The Forever Summer

by Jamie Brenner

  “Oh my God.” It was heaven—perfection. What to compare it to? Maybe the best cottage cheese imaginable but more firm. She had done it!

  It was, unbelievably, the most accomplished she’d ever felt in her life. She wanted to feel this way every day. Could she possibly be a cook? Was that the calling she had been searching for?

  Rachel walked outside, smiling at the early-morning sun, setting out the corn bread and coffee and fresh fruit, consumed by the fantasy of running her own little Provincetown restaurant.

  Molly, the chocolate Lab, bounded in from the street, wagging her tail and sniffing around the table.

  Rachel peeked around the corner of the house, wondering if Bart was nearby. But apparently Molly had just made her way to the house, as Rachel had learned that first day Molly had a tendency to do.

  The Miller daughter appeared wearing very short shorts and a Marina and the Diamonds concert T-shirt.

  “Good morning!” Rachel sang.

  “Hey.” The girl patted Molly. “I remember this dog from last summer,” she said, pouring herself coffee. “Can I ask you something?” she said, shaking long bangs out of her eyes.

  “Sure,” said Rachel.

  “Is there anything to do in this town? It’s so fucking boring. Like, am I missing something?”

  “Boring?” Rachel said, as if the word were utterly foreign. “I don’t know. I think it’s pretty great.”

  “Well, clearly you’ve never been anyplace cool. No offense.”

  “I live in LA, and I’m having the best summer of my life here.”

  “Okay, then—can I have some of whatever you’re smoking?”

  Before Rachel could begin to think of a response, Marin rolled out, hand in hand with the Boyfriend. Crisis averted? Maybe ripping the Band-Aid off really was the best thing. Life lesson noted!

  “Wow. You really have Amelia’s whole thing down,” Marin said, taking a hard-boiled egg and pouring orange juice.

  Rachel beamed.

  “Good morning,” Blythe called out, walking to the table in her bathing suit and terry-cloth cover-up. It had taken some time, but she’d finally let go of the cardigans and linen pants. She sat across from Marin and the boyfriend. “Julian, glad to see you decided to give Provincetown another day or two.”

  Blythe introduced herself to the Miller daughter just as Mrs. Miller strolled out wearing her pajama pants and a P-Town sweatshirt.

  “The Millers have been coming to the inn for twenty years,” Rachel told Blythe.

  Joan Miller looked around the table. “So you’re all relatives of Amelia? I’ll be darned. We never knew she had so much family. I feel like we’re here for reunion week!”

  Rachel and Marin looked at each other.

  “Yeah, well, it’s been that kind of summer,” said Marin.

  And then Rachel was struck with inspiration: Why stop at making breakfast? Why not have a family dinner tomorrow night? Or more than family; she would invite Luke, Thomas, and Bart. A friendly dinner.

  She walked back into the kitchen to look through Amelia’s recipe box and make a shopping list.

  Marin and Julian rented bikes and rode to Herring Cove. They walked along the ocean, the same path she’d been taking on her mornings with Amelia.

  Marin picked up shells as they went, pointing out the different varieties to Julian.

  “Quite an education you’re getting out here,” he said.

  “I take walks with Amelia almost every morning. She’s been collecting shells all these years for Kelly’s mosaics. And stones and sea glass.”

  She handed him a pristine wentletrap.

  “What’s it like? Being with this woman who’s suddenly your grandmother?” he asked, putting the shell in the pocket of his bathing shorts.

  “It’s strange, but not as strange as you’d think,” she said, stopping and looking out at the horizon. “I like her. It’s easy to like her.” The waves rolled in and she bent down to rinse off her sandy hands. Standing up, the sun kissed her face, and she closed her eyes. “And I love it out here.”

  “I can see why,” he said.

  “Obviously, I wish I were here under less complicated circumstances. But the thing I worried about the most—telling my dad the truth—turned out to be the most painless part.”

  “He took it well?”

  She turned to face him. “He said he knew all along. It never made a difference in how he felt about me.”

  Julian looked away, distracted. Two children, a boy and a girl with sun-bleached hair and tans the color of caramel, ran past them to the water’s edge. The boy, taller by a head, splashed the girl, and her shrieks of laughing protest made Marin and Julian share a smile.

  “It’s interesting we’re both only children,” he said.

  “I never thought of that before, but yeah, you’re right.”

  He put his arm around her and they watched the brother and sister until their mother called them farther down the beach.

  Someday our child will play on this very spot, she thought.

  “It’s a great place for kids,” he said, clearly having similar thoughts. She felt a swell of happiness. Until he asked, “What time does FedEx show up around here?”

  “I’m not sure.” He was thinking about the test kits?

  “Maybe we should head back to the house and wait for it,” he said.

  She looked at him, a chill running up her spine as the water licked her feet.

  “Okay. Sure.” And in that instant, she knew.

  If this baby wasn’t his, they were over.

  Rachel jotted down her shopping list on the Beach Rose Inn notepad Amelia kept on the counter next to the toaster.

  4 lbs. of fresh cod

  4 lbs. of ripe tomatoes

  4 large sweet onions

  8 cloves of garlic

  1 small bunch of parsley

  Lentils

  Quinoa

  Kale

  Eggs

  What else? She glanced at the index cards—stained from years of consultation mid-cooking—then looked through the pantry to make sure she had enough flour and sugar to make dessert. In the front of the house, Molly barked relentlessly.

  “Molly!” she called out, penciling in a few more vegetables. “Quiet!”

  The barking grew more excited. Was someone out there? She put down her pen and headed to the front door.

  She was halfway through the entrance hall when, disbelieving, she spotted the woman on the couch, leafing through a copy of Provincetown magazine.

  It couldn’t be. It was her mind playing tricks on her.

  “Hello?” she said quietly, as if she were talking to an apparition and if anyone heard her, she might be committed. At the moment, the notion that she was losing her mind was a best-case scenario, the one that made the most sense. The alternative was too crazy.

  “Hey there.” Her mother closed the magazine and looked at her calmly, as if Rachel had just happened upon her in her own living room.

  “Fran? What are you doing here?”

  “Didn’t you get my texts?”

  Texts? When was the last time Rachel had even seen her cell phone? She honestly couldn’t remember. It was a vestigial organ from her distant life in LA. It served no purpose here. People didn’t text; they walked over and said hi. Or you met at Joe as part of a routine. Or you ran into them at the Canteen or at the beach. And she hadn’t thought of anyone from the outside world. Provincetown had become her world—she just hadn’t realized how completely until that moment.

  “No. I didn’t,” she said.

  “Sean and I are doing the Love Yoga Fest in Cape Cod. I took a detour to see you.”

  “You came all the way east for a yoga festival?”

  “It’s a big one.”

  Was her mother just looking for an excuse to check on her? Was she being motherly after all?

  “Did you stop in Philly to see Nana?”

  “On the way back. Maybe.” She stood up and held out her arms.
“Give me a hug, kiddo.”

  Rachel walked into her mother’s embrace, willing herself to be happy for the visit but feeling mostly uncomfortable.

  “So are you staying in town? Is your boyfriend here too?” Rachel asked.

  “He’s seeing friends on the Cape. I thought I’d just drop by for the afternoon and drive back after dinner, but it took me a pretty long time to get here. I’m reconsidering. Is there room for me to crash here?”

  “Not really,” Rachel said quickly. “But you’re welcome to have dinner here. I’m having a few other people over.”

  “Very cool. Do I get to meet the grandmother you told me about? How’s that going?”

  “She’s actually away.”

  “But you’re still here?”

  “Yes. I’m helping out around the place. It’s a long story.”

  Fran walked to the front door, looking out at the porch. “It’s a gorgeous day. Why don’t you show me the beach?”

  Rachel tried to imagine herself and her mother biking over to Herring Cove, finding a spot on the beach, and just sitting quietly in the sun. When was the last time they’d spent an afternoon together? What would they talk about? Rachel could try to tell her about all that had happened in the past month, but did Fran really care? Or would she just wait for a conversational opening to jump in about her latest boy toy, as was her typical MO? Rachel didn’t have the time or patience to find out.

  “I can’t right now. I have to shop for dinner.”

  “We can pick that up on the way back.”

  “I’m cooking, Fran. It’s going to take most of the afternoon.”

  “Since when do you cook?”

  “Since my grandmother showed me how.”

  Fran gave her an odd smile. “Well, that’s great. Glad your little vacation has been worth it.”

  It’s not a vacation, Rachel thought. Vacations come to an end. And that’s when she admitted to herself that she had no intention of leaving.

  The paternity testing was painless. At least, physically.

  Marin and Julian showed up at the lab with the testing kits, had their blood drawn, and signed all the paperwork. Now there was nothing left for them to do but wait.

  “I’ll be back in nine days,” Julian said, kissing Marin good-bye next to his parked car.

  Nine days. That’s when the results would show up in the mail. Nine days, and then Julian had the excuse he needed to walk away for good. She felt like saying, Why bother coming back? Did she really want to open the envelope in front of him, like the Academy Awards of genetics? But when she suggested she just call him, he wouldn’t hear of it. “We need to get the news together.”

  Okay. Whatever.

  By the time his car pulled away, swallowed up in the pre-weekend traffic of Commercial Street, her mood plummeted. Forget about it, she told herself. Put him out of your mind for now.

  Back at the house, Marin planned to head straight to her room and close the door for a few hours, if not the entire rest of the day. But she couldn’t make a break for it because Rachel was in the living room talking to an aging hippie with long hair and a deep tan wearing a tie-dyed romper.

  Had Rachel lost her mind and opened the inn to more guests?

  “Marin—hey. Come here for a sec.”

  Rachel introduced the woman as her mother.

  Looking at the two of them next to each other, she could see it. Their jawlines, the shape of their noses. The mother’s hair was threaded with gray but cascaded down her back just like Rachel’s. Their style was similar, though where Rachel was boho chic, the mother was mostly boho.

  “Nice to meet you,” Marin said.

  Fran squinted her eyes and looked back and forth between them. “So is there a resemblance? I don’t see it. Are you sure you’re related?”

  “Yes,” Rachel and Marin said in unison. Rachel shook her head, clearly irritated.

  “How long are you in town for?” Marin asked politely.

  “Just until after dinner. Rachel invited me to her little fiesta.”

  Marin looked at Rachel, who explained she was cooking dinner at the house and had invited Luke, Thomas, and Bart. “I figured you and Julian would be here so…it will be a fun night.”

  “Julian went back to New York,” Marin said.

  Fran yawned. “Well, I’ll leave you girls to figure out dinner. I’m going to get some sun.” She consulted her phone for directions to the beach, then left with a jaunty wave.

  “Fuck,” Rachel said.

  “You had no idea she was coming?”

  “None.”

  “Well, it’s nice. She must miss you.”

  Rachel shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s weird. She always goes away for weeks and weeks at a time. Now she suddenly misses me? Maybe she just doesn’t like the role reversal.”

  The screen door flapped open and closed, and they turned to see Amelia dragging her bag into the house.

  “You’re back!” Rachel said, a smile taking over her face.

  “We’re back,” Amelia said. Marin could see the hollows under her eyes. Kelly, a few steps behind her, looked thinner than she had just three days ago. Her stomach churned with worry.

  “How’s everything going here?” Kelly asked, notably breathless.

  “Great! The Millers have been so cool, and everything is running smoothly. They’re leaving in the morning, so perfect timing.”

  Rachel prattled on about what she’d been cooking, about some cheese she’d made, and about the Millers’ comings and goings, all the while oblivious to Amelia’s distracted expression and Kelly’s evident exhaustion.

  Marin realized that her sister had not been clued in to what was going on with Kelly.

  “I’m sure they want to unpack,” Marin interrupted. Amelia cast her a grateful smile. Marin helped them get their bags upstairs, and when Amelia used the bathroom, she was shocked to find Kelly leaning on the dresser.

  “Are you in pain? What’s going on?”

  “I feel like shit.”

  “Can I do anything for you?”

  Kelly shook her head. Marin looked down at the inside of her wrist, at their shared tattoo. She was so grateful Kelly had convinced her to stay on the morning she’d wanted to run away—a state of mind that was difficult to imagine now. Now it was her turn to help Kelly at a time when she couldn’t possibly be thinking clearly. “Kelly, if you’re in pain, you need to ask for help—”

  The bathroom door clicked open. Marin gave Kelly a quick hug, feeling her shoulder sharp against the arms she wrapped gingerly around her.

  “Marin, thank you, dear. We’re just going to rest for now,” Amelia said.

  “Do you need me to do anything?”

  Amelia shook her head, and Marin understood: just leave them.

  Fighting back tears, she walked slowly down the stairs. She found Rachel in the kitchen, bending over the counter scribbling on a piece of notepaper. Peering over her shoulder, she saw that it was an elaborate grocery list.

  “Listen, you can’t have a dinner party here tonight,” Marin said. Rachel glanced back at her.

  “Why not?”

  “Trust me, they need peace and quiet.”

  Rachel turned around and leaned against the counter, holding her list. “Says who?”

  “Says me, okay? Tonight’s not a good night.”

  “I already invited everyone. I’m going right now to do the shopping,” Rachel said.

  “Stop being such a baby!” Marin said, frustrated. “You’re like a child looking for Amelia’s approval with all this cooking and cleaning and trying to run the place.”

  Rachel’s cheeks flushed, and Marin instantly wanted to take it back. “I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, I should be like you? Moping around half the summer so they have to spend all their time kissing your ass hoping you stick around? Screw you!”

  Rachel grabbed her straw handbag off the counter, shoved the list inside it, pulled it onto her shoulder, and headed out the back
door.

  “No dinner party!” Marin called after her.

  Chapter Forty

  It had taken Warren Ames exactly three hours to call Blythe and invite her to dinner. She dressed for it carefully, almost giddily. For the first time in weeks, she wore linen pants and a turquoise blouse with her pearls. She set her hair and did her makeup and then slipped out as quickly and quietly as possible lest she, God forbid, run into someone and have to explain where she was going.

  She had such mixed feelings about meeting Warren Ames for dinner (she could not in her mind call it a date) that she absolutely could not tell anyone else about it—least of all Marin. On the one hand, she was having a difficult time dealing with the idea that her marriage was over. But after four months of lying to herself, of denying what was happening, she was starting to feel foolish. And she had, after all, asked Kip to unearth the shoe box.

  He was going to move on, and she would have to eventually too.

  Warren made reservations at the Red Inn. It was an unfortunate selection on his part; she couldn’t help but think how she had wanted to have dinner there with Kip back when she thought there was still hope for her marriage.

  She found Warren waiting for her at the bar. It was a warm room, buttery yellow, with wood-beamed ceilings and a red-brick fireplace.

  He stood when he saw her and kissed her on the cheek.

  “You look beautiful,” he said. She felt herself flush. He was more attractive than she’d remembered, and she wondered why he was single. Divorced?

  “I’m a widower,” he told her once they’d moved to a table overlooking the water. He had two grown sons, one just finishing up at the University of Wisconsin, the other a marine biologist working in Santa Barbara. The garden nursery had belonged to his wife, Catherine. In the five years since she’d died from complications of multiple sclerosis, he’d been running it by himself. They’d moved to Provincetown early in their marriage, and he admitted to Blythe it was not an ideal place to be a widower. “It’s lonely, especially in the winter. But at the same time, all of my memories of Catherine are here so it’s difficult to just pick up and leave.”