Summer Friends

by Holly Chamberlin

  In the end Delphine had decided on the Cape Neddick Lobster Pond on Shore Road. She got to the restaurant first and was seated at a table off by itself a bit, a deuce near one of the many large windows that afforded an unobstructed view of the marsh, now at mid-tide. She was wearing a T-shirt, chinos, and on her feet serviceable sandals from L.L. Bean. The only jewelry she routinely wore was a watch—if that could be considered jewelry—an old, reliable Timex, and, on special occasions, a pair of small gold hoop earrings Jackie had given her for her fortieth birthday. Tonight, it seemed, was a special occasion.

  After a few minutes, Delphine noticed a tall, slim, blond woman walk up to the hostess station. Maggie. Suddenly, she felt exposed and vulnerable. She had a mad desire to duck under the table. The hostess pointed in Delphine’s direction. Maggie waved and with confident strides walked toward her.

  Delphine felt herself begin to sweat. She couldn’t remember when she had felt so awkward. Yes, she could. It was when she had first met Harry’s children, both now in their early twenties. It was only a few months after she and Harry had started to date. There the awkwardness had been all around, and in an odd way the obvious fact that everyone—Harry, Delphine, Bob, and Mary—felt uncomfortable had eased tensions pretty quickly. That had been a bit of a miracle.

  Delphine half rose from her chair and at the same time Maggie half bent to give Delphine a hug. The hug became a bump and they separated awkwardly, quickly.

  “It’s so good to see you,” Maggie said as she took the seat across from Delphine.

  “Yes,” Delphine said, her voice sounding odd in her ears. “You too.”

  She was a bit disconcerted to see that Maggie was dressed so nicely, in a lime green linen dress and sling-back heels. That was nothing new for Maggie, she had always dressed well, but for the first time in the history of their relationship Delphine felt dowdy in comparison. A short-sleeved T-shirt tucked into belted chinos might be comfortable, but in no way was it an “outfit.” She suddenly remembered that she had first heard that term—“outfit”—from Maggie’s glamorous mother. It certainly wasn’t a term her own mother, who owned one “church dress” and one pair of “good” shoes, had ever used.

  “How was the drive?” she asked Maggie now. It was a requisite question to ask of a vacationer. And it filled what was becoming a long silence.

  “Okay,” Maggie said. “Not as bad as it could have been. Though I was surprised by how slowly the traffic moved through Wells. Route One was absolutely mobbed.”

  “A lot has changed. The summer population now gets to about twenty thousand, and that’s in Ogunquit alone.”

  “Well,” Maggie said, smiling brightly, “all those people mean money to the local economy.”

  Delphine was about to point out that all those people also meant littered sidewalks and noise pollution, but wisely didn’t. The last thing she wanted was an argument. Things were uncomfortable enough. At least, for her. Maggie seemed to be at ease. That was nothing new, either. She had always been the more socially adept, easing the way for Delphine with her creative introductions, her ability to start pleasant conversations, and her skill at getting out of unpleasant ones.

  “We should look at the menu,” Delphine blurted.

  “Okay.” Maggie picked up her menu and glanced around the large, simply decorated dining room. “This place is so . . . unpretentious,” she said finally. “Unassuming. I like the atmosphere.”

  Delphine wondered if Maggie really did like the “atmosphere” or if she was just being polite. Hadn’t Maggie always been polite? Delphine thought that she had. So had her parents. Unfailingly polite, well dressed, and socially skilled.

  “Well, it’s quiet, generally,” she said in reply. “At this hour at least, once the families from the camp across the road have had their dinner. And the food is good. Nothing fancy, but good. Actually, we supply some of their tomatoes. Crandall Farm, I mean. And some lettuces.” Delphine lifted the dimestore reading glasses that hung on a cord around her neck and put them on her nose. “You’re not wearing glasses,” she noted.

  “I’m wearing bifocal contacts these days,” Maggie explained. “When I’m not wearing bifocal glasses. Glasses are so outrageously expensive, but I have such a weak spot for funky frames. Maybe it’s because of those early years of having to wear ugly glasses. And then the eighties! What a nightmare! Frames that practically hung down to your chin. Ugh.”

  Delphine couldn’t help but smile. Robert Evans, she remembered, had had perfect vision back when she had known him. He used to tease Maggie, albeit good-naturedly, about her thick lenses and ponderous frames. Delphine had seen him on television not too long ago and he had been wearing a pair of unobtrusive metal frames. Other than the glasses she thought he had looked almost entirely unchanged. She wondered what he would think if he saw her now, a forty-nine-year-old woman who looked decidedly different from the way she had looked when she was twenty-one. She pushed the thought away.

  Maggie looked up from her menu. “You know,” she said, “on the drive up here I realized we haven’t seen each other since my wedding.”

  “Has it been that long?” Delphine said. She knew exactly how long it had been, but she didn’t know what else to say. This was a startlingly new situation for her, sitting across the table from someone who had once meant so much to her. The only other person she had loved and lost—if “lost” was the right word, given the fact that in each case she had been the one to walk away—was Robert. And there had never been a chance of their meeting again. She had seen to that.

  “Twenty-four years exactly, this fall. It’s hard to believe.”

  “Yes,” Delphine said. It was, actually, kind of hard to believe so much time had gone by since Maggie’s wedding. A wedding to which Delphine almost hadn’t gone. She had waited to accept the invitation until Maggie assured her that Robert would be on an assignment somewhere in another part of the world. She forgot where. But she had always wondered why Maggie had invited him in the first place. Had she thought, maybe, that Robert and Delphine would reunite, lulled into reconciliation by the sentimentality of a big, traditional wedding? She supposed that she could have asked Maggie—she could ask her right now—why Robert had been invited. But Robert Evans was no longer relevant. The only reason he kept popping into her head these past few days was because of his association with Maggie. That had to be the reason.

  A waiter came by, a local boy Delphine knew by sight—she thought he was in her niece Lori’s class at the high school—and they ordered food, a lobster salad and a glass of wine for Maggie and fish and chips and a beer for Delphine.

  “Tell me about your family,” Maggie said, when the waiter had gone off. “I hope everyone is well. How’s your brother?”

  “Joey’s good,” Delphine said. “He’s got a small-appliance repair shop in South Berwick.” Maggie had had a brief crush on Delphine’s brother one long-ago summer. He had been a big, handsome boy, then a robust young man, and now, in his early fifties, Delphine thought that he was still attractive in a slightly worn, grey-haired, burly kind of way. She wondered if Maggie would agree.

  “Is he still married to—Cybel, is it?”

  “Oh, yes,” Delphine said. “Cybel works in a day-care center in Wells. Their son, Norman, is twenty-three now. He’s married and lives in South Berwick. His wife is expecting a baby around Christmas. And I guess you wouldn’t know about Kitty, Cybel and Joey’s daughter.”

  Maggie shook her head. “No.”

  Delphine smiled. “She was a ‘surprise child.’ Kitty’s eight years old. And needless to say, she’s the apple of everyone’s eye, especially her father’s. And, well, of mine, too.”

  “I would think so! And do you have children?”

  “No.”

  “Oh,” Maggie said. “So it must be extranice for you having a little girl around.”

  Delphine didn’t reply and Maggie wondered if she had said something she shouldn’t have. She was rarely rude or inappropriate,
but suddenly she felt that she might have been both.

  The young waiter brought their food just then. When he had gone, they ate in silence for a few minutes. Delphine was hungry and happy not to talk. Maggie picked at her salad and wondered when Delphine would look up from her plate.

  “How’s Jackie?” she asked finally, tired of waiting. “I remember her as being so popular when we were growing up.”

  “She still is popular,” Delphine answered, wiping her mouth with her napkin. “Everyone likes Jackie, even her own teenage children. And Jackie pretty much likes everyone, too. Even tourists.” It was true. Most locals tolerated—and sometimes welcomed—tourists for the business they brought. Jackie seemed to like most visitors as actual people. “She works the farm with me, though she’s much more of the hands-on, in-the-fields person. And she’s directly in charge of our summer workers.”

  “Wow,” Maggie said, eyebrows rising. “But she went to college, didn’t she? Somewhere in South Portland?”

  Delphine bristled. What did Jackie’s education have to do with her involvement with the family farm? Of course. No one with a formal education, even one from a two-year community college, was supposed to get her hands dirty with manual labor. It amazed her that so many people really didn’t understand how much intelligence and learning it took to farm successfully. And then there was intuition, a feel for the work. That, too, was important. “Yes,” she said after a moment. “She went to college.” That would be the end of it.

  “Is she still married?” Maggie asked.

  “The Crandalls don’t do divorce. Not that there’s any reason for Jackie and Dave Senior to be divorced. He owns a small contracting business. Norman works for him, actually. And Dave Junior, he’s seventeen, he’ll probably join the business when he gets out of high school. Lori, she’s fifteen, she works at the farm with me after school, on weekends, and during the summers. I’m training her to take over someday, but that will be a long time coming.”

  “Wow,” Maggie said again. “The Crandalls are quite the . . . enterprise.”

  “There’s nothing new about that,” Delphine said, unable to tell if Maggie had meant something critical by her remark.

  “I guess I just never realized how . . .”

  “Realized how what?”

  Maggie shrugged, smiled. “Nothing. So, tell me about your parents? I hope they’re well.”

  “My mother is good,” Delphine said. “She’s still doing the baking for the diner, taking care of the house, helping out with her grandchildren. And my father is good, too. The diner is almost always packed, so he keeps pretty busy with that. Neither has much to do with the farm anymore, since Jackie and I pretty much run everything. But they chime in on any major decisions. We all do, Joey, Cybel, Dave Senior. Like you said, we’re an enterprise, a team.”

  “I have some fond memories of that diner,” Maggie said. “There was that one really nice waitress, I can’t remember her name. She had an old-fashioned beehive hairdo. It was almost Day-Glo orange. I had a yo-yo that same color. She used to sneak us cookies.”

  “Veronique,” Delphine said. “She’s actually a distant cousin of my mother’s. Well, she was a distant cousin. She died a while ago.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad. You know, I’d love to visit the diner while I’m in town. Maybe we could have lunch there one day.”

  Delphine hesitated. She never ate at the diner as a customer. To do so now, after so many years of working behind the counter, would feel somehow inappropriate. She couldn’t allow her father’s employees to serve her, a sometime colleague. “We’re very busy in the summer,” she said.

  “But that’s good, isn’t it? I mean, busy means money coming in.”

  “Yes. Well, what about your parents?” Delphine remembered Mr. and Mrs. Weldon as a glamorous couple, especially compared to her own parents. Mrs. Weldon always wore a skirt or a dress, never pants, and often wore heels, even when sneakers would have been more practical. Her husband always wore a jacket when they went out in the evenings, no matter the heat. They had been good to her, generous and supportive, especially when it had come time to apply for college. Walter and . . . It took Delphine a moment to remember. Dorothy.

  “My father’s dead,” Maggie said. “My mother lives in Florida.”

  “Oh.” Delphine felt a prick of conscience. She would have sent a note of condolence if she had known. And she would have known if she hadn’t walked away all those years ago. “I’m sorry about your father,” she said. “He was a nice man. How long ago did he die?”

  “Almost six years now,” Maggie said. “He had a massive heart attack. By the time the ambulance got to the house he was gone. My mother moved to a condo down south a few months after he died. She’s doing pretty well. Luckily, she doesn’t have any major health problems.”

  “That’s good. How’s your brother?”

  “Peter is fine. He’s a successful corporate lawyer and his wife is a judge. They live in Marblehead. We don’t see each other much.” Maggie smiled a bit. “I don’t know if you remember, but we were never really that close growing up and it seems that every year we drift further apart. It’s okay, though. It is what it is.”

  Delphine said, “Oh.” Her own sibling situation could not be more different. She saw Jackie and Joey several times a week, sometimes every day, and she liked it that way, even when Joey was in one of his grumpy moods or Jackie was being a know-it-all. And they seemed to like seeing her just about all the time, even when she was being whatever it was that annoyed them. A killjoy, Joey had once called her. Just last week Jackie had accused her of being uptight.

  “So, tell me,” Maggie said now. “Are you seeing anyone?”

  Delphine took a sip of her beer. There was no point in trying to deny her relationship with Harry. It was a small town. Maggie would meet him before long in some way or another. Besides, she thought, it wasn’t like Harry was some sort of freak. She had nothing to be embarrassed about. “I’ve been with someone for about ten years now,” she said. “His name is Harry Stringfellow. He owns a house on Agamenticus Road.”

  “So you don’t live together?” Maggie asked.

  “No.”

  “Oh.” Maggie smiled and sipped her wine.

  “Your children. How are they?” Delphine hesitated, caught short by another sudden and embarrassing lack of memory. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m blanking on their names.”

  “Kim and Caitlin,” Maggie said easily, seemingly undisturbed by what might be taken as an insult. “They’re both at a small college in San Diego. In fact, they’re staying through the summer this year. They got decent jobs and an off-campus apartment with some friends, so . . . Unless I go out there in the fall I probably won’t see them until Thanksgiving. That is, if they decide to come home.”

  “That must be tough. Being so far away from your children.”

  Maggie shrugged. “Not really,” she said, aware she was lying to an extent. “I’m so busy with work I don’t have time to miss them much. And the girls seem happy. I guess they got tired of life in the Northeast. And I guess they were through with living so close to Mom and Dad. I can’t say that I blame them. At least, about the mom and dad part. It’s perfectly normal for a child to want to get away from her family, experience life on her own. I mean, you raise children to be independent. It’s natural that they leave you.”

  “Of course,” Delphine said. “So, you said you wanted to come to Ogunquit for a quiet vacation.” What Delphine really wanted to ask—but wouldn’t—was: “So, what made you want to see me after all these years, the unnatural child who didn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t get away from her family?”

  “Yes,” Maggie said. “It’s been an incredibly busy year and I had some vacation time saved and I thought, why not Ogunquit? It’s peaceful and lovely and I could see Delphine while I’m there.” What Maggie really wanted to say—but wouldn’t—was: “And I want you to finally explain to me why you abandoned our friendship.”

 
; “You might not find it as peaceful as it used to be,” Delphine said. “But like you said, more people means more money.”

  “Yes. So, tell me about yourself.”

  “Oh, there’s not much to tell.”

  “No, really, what’s going on in your life?”

  Delphine shifted uncomfortably. “Well, work, mostly,” she said. “You know, the farm, and the diner. I help out there when I’m needed, if a waitress has to take a sick day, that sort of thing. I’ve got the nieces and nephews and one or another of them always needs something.” Then, and she had no idea why because it was a lie, she added, “It’s all pretty unexciting.”

  Maggie shook her head. “Oh, I doubt that,” she said. “For example, the farm. Tell me about what you do exactly.”

  “Well, we’re certified organic now. And you’ve heard of CSA, Community Supported Agriculture?”

  Maggie nodded.

  “We raise chickens for the eggs. Free-range. We grow vegetables, tomatoes, lettuces, other salad greens, various kinds of beans. It can vary from year to year. Jackie and Dave Senior maintain an herbal garden, but that’s just for family use. We’ve just started selling cut flowers for bouquets. And Jackie and her daughter are learning how to make wreaths out of dried and preserved flowers and vines. We sell locally and at the summer and winter markets up in Portland. Sometimes we barter with other farmers or fishermen for their products.” Delphine shrugged. “I guess that’s about it.”

  “I think that all sounds very interesting,” Maggie said.

  Delphine shrugged. She assumed Maggie was just being polite, again. It didn’t matter. “How about you?” she asked.

  “Well, the same as with you, mostly work, though my job is a lot less . . . varied than yours. I’m at the second largest investment firm in Boston. And, let’s see, I play tennis about once a week and I work out five days a week. I guess that’s pretty much the sum of my life.”