The Summer Cottage (30 page)

“I love you, Helen,” said Pammy.

“I’ll do one hand,” Charlotte said to Pammy. “And when you kiss Michael, I’ll do the other.”

“Great,” Pammy said with sarcasm.

“Take it or leave it,” said Charlotte, putting the emery board, chamois cloth, and tiny nail polish bottles back in her bucket.

“I’ll take it,” said Pammy. “I’ll figure out how to kiss him tomorrow.”

“He’s kissed me,” said Helen, still looking at her nails.

“What are you talking about?” asked Pammy.

“He kissed me last Saturday, after I dove into the water and retrieved his fishing lure for him. He kissed me on the cheek.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” said Pammy.

“You never asked.”

“Don’t give me that, Helen. For Pete’s sake, I wouldn’t think to ask you if Michael Johanson kissed you. It’s not like asking you how many crabs you’ve caught.”

“No, it’s not,” Charlotte chimed in, smiling.

“Crap,” said Pammy.

“I didn’t kiss him back,” said Helen, suddenly nervous that Pammy was upset.

“I’m sure it was a little thank-you kiss, Pammy. Very innocent,” said Charlotte.

“I haven’t had any kiss, innocent or not.” Pammy was now sulking.

“Whose fault is that?” asked Charlotte. “Dive for his lures, girl.”

Helen laughed. “He loses them all the time.”

“Let me have your hand,” Charlotte said to Pammy.

“I’d better have the color Helen has,” said Pammy. “So it’s not that obvious that one hand’s painted and the other isn’t.”

“Good thinking,” said Helen.

“No one will notice anything,” said Charlotte, filing Pammy’s pinky nail. “Especially if you kiss him tomorrow.”

“I thought he had to kiss me.”

“I’ll take either,” said Charlotte. “He can kiss you or you can kiss him.”

“What about Tammy?”

“I’ll distract her,” Helen offered. “I’ll ask her a dopey question about gimp. Ever since she took over the craft program, she actually acknowledges my presence. I’m the best weaver, and she can talk about lanyards for half an hour.”

“And then, while Tammy’s occupied, you find Michael,” said Charlotte. “Tell him you want to tell him a secret. When he bends down to listen, kiss him on the cheek.”

“Then what?” asked Pammy.

“Then smile at him and walk away.”

“I can’t do that!”

“Boys love to be kissed,” said Charlotte. “Believe me, the more girls they can get to kiss them, the happier they are. And who knows, maybe he’ll start to wonder what it would be like to kiss you.”

Emboldened by this time with her sisters, by their encouragement, Pammy said, “I’ll do it. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

 

Awakened by the noise from a car engine outside, Helen sat up in bed. She looked out her window and saw her brother walking toward the back door. Helen got out of bed and walked out of her room to wait in the hallway. Helen heard him walk through the kitchen, dining room, and living room, and then up the stairs. She waited until he reached the second-floor landing before calling out to him. “Hey!” she whispered. “You’re late tonight.”

“We were really busy,” Thomas whispered back.

“Did you have fun?”

“If you call delivering sixty-seven pepperoni pizzas to the Real Men’s Baseball League banquet fun, yes.”

“We had fun, too,” said Helen. “Charlotte did my nails.”

“No kidding,” said Thomas. “Let’s see.” Helen held her hands out, and her brother walked the rest of the way down the hall to her. “Impressive,” he said, the comment more in reference to the fact that Charlotte spent time with her ten-year-old sister than the condition of Helen’s nails.

“Thank you. She’s feeling much better.”

“That’s good,” said Thomas. “There was only one way to go.”

“I’m glad you’re home,” Helen said. “I never sleep that good until I hear you in the house.”

“You realize if Mom heard you say that sentence, she’d correct your grammar.”

“Yes,” Helen said. “But she’s told me that my grammar, on the whole, is pretty decent for a ten-year-old.”

“High praise from the English teacher.”

“Well, I’m just a kid. I think she cuts me some slack.”

Thomas had just said that very phrase to Helen yesterday, about one of his bosses. He smiled at his little sister. “Well, I’m glad you’re here to look out for me,” he said. “Good night, Helen.”

“Sweet dreams,” said Helen.

“You too.” Thomas walked into his room.

Helen waited until he shut the door behind him and then hesitated just a moment, in case he’d forgotten to tell her something, before walking back into her room and climbing up to the top bunk. The sheets had cooled in her absence. She drew the blanket up around her shoulders and settled in for the night.

C
HAPTER
35

 

W
hile Helen put the top crust on the blueberry pies, Barb set the table, and Charlotte, with a drink in her hand, leaned against the kitchen counter and watched. Outside, Charles made a chimney of charcoal briquettes in the grill, while Thomas and Pammy shucked two dozen ears of corn. Todd and Ned showed Sally and Peter the rudiments of croquet. And Daniel, who was getting the frost treatment from both his lovers, went for a run to clear his mind.

“Remember Anna Santiago?” Thomas asked Pammy.

“Amy’s mother, who broke your heart?” asked Pammy, tearing the husk away from the cob.

“If you must put it that way, yes.”

Pammy smiled at her brother. “I didn’t really mean anything by that,” she said. “I just remember how sad you were about her. Helen was so worried about you.”

“Was she?”

“Thomas, she lived to be with you when she was little.”

“I guess I didn’t know that,” he said. “God, she was such a great kid.”

“She’s pretty great now,” said Pammy. “If I didn’t love her, I’d hate her.”

Thomas laughed. “Spoken like a sister.”

“She’s tired, Thomas.” Pammy was serious. “She’s taken care of Mom all by herself, and she had needed, has wanted, our help.”

Thomas started in on another ear, tearing the husk away from the cob. “I can see that now,” he said. “I didn’t see it before now. Helen has certainly communicated Mom’s condition, but she’s so capable. You know Helen. She’s does everything well. So, I’ve taken her caregiving duties, a lot of things I guess, for granted.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. I haven’t done much either. I live a lot closer to Mom and Helen than you do, and I haven’t been home since Thanksgiving.” Pammy took another ear of corn from the bag between them.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” said Thomas, almost as if he hadn’t heard her. “That we should make this an annual thing.”

“I don’t know how much time Mom has left.”

Thomas sipped from his bottle of Rolling Rock. “I don’t know either. But let’s make an effort—the five of us and then the four of us—to bring whomever we are attached to, to the cottage every summer. For a week.”

Pammy had a sip of her Chardonnay. “I’d like to think we can make that happen.” Thomas, nodding his head, focused for a moment on the ear of corn in his hand, carefully removing every strand of silk. “Tell me about Anna Santiago,” said Pammy, emboldened by their conversation, their sudden intimacy.

She and Thomas had not been close growing up. Thomas was too busy for anyone but Helen—and this was only because she demanded his attention. Pammy had wanted her handsome older brother to spend time with her, but she had been too shy to ask for it. And Thomas, being five years older, had not thought about providing it without a prompt. Their relationship wasn’t what some referred to as distant or strained. They simply didn’t have one, outside of passing each other food at the dinner table or a very short conversation. As adults, the physical distance between them prevented face-to-face opportunities for even conversational connection. But sitting next to him, for the first time since they buried their father, opened the window.

Thomas raised his eyebrows. “I saw her yesterday.”

“No kidding?”

“In town.” Thomas swatted at a mosquito that had landed on his arm. “She has a law office off Main Street. She’s a tax attorney.”

“So, she made it after all.”

“Who are we discussing?” asked Charles, who, fire finally started, approached the picnic table.

“The bane of Thomas’s teenage years,” said Pammy.

“She was not,” Thomas countered. “She was a woman I fell madly and desperately in love with when I was eighteen. I actually asked her to marry me.”

“Ah, the mysterious Anna Santiago,” said Charles, shaking the ice in his drink glass, thinking about another finger of scotch.

“You know about this?” Thomas looked at Charles.

“Thomas, I am married to your sister.”

Thomas laughed. “So you are.”

“Thomas saw her yesterday for the first time in thirty years,” said Pammy.

Charles squeezed one more sip out of his drink. “What was that like?”

“It was funny,” said Thomas. “On one hand, it was as if time hadn’t passed and I was still eighteen. On the other hand, I felt as if I hadn’t seen her in the lifetime it’s been and had no idea who she was. Perhaps it would have been different if not for the thirty years between conversations.”

“Sometimes, I wouldn’t mind stepping back thirty years,” said Pammy.

“Pammy, you were lost as a thirteen-year-old,” said Thomas. “You lived in Charlotte’s shadow.”

“In some ways, I still do.”

“I don’t think so,” said Charles, who took an ear of corn from the bag and began removing its covering. “I think you’re very different.”

“Do you?” Pammy asked.

“Yes,” said Charles. “Look how far you’ve gone in your professional life.”

“I’m not a vice president.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It does to my mother.”

“Forget about Mom,” said Thomas. “Charles is right. You’ve made a name for yourself on Madison Avenue.”

Pammy looked at Thomas and closed one eye. “How would you know?”

“You’d probably be surprised by what I know.”

“Well, thank you,” said Pammy.

“Do you ever wonder,” Charles asked, “what your life would be like if you had made different choices?”

“All the time,” said Pammy.

“Or if Anna did,” said Charles, looking at Thomas, “and married you.”

“What about
me?
Let’s find someone to marry
me,
” said Pammy. “When I was thirteen, it never occurred to me that I wouldn’t marry, wouldn’t have children. God, I had my whole life ahead of me.”

“You’ve got a lifetime ahead of you now,” said Thomas.

“I want to believe that.”

“Marriage isn’t the solution, Pammy,” said Thomas.

“So Helen is always telling me. It sure seems like the solution when you’re single.”

“You’re single,” said Charles, “because the right person for you has not come along. Our single friends think they’re defective. And one of them is the most delightful guy I know.”

“How old is this delightful guy?” asked Pammy. Thomas laughed. “I’m serious,” she said.

“Roger?” said Charles, thinking for a moment. “He’s about my age.”

“Forty-eight,” said Pammy.

“Helen’s never told you about Roger Shaw?”

“Specifically? No,” said Pammy. “She’s always bugged me about coming to visit, but she’s never mentioned Roger.”

“Come visit,” said Charles, “and we’ll introduce you to Roger.”

“He’s never been married?”

“He was married for two years, I think. He said he was young and made a mistake. Since then, he’s dated several women, but has never felt comfortable with the idea of marrying again.”

“And he’s normal?” asked Pammy.

“He’s got two heads,” Charles said, “but he’s very nice.”

“Oh stop,” said Pammy, laughing.

“Stop what?” asked Helen, emerging from the house with a cutting board topped with steaks.

“How come you never told me about Roger?” Pammy asked her sister.

“I did,” said Helen, putting the cutting board down on the table. “You had just met the guy before Mark and were not interested in, as you put it, pursuing a country-club golfer.”

“Does Roger play golf?” asked Charles.

“No,” said Helen. “Pammy was feeling smug that day.”

“How silly of me.”

“Oh, Thomas,” said Helen. “I almost forgot. I saw Anna Santiago today at the grocery store. She said how nice it was to see you again.”

“You saw her at the grocery store?”

“Yes, Thomas. It’s where we buy food.”

“Have you ever seen her before, at the grocery store?”

“Every summer.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I didn’t want to remind you of how sad you were.”

“And today you want to remind me?”

“No,” said Helen. “Today, she mentioned that she had seen you.”

“We were just talking about her,” said Thomas.

“What were you saying?”

“How weird it is to see someone you haven’t seen in thirty years,” said Charles.

“Did you feel strange, Thomas?” asked Helen.

“A bit, yes.”

“I think she did, too. I think . . .”

“What?” asked Thomas.

“Nothing.”

“For God’s sake, Helen.”

“I think, in some ways, she regrets not marrying you. I think she knows she couldn’t have, way back when, but wonders what it would have been like if you’d met later on.”

“She said that?” Thomas asked his sister.

“Nope.”

“Then what are you basing this on?”

“Intuition,” said Helen, turning around and walking back toward the house.

“God, I hate it when she does that,” said Charles. “The trouble is, she’s usually right.”

Thomas took a sip of his drink and smiled at what his sister had said. Knowing Anna still thought about him pleased him. He had tried so hard to forget her and had been, in the end, unlike in every other aspect of his life, only marginally successful. But it was okay to think about her now. She could become a pleasant memory because Thomas had realized his mistake, and he had moved forward. And because Barb, not Anna, had become the sun in his universe.

 

Everyone sat while Charlotte cleared the table. When she was done, they all cheered, except Daniel, who sat at the far end, away from her, away from Pammy, with his arms folded across his expansive chest. He hadn’t said a word during dinner, but nobody seemed to notice or care. Conversation had buzzed around, through, and past him as if he were nonexistent, which, in Charlotte’s and Pammy’s eyes, he knew he already was.

Helen suggested pie and coffee on the porch, which everyone agreed was a great idea. Those still at the table pushed back their chairs and stood, straightening their spines, stretching their arms out in front of them after the long sit. The children were in the yard with glass jars in pursuit of fireflies, and Claire, who had been conversational in an auxiliary kind of way, said she’d have her pie in the morning. Helen helped her mother up the stairs and into her room.

“I can do it from here,” said Claire, starting in on her shirt buttons.

“Are you sure?” asked Helen. “I’m here.”

“I think I can manage.”

“Okay,” said Helen. “But I’ll be back in ten minutes—after everyone has pie and is settled in.”

“That sounds like a plan,” said Claire.

Helen walked back down the stairs and into the kitchen. Pammy was making a pot of coffee, and Barb was doling out the pie onto china plates. “There’s some ice cream in the freezer if anyone wants to do the à la mode thing,” said Helen, on her way out the back door to check on the kids. They were in the midst of it. All of them, even Peter, had several fireflies in their jars. “Are you ready for pie?”

“Blueberry pie?” asked Ned.

“Yes,” said Helen.

“That’s my favorite.”

Helen smiled. “I know.”

“Can we have it in ten minutes or so?” asked Ned.

“We have a pact to get a dozen specimens each before we let them go into the night,” explained Todd.

“Absolutely,” said Helen, turning and heading back to the house.

“Don’t eat it all!” Ned shouted after her.

Helen gave her son the thumbs-up sign and then walked into the kitchen. Charlotte told her that Pammy and Barb had gone to the porch with the others, and that she’d be in shortly.

“I’ll help you,” said Helen.

“Go,” said Charlotte. “I’m almost done here. Washing dishes is more therapeutic than I ever imagined.” Helen laughed. “Yes,” said Charlotte, a smile on her face. “I’m kidding. But I am serious about doing it myself. You guys have been doing this for years.” Helen raised her eyebrows at her sister. “Don’t get your hopes up, Helen. This is not a new me.”

Helen walked to the sink and gave her a quick hug. “I’m going to check on Mom,” she said. “And then I’ll meet you on the porch.”

Helen took her piece of pie to the porch and set it on the table next to Charles, who was telling a story about a phone call from a guy who owned sixteen cars and had been in twenty-seven accidents—and had never had insurance. Helen climbed the stairs and walked down the hallway to her mother’s room. She found her, in her pajamas, in bed and reading a volume of poetry by Billy Collins.

“Well, look at you,” said Helen, sitting on the bed beside her mother.

Claire laid the book on her blanketed lap. “I did it all by myself.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Me too,” said Claire.

Helen laughed. “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing,” said Claire. “Go down with the others. I am perfectly content.” Helen bent down and kissed her mother’s forehead. “And Helen,” she said, “leave the door open tonight.”

Helen left her mother and walked back down the stairs to the porch. She sat next to her husband on the couch in the preferred seating area and had her first bite of pie. Pammy, who was returning to the porch from the kitchen, handed Helen a mug of hot coffee. Charlotte, pie in hand, was right behind Pammy.

Upstairs Claire closed her eyes and listened to the conversation of her four children again gathered at the cottage, again family. This was what she had wanted, and she smiled at her accomplishment, her victory. She could leave them now, the Thompson children, knowing the distance between them would no longer keep them apart. She could say her good-byes.

“But that’s for another day,” said Claire aloud, setting the book on the bedside table and turning off the light. “Good night, John.”