His turtle-lipped smile melted her. “Oh, gosh, you are.” She put her arms around him and squeezed. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

“You really going to come see me?”

“I promise I will. Magill, too, I bet.” She looked around. Milling people in both parlors, and blazing Christmas trees, fires in both fireplaces. “Is he here?”

“Said he’d be late.”

He started talking about packing, what a pain that would be, and how he could’ve accumulated so much stuff when he was down to living in half a room. A sight distracted her; she lost track of the conversation. “Edgie? Oh, my goodness—look at you!”

She was walking. Slowly, and tilted to the side, using a three-pronged cane for balance, but she was walking. “Speed demon, thass me,” she said with a crooked grin. “Lookit
you.
So pretty.”

Caddie rushed over to kiss her. “Oh, you’re gorgeous.” She had a new perm; it framed her face like soft yellow cotton balls. “What a treat to see you up and around!”

“Where’s Frances? You all by yourself?”

“She didn’t quite feel up to it. Where’s Bea?”

“In there.” She shrugged toward the Blue Room. “With the
new man.
”

“The
new man.
How exciting.”

“Take off your coat and stay a while. Bea!” She didn’t call out with much force, but over the music and the chitchat her sister heard. Her face lit up. She turned back to the new man for a second—Caddie had a glimpse of white hair and broad shoulders—then left him and came toward her with open arms.

“You! Months since we’ve seen you, months!”

“One month,” Caddie countered, letting herself get swallowed up in a bear hug. She’d forgotten how strong Bea was. She looked like a new woman—or rather her old self, tough and handsome and no-nonsense.

“No, it’s more than a month. You said you’d come see us all the time, and here—well, never mind, we forgive you.”

“In the spirit of Christmas,” Edgie said.

“How’ve you been?” Bea’s voice went low with sympathy. “Has it been rough on you, hon? Bet the holidays weren’t much fun.”

Caddie was afraid of sympathy. “Oh, not too bad.” She shrugged off
her coat and hung it on a hook behind the staircase. “So tell me about the new man! And who’s the lady over there in the hat?”

“Well.”
Bea rubbed her hands together.

“Tom Kowallis,” Edgie said before she could speak. “Bea’s boyfriend.”

“Oh, he is
not.
”

“Everybody’s boyfriend, then.”

“That’s more like it,” Bea said ruefully.

Caddie moved to get a better view of Tom Kowallis, who was talking to Doré. “Handsome.” He looked like somebody, she couldn’t put her finger on who. Gregory Peck? He was tall and erect, with thick, shaggy white hair and black eyebrows, a wide chest, an imposing belly, and no rear end at all. “What’s he like?”

“Thinks he’s died and gone to heaven. Look at Doré. See that handkerchief in his pocket? She made it for him.”

“Doré made a handkerchief?”

“She had to—Sara made him slippers.”

“Sara. Who’s Sara?”

“Mrs. Sha…Shar…” Edgie’s tongue got tied up.

“Shallcroft,” Bea said. “I thought you met her already, she came after Susan left. Over there.” She nodded toward a slender, attractive woman in a long black dress, wearing her silver hair in an elaborate chignon.

“Oh, Mrs. Shallcroft, I remember. She just lost her husband.”

“And don’t we get to hear about
that
every day.”

“Edgie,” Bea said, tittering.

“Thinks she’s the world’s firs’ widow. Hasn’t been outta black since she got here.”

“She’s a
tragic figure,
” Bea said, eyes twinkling. “Meanwhile,
Mr.
Shallcroft’s been gone for at least three years.”

“And—”
Edgie leaned over on her cane and spoke in a stage whisper. “Maxine and Doré
speak.
Tell her, Bea.”

“I don’t believe it. To each other?”

“It’s true,” Bea confirmed. “Not a lot, they’re not
girlfriends,
but they talk.”

“ ’Cause they’re in league against Sara,” Edgie said. “For the love of Tom. It’s a regular Peyton Place around here.”

“I can see. Who’s the new lady?” A tiny, birdlike woman in a pillbox hat with a veil, sitting on the sofa in the Red Room beside a portly, pink-faced bald man.

“Mrs. Spinetti. Very nice. She’s ninety.”

“Bea likes her ’cause she’s older than she is.”

“That’s her son with her, the bald one, visiting from New Jersey. He’s sixty-two and still a bachelor.”

They gossiped in the hall until Bea said, “Well, we can keep this up all night, except you probably came to see somebody besides us.” But Caddie thought the real reason she made them disperse was because she knew Edgie was getting tired and needed to sit down. “Mingle,” the sisters told her, and moved off into the Red Room.

Wake House looked beautiful, and not just because of the Christmas decorations. The wood floors shone with fresh polish, every mirror gleamed, the chandelier sparkled, even the walls looked brighter, less dingy or something. Caddie had never seen a fire in either parlor’s fireplace before, much less in both of them. Mr. Lorton was fast asleep in front of the one in the Blue Room. Caddie kissed him on top of his bald head, and he smiled up at her fondly and without surprise, as if he saw her every day.

She found Brenda, festive in a green sweater with a sequined Santa Claus on the chest, and complimented her on how pretty everything looked.

“Well, we could afford to do a little more this year. Thea’s estate isn’t settled, won’t be for a while, but I’ll tell you she made a very generous bequest to Wake House.”

“That’s wonderful news.”

“Caddie, you just don’t know.” She shook her head as if at a near miss. “Last summer, I wasn’t sure we could last out the year. And now—isn’t it grand? This is how it
should
look. I’ve got a new cleaning service that actually does what I tell them. This is just the tip of the iceberg, what you can see. We’ve got plans for a new elevator and a new roof, storm windows on the third floor, heavy-duty washers and dryers—”

“But, um, if the money is still tied up…”

“Oh, I know! If it doesn’t go through, we’re in trouble!” She didn’t look worried, though. She threw her head back and blared out her great, booming laugh, and everybody within hearing distance smiled in sympathy. “Where’s Frances? Didn’t she come with you?”

“She wasn’t feeling up to it. Sends everybody her love.”