The Summer Cottage (24 page)

 

“To Mother,” said Thomas, raising his glass of wine at the dinner table. “Without you, we wouldn’t be here.”

“In more ways than one,” said Charlotte.

The others chuckled amiably before clinking their glasses together and then eagerly digging into the bright red lobsters Thomas and Charles had boiled and split open. For a few minutes, no one talked. They were busy cracking shells and pulling out chunks of lobster, then dipping the sweet meat into the communal bowls of melted butter before popping it into their mouths. Helen disassembled her mother’s lobster, casting the entire shell into the giant ceramic bowl at the center of the table.

Charlotte looked at Daniel, who smiled at her. She held his eyes with hers, then ran the tip of her tongue around the piece of lobster on her fork. He winked at her, and she back at him. Pammy, who was sitting next to Daniel, saw the exchange, and her spirits sank. Daniel had promised they would go for a walk that night, but now Pammy doubted him. Charlotte would discourage him from venturing out alone, and she certainly wouldn’t allow him to walk with her sister. And then Pammy felt it. Daniel put his hand on her leg and slid it toward her crotch. She reached for her wineglass and held it to her lips. She watched everyone at the table over the rim of the glass while she took a sip. They were all eating; even Charlotte seemed to be absorbed with her lobster, while Daniel was stroking her. Pammy put her wineglass down and picked up her fork. She tried to eat, but couldn’t. All she wanted was to jump up from her seat onto Daniel’s lap. She wanted to straddle him and let him run his hands all over her.

“Daniel,” said Charlotte. They both started. Pammy knocked her wineglass over, which sent Daniel’s fork flying through the air. It landed on Charlotte’s plate with a loud clatter. Charlotte picked the fork up and handed it, slowly, back to her lover. “How was McDonald’s, darling,” she said, as if nothing had happened.

“Great,” said Daniel, recovering instantly. “The kids had a great time.” Pammy sopped up the spilled white wine with her napkin.

“And Daniel treated us,” shouted Ned from the living room, where he, Todd, Sally, and Peter were playing Parcheesi. Ned was helping Peter, who was very good at counting but had no concept of strategy. Sally had caught on quickly. She had already set up a blockade that was foiling Todd’s attempts at getting one of his pieces home.

“That was nice of you,” said Helen to Daniel.

“You can thank me,” said Charlotte. “It’s my money he’s spending, isn’t it, dear?” She looked at Daniel.

“Technically, yes,” he said.

“Oh, I just love it when you get technical,” said Charlotte. “Actually, I’d love you to treat me, even though I’d actually be treating me, to McDonald’s sometime. I’m just dying to try one of those Happy Meals to see if it works.”

Thomas laughed. “You need a lot more than a cheeseburger and fries, dear sister, to find happiness.”

“Daniel,” said Charlotte. “A cheeseburger, fries, and Daniel. That’s all I need.”

Everyone except Pammy erupted with aahs and oohs, making Daniel, Charlotte, and Pammy blush.

“If you really believe that,” said Thomas, “you’re smarter than you look.”

“I’m smarter than most people here realize,” Charlotte said, meeting Pammy’s eyes.

“You’re a genius, Charlotte,” said Thomas, tearing a front claw off his lobster. “Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”

“Why did we have to invite him?” Charlotte asked Helen.

“For Barb and the kids,” Helen answered, winking at Thomas. “We wanted to see Barb and the kids.”

“That’s right,” said Charlotte. “I knew there was some explanation.”

Thomas raised his glass to his sister Charlotte. “It’s nice to see you haven’t changed.”

“And equally nice to see that you have,” she said, raising her glass.

“I love family reunions,” said Helen, sentimentally.

“Except when it’s our family,” said Charlotte.

“Here’s to Helen,” said Thomas, raising his glass, serious again. “Thank you. Thank you for arranging this event. Thank you for bringing us all here. You are the core of the younger generation of Thompsons. Your energy and enthusiasm inspire us.”

“Your speeches embarrass me,” said Helen, hiding behind her wineglass.

“I do love you,” he said. And the oohs and aahs burst forth again.

 

“If she asks, just tell her I’m in my room.”

“I don’t like this, Pammy,” said Helen. “Charlotte’s no fool.”

“Will you do as I’ve asked?”

“Yes,” said Helen. “I’ll do it, but that doesn’t mean I want to.”

“You’re an angel.” Pammy kissed her sister on the cheek and snuck out the kitchen door into the night.

In the living room, Daniel waited for Charlotte to go to the bathroom. She always went several times between dinner and bed to do any number of tasks, including brushing her teeth, reapplying lipstick, brushing her hair, or gazing at her reflection to see that everything was just so. As soon as she left the room, Daniel stood and stretched. “I think I’ll take a walk,” he announced, as if delivering a line in a play.

He quickly walked through the porch and out the front door. On his way to the beach, he looked over his shoulder to see if Charlotte had returned. He could see nothing, however, except the lighted windows and the very top of Helen’s head. Daniel ran down the cement stairs and looked in both directions. In the distance, he saw a lone figure, standing on the rocks. He waved, and Pammy waved back. Daniel took one last look over his shoulder and saw no one. He darted toward Pammy. When he reached her, he scooped her off her feet and into his arms. “All I can think about is you,” he said, kissing her, and then walking her to the far end of the final set of cement steps. They led to a house whose windows were dark and shut tight.

“I know,” she said, “because all I can think about is you.” He lay her down in the sand, then stood before her. He pulled his shirt over his head and let it drop to the sand.

“Come down here,” Pammy said. “I want you.”

He unsnapped and unzipped his pants, then pushed them down his legs and kicked them aside.

 

“Where’s Daniel?” said Charlotte, as she walked into the kitchen where Helen was getting more coffee.

“He went for a walk.”

“Really?” she said. “He’s gone for quite a few walks lately.” Helen said nothing. “Where’s Pammy?

“She went up,” said Helen, concentrating on her coffee mug. “She’s got a headache.”

“That’s too bad,” said Charlotte, smiling, triumphant, not sad. “I’ll bet she gets a lot of those.”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Helen, walking past her sister toward the dining room.

“Maybe I’ll go for a walk, too,” said Charlotte to Helen’s back. “Maybe I’ll bump into him.”

“Suit yourself.” Helen let the swinging door close behind her.

Charlotte walked out the kitchen door and down the road toward the docks. She passed several walkers on her way and bid them all a good evening, but saw no sign of Daniel. Clearly, his crush on Pammy would have to be defused. Charlotte knew it would take more than sex, which she already gave to him too freely, too often. She would have to buy him something, or take him out to a very expensive dinner, or maybe to the symphony, or to a concert; his favorite band was coming to The Warfield. They could make a full night of it, with burgers and beer beforehand. She had to get him back to San Francisco. But there were temptations there, too, of course. She had been through this with him before, even though they had been together just six months. She had accepted it as being one of the drawbacks of her age. The other woman a couple months back, the object of his crush, had been twenty-four. And Charlotte, at forty-seven, with her wrinkled, lax skin and brittle, overprocessed hair, had been more upset about the younger woman’s age than her presence. It was so hard to compete with the young ones. Yet, young men still stared at Charlotte, lusted after her body. In sunglasses, which she wore even on rainy days to hide the creases around her eyes, she could pass for a woman in her mid-thirties. But Pammy was forty-three, for God’s sake. What was Daniel doing with her? Charlotte reached the first dock, wondering if she should dump Daniel instead of woo him back. The problem with younger men was just that; they were younger, immature, unpredictable—not like older men, men in their early fifties. And she knew that it wasn’t fair to judge Daniel too harshly, as she, too, had entertained thoughts of entertaining other suitors. She fantasized about other men, married men even, with big enough bank accounts to more than satisfy her as well as their families. Charlotte reached the end of the dock and sat down, dangling her legs over the last board. She could actively pursue another relationship and find a replacement within days. She knew that. He knew that.

“Hi, Charlotte.”

Startled, Charlotte quickly turned around to see who had spoken. Leaning against a piling was Steve Johanson. “God, you scared me,” said Charlotte, standing.

“Come here,” he said. “I want to show you something.” Charlotte stood in front of Steve. “If you stand right here, you can see the lighthouse on the point.” He put his hands on her shoulders and positioned her. In an instant, the light flashed in their direction, and then disappeared as quickly as it had come. “Five seconds,” said Steve, still standing behind her. “It comes every five seconds.”

“How about you?” asked Charlotte, turning around to face Steve.

“How about what?”

“How fast do you come?” She was inches from his face.

Steve pulled her to him, used his arm to press her body into his. He whispered in her ear. “Like molasses in January.”

Charlotte laughed and stepped back. “God, you haven’t changed.”

“Neither have you,” he said. “You were always the sexiest girl on the beach. You still are.”

“You’re sweet.”

“I’m not sweet. I’m serious.”

Charlotte stepped close to Steve again. Immediately, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “You were always so good with your hands,” she said, encircling Steve’s waist with her arms.

“I still am.”

“Why aren’t you using them now?” asked Charlotte, always the coquette.

“Because you haven’t been completely honest with me.”

“About what?”

“About that boy you’ve been kissing on the beach.”

“Oh that,” said Charlotte, putting on a pout. “He’s nothing, and he’s going to be even less than nothing after the weekend. We’re through.”

“Really?”

“Girl Scout’s honor,” said Charlotte, holding up her right hand, with her three middle fingers extended. Claire had been a Girl Scout leader and, consequently, all her girls had been in her troop at one time or another. Charlotte, the girl Claire thought needed the structure of the organization the most, lasted three meetings before quitting. Pammy and Helen weren’t all that wild about the Scouts either, and Claire, who occasionally grew tired of orchestrating every waking moment of her children’s lives, had eventually backed off.

“Come back to my house then. For a drink.”

Charlotte took Steve’s hand and started to walk slowly toward the street. At the end of the dock, Steve put his arm around Charlotte, cupping her bottom with his hand. Gently he messaged her cheek, making Charlotte giddy with anticipation. Currents of sensation ran through her body, electricity through wire. Steve barely got her through the back door of his house before she was upon him, unbuttoning his shirt. He broke free from her embrace. “Not here,” he whispered. “Follow me.” He led her up the stairs and into a large bedroom decorated in a soft gray. As Charlotte stood in the middle of the room, arms by her side, an errant schoolgirl waiting to be punished, Steve drew the curtains and turned on a low-wattage lamp sitting on a table next to the bed. He approached Charlotte, placing his hands on her hips. He kissed her, softly and lovingly, simultaneously freezing and melting Charlotte’s insides. She was incapacitated. Time raced backward, sending a hundred images flying through Charlotte’s mind. When it stopped, she was seventeen and Steve was telling her how much he loved her. She begged him to tell her again. He drew his head back and looked at her. “I love you,” he said. “I always have.”

C
HAPTER
30

 

P
ammy hesitated a few seconds before she walked into Joe’s Corner Store. She and Helen had walked the mile and a half to the end of Beach Road, then the half mile down Route 56 to get there. They sat on the curb in the parking lot, wondering if they should ask someone to help them, but finally decided to do it themselves. Pammy pulled a penny out of her pocket and flipped it in the air. “Heads,” she said, as the coin fell back in her hand. It was tails. “Damn.”

“I’ll go,” said Helen, standing and brushing the sand off the back of her shorts.

“You just won the toss, silly. You wait here. Come into the store only if you see anybody we know. Or if I’m not back in ten minutes.”

Helen checked the time on her watch as Pammy walked in through the glass door covered with advertisements for cigarettes, milk, ice cream, and
The New York Times
. When Pammy’s eyes had adjusted from the bright sunlight to the fluorescent lighting, she could see that there were three other people in the store: a matronly-looking woman buying milk; an old man studying dusty cans of soup; and a young man perusing car magazines. Pammy walked slowly to the magazine rack and picked up a copy of
Seventeen
. She flipped through it, looking at the pictures of healthy-looking teenage girls in fall clothing until the woman left, toting two half-gallon jugs, and the old man had made his selection and was walking two cans of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup to the counter. She glanced up at the kid, who seemed to be immersed in his reading, and then put her magazine down. She walked back down the aisle and stood in line behind the soup-eater. When he left, Pammy took two quarters from her front pocket, one hers and the other Helen’s, and the handwritten note; she handed them to the cashier. “What’s this?” the wide woman behind the counter asked, unfolding the note. She reached for her glasses and, with one hand, placed them on her ears and nose.

“A note from my mom,” said Pammy. She swallowed and then continued, saying, “concerning cigarettes.”

“Well, she should be concerned about cigarettes,” the cashier said while she glanced at the note that Pammy had so carefully scripted, disguising her handwriting. The cashier blew her nose with an already-used tissue she extracted from the front pocket of her stretch pants, all the while reading the note. She looked at Pammy, and then she read aloud: “Please allow my daughter, Pamela”—Pammy had used her given name, thinking it sounded more formal, would be more convincing, and Helen had agreed—“to purchase one pack of Marlboro cigarettes for me. If I were not in bed with a virus, I would come myself. Signed, Mrs. Doolittle.” Pammy beamed. The note sure sounded authentic. The cashier looked up from the folded piece of paper and stared at Pammy. “How old are you?”

“I’m thirteen,” said Pammy, beginning to get nervous again.

“And smoking cigarettes?”

“Oh, I’ve tried them,” she said, taking the offensive, “but they’re horrible. I coughed for three days. I don’t know how my mom does it, with her virus and all.”

The cashier nodded her head in consent and pulled, without looking, a pack of Marlboros down from the plastic rack above her head. She slid them over the counter toward Pammy and gave her another loaded look before handing her the change due. “Tell your mom to get better fast,” she said. “Children like you, Miss Doolittle, shouldn’t be running her cigarette errands.”

“I certainly will,” said Pammy, on her way out the door. And then, using one of her father’s expressions, she said, “I think she’s on the mend.”

“Happy to hear it,” said the clerk, who had already returned to her
True Romance
magazine.

Helen hopped up off the curb as soon as she saw Pammy. She ran over to her and asked if she got the cigarettes. “Play it cool,” said Pammy. “I’m not sure that lady in there fell for the story.”

Helen sneaked a peek at the store over her sister’s shoulder. The woman behind the counter was staring out the window at them. “She’s looking at us, Pammy.”

“Turn around, for Pete’s sake, Helen, and walk with me. Whatever you do, don’t run. We’ll look really guilty.”

Pammy and Helen walked as fast as they could, arms pinned to their sides in an effort to prevent an inadvertent sprint. As soon as they were out of the parking lot, out of the cashier’s line of vision, they both bolted, pumping their arms, across Route 56 and onto Beach Road. They didn’t stop until they rounded the corner, where they collapsed into the vacant meadow. “What happened?” asked Helen, as soon as she caught her breath.

“The cashier didn’t like it.” Pammy was breathing hard. “She smelled something phony, but couldn’t put her finger on it.” She inhaled deeply. “It was the note, I think, that really sold her. That note was a masterpiece.”

“What did she say?” Helen was hoping for details.

“She asked me how old I was.”

“Did you tell her?”

“Of course I told her, Helen. Being thirteen is not a crime.”

“Then what?”

“Then she said stuff like, ‘tell you mother to get better soon,’ and ‘you shouldn’t be doing errands like this, Miss Doolittle.’ ”

“She called you Miss Doolittle?”

“She did,” said Pammy. “In Joe’s Corner Store, I’m Miss Doolittle from now on.”

“I kind of like that,” said Helen. “Miss Doolittle. It sounds dignified.”

“Let’s go,” said Pammy. “We’ve got to get back, then hide these until it gets dark.”

When they got back, Thomas, who had just finished mowing the lawn, asked them where they had been.

“To Joe’s,” said Pammy, matter-of-factly.

“That’s a long haul,” said Thomas, rolling the grass-plastered mower toward the garage. “I would have given you a ride.”

“That’s okay. We needed the exercise.”

“Since when have you given a monkey’s butt about exercise?” said Thomas, smiling at Pammy.

“Since this morning.” Pammy walked past her brother and into the house.

“What did you buy?” Thomas asked Helen, who still stood on the grass, trying to anticipate his questions and, like Pammy, think up snappy answers.

“Gum,” said Helen. “Strawberry gum.”

“I’d love a piece.”

“We don’t have any,” said Helen. “I mean, we chewed it all.”

“On the way home?”

“Yep, on the way home.”

Thomas took Helen’s hand in his sweaty palm and led her to the picnic table. He sat her down and then sat down next to her. “Cigarettes are bad for you, Helen.”

“Charlotte smokes them.”

“Case in point,” said Thomas. “She should quit.”

“We don’t plan on making it a habit.”

“Did you buy them at Joe’s, Helen?”

“Yes.” Helen wasn’t a good liar, especially with Thomas.

“How did you get them?”

“Pammy wrote a note,” said Helen, looking at her brother. “It said her mother was sick in bed with a virus and Pammy was getting the cigarettes for her.” Thomas laughed. “It worked,” said Helen, defiant. “The cashier even called Pammy Miss Doolittle.”

“Miss Doolittle?”

“We decided not to use our real name.”

“Of course not,” said Thomas, still smiling. “When’s the big smoke out?”

“Tonight,” said Helen. “After Mom and Dad go to bed.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Thomas, getting up. “I’ll get Eddie to come. He’s a professional. We’ll meet at eleven o’clock at the duck pond.” Thomas walked in the house and up the stairs to his room. He took off his damp shirt and shorts, then wrapped a towel around his naked body. Before he headed outside to retrieve his swim suit from the clothesline, he stuck his head into Pammy and Helen’s room. Pammy was lying on the bottom bunk. “Hello, Miss Doolittle.”

Pammy’s mouth opened up into an O. Then she said, “Helen.”

Thomas held up one hand. “Not to worry, Miss Doo. Your secret is safe with me, until tonight.”

Pammy sat up on the bed. “What’s happening tonight?”

“Ask the tattletale.”

 

After delivering pizzas and before collapsing into bed, Thomas sometimes met his friends at the duck pond wall. Some smoked cigarettes; others sipped beers stolen from their parents’ garage fridges. Talking was the dominant activity, and flirting comprised ninety percent of the talking. He was completely unclear about the rules on touching, and he abhorred the conversation, which seemed contrived as well as stupid. So Thomas was more an observer than a participant. Plus, he still loved Anna. He hadn’t seen or talked to her since the night outside the pizza restaurant, but rarely a daylight hour passed that he didn’t think about her. He often thought about her at night, too, when he awoke unexpectedly. He tried not to talk about her, mostly because Eddie had told him to stop. Eddie had said he was tired of listening to a hopeless fairy tale, and that Anna was just a girl, a girl who had said no. Thomas had to let her go, Eddie told him. Thomas tried to follow Eddie’s advice, which he knew was good advice, but it was hard for him. Whenever he made time to sit on the wall, he made an effort to talk to the girls. But they were babies, and his heart wasn’t in it. And they knew that as well as he did.

That night, as part of the game, the boys and girls started the evening in separate camps. Soon enough, an ambassador from the girls’ assemblage approached the boys, looking for matches. One of the boys dutifully produced a book from his pocket and handed it to the girl. As the minutes passed, the errands and requests became more and more farcical, until the groups abandoned all pretenses and simply merged. By eleven o’clock that night, fifteen kids were congregated at the spot on the duck pond wall where Pammy and Helen were to meet Thomas. He saw them, from a distance, standing under the giant bushes that lined one side of the right of way. Since they had snuck out of the house, they avoided the streetlight. Realizing it had been foolish to ask his sisters to approach his peers, he elbowed Eddie, who was sitting next to him. “Let’s go, Eddie,” said Thomas, standing. Eddie, who was talking to Christine, whom he had lately taken to calling his intended, didn’t answer. “Eddie,” Thomas said again.

Eddie groaned loudly. “I’m coming.”

He removed his arm from Christine’s shoulders and stood. “Where are you going?” she asked him.

“On a mercy mission,” he said. “Say good-bye to my family.”

Several in the group laughed, including Thomas, who had taken a few steps in the direction of his sisters. “I know,” said Thomas, as soon as they were out of earshot of the group. “I owe you.”

“It’s okay,” said Eddie. “All night, I’ve been trying to picture Helen smoking.”

Pammy and Helen had moved out from under the bushes and into the street. A cool sea breeze blew their hair onto their faces, into their eyes. It was welcome after the heat of the day, the burn of the sun and the sand. They sat down—hardly anyone ever drove around the streets at night—and busied themselves with the shiny pack of cigarettes. Since it was just about smoking time, Pammy decided to remove the cellophane wrap.

“Why do they put that stuff on there, anyway?” Helen asked Pammy, who was bumbling the job.

“I’ll be damned if I know,” said Pammy in frustration. “Here, you try it.” She tossed the pack to her sister. Helen, holding the Marlboros up to her face, found the pull-tab and unwrapped the box with ease.

“It’s just like a pack of gum, Pammy. See?” said Helen, holding up the thin ribbon of plastic.

“So it is,” said Pammy, taking the pack back from Helen.

“Evening ladies,” said Eddie, standing over them.

Even though they had seen the boys coming, Pammy started when Eddie spoke, dropping the pack she had just opened and spilling the cigarettes onto the pavement. Scrambling to pick them up quickly, as if swiftly completing the task might eradicate its occurrence, Pammy stuffed the cigarettes back into the box.

“Let me hold them for you,” said Thomas, holding out his hand. “My pockets are probably bigger than yours.” Pammy gave the pack to her brother, looking up at him expectantly. “This way,” he said, indicating with his head the road that dead-ended at the woods. Pammy and Helen never ventured into the woods because Thomas had told them stories over the years that involved supernatural happenings there. They had not even been tempted to enter in daylight, in spite of the fact that all Thomas’s tales involved people who wandered into the woods after dark. “Eddie knows a place where no one will find us.”

They walked in silence, Thomas and Eddie leading and Pammy and Helen walking side by side behind them. At a break in the wood post and wire fence, they turned off the road and onto a dirt path that led into the trees and overgrown, unattended bushes. “Don’t we need a flashlight?” asked Pammy, feeling like her stomach had flipped over.

“Eddie knows the way,” said Thomas. “Follow in my footsteps.”

“Like I can see your footsteps, Thomas.” Pammy was trying to be tough, but Helen could tell Pammy was as frightened as she was.

Thomas said nothing until they came to a clearing. The moon shone down into the space, which was outlined by logs and empty cans of Budweiser and Schlitz. He and Eddie sat down and instructed Pammy and Helen to do the same. “Here are the rules,” Eddie began. “I don’t like to waste cigarettes, and neither should you. So, when you set out to smoke a cigarette, you’re going to finish it. I don’t want to see either of you taking a few drags, coughing your fucking heads off. . . .”

“I thought you were trying not to swear so much,” said Helen.

“And I’ve been doing pretty good, until just now.”

“Shouldn’t it be well?” asked Pammy, uncertain herself.

“Don’t start that grammar shit with me, Miss Doolittle. Thomas already drives me crazy,” said Eddie. “Okay, where were we?”

“Coughing our bleeping heads off,” said Thomas, legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed.

“Right,” said Eddie. “No matter how much you may want to pitch your cigarette, you must hold on to it. We don’t need to start any fires tonight. Understood?” Helen nodded her head. Pammy was looking at Helen, newly cheesed at her sister for telling Thomas about the Doolittle thing since he had obviously told Eddie. “Pammy? Pay attention.” Pammy shifted her gaze to Eddie. “Next, everybody’s going to inhale. This is a chosen activity, not something you were forced into, so we’re not going to be crybabies about this. Breathe the smoke into your lungs—it may burn a bit at first—then slowly let it out. You may feel dizzy, or you may feel sick to your stomachs, but you are to continue until the cigarette has been smoked down to the filter.” Thomas looked at his sisters, their widening eyes illuminated by the yellow light cast by Eddie’s BIC lighter. “Now,” Eddie continued, catching the pack Thomas tossed at him, “you’ve got twenty cigarettes, and I’ve got”—he removed his pack from his shirt pocket—“six, seven, eight. That’s makes twenty-eight. We’re going to sit here until they’re gone. I’ll smoke more than you two because I’ve been practicing, but you two must pull your weight. I figure you smoke, let’s say seven each, you’ve smoked your share. Any questions before we start?” Eddie stuck a cigarette in his mouth and held the lighter to its end.