The Summer House

by Hannah McKinnon

  “I know it sucks, which is why I’m trying to help.”

  “But I don’t need you to figure this out. Sometimes what I need is for you to stand by me while I try to. I want you to have faith in me.”

  The sun was streaking through the room now, bright fingers reaching across the blankets. A ray flashed across David’s face, and the blue in his eyes flickered. Paige lay back against her pillow. “I do have faith in you.” She did, but he hadn’t seen it that way. In trying to encourage, she began to see that maybe she had micromanaged him. “Jesus, all this time I thought you wanted me to cheer you on. Here I’ve been clipping job positions and emailing you teaching announcements.”

  David laughed sadly. “I know. My inbox is teeming.”

  Paige managed a small laugh, too. “You must hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you,” David said. He rolled closer, and looked down into her eyes.

  “Sometimes it feels like it.”

  “Then, I’m sorry.” He put a hand to her cheek, and it was the most tender thing he’d done in so long that she felt she might shatter.

  Paige reached for him tentatively. She slid her arm under his side and around his waist, allowing her hand to travel up his back. When he didn’t pull away, her eyes filled.

  “I feel invisible sometimes,” she whispered. “And I’m tired. I’m so damn tired.” Tears ran down her cheeks, spilling on to the pillowcase. She pulled her hand back and swiped at them.

  But David grabbed it in his.

  “What?”

  “Let them fall,” he said gently.

  It only made her cry harder. “I’m a mess.”

  “No, you’re human, Paige Merrill. I’m afraid to break it to you. And, so am I.”

  Paige reached for him, then, clasping his face between both hands. She couldn’t recall the last time either of them had reached for the other, and it filled her with self-consciousness. But when she pressed her mouth to David’s, he pressed back. He slid over and on top of her, and the pressure of his weight made her heart feel like it would burst with relief. She rose up to meet him. David slipped his hand beneath the sheets, slowly across her tummy and tugged her shorts down. Wriggling free, she wrapped her legs around him, and squeezed. When he ran his hand over her breasts, she groaned. He cupped them, one, then the other, kissing her tenderly, then hungrily.

  “David, please.”

  Their lips never left each other’s as they made love, slowly and sadly, until the room was filled with light and her mind stilled.

  * * *

  Later, when she awoke, she slid from his arms and tiptoed out into the empty hall. The bunkroom door was ajar, and she peeked inside. Ned snored on his back in the far corner bunk, and below him George was tucked in like a burrito. On the girls’ side, Maddy was asleep face first on her pillow, arms and legs akimbo; her sheet had been kicked onto the floor. Paige went over and pulled the sheet back up, planting a kiss on Maddy’s warm head. When she stood and peered up into the top bunk, she realized it was empty. Emma’s bedding was still tucked in neatly, her pillow uncreased by sleep. After the disaster that was dinner last night, Paige had gone upstairs, taken two Advil, and fallen into bed. She’d completely forgotten about the beach party.

  She roused David, roughly. “Wake up,” she said. “Emma’s gone.”

  Flossy

  She awoke before any of the rest of them, something she’d long done at the summer house and something she’d relished just as much. For years, when the kids were younger, she’d tried to awaken early to sneak in some alone time before the chaos of the day began. Here at the Rhode Island house, it hadn’t seemed as desperate as it had at the Connecticut house, for she didn’t have lunchboxes to pack or children to dress hurriedly for school. Here, it had always been summer. Days were long and luxuriously lazy, belonging solely to them. But still—there were always mouths to feed, bodies to sunscreen, beach towels to be collected and floorboards to be swept free of sand before they all fell into their beds in a dreamless sleep and awoke the next day to do it all over again. Always, there was the looming work of motherhood, and so this private time in the morning felt like a stolen glance between lovers or a long-kept secret: it was hers, and hers alone, to treasure.

  The fact that the house was being sold this year lent an additional air of preciousness to it for Flossy. These mornings alone in the dark kitchen as the sunlight spilled outside were dwindling, and so she rose early determined to keep them close. She flipped on the coffee machine, ran her hand along the cool stainless steel island and padded over to stand at the backyard windows.

  Tomorrow was the day! The white tent was still standing, and overhead the rising sun cast a yellow glow of early morning light that ran across its top like gold ribbon. Beyond it the ocean surface rolled gently, and Flossy opened the back door to let the sea air in for the day. She inhaled contentedly. Tonight they would go to the Ocean House for their annual family dinner, just as they did the last Saturday of their vacation every year. Richard would order a Manhattan on ice, and they’d clink glasses and eat lobster bisque, and everyone would be on their best behavior as they somehow always managed for that last dinner. It signaled the end of a week together, of their summer season, and was a bittersweet harbinger of the packing up of suitcases and impending goodbye, before everyone returned to their own lives in their own states until Christmas. It was a favorite night of Flossy’s, second only to the first Friday everyone arrived. And tonight would be all the more bittersweet, because it would be the last such one.

  All week she’d wondered if they should’ve told the kids about the sale sooner, if perhaps Richard was right. Maybe if they had, the kids wouldn’t have argued so much and would have cherished the week (and each other!) more. But no, after considering that shiny-happy-people improbable outcome, Flossy stood by her decision. They each had arrived that summer with their own strains, and the news of the impending sale would just add another. She had wanted her children to all be themselves, and be themselves they certainly had. Behind her, the coffee maker chimed.

  She took her mug outside to the deck. The air was crisper today, less humid, to her relief. She sat in Richard’s Adirondack chair and settled back. The decimated hedges stood before her in stark ruin. Flossy shuddered at the sight up close. Never had she seen Evan lose his temper; she’d practically thought him incapable. Her own children, well, they were headstrong and bright and stubborn—and also had inherited her Irish temper, every single one of them. She’d long admired Evan’s stamina against it. He was like Richard in that way, unruffled by childish looks and carelessly tossed words, unlike her own lot. Oh, perhaps she could’ve done more when they were young to help them bridle such emotional displays. It wasn’t good for any of them. But after last night, after what Evan had suffered, it got her thinking. Perhaps it was better to blow off steam and pull a few punches along the journey, rather than hold it all in. Look at poor, sweet Evan. Look at her hedges!

  She’d have to call Lucas, the landscaper, now and pay whatever it cost for him to come last minute. She’d tell him what happened. She wondered if he offered a family crisis discount.

  As she sipped her coffee a flutter of movement under the tent caught her eye. She squinted, and reached for her glasses in her bathrobe pocket. Was there something left on one of the tables?

  Flossy stood, setting down her coffee mug. She stepped off the porch for a closer look. Yes, there was something green resting on one of the far tables in the rear of the tent. Or rather, at the table. What on earth?

  Flossy started toward it, her pace quickening as the green shape took dimension. It was a person. Sitting in a chair, their head resting on the table. She halted, alarmed at the realization. She should go wake Richard. Or one of the men. Just then, the figure moved. Flossy stepped back, tightening her bathrobe. Who was this in her backyard at this hour? The person lifted their head and looked up at her through a film of long red hair, just as a scream escaped Flossy’s chest.

  Flossy
gasped. “Emma?”

  She hurried through the tent, the dry grass prickling her bare feet. “Darling, what are you doing out here?”

  Emma blinked in the bright light, as if she were waking in her own bed. “Grammy?”

  Her hair hung in tangles about her face, her freckled cheek creased where her head had rested on the table surface. She was wearing the same green sweatshirt she’d had on last night.

  Flossy swept up beside her. “What on earth, child. Are you all right?”

  Emma swiped a clump of hair from her face and sat back, looking around the tent. “Sorry, Grammy.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

  “What happened? Have you been out here all night?”

  “Yes. I mean, no. I’m okay, really.” Emma’s face flushed and she stood up, but the second she did, the color left her cheeks and she began to sway. She grabbed the table with both hands and plopped back down into her chair again. “Grammy, I don’t feel so good.”

  Flossy bent down. The acrid smell of beer and vomit coming from her beloved granddaughter made her roil back on her haunches. “Dear God! Oh my. We need to get you inside.”

  Emma put her head back down on the table and held a hand up. “No. No, please don’t get Mom. You can’t tell her.”

  Flossy held her breath and put a steadying arm around her. “I’m afraid your mother is the least of your worries. Can you stand up slowly, honey?”

  “I don’t want to. I just want to lie here. And die.”

  “Good grief. Don’t say that.” Flossy let go gently of Emma and looked around helplessly. No one else was up, as far as she could tell. It was too far to try to haul Emma into the house alone—she could never do it. But she couldn’t leave her granddaughter outside, either. She looked desperately back at the house. Then down at the beach, where the roar of the waves rose up. From here, she could see the beach path and the wild roses. And there, walking across the sand, was a man in red shorts. She recognized those shorts. Fritz Weitzman!

  She bent by Emma’s ear. “Honey, can you hang on a second more? I’ll be right back.”

  Emma groaned in response.

  Flossy wrapped her bathrobe tightly around her, attempted to fix her hair, and headed for the beach path. This was perhaps not the best idea; in fact she was pretty certain it was an awful one. Paige and David were the ones she should be getting right now. But Emma had begged her not to, and after last night’s episode Flossy was pretty sure that this would unglue Paige. It might be better to get Emma inside and cleaned up a little first. Besides, Fritz was right there under her nose. Over the years, Fritz had just about seen it all with her family—this morning making it official—and Fritz was young and strong and present. Right now that more than qualified him for the job.

  She scurried down the beach path waving her arms and calling his name over the waves. “Fritz! Fritz, good morning!” He was standing at the water’s edge, looking ready to go in.

  She had to run halfway across the sand until he heard her, and when he turned and got sight of her standing in her seersucker robe in the middle of the beach the look on his face told her this was perhaps not the best idea, after all. He sprinted up to her. “Mrs. Merrill? What’s wrong?”

  “Fritz, I need your help.”

  Emma was exactly as she’d left her, slumped in her chair under the tent. Flossy’s heart caught in her chest at this view of her beautiful young grandchild, and for a terrifying beat she wondered if the child had passed out. She should’ve called 911 instead!

  Fritz didn’t hesitate. “Emma,” he said loudly, kneeling next to her.

  She lifted her head.

  “Emma, are you all right?”

  She nodded very slowly, as if doing so hurt. “I’m fine.”

  Fritz glanced at Flossy. “I can see that. Emma, what did you take last night?”

  This got her attention, and she straightened, defensively. “Nothing. I just had a beer.”

  “One beer?” he asked. Flossy was impressed by his calm.

  She shrugged. “Maybe three.”

  “Oh, lord.” Flossy began to panic. She should really get Paige.

  “Okay, Emma. Did you throw up?” Fritz asked.

  “Yes. Don’t say that word,” Emma groaned, putting her head back down.

  Fritz took her wrist and turned it over, pressing his thumb against it. “Her pulse is strong, her color is good. I think we should get her inside.”

  Flossy nodded, wondering how Fritz knew all this. He’d been a lifeguard in college. She supposed they had to deal with teens and beach parties all the time.

  Without waiting for a reply, Fritz tucked one arm under Emma’s back and the other beneath her knees, and before she could protest he had scooped her up and was carrying her toward the house. Flossy scurried uselessly beside him. “I’ll get the door!”

  She tugged open the screen door and Fritz carried Emma over the threshold and into the house. They were met in the kitchen by Clem, Evan, and Ned.

  “What the hell?” Ned asked.

  Flossy shooed at him. “Get us some water!”

  Clem stared, mouth agape. “What happened to Emma?”

  Fritz carried Emma to the living room and lowered her gently onto the couch. She turned over on her side, hugging her stomach. “You may want to get her a trash can,” he told them all.

  Ned appeared with water. “Jeez, Em. Good going.”

  This time Clem swatted at him. “Did you find her outside?” Clem looked at her mother for answers.

  “Evan, would you please get some wet towels. I think Emma will feel better cleaned up,” Flossy said. She grabbed Clem’s arm and pulled her aside. “I didn’t know what to do! I found her outside just now. She was sitting at one of the tables, sound asleep.”

  Clem let out a breath. “And Fritz?”

  “Thank goodness, he was on the beach. I called for help, and he came.”

  “You’d better wake Paige and David,” Clem told her. “This is bad.”

  Evan brought a glass of water and a damp towel. “It’s warm,” he said. Ned handed Fritz the wastebasket, and they all stood back, allowing him to take charge.

  “Emma,” Fritz said, still kneeling by her. “Do you still feel like you’re going to be sick?” She sat up and took a small sip of water.

  “You look like hell,” Ned said.

  She did, but she looked better, Flossy thought. “I’m okay, I think,” she said in a small voice.

  Fritz studied her. “You’re lucky,” he said. “You need to be careful, kiddo.” With that he stood, and stepped back respectfully, allowing the family to move in.

  Ned plopped on the chair beside the couch, keeping a safe distance. “Where’d you go last night, anyway?” Then, “Mom is going to kill you.”

  Evan sank onto the arm of the couch and gently pressed a towel to Emma’s forehead. “Okay, Ned. Let’s save it.”

  Flossy needed to go get Paige. But she noticed Fritz had moved to the door by then with Clem. He turned and lifted a hand in goodbye. “Oh, thank you,” Flossy said, rushing over. “I’m so grateful.”

  “I’m happy I could help,” he replied. “I hope she feels better.”

  “Yes, and we’ll see you tomorrow night for the birthday?”

  “Of course.”

  “And this is between us?” Flossy added. “I seem to recall a night your senior summer when we found you in the dunes . . .”

  “Mom!” Clem said.

  Fritz smiled politely. “Yes, of course. I believe that was my brother, Jerry, but you still have my word, Mrs. Merrill.”

  Clem threw her an imploring look.

  “All right then. I’m going to get her parents.” Emma seemed to be in better spirits, sitting upright on the couch.

  “I think she needs to sleep this off,” Evan said.

  Flossy’s chest fluttered with relief at the sight of Emma sitting up and the input of surrounding family, but this was none of their jurisdictions. Paige would be furious that she’d not been alert
ed thus far.

  As she started up the stairs Flossy noticed Fritz lingering in the doorway. Clem was beside him, and their heads were bent together in conversation. There was something about the arc of Clem’s neck in his direction, the closeness of their foreheads. Flossy halted on the bottom step and watched them. Clem laughed. And in that moment, by the way Fritz looked at her, Flossy knew.

  Good lord, she thought, steeling herself. She glanced up the stairs at the steep climb. Then back across the living room, as the screen door closed and Clem stood silhouetted in the morning light watching Fritz go. Then at the couch, where everyone else sat. “I’m going to be sick!” Emma cried out.

  Ned leaped back off the chair, and Clem rushed over.

  Flossy cringed as her granddaughter retched audibly into the bucket. At the head of the stairs, came the creak of floorboards. Flossy looked up to see Paige.

  “Where’s Emma?” Paige asked. She looked frantic, as if she already sensed something was wrong.

  David appeared behind her, in a T-shirt and plaid pajama pants. The two pounded down the stairs, squeezing past her.

  Before they hit the bottom step, Flossy managed to get out, “I was going to make pancakes . . . and there’s something else you should know.”

  Sam

  It was probably best to get out of the house. Sam had come downstairs to find the living room empty, despite a commotion he was sure he’d heard earlier that morning. Paige and David were conferring on the front porch in low voices, bent together in some kind of unified fury.

  Richard had suggested everyone “Get out and enjoy the day,” and he’d taken Flossy down to the beach for a walk. Clem and the kids had gone to swim. Ned was slumped on the couch, looking dazed.

  “What’d he do?” Sam had asked Evan as he scoured the kitchen for breakfast leftovers. It didn’t appear there had been any breakfast, period.