Last Summer

by Holly Chamberlin

  “You know,” Kristin said now. “I didn’t see you around the last few weeks of school. But things were pretty crazy.”

  “I know.” Rosie hesitated and then said, “I kind of got sick.”

  Very lightly, Kristin touched Rosie’s arm. “Oh,” she said, “that’s too bad. I hope you’re feeling better.”

  Rosie smiled. “Yeah, thanks. I am.”

  She heard the basement door open and the voices of Mrs. Patterson and Mrs. Walsh. A moment later the women were in the living room. There was no way Rosie could miss the sudden look of concern on her mother’s face.

  Mrs. Walsh greeted the girls and thanked Mrs. Patterson. Then she and her daughter walked down the drive to where their car was parked.

  “Bye!” Kristin called out, turning and waving once before she slid into the front passenger seat of the car.

  Rosie waved back and closed the door.

  “Are you okay?” her mother asked.

  “Yeah,” Rosie said. “Fine. Why?”

  “That girl, Mrs. Walsh’s daughter. Was she one of—”

  Rosie shook her head. “No, no. I hardly know her. We don’t have any classes together. And she’s on the basketball team. All the athletes hang out together. We never even talked before today.”

  “Did she say anything to you about ... anything?”

  Rosie laughed and didn’t know why. She felt a bit angry and didn’t really know why about that, either. But she would think about it. She would use some of the techniques Dr. Lowe had taught her for figuring out her emotions. “Mom,” she said, “nothing happened. I’m fine. Kristin’s really nice. You don’t always have to ...”

  Rosie hesitated. How could she say what she wanted to say without offending her mother? Mom, stop treating me like I’m a three-year-old. Mom, back off. Mom, you have to let go!

  “What?” her mother prodded. “I don’t have to always what?”

  “Check up on me,” she said finally. “I’ll tell you when something’s wrong, okay? You have to trust me.”

  “I know.” Jane’s voice was a bit quivery. “I’m sorry. It’s just that all that time you were suffering and you didn’t say anything and I didn’t know and I should have known and—”

  Rosie reached out and took her mother’s hand. “But I’m different now, Mom. Really. I know you’re just looking out for me. But just—just try to trust me.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  “Thanks. Did everything go okay with Mrs. Walsh?”

  Jane rolled her eyes and laughed. “She changed her mind again about the hem on that dress she plans to wear to her high school reunion. It’s lucky she’s so pleasant, otherwise I’d have to shake her.”

  Rosie laughed, too. “Now, Mom. Patience is a virtue.”

  “Yeah,” Jane said. “One I don’t seem to have a lot of anymore!”

  26

  Jane had made meat loaf for dinner and Rosie had eaten all of her portion, as well as all of her salad. She had turned down dessert, as Meg had promised there would be ice cream cake at her house. It seemed someone at Frannie’s office had had a birthday and there was half a cake left over, which Frannie had brought home for the kids.

  “But why didn’t the birthday boy or girl take it home?” Jane had asked her daughter. Rosie had shrugged. “Meg said her mom’s taking the cake is payback for all the time people have stolen her lunch from the fridge in the break room.”

  Jane wasn’t sure that the concept of stealing-disguised-as-payback was something a parent should be teaching her child, but she had said nothing.

  Jane finished loading the dishwasher while Mike flipped through the most recent issue of The New Yorker. Earlier that day, after having talked again to Frannie about becoming part of Petey’s life and assuring her that Jane had come around, too, he had taken the little boy to one of the miniature golf courses along Route 1 in Wells and then for lunch at Bob’s Chowder House out on the marsh. The Patterson family had talked about the outing at dinner, like it was a usual, commonplace event. Things were inching toward normalcy, and to Jane, it felt uncomfortable. And the fact that it felt uncomfortable made her feel even more uncomfortable. Mike and Rosie were progressing toward a full reconciliation. Why wasn’t she?

  “It feels so odd,” she said now, “Rosie’s being at Meg’s house.”

  “It used to feel normal,” Mike said, looking up from the magazine. “Maybe it can be again.”

  “But what if ...”

  “Jane, Frannie’s there. She’ll keep an eye on things. Not that I believe anything bad will happen.”

  “I suppose.”

  “What movie are they watching?” Mike asked.

  “The movie about that surfer who lost her arm to a shark.”

  “Hasn’t Rosie seen that at least twice already?”

  Jane shrugged and came to sit at the table with her husband. “It’s a favorite with a lot of the girls. It’s certainly inspirational, though it gave Rosie bad dreams the first time she saw it.”

  “I’m not surprised.” Mike looked back at the article he had been reading, but Jane interrupted him. She needed to talk. “Mike?” she said. “Aren’t you afraid that Meg will betray Rosie again?”

  Mike closed the magazine and laid it on the table. He appeared to give his answer some thought before saying, “I’m a parent. I’m always concerned about the welfare of my child. I always want her to be safe and happy. But as far as trusting Meg ... I have faith in her. And I have faith in her mother. I really don’t think Meg would have sought Rosie out if she intended to hurt her again. She’s not manipulative. She’s not vindictive by nature.”

  “But it could happen,” Jane pointed out. “She could hurt Rosie again.”

  “Anything could happen, Jane. An entirely new bully could start an entirely new reign of terror. Or not.”

  Jane had to admit that Mike had a point. But still. “As far as I know,” she said, “Meg hardly had any counseling. That time she came over to apologize to Rosie, Frannie mentioned that Meg was going to talk to a nun at the church. But I don’t know if she ever did or for how long. Meg could succumb to whatever pressures made her betray Rosie in the first place.”

  “And Rosie could succumb to whatever fears stopped her from telling us what was going on with that Egan girl,” Mike retorted. “There comes a time when you have to trust that your child has learned a lesson. Which is not to say we abandon her to the wolves, so to speak. Of course we have to be vigilant, but we have to be trusting at the same time.”

  “Being a parent is just awful sometimes.” Jane got up from the table and retrieved an envelope from the drawer at the end of the counter.

  “Look,” she said, handing it to Mike. “Frannie slipped this under the door last night.”

  Mike took a card from the envelope, opened it, and read.

  “She wants to reconcile,” he said after a moment. “She sounds sincere. And a bit sad.”

  “I know.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  Jane sighed and sat down again. “I slipped a note under her door this morning. I thanked her for the card and the birthday greetings. But I told her I can’t go back to being her friend. I just can’t, Mike.”

  Mike returned the card to its envelope and gave it back to his wife.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  Jane looked down at the envelope in her hand. “I think so,” she said. “Yes.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, each occupied with their own thoughts. Finally, Mike was the first to speak.

  “You know I’m not a violent man,” he said. “You know I hardly ever get angry, not really. But whenever I see that loser Peter stopping by next door I want to pop him one. Not just for how he neglects his wife and kids but for being so damn lazy. And stupid.”

  “But what does that have to do with me and Frannie?” Jane asked.

  “Just this. Frannie is not Peter. She’s a good person. I don’t know, Jane, but I think it might be a good idea to es
tablish some sort of positive relationship with her again.”

  “Good for Frannie, you mean.”

  “And good for you,” Mike said. “And for the girls. Look, if Rosie and Meg are going to be hanging out together again, even if it’s only occasionally, it seems to be a smart idea for their mothers to be on friendly terms. Plus, you’ll be showing them a good example.”

  Jane smiled ruefully. “The girls are the ones showing Frannie and me a good example.”

  “Sometimes it’s easier for young people to be brave. They have way less emotional baggage than adults. There’s way less in the way of simply doing the right thing or taking a risk.”

  “Yes,” Jane agreed, wondering about the weight of her own emotional baggage. Like the fact that she still missed her mother terribly, and still felt guilty about having moved to Maine and leaving her alone in Boston. “That’s true.”

  “What does Rosie’s therapist say about the girls reuniting?” Mike asked.

  “Rosie won’t tell me,” Jane said. “She said she doesn’t have to tell anyone what goes on in her sessions, and she’s right. It’s frustrating, though, not to know.” Frustrating, Jane thought, and annoying. She couldn’t admit to Mike that she was a little bit jealous of the relationship between Rosie and Dr. Lowe. Maybe more than a little bit jealous.

  “We have to trust that Dr. Lowe knows what she’s doing,” Mike said now. “And I think that Rosie’s showing some improvement. She seems less distracted and moody. She even suggested we play Scrabble the other evening. She hadn’t shown any interest in Scrabble for months. She would only play when I forced the issue.”

  Jane smiled. “Did she beat you?”

  “Of course. She can’t help it.”

  “And her appetite is coming back,” Jane added.

  “Thankfully.”

  “You know, she hasn’t told Meg about the cutting.”

  Mike raised an eyebrow. “No, I didn’t know. I hope she realizes there’s no reason for shame.”

  “Oh, I think she knows that. I suspect she just doesn’t know how far she can trust Meg yet.”

  “That’s probably wise,” Mike said, “to move slowly. Let Meg prove her loyalty before rewarding her with secrets.”

  Jane got up from her seat and came around behind her husband to give him a hug. “Why,” she asked, “is trust so terribly hard to achieve? That’s a rhetorical question.”

  “Good,” Mike replied. “Because I certainly don’t have any answers to that. On a lighter topic, we haven’t talked about what you want to do for your birthday.”

  Jane shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know.”

  “Why don’t Rosie and I surprise you?” he said. “You deserve a nice surprise.”

  Jane wasn’t sure about that but she gave her husband another, tighter hug. “That would be very nice,” she said. “Thank you.”

  27

  Dear Diary

  Another day

  I don’t know if I can make it until the end of school.

  I don’t know if I can make it until morning.

  Dear Diary

  Another day

  These last few days have seemed like a lifetime. A bad, painful lifetime.

  Sometimes I think it would be nice just to go to sleep and never wake up.

  Maybe if I believed in God I could pray to him to make me die in my sleep. But I don’t know if you’re allowed to ask God for death.

  Anyway, it doesn’t matter because I don’t believe in God. So even if God is out there, he wouldn’t listen to me, someone who thinks he doesn’t exist.

  28

  Meg turned on the lamp on the table beside the black leather couch in the Stehles’ large, beautifully furnished living room. She had only sat for baby Benjamin once before and had been happy when Mrs. Stehle had called to ask if she was free this Saturday night. Yeah, like I ever have plans, Meg had thought, as she gladly accepted the job. The baby was a sweetie, and the other time she had sat for him he had woken only once and was quickly lulled back to sleep by some gentle rocking. The Stehles paid well and their house was gorgeous. Meg wasn’t sure exactly what Mr. Stehle did for a living—she knew that Mrs. Stehle didn’t work—but whatever it was, it had gotten him a huge home complete with a finished basement and an in-ground pool.

  Meg smiled down at a framed photograph of little Benjamin. He really was a cutie, with his enormous eyes that looked as if they were going to be dark brown. She had always been good with kids, so baby-sitting was a no-brainer way for her to make money. Still, unlike some girls she knew from school, Meg had no plans for having kids of her own someday. The way she figured it, she had plenty of time to think about kids later, after she had finished college and maybe grad school and after she had established a good career. Having a husband to help raise the kids would be smart, if he didn’t turn out to be a lazy bum like her father. So choosing a husband wisely was also on her far-off agenda. But who knew? Maybe she would never get married and never have children. From what she could tell, life might be a whole lot less stressful without a husband and kids. Maybe it would be lonely, but it might be better to be lonely than to be miserable. Time would tell. That was another one of her mother’s favorite phrases. Actually, she had heard Mrs. Patterson use it, too.

  Meg picked up the TV remote from its stand on the marble coffee table. The Stehles had a fifty-inch flat-screen TV attached to a wall and a fantastic selection of channels, unlike the Giroux family. They had only basic cable. It was a money issue, of course. Sometimes it was so boring being poor! She selected the guide and scanned for something she might want to watch. She selected a station she wasn’t familiar with just for the heck of it and caught a commercial for a documentary on the nationwide bullying epidemic. Meg hit the power button and put the remote back into its stand.

  Maybe, she thought, TV wasn’t such a good idea right now. She tried to shake off the feeling of shame that had come sweeping over her for what seemed like the millionth time in the past month or two. It took some serious effort. She wondered if she would always feel ashamed, even if it were just a little. Maybe full atonement just wasn’t possible.

  Well, whatever the deal was with atonement, Meg suddenly realized that she was seriously thirsty. She had ridden her bike to the Stehles’ house and the heat and humidity had been really awful. She went to the kitchen for a glass of water. The kitchen was what was called “state of the art.” Mrs. Stehle had told her that the first time Meg had come over to watch Benjamin. There was an indoor grill and a big, shiny espresso machine and a double sink. (Meg wasn’t even sure what you were supposed to do with two sinks. Why wasn’t one enough?) Meg was sure her mother would die of envy if she saw the massive fridge with its automatic icemaker. The room almost looked as if it had never been used. The granite counters were spotless, the grill was immaculate, and there was not a crumb in the sink. Meg bet Mrs. Stehle had a housekeeper. You didn’t have manicured nails like Mrs. Stehle did and do your own housework.

  Meg got her glass of water with ice and walked back into the living room, past a formal dining room with a table big enough to seat at least twelve people. Meg did a quick count. Yes, there were twelve chairs set around the table. A massive, modern-looking chandelier hung over the exact center of the table. Meg thought of the old, chipped light fixture that hung too low over the wobbly table in her own kitchen and winced. Not that there would ever be a reason for it, but Mrs. Stehle was not ever going to step foot in the Giroux home, not if Meg could help it.

  Being surrounded by the accoutrements of success, or at least those of physical comfort, made it impossible for Meg not to contrast Mrs. Stehle’s life with her mother’s life. Here was one obvious example: The Stehles traveled. On a side table there was a framed photo of Mr. and Mrs. Stehle on a tropical beach somewhere; the palm trees were brilliant green, the sand shining white, and the water bright blue. Mrs. Stehle was wearing a tiny pink bikini and really looked like a model, with her fantastic figure and long blond hair. Her hair, Meg thought
, was probably professionally dyed. You didn’t get those cool tones from an at-home kit! At least Meg didn’t think you did.

  Her own mother, with her graying hair, had never traveled farther north than Greenville and Moosehead Lake or farther south than Hartford, Connecticut, and that was only once, for someone’s wedding ages ago. And as for wearing a bikini, well, Meg loved her mother, but she would not want to see her in a bikini! Mrs. Stehle probably went to a gym a few times a week. That just wasn’t going to happen for Mrs. Giroux. But God, if only her mother would dye her hair!

  Meg sighed, though there was no one to hear her. She thought about how fantastic Mrs. Stehle had looked earlier that evening. She had been wearing a form-fitting lime green linen dress that came just to her knee and nude pumps with heels that were easily four inches high. Her wedding set had maybe ten round diamonds around a big sparkly emerald-cut diamond. Meg had felt almost dizzy looking at it. Mrs. Stehle had gushingly told Meg that her husband was taking her to MC Perkins Cove for dinner and then on to the Ogunquit Playhouse to see a production of My Fair Lady. Mr. Stehle had come into the living room then and Meg had almost gasped out loud. He was so handsome and neat and really fit, like Ryan Reynolds or another one of those Hollywood guys, maybe that other Ryan. They had left the house soon after and driven off in a sleek black car that Meg thought was a Lexus. Even the name of the car was hot! She was psyched to ride in that car later, when Mr. Stehle drove her and her bike home.

  Meg wondered if her mother would still be awake to see her get out of Mr. Stehle’s awesome car. She kind of hoped that she wasn’t. It might make her feel bad. No one drove Frannie Giroux around in a cool car. No one took Frannie Giroux out to dinner at a fancy restaurant. No one took her to the theater, either, not even to see a movie. No one bought Frannie Giroux a big leather couch or an in-ground pool or diamond jewelry. Meg thought about what Rosie and her father had done for Mrs. Patterson for her birthday. They had taken her for lunch at some fancy Italian restaurant down in Portsmouth and then to a crafts fair. Mom will be lucky if I can afford to take her to Arby’s this year, Meg thought grimly, and maybe a stop at a garage sale if they each had only one soda at lunch. That would save about three dollars.