The Summer House

by Hannah McKinnon

  “Not him,” Evan had whispered. “Emma.”

  “Whoa.” Sam actually felt bad for Paige. And even worse for Emma, who he had yet to lay eyes on. There had been a gentle moaning coming from the bunk room, and he’d steered clear.

  He was glad, however, that Evan was talking to him. Flossy had given him a list of liquor to purchase and he plucked it from the front of the refrigerator. “Want to come for a ride?”

  They took the old V.W. Bug into the center of Westerly, Sam behind the wheel. Evan seemed more relaxed, his head tipped back in the sun. But with his aviator’s shielding his eyes, Sam couldn’t be sure of his mood. He’d checked his messages at least every five minutes all morning. Still, nothing.

  They parked on Main Street and walked to the liquor store. Evan asked to see the list.

  “Fifteen bottles of Moet?” he read aloud. “That sounds more like one of our party’s than Flossy’s.”

  Sam shrugged. “Whatever. I’m not about to question Flossy today.”

  They split up and wandered the aisles, Evan on champagne detail, and Sam went to locate a case of red and a case of white. Flossy also wanted a few bottles of Grey Goose. There were two on the shelf, so he had to ask the manager to get one more from the back. While waiting, he grabbed two bottles of Bombay Sapphire, for good measure.

  He was still standing in the spirit aisle when his phone rang. The caller ID said Maryland. Sam froze. He didn’t want to take the call in the liquor store, with Evan standing around the corner. But he couldn’t risk losing it.

  “Hello? Sam Merrill.” He pushed the cart to the far corner of the store.

  “Hi! It’s Mara.” Her bright cheerful voice was at odds with the dark aisle of the liquor store.

  Sam’s heart began to pound. “Mara, thanks for getting back to me. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

  “It’s okay. You mentioned something important. What’s up?”

  Sam cleared his throat. The manager was approaching him with the bottle of Grey Goose. He wanted to wave him away.

  “Do you remember that conversation we had at the end of our last meeting? When you mentioned applying to nursing school?”

  “Yeah. You mean when you offered to help me out?”

  Sam’s stomach fell. “Yes, that’s the one.” He paused. “What did you think I meant by offering to help?”

  There was an uncomfortable pause on the other line. “Well, I guess I thought you were offering to help me get in somehow. You made it sound like you had contacts there, or something.”

  Sam winced. It was what he’d said, and she interpreted it as such.

  “Why? Is something wrong?”

  “No, not really,” Sam said. “It’s just that I wanted to clarify what I meant exactly. So that there isn’t any confusion moving forward. I wanted to make sure we were on the same page.”

  “Okay.” Mara’s voice sounded doubtful. Worried. Sam needed to get through this.

  “I wasn’t suggesting that I could guarantee your entrance, exactly. More importantly, I wasn’t suggesting that Evan and I could somehow help you—financially—through school. Because that would be . . .”

  Mara didn’t hesitate. “Like a bribe.”

  Sam exhaled. “Yeah. Something like that.”

  At that moment Evan pushed his cart around the corner and found him.

  Sam pointed to the phone with his free hand. “Mara” he mouthed. Evan’s face went solemn. He started to turn the cart around, then stopped. Sam was sure he could hear his heart pounding through his polo shirt.

  “Mara, I was serious when I said I wanted to help you. I’ve been through school twice, as an undergrad and then in business school. So I’d be happy to help you with your application or with a reference. Whatever you need.”

  “But not tuition?” The specificity of the word made him take a breath.

  “No, I could not help you with tuition. You do understand that, right?”

  There was silence, and Sam imagined her processing what he was saying. He imagined her changing her mind, leaning away from them as prospective parents to her unborn baby. He felt like a cheater and a liar, and he wouldn’t blame her if she felt the same way about him. It was all true. He looked at Evan, and closed his eyes.

  “Well, the way you talked about it, I kind of did think you meant to help with tuition. If we were to move ahead together with my baby.”

  The word if froze in Sam’s mind. He closed his eyes.

  Mara went on. “But I never assumed you meant it as a bribe, per se. I just thought you were being nice. Because I would never adopt my child out to some couple just because they offered me something. That would be awful. That would be . . .”

  “Illegal,” Sam said. “That would be illegal.” He may as well get it all out on the table. Evan, upon hearing the word, left the cart in the aisle and walked away. Sam heard the jingle of the bell over the shop door as it opened and closed. The air conditioner roared on in reply.

  “Mara,” Sam continued in vain, “I’m really sorry for making that offer to you. I know this is confusing, and I’m not entirely sure what I meant by it. Evan and I like you, and I was sincere in wanting to help you. I think your aspirations are admirable, and we love the fact that you are bright and earnest—you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. You deserve to go to school and get that nursing degree if that’s what you want. But I think I also jumped the gun. You see, Evan and I want to have a family so badly. And we’ve been trying for a while now. And when we met you, things just felt right to us and it felt like maybe your baby, and in some way you, could be that family for us. And I got carried away. I’m sorry, and I want to be honest with you. Whatever you decide with your baby, and your future, you deserve that.”

  There. He’d said it all, as best he could. Sam slumped against the cart, his hand over his face.

  Mara was still there; he could feel her. “Okay, then. Thank you, Sam. I appreciate that.”

  He could feel that their call had ended. There was nothing more to say. But he panicked—there must be something more he could say. He didn’t want to get off the phone without some kind of answer, some sort of sense as to where Mara was leaning. He needed to assess the damage. He needed something to tell Evan. Something concrete for them to hold on to.

  “Well, I’ll be in touch,” Mara said, finally. “Or Malayka will be, okay?”

  Sam’s heart pounded harder. No, it was not okay. He hadn’t gotten the answer he needed, or any real answer, for that matter. There was no way to know where things stood, and Sam did not like not knowing where things stood. He had lived life in such a way that that rarely happened to him. But he knew he had to let her go—he had to giver her time and space to make her decision. No matter how much this would cause both him and Evan to twist in the wind, while they awaited news of it.

  “Enjoy the rest of your vacation,” she said, brightly. Sam nodded, even though he knew she could not see him.

  “Yes, we will do just that,” he said, trying to mean it. “And Mara?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you for hearing me out.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said. And then the call ended.

  Sam pushed both carts to the front of the store and paid for the liquor with his AmEx card. He glanced outside at the sidewalk, searching for Evan as the cashier boy slowly bagged and boxed the bottles. “Here, let me,” Sam said, offering to help. He had to get out of there.

  The cashier consolidated the purchase into one cart, and Sam pushed it outside into the bright day. He went to the VW. Evan wasn’t in it, so he loaded the backseat and returned the cart to the storefront. He found Evan sitting on a bench, halfway down the street outside a toy store. He stared straight ahead at the window.

  “What’s the word?” Evan asked, when he sat down beside him. His voice was low and deep, the voice of a man. A real man, Sam thought. A man of principle.

  “I tried,” Sam said. “I told her what I meant, and what I could and couldn’t d
o. I told her how much we wanted this baby, and how I got carried away. I told her everything I could think of.”

  Evan didn’t look up. “Is there anything else?”

  “I told her I was sorry.”

  Evan stood. “Then we wait.”

  Back at the house, Evan helped carry in the liquor and went upstairs to read. Richard was puttering in the kitchen, whistling to himself, making a sandwich. “Ah, good. Your mother will be pleased. What do I owe you?” he asked.

  Sam held up his hand and sat down on a stool at the island. “It’s fine, Dad.”

  His father watched him a moment, then offered to make him a sandwich. “I’m not hungry.”

  Richard went to the refrigerator, and pulled out ham and cheese. He grabbed a jar of pickles. “Dad, really it’s okay. I’m not hungry.”

  Richard kept whistling. Sam watched him spread grainy mustard on the bread. He arranged three slices of ham, folded in half on one side. Then he doused the other piece of bread with mayonnaise. He took his time, and Sam found himself watching his father’s gnarled hands gently handling the bread and fixings, mesmerized. “You know, when you were little, I used to make you cinnamon toast when you were upset.”

  Sam had not remembered that, but the second his father mentioned it, he could smell the cinnamon. “With sugar.”

  “Yes, and butter. Extra butter was how you liked it.”

  Sam smiled in spite of himself.

  “It was such a pleasure to me to make that toast for you, and your sisters. Whether it was a sibling dispute or a skinned knee, or even some kid at school, the cinnamon toast seemed to work its magic every time.”

  He pushed the sandwich in front of Sam, and Sam picked up a half. He bit into it, the pickles crunching, and realized he was famished. “As you grew, so did the nature of the problems you kids suffered. And there came a point where cinnamon toast didn’t work anymore.” He paused, watching Sam tear through the sandwich. “It’s a helpless thing to watch your children struggle, realizing that you don’t have all the answers. And the day the kids realize that—well—that’s perhaps one of the worst days of a parent’s life. Up until then, you kept them safe.”

  Sam nodded, his mouth full. He never ate sandwiches. But this sandwich tasted so good. His father went on, “I couldn’t fix your problems for you anymore, but do you remember what I used to tell you kids when things went sour?”

  Sam shook his head, thinking. “Tell the truth?” He wanted to get this right. More than anything.

  Richard smiled. “Speak your heart. It’s the hardest thing to do, at times. And I can’t guarantee it’ll grant you the outcome you want. But you will never regret having done so.”

  Sam felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He licked the mustard from his lip and met his father’s gaze. “Dad, I’ve made a mistake. A terrible mistake.”

  “I tried to correct it, but it may be too late. And on top of that, maybe worst of all, I may have let down the person I love the most.” Sam’s tears spilled openly as he spoke.

  Richard waited, watching him with concern. When he regained composure, he reached over and took the empty plate. “Did you speak from the heart?”

  Sam nodded. His father came around the table and pulled him into a tight hug. Sam was taken aback by the strength of his arms, the force of his embrace. And totally unprepared for the safety he felt in that second. As quickly as he’d pulled him in, Richard stepped back. He looked Sam in the eye.

  “Then, whatever happens, I’m proud of you.”

  Sam glanced outside. The sun was at its midpoint, just past afternoon. Soon, they would be sitting on the deck of the Ocean House for the annual summer dinner reservation. Tomorrow they would be toasting his father’s birthday. And then they would all be leaving. Everything was suddenly happening too fast.

  “Want to take a walk on the beach?” he asked his father.

  Richard pointed to the couch. “I think I’m going to steal a nap before supper, before everyone gets back. You go ahead.” Sam regarded him more carefully. Richard’s gray hair was thinning over his ears, his eyes more hooded.

  “Sleep well, then,” Sam said. He grabbed his running shoes at the door. Suddenly he needed to be on the beach.

  Sam didn’t like to run at midday; the sun was too high in the sky, the day too hot. But he needed to run. He saw Clem and the kids spread out on beach blankets and chairs. Flossy tried to wave him over, but he waved and pointed down the shore.

  He didn’t warm up. This time he went to the water’s edge and headed down the beach at a solid pace. It felt good. He moved faster.

  Mara had been noncommittal, and surprisingly unemotional. Sam had expected a challenge—for her to ask that he honor his offer, as she had taken it. Or that she would get upset and turn to the agency or her attorney to dispel the facts. He was awash with relief that she had done neither; but he knew it didn’t mean she still wouldn’t.

  Halfway up the beach he saw a woman running in front of him. She was muscled, strong, and he recognized the stride even from behind. It was Paige. Sam wasn’t sure if she wanted company after that morning; certainly not his. But after trailing her at a distance for a quarter mile, he was itching to move ahead. He needed to burn off his stress.

  “Hey,” he puffed, pulling up alongside her.

  Paige swiveled, surprised. “Oh. Hi.” She didn’t slow.

  “Doing okay?” he asked.

  She nodded, her eyes fixed on the jetty down the beach. “You?”

  “Never better,” he lied. It was easier. He was here to run, not commiserate.

  Sam wasn’t sure how long she’d been out there, but Paige had barely broken a sweat. He, on the other hand, was drenched already.

  She pointed to the jetty. “Come on, like old times?” It was a challenge, the same one they’d done in high school. A few times she’d beat him, but he almost always won. He was pretty sure he still could, despite her fitness level.

  “Count of three. Three.”

  “Two . . .” she replied.

  “One!”

  They broke into full sprint, side by side. Paige was shorter, and she was running faster than him already just to keep up. But keep up she did. They hit the midway point of the beach and surged ahead, hugging the water. A few times the waves came in and lapped at him, sucking the sand beneath his feet, but he was moving so quickly it didn’t stand a chance. Sam laughed out loud. He felt alive.

  Beside him he could sense Paige starting to struggle. She was looking at him out of the corner of her eye. He could see the sheen of perspiration on her upper arms, across her chest. She was winding, he could hear it. The jetty was closing in. He pulled ahead, and in that moment he had second thoughts. He could let her have it. Without giving it more thought, he checked his pace. Predictably Paige surged up beside him. There was a mad grin on her face, but her head was tipped back with effort. She couldn’t possibly have much left in her. And then something familiar in him clicked. Sam wanted to win. He wanted to win badly.

  Sam burst ahead. He expected Paige to fall behind, to disappear all together. But to his surprise she kept her ground beside him. He was running as fast as he could, legs trembling with the effort. The jetty was roaring up to meet them. His lungs burned. He pulled ahead, by just a head, and was about to declare victory when she threw herself forward and flung herself past him. They both had to slam to a halt to avoid running into the rocks.

  Sam was livid.

  “Yeah!” Paige shouted between breaths. She threw her arms overhead, pumped the air once. Then she fell forward in the sand, heaving. He feared she might throw up.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  “What?”

  “It’s not all a competition, Paige. Jesus. All that just to beat me?”

  She stood up, hands on her hips, her breath coming out in ragged puffs. “You’re just mad I did.”

  “No Paige, I think it’s pathetic that you can’t ever take second place. Like it’d kill you.”<
br />
  She walked along the jetty, into the surf. “Grow up, Sam.”

  “It’s not all a goddamned race, Paige. Don’t you get it?” he shouted after her. “You’re racing to nowhere. You’re the golden child! You win.”

  He paced back and forth in front of the rocks, trying to catch his breath. He was mad he’d given her the lead, and more mad that he hadn’t gotten it back. But more than anything, he was worried about both of them. What did it say that neither of them could ever handle being anything but on top?

  Paige turned back, heading his way. “What are you talking about?”

  “You, Paige. You need to win everything. Everyone sees it. And Dad—Jesus, he loves that stuff—he eats it up. I give up. You win.”

  Paige came up next to him, her brow furrowed. She didn’t look upset, as he’d thought. She looked like she was about to laugh.

  “Dad does not. All he does is talk about your work, every time I phone them. Sam is traveling again—Dubai, Los Angeles, Shanghai. Come on, you must know that.”

  Sam sat down in the sand. “So?”

  “So, if anyone is the golden child, I’m pretty sure you wear the crown.” She plopped down in the sand next to him.

  “No,” Sam said. “Dad loves all of us, but it’s different with me. It always has been.”

  She looked at him. “You mean because you’re gay? Or because you’re a pain in the ass.”

  In spite of himself, he smiled. “Whatever. You don’t know what it’s like trying to live up to other people’s expectations and being . . . different.”

  “Sam, you can say a lot of things about mom and dad. But you can’t say they treated you differently. When you came out, I remember them being right there. They never wavered. They never held you at arms’ length. I was there, remember?”

  Sam put his head in his hands. He was winded and the sun was too hot, and this conversation too much. “But you didn’t see the look in David’s eye that I saw. Don’t you remember that night Brad Aaron made a pass at you? He beat the shit out of me.”

  Paige reached over and touched his arm. Sam flinched. “I know. I told them all about it after.”

  “Well, thanks. But before you did—do you remember what dad asked me? He asked me if that fight was over a girl. I mean, come on. All of you must have fucking known by then, right?” Sam could barely get the words out, his heart beating faster than it had during their sprint. He felt like he might be sick.