Summer Friends

by Holly Chamberlin

  Maggie laughed a bit. “Have I changed that much?”

  Joey’s face turned a little red. “Nah, it’s just that it’s been a long time.”

  “Yes,” she said. “It has.”

  Joey Crandall had nothing else to contribute. The conversation, such as it had been, seemed over. Maggie found it hard to believe that she had once had a crush on him. He seemed nice enough but . . . Maybe, she thought, I liked him because he was there. Maybe it was a crush of convenience.

  “Well,” Joey said, stepping past them, “I’m gonna go look for those nails we need.”

  The three of them, Delphine, Maggie, and Harry, stood together, Harry the apex of an awkward triangle. Maggie smiled lamely. Harry’s eyes wandered over her head.

  “Maggie lives in Lexington,” Delphine said. “Massachusetts. And she grew up in Concord. I don’t know if I told you that.”

  Harry nodded. Delphine’s face was flushing.

  “Yes,” Maggie said, with a bit of an awkward laugh. “Home of the Transcendentalists. And all those writers. Emerson. Hawthorne. Alcott.”

  “Don’t forget Thoreau,” Delphine said with a jauntiness that far exceeded what the situation called for.

  “Who could forget Thoreau?” Maggie replied.

  Harry looked at Delphine. “These people famous or something?” he asked.

  Delphine’s expression froze.

  “I’ll wait for you outside,” Maggie said. She didn’t bother to say good-bye to Harry.

  She walked quickly to the front door and into the parking lot. She felt slightly shocked. Delphine had told her about Harry, the big, important parts, the fact of his mentally incapacitated wife, his adult kids, and his helpfulness around the Crandall house. But still, seeing him in person, face to face, had disturbed her. Clearly, there was much about Harry that Delphine hadn’t told her, like the fact that he was ignorant of the history of American literature, which should matter enormously to Delphine, and the fact that he could be downright rude. If she tried really hard—and she did—she could not have imagined a man more opposite Robert Evans than Harry Stringfellow. What in God’s name, she thought, is Delphine doing with that man?

  A few minutes later Delphine joined her in the parking lot, a small brown paper bag in hand.

  “It was nice seeing Joey again after all these years,” Maggie said, hoping they could avoid the topic of Harry entirely, and aware that they couldn’t.

  “Yeah. He hasn’t changed much, really.”

  “Yes.”

  Delphine sort of smiled. “So, that’s Harry.”

  Maggie sort of smiled back. “He’s . . . tall. I hadn’t imagined him to be so tall. I don’t know why.”

  “Yeah, he’s about six-three.”

  “Oh. Are his kids tall, too?”

  “The boy is. Bob.”

  “Oh.” Maggie made a show of looking at her watch. She was afraid that if she stood there a moment longer she would say something she would regret. “Oh, look at the time. I have that appointment for a massage back at the hotel, so . . .”

  “Of course. And I’ve got to get back to the farm.”

  “We’ll talk soon. Bye, Delphine.” Maggie walked off in the direction of her Lexus.

  Delphine climbed into her truck. She didn’t start it immediately. She felt unnerved, embarrassed, uncomfortable—something, a whole lot of things. She had to think clearly. She had to get out of the parking lot before Harry and Joey came out of the store. She started the truck. As she pulled out of the lot she saw the men in the rearview mirror, just getting into their trucks.

  Delphine headed in the direction of the farm. An awful truth assailed her as she drove. She was embarrassed of Harry, whether she was right or wrong to be. She was embarrassed of herself, too, for having chosen to be with someone so unsuitable in so many ways. She wondered what Maggie must think of her now. She wondered if Maggie had any respect for her at all.

  Delphine sighed. There were certain people with whom you just didn’t want to reconnect because you just didn’t want them to be a witness to the person you had become. The fact that those people were witnesses to someone you had once been was now an embarrassment, whether that former you had been better or worse, more or less successful. That was one of the reasons she had never gone to a Bartley College reunion. That was the major reason she had not wanted to see Maggie Weldon again. That Maggie would make a comparison between the past and the present was inevitable. It might be unfair of her to do so, but it would be natural.

  As Delphine drove she wondered if she, too, had been comparing the Maggie of their youth, the Maggie of her memory, to the woman in the diamonds and the Lexus. She thought about that and realized that Maggie really hadn’t changed all that much. At least, not in ways Delphine could detect. Maybe she hadn’t been looking hard enough. It was a question she couldn’t answer.

  Delphine waved as she passed Marc Pelletier in his truck. He waved back. She wondered what Maggie had thought of their negotiations outside the library, a couple of pork chops for a couple of dozen eggs. She wondered if everything that Maggie was witnessing, if everything she was experiencing here in Ogunquit, would cause her to abandon the quest for a renewed friendship.

  No, Delphine thought, even if Maggie was finally aware of the many differences between them, she would not allow those differences to create a divide. She had made it clear that she believed the concept of a shared history to be important. And when being totally honest with herself, something that was hard for her, Delphine believed that, too. It had to be important. So much in today’s society was disposable, the new favored over the old, friendships discarded over Facebook or Twitter, electronic devices replaced every few months, fads frantically adopted and just as frantically rejected. Something had to be of long and lasting value.

  Delphine stopped the truck to let a family of tourists dash across the road. The father carried folding chairs under both arms, the mother clutched two enormous beach bags, and the son dragged a Boogie Board along the pavement. Something about the scene made her smile, in spite of the troubling cast of her thoughts.

  No, she thought, as the family reached the sidewalk and she started again to drive, there is no valid reason for me to walk away from this friendship with Maggie. She isn’t hurting me. She’s unnerving me, but that’s really my doing, isn’t it? It’s how I’m reacting to her, it’s the power I’ve given her as my judge, when in fact I’m really the one doing the judging . . . of my own life and of hers. Because even if Maggie had always enjoyed and valued the finer material things, only now was Delphine unfairly critical of her for it. And only now, since Maggie’s return, had Delphine become critical of her own life, too. She didn’t yet know if that self-criticism was unfair or if it was wholly justified.

  Running into Lauren Jenkins at the museum hadn’t helped, with all that talk of the great and exciting things she had been able to do because she had gone out into the wider world. Running into Harry today hadn’t helped, either. He had been rude, even if his rudeness had been inadvertently caused by his social awkwardness. He had betrayed an ignorance of a subject that was important to Delphine. He probably didn’t even know how important books were to her. But maybe that was her fault. Maybe she had never made it clear to him. Why?

  Lauren Jenkins, and Harry Stringfellow, and her own emotional discomfort—none were good reasons for leaving the fledgling relationship she and Maggie seemed to be establishing. Lauren was a stranger who should have no power over her. Harry was a good man at heart. As for her own feelings . . .

  She remembered now that not too long ago, while browsing through a magazine of psychiatric medicine at the doctor’s office, she had read about a study of friendship patterns. The researchers had found that for women, the preferred method of ending a friendship was what they called “slinking away.” It was admittedly a cowardly way to end a relationship, but it did allow a person to avoid a confrontation. That’s what she had done, slunk away from her friendship with Maggie all t
hose years ago, because a confrontation hadn’t really been possible. Maggie had done nothing wrong. She had remained a loyal and steadfast friend for over ten years, throughout their childhood and young adulthood. How could Delphine possibly have explained why she felt the need to—well, to run away and hide? Maggie, she thought, tenacious, loyal Maggie, would never have accepted her reasons as anything other than excuses, and lame ones at that.

  There, ahead, was the farm. Delphine sighed and pulled up into the front yard. She hoped that there was still a bottle of ibuprofen in her desk. The headache that was coming on was threatening to be a big one.

  34

  1983

  It was a warm May evening. Maggie was at her desk working on a final term paper when Delphine got home from her date. She looked up to see her roommate grinning hugely, her hair messier than usual and her cheeks flushed.

  “You look like the cat who ate the canary,” Maggie said. “What happened?”

  “Robert asked me to marry him. Look.”

  Delphine stuck out her left hand. On the ring finger a solitaire diamond sparkled in a slim platinum band.

  Maggie screamed and leapt from her seat, knocking over the chair in the process. She launched herself at Delphine and together they screamed some more and jumped up and down until Maggie could hardly breathe. She grabbed Delphine’s hand and pulled her over to the bed. They sat facing each other, knees touching.

  “Oh, my God,” Maggie said, her eyes shining with tears. “I can’t believe this is really happening. You two are going to have such an exciting life; I just know it. You’ll travel and meet all sorts of interesting and influential people. Wow.”

  “Yeah,” Delphine said. “I guess.”

  “What do you mean, you guess? I know so! Robert Evans is going places, you mark my words.”

  And that would mean she would be going with him. Delphine felt a wave of panic rush over her. Where would he be going? Would it be far? Would it be too far away from her home and her family? Would she be lost along the way?

  Delphine was aware of Maggie prattling on, but she heard none of the words distinctly. She was remembering the one visit she and Robert had paid to Ogunquit. They had stayed at her parents’ house, of course, Delphine in her old bedroom and Robert in Joey’s old bedroom. She hadn’t dared sneak into Robert’s room in the middle of the night, though he had wanted her to, and she wouldn’t let him sneak into hers, either. Robert thought her deference to the “delicate” feelings of her family quaint. In his family, there was no such delicacy or, as Robert might prefer to say, no such antiquated so-called morality. He had been raised in a home that prized liberality and unconventional interests.

  The visit had not been a great success. In the end Robert had come away with a view of the Crandalls as oppressive and narrow-minded. He had said as much, though in more politic terms. And the Crandalls, with the possible exception of Jackie, had come away with a view of Robert Evans as utterly foreign and condescending. He had used words they had never heard and had refused, however politely, to go with them to church. He had gone all over town looking for the New York Times when the local Sunday paper might have done just fine. He had shocked Patrice when he happened to mention the cost of the apartment his parents were renting in Rome. He had offended Charlie when he admitted he had very little skill with or interest in power tools.

  “Hey, where are you?” Maggie was saying. “I’ve been talking about your wedding and you’re, like, totally spacing.”

  Delphine tried to smile. “Sorry. I guess I’m feeling a little overwhelmed.”

  “We should get some champagne. Wait, did Robert have champagne? Oh, my God, I haven’t even asked how he did it? Did he get down on his knee? You have to tell me everything. I bet it was so romantic!”

  Delphine smiled again, but this time the smile was a bit wobbly. It had suddenly occurred to her—like a slap on the cheek—that by accepting Robert’s proposal of marriage she had set in motion a train of events she could in no way control. Her life would, she felt—she knew—be molded into the form of Robert’s life. He was the one with direction and plans and passions. She would be one of those passions, a partner, yes—Robert was no dictator—but a partner in an enterprise she had had nothing to do with creating. She thought of her parents again and her stomach clenched in panic.

  “I’ll tell you all about it in the morning,” she said now to Maggie. “I suddenly feel like I’m going to fall asleep on my feet.”

  35

  “Coffee is almost ready,” Delphine called from the kitchen.

  Maggie smiled to herself. The way the Crandalls made their coffee, she would be sure to add plenty of milk. “Okay,” she called back.

  Delphine hadn’t had the time to see Maggie on Wednesday, as Jackie had been home sick with a twenty-four-hour bug, which put Delphine on double duty. And late in the afternoon Harry had called to say that his son and one of Bob’s buddies were in town and were coming to Delphine’s house with him for dinner. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t have minded hosting Bob and a friend, even on such short notice, but this time it annoyed her, Harry’s easy assumption that she was available to cook for and clean up after three people, one of them a stranger, after a long, hard day of work. She could have said no to Harry. She should have said no, especially after the way he had treated Maggie in the hardware store, whatever the cause of his rudeness. But force of habit had been too great for her to resist. “Sure,” she had said. “No problem.”

  And now, this Thursday evening, she could have enjoyed a typical evening alone at home, with her knitting and her books and Melchior, but instead, almost unthinkingly, she had picked up the phone and invited Maggie to come over after dinner for coffee.

  It had been raining on and off all day, and the air felt heavy and wet. In deference to Maggie, Delphine had turned on the air conditioner, but the dampness still pervaded the house.

  “Too bad it’s raining,” Maggie said as Delphine came into the living room. “We could have sat on the porch. Gregory and I have a back porch. Well, it’s more of a deck, really. It surrounds the pool and overlooks the yard. It’s very nice, but there’s something so charming about a front porch.”

  “You could add one to the house,” Delphine suggested, placing a tray on the coffee table. The tray contained cups, a creamer, a sugar bowl, spoons, and a plate of homemade oatmeal raisin cookies. Maggie knew the cookies would wreak havoc on her diet. She also knew that she would be eating at least one.

  Maggie shook her head and sat at one end of the couch. Melchior was snoozing in a ball on an armchair across the room. “I don’t live in the kind of neighborhood where people porch sit of an evening,” she said.

  “That’s their loss,” Delphine said. “Anyway, we need the rain. A lot more of it, too. The crops are suffering.”

  “I can’t imagine my life being so directly affected by the weather. I don’t understand how people can choose to live, say, on a major earthquake fault line. I would be anxious all the time. And those poor people who have no choice but to live in a flood zone. Do you remember what happened in Pakistan last year? There’s no control over Mother Nature, only the possibility of a smart or a timely reaction.”

  Delphine smiled. “Welcome to the world of the farmer. We’re very good at anticipating disasters.”

  “Yes. You’re not at all insulated, are you? I mean, from the big things, the ‘acts of God.’ ”

  “We’re right out there on the front line of life in a lot of ways.” Delphine sat on the other end of the couch. “Those earrings are amazing,” she said. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice them before.”

  Maggie touched her right ear. “Thanks. Gregory gave them to me. They’re rose gold and the drop is a pink tourmaline.”

  “Tourmaline is Maine’s state stone. Were they a birthday present?”

  “Our last anniversary, actually. Gregory is very good about giving gifts.”

  Delphine laughed. “Harry doesn’t ‘do’ gifts. Of course, he’ll acc
ept gifts. He just doesn’t give gifts.”

  Maggie didn’t find anything about Harry’s lack of gift-giving skills funny. She had not been able to stop thinking about Harry—more precisely, about Harry and Delphine—since the encounter at the hardware store. She knew as well as she knew her own name that Delphine should not be with Harry Stringfellow. Maybe he would be fine for another woman—or not—but he was not fine or good or healthy for Delphine. She deserved so much better.

  “What did Harry do before driving a truck?” Maggie asked, taking a sip of milky coffee and eyeing the cookies.

  “Lots of things. Some carpentry, some house painting. He still does odd jobs for friends. He and Joey are working on a small building project for Joey’s business accountant. Lots of people around here have more than one occupation going at a time. Like Jemima’s husband and his foraging. You have to make ends meet in whatever way you can.”

  “Yes.” Maggie paused. “Did you ever meet Harry’s wife?” she said then. “I mean, before the accident?”

  Delphine shook her head. “No. I’d never met either of them, which is kind of odd given life in a small town. And I certainly have no reason to meet Ellen now. She might not even know that I was in the room. And the last thing I would want to do is upset her.”

  “Yes,” Maggie said, “I suppose there would be no point in going to see her. But what do you know about Ellen? Does Harry talk a lot about her? I mean, about what she was like before the accident.”

  “She was, he says, a perfect wife, a perfect mother, and a perfect person. He’s never said anything more specific—or less hyperbolic—than that. And he’s never said anything remotely critical of her.”

  Maggie frowned. “How nice of him.”

  “It is nice of him. He respects her.”

  They sipped their coffee in silence for a moment or two.

  “I’ll be right back,” Delphine said then. “I want to show you something.” She loped up the stairs to her bedroom. When she came back down she handed Maggie a three-by-five white-bordered photograph.