The Forever Summer

by Jamie Brenner

  Amelia sucked in her breath. “I thought you said he killed himself because of me. Now you’re saying it was because of Blythe?”

  “Apparently, there is plenty of blame to go around.” Nadine brushed passed her and opened the door. “I’m going to take a walk over to the pottery shop.”

  Amelia, shaking, watched her leave without a word.

  Blythe insisted on doing the driving to Hyannis even though she wasn’t comfortable behind the wheel for long distances if she didn’t know the roads by heart. She didn’t like relying on her phone for directions, was unnerved by the turns and exits relayed in a systematic monotone. But she was there to take care of Marin.

  “Mom, I’m fine. I can drive! I’m just going for an exam, not to deliver the baby.”

  “You just relax.”

  Marin fell silent, and it felt to Blythe like her own secret rested between them with all the weight of the world. She couldn’t stop thinking about Nick—the way it had started, the way it had ended, all the passion and fear and guilt and worry playing in an endless loop in her mind. And Blythe understood that on some level, she was mentally preparing herself to tell Marin the story.

  Nick had called her a few days following the club disaster, during the afternoon when he knew Kip would be at work.

  “Can you come into the city? I really need to see you.” When Blythe heard his voice, her resolve to just cut it off cold disappeared, and she agreed. For the entire drive downtown, especially when the stately profile of the art museum came into view, she justified her actions by thinking the least she could do was say good-bye in person.

  When he opened the door, greeting her with his dark-eyed gaze and his mouth slightly open, as if he had just kissed her, the anger from the night at the club was gone. She wanted him instantly, and yet she’d had satisfying sex with her husband just two nights ago. It seemed like no matter what she did, she would be betraying them both.

  “Sorry I called you at home,” he said, pressing his mouth to hers. She felt herself opening up to him, her insides unfolding like a bird spreading its wings. “But I needed to reach you because I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  For a second, she forgot that she was there to end it. All she could think was Leaving? To go where? For how long?

  “I don’t understand,” she said.

  “My sister, Nadine, invited me to Italy. She has a house with a bunch of friends. It’s a great setup.”

  “What about your classes?”

  He shrugged. “I’ll pick them up in the fall. You gotta live life, you know?”

  Yes, she did know. And that’s what she’d felt she was doing when she was with him. But she had to focus on her real life—her life with Kip. She had to try to make her marriage work. Despite all the times she had felt like Kip did not care for her, surely he cared more than this stranger. The night at the club had shown that.

  “So, this is good-bye,” she said.

  “It’s not good-bye. I’ll be back in the fall.”

  “Nick, we really should make this good-bye.”

  He seemed to consider this. He moved closer to her, cupping her face with his hands. “You think too much. Maybe it’s not up to us. Maybe the universe has its own plans.” He pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat, and her body swayed against his, his hand already underneath her dress, moving between her legs. It was difficult—so achingly difficult—but she pulled away.

  “Good-bye,” she whispered.

  She never heard from him again except for a single letter one month later.

  When she saw the Italian postmark, she dropped the rest of the mail on the dining-room table, took the letter up to her bedroom, and closed her door even though she was alone in the house.

  She cried because, damn it, she missed him, and also because she was thankful she’d gotten out when she did—relatively unscathed, her marriage intact.

  She knew she should throw away the letter, but she hesitated. On the back, Nick had rendered a beautiful pencil sketch of the Italian coastline, remarkable in its stark detail. She could throw away his words, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to throw away his art. Instead, she took the letter and her barely used Degas journal, stuck them both in a shoe box, and shoved it into the back of her closet. It was done.

  Until she’d discovered she was pregnant.

  Blythe squeezed the steering wheel now, fighting back tears. “Marin, we need to talk.” Blythe turned off the radio.

  “Okay,” Marin said, glancing sideways at her.

  “I’ve been waiting for the right moment and, really, there isn’t one.”

  “You’re freaking me out. What now?”

  Blythe took a deep breath. “You know your biological father is Nick Cabral.”

  “Yeah, I get that part. What I don’t get is how or why. Did you have trouble conceiving or something? And then go behind Dad’s back to use a sperm donor? That’s what I figured. You wanted to do fertility treatments and Dad didn’t.”

  “No. It was nothing like that.”

  “What, then?”

  “I knew Nick.”

  Marin leaned forward, her hand on the dashboard, scrutinizing Blythe’s face. “How?”

  Blythe shook her head. “It was crazy. It was…”

  “Mom, just spill it.”

  “It was early in my marriage. Your father was working all the time. Things were not great between us. I was young—ten years younger than you are now.”

  “Mom, please. I don’t need a long setup here.”

  “I met him at the art museum one afternoon and it turned into a summer affair. It was over by the time I realized I was pregnant.”

  Marin slumped back in her seat. “I can’t believe it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t get it. What about Rachel’s mother? Was he a sperm donor for her?”

  “I don’t know. He might have been. Maybe he needed money—he was an art student. Estranged from his parents. That might be what happened with Rachel’s mother. Regardless, when Rachel told you her story and you assumed mine was the same, I wasn’t ready to correct you with the truth.”

  Marin nodded slowly. “So when you found out you were pregnant, you didn’t know who the father was?”

  “Oh, I knew. Six weeks pregnant…I knew absolutely.”

  Marin gave an odd laugh. “Well, then you’re a better person than I am.”

  It took a few seconds for her to process what Marin was saying, and then she gasped. “You don’t know who the father is?”

  “That’s right.”

  Blythe, overcome with sadness for her daughter, reached for her hand. Marin turned to look out the window.

  Chapter Thirty

  Kelly, do you have a sec?” Rachel jumped up from the porch rocking chair when she spotted Kelly coming from the back of the house. Kelly seemed deep in thought. Rachel thought twice about interrupting her, but she just had to talk to someone.

  Kelly looked up, startled. “Hey. I’m making a quick run to Sandra’s house to measure something. You can ride along if you want.”

  Rachel climbed into the passenger seat of the truck and Kelly started driving.

  “So what’s up?” Kelly asked.

  “You’ve known Thomas so long, I figure you’ve known Luke a long time too, right?”

  Kelly started to say something, then coughed. “Can you find me a tissue in my bag?” she asked, coughing again. Rachel opened the knapsack between them on the seat. “Front pocket,” Kelly said.

  Rachel found a packet of Kleenex and handed her one. Kelly pressed it to her mouth, then balled it up and shoved it into the bag.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Sinus infection,” she said. “So what do you want to know about Luke?”

  “What’s his deal? I just can’t figure him out. Sometimes it seems like he’s into me. We’ve hung out a lot, and on the Fourth, when we dropped off the truck? He was like, hey, you can stay and swim. And in the pool, I swear he was going to kiss me.
I mean, it felt like he was going to. But that night at the pier, I saw him talking to Marin and it looked intense. What do you think?”

  “What do I think? I think you should talk to Luke. If he’s giving you mixed signals, call him on it. And by the way, there’s nothing going on with him and Marin.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know.”

  Rachel felt a wave of relief.

  “Okay, I’ll talk to him.”

  “People play games—especially in the beginning of relationships. You know that.”

  “I haven’t had many relationships. Just hooking up, you know? And that’s pretty straightforward. But I’m thinking about Luke nonstop and it’s making me crazy.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  “And you’ve never had a serious relationship?”

  Rachel shook her head.

  “I was with Amelia by the time I was your age.”

  That gave Rachel pause. “How long did it take before you knew you were in love with her?”

  “About two minutes,” Kelly said with a smile.

  So it wasn’t so absurd that she had such strong feelings for a guy she’d known for two weeks. “Okay. I’ll talk to him,” she said.

  “Glad that’s settled.” Kelly pulled the truck into the driveway. A familiar white Honda was parked at the top.

  “Isn’t that Amelia’s car?” Rachel said.

  “That’s weird. I swear when we left, she was home.” Kelly slammed her door shut.

  Tanya answered the doorbell.

  “Hi, Kelly. Is she expecting you?”

  “I think so.”

  Tanya came out, closed the door most of the way, and stood out on the porch with them. “Between you and me, if you hear of any other jobs opening up in town, let me know. She’s driving me crazy.”

  “You got it,” Kelly said with a wink.

  “This way—she’s in the breakfast room.” Tanya showed them into space off the kitchen that was blindingly white—white furniture, walls, and tiled floor with sun streaming through a massive skylight. Sandra sat at the Lucite table drinking coffee. Next to her, Nadine.

  “What a lovely surprise,” Sandra said.

  “What are you two doing here?” Apparently, not so lovely for Nadine.

  “I’m working. What are you doing here?” Kelly said.

  “Kelly. Rachel—come sit,” Sandra said with a smile. “I wasn’t expecting you today. For the measurements?”

  “Yes. For the measurements.” Kelly put her hands on her hips.

  “Sit down. Have some coffee. This is actually good timing.”

  “Sandra…” Nadine began in protest.

  “Coffee? Scones?” Sandra said, pointing to a plate.

  “What’s going on?” Kelly sat at the foot of the table, facing them both. Rachel awkwardly pulled out a chair next to her and helped herself to a blueberry scone.

  “You know, life is all about timing. I’ve really come to believe that.” Sandra poured herself more coffee.

  “You don’t say?” Kelly narrowed her eyes.

  “It’s amazing that Nadine should arrive this summer just as you’ve closed the inn for business and just as I’ve been thinking so much about how I’d love to take that large property off your hands. Nadine agrees it makes perfect sense. I’m prepared to make quite a generous offer.”

  “Um, Sandra—can you excuse Nadine and me for a minute?” Kelly stood, her chair making a loud noise against the tiled floor.

  Sandra smiled graciously. “Of course.”

  When Sandra was out of the room—though probably not out of earshot—Kelly turned to Nadine and slammed her hand down on the table.

  “Who the fuck do you think you are to start negotiating the sale of the house? It’s our home.”

  “It’s my family home—has been for generations. And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m the last of the generations. The buck stops with me, Kelly. Not with you—me. Amelia’s daughter. Not her lover.”

  “We’re married. Your legal claim to the house does not supersede mine.”

  “This isn’t about legality, Kelly. It’s a practical issue. Sandra Crowe will pay enough for the house that my mother won’t have to worry about money for the rest of her life.”

  “She’s not worried about money. We’re doing fine.”

  “It’s also about doing what’s right. The house is part of my family legacy. The conversation about what happens to it is one that involves me. Now, I know you’ve had it pretty easy since you waltzed into town that summer, torpedoed my family, and never left, which meant I had to leave. But I’m back, and I’m not going anywhere until this business with the house is settled.”

  “There’s no business to settle. Your mother loves that house. If she moves somewhere to live alone, it will be the death of her.”

  “Well, she won’t be alone. She has you, doesn’t she?” Nadine picked up her handbag and pulled it over her shoulder. She looked at Rachel. “And don’t you get any ideas. I don’t care how many test tubes my brother jerked off into. You have no part of this—understand?”

  She walked out the door, calling back to Sandra that they would talk soon.

  Blythe was at the beach when the call came.

  The day was hotter than usual. She sat in a folding plastic chair, wearing a new turquoise-blue bathing suit purchased at a small shop on Commercial Street and a big striped hat she’d borrowed from Marin.

  Today, she’d managed to find the “straight people” beach. She had not understood the various strata of beach geography and a few days ago had accidentally planted herself in the lesbian section, where she soon realized she was one of the few women wearing a top. Farther down, the gay men congregated, and she was even more out of place there. When she returned to the house, frazzled, Amelia graciously drew her a map on a paper towel.

  The buzz of her cell phone startled her. She hadn’t even meant to pack it in her beach bag. She didn’t think she had reception at the beach and had biked the short distance thinking she was giving herself an hour or so of being completely out of touch. Frankly, she needed it.

  “Hello?” She fumbled with the phone as a strong breeze swept over her and she had to hold on to her hat.

  “Blythe, it’s me. I’m in town.”

  Kip!

  “You’re here? In Provincetown?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t believe it,” she said, more to herself than to him.

  “Well, I want to see Marin. And you said you needed to talk to me, so we can take care of that while I’m here. What’s your availability this morning?” Kip, always to the point. Always goal-oriented. He no doubt had his entire Provincetown visit scheduled to the last minute, the agenda filed with his secretary back in Philadelphia.

  Blythe tried to stand and instead sank further into the sand, the chair folding in on itself.

  “Shit!” she said.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Hold on.”

  How could she be so unprepared for this moment? Had she really thought he would refuse to come? They were going to be grandparents.

  “Where are you staying?” she asked, stalling.

  “The Sutter Hotel. Where are you staying?”

  “The Beach Rose Inn.”

  “I saw that online but it’s supposed to be closed this season.”

  “Long story,” she said. Where should they meet? Should she have him just come down to the beach? She wanted to see him immediately. But she looked a mess—windblown, no makeup, dressed in just a bathing suit. No, for this conversation she needed to be pulled together. She was delivering extremely difficult news. And faced with the task, she wished she had told him the truth about Marin’s paternity before this—any time before this. It would be hard enough for him to deal with the fact that Marin was not his flesh and blood, but now that unfortunate reality also extended to the new baby.

  Blythe took a deep breath. “Are you still there?”


  “Yes, Blythe,” he said, and she could imagine the taut, impatient line of his jaw. “Can you meet in an hour? Pick a place on that main street in town. We can have coffee.”

  Where? At Joe, so every coffee klatch in town would overhear their messy personal business? No, thanks.

  “Actually, there’s a better place. Less crowded.” She told him how to get to Pilgrims’ First Landing Park, at the westernmost end of Commercial Street. The park—a monument, technically—had stone benches and grass and it overlooked the jetty. The fact that she could pick a place like the park—not just the obvious coffee shop—made her feel pleased, like she was a local.

  “I’ll see you in an hour,” he said.

  She pressed the phone to her chest.

  Rachel, with her marching orders from Kelly, did not want to waste any time. She found Luke at the pool.

  He didn’t notice her at first. She sat on a chaise longue while he did laps, feeling, yes, like a stalker. She hadn’t even bothered to ring the doorbell—she just walked right around to the back of the house. Questionable behavior? Maybe. But she couldn’t wait another minute to follow Kelly’s advice. Kelly was the boss. She’d been with the love of her life for three decades; surely, she had some relationship wisdom.

  When he finally noticed her sitting there, he climbed out of the pool.

  “Hey—sorry to intrude.”

  “What’s up?” he asked, toweling off. Maybe she was paranoid, but he did not seem happy to see her. Bad idea. Bad, bad idea! Rachel, what were you thinking?

  She had to work really hard not to look at his body.

  “I just wanted to talk to you for a sec.”

  He sat down on the edge of the chair next to her. After an excruciating minute of silence, she knew she had two choices: say something, or slink off and never come back. In that moment, it was actually a tough decision.

  “So, I just wanted to, um, say something,” she managed.