The Summer Cottage (15 page)

“Very much,” said Thomas.

Helen gave him the thumbs-up sign, and Thomas winked at her. He cupped his hand over the phone and asked Helen to get him a Coke in the kitchen. “Please put it in a glass with a ton of ice,” he told her.

“Hello?”

Thomas turned his attention back to the phone. “Hello, Anna,” he said. “This is Thomas.”

“Thomas,” she said. “What a nice surprise. How are you?”

“Fine, actually,” Thomas said. “I, uh, was thinking . . .”

“Are you working tonight?”

“No.”

“Will you come and have dinner with us? Amy would love it,” she said.

“That sounds great,” said Thomas. “What time?”

“Come about six. We’ll have a cookout.”

“Can I bring something?” Whenever the Thompson children went to a friend’s house for dinner or the night, Claire always sent a dozen cookies, freshly made popcorn, or, at the very least, a bag of chips.

“Just yourself,” said Anna.

“I’ll see you at six, then.”

“Good-bye, Thomas.”

Thomas hung up the phone and leaped out of his chair. He jumped around the living room, as if he were on a pogo stick, and then planted his feet firmly on the floor, so he could focus on beating his fists against his chest. He stopped when he saw Helen standing next to him with his Coke in her hand. “How long have you been standing there?” He cocked his head.

“Long enough.” Helen laughed.

Thomas laughed back. “Thanks for the Coke.”

“She said yes, didn’t she?”

“Yes, she did,” said Thomas. “I’m going over there tonight for dinner.”

“Will her daughter be there?”

“Yes.”

“I could come with you,” Helen offered, “to babysit.”

“You are an angel, Helen. I think we’re all set, though.”

Helen watched her brother spring up the stairs. Not until after he was gone did she realize she was still holding his Coke. She knew he wouldn’t miss it, hadn’t really wanted it, but she had been lectured by her mother often enough to know that she couldn’t waste it. So she took it to her room and slowly drank it while she braided pink, white, and yellow strands of gimp into a small bracelet for Amy.

C
HAPTER
17

 

I
n the morning, Helen woke early. Charles slept soundly as she rolled out of bed and quickly dressed. She went downstairs and made coffee and started the recipe for the cinnamon coffeecake her mother had made for them growing up. She had just finished the batter when Pammy, with the puffy eyelids of someone who needed more sleep, walked into the kitchen. “Coffee’s ready,” said Helen. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” said Pammy, taking her mug that Helen had set on the counter next to the coffee maker, then pouring coffee into it.

“You think a double batch of Mom’s coffeecake is enough?” Helen was looking at the recipe card, written in Claire’s handwriting, mentally checking off that she had added all the ingredients.

“Depends on who you’re planning on feeding,” said Pammy, taking her coffee out of the kitchen and closing the swinging door behind her.

Helen shrugged, added another egg for good luck, and poured the batter into two Bundt pans. She sprinkled the tops, which would become the bottoms, with a generous amount of cinnamon and then dolloped a mixture of melted butter and brown sugar on top of that. She put the pans in the oven and then refilled her mug with coffee and walked out to the porch to join Pammy. “How’d you sleep?”

“How do you think?” Pammy shot back.

Her eyes were bloodshot—from fatigue? From crying? “I wouldn’t know, Pammy,” said Helen. “That’s why I asked. Seems like you could use a little more.”

“When I could have used the sleep was in the middle of the night. Yet, everybody decided they had to fuck at three in the morning.”

Helen was embarrassed. “I’m sorry if we woke you.”

Pammy sighed. “It wasn’t you, Helen. You were quiet and discreet—although I must admit I was surprised you had sex with Mom in residence.”

“Charles said the same thing.”

Pammy sipped her coffee. “It was Charlotte and Daniel, howling like wolves, who kept me up. And how many times can you say ‘oh baby’ before the other person tells you to shut the hell up.”

Helen laughed. “From what I could hear last night, I think Daniel set a new record.”

Pammy’s sour mood shifted, lightened. It wasn’t Helen’s fault. “And Charlotte. I haven’t heard her grunt and groan like that since she was screwing Rick Jones.” When they were kids, Pammy and Helen had routinely spied on Charlotte and Rick. More than once they had caught them “in the act,” as Pammy called it. And while most of the time Pammy had been able to shield her younger sister from full exposure to naked limbs and blended torsos, she had not been one hundred percent successful.

“Rick Jones,” said Helen. “Whatever happened to him?”

“After he got out of jail for those convenience-store robberies, he went for the big time—banks. Last I heard, he had taken up permanent residency at Somers.”

“What a guy,” said Helen, shaking her head.

“Charlotte dumped him before the poor kid was fingerprinted. I still wonder how they caught him. There was something in the paper about an anonymous tip.” Pammy looked into her sister’s eyes.

“No clue,” said Helen, who hadn’t told anyone about her conversation thirty years before with her father when they were fishing. Pammy had questioned Helen more than once over the years, but Helen had never confessed to confessing. Pammy moved the spotlight back to Charlotte.

“Can you believe she started dating Steve Johanson that very day? He was good-looking, but his younger brother, Michael, was the original stud.”

“He was,” said Helen. “I had such a crush on him.”

“You did not.”

“I did, really. I just never said anything to you because you were wild about him.”

“Did you ever tell him?”

“Pammy, I was ten at the time.”

“Did he ever marry?” asked Pammy.

“Four times and counting.”

“Charlotte should have married him.”

“She did, didn’t she?”

Pammy laughed. “Hey,” she said. “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure,” said Helen. She sipped her coffee, which was still hot. Helen warmed her mug with hot water before she poured coffee into it, a trick her mother had taught her when Claire still liked her coffee scalding.

“Daniel’s coming on to me.”

“You already told me about the kiss.”

“What I didn’t tell you is what he did to me in the kitchen last night.”

“He kissed you again?”

“No, he came up behind me while I was washing dishes and started grinding his pelvis against my ass. He put his arms around me and told me he was horny.”

“No wonder he screwed Charlotte for an hour last night.”

“What the hell is he doing, Helen?” Pammy set her almost empty mug on the table next to her chair.

“He’s toying with you, Pammy. He knows he’s attractive and has a body most women drool over, and he knows you think he’s adorable. It’s called an ego boost.”

“Do you think he really wants me, or is he just fooling around?”

“If he wants you, it’s for bragging rights only. It’s not like he’s going to dump his forty-seven-year-old live-in for her forty-three-year-old sister.”

“Thank you very much.”

“Come on, Pammy.”

“Well, maybe he finds me attractive.”

“Undoubtedly, Pammy, but he’s not going to leave Charlotte, his meal ticket, for you.”

“I could pay for his meals.”

“Why would you want to? Unless you’re interested in working out in the gym all day and screwing all night, I can’t see why you’d want him.”

“He’s interested in philosophy,” said Pammy, wincing at the weakness, the neediness of her statement.

“He’s a dilettante,” said Helen. “He’s going to school so he doesn’t have to work.”

“You really dislike him, don’t you?”

“I don’t dislike him, Pammy. I don’t know him. I just see him for what he is.”

“I see some good qualities.”

“You’re reaching,” said Helen, “and you’re playing with fire. This isn’t high school anymore.”

“No,” said Pammy. “It’s more challenging.”

“What about Charlotte? Maybe she really loves him.”

“Charlotte loves herself, Helen. She’d find a new roommate within an hour.”

“Are you serious about this, Pammy, or are we just talking?”

Pammy hesitated. “I don’t know, Helen. Maybe it depends on what Daniel does. If he leaves me alone, I’ll leave him alone.”

“That’s big of you.”

“Look, Helen, you’re not the lonely one here.”

“And you’re not the selfish one, either.”

“Yeah, Charlotte’s got that department covered.”

“So let her have it, Pammy. Let her have him.”

Seconds later, Daniel walked down the stairs in his tight orange gym shorts and a white T-shirt, cut off to show several inches of flat, muscular stomach between its uneven hem and the waistband of his shorts. Pammy swallowed. “Good morning,” he said, bracing himself against the wall to stretch his legs. “Looks like a great day.”

“Yes,” said Pammy, turning her head and forcing her eyes to look out at the day through the screen.

“How’d you sleep?” asked Helen.

“Like a baby,” said Daniel. “There must be something in the air out here.” Pammy glanced at Helen. Daniel looked at Pammy and smiled. “I’ll be back in about an hour,” he said, walking out the front door. Pammy watched his perfect body jog down the road and disappear around the corner.

“So he’s got a nice body,” said Helen, standing. “So do I.” She turned around and shook her bottom at Pammy. Pammy laughed. “You want more coffee?” asked Helen, holding up her mug.

“Absolutely,” said Pammy, getting out of her chair and retrieving her mug from the table. “I have a three-cup minimum.”

“Doesn’t everybody?”

They walked back into the kitchen, where the smell of cinnamon was so thick Helen thought she could taste it. She opened the oven door to look at the coffeecakes, to momentarily immerse herself in their aroma, and then set the timer for another ten minutes. Pammy refilled their mugs. “I’m just tired of being alone,” said Pammy, emptying the pot.

“I know that, Pammy.”

“But knowing it and living it are completely different.”

“I can empathize, Pammy.”

“I need more than that, Helen. I need someone to share my life.”

“You’ll find someone. Daniel isn’t that person.”

“Even if he leaves Charlotte?”

“Especially if he leaves Charlotte.”

C
HAPTER
18

 

W
here’s Thomas tonight?” asked John Thompson as he sat down at the dinner table and noticed the empty chair.

“Come to think of it, I don’t know. Usually he informs me if he is going to miss dinner,” said Claire, handing the basket of rolls to Helen to pass to her father. “He did mention something about delivering pizza tonight. Maybe he went in early, took someone else’s shift. You know Thomas.” Claire speared a green bean with her fork and then pointed it at Helen. “And I don’t want to hear one word out of you, dear Helen, about these beans. You are to put six of them on your plate, and you are to eat them without theatrics.”

Helen, who had already started plotting the demise of her beans, instantly reddened. It seemed to her that sometimes her mother could read her mind.

“We all know Thomas, seeing as how we’re related and all,” said Charlotte, slouching in her chair in an attempt to irritate her mother. “He’d deliver pizza to Mars for another buck.”

“Sit up, Charlotte.”

“He’s on a date,” said Helen. “Would somebody pass the potatoes?”

“A date?” said Charlotte, sitting up due to interest rather than compliance with her mother’s request.

“He took pizza to a woman’s house, and she asked him over for dinner.” Helen put a heaping scoop of mashed potatoes on her plate and then passed the serving dish to her father.

“A woman?” asked Pammy.

“Yeah,” said Helen. “She’s got a kid and everything.”

John and Claire put their forks down at exactly the same moment and looked at their youngest child. On the receiving end of her parents’ penetrating stares, Helen quickly realized she probably should have said nothing. She stuffed a large forkful of potatoes in her mouth, wishing she could, right then, be on that delivery truck to Mars. “Have you met this woman, Helen?” her mother asked.

Helen held up the index finger of her right hand. She swished the potatoes around in her mouth, buying time. Eventually, she had to swallow. “No.” Helen reached for her glass of milk. “Thomas told me about her.”

“Tell us about her,” said John Thompson.

“He said she was really nice.”

“Is she married?” asked Claire, who had not yet lifted her fork and was sporting a tight smile, unlike Charlotte, who was genuinely grinning at Helen.

“No,” said Helen. “Thomas said she was probably divorced.”

Claire and John Thompson exchanged glances.

“How old is she?” said Charlotte.

“Really old,” said Helen. “Thomas thinks maybe in her twenties.”

John smiled. “What’s her name?”

“Anna,” Helen said. “Anna something.”

Claire didn’t say another word about Thomas or Anna until she and John were settled on the porch with their after-dinner coffee. “I don’t like this,” she said as soon as they sat down. And while they had discussed a number of topics at dinner after their initial conversation about Anna, including the theft of several lobster pots owned by their neighbors, John knew exactly what she was talking about. He didn’t like it either. But he trusted his son, who was rarely foolhardy even though he was only eighteen. “What in the world is Thomas thinking, dating an older woman with a child?”

“We don’t know what he’s thinking,” said John. “And we don’t really know what’s going on. What little information we have is hearsay, so I suggest we wait on forming an opinion, girding our loins, until we have talked to Thomas. Has he said anything to you?”

“No,” said Claire. “Now I do remember his mentioning something about not being home for dinner tonight, but I didn’t press him on it, John. I was in the middle of a béchamel sauce, and I just assumed he was working.”

“I’m not blaming you, Claire. I was simply asking if you had more information.”

“No.” Claire’s coffee sat untouched on the table beside her.

“Okay,” said John, taking his first sip. “Let’s leave it alone for now, since there is very little we can do at the moment. I will talk to him when he gets home. How was Julie today?” Julie Dasco was one of their neighbors. She had badly broken her leg waterskiing, and, with four young children to take care of, was very pleased to see Claire that afternoon with a bag in each hand—one holding a family-sized lasagna made with white sauce since Julie’s youngest didn’t like tomatoes, and the other a meatloaf and a quiche Lorraine.

“Are we really going to talk about Julie?”

John sipped his coffee. “Would you prefer to talk about something else?”

Claire looked at her husband, who raised his eyebrows at her. She sat back in her chair and took her first sip of coffee. She audibly exhaled. “Julie was fine. Her mother is coming tomorrow and can stay for a couple weeks to help her with the kids. And Bill is going to take two weeks of vacation time after that, so she’ll be covered for a month. After that, she’ll be in a walking cast, which will make life a whole lot easier.”

“You’re good to bring them food, Claire.”

Claire waved her hand in the air in front of her. “It’s no trouble. I’m in the kitchen anyway.”

“Yes, you are,” said John, raising his coffee cup to her. “And I don’t tell you often enough how much I’m thankful for it. You are a very good cook.”

Claire smiled at him, aware of what he was up to, that he was trying to ease her worry about Thomas. She was appreciative of his efforts, of his compliments, and also of his ability to wait out potential problems that more times than not ended up going away on their own. Claire was the fretter of the pair, something she attributed to motherhood. She wanted so much for her children—and when her plans for them went awry, her stomach churned with anxiety.

 

Thomas sat in Anna’s dusted and vacuumed living room while Anna put Amy to bed in her tiny room at the end of the house’s single hallway. He sat back on the couch, his stomach full of hamburger, potato salad, green beans, and ice cream. He had grilled the burgers himself, even though Anna told him she and Amy were “cookout queens.” And they had come out pretty well, in spite of the fact that Thomas had had just three grilling lessons from his dad. Standing over the grill in Anna’s fenced-in backyard, with a long-handled spatula in his hand, had made him fleetingly feel like a husband and father. And this feeling was a pleasant one, in a daydreamy kind of way. He could hear them in Amy’s room, which they had recently painted orange at Amy’s request. And he pictured them sitting on one of the twin beds, next to the small wood table with two chairs. This was where, Amy explained during the house tour, she worked while her mother studied at their kitchen table. Anna’s room, large enough to accommodate a queen-size bed, two bureaus, and two bedside tables, was just across the hall from her daughter’s. The entire house—living room, eat-in kitchen, two bedrooms, and one bathroom—reminded Thomas of a house on a TV set. The viewer would see all these rooms, but know there were more. There would be a staircase in the background that would lead to other bedrooms and other bathrooms. But in this case, it wasn’t true. What he had seen on the tour Amy proudly led was it. Thomas could hear them so well because the house was so small. Anna was telling her daughter a story about African animals, and then Amy, full of questions, was adding detail along the way. Within minutes, it was quiet. Thomas could see Amy’s light go out, and then Anna appeared. Thomas stood, as his father had taught him to do when a woman entered the room. “Are you leaving?” she asked.

“Not yet,” said Thomas. “I mean, not unless you want me to.”

“I want you to stay.”

“Good,” he said.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“Do you want to split another beer?”

“That sounds perfect,” said Anna. “I’ll be right back.”

“You sit,” said Thomas. “I’ll get it.”

Thomas walked into the kitchen and took one of the beers he had brought with him in a brown paper bag out of the refrigerator. It was very cold, just the way Thomas liked it, and, given his level of nervousness, Thomas knew he could kill it in a minute or two. With most girls, Thomas was relaxed. He was smarter than any of them, so it was they who needed the beer to calm down, to converse. They were overeager, the high school girls, and at a loss for interesting topics of conversation. Who really cared who fell down on the mile run in gym class? Anna was so different. She was comfortable around him because she was comfortable with herself. “Hello again,” he said, walking back into the living room with the beer in his hand.

“Thank you,” she said when he handed her the bottle. She took the first sip.

“Thank
you,
” he said, “for the terrific dinner and even better company. Your Amy is something else.”

Anna smiled. “Four going on forty, right?”

“She’s a great kid. She reminds me somewhat of my youngest sister, who’s quite precocious when she wants to be.”

“It must be her father’s genes,” said Anna. “He was nothing if not gregarious.”

“Where is her father?” Thomas asked, now that Anna had mentioned him.

“In Arizona,” Anna said, looking down at the beer, which she handed to Thomas before saying, “He left the day before Amy was born.”

“I’m sorry.” Thomas took a sip. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Yes, you should have. You’ve got a right to know. We never married—we were intending to get married, but my pregnancy changed that.” Thomas took another sip and then handed the bottle back to Anna. Sharing a beer with a girl, with a woman, was almost as intimate to Thomas as kissing her. “He didn’t want children,” said Anna, explaining. “When I got pregnant, he thought he might be able to do it. But, in the end, he changed his mind.”

“Oh,” said Thomas.

“We keep each other company, Amy and I. I didn’t realize how lonely I was until you delivered pizza that first night. You were so cheerful and kind that I wanted you to stay, even then.” Anna looked at him. But it was Thomas’s turn to study his lap. His heart, jump-started by her words, was ba-booming in his chest, against his skin and his cotton shirt. He was certain Anna could see it, could read his feelings. His nervousness bound his tongue. He knew he had never been this panicked with other females. He had always been in charge. In parked cars or on front porches at the end of the night, the girls he dated looked at him shyly, desperately wanting and needing to be kissed as a validation of their date. Although he was sitting on a couch six inches from Anna, he could not lift his hand from his lap to touch her. And kissing her seemed out of the question, even though it was suddenly all he could think about.

“Do you go out much, Thomas?” Anna asked, prompting Thomas to lift his eyes, to look at her face. It was framed with shiny black hair that fell just below her shoulders. He could tell she’d had it in a ponytail earlier in the day because it had a ridge along the back where the coated elastic had been. She had taken out the elastic, let her hair fall, for him. Her eyes were almost as dark as her hair, and her mouth, turned up at the corners, perpetually smiling, was coated with inviting pink lipstick.

“Not really,” he said. “I have three jobs, which keeps me pretty busy.”

“Oh,” Anna said. “Amy will be disappointed.”

“I mean, I’m busy, but not too busy to see you two. I have a day off once in a while and a couple nights off, too. Most nights I go to bed early because I drive a bakery truck four mornings a week.”

“You
are
busy.” Anna smiled at him, as if to announce her pleasure with his productivity.

“How about you?” Thomas asked. “Where do you work?”

“I work every weekday from nine to five at Hudson and Lambert.”

“The law office?”

“Yes. I’m a secretary.”

“Good for you,” said Thomas. “What does Amy do?”

“She goes to preschool five mornings a week during the school year, then gets dropped off at my neighbor’s house for the afternoon. Mrs. Purdy is almost sixty and has more energy than I do. She watches five or six kids and has a ball. Amy loves her like a grandmother. She stays there all day in the summer, with a few weeks at day camp here and there.” Unintentionally, Thomas yawned. “I’m sorry,” Anna said. “I’ve gone on too long.”

“No, no,” said Thomas. “I’ve been up since early this morning. Please go on. I could listen to your voice all night.” Thomas blushed as soon as he spoke. He was warm and tongue-tied and suddenly wanted to leave before he made a fool of himself.

“You’re sweet,” said Anna, standing. “It is getting late, though. Let me get your sweater.”

She walked into the kitchen, where Thomas’s navy blue sweater lay draped over a padded wooden chair. She grabbed it and held it close to her for a few seconds before returning to the living room and handing it to him.

“Thank you,” he said, “for the sweater and the dinner. I had a terrific time.”

“Come down here,” said Anna. Thomas leaned forward and down until his face was just a few inches from hers. “Thank you,” she said, putting her hands on his cheeks, “for waking me up.”

Thomas kissed her, softly brushing his lips against hers. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him back. And then he did something he had never done to anyone but Helen. He lifted Anna off the ground, and held her to him and kissed her again, feeling her energy flow from her mouth into his, and from his mouth into his body, racing like an ocean current until it crashed into his fingertips and pulsated in his toes. Hesitantly, he put her down. He no longer felt awkward and wanted, again, to stay with this woman. She looked up at him. “Come back,” she said.

“I will. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Thomas bent down and kissed her on the cheek. She led him to the front door and opened it for him. Thomas strode out into the night, feeling like he had just completed a test and had known every answer.

When Thomas approached the cottage in his car, he could see that one of the lights inside the porch was still on. He looked hard as he cruised past the house and could see his father sitting in the chair he always sat in, reading a book. It was late, making Thomas instantly wonder what had gone wrong. “Dad?” he said, as soon as he was in the house, walking from the kitchen through the dining room and living room to the porch. John removed his reading glasses and looked at his son. “Everything okay?”