Fritz laughed and tapped his head. “See? Lawyer memory.”
They talked until the fire they had built up faded, and the illuminated circle of sand around them grew shadowy once more.
“Thanks for tonight,” she said. “It’s been a while since I’ve talked to anyone like that. It’s not that I don’t want to, but sometimes I get the sense from my friends in Boston that they think I should be moving on more by now. And as far as my family goes, they get this fearful look if I say Ben’s name. Like I’m this glass statue that’s been broken and glued back together in so many places, and if we talk about him too much, I might shatter. But sometimes it helps.”
Fritz was watching her carefully. “I imagine it’s because they love you. It must hurt them to see you hurting.”
“I know. But it hurts to keep it to myself, too.”
“Well, if you ever want to talk, I’m here. We can talk about you, or the kids.”
“Or sea urchins.” She grinned at him.
“Or sea urchins. Or anything else you want.” He turned to her. “I like talking to you, Clementine Merrill. I always have.”
Clem’s insides stirred. She didn’t know if it was the beer or the late hour, or all their shared summers and history, but suddenly she felt a pull toward Fritz that went beyond gratitude for his kind words and company. He wasn’t the kid brother of her summer friend. His hand was resting on the log beside hers, his tanned fingers open.
“Fritz . . .” she began. She placed her hand slowly atop his.
He stood up then, suddenly. “We should get you home,” he said. “I imagine you need a few hours of sleep before George and Maddy come looking for you in the morning.”
Clem watched in dismay as he began to kick sand onto the remains of the fire.
“Oh, right.”
The last pieces of glowing ember disappeared beneath the sand, and the beach grew dark.
“Want me to walk you back?”
Clem stood, and wobbled.
“Woah, you okay?” He held his hand out to her, but she didn’t take it.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.” She shook her head. It wasn’t the beer. It was the hour, and the sentiments that had been stirred up around the fire. He was probably right: she should go home.
“You sure?” He put a hand on her arm.
“I’m sure.”
What had she been thinking? They’d spent the evening talking about Ben and their families, about children, and careers. So many things—heavy things. Suddenly she just wanted to crawl into bed. She started back up toward the beach path and he followed.
When they reached the base of the bluff where he’d grabbed her sleeve only hours earlier, she stopped and turned.
There was so much she wanted to say. She felt a pull to this young man like she did to her past, to her old carefree self. Fritz knew her in ways others never would. Even in some ways Ben had not. And yet he knew so little about the woman she’d become. It was akin to the draw of the tide, a force that you knew could pull you in and down if you waded into it. “Listen, Fritz . . .”
Fritz slipped his hand into hers and she froze. Another blast of wind enveloped them, throwing her hair across her face, the sand spraying up against her face. She squeezed her eyes shut and bent into him for cover. It passed, and as soon as it did his lips were on hers, his nose pressed against her own. A warm flood of longing rose up in her; she gave in. Clem wrapped both arms around Fritz’s neck, her fingers reaching across his back. His breath was hot, his lips wet as he pressed them against her own, again and again. She opened her mouth, their tongues finding each other, until she thought the surf and sky would swallow them both. Fritz lifted her up off the sand, and Clem moaned, unsure if it was her desire or the driving wind that pressed them harder against one another.
“Please, Clem,” she thought she heard over the pounding surf, but she wasn’t sure if it was Fritz’s voice or her imagination. She kissed him hungrily, unable to be satiated.
And then, just as quickly as he’d seized her, Fritz let go. Clem staggered backwards in the sand. Instantly, the cold air filled the space between them. Clem pressed her hand to her swollen mouth, staring back at him. As the next roar of surf crashed on the sand behind them, she turned and ran. This time she was sure she heard him call after her.
Clem did not look back until she was home. Safe inside, she found the living room empty, all lights turned out except for the lantern by the stairs. The house was too still, too quiet. She crept upstairs and checked the children, a wave of guilt washing over her as she adjusted their blankets, touched their cheeks. Back in her own room she shut the door, and fell back against it. She didn’t cry until she slid down hard onto the floor, and when she finally did the stream of tears stung her bottom lip and tasted like ocean.
Paige
Paige balanced on the back deck on one leg, stretching her left hamstring up behind her. Her pink running shorts were loose on her waist; she wondered if she’d stress-shed a few pounds this week.
“You look like a flamingo,” Sam told her, walking past with a cup of coffee. He slumped into one of the Adirondack chairs and focused on the horizon.
Paige ignored him. “Hey, Ned,” she called through the screen door. Flossy was flipping pancakes at the stove, and Ned was hovering at her elbow with a plate. “When you’re finished, why don’t you come for a run with me?”
“No thanks, Mom.”
She let go of her right foot, and switched positions to the left, without so much as a wobble. “Come on, you’ve got to stay in shape for lacrosse.”
He didn’t answer, but he gave her a baleful look that said he would. She squinted through the door for Emma, who’d just been sitting at the counter texting. Where had she gotten off to?
“Another gorgeous day.” Evan came through the screen door carrying hedge clippers. He set them carefully on the deck against the weathered shingle siding.
“Has Mom got you on the hedges, now?” she asked.
Evan chuckled loudly and shook his head. “No way. That’s between your mother and father. We just got them sharpened for her.” He winked. “I mean, him.”
Paige noticed that Evan was sitting apart from Sam, though Sam seemed to be watching him intently. She wondered briefly what was going on there. Evan was so easygoing; Sam must’ve done something. But who was she to compare? She and David had spent the last night back to back in their bed, locked in wordless fits of sleep. They were civil, but the strain was wearing on her. That coupled with the news that Aubrey had shared the night before when she’d called to check in on the animal hospital. According to Aubrey, the clinic was running smoothly in her absence. The OR procedures were on schedule, minus a cat who hadn’t shown up on time to be neutered, and a dog who’d swallowed a child’s hair elastic and needed emergency surgery.
“What about the Tuesday morning shelter spays and neuters?” Paige had asked.
“All fine,” Aubrey had said. “We had five.”
“The delivery of Apoquel?” It was an allergy medication they’d been on a waiting list for, the demand for the surprisingly effective drug exceeding its availability. Clients were becoming so frustrated having to wait that she’d considered changing suppliers.
“That, too. Came in yesterday.”
“Did the receptionists call the waiting-list patients?”
“They did. Now, you go enjoy your vacation! There’s nothing here that needs your attention.”
The updates should have come as a relief to Paige, but instead she’d hung up the phone feeling as if she’d been slapped. Her own clinic did not need her, any more than her family appeared to want her. She’d risen early, made notes of things to call the head vet tech about, and had already eaten an egg-white omelet by the time her mother had wandered into the kitchen at seven in her seersucker bathrobe. No, she didn’t want pancakes. What she needed was a run.
“Come on, Ned,” she called now, into the kitchen. “I want to get on the beach before the sun g
ets too hot.”
He pushed through the screen door in unlaced sneakers and followed her across the backyard. The day was already getting hot, the sun a blinding white over the water. “Why are we doing this again?” he asked.
“Because it’s good for you.”
“Huh.” When they reached the sand, he broke into a trot and headed down by the water where the footing was firm. She let him go out in front. Ned’s legs were longer than her own this year, and it was a joy to watch him. But it was also another reminder of just how fast her eldest was growing up and away from them.
It was hard to keep up with Ned, even though she was in her best shape. No small feat this year, having to juggle the practice, home life, and squeeze in workouts. But they kept her sane. She liked to tell her coworkers, “I don’t run because I love it. I run so I don’t strangle anyone at home.” Which was partly true. But she did enjoy the running, too. She liked pushing herself until her lungs burned and her quads ached. She loved the shaky feeling she got after a hard sprint, knowing her body could still do what she wanted of it, even if the rest of her life would not. Ned kept his lead part way up the beach, but he was a sprinter, and a typical teen, so he’d already started to slow before he’d considered the length of the shore. Soon she caught up and pulled up alongside him.
“So, what do you think about the week?” she asked. She’d barely touched base with Ned all vacation; he’d been so busy with the little kids and off boogie boarding and swimming during the day. But he seemed happy enough, so much so that she hadn’t given it any thought beyond occasionally checking in on his whereabouts and whether he was eating (which she need not have worried about).
“Think about what, exactly?”
Paige sighed. There it was, the teenage boy again. She rephrased her question. “What I mean is, are you having fun?”
“Yeah. It’s been good.” He puffed alongside her, saying nothing more, and for a moment she thought he was done. “Though everyone seems pretty stressed out. I don’t get it.”
Paige considered this. “True, but planning Grampa’s party is a lot of work.”
“Not about the party. About other stuff.”
Paige felt her insides flutter. “What kind of other stuff?”
“Well, take Uncle Sam and Evan. I figured they’d be bummed about the adoption and all, but I think it’s more than that. Sam seems nervous.”
Paige pictured Sam: on his phone, talking work, sipping another gin and tonic. “You know the term ‘married to your work,’ right?”
Ned grunted. “Like you?”
“Neddy, hang on.”
He must’ve seen her face fall, because he shook his head and threw her one of his lopsided smiles. “I’m just teasing you, Mom. But really—Sam’s acting weird.”
Well, that was a relief. But still.
“And then there’s Grandma. I know she’s getting old, and so I keep offering to help her set up stuff and move stuff and all, but she seems . . . I don’t know. Mad.”
He was right about that, she supposed. There’d been the dinners, the complaints, the usual guilt they all signed up for during their vacations each summer. But Flossy was more than her usual overwhelmed and over-expectant self. She did seem kind of mad.
“And Auntie Clem—well, she’s the only one with a real reason to be bummed out. I was worried she’d be crying and stuff.” He paused. “And she was a little upset, when we first got here. But actually, she seems really happy.”
Paige studied her son as she ran alongside him. His handsome profile whose soft edges were sharpening: the boyish plushness of his face giving way to more masculine outlines, the cheekbones announcing themselves. Suddenly she felt a beat of guilt for always assuming that because he was gallivanting around like a kid, that he still saw the world as one. Ned deserved more credit. His perceptions were spot on. “Neddy, I’m proud of you.”
He shrugged. “Could you please not call me that anymore? We talked about that, remember?”
Paige grinned. They had, and she did.
“At least not in public,” he said.
“I will try my best. Even though it’s hard.” She reached over and slapped his arm playfully. Ned was doing okay. Moreover, she was relieved that the one couple he’d overlooked, or chosen to leave out, was his parents. She wondered if this came out of politeness or if he truly didn’t see what was happening to them, as she knew Emma had.
“Hey, I want to ask you something,” she said, slowing down.
“Yeah?”
“About that bottle in your closet.”
Ned groaned, and she feared he’d run ahead. But he didn’t. “Mom, you were in my closet?”
“Hey,” she warned, “that closet is in my house. And you are my son. Let’s talk about what it was doing there, not what I was doing in your closet.”
She was relieved when he slowed beside her and bowed his head shamefully. “I’m sorry, Mom. It wasn’t mine. I swear.”
She wanted to believe it; what parent wouldn’t. But she knew it wasn’t that simple. “Did you drink any of it?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Then why were you keeping it? Because the last I knew you hadn’t turned twenty-one, and you know the rules in our house.”
“I know, I’m sorry. Dad already said all that to me.”
This was a surprise. “Oh? So, Dad talked to you about it already?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine.”
Paige wondered what exactly Ned meant by “fine.” There was nothing fine about it: not the worry it caused, not the way that she and David had handled it. They were better than this. They used to be united on family matters, or at least there was an effort to appear so. But, in spite of all of that, a bubble of hope rose in her gut. David had reached out to Ned, after all. Maybe their fight the night before had spurred him to it.
“So what did Dad say?”
“Didn’t he tell you?”
Paige flinched. Of course their son would assume David had told her. That’s what parents did. Or should do. Buoyed momentarily by the fact that Ned had such faith in his failing parents, she quickened her pace. She wondered if she should indulge him that sense of certainty. But she felt a pang of honesty surfacing.
“No, actually,” she admitted. “Daddy and I haven’t spoken yet. About your discussion.” She glanced at Ned sideways to see if he was reading into any of it.
“Oh.”
“But, your talk together went well?”
Ned halted. He swiped at his brow, looking pained. “Come on, Mom. I told him it was left over from someone’s party, and it got put in my backpack. I don’t usually do that stuff.”
“Honey, I want to believe that. But there was a bottle of Ketel One in your closet.” She didn’t ask where they’d gotten their hands on such an expensive bottle. When she was a teen, kids drank Smirnoff.
“Look, we don’t care where you got it or where you stashed it, Ned. Because I realize someone will always have it. We’d rather you didn’t drink at all. But if you ever do, we want you to be smart about the choices you make.”
“Because they can be life-changing,” he said, imitating her voice.
“No, because they can be life-ending.”
They’d already had this talk many times at home over the years: what a serving of alcohol did to the body physically, how it affected the choices he made socially and emotionally, and what the consequences could be.
Ned looked embarrassed and mildly annoyed, but still not as ashamed as she’d hoped. As soon as he’d entered seventh grade and they’d gotten wind of middle-schoolers sneaking beer at school dances, they’d made it a point to show him articles on the news and in the paper—expounding on every grisly local cautionary tale they could get their hands on.
“Ned, are you listening to me? Because I’m worried about you. Dad is worried about you.”
Ned halted in the sand and swung back around toward the house. “Well maybe you guys should worry a little less about
me and a little more about Emma.”
Paige scoffed. “What does that mean?” Surely he was joking. There were plenty of jabs he could’ve taken, but that was one of the more ridiculous ones.
“I’m serious, Mom. She’s not the goody-good bookworm you guys think she is. Wake up.”
With that, he broke into a slow run heading down the beach and away from her. Paige stared after him, dumbfounded. Emma was just annoyed about the swimsuit incident in town, and that was Sam’s fault. And as for her being distant, that was true of every female teen. According to Paige’s other mommy friends, Emma was a dream, a piece of cake. They’d been lucky to get so much angst-free time with her up to this point, from all the horror stories they heard about their friends’ daughters. And if Emma was a little off this week, Paige was pretty certain it had to do with the distance between her parents lately. Girls were much more attuned to such subtle disruptions. As far as Ned was usually concerned, unless plates were thrown or curses hurled, he probably wouldn’t notice. She couldn’t decide whether that was a good thing or not.
The only concern that Paige and David had shared when it came to Emma was how socially quiet her life sometimes seemed. Her friends were good kids—kids like her who went to the library after school or volunteered at the vet clinic, talking in hushed tones to the animals in their crates. Emma was the kind of kid who had to be constantly told to put her book down, to engage in conversation at the dinner table. Unlike other teens, she wasn’t on her phone texting all the time or scrolling through peers’ social media pages. Paige had never worried about Emma partying or going out with kids they didn’t know at night. In fact, she would almost welcome that.
The Summer House Page 17
