The Summer House

by Hannah McKinnon

  “It looks worse than it is,” Sam said, his dry lips cracking with the effort. He needed a drink of water. He needed to crawl back into bed for a week.

  “Was this the result of an accident or a fight?” Richard pressed. His brow furrowed with concern, but his tone was firm.

  Sam had shaken his head, pushed away the frozen bag of peas his mother was trying to press against his cheek. “Mom, please.” He met his father’s stare. “It wasn’t an accident. We were just down on the beach with some kids.”

  “Were you drinking?”

  Clem was listening wide-eyed to all of it. Sam glanced at his lap, and nodded his head.

  It was the question Richard asked next that had hit harder than any blow Sam had endured in the fight.

  “Was this over a girl?”

  Flossy had stiffened beside him. Sam would always remember that she was holding onto a dishtowel. It was red. She twisted it in her hands.

  They’d all known. For months now—Paige, Flossy, some of his teachers, most of his friends. All spring, Flossy hovering outside his locked door at night. He could feel her there, see the shadow of her feet beneath the crack at the base of the door and sense the weight of her longing to come in. Only Richard had seemed deaf to the revelation of truths about his son. Sam never knew if it stemmed from a lack of awareness, or rather a lack of acceptance; one being involuntary, the other . . . well, unthinkable.

  Richard, by the very nature of his professorship in the humanities department, was a man attuned to subtleties: the veiled symbolism in a stanza of poetry, the dry Southern arc of plot in a Faulkner novel. He was a man who nightly spent hours in his den, one eye searching the lunar image at the other end of his telescope, sometimes hurrying upstairs to wake the children, against Flossy’s wishes, to share with them the milky view of a distant moon made closer. As a child, Clem used to say, “Daddy brings us the moon.”

  And yet, for all of his thoughtful consideration of words penned by long dead writers or the hours spent contemplating dimpled surfaces floating in a far-off galaxy, Richard seemed unable to read the very palpable signs spelled out by his only son under the same shared roof. Sam was right there, and yet his father did not see. The realization rendered Sam nearly invisible.

  That morning after the fight, his face swollen and his thoughts askew, Sam looked at his father seated at the opposite end of the table. At the reserved plea in his eyes behind his spectacles. Was it over a girl?

  Sam flew up from his chair, sending it toppling behind him. Everyone jumped. “You know it wasn’t!” Sam screamed, his voice cracking in his throat. “You know!”

  He seized the end of the table and flung it upward, plates sliding, coffee cups careening off the edge. It crashed back down, and the house shuddered. The din that followed echoed through the house, and would echo in Sam’s memory in the years that followed: the cries of his mother to come back, the childish sobs from Clem, and his father’s booming voice as Sam streaked from the house and out into the blazing August heat, the door crashing back on its hinges behind him.

  He’d returned that night, after the sun was gone. Flossy was standing at the kitchen sink, scrubbing dishes. The girls weren’t around. She gasped when he came in, stepping toward him with her soapy hands then stopping.

  “Honey, please.”

  Sam had put his hand up. “I just want to go to bed.”

  She’d consented, her eyes filling with sadness. And she’d pressed her wet hands to either side of his face and looked at him, hard. “You listen to me, Sam Merrill. We love you. All of us do.” Sam had looked down, but she pulled his chin up. “Don’t you forget.”

  She’d let him go, and later left a plate of dinner outside his door with a gentle knock. But there was no word from Richard.

  The next morning he met his father in the upstairs hall, coming out of his bedroom. It was then Sam noticed his hand. Richard had tucked it quickly behind his back, but not before Sam saw the flash of white bandage and medical tape.

  “Are you all right?” Richard asked, pausing before him.

  Sam had nodded, barely able to look at him.

  “Your mother made breakfast. Why don’t we get some.”

  And that was it. Sam had not apologized, though one formed like a lump in his throat. He was sorry for so much—for the way he’d acted, for the fact that his father had not seen him, for all of them. They went downstairs and they ate, Clem sneaking curious glances between the two men. The white bandage across his father’s knuckles flashed as he forked egg into his mouth. Sam watched him switch hands, resting the injured one out of sight on his lap. He stared at it with regret; had he caused his father to punch a wall? Had his revelation made Richard that angry?

  And then Flossy started talking, humming about the summer storm that had raged during the night and today’s resulting high surf. Richard suggested they head to the beach.

  “Oh, but the waves,” Flossy said.

  Clem asked if she could invite Suzy from next door, over to play, and Paige relayed a story about some kids who’d found a sand shark washed up on the beach after the last storm. They talked loudly, sometimes over top of one another, right through the last piece of bacon and crumb of toast. Sam had stared at his plate. That was the thing about the Merrills: for all of the talking they did, so much went unsaid.

  Now, standing beneath the heavy afternoon sun in the backyard, the memory still brought with it a chill. But, they had endured that day and the days after. Just as Clem had endured Ben. And he and Evan had endured the lost adoption. He would do as Evan asked. He would make the calls and find out where things stood. Whatever fallout may come.

  Clem

  She boycotted the family beach.

  “Guys, what do you think about hitting East Beach in town this afternoon?”

  As predicted, the kids cheered. They loved the bustle of the carousel and the ice cream shop.

  Paige looked at her dully over her coffee. “Really? It’s late in the day, and it gets so crowded on the weekend. You hate crowds.”

  True, but what Clem hated more was the thought of crossing paths with Fritz Weitzman. Or the thought of having to watch the V-shape of his tanned back as he plunged into the surf and conducted his daily swim out to the buoy and back. What had happened the other night with Fritz was the fault of their beach; their private sanctuary of beach was a numinous place at night. Shrouded in the spit of salt air and surf, the pull of the moon on the tide. What chance did a mortal body stand against such forces? Clem determined not to assign meaning to what she had experienced with Fritz. She also determined not to return to the place where it had happened, at least not today. But hard as she tried, she could not stop herself from replaying it in her mind. She’d kissed another man.

  Guilt had shadowed her all morning as they helped Flossy get ready for the party. It made her hover, and she found herself watching George and Maddy like a hawk. When they’d started to argue over a game, she wondered if it was a response to the sadness they felt over their father’s absence. When George, whom she directed to the outdoor shower after realizing he had not bathed in the last two days, lingered out there until Flossy worried out loud about the water waste, Clem wondered if he was remembering Ben. Ben had been the one in charge of showers after the beach; he’d scoop up both kids still in their swimsuits and stand under the shower stream while singing the theme from Gilligan’s Island in loud disjointed verses as he shampooed their hair. Ben was not there with them this summer, and yet he was everywhere, and while she was afraid to bring him up to the kids too often, she was more afraid of what would happen if she did not. Would saying his name aloud keep him present? If they went on with life, referring to him less and less, would that allow his memory to drift away with the tide?

  All along, Clem had felt Ben. She felt him at their Boston home each night as she climbed into their empty bed. When the kids were fighting and dinner was burning and she was about to lose it on all of them, she felt him in her ear, talking her ge
ntly back from the ledge. And when they had first arrived at the summer house, she’d felt him in every room, on every beach and corner in town. But as the week went on, Ben seemed to begin to fade. The first time she noticed it was at St. Clair Annex. Ben used to order the peach ice cream and split it with her. Clem liked the peach well enough, but it was Ben who really loved it. Now, back in Rhode Island without him, in some kind of ritual or homage, she found herself sticking with a single scoop peach ice cream every time. Until the other day, when standing in the long line and not thinking, she allowed her eyes to roam over the board of flavors and land upon peppermint stick. She ordered it. It wasn’t until the kick of candy cane coated her tongue that her heart filled with dread.

  To her consternation, the kids seemed to be following suit. Maddy had stopped wearing Ben’s chenille blue shirt to bed. Suddenly it was too hot, too big. And George! George had become so preoccupied with tagging after Ned that he stopped asking Clem to hold his hands and twirl him in the waves, “like Daddy did.” No, she was right to worry, she told herself. There were times and places when Ben was no longer with them.

  Ben was certainly not there when she kissed Fritz. Not when she pressed herself up against him, Fritz’s arms encircling her waist, his hands drifting down her back and across the top of her buttocks. His taste lingering in her mouth when she pulled away and staying with her as she ran all the way home. Something had sparked inside her last night, something that had been dormant. And while she felt herself rise up to meet it, hungrily even, she was doomed to come back down hard. Afterward, she had lain nearly paralyzed in her bed at the thought of not feeling Ben’s presence again at the summer house, like some kind of punitive haunting.

  She’d tossed and turned all night before stumbling across the dark room to the dresser. Frantically, she’d popped open the orange bottle of pills and taken two. The sleep that followed was like a whiteout.

  Now, having slumbered, and worried, and mostly satisfied the party-planning chores on Flossy’s list that morning, she was free to escape the beach and the house with her kids. She needed to get out.

  Clem eyed her siblings, who were sprawled around the downstairs. The day was humid, and everyone seemed listless in the summer heat.

  “What do you think, guys? East Beach?”

  David and Paige were slumped on the living room couch like bookends to their kids who lounged between them, staring down at their phones. Emma, particularly, brightened. “Wait for me. I’ll run up and get changed.”

  “I can get started on sandwiches,” David offered. It was the most he’d said all morning, and Clem watched him rise and amble into the kitchen.

  Paige shrugged. “Okay.” She didn’t make a move to take over or to help, however. Instead, it was Flossy who appeared with her notebook in hand to weigh in on the overheard plans.

  “You girls go ahead and take the kids, but I need the boys here,” she said, before any of the men could answer. The tent company was coming to set up that morning.

  “Mom, all you have to do is tell them where you want everything and the delivery guys will put it there,” Sam tried to point out. Despite having shared that his work deal in Asia had panned out, he’d been back on the phone all morning, and he seemed more edgy than usual to Clem. She wondered with whom, but was afraid to ask.

  Evan shook his head. “It’s okay, we can stay and help.”

  Clem noticed that Sam didn’t press the matter any further.

  “Okay, then,” Clem said brightly to Paige, eager to get away before anyone changed their mind. “It’s just us!”

  * * *

  Paige was right about town. Bay Street and East Beach were clogged, once again. They found a spot in the harbor parking lot, and it was a challenge to navigate the sidewalk full of tourists with their beach bags and coolers, the kids racing ahead between shoppers. She followed behind Paige who for once seemed immune to all of it. The line at the carousel was already long, but the music so reminiscent of carnivals and summer fairs that Clem felt her spirits rise. “Let’s take the kids!” she said.

  “On the way home,” Paige said, over her shoulder.

  The kids were waiting for them at St. Clair’s ice cream window, eager looks on their faces. Before they could peep, Paige said, again, “On the way home.”

  Two hours later, sun weary and salty, they trudged out through the entrance gate and onto the sidewalk. Beside them, the flying horses swung past. Clem set her heavy beach bag down with a thud. “Can we now?” she joked. “Pleeease?”

  Paige sighed. “Might as well.”

  The little kids hopped in line with Emma. “I think you’re too big for the flying horses, honey,” Paige said to her.

  Emma made a face. “Mom. I know that.” Clem hid her smile as Emma helped George and Maddy find the end of the line. It didn’t matter how hot or tired or cranky any of them felt at the end of a long day, the sound and sight of the carousel made everything feel like happily ever after.

  Except for Paige. “I’m toast. Maybe I should go ahead and start loading all this stuff in the car.”

  “Wait and we’ll help you,” Clem said. “The ride doesn’t take long.”

  Ned, who was watching the carousel indifferently, perked up. “I can get the car?” he offered. “Save you the walk carrying all this junk.”

  Paige didn’t hesitate. “It’s not junk, and you’ll do no such thing.”

  Clem laughed. “Thanks, Neddy. Maybe next summer, when you have your license.”

  “But I drove Grampa’s VW last summer.”

  The sisters exchanged a look. “Which is the other reason why you aren’t getting the car now!” Paige said. “But you can take the keys, and take a bag.”

  Ned sighed, but didn’t argue. They watched him shuffle down the sidewalk with a tote in each hand, and a beach chair slung over one shoulder. “Ah, this motherhood moment. Watching your elder child carry his own shit and yours.”

  Clem laughed, but then switched gears. “How’re you doing? Things with you and David okay?”

  By now most of them had heard that David had not gotten the associate professor position, though of course it had never been formally announced or acknowledged. Clem had heard it from Flossy yesterday afternoon, who had been told by Paige, in the hallway that morning. Flossy told her that she’d texted Sam the news, since she couldn’t get his attention in real-time. Clem hadn’t known her mother knew how to text, though she couldn’t argue the mode of arms-length communication. It was the Merrill way.

  “Can I ask you something?” Paige asked, then without giving Clem a chance to reply: “Do you think I’m intense?”

  Clem blinked. The carousel had started up again, and Maddy sailed by on a white horse. “Intense?” It was like the sun asking if it was lukewarm.

  “Yeah, because David seems to think that I am. He said that I’m too hard on them, that I push all of us too much.”

  The carousel operator lifted the ring dispenser and swung its arm out. In reply, the kids extended their right arms and leaned out over their horses’ necks reaching for the ring. Clink, clink, clink. She smiled as George snagged a ring and stacked it on his horse’s ear. Maddy reached and missed.

  “You’re committed, Paige. You always have been. To school as a kid, later to vet school. And now, work and family. It’s not a bad thing.”

  Paige was watching the carousel now, too.

  “I didn’t think so. But David does.”

  “Well, maybe try to balance it a little. David is different, you know. It’s kind of why he’s a good match for you. He’s laid back to your drive.”

  “She did it!” Paige clapped. Maddy had finally snagged a ring! Clem waved as she flew by, holding it up for them to see. Clem loved this about her sister: she was intense, but she was in it to win. She’d been there for Clem and the kids all year, calling in. Texting a simple, Thinking of you. Sending silly little care packages of pretty fall leaves and back-to-school stickers for the kids. Clem often thought how exha
usting it must be to be Paige; she could never do it. But as much as it drove them crazy sometimes, it was all directed at them. It was how Paige loved.

  “You guys need to talk. Have you tried therapy?”

  Paige shook her head. “Who has time for that?” Then, looking quickly at her sister, she retracted it. “Shit. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  Clem put a hand on her arm. “I know. But it helps. It’s helped me a lot this year. You don’t have to do it all alone. Or one hundred percent all of the time.”

  The carousel slowed and the kids held up their stash of silver rings. “Any golds?” Clem shouted.

  George shook his head good-naturedly, undid the belt, and swung his leg over his horse. Maddy scowled and waited for the ride operator to come release her. “Look at Maddy,” Clem said, sighing.

  Paige shrugged. “She’s going for the gold. Why not?”

  * * *

  Back at the house dinner prep was in full swing. Flossy and Evan were in the kitchen, scrubbing a bucket of mussels between them in the sink. “What smells so good?”

  Evan nodded toward the open cookbook on the island. “Mussels and brown butter leeks.”

  “Fantastic.” Clem grabbed the open bottle of Sauvignon Blanc on the counter. “Starting early?”

  “Pour yourself a glass, girl,” Evan said.

  She poured one for each of them, and brought his to the sink. “Mom?”

  “What? No, thanks.” Flossy had a look of grit on her face that went beyond the scrubbing of shellfish.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Evan gave Clem a look of warning, then nodded quickly toward the back door.

  Outside the white tent was set up, the tables arranged neatly beneath it. She gasped. “Mom! It looks amazing.”

  The kids trailed in with Paige. “It’s like a fancy circus,” Maddy shrieked, running out the screen door to check out the white awning.

  But Flossy was not happy. “It’s too big. It takes up the whole area of the yard I wanted open. And don’t get me started on the forecast.”