Summer House (42 page)

At midnight, she pulled Coop close to her so he could hear her when she yelled in his ear: “Coop! I have to go home! I get up at four-thirty tomorrow!”

His breath was perfumed with gin when he yelled back. “Hey, give yourself a break. Sleep in. The garden won’t go anywhere.” He turned back to the sailors.

“Fine!” Charlotte slipped off her bar stool and slung her little purse over her shoulder. “I’ll take a cab.”

Coop caught her arm as she tried to pass by. “Hey! Hang on! Don’t get all hot and bothered!” With one lanky smooth move, he dismounted his stool. “Gotta go, guys. The little lady has work tomorrow.”

The four men roared at the same time, all of them condemning work and anyone who spoiled the summer doing it, but Charlotte kept moving and Coop followed. They walked in silence to the car. Charlotte sank back on the infinitely soft seat of Coop’s Lexus and let the silence of the night soothe her jangled nerves. For a while, they drove in silence.

“Have you fallen asleep over there?” Coop asked. His voice was tight.

“No. No, I’m just enjoying the peace.”

“Charlotte, can I ask you something?”

“That sounds ominous.” She stirred herself, turning toward him, smiling. “Sure.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that you’re going a little overboard with this garden thing?”

She counted to ten before she answered. “No, I don’t think I am. I’m serious about the garden, Coop. I want to—”

“Do you mean you want to keep it going for the rest of your life?” He sounded amazed.

“Well, the rest of my life is a pretty long time. I’m thinking more of, say, ten years. And then we’ll see. But I like the idea of providing organic veggies and doing my bit to keep the earth green. It sounds idealistic, perhaps, but if we don’t all try to do something—”

Coop interrupted. “Ten years! Are you kidding me? Charlotte, you’re thirty years old! What about marriage, what about a family? You won’t be able to take care of babies if you’re out digging in the dirt, plus you are always working, so how will you ever have time to have a private life?”

Surprised by his vehemence, Charlotte replied softly, “You sound just like my parents.”

“Well, I think your parents are right. I really just don’t
get
this garden business. You’re an educated, wealthy, intelligent woman. You could do anything. And come on, Charlotte, get real. What’s going to happen when your grandmother dies?”

“Nona’s fine!”

“Now she is, and I’m glad. But she’s
ninety.
What’s going to happen when she’s gone and the property is divided among all of you?
You’re not going to be able to keep your garden;
you’re
not going to inherit all that land. What if your family wants to sell the place?”

Charlotte was stunned. Everything he said was so—so
informed.
It wasn’t like Coop to care about such matters, at least what she knew of him, and it was becoming quite clear to her how little that was.

And then, with a bright flash in her brain, she got it. “Mee. You’ve been listening to Mee.”

He didn’t deny it. “Mee’s concerned about you. Your family’s concerned about you. If you were a naïve adolescent, it would make sense, but—”

“Okay, Coop, stop right there.” She was trembling. “When you
say your family
, please remember that my cousins and I have always been different. We love each other, but we’re different. And none of us knows who’s going to inherit what, not that that is any of your business anyway! And no one is going to sell the place!”

He kept his eyes on the road. “With all that acreage, you could make a stupendous amount of money.”

“So could you, with your property,” she shot back.

“Believe me, I’m trying to talk my parents into selling. I wouldn’t have to worry about money for a long time.”

“But you’re not worried about money now!” Charlotte argued. “Coop, you’re young, and you have your software business, you can support yourself; isn’t the house, that beautiful view, your way of life, your land and beach, isn’t that worth more than money to you?”

They reached the spot where Coop’s drive met the road. Several yards on, the Wheelwright drive joined the road. Coop steered the Lexus into his drive, put the vehicle in park, released his seat belt, and turned to Charlotte. Gently, he touched her cheek.

“Are we having our first argument?”

Her emotions were all over the place, but she couldn’t dismiss the suggestion implied by his words, that they were in the midst of a relationship, that they would have other arguments, other discussions. “Coop. Look. I’m sorry if I’m overwrought.”

“I wouldn’t say overwrought.” Coop knew how to turn on the charm. “Maybe just
wrought.”

She smiled. “You know, I’ve had the garden for three years now.”

“I guess I knew that. I’m not sure I really paid attention.” He caressed her cheek. “And three years is a long time. It’s a commitment. I understand that. And I apologize for getting into such heavy stuff so soon. I don’t mean to be intrusive.” His hand dropped to her neck; he stroked it with his fingertips. “Actually, I would like to be intrusive….”

His tone was easy, his touch alluring.
But I’m so tired
, she reminded herself.

At the same time, he said, “You’re tired. Let me take you home with me, rub your back, and make you feel all better.”

She did.

Confessions

Twenty-six

T
uesday morning
, Helen drove in the newly repaired Jeep to retrieve her son and his family from the hospital. She couldn’t keep from smiling as she carried duffel bags and two vases of flowers behind the little procession making its way out of the maternity wing and down to the first floor and outside. Teddy and Suzette carefully tucked Dawn into the required car seat. They filled the back with the new paraphernalia that had seemed to blossom into Teddy and Suzette’s life overnight—plastic bags of gifts from the hospital, duffel bags of clothing and flowers from family and friends, and a diaper bag full of necessities for Dawn.

Suzette and Teddy talked nonstop during the drive home, regaling Helen with information: Dawn was a champion nurser, a greedy little girl who had learned how to latch on to the nipple immediately. And she’d slept four hours straight! And the hospital had given them many new baby gifts, but Suzette didn’t intend to use formula ever, so should they take it to the church food pantry?

Helen smiled and smiled, loving it all, and found herself wishing that Worth were with them, sharing the day with her.

But of course, this moment would not bring Worth joy.

When she turned into the drive, she saw Charlotte kneeling among the annuals, cutting flowers, and stopped the Jeep in the lane. “Come see!”

Charlotte ran down between rows of tomatoes, unlatched the gate, and hurried over. She peeked in the window at the sleeping infant, tucked in a pink blanket and strapped safely into a car seat.

“Oh,
sweet,”
she gushed.

“I hate that she has to be in a car seat,” Suzette said. “It’s state law, but look, she’s so tiny, her little head bobbles over.”

“We’ll have her back in your arms in less than a minute,” Helen said, and drove off to the house.

It took almost an hour for Teddy to get Suzette and the baby settled in the living room. Then, while they napped, Helen drove Teddy into town, to return to work at the antiques store. She drove back to Nona’s house—some days were like this; Helen had often joked that she should buy a chauffeur’s cap—and all the driving provided her plenty of time for thinking. Too much thinking, too much imagining. Finally, she turned on the radio and let music relieve her overactive mind.

Back home, she stopped in the lane and called out to Charlotte. “You look hot. Did you have lunch?”

Charlotte stretched and rubbed one aching shoulder. “I forgot,” she admitted.

“Jump in,” Helen told her. “You can rest awhile and I’ll make you a sandwich.”

They returned to the house. Helen followed her daughter in through the mudroom. “Suzette’s in the living room with Dawn. Go sit down. I’ll bring lunch in.”

The kitchen was empty, and in the humid heat of the early afternoon Helen knew several of the family were taking their after-lunch naps—baby Zoe and little Christian, Mandy and Mellie, and Nona, too. Glorious was in her room, probably watching one of her soap operas. Helen moved quietly as she prepared the sandwiches.

Charlotte padded in barefoot, poured drinks, set them on a tray, and headed off to the living room. Helen followed with the sandwiches. Suzette was stretched on her side on a sofa, little Dawn nestled in her arms.

“She’s awake,” she told Charlotte. “Would you like to hold her?”

“Oh, yes, please.” Carefully Charlotte lifted the baby and snuggled her close. She sat down on a chair close to Suzette. “Can I look at her toes?”

“Sure.”

Charlotte gently lifted the light blanket away from the infant’s body. She touched the end of each perfect toe and stroked the curled fingers. “I don’t think she’s as yellow as she was.”

“She was jaundiced. Lots of newborns are.” Suzette spoke with a newfound authority. “But it’s fading.”

Helen said, “Charlotte, chicken salad sandwich for you. And lemonade. And Suzette, the same for you. I didn’t know if you were hungry—”

Suzette laughed. “I’m always hungry.”

Helen arranged the food within easy reach, added another pillow behind Suzette’s back, and settled into a chair.

“Look, Mom.” Charlotte held the baby toward her mother. “She’s gotten as pink as a new Dawn rose. Isn’t her name perfect?”

Eagerly Helen reached out. “Let me hold her while you eat.”

As she looked down into the infant’s eyes, she was overcome with a sense of quiet joy and profound gratitude. A new child was the world’s greatest mystery and, Helen thought, the world’s greatest hope.

Worth did not
phone her that night.

Or the next night.

Or the next.

Helen was determined not to phone him. Because she couldn’t spend every waking moment gazing at Dawn, she forced herself out of the house. She played tennis and sailed, went out for dinner and
drinks with friends, saw a couple of plays, and early in the morning she went for long walks on the beach.

Glorious told them all that Nona had a slight cold, not anything to be worried about but something to be watched. Nona needed to rest. Helen was glad that Nona had the cold, or was pretending to have it, because it would not be fair for Helen and Nona to discuss things without Worth present. It would seem as if they were ganging up on him. Helen appreciated Nona’s diplomacy and tried to adapt her own behavior accordingly. She checked in with Nona once a day, kept her conversation light, and focused on general matters: her tennis game, her plans for the day, her committees.

But every moment, truly, Helen was waiting for Worth’s call. She knew him well enough to predict that he wouldn’t phone her right away. He needed time alone to think, to retreat like a wounded animal into his lair to lick his wounds. He had a lot to deal with, Helen had to admit that. Not only Nona’s enormous news but the complicated existence of Teddy’s child. And, of course, Helen’s ultimatum.

She hoped he took her seriously. It had not been a ruse on her part, not a game. When she assured Worth she would leave him if he did not accept Suzette’s baby, she had been absolutely serious.

She had already envisioned how it might play out. She had considered who she would choose for a divorce lawyer, where she would set up her own new single home—in Boston, on Commonwealth Avenue, near the Public Gardens—and how she would keep herself from grieving—by taking a job at one of the many art galleries in the Back Bay and by seeing her granddaughter as often as possible. She went as far as to decide that she would buy a house in a leafy suburb for Teddy, Suzette, and the baby. Teddy would find work in an antiques store, and Helen could babysit; the city would be better for Teddy in the winter than the island, which could be a trial, with its fog, cold, isolation, and lack of cultural activities.

And she would travel! Instead of being tied for three months to the island, the family rituals, and tennis and sailing, which were all lovely, but still … she would be free to spend a few summer weeks in France, England, or Italy.

And Joe Abernathy Well. Perhaps nothing would come of his attentions,
but all she wanted really was a light flirtation, someone to play with. Even a few dates with him would serve to prevent her from being labeled “Poor Helen,” deserted by her husband for a younger woman—for she did not fool herself. If she and Worth divorced, Worth would not be alone for a minute.

The thought made her heart ache. At night she wept into her pillow like an adolescent girl losing her first true love.

On his sixth evening
away from Nantucket, Worth phoned.

“Can you talk?” he asked.

“I can. Just a moment. Let me shut the door.” She was on the sleeping porch, getting ready for bed. It was after eleven.