Evan would have hated this rationale. He would have railed against it being used in this context, accusing Sam of turning this into something as calculating as a business transaction. But he would’ve been wrong. Sam had acted out of the most desperate of influences: love.
He reached the end of the point and stopped short just before the rock jetty. Ahead the waves lapped against the rocks and he listened to the ebb and flow, willing his mind to follow suit. Normally the ocean made him feel small, secure in the knowledge that whatever was ailing him was also small and would pass. How many times had he sat on this very jetty as a kid? When he was fighting with his siblings or struggling with his emerging sexuality. But this was bigger.
Perhaps, he tried to reason, Mara would be organically inclined to choose the two of them as parents. Perhaps this was just an added incentive, he tried to tell himself. But even he wasn’t that good of a salesman. He stood up, hands on his hips and surveyed the stretch of beach. A lone walker and his yellow Labrador edged their way along the water in his direction. In the distance, a small group of kids struggled to get a kite off the ground and into the air. If they lost another baby, Sam figured they could probably survive it. What they might not survive was if Evan found out what Sam had done, the secrecy of it being just as ugly as the offer. The first would require Evan to endure; the latter would require him to also forgive. It would be too much to ask of any human being, even one as exceptional as Evan.
He would have to take whatever was thrown at him, he decided as he walked toward home. What had been said had been said, and like the proverbial cat his offer was hanging out there somewhere in the universe, out of the bag. Either Mara would report him and the agency and attorneys would have to step in. Or not. He wasn’t afraid of getting in trouble. It didn’t matter how Mara perceived his offer or whether it was wrong; all that mattered to Sam was that he had done everything he could to tip the scales in their favor. That he might get the chance to watch Evan take their baby into his arms, and carry him into their home where they’d raise him together. He’d do it all over again, even if he had been wrong. In the end, Sam had decided he could live with that. What he couldn’t live with was the alternative.
Paige
Paige tossed the shopping bags on the bed and flopped down among them. She’d spent too much money in town, but it seemed like the only way to guarantee some time with Emma. David set his book down and looked over at her, bemused.
“Was town that bad?” Upon hearing about the plans for their excursion, he had begged off and chosen to stay behind at the house. She’d hoped it was because he was expecting a call from the university, but she didn’t want to ask. He had asked her to please stop asking.
When David didn’t offer any update, she rolled over on her side to face him. “It was nice, actually. We grabbed lunch and did a little shopping. But Sam was his usual pain-in-the-ass self.”
To her chagrin David nodded without comment. It was the glaring difference between them, and likely why he didn’t understand her pressing need to request interview updates from him: she was forthcoming with information and he was not. Whether it was about the kids, work, household matters—Paige talked. She liked to talk and she liked to compare notes. Take now, for example. David would not ask her what Sam had done to offend her because he did not have to. He knew she would tell him. She talked.
“Once again, Sam overstepped. Emma found this hideous bikini in one of the surf shops, and I told her she couldn’t buy it. But then Sam went ahead, anyway, and got it for her.” She studied David’s face for reaction. He never liked it when adults tried to parent other people’s kids. Surely this time he’d have two cents to put in.
“Well,” he said, “what was wrong with the bikini?”
“Wait. You’re not concerned with what Sam did, but rather you’re questioning me about the bikini. Did I not say ‘hideous’?”
David took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. It was a sign that he was ready to talk, but not the kind of talk Paige felt like having. “Don’t take it personally, Paige. I’m just trying to get all the facts.”
“And I’m trying to tell you all the facts, if you care to hear them.”
A flash of hurt crossed his eyes and Paige immediately regretted the jab. She hadn’t meant it. Why was every conversation between them so strained? She hadn’t even told him yet about the bottle in Ned’s closet. “Nevermind,” she said, sitting up. “It’s not a big deal. I took care of it.”
David sighed. “Honey.”
“No, really. I’ve already forgotten about it.” She sat up and collected the shopping bags from the bottom of the bed, determined to steer them back on course. “Want to see what I bought?” She held up a peach T-shirt with a fish imprint.
“That’s nice.” But David wasn’t looking at the fish.
She set the shirt down and reached for another bag. “Here, look at what I found for my mother in the shell shop.”
“Paige, we should talk.”
She unwrapped the tissue paper and held up the set of lobster napkin rings. Tasteful silver rings adorned with one tiny red lobster in the center. “Don’t you think Flossy will love these? Especially after her lobster dinner was sort of a bust—we can try for another this week.”
David brightened a little. “Yeah, she probably will. Listen, there’s something . . .”
“Speaking of dinner, what if you and I get out of here tonight and go grab a dinner together. I was thinking the Ocean House. Just us!”
Flossy had already made reservations to dine at the Ocean House the night before the party, but she probably wouldn’t mind if Paige and David went first for a little romantic dinner. She’d been watching them curiously, Paige could tell. Her mother would probably find it a relief to see them going off just the two of them.
“I’m not even hungry,” David said, holding up one hand. He looked mildly annoyed.
“Not now, silly. I meant I could make a reservation for later. In fact . . .”
“Paige!” David’s face flushed with frustration.
She dropped the lobster rings on the quilt and sat back.
He softened his voice, but she could tell it was a strain. “Please stop! I’m trying to tell you something.”
She flinched. “What?”
“I didn’t get the job.”
“Oh.” Her heart fell to her stomach. This was not good. This was not the news she’d been hoping for. But it wasn’t awful, either. They’d managed thus far on her salary alone, and they could eek it out a bit more. There was still plenty of savings in their account. “Honey, I’m sorry.” She edged closer to him on the bed; she wanted to touch him, but instead, she laced her fingers uncertainly together in her lap.
“I don’t think I can keep this up much longer.” David swung his legs over the side of the bed, away from her. He sat slumped, his head in his hands.
Paige studied the back of his head, where the deep brown hair had given way to silver-grey seemingly overnight. It was the spot where she used to run her hands through and down to his neck before she kissed him. When was the last time she’d done that? Paige shook her head. “There will be other interviews. And the practice is doing really well.”
David swiveled around. “It’s not about the money or the job, Paige. Although I think about that, that’s not what’s wrong.”
She looked at his eyes, at the dark circles beneath them. When was the last time either of them looked like they’d had a decent night’s sleep? “What’s wrong, then?” Her voice was almost a whisper.
“It’s us.”
Paige sat back on her haunches. And then—she couldn’t help it—she laughed. It came out as a snort, right through her nose, and she was as surprised by it as David looked.
“You think this is funny?” He was mad.
“No!” she shook her head vehemently. “No, of course not. But of all the things going wrong, the only thing you can point to is us?”
“We’re not good, Paige. We haven�
��t been good together for a while now, if you cared to slow down and take notice.”
This was ridiculous. The whole conversation was. As if they didn’t have enough to worry about, he wanted to point the finger at the two of them? She knew things had changed; did he think he was the only one who felt the chill between them? But they were carrying on, as people did. They’d circle back to each other, she was sure of it. If they could just wrap their hands around what was really eroding their relationship, like his unemployment and the house. “David, do you have any idea the things that I deal with on a daily basis, the things that are really going wrong?”
Instead of responding, David just stared, his expression set. “Tell me, Paige. I’m sure you’ve got a list.”
A plume of ire rose in her chest. “What did you just say?”
David shook his head, and faced the window. There was something about it, the dismissiveness in his gesture, the act of literally turning away from her that made her head swell with fury. For so long she’d been treading water. And for what? He apparently appreciated none of it. All he could see was what she wasn’t doing, no matter how hollowed out the doing made her.
Her voice cracked. “I’ll give you a list. Ned is drinking, David. Our star lacrosse player is hiding vodka in his closet! But I waited to tell you because I knew how stressed you were about the interview. And Emma. Emma is distant and moody, pulling away from me in ways she never has. But I’ve kept that from you, too, because I didn’t want to worry you. And the practice—well, the practice is the one thing that’s great! It’s thriving. So much so, that I’m working almost twenty hours a week more than I should be. We need to expand. Or hire new staff or something. But my office manager is new, and as I’m trying to train her and catch her up on the running of things, things are running away on us!” She scooted over to his side of the bed, her face very near his. But he refused to look at her.
Why wasn’t he asking her about the vodka bottle? About Ned or Emma? The silence irked her more than the months of carrying the family and ricocheting between the animal hospital and the house. “There is only one of me, David. And I’m doing it all. Alone!”
He spun around to face her. “Do you know how emasculating that sounds? Don’t you think I want to contribute, too? This job search is killing me. I hate sitting home idle every day, while you and the kids go about your business. But it’s not something I can control.”
“Then don’t sit idly. Carpool the kids to their games and activities. Finish some of those house projects you’ve been talking about. Make dinner now and then. Or how about this: ask me how I’m doing. Ask me what I need. Because I can’t do it all.” She searched his face for understanding. For something. But he only looked more entrenched in his points.
“No one expects you to do it all, Paige. But you insist on it! You push yourself as hard as you push the rest of us. I don’t turn to you because I know you can do it all and do it better without me.”
It was like a blow to the gut. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it, though? You push yourself hard, but you also push the rest of us too hard. It’s exhausting.”
Paige jumped up off the bed. “Would you rather I stopped? Let the house go. Let the practice fail? I’m exhausted!” she yelled.
Now, David hopped up beside her. “You must be! Because you’re exhausting to be around.”
There it was: his truth, along with the contempt in his eyes. David didn’t see her sacrifices, and Paige was at a loss to make him.
Her eyes filled with tears. Downstairs there was the rustling of dinner preparations in the kitchen. Out in the hall she heard footsteps. Everyone in the house had probably heard them. “Maybe you’re right, David. All you seem to see is that I have a list. Well, thank God one of us is keeping one.”
Paige swiped the shopping bags off the bed on her way to the door. She wanted to throw them, but all her fight suddenly deflated, and seeing the contents spill from the bags across the floorboards gave her no satisfaction; it depressed her. When she opened the door to leave, David cleared his throat, and she hesitated.
“Paige, we need to work on us.”
“Fuck you.” She closed the door behind her.
In the hallway she ran smack into Emma coming up the stairs. Her stomach dropped. Paige rearranged her expression, forcing a smile. “Hey, honey.”
Emma’s eyes were round with inquiry. She glanced over her mother’s shoulder at the bedroom door. “What’s going on?”
Had she come upstairs because she heard her parents arguing? She didn’t want to outright lie, but she also didn’t want to burden Emma. That was the problem with arguments; the words went well beyond the adults hurling them, and navigating the aftermath meant assessing the damage. “I’m just heading downstairs to see if Grammy needs help with dinner.” She made a silent prayer Emma would be satisfied with this.
Emma studied her, and Paige could almost feel her skin and bones giving way to the truth.
“What’re you up to?” Paige asked, desperate to take her daughter’s eyes off her face. If she had to hold herself together another second, she was pretty sure she would shatter.
Emma slid her eyes away from her mother’s. “Nothing.” She brushed past and continued down the hall.
Paige counted Emma’s footsteps until the bunkroom door closed behind her with a click. Then she sank back against the wall and tried to breathe.
Clem
Where should I set up the vases, Mom?”
Flossy waved a gloved hand absently toward the screen door. She was polishing the silver candlesticks that would accompany the hydrangea centerpieces as table adornments. Clem wouldn’t cut the hydrangeas until the night of the party, which was still a couple days away, but Flossy had insisted they get out the table toppers and lay them out early to make sure everything looked right. “I’m planning to put them on the new serving table I ordered. The UPS man is in the driveway now, and your father and the boys are going to carry it out to the yard.”
Clem looked outside. Her father stood in the middle of the yard, hands on his hips, staring at a giant cardboard box lying in the grass. Evan and Sam were on their knees attempting to open the flaps at one end with what looked like a screwdriver.
“What table?”
“You know, the one I’ve been waiting for all week. It was supposed to be delivered days ago. Well, it finally came. And, thank God, in time.” Flossy bustled over, her hands still covered in her stained cloth gloves. “I can’t wait to see it.” She squinted out the window. “What is that?”
Before Clem could answer, Flossy was out the door and halfway across the yard. She trailed her mother wearily.
“Please tell me that hideous flat box is not my new table.”
Richard calmly pushed his glasses up his nose, and turned to his wife. “You are correct. It is not yet the new table. It seems that it has to first be assembled.”
“Assembled?” Flossy’s voice reached the pitch of panic reserved for botched Thanksgiving turkey and grandchildren’s injuries.
Sam and Evan looked up at her.
“It shouldn’t take long,” Richard assured her, bending to retrieve the packing slip from the front of the giant box. “I think the directions are somewhere in here.”
“Directions? I ordered a piece of furniture. A beautiful, teak serving table that cost more than Joe painting the porch!”
Richard looked at her over his shoulder, eyebrows raised.
Flossy jutted out her lip. “Well, maybe not that much. But it’s high-end furniture. Not some cheap playset that requires backyard assembly.”
By then Richard had found the instructions and unfolded them, holding them close to his face. “I’m afraid it does, dear. Only we don’t seem to have the table legs.”
Flossy’s lips formed a thin line. “Where are the legs?”
“Not in here,” Sam said, grunting. He’d lifted the box up on its side and peered in the opening. “They must’ve been sent in a separ
ate package.”
“I already checked the garage,” Richard assured her, flipping through the packing sheet. “It’s not there, and it’s not listed on here, but I’ll call and see if they can track it. It’s probably on this afternoon’s truck.”
Clem glanced sympathetically at her mother, who was watching as Sam and Evan slid the tabletop out from its cardboard sleeve and laid it flat on the grass.
“Nice driftwood color,” Evan said, standing back appraisingly. “It has that coastal feel.”
“It has no legs.” Flossy glared down at the table top at their feet. “This is not a Japanese dinner party.”
Clem tried to hide her smile. “Come on, Mom. Let these guys work on it. I’ll help you finish polishing the candlesticks.” She was about to turn back toward the house when a figure coming up through the dunes caught her eye. She knew the Wayfarer sunglasses and mop of hair immediately. A long rectangular box was hoisted on his right shoulder. It looked heavy.
“Fritz!” Richard exclaimed. “Good man.”
Clem could see the sheen of sweat on his forehead as he drew closer. Sam jogged over to meet him. “It’s okay, I got it,” Fritz said. He set the delivery box down with relief between them all. “The UPS man dropped this off on my porch. I believe it’s yours.”
Flossy clapped her gloved hands together. “Thank God! My legs.”
Fritz set it down carefully. “Whatever it is, it’s heavy.” He looked around. “Need a hand?”
Clem felt her tummy flip flop. He hadn’t even looked her way. “You need a glass of iced tea,” Flossy insisted. “The boys will handle this. Clem, take Fritz inside and give him a drink.
The Summer House Page 13
