The Summer Cottage (13 page)

C
HAPTER
15

 

“M
om!”

“Hey, Mom!

“Helen, we’re home!”

Helen bolted out of her chair on the porch and jogged to the kitchen, where she found Todd carrying two large bass, Ned carrying three medium-sized bass, and Charles holding a can of Diet Coke. “Hi, guys!” she said, hugging all of them one after the other. “How was everything?”

“Great! We caught a ton of fish. Lots of small ones we had to throw back, but look at these,” said Ned, lifting high the fish in his hands.

“Ned, I’m thoroughly impressed.” She kissed him on the check. “And look at those, Todd. You didn’t catch them, did you?” Todd beamed. “They’re beautiful,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. She kissed her husband on the lips. “And you must have been fishing in the cooler.” She took the soda can from his hand and took a sip. “Put the fish on the butcher block, and we’ll see what we can do about getting them ready for dinner.”

“I did have a good one on the line,” said Charles. “But he got away.”

“He almost pulled Dad out of the boat,” said Ned. “He was huge!”

“What happened?” asked Helen.

“He broke the line,” said Todd, laying his catch on the counter. “It was quite extraordinary.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Helen reached out and tousled Todd’s hair. He was just her height now, but Helen guessed he would be six feet in no time.

“Where is everyone?” asked Charles.

“Mom, Charlotte, and Daniel are still at the beach, and Pammy’s upstairs showering. That leaves the outside shower for you three,” said Helen, holding her nose.

“Are we that bad?” asked Charles, smelling the sleeve of his shirt.

“You’re about on par with your catch.” Helen smiled at her husband.

“Okay, men,” said Charles. “Let’s hit the showers.”

Minutes later, Pammy walked into the kitchen. “Just look at these fish,” Helen said. “They’re resplendent.”

Pammy looked over her sister’s shoulder. “They look pretty ugly to me,” she said. “You’re not going to clean them, are you?”

“How else are we going to eat them?” said Helen.

“Let the boys do it.”

“They’re complete wimps when it comes to this stuff.”

“How about Charles?”

“King wimp.”

“I’ll ask Daniel. I’ll bet he’d do it.”

“What makes you think that?”

“He’s good at everything,” said Pammy, reaching into the cupboard for a drinking glass. “I’m sure that includes cleaning fish.”

“Really?” said Helen. “I don’t know anybody who’s good at everything. Have you surmised this yourself, or has Daniel been telling you tales?”

“We had a nice chat on the raft,” said Pammy, blushing in spite of her efforts not to as she filled her glass at the sink.

“And this is when he told you he could do everything?” Helen chose the sharpest knife from the butcher block on the counter.

“He kissed me, Helen.”

Helen dropped the knife and turned to look at her sister. “What do you mean he kissed you?”

“We were squirting water out of our mouths at each other. I had my eyes closed, and he put his mouth over mine.”

“What did you do?”

“I swallowed my mouthful of salt water and kissed him back.”

“Shit, Pammy!”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“How about asking him if the name Charlotte rings any bells, for starters.” Helen bent down to pick the knife up off the floor. She wiped the blade on her shorts.

“It was all very innocent,” said Pammy.

“Then why are you blushing?”

“It must be the sun.” Pammy put her hands to her cheeks.

“Don’t make trouble,” Helen warned. “Charlotte will tear you apart. You know that.” Pammy shot a quick smile at her sister and then walked out of the room, pushing the swinging door closed behind her. Helen watched her sister go. Then, she raised the knife in her hand and whacked off a fish head.

 

Charles, looking trim in khaki shorts and a navy blue golf shirt, stacked the charcoal in the grill and doused it with lighter fluid. As soon as he tossed in a match, the mountain of coals exploded into a yellow fireball, forcing a mass of thick, black smoke skyward. He stood back for a moment, took a sip from his scotch and water, and then settled into a webbed lawn chair a few feet from the grill. From there, he could see through the large window into the kitchen, where Helen and Pammy were preparing the salad and the garlic bread. If he turned his head, he could see the lot next to the cottage, where his sons were playing Frisbee with Daniel. Charlotte walked through the kitchen, breezing past her laboring sisters, and came outside, letting the screen door bang behind her. She was dressed in tight white shorts too short for a woman her age and a blue and white-striped shirt that accented her new breasts.
What wouldn’t accent them?
thought Charles, as he pried his eyes from her chest to her face. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. He half hoped she was looking for Daniel and would walk by to find him.

“Hi there,” she said, sitting on the picnic table under the apple tree.

“Hi,” said Charles, raising his drink in a salute to his sister-in-law.

“You guys caught some mean-looking fish.”

“Thank you, I think.”

Charlotte laughed. She tossed her head back and ran her fingers through her hair. When her head lowered itself back into place, Charles could tell she’d had a drink or two before the one she currently held in her hand. She could walk without tripping and talk without slurring, but he guessed she was on her way to doing both. Charlotte was mercurial enough when she was sober. But when she was drunk, whatever loosely defined barriers that periodically reined in her behavior disappeared altogether. The drink on the table beside her was half full. “So, what do you think of my young man?” she asked, raising the drink to her lips.

“He seems nice, Charlotte. He’s awfully good with the boys.”

“Yes, I think he’d make a great father. Do you think I’d be a good mother, Charles?”

“Sure, Charlotte,” said Charles, rising from his chair. “Hey, listen. I’m going to see how Helen’s doing with that fish. Get an update on the Frisbee game for me.” Charles walked into the kitchen, where Helen was shredding Parmesan cheese and Pammy was mincing fresh garlic. “She’s gone,” he said to Helen, who handed him the fish on a platter.

“What was your first clue?” asked Pammy. “Has she told you she’s had three scotches, or did she reluctantly confess that she finds you tremendously attractive?”

Charles laughed. “Neither,” he said. “She asked me if I thought she’d make a good mother.”

Pammy and Helen both stopped what they were doing and looked at him. “You don’t think she’s pregnant, do you?” Helen asked.

“Would she be on her third scotch if she were?” asked Charles. “And isn’t she too old for that?”

“I don’t know,” said Pammy.

“Really? I thought women talked about their periods whenever they got a chance.”

“Maybe they’re thinking about adopting,” Helen suggested, ignoring her husband’s remark.

“I don’t think so,” said Pammy. “I don’t think Daniel’s committed to the relationship.”

Helen gave her sister a look, and then pushed Charles toward the door. “Find out what she’s talking about.”

Hoping Charlotte had wandered closer to the Frisbee game, Charles took the fish outside. Charlotte was still sitting on the table. Her drink was gone. “Where were we?” Charles asked, wincing the minute the words escaped his lips.

“We were talking,” said Charlotte, “about children. About having children. Did I make a mistake not having children?”

“I don’t know, Charlotte. Not having children has afforded you a lot of freedom.”

“And a lot of loneliness.” Charlotte tossed the remnants of her ice cubes onto the grass.

“Children can’t cure loneliness.”

“Sure they can. Look at Daniel. He’s a child, and I’m sure as hell not lonely when he’s around.” Charlotte laughed, throwing her head back again. Charles reached over to steady her, but she seemed unaware of his efforts. She stared into her glass, as if newly aware that it was empty. She set it down beside her on the table. “I think Daniel wants children.”

“That’s natural, don’t you think?”

“But I’m too old to give them to him.”

Thank God,
thought Charles. “Do you really want children, Charlotte? Or do you want to have them for him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Somehow,” said Charles, spreading out the graying charcoal briquettes with tongs, thinking they needed another few minutes before they were ready to cook the fish, “I think if you wanted children, you would have had them by now.”

“Is that what you think, Charles?” asked Charlotte, lifting herself off the picnic table and swaying in front of him. “Maybe after four miscarriages I just gave up.”

Charles closed his eyes. When he opened them, Charlotte was removing her shoes. He remained silent when she made eye contact with him and then turned away. She zigged and then zagged her way across the lawn to the far end of the lot. His body tingled with this news, and, for another minute, Charles was immobilized. He wondered for just a moment if he already knew about Charlotte’s miscarriages, if Helen had told him one night when they whispered to each other in the dark before bed. But he was quickly certain that he and Helen had not discussed this. He was positive, in fact, that Helen hadn’t told him, and that perhaps no one but him knew. The next thought that came to his mind was what an ass he had been. He had assumed that Charlotte had chosen not to have children with either of her husbands because she was consumed with herself and her happiness. He and Helen had discussed this very topic a number of times, both speculating that Charlotte’s childless condition was voluntary—and selfish.

It was easy to assume that childless couples were selfish. After all, childless couples could do whatever they wanted to do, outside work and other obligations. And they had a lot more money to do those things, since they weren’t paying for their children’s food, healthcare, clothing, extracurricular activities, cars, insurance, and whatever other expenses surfaced over the years, including the biggest one of all, college. Charles had agreed with Helen that Charlotte had chosen not to have children because she was too busy pleasing herself. But there was something about this theory that bothered Charles. It was almost as if parents wanted other adults to have children so they, too, could experience the associated constraints on their time and finances.

Charles had recently learned that one of the agents in his insurance agency, who had been married for fifteen years and did not have children, had been through artificial insemination and miscarriage half a dozen times in as many years. The agent, Lori Kennedy, had not volunteered this information. Instead, it had come to light through an insurance claim that Charles had to handle because his administrative assistant was away from the office on vacation. It was then that Charles told himself—and Helen when he got home that night—that childless couples were not always what they seemed to be. And that even if they were, even if they chose to be childless, that this was an absolutely legitimate choice. Helen had agreed. Being around Charlotte could challenge anyone’s feelings of good will and nonpartisanship, but Charles now, after a two-minute conversation, felt differently about her.

 

“Oh no, that’s not possible,” said Claire, returning her napkin to her lap. “She’s left-handed!” Everybody roared with laughter, and Claire sat back in her chair, completely satisfied. As a younger woman, she had always known the latest jokes, political or otherwise, and enjoyed making people laugh. But she had been very selective about sharing her sense of humor with her children. Her husband John had a more easy-going relationship with the children, even though he was the disciplinarian. Claire saw herself as the teacher and the coach, education and athletics being directly linked to quality of life. Where would she be now, she wondered more and more as she aged, without her Smith College education, without her athletic training, her personal goals? Her accomplishments, in the classroom as well as in the pool, earned her the adulation and respect of her peers, her elders, of everyone she met. In the 1940s and 1950s, she was a standout. In an era when women were second-class citizens, when men made the important decisions, Claire Gaines followed her own set of rules. She spoke with confidence. Her actions were not second-guessed. She was completely free from the typical conventions placed on young women at the time; she was entirely capable of choosing her life path. And she worked hard at making sure her children would have the same privileges, which meant they had to work hard, too. Life, she was fond of saying, does not reward a loafer.

“Charles, darling, the fish was delightful,” said Charlotte, who puckered her lips and kissed the air in front of her.

“Thank you,” he said, embarrassed by her public gesture, but pleased with her compliment. She had stopped drinking after her picnic-table confession. For someone prone to excess, Charlotte was increasingly careful with alcohol. After John’s memorial service, she had just two glasses of wine at dinner, announcing her switch to water, announcing her intention of going through this event relatively sober. If there was a reason for this, other than an emotional reaction to her father’s passing, Charles couldn’t figure it out. Helen had insinuated that Charlotte’s second husband, Jeremy, was an alcoholic, but Charles had only met him once.

“And you adorable boys,” Charlotte said, raising her water glass. “Here’s to the fishermen.” Everybody raised their glasses, and Todd and Ned blushed. Helen and Pammy stood and started to clear the dishes from the table. Daniel stood, too, and grabbed some plates. “Sit, sweetheart,” said Charlotte. “That’s women’s work.”