The Summer Cottage (25 page)

“Wait!” Helen said, a little too loudly. Eddie pulled the lighter away from the cigarette and looked at Helen. “I didn’t really plan on having seven.”

“No?” asked Thomas, feigning surprise. “How many did you want to have?”

“I thought I’d play it by ear,” said Helen, using an expression she thought was grown-up. “I thought I’d just try it, but if I didn’t like it, I could stop.”

“Stop?” asked Thomas. “How are you ever going to learn to smoke if you stop after one, or half of one?”

“She’s right,” said Pammy, feeling bolder now that Helen had spoken. “We don’t want to smoke seven.”

Eddie recounted the cigarettes. They all watched him. “How about six then?” he asked.

“No,” said Pammy, a quaver in her voice.

“Five?” asked Thomas, persistent.

“No,” said Pammy, standing up. “I don’t want any.”

“Me neither,” said Helen, also standing.

They all waited a few moments in silence. Thomas stood. “Let’s go, then.”

The boys led the way out of the woods. Pammy and Helen followed closely behind. Hearing noises around them, Helen reached for and then held Pammy’s hand. Pammy did not pull it away or protest, like she sometimes did if she thought anyone would see them. “Are you mad, Thomas?” asked Pammy, when they reached the street.

“Why would I be mad?”

“Because we didn’t smoke,” said Helen.

“Actually, I’m glad you didn’t smoke.”

“You are?” Pammy was incredulous.

“Absolutely.”

Pammy looked at Eddie, who was standing next to her. “Look,” said Eddie, resting his arm for a moment on the top of Pammy’s head, “smoking is a lousy habit. I started when I was your age, Pammy, because I wanted to be cool. I wanted to belong to a group of people who all smoked. And now I’m hooked and can’t mow the lawn without coughing and breathing hard. I’m nineteen years old. How sad it that?” Thomas and Helen looked at him, too. “My best advice to you is never start. Live above the temptation.”

“You run home now,” Thomas said to Helen and Pammy. “It’s late.”

“Are you coming?” asked Helen.

“I’ll be along soon. Can you sneak in okay?”

“No problem,” said Pammy. “Helen could sneak into the White House.” Thomas and Eddie laughed, and Pammy was pleased.

“Run home now,” said Thomas.

Pammy and Helen took off at a jog down the street. Less than a hundred yards from her brother and his friend, Pammy stopped. “I need to rest, Helen,” she said, out of breath. Helen slowed down and walked next to her sister. “Well,” said Pammy, “that’s the last time we get Thomas to help us smoke. I can’t believe he wanted us to smoke seven cigarettes. I’ll bet Charlotte would only make us try a puff.”

“You’re going to ask Charlotte?” asked Helen.

“I might.”

“Why?”

“I want to try it,” said Pammy. “It looks like fun.”

“Pammy, if you can’t run a hundred yards and you don’t smoke, how far will you be able to run if you do?”

Pammy looked at Helen. “Good point,” she said.

A minute later, Pammy said she was ready to run again. They jogged the rest of the way home. Thomas and Eddie walked slowly toward the duck pond. They could see the wall and the outline of its nocturnal teenage inhabitants. “Thank you,” Thomas said to Eddie. “You were perfect.”

“It was your plan, Thomas. It worked like a charm. Hell, it almost worked on me.”

“Yeah?”

“Almost,” said Eddie, lighting a cigarette. “Maybe I’ll quit.”

“That would be good.”

“I could start tomorrow,” Eddie offered tentatively.

“You could start tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow it is then,” said Eddie, taking another drag.

They walked several more steps in silence before Thomas said, “I’m going to peel off here, Eddie.”

“Yeah?”

“I have the early bakery run.”

Eddie looked at his watch. “A half hour, Thomas,” he said. “Hang out for thirty fucking minutes. I think Cheryl’s got a thing for you.”

“Too bad I don’t have a thing for her.”

“Oh, but you do!” Eddie laughed.

“You are disgusting.”

Eddie took a drag from his cigarette. “I speak the truth, Thomas. I speak the fucking truth.”

“You may speak the truth, but I’m not giving my thing to Cheryl.”

“You gotta give it to somebody, Thomas. You gotta give it to somebody other than Anna.”

“Not now,” Thomas said. “Not yet.”

C
HAPTER
31

 

C
laire woke in the night. Like an animal in the jungle, she quickly surveyed her surroundings, getting her bearings. She moved her heavy legs to the side of the bed, and then forced them over the edge. She lifted with effort her upper body to a sitting position, and then sat, resting. Grabbing her walker from the wall beside her, she lifted herself off the bed. Determined, she moved toward her door by placing the walker out in front of her and then carefully shuffling her feet to catch up to it. She opened the door on her first attempt, an anomaly since the knob had been tightened so many times over the years it was perpetually loose.
I must get up in the night more often,
she said to herself.
I’m superhuman
. However, at the end of the hallway loomed the insurmountable obstacle to the fulfillment of her craving for Barb’s oatmeal cookies and cold milk: the stairs. She sat on the top landing, defeated.

“Gainzer?” Her grandchildren, at her request, called her the name she had been called by her teammates so many years before.

Claire stared at the boy at the bottom of the stairs. Every body part had betrayed her except her eyes. “Ned, what are you doing up?”

“I heard you, I guess. What are you doing?” Ned and Todd, who were sleeping on the porch on blow-up mattresses (even though they could have slept on the pullout in the den, since Thomas and his family had chosen to stay in the motel, and Helen and Charles were now sleeping in Thomas’s room) had just closed their eyes after a marathon game of Risk. Todd had won, as he always did, and Ned had been sulking, giving his brother the silent treatment. Ned was waiting for Todd to launch into a recap of the game, of Todd’s strategy, of his reinforced armies, of everything he had done right and Ned had done wrong. It was always this way. Ned hated the game, but played because his brother called him a baby until he did. But tonight the words hadn’t come. Todd met Ned’s silence with silence. Within minutes, Todd’s even breathing told Ned he was asleep. When his grandmother spoke to him, Ned climbed the stairs.

“I’ll tell you what I’m doing,” said Claire. “I’m wishing I had my old legs back.”

“The legs that could kick you to the raft in less than a minute?” asked Ned, repeating the story that his mother had told to him many times since his early childhood.

“Those very legs.”

“My legs still work pretty good,” he said. “Do you want me to use them to get you something?”

Claire was proud of herself for not correcting her grandson’s poor grammar. Instead, she said, “Sit down, Ned.” He sat on the step beneath her and looked up into her face expectantly. While it was dark outside, the streetlight shone in through the porch screens and cottage windows, partially illuminating the staircase and Claire’s wizened face. “Do you know what I was thinking?”

“No,” he said.

“I was thinking how good some of your Aunt Barb’s oatmeal cookies and milk would taste about now.”

“No kidding?”

“No kidding.”

“That is an excellent thought, Gainzer, but we finished off Aunt Barb’s cookies after dinner.”

“So, we did,” said Claire, remembering. “What else do we have? Any more of Aunt Pammy’s brownies?”

“Gone,” said Ned. “Daniel ate the last one after the cookies were gone.”

“Bummer,” said Claire, using a word she’d heard her grandsons say.

Ned thought for a moment. “Would chocolate do it?”

“Where did we get the chocolate?”

“Daniel brought it.”

“What kind?”

“One of those big yellow boxes, with the map on the inside of the top that tells you what’s in each piece.”

“Well, that was nice of him,” said Claire. “Yes. That might do the trick.”

“You wait here,” said Ned, stating the obvious. “I’ll be back in a flash.”

Claire pushed herself back against the wall and rested her head against it. In an instant, Ned was back, holding a two-pound box of Whitman’s chocolates. He sat down and handed it to his grandmother, who removed the lid. Not one piece was missing. Each chocolate, some milk and some dark, sat nestled in its own plastic cubby, waiting to be found on the diagram and then devoured by the person who sought a chewy caramel or a nougat center. It was like a treasure hunt in a box. Claire chose a dark oval with vanilla crème inside. “This,” she said, biting into it, “is my absolute favorite.” She held out the box to him. Ned chose a milk chocolate square. They both chewed for a few moments. “How do you feel about some milk?”

“That’s a great idea,” said Ned, standing. “I’ll be right back.” And within minutes he was back, carrying two tall glasses of milk.

“You are a speed demon,” said Claire. “No wonder you beat everyone you meet on the tennis court. I need to hear all about your match with the Fischer twins.”

As instructed, Ned started with the first serve of the first game and ended with the glorious overhead smash that sent the twins scrambling for the back fence. Claire listened intently, often interrupting to compliment her grandson on his excellent footwork or racket awareness, encouraging him to practice more, to enter tournaments in the town they both lived in, to compete. And in the middle of the night, Ned believed her, believed that he could win his age group, even though he knew his brother, Todd, carried their team, that he was the better player. But Ned could almost believe he was better than his brother—on some days he actually was—when the house was quiet, when the competition was sleeping.

They had several more chocolates each before Claire put her hand to her stomach. “Oh, I think I’ve had enough.”

“Me too.” Ned looked down at the box. They had eaten half of the top layer.

“Can you help me up?”

Ned set the box aside, stood, and then put both hands out for his grandmother to hold. Once he had her hands in his, he pulled her up. She was lighter than he expected. He helped turn her around in the hallway and situated her walker. He walked behind her as she made her way to her bedroom. Once she was seated on the bed, she told him she would be able to do the rest by herself. “You’ve been a big help,” she said. “I’m glad you were awake to come to my rescue.”

“You don’t need anyone to rescue you,” he said.

Claire opened her arms to him, and he walked into them for a hug. “Get to sleep now,” she said. “Tomorrow is another busy day.” Ned turned and left the room. She heard him descend the stairs and then focused her attention on getting back into her bed. She lay back and then lifted her legs, as flexible as two steel rods, onto the bed. She had lost so much of her strength. Her physical therapist told her she was “doing well,” but she knew it was a sham. He said that to all the old people, she guessed, who had one day amounted to something, but were now reduced to a series of diminished percentages. The only thing Clare Gaines Thompson was a hundred percent capable of doing was not dying yet. And those days, no matter what Helen said, were coming to an end.

A couple months ago, this realization permeated Claire’s outer layer, the layer she worked so hard to maintain. Her oncologist started using the word
weeks
instead of
months,
and Claire had broken down. Helen had dropped her at home and was running a few errands before their lunch together, so Claire thought her tears would go unnoticed. But Helen had returned early, excited about their forthcoming grilled cheeses and tomato soup, and found her mother in a heap on the kitchen floor. “Doing well,” Claire was smart enough to know, meant just the opposite. And it was that very day that Claire told Helen to call her siblings and get them to the cottage for the Fourth of July.

 

Downstairs, Ned slipped into his sleeping bag. It was oddly chilly for a summer night, and he shivered, and then drew the flannel bag up to his neck.

“Where have you been?” Todd rolled over and looked at him.

“With Gainzer. At the top of the stairs.”

“Is she okay?”

“I think so. I helped her back to her bedroom. She ate a bunch of chocolates.”

“That’s good,” said Todd.

“Remember when she used to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches like nobody’s business?”

“Yeah. She made them on that squishy white bread and raced us. She’d have three or four down the hatch, as she used to say, before we finished our first one. I was six,” said Todd, “and you were four.”

“And she’d tell us crummy jokes and get us laughing so hard we couldn’t eat. What’s a shark’s favorite game?”

“Swallow the leader,” Todd said. “What kind of cheese isn’t yours?”

“Nacho cheese,” said Ned, grinning. “Hey, I told her all about our tennis match with the Fischers.”

“What’d she say?”

“She said it sounded like we played like champions and that she was really proud.” Todd said nothing. “Todd?” said Ned.

“I think Gainzer is really sick.”

“Yeah. Mom told us her cancer came back. But she’s doing the chemo again, right? And that worked last time, Mom said.”

“I heard Mom telling Dad that Gainzer was not doing chemo anymore.”

Ned shifted in his sleeping bag, so he was on his side, facing Todd. “So, that means she’s better, right?”

“Does she look better to you?” Ned could see the whites of Todd’s eyes, looking at him.

“No,” said Ned, flipping onto his back. “But she was wide-awake tonight. Full of energy.”

“That’s good.” Todd rolled over, away from his brother. “Let’s go to sleep now.”

But Todd stayed awake, thinking about his grandmother. She had taught him to play Go Fish and checkers and Monopoly. She had been the first to see him ride a two-wheeler. And she had told scary, fabulous, ridiculous stories at their dinner table—still did.

“Todd?”

“Yeah?”

“She’ll be okay.”

“Good night, Ned,” said Todd, closing his eyes.

The picture of his grandmother at their dining room table faded from his mind. Soon, nothing was left but a tiny circle of light surrounded by darkness. His grandmother’s face filled that circle, and Todd focused on it, willing it to grow, to push back the blackness. But it shrank, and seconds later she was gone.

 

Helen lay next to Charles on Thomas’s bed for a full five minutes after waking up, looking at the full moon through the window over her head, before getting out of bed. She looked back at Charles, who was sleeping soundly. She slipped her bathrobe over her T-shirt and headed for the open door. Charlotte and Pammy liked their bedroom doors closed at night, but Helen usually had hers open, allowing the breeze to circulate around the room and into the hallway. She walked slowly and quietly down the hall to her mother’s room and gently opened the door. She went inside and shut the door behind her. “Mother?” she said to the small, lumpy figure on the bed. Claire, cast in the pale yellow glow from the streetlight on the corner, lay still and silent. “Mother?” Helen said again, moving closer to the bed so she could touch her.

“I’m awake,” Claire said suddenly. “Come sit with me.” Helen sat down on the bed that her grandmother had slept in as a child. It groaned under her weight. “What are you doing up?” Claire rolled over to face her daughter.

“I heard you and Ned talking on the landing.”

“I’m sorry we woke you.”

“Don’t be,” said Helen, now looking at her mother’s face. “You took the time to sit and talk to him, which means more to him than you may realize.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” said Claire. “We devoured half of Daniel’s chocolates.”

“Good for you.”

“Your Ned is becoming quite a tennis player, I think,” said Claire.

“They both are.”

“You’ve taught them well.”

“Too well,” said Helen, smiling. “They want to beat Charles and me next. I think they just might.”

“You’ve taught them many good things, Helen. They’re wonderful children.”

“Most of the time.”

“All of the time,” said Claire. “And you’ve taken good care of me.”

“It’s my pleasure to be with you, Mom.”

“Some of the time.”

“All of the time,” said Helen, putting her hand on her mother’s shoulder.

They were silent again, until Claire swallowed. “I’ve left this house to you,” she said.

“I know,” said Helen. “But after this weekend, we’re changing your will, right?”

“Part of the will, yes,” said Claire. “The money will be evened out. But the house belongs to you. You’re the one who cares about this old place.”

“Mother,” said Helen, squeezing her mother’s hand, “we don’t need to talk about this.”

“Yes, we do.” Claire was insistent.

“I thought we had an agreement. That if Thomas and Charlotte and Pammy came this weekend that you would leave the house to all of us.”

“And we did have an agreement. But I’ve changed my mind.”

“After they all showed up?”

“So I should recognize and reward their greed?” Helen sighed. “And besides, that’s not why they showed up anyway, Helen. They came because they know I’m dying. And no matter what I’ve done to hurt them over the years, I’ve managed to teach them the importance of saying good-bye. They didn’t have that—none of us did—with your father. And I don’t think they wanted to miss their chance with me. Plus, you told them, Helen. You told them my time was short.”

“Yes.”

“That’s why they’re here. They’re here to see me and to see one another. They’re here to be with you. They’re not here for the house, Helen.”

“They’ll be hurt, Mom.”

Claire shook her head from side to side. “I don’t think so. They know what you’ve done for me—the past year especially—so they should understand. They have been absent from my life, Helen, and you have been present.”

“It’s easy when you live in the same town.”

Claire held up her hand. “Don’t start in with that. Caring for me has been anything but easy. And you have done so with nary a complaint. You deserve this house, Helen, and that’s the way it’s going to be. Your siblings will come to understand my decision, if they don’t right away. In the end, you and your family use this house, and they don’t. I’m sure if they want to, you’ll let them. Nothing will really change. You’ll just have to pay the taxes.” Helen smiled at her mother. “Don’t fret about this, Helen. I think I’ve made the right decision. I think your father would have agreed with me. And besides, it’s all taken care of.”