The Forever Summer

by Jamie Brenner

  “Nope. And it’s just going to get progressively more crowded all summer until the end of August, when we’re about to lose our minds, and then everyone leaves and we feel sad.”

  A block away from the house, Amelia spotted Blythe waving at them from the porch. “Your mother seems to be trying to get your attention.”

  Blythe hurried down the steps and met them in the street, barely letting Amelia park the car before leaning in the open passenger-side window.

  “Why aren’t you answering your phone?” Blythe asked Marin, clearly frustrated.

  “I’m not carrying my phone.”

  “Is everything okay?” Amelia said, stepping out of the car. Blythe took her by the arm.

  “I didn’t want you to be taken by complete surprise.”

  Amelia’s stomach tensed. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing is wrong. But your daughter is here.”

  Amelia looked at Marin, the words not computing. Does she mean my granddaughter? Is Rachel looking for me?

  And then it hit her.

  Nadine.

  “Where is she?”

  Blythe pointed to the house, and Amelia walked as briskly as her aching legs would allow. For the first time in years, she bemoaned her lost ability to run, her joints as creaky as old floorboards about to give. The entrance foyer was empty. She rushed to the rear of the house. Of course Nadine would be out there, looking at her beloved bay.

  Sure enough, Nadine was seated at the farthest end of the table, her back to the house. Amelia approached gingerly, quietly, afraid she would startle her off, like a fawn in the woods.

  And like a fawn, Nadine sensed her and turned around.

  Amelia’s eyes filled with tears. All thoughts of restraint dissolved and she rushed to her daughter, pulled her close.

  “You’re here,” she said, gasping. “You’re really here.”

  Nadine pulled away first, and Amelia got the first chance to take in her face. The last time she’d seen her, she had barely been old enough to drink. Now she was a middle-aged woman. She was changed, and yet Amelia felt that time had stood still.

  “The house looks different,” Nadine said. “You must have put a lot of money into it.”

  Amelia almost couldn’t process what she was saying. A dozen questions flooded her mind at once, causing a short circuit. So she just nodded, letting the moment wash over her, a tremendous wave that she could not master, could only give in to.

  “How long are you here for?” she said finally.

  “I’m not sure.” Nadine shrugged, a familiar gesture. “A few days.”

  “You came to see your nieces.”

  Nadine glanced at the house. “I came to see you.”

  “I’m so grateful that you did. Whatever the reason.” Silence.

  “So Kelly is still here,” Nadine said. It wasn’t a question. “I’ve been following the inn on Facebook. You’ve really got quite a business going.”

  “Yes, well, it’s been a labor of love.”

  She had found Nadine online too. Not on Facebook, but on her website. She sold handcrafted pottery. All in the Portuguese tradition. It was beautiful, and she had longed for a few pieces but didn’t dare buy any. Doing so would have felt like an intrusion.

  Unfortunately, there were no personal details on Nadine’s website. And so Amelia asked, “Are you married? Children?”

  Nadine shook her head. “I was living with someone for a while. But we broke up.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Nadine looked away. Amelia let silence sit between them, resisting the urge to fill it with more chatter.

  “So is there space for me to stay here? The website said you’re not taking guests this summer, so I figured my room would be free.”

  “Of course! Of course. Come upstairs.”

  Nadine wheeled her bag into the house and followed Amelia up to the third floor. Passing the closed door to Kelly’s studio, Blythe had the anxious thought that she had to warn her about Nadine’s arrival so she wouldn’t be blindsided.

  “Who is the woman on the porch?” Nadine asked.

  “Blythe? She’s the mother of one of the girls.”

  “Interesting,” Nadine said. “And where are these…girls?”

  “One of them should be here—she was with me when I returned to the house. Marin. She looks just like your brother.”

  “Does she now.” Her voice was so flat, it was clearly a statement, not a question.

  “And Rachel is probably here somewhere. Marin is somewhat guarded, a little tightly wound. Rachel is sunnier—very California. She’s from LA.” Amelia could hear the awkward nervousness in her voice. She opened the door to Nadine’s old bedroom.

  “I’d never recognize it,” Nadine said.

  “Thirty years is a long time.”

  Nadine pulled her suitcase onto the bed and unzipped it. “I’m going to sleep for a few hours, if you don’t mind. I’m exhausted.” She told Amelia she had flown from Italy to Boston two days ago, stayed with a friend, and then taken the ferry over that morning.

  “Of course.” Amelia resisted the urge to hug her and started to walk down the hallway, but then she poked her head back in and said, “I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re here.”

  Nadine offered a tight smile.

  Amelia closed the door behind her and made her way quickly down the hall to the studio. She knocked but got no response. The door was locked. She hurried down to their bedroom and dialed Kelly’s cell. It went straight to voice mail. Damn it! Of course she didn’t have her phone with her. But where had she disappeared to?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Rachel did little but daydream about Luke Duncan.

  She kept mentally replaying the time they spent together, analyzing every word of the conversation, every shared glance between the two of them. Still, she had no clue as to how he felt toward her. On the one hand, they had spent a platonically friendly afternoon-turned-evening out. On the other hand, when he had walked her back to the inn, they’d spent a few minutes looking at the water in the bay and it was undeniably romantic.

  But that would have been the perfect time for him to try to kiss her. And he hadn’t.

  She hated to admit that she had never felt this way before. Shouldn’t a woman have at least one major love affair under her belt by this time? She blamed it on her upbringing. With no admirable examples of steady, secure coupledom, she did not know what to aspire to. Of course she’d had attractions and hookups. But she had never felt this mental preoccupation, the kind that left her constantly sleepless and dreamy at the same time.

  How could she leave on July fifth and never see him again? Impossible.

  Deciding she should get out of the house and do something productive, she walked to the post office to mail the postcard she’d bought for Fran. By the time it reached her, Rachel would be home already, but she sent it because she thought it would be a nice gesture. That, and because on some level, she wanted to prompt her mother into showing some interest in what was going on in her life.

  Dear Fran:

  Provincetown is beautiful and eccentric. Sand, surf, yoga, seafood, and plenty of outdoor drinking. It’s your type of place. I thought you’d be happy to see where donor dad is from.

  Love, Rachel

  A block from the house, she spotted Kelly, wearing sunglasses and a faded baseball hat with a fish on it. She looked at the ground as she walked.

  Rachel called out to her. Startled, Kelly stopped short.

  “Oh, hi, Rachel. What’s going on?”

  “Not much. But Amelia was just looking for you.”

  “Thanks,” Kelly said. Then: “I’m sorry. I’m distracted. Did you say what Amelia needed?”

  “I think she wanted you to know that her daughter just showed up.”

  Rachel could have sworn Kelly paled under her freckles.

  Blythe couldn’t believe it. Nadine, the sister Nick had spoken about with such affection. The sister he’d left
Philadelphia to visit, never to return. Here.

  It was the closest she’d felt to seeing Nick again. And this feeling helped answer one of the questions she’d been grappling with, the question of whether she should tell the truth to Amelia.

  She would do it. And it was the first step toward telling Marin the truth, if she was ever going to be able to actually go through with that.

  When would be the right time to talk to Amelia? She pondered this for a full five minutes, pacing the floor in her bedroom. Then she realized there was no right time—the time was now.

  On her way down the stairs, she heard movement on the floor above. Amelia must be in the studio with Kelly. Fine; she would tell them both at the same time. She backtracked and headed to the third floor but stopped midway down the hall when she heard their raised voices.

  “Can’t she stay in one of the first-floor bedrooms? It’s awkward having her right next door to the studio. It’s just…”

  “It was her old bedroom. Kel, I really need you with me on this. Try to be happy for me.”

  “I am happy for you. I just don’t want any negative energy around here. Not now.”

  “The energy isn’t negative. Why would she bother coming here to be negative? It’s a turning point. The one I’ve been waiting for all these years. And I really need you to be less cynical.”

  “I’m not being cynical! She shows up after thirty years of demonizing us, of punishing you, and I don’t get to say, Hey, let’s just make sure there are boundaries here?”

  “She wasn’t punishing me. She was hurt. We hurt her.”

  “She didn’t tell you Nick was gone until after the funeral. She buried him on another continent. That’s not punitive? Frankly, I don’t understand why you don’t have a little more anger of your own.”

  “You don’t understand because you’re not a mother.”

  “Oh, I have nothing to contribute to this conversation because I’m not a mother?”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  Blythe turned at the sound of movement behind her.

  “Mom? What are you doing out here? Eavesdropping?” Marin said, hands on her hips.

  “No, I was just…never mind. What are you doing up here?”

  “I’m helping Kelly with a project.”

  “What kind of project?”

  “Forget it. Don’t say anything.”

  “Why would I say anything?”

  “I don’t know. Why would you be standing in the hall listening to their conversation? Clearly with nothing better to do, you’re turning into a busybody.”

  “Marin, I’ve had about enough of your attitude. You’re upset—I get that. I can’t change the past, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to be punished for it for the rest of my life!” She was surprised to find herself choking up, tears in her eyes.

  The door to the studio opened. Kelly and Amelia looked at them.

  “Everything okay out here?” said Amelia.

  “Just fine!” Blythe said before turning to run down the stairs.

  Was there a more awkward family dinner imaginable?

  Marin wanted to drink, but ever since the afternoon binge at the A-House, she couldn’t even look at a glass of wine. Across the table, her mother was getting good and hammered, and for the first time that week, Marin couldn’t blame her.

  “So let me get this straight,” Nadine said. “Rachel, you knew that your father was a sperm donor, but you”—looking at Marin—“thought your mother’s husband was your father until last week.”

  “That’s right,” Rachel chirped.

  “And you found each other through a website?” She said the word website as if it were spaceship.

  “Yes.”

  Silence at the table.

  Marin couldn’t believe this woman was her aunt. When Marin met Amelia, despite her feelings of betrayal and her sense of loss with her dad, she’d felt at least a warmth and connectedness. She was able to accept and embrace the woman as her relative. But this black-eyed shrew was pissing her off with all her questions. Or, more specifically, with the tone of her questions—as if this were all some dubious tale.

  Amelia had cooked fish stew, apparently Nadine’s favorite.

  “I’d love to learn how to make this,” Rachel said. “It’s just so good!”

  “I’d be happy to share a few recipes,” said Amelia. “We Portuguese have such wonderful food traditions. I would be thrilled to introduce you to that part of your culture.”

  “You know,” Nadine said, addressing the entire table, “the last time I had this meal, Kelly and I were best friends.”

  Rachel and Blythe looked at her. Kelly stopped eating. Marin, knowing where this story might go, looked at Amelia, who subtly squeezed Kelly’s arm.

  “Really? When’s the last time you saw each other?” said Rachel.

  Nadine seemed about to say something but then thought better of it. Finally, she said simply, “A very long time ago.”

  “Well, it’s great you’re here now.”

  “That’s the thing about this town,” said Nadine. “People come, people go. Sometimes forever.”

  “Thanks for that bit of philosophy,” Kelly said.

  Amelia shot her a look.

  “I totally get that,” Rachel said. “This is a really special place. So I was thinking, Amelia, if you didn’t mind—I’d love to stay for the summer.”

  “What?” Marin and Blythe said in unison.

  “Oh, Rachel, of course. That would be wonderful,” Amelia said.

  Nadine narrowed her eyes. “You know, that’s not a bad idea. I think I’ll stay awhile myself.”

  Crazy, all of them. Marin didn’t care what Rachel did—she was leaving after the Fourth, with or without her.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  A giant pink whale made of papier-mâché and wood took up most of Bart and Thomas’s front lawn. Bart was administering to it with a tape dispenser while Paul spray-painted its tail.

  “For heaven’s sake, it looks like a giant sperm,” Kelly called out her window as she pulled her truck into their driveway. “Gotta love Fourth of July,” she said to Rachel. “It’s Mardi Gras, New Year’s Eve, and the Gay Pride Parade rolled into one. And that’s before the fireworks.”

  Bart and Thomas were borrowing Kelly’s truck so they could transport their Fourth of July float to the East End for the start of the parade at eleven.

  Rachel opened her door and hopped out. On a morning when she should have been packing up to leave the next day, she was instead throwing herself headfirst into summer, Provincetown-style.

  “A giant sperm is exactly the look we were going for,” Paul said, spraying the lowermost point of the whale’s belly.

  Rachel couldn’t help glancing around for any sign of Luke.

  “Luke’s out back,” Bart said.

  Damn! Was she that obvious?

  “Oh? I was just…great whale.”

  “Thanks, kid. Go on back to the pool.”

  She looked at Kelly. “Do you need me to—”

  “I’m all good. I just want to hear their justification for this pink monstrosity, then I’m walking home.” She winked at her.

  Okay.

  Rachel walked around the side of the house, following a flat-stone path to the pool. The walkway was lined with purple flowers; they smelled like the blooms her mother had had outside of the first house they’d lived in, when Rachel was in elementary school. She felt a pang of nostalgia for a time she didn’t particularly want to revisit; somehow everything was starting to feel precious and acute, and she wasn’t sure what to do about the emotions that seemed to wash over her every five minutes.

  Luke was perched on the edge of a lounge chair, just as he had been the day of the party. But today he wore swim trunks and a heather-blue T-shirt that tugged at his wide shoulders as he typed into his phone.

  “Hey,” she called out, trying to sound casual.

  He turned around, surprised—understandably—to see her.


  “Oh, hey, Rachel,” he said. “What’s going on?”

  “Kelly just brought her truck over so Bart and your dad can get their float to the East End. Are you going to the parade?”

  “Probably. But first I want to get a few laps in. Back home I go to the gym, but here I have to be disciplined and get what exercise I can from swimming.”

  “Totally, I get it. I should exercise more.” Ugh. She felt like an idiot.

  “You’re welcome to stay and use the pool.”

  Her heart leaped. Sure, it might just be a pragmatic invitation from someone who believed in the importance of exercise. Or maybe it was more.

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to, like, get in the way.”

  He smiled, dimples and all. Oh, she wanted to get in his way.

  “You’re not in the way. I give myself an hour or so out here in the morning before I get to work.”

  She shrugged her beach bag off her shoulder and sat on the lounge chair next to him. He looked up at the sun.

  “I was waiting for it to get warmer, but I guess I should stop being such a wimp,” he said.

  “You really should.”

  “Oh yeah? Okay, Esther Williams—you first.”

  “Who’s Esther Williams?”

  “You don’t know who Esther Williams is? She was a major actress in the forties. She swam in most of her big roles.”

  “Never heard of her.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Not old enough to have gone to the movies in the 1940s.”

  He laughed. “Okay, so maybe I’m a little extra into old movies because of my dad. Anyway, stop stalling. Into the pool.”

  Rachel pulled off her T-shirt and cutoff denim shorts. Underneath, she had her favorite tie-dyed bikini from Beach Bunny on Robertson. It had been a rare splurge; she’d seen it in the window driving by and couldn’t resist.

  She had a feeling it was about to pay for itself.

  Luke was definitely noticing her body, but as soon as he saw her noticing him noticing her, he looked away. She loved that reticent quality he had—so unlike most guys! Maybe it was because he was older. Either way, it just stoked her slow burn.