Summer House (18 page)

“I do admit that. And I’m grateful.”

“So that leaves the matter of family.”

“Dad.” Charlotte had lost her appetite entirely. “Dad, I’m not even dating anyone.”

“True. But perhaps you should be. Whit Lowry—”

“Dad.”
Charlotte shoved her chair back and stood up. She scraped the remains of her breakfast into the compost barrel under the sink and she tossed back the rest of her orange juice as if it were alcohol. She sensed it was the wrong thing to say but she said it anyway. “Look, Teddy’s home with a wife and a baby. You’ve got your grandchild, your heir, on the way!”

Her father’s expression was rueful. “Oh, Charlotte, I doubt very much if that is Teddy’s baby. She said herself that the child might not be his.”

Charlotte wanted to cry,
You want entirely too much from your children!
but she bit her tongue. Teddy had to work out his problems with his father, and she had to work out hers. She stood quietly, her anger simmering.

Worth rose. He carried his coffee cup and saucer to the sink, rinsed them out, and put them in the dishwasher. When he turned to face Charlotte, his face was sad. “I have to go back to Boston today. We’ve got some problems at the bank. In the meantime … Look. If Teddy asks you for money, give it to him and I’ll reimburse you, okay?”

“Well, of course, Dad.” She hesitated, then blurted, “Teddy told me they plan to stay here for the summer.”

Her father’s face sagged. “Honey, Teddy and his friend can’t stay here. You know that.”

She hated being in the middle like this, but still she challenged him. “What does Mom think?”

Worth rubbed his forehead. “We haven’t had a chance to discuss it. She’s still sleeping.”

“Dad—”

“Charlotte, just bear with me, okay? I’m trying to practice tough love. Your mother and I have consulted counselors, attended meetings, read books—we need to make Teddy stand on his own. We need to force Teddy to get real about the world. It’s not easy, but it’s got to be done.”

“Suzette is pregnant!”

“I know. But we need to remember all the pranks Teddy has pulled on this family. Remember when he disappeared on his boat and we thought he’d drowned, and he was over on Tuckernuck for an entire night? He thought that
was fun.”

“He was fourteen.”

“He’s still fourteen, mentally. My point is, Charlotte, this girl could be someone he picked up at a bus station, someone he’s paying to play a role.”

Charlotte nodded. Teddy did love to play tricks.

Her father continued. “Look. Teddy probably doesn’t really want to stay here, but he may not have the money to leave. He might ask you for money. He won’t ask me. He might ask your mother, but I don’t think she’d give him much. He’d better not ask Nona. He’ll ask you. I’d like you to give it to him. Would you do that?”

She’d given Teddy money before, countless times. “Sure, Dad. If Teddy asks me for money, I’ll give it to him.”

Worth sighed. “Thanks, Charlotte.” He crossed the room and hugged his daughter. “I knew I could count on you.” He pecked a kiss on the top of her head. “See you next weekend.”

Charlotte scrubbed the skillet clean and put everything else in the dishwasher. She could hear voices upstairs, and the thud of footsteps, and for a moment she considered going up, but this was a good clear day and she had a lot of work to do, so she filled a water bottle, twisted the cap shut, and went back out to the mudroom to put on her boots.

She spent the morning
transplanting the seedlings of flowers into various terra-cotta and resin pots, some she’d discovered at the Take It or Leave It shed, some at the back of Nona’s garage. Cosmos, impatiens, geraniums, salvia, alyssum, nasturtiums. Coleus and portulaca. Using Nona’s wheelbarrow, she moved them out into the sun and watered them generously. Soon they’d be ready for the roadside stand. A taxi came for Oliver and Owen, and in a while Aunt Grace went past, taking Charlotte’s father to the airport. Charlotte waved and kept on working.

She checked on Jorge’s progress and carried the two baskets of loose lettuces he’d cut back to the shed, where she rinsed them, spun them dry, tucked them into plastic bags, and carried them out to the stand. She was on her knees in the dirt, transplanting lettuces, when a shadow fell over her. She looked up.

“Hey,” Coop said. He wore swim trunks, deck shoes, and a faded polo shirt.

“Hey!” With a little groan, she stood up.

“How’s Nona?”

“She’s fine. She was just completely exhausted by the festivities.” Cocking her head playfully, Charlotte said, “I think it was your version of the river dance that pushed her over the edge.”

“You should let me teach you sometime. We could be a team. We could perform at anniversaries and weddings.”

“Right,” Charlotte said. “They’d pay us to stay away.”

Coop laughed. “Anyway, Charlotte, I had fun last night.”

Flushing, Charlotte reached down for her plastic bottle and tilted back her head, filling her mouth with the cool water.

Coop didn’t seem to notice her awkwardness. “So I was wondering, it’s such a great day, want to come sail with me over to Coatue? We could take a picnic lunch.”

“Oh, Coop, I wish I could! But I’ve got to keep working.”

“Oh, come on, you can take one little day off. You’ve got Jorge over there, he can take care of things.”

Charlotte shook her head. “This is my crunch time, Coop. I’ve got
to get as many things out into the garden as possible. I’ve got trays of transplants waiting.”

Coop reached out and touched the side of her neck, where a strand of her hair had come loose from its band and clung, damp with sweat, to her skin. “But you’re so hot.”

The double entendre, Coop’s touch, made Charlotte’s breath catch. “Coop, really….”

“Come on, Char,” Coop urged. “Play hooky. The wind is just right for an easy sail. And think how good a swim would feel.”

“I know, Coop, but really, I’ve got to resist temptation and keep working. Every day is important.”

Coop opened his mouth to argue, then relented. “All right, then, I guess I’ll just have to go alone.” He stepped back, unknowingly crushing a lettuce plant. “Some other time?”

“After dark,” Charlotte told him, growing warm again at the suggestion in her words.

“Sure.” Coop tossed the word off carelessly as he turned and strode down the row toward the gate.

Thirteen

H
elen was dizzy
from lack of sleep. It wasn’t the fault of the sleeping porch. The cool night air acted like a soporific, but her mind bubbled with anxieties and anger. She wasn’t worried about Nona; Dr. Parsons had assured them she just needed rest. Helen thought she could use some rest, too—from her thoughts—but instead she had tossed and turned, as she imagined Worth with Sweet Cakes, replayed the insults Grace had flung at her at the party, and then, worst of all, envisioned the possible problems that odd little unhealthy-looking Suzette might be causing her baby.

At some point, though, sleep had overtaken her. She woke sprawled on the daybed, drooling into her pillow, the full light of sun falling onto her left arm. It was a bright day; it would be a hot day. She showered and slipped into a fresh sundress and sandals and went swiftly down the stairs. She needed coffee.

It was almost ten o’clock. The kitchen, she was glad to see, was empty. The coffeepot was still full. She poured a cup and drank gratefully.
As she gazed out the window toward the drive, a taxi crept up the white gravel, parked near the other cars, and honked.

Oliver and Owen came thumping down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“Mom! Great! We didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.”

“I just woke up,” Helen confessed.

“Lazy thing.” Oliver grabbed up an apple from the bowl. “While you snored, we dressed and packed and checked out of the inn and came out here to see everyone before we took off.” He held another apple up to Owen and tossed it to him when he nodded.

“And did you? See everyone?” Helen asked.

“I saw Nona. She’s as feisty as ever. And I spoke with Dad, briefly. He’s getting ready to go back to the city, too. I haven’t seen Charlotte. Tell her goodbye for me, will you? Oh, and I saw Aunt Grace, who seems especially Wicked Witch of the West today.” Oliver hugged his mother, and Owen came around the kitchen table and hugged her, too. “We left our luggage out on the drive. Hey, is that our cab?”

Owen said, “I’ll go out and tell him we’re ready.”

Oliver did a quick scan to be sure no one else was around. “Look, Mom. About Teddy. E-mail me, okay? Or call me. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“Did you talk to him at all?”

“I tried. I got a lot of sarcasm and evasion. Sorry, I’m not trying to be harsh. I know it must have been tough on him, walking into all this.”

“Well.” Helen shook her head. “Perhaps it was tough on him. Or perhaps he enjoyed it.”

“Anyway. Let me know.”

“I will. And Oliver, let me know about your wedding. What can I do to help you get ready?”

Oliver’s smile was like the sun coming from behind clouds. Sometimes Helen couldn’t believe this amazingly handsome young man was her son.

“We’re not inviting many people, really, so it won’t be a fuss, but we would like a bit of a party. The minister is a friend of ours, he’s
flying in from California—” Seeing his mother’s face change, he quickly added, “No one is planning to stay here. Owen and I have rented a house out near Surfside for the month of July, and all our friends are going to stay there. We’re hoping the weather will cooperate and we can have a beach wedding with a casual reception here at the house—just champagne and nuts, Mom, nothing elaborate.”

“But you must have a wedding cake!” Helen said.

“Okay. Well, could you do that? Could you order a cake?”

“I could make one. What kind? Chocolate? Maybe a yellow cake with strawberries?”

“Anything at all. We’re easy.” Oliver hesitated. “We’re planning to have a real party back at the rental house in the evening. With a DJ and lots of dancing and serious booze. So you all can come or not.”

Helen quirked an eyebrow. “Are you going to be indulging in outrageously gay activities that would traumatize your old parents?” she teased.

Oliver grinned. “Not until after midnight.” And he went out the door.

Helen watched through the window as Oliver and Owen settled into the taxi and were driven away. Her heart was lightened now. She took a banana from the fruit bowl and was peeling it when Grace came into the room, dressed for the day in khaki shorts and a polo shirt.

Seeing Helen, Grace stopped short. Her face fell. Grace looked miserable and hungover and old and sad. “Is there any coffee left?”

Helen took a cup from the cupboard, poured coffee into it, and handed it to Grace. She didn’t speak.

Grace hunted around for the milk pitcher, found it, added a dollop of milk, and stirred in several teaspoons of sugar. “I feel hideous. I didn’t sleep at all last night.”

Helen turned her back to Grace and stared out the window.

“Look, Helen.” When Helen didn’t respond, Grace said angrily, “I apologize for what I said last night.”

Helen shrugged. “It’s fine, Grace.”

Worth came into the kitchen, smelling of shaving cream and soap.
He wore his suit trousers and a crisp striped shirt. “Has Kellogg come down?”

“Not yet,” Helen told him.

“Grace, do you want to drive me to the airport?”

“I’m driving Kellogg, Douglas, and Claus. They’ve got an eleven o’clock flight. Can you wait?”

Worth looked impatiently at his watch. “All right. I can make some phone calls.” He turned to go, then looked at Helen. “Are you flying back with me?”

“No. I … I’ve got some work to do here for the book sale.” It was easy to talk to her husband with someone else in the room. Even Grace’s critical presence steadied her.

“So you’ll be home later today?”

Helen almost said,
What’s it to you?
But now was not the time. “I think so. I’ll let you know.”

Worth nodded and left the room.

Grace said, “Well,
I’ve
got more than enough to do today. Glorious is with Nona. After I take the Bank Boys to the airport, I’ve got to hit the grocery store. And the house.” She sighed.

Helen frowned. She and Grace had managed to divide the housework and cooking for thirty years. She couldn’t imagine why Grace was making such heavy going of it now. “I’ll do the house.” She put her coffee cup in the sink. “I’ll start in the living room.” She left the kitchen.

The long front living room was littered with champagne flutes and teacups and bowls half filled with peanuts and crackers. Helen carried them into the kitchen, washed the flutes, emptied the snacks into plastic bags, set the teacups in the dishwasher. She dug the dust cloths out of the laundry room and went around the living room, dusting end tables, straightening chairs, plumping up sofa cushions. She shook out the draperies and opened the French doors and took the vacuum from under the stairs and dragged it over the various ancient thick Persian rugs. It was all very satisfying, putting things into place, so when she found the kitchen empty for a change, she quickly swept and mopped the flagstone floor.