Summer with My Sisters

by Holly Chamberlin

  Violet smiled and sat down next to Daisy. “Once he brought me his name tag from a conference in London.”

  “I think that was the time he brought me a bag of peanuts from the plane! I loved getting those little gifts. It was so funny and so like Dad.”

  “I know. I wonder if Poppy kept anything Dad gave her.”

  Daisy shrugged. “I don’t think Poppy’s sentimental.” In spite, she thought, of her wearing Dad’s watch and Mom’s bracelet. In spite of her moving into Mom and Dad’s room. Maybe I’m misjudging her.

  “We don’t really know her at all,” Violet pointed out. “I mean, she’s a Capricorn, but I don’t see her as a self-assured go-getter. A lot of Capricorns are that way, though.”

  “They are? Anyway, you’re right,” Daisy said, “we don’t really know her. I used to think that I knew her. When I was growing up. Before you were born, even. I adored her. I followed her everywhere. Isn’t that weird?” My beautiful older sister ...

  “It’s not weird.”

  Daisy shrugged again. She was sure of one thing. Her younger sister didn’t adore her. Or Poppy. Really, she knew very little about what Violet felt for the people in her life. She was certain that Violet liked her, and Poppy, but did she actually love her sisters? Did she love anyone, now that her parents were gone? Because she had to have loved her parents. It was normal to love your parents. Besides, everyone had loved Annabelle and Oliver Higgins.

  “Remember,” Daisy said then, “how when Dad would come home from his business trips, Mom would say, ‘Hail, the conquering hero!’ ”

  Violet shook her head. “I don’t remember that.”

  “Really? It always made Dad laugh. The last thing I am or want to be, he would say, is a conqueror. Too much work.”

  “Do you think Dad was a hero, though?”

  “Yes,” Daisy said promptly. “I do.”

  “So do I. Mom was a hero, too.”

  Suddenly, Daisy felt a surge of great big love for her little sister. How much harder for Violet it all must be, losing Annabelle and Oliver, at so young an age. How brave she was. Children could be heroic, too. Violet always seemed so calm and insightful, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t feeling all the emotions Daisy was feeling—sorrow, fear, loss. She was just better at handling those emotions.

  “Poppy might be our legal guardian,” Daisy said now, “but I hope you know you can count on me, as well.”

  Violet answered quite solemnly. “Yes,” she said. “I know. And . . .”

  “And what?” Daisy asked gently. It was unusual for Violet to hesitate when speaking. Most often she was pretty emphatic, sometimes disturbingly so.

  Violet got off the bed and walked over to pet Grimace on his perch. “And it means a lot to me. I want you to know that.”

  Daisy looked at her sister, whose back was to her. Suddenly, she seemed so frail and vulnerable. “I do know that,” she said over the catch in her throat. “And I won’t ever forget it.”

  Chapter 21

  “So, sign here and initial there,” Freddie instructed. “Once they cash your check you’ll be the proud owner of a life insurance policy.”

  Poppy smiled. “I never thought that at the age of twenty-five I’d be worth so much money to anybody.”

  “You wouldn’t have been, not if your father was alive. Now, let’s go to the kitchen for some tea.”

  When the two women had settled in the kitchen’s breakfast nook with cups of tea and a plate of petit fours, Freddie’s favorite pastry, Freddie looked closely at Poppy. “You look as if you haven’t been sleeping well,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

  Poppy laughed. “Everything.”

  “Be more specific, dear. And less dramatic.”

  “All right. It’s just that it’s been a horrible week. I forgot that Violet had a dentist appointment. Seems there’s a financial penalty for missing an appointment. I keep meaning to buy one of those whiteboards, specifically so I can keep better track of things like that. But I keep forgetting to buy one!”

  “Violet could have reminded you,” Freddie pointed out. “She’s probably thrilled that you forgot. She may be special, but she is still a kid.”

  The thought hadn’t occurred to Poppy that Violet might have reminded her the way she had reminded her about Grimace’s appointment with the vet. “Well,” she said, “be that as it may, then I left the laundry in the machine for two days before I remembered it was there. Everything smelled of mildew. I had to wash it all again and then clean the machine with bleach. I can’t believe I was so stupid.”

  “You’re not the first person to be thwarted by laundry,” Freddie said, taking a petit four from the flower-patterned plate between them. “And you won’t be the last.”

  “It’s not only the laundry,” Poppy went on, determined to convince Freddie of her ineptitude. “I had a fairly disastrous chat with Daisy about sex. Turned out I was worrying about nothing. And last night I burned the rice. The pot is still soaking, but I suspect it’s a lost cause. And it’s too bad because it’s one of the good pots Mom got at her wedding shower. All those years and it was just fine—until I got my hands on it.”

  “A pot can be replaced. And I never knew your mother to have an emotional attachment to her kitchen tools.”

  Poppy sighed. “That’s not the point, Freddie. The point is that I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to run a household. I don’t know how to be a parent.” God, she thought, I don’t even know how to be an adult. “I’ve never had to take care of anybody but myself, and I had help with that. Mom, Dad, the housekeeper we had for all those years, my teachers. I’ve never even had a pet I had to be responsible for. For that matter, I’ve never even had a plant of my own!”

  “Poppy, no one knows how to get things properly done until they do. And they know only after they’ve made a thousand and one mistakes.” Freddie leaned across the table and put a hand on Poppy’s. “Look, here’s one of my favorite quotes. I repeat it to myself every night. When I remember. ‘Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could.’”

  “Who said that?”

  “Ralph Waldo Emerson.” Freddie took her hand from Poppy’s and sat back. “And it makes a good deal of sense.”

  “Unless you know that you could have done more. Or done it better.”

  Freddie sighed. “I see you’re determined to be miserable.”

  “Why did my father make me legal guardian?”

  “You’ve asked me that before. Who else would he have chosen? Neither of your parents had siblings, so no aunts and uncles, and certainly no long-lost relatives that I ever knew of. And don’t make me repeat why I wasn’t a candidate. Besides, he always had great faith in your abilities.”

  “I wish he hadn’t. I wish he’d considered me an idiot.”

  “Then what would have happened to your sisters?” Freddie argued. “They would have been sent into the foster care system. They might have been sent to different homes. Violet would have had to give up Grimace. Would you have wanted that?”

  “No. No, of course not. It’s a horrible thought.” And Mom and Dad would have been so disappointed in me. . . .

  “Then let’s move on. There’s something else I want to talk to you about. There’s a town meeting next week and I think it would be a good idea if you attended. As a representative of the Higgins family.”

  “Oh,” Poppy said, with absolutely no enthusiasm. “What do you mean by representative? Please don’t tell me I have to take on some formal role.”

  “Of course not. What I mean is that by your presence you demonstrate that the Higgins family of Willow Way cares about Yorktide.”

  “What goes on at a town meeting exactly?” Poppy asked, not at all reassured by Freddie’s words.

  “Talk—debate, really—about matters that affect the town. Anything from local conservation issues to development issues. This meeting’s agenda happens to include the case of one Will Mantel. He owns a large tract of wooded prope
rty on the outskirts of town and is requesting a permit to build a cell phone tower on a hill.”

  “And?” Poppy asked. “What’s the big deal with that?”

  “The big deal is that cell phone towers are hideously ugly and his neighbors oppose having an eyesore looming over them.”

  “Oh. That’s a point. Who goes to these meetings?”

  “Any year-round resident is welcome, though there are some who are expected to attend, the old families, the ones who have been here for generations. And the members of the Board of Selectmen, of course. They run it all.”

  Poppy sighed. “Honestly, Freddie, I have no interest in development issues, and definitely no interest in cell phone towers.” Conservation, she thought, was another matter, but you didn’t have to go to a town meeting to support the cause.

  “It’s not really about your personal interests. Being part of a community means making an effort.”

  Did it? Poppy wondered. Living in a city it was easier to, well, to be unconcerned, not entirely, but largely. It was easier in some ways to be lazy about your neighbors, whom you might hardly ever see, and even about your neighborhood, which you might likely leave every morning for your job in another neighborhood entirely.

  “But you did say I don’t have a formal obligation to Yorktide. I mean, aside from paying taxes and not breaking any laws. I don’t have an official role in the town, so no one can expect me to”—she had been about to say “to care”—“to get involved.”

  Freddie laughed. “People can expect all sorts of things from other people, reasonable or not. The point is that your parents were always informed about community affairs and more often than not, they got involved.”

  “But I’m not my parents,” Poppy pointed out. “And I don’t want to be. Oh, that sounds childish. You know what I mean.”

  Freddie put her hand on Poppy’s arm. “Try not to always say no, Poppy. Try saying yes once in a while. Throw open a door every now and then.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Poppy said, aware that she was probably lying. “The meeting, I mean.”

  “Good. I’ll be there, by the way. It’s not like there won’t be a friendly face. Jon Gascoyne will be there, too, if he’s true to form. Following in his father’s footsteps.”

  “What do you mean?” Poppy asked.

  “Albert Gascoyne is a good old-fashioned pillar of the community. Without, I might add, the creepy dark side that so many of them seem to have, at least in books and on TV. I don’t think he’s ever missed a town meeting since he started going when he was in his teens. And he gives generously to the food bank in Oceanside and to our own here in Yorktide. Sad to say, but even in our relatively affluent parts there are those who would go hungry if it weren’t for people taking an interest in their welfare.”

  “I had no idea,” Poppy admitted. “About Mr. Gascoyne or about the food banks.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know yet about Yorktide and its inhabitants. A town meeting is a good way to start.”

  Poppy laughed. “Freddie, you’re the most persistent person I know.”

  Freddie raised an eyebrow. “Sheila,” she said, “would say I’m the most annoying.”

  Chapter 22

  “I’ll grab us seats at that picnic table. You go in and order.”

  “Right.” Daisy left Joel and went into The Clamshell, already crowded though it wasn’t quite noon. She got on the line to order. A few moments later she was facing the girl behind the order counter—a girl, she realized, she had already met.

  “Hi,” Daisy said with a smile. “Remember me? I’m the one who almost knocked you into the toothpaste at the convenience store last week.”

  “Oh,” the girl said. “Hi.” She didn’t return Daisy’s smile and she didn’t quite meet Daisy’s eye.

  “I didn’t know you worked here. The Clamshell has the best fried clams in town. I’m Daisy, by the way.”

  The girl didn’t reply immediately and for a moment Daisy wondered if she had said or done something wrong or stupid. Could the girl really be angry with her for being clumsy?

  “I’m Evie.” The words came out as if reluctantly and the girl—Evie—looked down at her order pad. “What would you like?” she asked.

  Daisy ordered and moved aside to wait for the food. And she noted that the girl—Evie—acted much the same way with the next customer in line, and with the one after that. Not rude, but definitely not friendly. Almost as if she didn’t want anyone to really notice her. Almost . . . furtive.

  Well, that was awkward, Daisy thought, when her order came up and she made her way out of the restaurant to where Joel waited for her. Maybe the girl behind the counter—Evie—was just one of those ridiculously shy people who wound up further isolating themselves by making the people around them feel uncomfortable. Whatever the case, Daisy wasn’t going to dwell on it.

  “Do you know the girl who works behind the counter here?” she asked as she took a seat across from Joel at the redwood picnic table. “The kind of medium-height one with long, light brown hair?”

  So much for not dwelling, Daisy thought.

  Joel shrugged and reached for a French fry. “No, should I?”

  “No. It’s just that there’s something . . . something secretive about her. I don’t know what it is. I mean, we’ve hardly said ten words to each other so I don’t know what I’m basing this feeling on.”

  “Feminine intuition, probably.”

  “You’re not making fun of me I hope.”

  “Not at all,” Joel protested. “You know I have great respect for all the stuff women do and feel that most men can’t seem to get their heads around.”

  “I know. You’re not one of those dense men. Most times.”

  “Thanks. I think. Hey, did you see that bit on the local news last night about the annual Gay Pride celebrations in Portland next weekend?”

  Daisy, mouth full of clams, shook her head.

  “We were eating dinner, me and my parents, and watching TV.” Joel half laughed. “The bit was only about a minute or so, really just a listing of events, the parade and parties and all that. But when it was over, I swear they looked at me like . . . I don’t know, almost like they were afraid.”

  “Afraid!” Daisy exclaimed.

  “I don’t mean afraid like you’re afraid of a guy with a gun. It’s just that sometimes my parents look at me as if they expect my head to pop off or something. I think they expect me to be weird. I don’t think they understand that being gay is just that—being gay, no big deal. Not strange or alien. Sometimes I’m tempted to do something outrageous, just to make them happy. Just to fulfill their expectations.”

  “But what if it made them mad instead?” Daisy asked, eyeing the two remaining fried clams in the cardboard tray.

  “It wouldn’t,” Joel said with conviction. “Not if it wasn’t something really terrible. My parents are good people, just . . . puzzled sometimes.”

  “You’re not angry at them for being puzzled by you?” Daisy asked. She thought that she herself might be, if she were in Joel’s situation.

  “No. I find it sort of funny.” Joel sighed dramatically. “What I don’t find funny is my sorry lack of a love life.”

  “That guy who works at the ice-cream shop in Perkins Cove is gay. Not the old one, the young one.”

  “So? Just because we’re both gay is no guarantee we’d like each other. Besides, he’s got blond hair. I’m not a big fan of blond guys.”

  Daisy frowned. “Sorry. But there are other gay guys around. You’re bound to click with someone.”

  “There are hundreds of gay guys around, especially in summer. Maybe thousands. It’s not that.”

  “Then what is it?” Daisy asked. “You’re handsome and smart and talented. Why don’t you just ask someone out?”

  “Why don’t you? You’re pretty and smart and talented.”

  Daisy laughed. “Yeah, right. Who would go out with me?”

  “Lots of guys. Maybe not mo
st of the guys at our school—they’re so provincial!—but once you get to college you’ll be fine.”

  “I doubt it! Anyway, there’s no one around now who I like. In that way, I mean, so it doesn’t matter if everyone at school is provincial.”

  Joel sighed. “Why don’t we agree to drop this subject of dating until one of us gets totally swept off our feet? Okay? Otherwise it’s just way too stressful.”

  “Deal. Are you going to eat those clams or . . .”

  “Go ahead. I’m watching my figure.”

  “What!” Daisy cried. “You’re fine the way you are!”

  “It’s a joke, Daisy,” Joel explained, with wide eyes, as if he were talking to a child.

  “Right.”

  When they had finished lunch, Joel carried their tray to the trash can, dumped the contents inside, and stacked the tray on top. Daisy followed, glancing through the big front windows of The Clamshell on their way to the parking lot. That girl who worked behind the counter. Evie. Maybe she needed help of some sort; maybe she wasn’t shy at all but scared; maybe fear was making her seem secretive . . .

  “Uh, Daisy?”

  She looked for Joel, only to find him several feet behind her. “What?” she said.

  “You walked past the car.”

  Daisy laughed and walked back to Joel’s old black Volvo. “Daydreaming I guess.”

  Chapter 23

  Evie was curled up in the bed in Nico’s guestroom, Ben under her arm and a packet of chocolate chip cookies she had splurged on within easy reach. She had a pretty good idea that Nico wouldn’t be happy to learn that she was eating in bed so she was very careful about crumbs and made it a strict point to wash the sheets once a week. (There was a machine in the master bathroom.)

  “Ben,” Evie said, reaching for another cookie. “Today was not a very good day.” There had been this one awful customer who had come in just when they opened at eleven to serve the early lunch crowd. His hair was all greasy and his T-shirt rode up over his big belly. He had started to complain about having to wait for his order almost as soon as Evie had put it in to the kitchen. She had tried to assure him that his food would be coming soon, but he had persisted in complaining and berating the “idiot kids” in the kitchen. His verbal abuse had almost driven Evie to tears. Finally, Billy had come out front and with one menacing look had silenced the troublemaker. “I believe,” Billy had said to the man, “that you owe this young lady an apology.” The man had reddened and muttered “Sorry” in Evie’s direction. Upsetting stuff like that didn’t happen often at The Clamshell, but when it did, Evie felt her aloneness and her vulnerability fiercely.