Barefoot Girls - Kindle

by Unknown

  Here was one with the four Barefooters at the last celebration, all clinging to each other and grinning for the photographer, their smiles wide and unself-conscious. Hannah gazed at the four of them jealously. The next photo showed two men who lived down-island, Jeff and Kevin, wearing their usual costume for Dog Days: the clueless loser. The costume consisted of Hawaiian shirts and khaki shorts, black socks and sandals, white zinc-oxide slathered on their noses and cheap sunglasses. They were grinning and holding up their Mean Greens in a toast to the photographer. Here was another, this one of Amy’s husband, Uncle Gus, holding up the sailboat race’s trophy that he had won last year, his face red with embarrassment, looking down and laughing – probably due to something one of the Barefooters had shouted out to him. Uncle Gus was shy and boyish. Hannah loved him to death and sometimes liked to pretend he was her father.

  It was the best party anyone could ever hope to go to, Dog Days, and the Barefooters threw it every year, inviting all their friends as well as everyone on the island. Dog Days’ roots must have come from those long-ago Fourth of July parties at the McCallister’s house, except now the party was held the first Saturday of August at Keeley and Ben’s huge new house, a kick-off to the Barefooter month. There were all of the contests Aunt Zo had mentioned in her description of that Fourth of July party: the greased watermelon rolling contest for the babies, the diving contests for the children, the sailboat races for the grownups. There were also tons of other games and races including the raw-egg passing contest, where opposite-sex adults passed a raw egg to each other using only their necks. If you dropped it, you were pulled out of the game. The last standing couple won a bottle of champagne, which they usually started drinking immediately.

  There were also balloon races for the teenagers. Manning small sailboats, two-person teams had to collect blown-up colorful balloons that had been placed in the water along the marshy shore of the island. This had to be done from the sailboat, without an engine and keeping at least one foot in the boat at all times. The pretzel-like contortions the kids effected to get the balloons were hilarious. In spite of the pains they had to go through to collect the most balloons, the kids of the island were more than willing. After all, the prize was always the newest hottest piece of technology on the market. Last year it was a Wii.

  The Barefooters had been throwing Dog Days as long as Hannah could remember and the party got bigger and more elaborate every year. Now that Keeley had married Ben, who worshipped her and gave her everything her heart desired, the sky was the limit. They still had the clambake, but now they also had caterers brought in who passed appetizers and tended a fully-stocked bar, a live band playing all of the Barefooter’s favorite songs, and a professional fireworks display at midnight.

  It was a wonderful and exciting party every year. Hannah loved Dog Days. Yet she had missed it this year, the first year ever. She missed all the fun and craziness because she wanted the answer to a reasonable question. An honest, complete, and satisfying answer.

  All her life, when Hannah asked about her father, her mother and all the Barefooters would say things like, “Your father was a sweetheart,” or “You’re so much like your father,” without elaborating. Keeley would often sigh and say, “Your father was the true love of my life,” and get a sad distant look, her eyes unfocused and watery. But this was as far as it went.

  If she pressed further, her mother would grab her and hug her, saying “Aren’t I enough, huh? Huh? Aren’t I?” and tickle Hannah, which Hannah hated, having her questions tickled away. She wished she wasn’t ticklish, didn’t cringe and laugh in spasms. Her Barefooter aunts would never directly answer the question either; they’d just reiterate their boring affirmations of her father’s kindness or attractiveness. Hannah wanted details!

  All she knew was that his family had once lived in a house on Captain’s, too, that her father and Keeley had dated as teenagers, and that her father had died in a car accident when he was only eighteen. Hannah had been born the following spring, a “gift from God”. Keeley often said that Hannah was what kept her alive in the end, after losing her one true love.

  When Hannah pressed with questions about her father, no one really answered them. She asked what his name was. Why didn’t she know her grandparents from that side? Could they visit his grave? But the answers would dry up, and it would be “Don’t worry about that” and “Hey, what do you want for lunch?” Her mother and the Barefooters were deliberate in their vagueness and evasion, their laughter studied, glances exchanged.

  In June, Father’s Day came once again. Hannah always found herself yearning after the happy families that seemed to be everywhere on this holiday, feeling a loneliness she felt occasionally the rest of the year but much more strongly on Father’s Day. This year was worse. Maybe it was being recently engaged and feeling so deeply loved by Daniel. It had been a beautiful June day, picture-perfect. Hannah had decided to go to the beach and bring a picnic. She hadn’t thought about the cavorting families, the fathers carrying toddlers on their shoulders, the enthusiastic Frisbee games. “Dad! Dad! Watch me!”

  She felt her tuna sandwich stick in her throat looking around. The beach was swarmed with families. Of course; it was a remarkably beautiful June day. Even spying families with grumpy fathers who were complaining about all stuff they had to bring to the beach made her sick with jealousy. Sure she had a mother, but she needed a father, too! Why couldn’t she at least know something about him, some details, a few stories?

  Hurriedly, packing up her picnic, iPod, and the novel she had been looking forward to reading, she fled the beach as fast as she could, unable to outrun the tears. In the car she hunkered down to stay out of sight and let herself cry – an act that felt weird and awkward, her face contorting. She never allowed herself to cry, but she couldn’t help herself for the first time since she was a child. By the time her tears had abated, she had made her decision.

  She would force her mother to talk. She would make it impossible for her to change the subject or take the upper hand. She would invite her mother for lunch at her cottage and corner her. Although her mother had disapproved of Hannah moving into the little remote carriage house to live all by herself “like a hermit”, once Hannah was ensconced, Keeley had relented. Lately she had been making noises about the house. What was it like? When would she be invited to see it?

  Hannah knew Keeley would jump at the chance if Hannah suggested a weekday luncheon. Keeley spent every weekend in June and July on Captain’s, but went home to Manhattan with Ben during the week, not liking to be alone on the island without her usual entourage. But Manhattan and that lavish apartment also made Keeley uncomfortable. Hannah could tell by how itchy Keeley acted there, stiff and strange and nothing like the fun-loving happy person she was on Captain’s.

  As expected, her mother had taken the bait, exclaiming, “At last! I was wondering when you were going to invite me out there. Now don’t make anything. I’m going hit Zabar’s and get us a huge pile of goodies and then we can just relax and enjoy the afternoon. Should I bring wine?”

  Hannah insisted on supplying Mean Greens, knowing they would loosen her mother up, make her chattier. In fact, she pulled out all the stops. She put on Al Green on her MP3/CD stereo – one of her mother’s favorite recording artists. She bought daisies and arranged them simply in a glass pitcher, knowing her mother loved them and considered them “honest” flowers. It was a nice day, so she opened all the windows to let the fresh air circulate, just the way Keeley liked it.

  And everything had gone perfectly at first. Her mother was visibly charmed by the tiny house, gasping, “Oh, isn’t it sweet!” They toasted with their Mean Greens in the kitchen and her mother admired Hannah’s new engagement ring, telling her how happy she was, how she couldn’t wait to meet Daniel. She cooed over the pictures that Hannah had of him, praising Hannah’s taste in men. “And he’s a pilot, too!” Keeley had giggled, and toasted Hannah again.

  Hannah showed her mother into the d
ining room, but her mother stopped cold, looking at the fully-set little card table with it’s cheap cotton tablecloth and arrangement of daisies. “Oh, no, no, no!”

  “What?” Hannah said, her heart stopping. And it had been going so well!

  “We can’t eat in this little room on such a beautiful day! Let’s make this a picnic! We can sit on your little adorable lawn and enjoy the sunshine!”

  Hannah breathed again. “Great idea, Mom!”

  Once they settled in on the blanket they set on the lawn, Hannah let her mother take a few bites of her chicken salad sandwich before broaching the subject of her father. Her mother chewed and swallowed. “Mmmm! Oh, I’m being so bad! But I’ll be good tomorrow. Do you know I still weigh what I did in high school?”

  Hannah had heard this a million times. Keeley was a perfect size two, slim and as lovely as a girl with just a few smile lines around her eyes. In contrast, Hannah’s weight was variable, rising and falling according to her good and bad moods. She admired how her mother held steady at 110 pounds, but couldn’t make herself follow her mother’s lead of weighing herself and her food religiously and counting every calorie that passed her lips. Beautiful and blonde and popular, her mother was like a movie star. How Hannah wished she was like her. Instead, she was a little heavy in the hips, dark haired, and generally preferred the company of books to people because she never knew what to say, how to act. She only wished she could be a social butterfly like her mother, to be able to shine and sparkle in public, utterly at ease, laughing loudly and without restraint.

  “You are tiny,” Hannah said, nodding, and took a bite of her own sandwich. Chewing and looking around at the garden, the sunflowers and the rose bush she had planted a few weeks ago growing nicely, the bees happily buzzing by, she thought of her segue. “It’s great, the gardening I’m getting to do here. I just love getting my fingers all dirty and smelling that earth-smell, you know? Well, you’re not really into gardening, though, right? All we ever had was a lawn and that little meadow in back of the house. I must get that from my father, huh?”

  Her mother was searching through the many containers of various types of salad she had brought from Zabar’s. When Hannah said the last sentence, her hand paused mid-reach.

  “Uh…, maybe. Maybe!” Keeley said, in her usual bright hard voice she used when Hannah’s father was mentioned. Shellacked it was, her tone was that glossy and hard and impenetrable.

  Hannah wouldn’t give up this time. “Well, you should know. Didn’t you know him for years? Did he like being outdoors? Digging around in the dirt? Planting stuff?”

  Keeley found the pasta salad she was looking for, popped off the top, and grabbed a plastic spoon to serve it with. She didn’t answer right away, instead spooning the pasta curls and the chopped pieces of red pepper and celery onto her plate. Finally she spoke, “Who knows if these things are even passed down? I’m not like my mother, thank God in Heaven. And even if they are, who cares? The past is gone and done. It’s the future and right now that counts. What’s that quote again?”

  Oh, no, her mother was going to change the subject and start talking about great quotes, one of her favorite subjects. Hannah said, “The past isn’t done for me because part of it is my dad. I just want to know more about him, that’s all.”

  Keeley sat up very straight and took a bite of the salad and chewed, closing her eyes as she always did when she enjoyed something. When she swallowed, she said, “Mmm! This is definitely the best salad they make. I could eat the whole thing!”

  “Mom, please.”

  “Oh, stop it! Do you know why people are miserable in this wonderful country, in this wonderful time in history when we all have more luxury than any culture has ever had before? Because we sit around and find things to whine about. We focus on things we can’t change, like the past. God, that’s what’s really evil about psychotherapy! Those therapists actually encourage people to find some long-ago bad thing that happened to them and dwell endlessly on it. It’s terrible!”

  Hannah put down her sandwich on the picnic blanket. She could feel her mother influencing her, forcing her to turn away from what she wanted to talk about, what she needed to talk about. “But I’m not going to focus on some bad thing. You yourself said that my father was, quote, a God among men, unquote. How could that be bad to want to know about a wonderful person who happened to be my dad?”

  Keeley put down her plate and reached for her Mean Green. “I declare a no-history’s-mysteries rule for this lovely picnic. Let’s just have some fun, okay? You’re always so serious, geez!” She laughed, took a sip of her drink, and then looked at Hannah. “Look at you! Relax already! Life is for living! Here, let’s toast to life.”

  Keeley reached her glass across to toast with Hannah. Hannah looked down at her lap. No, not again. Not again!

  “Mom, all I want to do is ask a few silly questions about my dad. Then I’ll drop it. I promise. Please.” Hannah knew she needed more than that, but anything would be good, a thimble-full of water in the desert.

  Hannah looked up. Keeley was still holding her glass out expectantly. Hannah reluctantly picked up her glass and touched it to her mother’s.

  “To life!” Keeley said, raised her glass up as if toasting the sky, and then took a long drink.

  “Mom?”

  Keeley looked at her and rolled her eyes. “Eye-yi-yi, do you ever give up? No! I did sign up for this inquisition. I came out here to see your little house and have some fun with you!” Keeley said, smiling at her daughter in her usually irresistible way.

  Hannah realized her mother wasn’t taking her seriously, as usual. What could she do? Action, that’s what Keeley responded to.

  Hannah put down her drink and got to her feet. She looked down at her beautiful unreachable mother. “Did you ever think that I might have things that I want? You want to have fun. Well, I want to talk about my dad. I’m not asking for much, Mom.”

  “Oh,” Keeley said lightly, sipping her drink and looking up at Hannah. “Well, honey, I didn’t sign up for that.” Her voice was steel underneath.

  Hannah felt herself crumbling, tumbling down. “You don’t care. You just don’t, do you?” Hannah felt tears start again in her eyes. What was with the waterworks?

  Keeley’s expression softened. “Sweetheart, I’m just trying to tell you something I’ve learned about life. The truth is that sometimes when you go digging into the past, you find things that are better left buried. That’s why I focus on the present and the future, because that’s what really matters.”

  Hannah shook her head. “For you, that’s what matters. Not for me. I just wish you’d let me have this.”

  Her mother looked down at her drink. “Not today, Hannah,” she said softly.

  Hannah left her mother then, walking swiftly to the bathroom in her cottage to sit on the closed toilet and cover her face with her hands and feel the hope drain out of her along with a few hot tears. Finally, she composed herself, washed her face, and went back out to join her mother who seemed completely unaffected, sitting basking in the sunlight and nibbling on almond biscotti. Keeley acted as if their argument hadn’t happened, and Hannah didn’t broach the subject of her father again.

  When Keeley left later that afternoon, they stood together in the driveway and she hugged Hannah hard. “I’m so happy for you, honey. Can’t wait to meet Daniel at Dog Days! It will be a blast!” Then Keeley climbed into her car, sang out, “Love you!” while waving extravagantly and then drove away, beeping out their family’s code from Captain’s as she left in a cloud of dust. Hannah waved until her mother’s car was out of sight.

  The car-horn code dated back to the days before cell phones, when the only way that a family on the island knew that their guests had arrived was to have them beep out a specific pattern much like Morse code on their car horns, poised and waiting across the channel. Each family on the island had their own code. The Barefooters had hijacked the practice, using it as a way of announcing their arriva
l each other’s houses even on the mainland and always in farewell as they drove away.

  Just hearing their code made Hannah both wistful and angry. Why couldn’t she be an insider like the Barefooters? Even as “their baby” she had always felt like the odd one out. Of course her mother assumed Hannah would bring Daniel to Dog Days. It was something Hannah had assumed, too. But, now, hearing her mother make that confident assumption infuriated her.

  No, she wouldn’t bring Daniel. Let her mother get a taste of what it was like to want something and not get it. You withhold my father, I’ll withhold my fiancé.

  Unfortunately, she had already told Daniel about Dog Days, how great it was, how much fun they would have. So she had to make up an emergency at the restaurant: they were shorthanded and needed Hannah to pitch in. The lie felt sour in Hannah’s mouth when she told him over the phone, the only way she could stand to do it.

  He had sounded pained. “Oh, no! I was really psyched for that party! It sounded awesome! Damn! Are you sure we can’t go?”

  No, they really needed her, Hannah said, and then assured him that they would go next year. She emailed her mother about not being able to make it, purposely failing to give a reason. Her mother had called and left messages for Hannah. “What do you mean, you’re not coming for Dog Days? You’re kidding, right?”

  Hannah wasn’t kidding. She didn’t return the calls. On the morning of the celebration there was one last message from her mother left on her voicemail. “You’re seriously not coming? Come on, Hannah! What is this about?” Later that afternoon, messages started coming fast and furious from all her Barefooter aunts, each beseeching her to get her butt out to Captain’s, pronto.