Summer Friends (12 page)

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Authors: Holly Chamberlin

BOOK: Summer Friends
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But no,
Delphine thought.
I'm lying to myself.
The reality was that being Maggie's maid of honor—and she would have felt duty bound to accept—would have meant being dragged back to the world she had rejected with such difficulty. It would have meant a further commitment to a friendship she had come to find threatening—and too strong a reminder of her life with Robert Evans. Being with Maggie meant being in the larger world. Delphine had chosen a smaller world, her own world. The two, she had believed, would not easily mix. Maybe she had been mistaken in that belief. Maybe.
Maggie was putting her iPhone back into her bag. “How is your niece, Kitty?” she asked. “I got the sense the other morning from Jemima that maybe she wasn't feeling well.”
Jackie flashed a look at her sister and said, “Jemima is a bit of a drama queen.”
“Kitty's fine,” Delphine said. “Thanks for asking. Let's order. How about some steamers?”
“And onion rings,” Jackie said.
Maggie smiled. “I'm in.”
17
1979
 
The tension, the suspense, was almost unbearable. Delphine stared at the phone on the hall table, as if she could will it to ring. She thought it had been bad while she was waiting to hear from Bartley College. But that was nothing compared to waiting to hear from Maggie, to learn if she, too, had been accepted. It had been three days now, three long days of making deals with a god she wasn't even sure she believed in—“If you let Maggie get accepted, I promise I'll be a better person”—and of wishing on the first star of the evening. “Star light, star bright . . .”
The phone rang, startling Delphine so badly that she yelped. She snatched the phone from its cradle.
“I got in!”
It was Maggie. Delphine screamed. Maggie screamed. Delphine said, “Oh, my God!” Maggie said, “Oh, my God!”
When the screaming stopped, Delphine said, “I swear I wouldn't have gone if you hadn't gotten in, too.” She meant it.
“I know, and I wouldn't have gone if you hadn't gotten in. A whole new world is opening up for us, Delphine. We're going to have so much fun; we're going to have so many adventures!”
“Yeah, but remember, I have to work between classes. It won't be all fun and games. And I'm on a lot of academic scholarships. If I screw up, I'm out.”
“Oh, please,” Maggie said, “you'll be fine; you're always getting As, right?”
“Yeah, but college is going to be a lot harder than high school.”
“Grrr! Can't you just be thrilled for a minute without thinking about reality?”
Delphine laughed. “I'll try.”
“Good. Now all we have to hope for is that we get to be roommates.”
Delphine rolled her eyes at the wall. “There's no way that's going to happen. It would be way too much of a coincidence.”
“You're doing it again. Don't be so negative. Wonderful things happen sometimes. Look, we both got into the school we wanted, right?”
“Yeah. Okay, I'll keep my fingers crossed about the roommate thing.”
“Good,” Maggie said. “Man, I can't wait to meet some college guys. Everyone in my class is so lame.”
“Ugh, here, too.”
“Speaking of ugh, did anyone ask you to the prom yet?”
Delphine sighed, as if bored by the subject. “Yeah. But I said no.”
“Who is he?” Maggie asked. “Is he really gross?”
“No, he's okay. I'm just not into going with someone just to go. I mean, why bother if the guy's not my boyfriend? Besides, it's a lot of money.”
“Yeah, but you only have one senior prom,” Maggie argued. “This guy in my physics class asked me and I said yes. We're not dating or anything, but we both want to go so we're going as friends.”
“That's okay, I guess. But I'd rather pass.”
“You're a romantic.”
“No, I'm not. I'm a realist. I—” Delphine heard her mother calling to her from the kitchen. “Look,” she said. “I gotta go. My mom wants me to get off the phone. She needs me to help with the baking for the diner. She does all the prep the night before. Well, you know that.”
“Okay,” Maggie said. “I should go, too. I have this history paper to finish and my parents are taking us out to dinner to celebrate. Remember, start wishing for us to be roommates!”
18
Maggie got out of her car and looked up at the big, old house before her. Delphine had once told her that her ancestors had lived in the house since it was built in the 1850s. Since then, generations had come and gone, but the structure had remained and it had grown. It was what was known as a classic New England “telescope” house. The original house had consisted of two small rooms and a kitchen on the first floor, and a central staircase leading to four small bedrooms on the second. Above that, reachable by a pull-down set of stairs in the hallway ceiling, was an attic. Over time, two bathrooms had been added, as well as an extension behind the kitchen, one large room, now used mostly for storage, and connecting to a passageway that led directly into the main barn. On the outside, the house was simple white clapboard, with four-over-four windows and a steeply sloped roof.
There were two other buildings on the property, a smaller barn, off of which Delphine's office had been built, and a wooden shed that Maggie thought looked about to collapse in on itself. Cultivated fields of vegetables, fruits, and flowers stretched out behind and to the sides of the house. Chickens in a variety of breeds roamed freely, pecking at the ground for bugs and grass. A barn cat skulked in a stand of grasses, no doubt eyeing unsuspecting prey, like mice or chipmunks. From what Delphine had told her, the cats had learned long ago not to mess with the chickens.
It was six o'clock on a Monday evening and the sky was still bright and blue. Maggie climbed the stairs to the porch. Delphine opened the door to her knock. How many times had they played this scene, Maggie coming over to the Crandalls' house, looking for Delphine, Delphine rushing to the door, eager to be with her friend? Only now, Delphine thought, the eagerness, at least on her side, was tempered by the long stretch of their separation.
Mrs. Crandall—Maggie would never be comfortable calling her by her first name—was in the living room. The older woman gave Maggie a brief but strong hug.
“It's good to see you again after all these years, Maggie,” she said.
“It's good to see you, too, Mrs. Crandall. And it's good to be back in Ogunquit, in this house. There are just so many memories. . . .”
Maggie scanned the room. Framed photos of family members were lined up on the fireplace mantel, perched on tables, and hung on the walls. An antique brass lamp sat on an immaculate white lace doily on top of a wooden side table. A framed piece of old embroidery showing the alphabet and several small animals hung on one side of the fireplace. An oval braided rug in greens and blues covered a large part of the wood floor.
She smiled at Mrs. Crandall. “It's all so familiar,” she said. “I feel like this room hasn't changed one bit. I feel like I'm twelve years old again.”
“Well, we did have to replace the sofa,” Patrice said. “The springs just wore out. I suspect it was all the jumping on it Joey did when he was young. But otherwise, yes, I'd say everything's about the same. ‘Why fix what isn't broken?' I always say.”
Maggie laughed. “My mother used to redecorate the entire house every two years. It drove my father crazy. I kind of liked it. I'd come home one day from school and find my bedroom all colonial instead of modern. Good-bye, orange beanbag chair; hello, old-fashioned rocking chair. It was fun.”
Delphine thought that living with such uncertainty sounded horrifying, but she kept her opinion to herself. Her mother, she knew, was probably calculating the cost of such continual home improvements and silently disapproving.
Jackie came downstairs then. She was wearing a knit sweater that Maggie immediately recognized as Delphine's work. She clearly had a unique talent and why she wasn't advertising it from the rooftops was anyone's guess.
Maybe,
Maggie thought,
before I go back to Massachusetts I can talk some business sense into her.
“Let's go on into the kitchen,” Patrice said. Mr. Crandall, a man Maggie was introduced to as Dave Sr., and a teenage girl introduced as Lori, Jackie and Dave Sr.'s daughter, were already sitting around the long wooden table that dominated the kitchen.
Patrice had made a roast chicken with sides of freshly picked Swiss chard and a plate of fresh sliced tomatoes with herbs. The bread she had baked that morning. For dessert, she had made a strawberry rhubarb pie. Maggie was pretty sure she had insulted Delphine's obnoxious friend, Jemima, by not scarfing down her corn muffins. She would not insult Delphine's kindly mother by refusing a piece of her pie. She would just add an additional half hour to her exercise routine the next morning.
Patrice brought a glass pitcher of homemade iced tea to the table and Charlie took it upon himself to pour everyone a glass. Maggie couldn't help but notice how worn Delphine's parents looked. It was a fair bet that Patrice had not been getting facial peels. Charlie's back was bent and his face was the reddened, leathery face of a man who had spent a lot of time outdoors in all sorts of weather.
“I don't remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal,” Maggie said, taking a seat at the table. “I'm afraid neither Gregory nor I are much use in the kitchen.”
“Well, you enjoy yourself,” Charlie said. “My wife is the best cook around here.”
Patrice waved her hand in a dismissive gesture and took her seat at the other end of the table. “I don't know if you remember, Maggie, but we say grace before our meals.”
“Of course,” she said. Following the example of the Crandalls, Maggie lowered her head and folded her hands. Patrice spoke a short, simple prayer, and with a sudden clatter of serving spoons on ceramic, dinner began.
Jackie sat to her husband's left. Lori sat to his right. She was a pretty girl, dark haired like her mother, but with her father's deep blue eyes. Dave Sr. was a bit of a surprise. At least, Maggie hadn't pictured vivacious Jackie being married to someone so quiet and, well, unobtrusive. He sat hunched as if embarrassed about his great height or his thinning blond hair or whatever it was that seemed to embarrass him. Maybe he was just shy. Dave Jr., who, Maggie was told, was even taller than his father, was playing basketball with some friends. Delphine had told her there was some vague hope of his having a career in the sport, but nobody was counting on it. Besides, he would always have a job at the farm, with his father, or with his uncle Joey.
Lori ate hurriedly and then, after kissing her parents and grandparents good-bye, she left for a babysitting job down the road. Her father would pick her up later. Maggie tried to remember when her own daughters had last kissed her before charging off on a date or for work. The Wilkeses weren't a very demonstrative family. Which was all right. Maggie hadn't grown up in a demonstrative household, and neither had Gregory, and yet both were successful adults. They were normal.
“We were so sorry to hear from Delphine about your father,” Patrice said when Lori had gone. “May he rest in peace.”
Maggie smiled. She didn't think that anyone other than Mrs. Crandall had wished that sort of thing for her father, an ostentatiously secular man. “Oh, thank you,” she said. “Well, it's been a long time now. And my mother's doing well, so that's one less worry for us.”
“Does she live with you?” Jackie asked.
“Oh, gosh no. She has a condo in Florida.”
“All the way down in Florida. It seems a shame.” Patrice's lips set in a thin line, a clear indication to her family of her disapproval, but not, it seemed, to Maggie.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Well, with her family up north . . . ,” Dave Sr. said. Later, Maggie thought that this half sentence might have been his only contribution to the conversation.
“Oh, my mother has a great life down in Florida,” she said. “Her condo development is gorgeous and she can use the pool and the tennis courts and there are organized excursions to the mall and the local amateur theatre. There are all sorts of things to keep her busy and dressing up.” Maggie laughed. “I don't know if you remember how my mother used to overdress for every occasion. She even wore heels to the beach. Well, I can't say I haven't done the same!”
“But how often do you get to see her?” Jackie asked. “How often does she get to see her grandchildren?”
“Oh, often enough,” Maggie said. “Gregory and I see her once a year. She doesn't really like to travel anymore, so we go down to Florida. There's a fabulous hotel close to her condo development. I guess Kim and Caitlin haven't seen her in a while, almost two years I think. Spending time with their grandmother isn't exactly their idea of a fun time. I can't say I blame them! When I was a kid I hated having to visit my grandparents.”
Immediately, Maggie realized she had said something she shouldn't have, that she had been insensitive, something she had been guilty of several times since coming back to Ogunquit. The Crandalls were grandparents, and from what she had heard and seen their grandchildren enjoyed spending time with them. “What I meant was—” she began.
Jackie mercifully cut her off. “What about Peter?” she asked.
“Peter? Oh, my brother and his wife don't have children. They never wanted a family.”
“Yes, but does he visit his mother?”
“Peter and my mother never really got along all that well after he graduated from college,” Maggie explained. “Honestly, I'm not really sure what happened. I'm not close to him, either. After our father died . . . Gosh, you know I can't even remember when Peter last saw our mother.”
Charlie wiped his mouth on his napkin and then folded it neatly, tucking it half under his empty plate. “I lost both my parents before I was nineteen,” he said. “I pretty much raised my younger brother and sister by myself. They both died young, too. I don't know why I'm still around.”
Delphine patted her father's arm. “Well, we're glad you are, Dad.”
Patrice turned to Maggie again. “Have you met Delphine's Harry?” she asked.
“No,” Maggie said, “I haven't. I'm kind of wondering if Delphine's hiding him from me for some reason. I'm only kidding, of course.”
Delphine felt her mother's and her sister's eyes on her. “He's been superbusy at work lately,” she said, which was not really a lie. “I'm sure they'll meet soon.”
The table was cleared then and dessert brought in. Maggie didn't find it hard to accept a slice of pie, though the coffee Patrice had brewed threatened to burn a hole in the lining of her stomach. When those plates and cups had been cleared, Delphine and Maggie offered their thanks and said their farewells.
“Your parents are so nice,” Maggie said when they were in the front drive. “They're so . . . so different from my parents. Not that my parents aren't, weren't fine people, it's just that . . . Your parents seem so comfortable, so sort of homey.”
“The grass is always greener.”
For some people,
Delphine added silently.
But not for me, at least, not always.
“Yeah,” Maggie said. “I guess that's it. Most people want what they don't or can't have.”
Delphine smiled. “Anyway, believe me, my parents are not as sweet as they appear. They're pretty tough people. I don't mean that they're cruel. It's just that they're the sort of people who have no patience with self-pity or whining and all that. Unless you're bleeding to death, they'll tell you to put on your own Band-Aid.”
“I don't remember that about them,” Maggie admitted, “from when we were kids. All I could see was how awful my own parents were. Not that they were really awful, but when you're a kid you have an overblown sense of what's fair and what's unfair. I must have accused my mother and father of being unfair hundreds of times before I left for college.”
“And how did they react?” Delphine asked. Had she ever accused her parents of being unfair? She was pretty sure that she had never talked back to them.
Maggie laughed. “My father would pretend he hadn't heard. He'd just walk away. And my mother would say things like, ‘I'm sorry you think so.' There was no negotiation between parents and children in my house.”
“Or in mine,” Delphine said. “But I think that was the norm back when we were growing up. Parenting styles have changed drastically since then. At least, from what I read and see on TV. My brother and sister have pretty much repeated my parents' style, with some exceptions. But there's no spoiling going on, that's for sure. Except, maybe, a little bit with Kitty, but that's mostly my fault.”
Maggie thought of how she had raised her daughters and felt a little twinge of guilt. Sometimes, maybe too many times, saying yes had just been easier than saying no; sometimes backing off on a threatened punishment had just been less of a hassle than following through and having to deal with the tears and the shouts.
Maybe, she thought now, she had been unfair to her children—there was that word again—by being too lax with discipline, too ready to capitulate to their whims and threats of holding their breath until blue and hating her forever. Maybe she had made them into young adults with little sense of generosity or compromise or kindness, young adults who didn't know how to accept disappointment as a normal part of life, young adults who thought the world was their due. She certainly hoped not. But it was too late to change anything now.

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