The Forever Summer

by Jamie Brenner

  She turned to him.

  “Dad,” she said. “I didn’t come out here for a vacation.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Amelia insisted on cooking dinner at Thomas’s house instead of doing the usual prep at her house and then walking it over.

  “Marin’s father is visiting,” she said. “I want to give them some privacy.”

  Rachel felt a pang of envy. Her mother hadn’t so much as texted her, and Marin had both parents with her. She shook the thought away. She hadn’t done yoga all month; no wonder she was slipping into negative energy.

  She turned her focus to the pão de milho, mixing cornmeal, salt, and boiling water, stirring vigorously. She’d been practicing the recipe and could make it completely on her own, freeing Amelia up to focus on the main course: hake stew. Hake was apparently in the cod family. Which was in the fish family, which meant of course Rachel would not eat it.

  “This was your great-grandmother’s signature dish,” she said, tossing onions, scallions, and two cups of water into a large heavy pot to boil. “Her mother was born in the Azores—a cluster of islands off the coast of Lisbon. She was from the largest island, São Miguel. I didn’t learn this dish properly until I went back to visit after she died.” She glanced at Rachel. “Will you never eat fish?”

  “Probably not,” Rachel said.

  “How can you cook what you don’t eat?”

  “I probably won’t be cooking meat and fish.”

  “What about for your children?”

  Children? Rachel would settle for a boyfriend.

  Bart poked his head into the kitchen. “I’m going to the gallery. Everything under control here?”

  “Everything’s fine,” Amelia said. “Good luck with the show. Don’t worry about us.”

  Bart kissed her on the cheek. “You’re the best.” He peeked over Rachel’s shoulder. “Whatcha making there?”

  “Corn bread,” she said.

  “Rachel is becoming quite the cook,” said Amelia. “Bart, I’m going to refrigerate leftovers for you to reheat when you get home. Is Luke here for dinner or will it just be Thomas?”

  Rachel’s heart soared with hope. She had not seen him in a few days—not since the kiss. He obviously could have found some excuse to stop by the house if he’d wanted to. Clearly, he didn’t. It hurt and it was confusing. The way he’d responded to her by the pool—that had been real. So why was he rejecting her?

  “Luke’s helping out at the gallery but he said he’d be home by six.”

  Rachel glanced up from the baking pan she was greasing, and Bart caught her eye. He winked. Oh, great—so Luke had told him that Rachel had thrown herself at him and that he was avoiding her. That wasn’t at all humiliating. Well, she’d made her bed and now she had to lie in it.

  Bart left, and the two of them settled into busy silence. Rachel glanced at the clock, now unable to resist counting the minutes until Luke showed up.

  The hostess at the Red Inn, one of the town’s oldest and most upscale restaurants, smiled at Blythe. “Bishop, party of three?”

  “Actually, it’s just two of us.” Blythe glanced at Marin. She’d thought Kip would stay at least one night in town, that they could have dinner together as a family. But he left immediately after his visit with Marin without so much as a good-bye to her.

  The hostess led them through the spacious waterfront rooms to a table with a view of the lighthouses of Long Point.

  “Enjoy your dinner,” the hostess said, handing them menus.

  Blythe looked out at the water. “I thought we could at least have a meal together with your father.”

  “I don’t know why you would expect that, Mom. You two are divorcing.”

  Blythe didn’t bother responding.

  How could she resist getting her hopes up after their conversation that morning in the park? She knew most women would be too badly hurt by the affair to be thinking about a reconciliation, but she couldn’t hold it against him, considering her own history.

  Early in their marriage, after she almost ruined it with that reckless affair, she’d resolved to accept Kip’s workaholism. She knew she had to either accept it or leave. She couldn’t spend her entire life seething with resentment or, worse, acting out. And once she’d made that choice, to stay even though she understood that Kip was always going to put work first, it got easier. Still, she’d never expected him to admit his shortcomings. Certainly, she’d never dreamed of hearing the apology he’d given her that morning. For it to come as their marriage was ending just seemed like a terrible, ironic waste.

  “Look on the positive side—we get some time together,” Marin said, opening her menu and smiling at her across the table. Blythe smiled back. It was such a relief to see Marin let go of her anger toward her. Blythe wasn’t happy that Marin’s pregnancy was a complicated situation, but the one bright spot was that it clearly gave Marin some empathy where Blythe was concerned.

  She reached across the table and squeezed Marin’s hand.

  It seemed their trip to Provincetown had served its purpose. With Marin expecting a baby, and with the small window she sensed for a reconciliation with Kip closing, it was time to leave.

  A waiter took their drink orders: pinot noir for Blythe and a club soda with lime for Marin. “I really want the Wellfleet oysters but I’m not supposed to eat them now,” Marin said.

  “Why not? Because of the baby?”

  Marin nodded.

  “So many more rules now than when I had you. Marin, you really need to get established with your doctor in Manhattan. And I need to get back to the house.” She paused, then said gently, “We should plan to leave this week.”

  Marin shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “Why on earth not? Your father said you were avoiding dealing with everything and I told him he was wrong. Now I’m starting to wonder.”

  “I told Kelly I would stay.”

  What was she talking about? “I think Kelly will understand.”

  Marin reached across the table and took a sip of Blythe’s wine.

  “Marin, don’t.”

  “One sip won’t hurt.” Her eyes filled with tears. Blythe felt a pang of alarm.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Kelly has lung cancer.”

  What? “Good Lord. Was she a smoker?”

  “Mom, I have no idea.”

  Blythe, her hand shaking, reached for her wineglass.

  “Don’t say anything. I shouldn’t even have told you. But I want you to understand why I’m not leaving right now. I want to be here for her—and for Amelia.”

  Blythe nodded. There were no words. How could Amelia bear it?

  “Amelia seems so strong! I’d never guess.”

  “She doesn’t know,” said Marin. “So seriously, Mother—not a word.”

  Blythe assured her she wouldn’t say anything. She thought again of their uncomfortable conversation in the kitchen earlier.

  “Amelia got upset with me today. Now I feel even worse about it.”

  “Upset with you? Why?”

  “I asked her not to say anything to your father about how we knew her—that I wasn’t ready to tell him the truth. She got defensive and said her son was the one hurt by all of this, getting involved with a married woman. But Marin, it isn’t true. Nick Cabral was not upset by whatever happened between us. I’m sure of it. He liked his freedom. And the worst part is Nadine said he killed himself because he was upset by the end of our affair. Why would she lie?”

  “He killed himself?” Marin said, blinking hard.

  “I don’t know. None of it makes sense.”

  Marin shook her head. “Nadine’s got an agenda. She’s trying to get Amelia to sell the house, and now Kelly’s worrying about that on top of everything else.”

  Blythe sighed. “Well, Amelia doesn’t see it that way. She believes her. I felt bad about the conversation all day, and now hearing what’s going on with Kelly…I wish I could put Amelia’s mind to rest
over the past.”

  “So tell her.”

  “I did! She doesn’t believe me. She thought I was just trying to make nice so she wouldn’t spill the beans to your father.”

  Marin sat back in her seat. She twisted her cloth napkin in her hands. “Mom…”

  “Marin, before you start, please let me just say something to you. I know we’re just getting back on track here, and at the risk of irritating you, I’m going to put my two cents in where maybe it doesn’t belong. I assume you will at some point determine who is the father of your baby. And when you do, I hope you will let him know. It might be uncomfortable and messy but if we’ve learned anything, I think it’s that the truth has a way of demanding its day. There’s no use fighting it.”

  Marin nodded. “Yeah. About that: I told Dad the real reason we’re here. I told him the truth about my paternity.”

  Blythe, mid-sip of her wine, dropped her glass. The white tablecloth turned deep burgundy as the glass rolled onto the floor and shattered. A waitress and two busboys scurried around to clean up the mess. Blythe could barely breathe. Marin was saying something to her, then to the waitress, but Blythe heard none of it.

  Well, that was it. Any chance of reconciliation was no doubt ruined. No wonder Kip left so quickly. He never wanted to see her again. He hated her. She was lucky she hadn’t had to face him.

  “It’s okay,” Blythe finally said, a new plate before her, her wineglass replaced and refilled. She touched the stem, her eyes filling with tears. “Here I am, lecturing you about the truth. Of course you don’t want to live a lie. I don’t know how I have for so long.”

  “Well, that’s the thing. You haven’t been.”

  Blythe looked up. “What?”

  “Dad knows. He’s known all along.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  By the time Rachel served the coconut lemon cake she’d baked using Amelia’s dog-eared recipe for bolo de coco e limão, Thomas, Kelly, and Amelia were deep into the wine and on an extensive trip down memory lane.

  Rachel and Luke, excluded from the conversation, ate silently, pretending not to steal glances at each other. At least, that’s what she thought was going on. Maybe she was stealing glances at him, and he was looking at her wondering why she was staring at him. It was so hard to know!

  Things got more confusing when he helped her clear the table; while she was loading the dishwasher, he said, “It’s really great of you to help Amelia and Kelly. Spending hours in the kitchen probably isn’t what you expected when you came to the beach.”

  “It’s better than what I expected,” she said.

  He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time.

  “Is that true?”

  She nodded.

  “It’s funny,” he said. “When I told colleagues at the university I was spending the summer in Provincetown, they basically rolled their eyes like I was going on a two-month party bender. But the truth is, life is more real here than anywhere in the real world. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Yes,” she breathed. He was so close. She tried not to think about touching him. She knew it was important that she understand what he was saying—that whatever was being communicated to her was more important than any poolside kiss. She just wasn’t completely sure what that thing was yet.

  “Trust me, you’ll feel it even more when you leave.”

  She didn’t want to think about leaving Provincetown. She didn’t even want to think about leaving that kitchen.

  Amelia walked in. “Kelly’s not feeling well. Are you okay finishing up here? I want to get her home.”

  “Yes, sure. Is she okay?” Rachel said.

  “Nothing a little rest won’t cure.” She put one of the half-finished bottles of wine on the kitchen island. “And maybe a little less of this.” She smiled and kissed Rachel on the cheek. “You’re a huge help. Thank you, dear.”

  Rachel and Luke finished up the dishes, Rachel slowing and stalling when it came to the last few pots and pans. Just when there was absolutely no excuse to linger at the house, Luke said, “I could use some air. Want to go for a quick walk?”

  She looked into his beautiful blue eyes. She felt no confusion, no nervousness. Deep down, she knew something was happening between them. She was not imagining it, and she was not going to let it slip away this time.

  “Sure.”

  Amelia sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing her hands with an organic lavender moisturizer. One of the small daily annoyances of aging was that her skin was always dry, even in the middle of summer. And in the winter? Forget about it. One year, she had mentioned this in passing to one of their summer regulars, a retired flight attendant who had battled dry skin during long flights, and the woman had given her a tube of her favorite moisturizer as a thank-you at the end of the week. Amelia had been a devotee of the product ever since. It had even inspired an ill-fated attempt at a lavender garden.

  “Remember that summer when we tried to grow lavender?” she called out to Kelly, who was in the bathroom. “Maybe we should give it another try? I think Blythe has quite the green thumb. Maybe she can help.”

  Kelly, behind the closed bathroom door, began coughing with alarming ferocity.

  “What’s going on with you?” Amelia asked when she finally emerged, pressing a tissue to her mouth.

  “Sinus infection,” Kelly said, crawling into her side of the bed and closing her eyes. Amelia moved closer to her and rested her head on her pillow.

  “We should take a vacation. Travel somewhere this winter.”

  “Oh? Why’s that?” Kelly rolled toward her and propped herself up on one elbow, prompting more coughing.

  Amelia hesitated. “I’m thinking we should free ourselves of the responsibility of this big house. We won’t be bogged down by the upkeep, by the decision of whether or not to run the inn. We can travel. Who knows what we’ll fall in love with? We’ll feather a new nest—one for this chapter in our lives. I’m seventy-five years old. If not now, when?”

  “Nadine got to you,” Kelly said.

  Amelia sighed. “I know you don’t understand, but I do feel a responsibility to her. If I couldn’t be the mother she wanted or needed, I can at least help give her some financial security. And ourselves too. Sandra Crowe is offering above and beyond what I would have asked—”

  “I can’t tell you what to do with this house. But I think you should know the big picture before you make such a major decision. I won’t be traveling with you this winter. I won’t be feathering a new nest.”

  “Well, you don’t have to say it like that. We don’t have to go anywhere. But this house issue is complicated for me—”

  “I might not be around this winter,” Kelly said.

  Amelia felt her entire body go cold.

  “Don’t,” she said, turning away from Kelly, her heart pounding. On some primal, deep level, she knew what was about to be said. And if she could just refuse to hear the words…

  “The cancer is back.”

  It was dark, and up above, it seemed every star in the universe was visible.

  “Just take it slow. Follow my lead,” Luke said.

  The rocks formed a mile-long jetty into Cape Cod Bay. Luke walked one step ahead of her, holding out his hand, leading her along the rocks that afforded the most stable footing.

  “I would not want to do this drunk,” she said.

  “No, you wouldn’t. I have, and it wasn’t pretty.”

  The signs warning of sharks and dangerous currents were not comforting. Yes, it was definitely a walk to be made sober, and probably best in daylight. But there she was, following Luke Duncan into shark-infested waters on some questionable rocks.

  Luke set a slow but deliberate pace. They made their way in silence, not speaking until he stopped a quarter of the way out.

  The wind picked up. Surrounded by lapping waves, under the stars, she felt like they were standing at the edge of the world, exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. She’d grown up at the
beach; water was as familiar to her as land. But this felt somehow different. She shivered, and Luke put his arm around her.

  What was going on? Should she play it cool? How could she? She had no game—she wouldn’t even try.

  He looked up at the sky and sighed. “I wish you were a little older.”

  What? That was the stumbling block?

  “Older? Why? Kelly met Amelia when she was younger than I am. They have a twenty-year age difference. And look at them!”

  “I’m not saying our age difference is empirically wrong. But it does make things more difficult—as I learned the hard way in my last relationship. I’m not a big fan of making the same mistake twice.”

  “You dated someone younger, it didn’t work out, and now you’ll never date someone younger again? Sorry, but that sounds a little crazy to me. And as someone older—you should know better.” She shook off his arm.

  He laughed. “Touché. You sure Marin’s the only lawyer in the family?”

  She didn’t smile back at him. This was not a joke to her. It hurt. She was putting herself out on a limb—or, to be accurate, a jetty.

  “I don’t think I can be friends with you,” she said.

  “Oh, Rachel.” He put his arm around her again, and despite her feelings of indignation, she couldn’t bring herself to shrug it off. “A month before I moved out here, I was living with my girlfriend, Vanessa. She’s a first-year grad student in ancient history. We were planning to spend July in Greece. I went shopping for a ring. But then Bart confirmed what I’d suspected at Christmas: my father was deteriorating, and I decided I needed to be out here for the summer. Vanessa was upset—she doesn’t like it here very much.”

  Rachel felt a stab of irrational jealousy. He’d brought a woman to Provincetown? Had they stood on that very spot, his arm around her? Probably. He had no doubt kissed her, the water rolling gently all around them in the romantic way it was at that very minute.