The effort to prove her independence to Oliver had been a catastrophic success. Khaki—diabolically smart Khaki—was cold to Maren, but she showed Oliver another side: vulnerable, defenseless. Khaki made Oliver believe she needed him, and he had responded.
In the end, they both learned that a marriage was more than just two people and all they brought with them. It was a creature of its own that needed care and feeding.
And that smile of his, which made him look astonished at his good fortune to have her as his wife, again ignited something deep inside her.
“That race was something,” Oliver said, arms crossed behind his head, the picture of contentment.
“Wasn’t it?”
“I wish we could find sailing’s equal for Charlie at home,” he said. Oliver was not involved in the minutiae of his children’s lives, but Charlie’s difficulties were pronounced enough to penetrate even his busy mind.
“You know it’s not just sailing that makes it good for him here.”
“It’s not? You mean Haven Point offers something more?” Oliver teased. Maren cuffed him good-naturedly.
“He is a completely different boy here. He’s good here.”
The tetchiness and sensitivity that showed in small ways when Charlie was younger had burst into florid display in recent years. He went about satisfying his hunger for attention in the worst ways, acting out in school and picking fights, usually futile ones with older boys. At home they were forever waiting for another shoe to drop, for news of another incident arising from Charlie’s false bravado.
In Maine, he was utterly transformed. Each of the children loved Haven Point, but Charlie needed it. Within hours of his arrival, his edges were smoothed like a piece of sea glass. There was something medicinal in the air and water, the people, the house. Everything was hard at home. Everything on Haven Point was easy.
The discovery of Charlie’s prodigious sailing abilities had been the icing on the cake. For several years after Oliver’s affair, they had agreed their marriage was in too tender a state for long separations. Maren had limited their time on Haven Point to a few weeks, at most, each summer. Even those short visits had provided sufficient time for Charlie to master the fourteen-foot boats the younger sailors used. The previous summer he had taken the helm of a 110, and it had been as easy for him as breathing.
He would leave for the yacht club early every morning and stay all day. Unlike at home, where he seemed to alienate everyone in a position of authority, the staff there loved him. Every evening he’d burst into the kitchen, erupting with excitement.
“The one-tens dig in the chine and carve to the weather, Mom! They just fly on the reach!”
He might as well have been speaking Greek, for all Maren understood, but she shared his joy. It was for Charlie’s sake that Maren had suggested they come for a full season this summer. Their marriage was solid, but Charlie was not. That morning’s victory felt to Maren like the ultimate affirmation of the decision.
As they sat watching the birds and water, she felt like a great knot had been untied.
Maren wasn’t a full convert to the Haven Point religion, like Oliver and Georgie and the others who had such abiding faith in the place, its mission and meaning. She knew, of course, that Haven Point represented an extraordinary privilege, but she felt it needed the counterbalance of life at home. It was different now, though. It helped that she no longer felt exiled there, and that she was relieved of the burden of Pauline and all her attending chaos. She and the rest of Pauline’s protectors had been able to lower their guards somewhat after William’s death, but the Pauline-Irina-Sassy triumvirate had presented its own difficulties.
The previous October, in a fit of Russian passion, Irina had announced she could no longer handle the job of being Pauline’s caretaker. Maren told Oliver she thought it was time to move Pauline into a home, and that it made the most sense for it to be in D.C. Oliver mounted weak resistance but ultimately relented.
Maren found the facility, saw to the move, and often brought the children to visit. Pauline listened sweetly to their stories and smiled at their rambunctious ways. An occasional comment or sharp observation, even with her imperfect speech, betrayed the intelligence Maren suspected she’d buried all those years with William.
Oliver visited less frequently, but often enough to gather what Maren had long known. Their children had no greater champion than his mother. He remained formal with Pauline, but his disdain was not quite so pronounced.
Maren sank further into the love seat and leaned on Oliver. He put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. It was only when she heard Annie’s footsteps bouncing down the porch that she realized she had dozed off.
Annie was wearing one of Billy’s old T-shirts and wrinkled Bermuda shorts, evidently having changed into whatever clothes she found in the cabana. Annie never had an awkward phase in the usual sense of the expression, though she had been all long arms and legs until the past couple of years, when her limbs had arranged themselves more proportionally. She was an indisputable beauty, tall with thick blond hair and shining blue eyes, but hadn’t an ounce of vanity. Shopping, clothing, and makeup bored her. She brushed her hair only when forced.
“Can I have some of this? I’m crazy thirsty!” She picked up Maren’s iced tea and took a great swallow before Maren could answer.
“Help yourself,” Maren said, after Annie set down the half-empty glass. Annie flopped on the wicker ottoman opposite her parents and stretched her legs.
“I’m proud of how you helped Charlie today,” Oliver said.
“I just did whatever he told me.” Annie shrugged. “He’d have won by more with Billy or someone heavier in the boat.”
Maren felt a prickle of apprehension. The only wrinkle in an otherwise smooth summer was tension between Oliver and Annie. The two of them could argue about anything, even a compliment.
“Well, it was a great race,” Oliver said, prepared to leave it at that for once. Maren knew Oliver actually felt as she did: Billy would not have been a better crewmate for Charlie. They had both been relieved when they realized Billy would be visiting friends in Camden during the Stinneford Cup. He was kind enough to his little brother, but they had a more typical sibling relationship. He would have struggled to do Charlie’s bidding.
The same powerful intuition that had enabled Annie to tease out Oliver and Maren’s troubles all those years before also gave her keen insight into her younger brother. She had nothing like Charlie’s difficulties at home. In temperament and disposition, she was almost his perfect inverse. But while she would consider it traitorous to admit, she helped him on land just as she’d helped him on the water that morning. She remained Charlie’s greatest ally, refusing to openly acknowledge his vulnerabilities even as she did all in her power to mitigate them.
Annie and Oliver, on the other hand, were often at loggerheads. For a time, Annie’s performance in school was the main source of conflict. Billy, who would soon start his freshman year at Harvard, achieved academically as Oliver had, by reason and dogged effort. Annie, all impulse and instinct, had always been an indifferent student. When something captured her interest, they saw flashes of keen intelligence and ability, but Oliver found this more frustrating than encouraging. He wanted to mold a Demarest from the hybrid that was Annie.
Maren saw in Annie a fertile mind that didn’t run in conventional directions. She finally persuaded Oliver to let Annie attend a school more focused on the arts, where she had shown the most interest. Annie had thrived, and Oliver seemed satisfied, but to Maren’s dismay it had not diminished the conflict.
Maren had begun to think Annie’s anger at her father went beyond normal teenage defiance. It was like a virus that lurked in her bloodstream, reactivating at random intervals. Every outbreak left their relationship weaker.
Maren wondered if a piece of it was rooted in what she had overhead between her parents all those years before. Despite their efforts, Annie had steadfastly refused
to discuss it. Maren hoped Annie would eventually realize all was well with them, but the jury was still out.
“When do we leave for Phippsburg?” Annie asked.
“Soon. I’ll get Charlie,” Maren said.
She found Charlie in the attic, lying on a sagging twin bed in one of the ocean-facing rooms, his nose buried in one of Oliver’s old books. The weak sun shone through the casements, creating a diamond-patterned light over his head.
“Charlie, time to leave for Phippsburg.”
He looked up, confused briefly, as if he’d been transported and was surprised at the passage of time, but he quickly recovered and jumped up.
“Oh, good!”
“Before we go, I’d like to call Nonnie. I’m sure she’ll want to hear about your big victory today.”
Charlie smiled broadly, and they made their way to the phone in the downstairs hall. Dora, the most cheerful of the nurses at the home, picked up the phone.
“Miss Pauline is sound asleep, Mrs. Demarest, but I’ll take a message.”
“Hold on, Dora.” Maren put her hand over the receiver. “Charlie, do you want Dora to give Nonnie a message?”
“Yeah!” He leaned forward and put his mouth near the phone. “Tell Nonnie I won the Stinneford Cup. Tell her the whole thing!” Maren laughed and stood a little taller to get the phone out of Charlie’s reach.
“I’m sorry, Dora. Do you have a pen and paper?”
“I do. You just tell me everything, honey.” With Charlie in the background, gesticulating and interjecting details, Maren relayed a message, punctuated with apologies for its length.
“Don’t you leave anything out, Mrs. Demarest. This will cheer her up. You know she loves that Charlie. She usually has a good spell after dinner. I’ll give her the good news then.”
“She’s gonna tell her?” Charlie asked when Maren hung up.
“The Stinneford Cup will be Nonnie’s after-dinner entertainment.”
Charlie beamed, and Maren felt a surge of the joy and relief she experienced whenever he was contented.
* * *
“We’d better run in before this gets going,” Oliver said as they pulled into the Gale House parking lot. Dark clouds rolled in from the west, like a great charcoal blanket being pulled over the sky. A strong gust of wind ushered them inside.
The restaurant was open-air, with clear, vinyl roll-down curtains for the windows along three sides. Long strips of paper covered old picnic tables. It was a typical, busy Saturday evening. As the hostess led them toward a table, noise from one corner drew Maren’s eye. She turned to see Finn and Mary Pat Donnelly, their kids, and a few other teenagers Maren did not recognize. As she passed, Finn smiled at her and raised his eyebrows.
Maren nodded and smiled primly. She avoided Finn when possible. On the rare occasions he caught her alone, he invariably paid her some extravagant compliment, but she was meticulously careful not to encourage him.
When they reached the table, Maren sat facing the water, opposite Annie, whose eyes soon wandered eagerly in the direction of the Donnelly table.
“Look, Mom. The Donnellys are here.” She craned her neck to get a better look. “There’s Patrick!”
When Oliver looked up at this, Maren again braced for conflict. Oliver spent little time thinking about the Donnellys, but his old reflexes were in order. Just as a patient will kick when a doctor hits his knee with a percussion hammer, so Oliver sniffed when he heard the name “Donnelly.”
“Yes, I saw them when we came in,” Maren said, her tone carefully neutral.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” She leaned over again, and lifted her hand to wave but then pulled it down almost as quickly, enthusiasm drained from her expression. She took a sudden interest in the menu, though she knew every item on it.
Oliver, having watched the exchange, opened his mouth to speak, but Maren shot him a look. Fortunately, he took the hint.
While Oliver surveyed the kids for their orders, Maren turned as if to get something from her purse and looked over to see what Annie had noticed. Patrick had his arm slung over the shoulder of a girl with a thick mane of black hair, heavily made-up dark eyes, and a snug floral blouse that could not contain her voluptuousness. She was laughing, eyes lit up, as if thrilled to be in such company.
So, Annie’s jealous! Maren thought, turning back to the table. This was an interesting turn of affairs.
Annie and Patrick’s friendship had faded in recent years when they spent so little time on Haven Point. During that time, the Donnellys had remained in their social limbo on the other side of the rocks, though it did not seem to bother them. Haven Pointers were minimalist entertainers who tended to limit houseguests (at least in part to keep the place a well-kept secret), but summer at the Donnellys was one long house party, with emphasis on “party.” At any time, a dozen or more cars were parked outside their house. On sunny days, a great congregation of Donnellys and guests could be seen enjoying the water in front of their stretch of beach.
At night, more cars appeared, carrying more guests for their parties. Strains of music often wafted over the rocks and down the beach, the sound reverberating around the cove and into the open windows of every home on the point. While no Haven Point adult would be seen at a Donnelly party, they thought nothing of spending hours talking about them.
The Donnelly property offered so many enticements, neither parental disapproval nor the rocks at the end of the beach could keep the younger set away. The Donnelly kids rarely came to the Haven Point side, though Maren occasionally saw Patrick and his brothers at the end of the beach, playing in the pickup football and kickball games, which were more democratic affairs.
Though leaner and more striking than his father, in disposition Patrick struck Maren as more his mother’s son. However vulgar and flashy Haven Point might deem him, Finn had an undeniable charm, a boundless self-assurance combined with cheeriness and optimism. Patrick had his father’s confidence, but little of his charm.
By the time dinner was served, Annie had regained her equanimity. She wouldn’t ruin Charlie’s night with sullenness. The storm made for great theater as it passed overhead. Diners jumped at claps of thunder, while the waitresses remained oblivious. They lingered over coffee and dessert until the hardest of the rain stopped. The Donnellys were long gone by the time they left.
A breeze kicked up from the north, carrying with it some residual electricity, but it was only drizzling as they climbed in the car, full and laughing. Maren sighed, content, as she slipped into her seat. They drove home behind the western edge of the blanket of clouds and squished across the lawn to the kitchen door.
As they walked in, the phone rang. Oliver went to answer, while Maren urged Charlie and Annie upstairs and into their pajamas. She was getting ready for bed herself when Oliver entered the room. He walked slowly and looked perplexed.
“What is it?”
“That was the director of the home. Mother died tonight.” Oliver sat in a chair near the window, an upholstered one Pauline had liked—too small for him, though he didn’t notice. He looked out the window. The wind was still a little wild, and the screens glistened from the earlier drops.
Oliver seemed unsure what to do with the information he’d just received, and Maren felt something shift underneath her.
“Oh dear, Oliver. What did he say?”
“He put Dora on. She’d been with Mother earlier. Dora said she died peacefully in her sleep. She had been weak lately, as you know, though they had not necessarily expected this now.”
Peacefully, in her sleep. Maren felt a twinge of relief, even pride. It had been the humble goal of the women all those years: Pauline might die from her drinking, but not in some horrible, public way.
Maren slipped on her robe, crouched beside Oliver, and placed her hand gently on his forearm. It was hard to know the precise words to say, given Oliver’s complicated feelings, so she reverted to manners.
“I’m so sorry. This must be a shock.”
“Oh, the race. I forgot to tell you. Charlie and I called her. She was asleep, but Dora took a long message about Charlie and Annie winning the Stinneford Cup and promised to pass it along.”
Oliver looked out the window, thoughtful and quiet. Though he had grown to appreciate his mother’s kindness to the children, Maren did not think he had fully absorbed the beauty or purity of it. It was partly because he had fewer occasions to witness it, but she also suspected he was reluctant to acknowledge any goodness in his mother.
“She adored Charlie, and she understood him.” Maren kept her tone matter-of-fact, to avoid the appearance of pressing a point. “She was sweet to him.”
“She was that way with Daniel and me once,” Oliver said, still looking out the window.
“Was she?” Maren knew this already, of course. She had heard it all from Maude and Georgie, about the poems she made up when the kids were little, the special brand of loving attention that had been lost to the bottle. In all the time Maren had known Oliver, however, these were the only tender words about Pauline she had ever heard from him.
She had long hoped Oliver would forgive his mother. Not for Pauline’s sake, necessarily. Maren pitied Pauline’s vulnerabilities and had been sincere in her desire to protect her from harm and humiliation, but she felt Pauline owned her troubles. With more strength of character and a better moral compass, she might have fought to be well. Her choices damaged her children, and that had consequences.
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