Summer House (29 page)

Suzette smiled. “Oh, I’d love to do that!”

“Then we’ll do it.” Charlotte almost linked her arm through the young woman’s but had second thoughts—she didn’t want to startle her, and she didn’t want to be too friendly, either. It was possible that Suzette would turn out to be slow, or sloppy, or unreliable. If she didn’t turn out to be right for Beach Grass Garden, Charlotte still wanted to be able to establish a relationship with her as a family member—the mother of an expected niece or nephew.

Suzette smoothed the money with her hands. She said, “I’ll be able to buy some things for my baby.”

“Oh, Suzette!” Charlotte’s heart twinged. “I’m sure Mom’s dying to take you shopping for baby things.”

“I guess. But still. It will be nice to buy something for my baby from
me.”

“I get you completely,” Charlotte said. “Let’s go have dinner, then maybe we can work in the shed for a while.”

Coop had phoned
Charlotte that morning, when he woke up. His voice was warm and lazy; he admitted he was still in bed. He had
made plans to go over to the separate and smaller island called Tuckernuck for a couple of days with an old friend, an old
male
friend, he hastened to add. He suggested they have a real date night Saturday; he wanted to take her out to dinner and perhaps to one of the local theater productions.

Over the next
few days, Charlotte worked in the garden, and Suzette proved to be a quick and willing assistant. The thought crossed her mind that Suzette might be trying to prove herself in some way, to Charlotte and to the entire family, and she was very pleased by the idea of providing a way to impress the family.

Still, she should be careful. She didn’t want to work pregnant Suzette too hard. Early one afternoon she showed Suzette how to use the Dutch hoe to slice off the weeds at ground level, carefully, without disturbing the plants.

“Are you sure you want to work outside in this heat?” she asked.

“This heat? This heat is nothing,” Suzette told her, bragging slightly. “I grew up in Arizona. It reaches one hundred degrees and more in the summer. This is just a spring day for me.”

The third evening, after they’d finished dinner, Charlotte and Suzette went out to the shed to prepare the flower vases for sale the next morning. They worked side by side, companionably, in silence, except for Charlotte’s occasional suggestion or Suzette’s question. Suzette learned quickly and had a knack for arranging flowers in unusual combinations. She focused intensely on her work, and Charlotte noticed with amusement how the young woman sucked her upper lip down with her lower teeth as she concentrated.

The door to the shed opened, and Teddy strolled in. “Hey, ladies.” He’d changed out of the light linen Brooks Brothers blazer he wore to work at the antiques shop and wore only his swim trunks with a T-shirt. “So,” he said to Charlotte, “I see you’ve turned my wife into a little factory girl.”

Charlotte snorted. “Factory? Hardly.” She gestured with her hands. The shed was full of flowers, picked fresh that evening and sitting
in buckets of water while they waited to be arranged. The air was sweet and warm and moist.

“Stop it, Teddy,” Suzette said, tossing him a glance. “I told you how much I like this work. Don’t be a pest.”

Teddy put his palms on the worktable and levered himself up to sit on it, swinging his legs like a kid at a playground. “Yeah, Char. Suzette told me how much you get for your little posies. Highway robbery!”

Charlotte didn’t deign to look at him. “Right, and you know this because you buy so many flower arrangements here.”

“I don’t need to buy flowers,” Teddy argued. “You fill Nona’s house with yours.”

“And this is a problem for you?”

Teddy backed down. “Of course not. They’re great. But I’m saving my money so I can find a place for the two of us to live—well, the three of us, pretty soon.”

“Do you want to stay on the island?” Charlotte asked, as she placed three hydrangea blooms in dreamy hues of periwinkle and sky blue into a milk white pitcher.

“No, thanks,” Teddy said. “I prefer the warmth of the Southwest to the chill of the Northeast.”

“I like it here,” Suzette announced.

Both Teddy and Charlotte stared at the young woman in surprise.

“I thought you’d hate it,” Teddy said.

Suzette snorted. “Is that why you brought me here?”

“I brought you here to meet my family. The entire snot-nosed perfect lot.”

“I don’t think Charlotte’s so perfect!” Suzette shot back. She looked over at Charlotte, her face red. “Sorry. I meant that as a compliment.”

“I take it as a compliment,” Charlotte told her.

Suzette continued to arrange wild sweet everlasting from Nona’s uncultivated moors in a vase with daisies and phlox. “I keep telling you, Teddy, you go through the world with expectations that are much too high. That’s why you’re always disappointed. Plus you always think the way anyone
is
is directly aimed at you.”

Charlotte forced herself to stop staring. Suzette was speaking, entire sentences! And she was right. She had Teddy down cold.

Teddy sounded childish as he told Charlotte, “Whereas Suzette has
no
expectations.”

“That’s right!” Suzette agreed. “I am no one from nowhere. And I’m grateful for every day that I’m not drunk or living with a drunk.”

During the long moment of silence that followed, Charlotte looked from Teddy to Suzette and back again, stunned by the intensity of their mutual gaze and by the current of love flowing between them. They were clearly meant for each other, and they were clearly bound to each other, perhaps by secrets and secret needs and humiliations and mistakes, but also by affection and a kind of acceptance Charlotte thought she’d experienced only with Nona. Her parents were too—not judgmental but
hopeful.
They were so proud of their children, their handsome, brilliant, capable, superior children, and with that pride came the belief that these children could win the tennis match, and the sailboat race, and get into the best boarding schools and colleges, and marry the best people, and live exemplary lives.

Teddy said to his wife, “You’re trembling.”

“Well, I’m mad,” Suzette told him.

Charlotte spoke up. “You’re probably tired, too. I know I am. Why don’t you go put your feet up, Suzette. I’ll finish in here.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Suzette washed her hands, and as she dried them she said to Charlotte, “Don’t worry because Teddy and I fought. We fight all the time.” Then Teddy put his arm around his wife’s shoulders and ushered her out the door, into the summer night.

Nineteen

O
n a Thursday afternoon
in the middle of August, Helen sat on a folding chair at a long table in the church basement, trying not to yawn in the stifling air. The committee for the annual church fair, which would be held the last week in August, was gathered for its final meeting. Most of the business had been concluded, but Bridget Houghton, the chairperson, continued to twitter on, bustling and self-important, like a fat robin rearranging all the twigs in an already perfectly fine nest. Helen looked across the table at her friend Phyllis Lowry Phyllis rolled her eyes and Helen grinned. She had long ago surrendered to the eccentric power that was created by a dozen good-willed individuals and transformed by the presence of a table and a set of minutes into a creature called the Committee, with all its rambling, disjointed parts, like a centipede wearing different shoes on each foot.

The Wheelwright family gave a substantial amount to charity each year, but Helen believed the slogan Think Globally, Act Locally. She could not change the world. She could, however, change a few moments,
a few conditions, in a few individual lives. In Boston, two evenings a week, she tutored English as a Second Language students at the local library, and she was on the library committee that held fund-raisers to pay for, among other things, the use of electricity and space for tutoring. Here on the island, she’d been co-chair of the July book sale, and it had done well this year. She was also in charge of the church fair’s quilt committee. Every year, sixteen women each needlepointed a square designed by a local artist and then stitched them together to form a wall hanging of real and original beauty. Helen organized the women who made the quilt, and the women who sat on Main Street in Nantucket to sell raffle tickets to win the quilt, and the ticket drawing on the day of the church fair. Perhaps the money helped repair the toilets in the basement, or bought new hymnals, or supplied Christmas trees and turkeys to impoverished citizens. Whatever it was for, it was
something.
If it could provide a moment of grace in someone’s life, she was glad to do it.

And of course it helped keep her mind off Worth and Sweet Cakes.

Finally, the meeting was adjourned. The room emptied gradually, and Helen joined Phyllis to walk out into the sunshine. The late afternoon was hot and humid and bright and still. Helen realized she was looking forward to returning to Nona’s house and kicking off her shoes, perhaps taking a little swim before dinner.

For over a month now, the Wheelwright household had clicked along like a reliable clock. The Bank Boys had come and gone, spending weekends on the island, sailing and playing tennis and dining with friends. Nona’s health had improved, probably because she spent most days in her garden, a book in her lap, pretending to read but really taking frequent and delicious catnaps. Teddy had stayed sober and begun to share details of his workday with the family at dinner. He was discovering that he liked antiques and had just the kind of personality needed to charm a reluctant buyer into making a purchase. He’d already been given a raise and the promise of a bonus at the end of the year, if he would stay on.

Suzette had brightened up, too. Charlotte was teaching her about garden vegetables and flowers, and every night now when they sat
down at the dining room table, Charlotte pointed out a new arrangement of flowers done by Suzette. She did seem to have an artistic flair. With her straw tabby-cat hair growing out into its genuine silky light brown, and her skin glowing from work in the sun, Suzanne looked quite pretty. And she was happy. It was wonderful, how happiness could change a face.

Lost in her thoughts, Helen didn’t catch what Phyllis was saying. “Sorry, what?”

“I asked whether Charlotte’s still dating Bill Cooper,” Phyllis said.

“Oh, groan.” Helen shook her head ruefully as they continued along the sidewalk beneath the shade of the tall maples. “She is. I think they’re serious. She spends a lot of her free time with him, and she’s brought him in for dinner several times. He’s attractive, I’ll grant you that. Is Whit still seeing Fiona?”

“He is. Oh, dear, too bad.” Phyllis laughed. “Remember when the kids were adolescents? We used to say that if they became adults and weren’t in jail or dead, we would be happy.” She stopped next to her ancient station wagon. “Here’s me. I need to rush. I’ve got to get to the grocery store.”

Helen and Phyllis kissed goodbye. Helen walked on down the quiet one-way street to her father-in-law’s antique Chrysler convertible. Teddy was driving Nona’s old Jeep to and from work, which left Helen with the convertible. She didn’t mind. The handsome old heirloom had deep soft seats and a luxurious, stately ride. She drove home, savoring the trip, idly thinking about what there was for dinner that night. She hoped Grace and her gang realized that the vegetables Charlotte provided for their evening meals were not only delicious and nutritious, they also saved a lot of driving around to the other island farm stands for fresh produce. But hoping that Grace and her family would ever say anything positive about Charlotte’s garden was a waste of time. It still made them uneasy. It made them think that Nona was favoring Charlotte. Families, Helen thought with a sniff of disdain. They must have been designed by a committee.

As she drove along the winding road, she felt almost young again. It was fun to drive her father-in-law’s classic convertible, with the sun
beating down on her shoulders. She’d tied a scarf around her hair and a light breeze whipped it around her face, making her feel a little like Audrey Hepburn in one of those blithe black-and-white movies. Well, she wasn’t young and beautiful, and her life was not a romantic comedy, but still she was fortunate. Her children were happy and safe.

She hadn’t decided what to do about Worth. She didn’t see him often. He was away at work during the week, and when he arrived with the other Bank Boys on Friday afternoon, or sometimes Thursday evening, he wanted only to get out in his catboat and sail or play a round of golf with Lew Lowry and Kellogg and their friends. Almost every night there was a dinner party, or a dance, or cocktails at a friend’s house, or a benefit for one of the island’s many worthy organizations: the library, the hospital, the conservation group, the science museum. Since the night before Oliver’s wedding, Worth had not come to Helen’s bed and she hadn’t gone to his. But she slept well. She realized that thirty years ago, even twenty, she would have flown at him in a jealous rage the moment she heard him talking love talk to another woman, she would have dragged her nails down his face, she would have thrown vases and broken windows, and she would have gone out and slept with every man she knew. She didn’t know why she hadn’t done any of that now. It was not simply a matter of having less energy. It was not that she didn’t care; when she thought about her husband with another woman, it hurt so terribly it took her breath away. So she did her best not to think about it, but she felt her anger building inside her like a storm.

She had arrived at the long gravel drive leading from the main road to the waterfront and Nona’s house. As she turned, she slowed, and waved at Suzette, who was at the farm stand, chatting with a customer as she filled a brown paper bag with lettuces and tomatoes. Suzette was hugely pregnant now, so full-bellied that Helen wondered if perhaps the young woman had gotten her dates wrong. Suzette looked as if she could go into labor any day.