She took a yellow tennis ball out of her pocket and tossed it to Pammy, who stood at the baseline in anticipation. She caught it, dropped it, and then stopped to pick it up and put it into her pocket with the other ball. She looked across the net at Thomas. “First ball in!” she called. “FBI!”
“CIA!” shouted Charlotte in return.
“Why not,” Thomas called back, ignoring his partner. Three seconds later, a ball went screaming past his left ear and hit the fence without touching the ground. “The speed’s pretty good,” Thomas yelled, “but you’re going to have to work on placement.” Pammy made a face at her brother. She tossed another ball into the air and hit it just as hard as the first. It bounced off Thomas’s head. “Check on placement!”
Charlotte laughed.
“Okay,” Claire said over her shoulder to Pammy. “That’s enough fooling around, Pammy. You can do this. Just put the ball in the box, okay?”
Pammy wound up a third time and pushed the ball gently over the net into the server’s box to Thomas’s forehand. Thomas cocked his racket back into position, then hit the ball soundly back at her feet. In defense, Pammy staggered backward and used her racket to scoop the ball into the air, after which it landed, miraculously, on the other side of the net.
“I’ve got it!” Charlotte yelled, moving closer to the net. She waited for the ball to drop. Then, when it sat three feet above her in the air, she swatted it, sending it careening, untouchable, down the middle of the other side of the court.
“Nice shot,” said Claire, before turning to strategize with Pammy. “You’re going to have to move over just a bit if we’re going to have a chance of getting those down-the-middle shots.” Pammy dutifully scooted toward the center of the court, even though she was certain her mother would not have been able to return Charlotte’s slam either.
“Nice shot, indeed,” said Thomas, giving his sister a high five. Before she could stop herself, Charlotte smiled.
Pammy served to her sister’s backhand. Charlotte put two hands on the grip of the racket, dropped the head, and then hit the side of the ball, giving it a topspin she hoped would baffle her mother at the net. Claire, looking as fierce as a warrior, held her racket firmly and dinked the ball back over to the other side. Thomas and Charlotte were miles from where it bounced. “Hit it like a man,” said Thomas, walking back to the baseline to receive the next serve.
“I did, Thomas,” said Claire. “That particular shot is your specialty.”
“The Drop-Shot King,” said Charlotte on her way to the service line.
“Okay, okay,” said Thomas, facing his mother and sisters. “Are we going to chat all day or play tennis?” Pammy served the ball, which against all odds hit the tape, sending the ball sideways instead of back. Thomas didn’t even swing.
“Nice serve, Pammy,” said Charlotte, walking backward to the baseline.
Thomas looked at her. “You sure that was in?”
“As sure as you are,” she said.
Thomas turned and retrieved the ball in the corner of the court and hit it to Pammy. “Good going, Pammy.”
Charlotte hit the ball in the net after Pammy’s next serve. Then Thomas, still smarting from the ace, launched his next return of serve into the air and over the fence surrounding the court.
“That’s game,” Pammy called, grinning. She hardly ever won her serve, which was the part of the game that gave her the most trouble. She also missed most of the balls that were hit to her at the net because she was afraid of balls hit directly at her that didn’t have time or space to bounce. Her mother told her if she wanted half a chance of hitting balls at the net, she’d have to open her eyes. Claire had further explained to Pammy that a tennis ball is just a ball, not a weapon, and that the sting she felt when she got hit would quickly pass. But Pammy was afraid nonetheless. It was this fear, Claire thought, that prohibited Pammy from competence at tennis and all other sports. At Pammy’s tender age, Claire had been fearless. In many ways, at forty-nine, she still was. She signed Pammy up for tennis lessons every summer—and her daughter had improved somewhat—but the instructor couldn’t, no one could give Pammy the courage she needed to play the game well.
So Pammy was pleased, as she had conquered, if only temporarily, her reluctance to serve. It was nerves, she guessed, more than faulty technique. Whenever she played with her mother, she got a stomachache. When no one responded to Pammy’s announcement, she called out again, “That’s game!”
“Yes, Pammy,” said Charlotte, “we all know how to keep score.”
Thomas returned to the court, having retrieved the ball from outside the fence surrounding it.
“Oh yes,” said Thomas, tossing the ball to Charlotte, staring at her. “Some of us know how to score all right.” Charlotte flipped up the middle finger of her left hand at her brother.
“You all are something today,” said Claire, walking from her side of the net to the other side. “This is supposed to be fun.”
“For whom?” asked Charlotte. “I mean, other than you, of course.”
“I’m having fun,” Pammy said tentatively.
“That’s because you just won your serve for the first time ever.”
“Enough, Charlotte,” said Claire. “You could be having fun, too. In fact, you could be a very good tennis player, Charlotte. There’s more to life than boys and cigarettes.”
“Says you.”
“Believe me,” said Claire, putting her hand on her daughter’s shoulder, “I’m smarter than I look.” Charlotte looked at her mother, unable to retort. Claire dropped her hand and walked beyond Charlotte to the forehand side of the far court. Charlotte looked back, shrugged, and then walked to the other side of the net. She took two balls to the baseline to serve. “I’ll take a couple practice serves.”
“What is this, Wimbledon? Just start in,” said Thomas.
“Fine,” said Charlotte, who bounced the ball five times, like she always did, before tossing it several feet into the air. And when she connected, the ball shot over the net, as if it emerged from the mouth of a cannon. By the time Pammy got to the spot where it landed, all she could do was watch it fly past her.
“Jesus,” Thomas urgently whispered to his partner. “Give the poor kid a chance.”
“She’s never going to get better if we lob them to her, Thomas.”
“Yeah, and she’s never going to get better if she can’t hit them either.”
On the other side of the net, Pammy was retrieving the ball out of the corner of the court. When she turned around, Thomas could see that her face was red, like it always got when she was angry or frustrated.
Charlotte next served to her mother. Claire returned the ball to Charlotte’s backhand. She sent it back over the net to her mother’s backhand. Claire blooped it over the net to Thomas, who hit his return gently to Pammy. Pammy sent the ball into the air, and Charlotte slammed it at her mother’s feet. This game, she said to herself as her mother rubbed the welt on her right ankle, does have its merits . Charlotte called over the net, “Sorry, Mom.”
“No trouble,” said Claire, making eye contact with her oldest daughter across the net.
Thomas looked at his watch. They had been playing for just fifteen minutes, and things were already heating up. Family doubles often meant family trouble, and this match would be no exception.
CHAPTER 33
2003
Helen, Pammy, Charlotte, and Barb sat in beach chairs on the sand. Todd and Ned had taken Sally and Peter to the shallow end of the beach, where the bottom was sandy. There, they could swim without walking through eelgrass and collect hermit crabs and smooth stones. Charles and Thomas were playing golf, and Claire was taking a nap. Daniel, who had gone for a run at the state beach, returned, sweating and smiling. “Hi,” he said, sitting down on the sand next to Charlotte and removing his running shoes.
“Hi,” said Charlotte, not looking up from the August Cosmopolitan that sat open on her lap.
“How was y
our run?” asked Pammy, sucking in her abdomen.
“Great!” Daniel winked at her. “Who wants to go for a swim?”
“Pammy,” said Charlotte at the same time as Pammy said, “Me.” Pammy looked at her older sister, who flashed an insincere smile at her. Pammy slowly lifted herself out of her beach chair. She and Daniel walked together to the water’s edge, where Daniel hesitated for just a moment before taking three long strides into the water and diving below its surface. Pammy walked in up to her waist and then dunked herself up to her shoulders. She quickly swam the ten yards to Daniel, who was treading water waiting for her. They swam out past the raft to the large rock behind it, and then climbed through the seaweed, chased away the seagulls, and sat down to talk.
“Charlotte knows something,” said Pammy, catching her breath.
“She knows we enjoy each other’s company,” said Daniel.
“You don’t think she suspects anything?”
“She hasn’t said anything.”
Pammy shook her head from side to side, releasing water from her ears. “That means nothing.”
“Not necessarily,” said Daniel. “She’s pretty straightforward with her opinion when she’s got one. She comes right out with it.”
“Well, she’s giving me all sorts of looks,” said Pammy, “and I don’t like it.”
“You made your own bed, Pammy.”
“I didn’t make it alone.”
“No, you didn’t.” Daniel took her hand and gently squeezed her fingers.
“Do you love her, Daniel?”
“Charlotte?”
“Yes.” Pammy focused all of her attention on his eyes, on what they would communicate to her next.
Daniel ran his hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. “As much as one can love Charlotte, yes.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that Charlotte is difficult to love.”
“Why?”
“Pammy, she’s your sister.”
“Yes, but I don’t know her very well.”
“Exactly,” said Daniel, lifting his face to the sun and closing his eyes. “I don’t think anyone knows her very well.”
“So what about her do you love then?”
“I love the Charlotte who loves a good time and is willing to take chances.”
“And that’s enough?”
“I don’t know,” said Daniel, opening his eyes and again looking at Pammy. “I seem to have a deeper understanding with you.”
Pammy smiled at him. “Do you love me?”
“I love many of your qualities.” Daniel covered her hand with his.
“That’s good enough, I guess. It’s only been a few days.”
“And I especially love your ass.” Pammy laughed. “When can we be alone again?” Daniel ran his hand up and down her thigh.
“Maybe tonight,” said Pammy. “Maybe we can sneak out tonight.”
“I’ll think about you all day.”
“You do that,” said Pammy. The two sat for another minute or so before Pammy stood. “We’d better head in.”
Daniel stood next to her, putting his arm around Pammy’s waist and pulling her close to him. She put her hands on his chest, in a weak attempt to stop herself from holding him. The rock was a good distance from shore, but not far enough. Pammy could see her sisters on the beach and knew, of course, that they could see her. Daniel released Pammy and dove into the water, breaking the calm surface. Pammy followed him in and then swam next to him in silence. She was resolved to meet him that night, to make love to him, to make him hers. She didn’t care about her sister. This relationship meant nothing to Charlotte. Even if it did, she had always been able to recover from a loss as quickly as it had occurred. Charlotte didn’t love him, Pammy thought as she swam, at least not the way Pammy did.
On shore, Daniel and Pammy toweled off. Helen looked up from her magazine. “How was your swim?”
“Great,” said Daniel. “I love a good swim after a run. That’s why the Bay Area is so perfect for me. I can run on the beach and then take a dip right afterward.”
“Isn’t the water freezing?” asked Helen.
“It’s a very quick dip.” Daniel grinned.
“Personally, I love a good swim after a good romp,” said Charlotte. Daniel laughed. Pammy frowned. “Don’t pout, Pammy,” she said. “It doesn’t become you.”
“I wasn’t pouting,” said Pammy, sitting down in her chair. “I was thinking.”
“Share your thoughts with all of us,” said Charlotte, putting down her magazine.
“I’d love to hear them,” said Daniel, “but I’m going to head to the other end of the beach. I can’t believe the size of the sandcastle they’ve made down there. This one definitely trumps their other creation. Todd and Ned are unbelievable camp counselors.”
They watched Daniel run down the beach. “I’m just dying for one of Daniel’s back rubs,” said Charlotte, looking at Pammy. “I’m as tense as an old virgin.”
“Shut up, Charlotte,” said Pammy. “You’ve got an aching back from hauling around those wrecking balls welded to your chest.”
“Oh, here we go,” said Charlotte. “It’s not enough for you to steal my boyfriend, you have to make fun of me too? You’re just such a special sister, Pammy.” Pammy had no ready response to her sister’s accusations and looked at her blankly. “Come on, Pammy. You think I don’t know? You think you can sneak around with Daniel, making a horse’s ass of yourself, and no one will notice? Maybe Peter and Sally don’t know, but they’re the only ones.”
“Stop it,” said Helen, sitting up in her chair. “Just stop it.”
“No, I’m not going to stop it, Saint Helen. If sweet Pammy were sleeping with your husband, would you stop it?”
Barb got up from her chair. “I’m going down to the end of the beach to see that sandcastle,” she announced.
“Daniel’s not your husband,” Helen found herself saying before she could stop herself.
“Well, no, he’s not, Helen. But you know and I know and Pammy knows that what she did and is doing is wrong. If you can see that and still side with her, then you’re not much better than she is.”
“I don’t really care,” said Helen. “I’m sick to death of Daniel. Anyone who bilks one sister for her condominium, car, and ATM card, and seduces another sister at a family reunion weekend is disgusting. The kid’s a common swindler, who has both of you thinking he’s the last available man on earth.” Pammy and Charlotte were silent.
“He’s a diversion,” Charlotte finally said.
“From what?” asked Helen. “From your miserable, wealthy life? Yes, you’ve had relationships that haven’t worked out and you haven’t been able to have children, and I’m sorry for that. I truly am. But dating children won’t make up for not having them. Get into a relationship with a good man and adopt a child for God’s sake.”
“It’s not that easy,” said Pammy. “You have a good man. You don’t know what it’s like to be without one.”
“You’re right,” said Helen. “I do have a good man, but that doesn’t exempt me from empathy.”
“It does exempt you from the loneliness of being single.” Pammy dug her toes into the sand.
“Then change that, Pammy. Spend more time with your friends. Find a new challenge at work. Donate your time to a charity or something that matters to you. But for God’s sake, stop feeling sorry for yourself.”
“Aren’t you full of advice,” said Charlotte, with a smirk. “You should start your own column, Helen dear.”
“I’m just getting started,” said Helen. Her heart was racing. She knew she should shut her mouth, that she had already gone too far, but she continued, focusing her gaze on her oldest sister. “Stop trying to look like an eighteen-year-old and start acting like the forty-seven-year-old woman you are. You make a spectacle of yourself with your cartoon breasts and string bikinis. Let go of your need to be in the spotlight. Let someone else have a ch
ance. Believe me, you can learn a lot from the backseat.”
“Ah, but you’ve never been in the backseat, have you, Helen?” said Charlotte. “You’ve always been front row, center.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure you do, favored one,” said Charlotte.
“That’s not true,” said Helen, knowing better.
“Of course it’s true,” said Pammy. “You wonder why I don’t come out to see you and the Queen, when all I get is disappointed looks from both of you.”
“Helen could have her own travel company,” said Charlotte. “Street Guilt Trips.” Helen shifted in her beach chair, looked out at the water. “Do you ever get tired of always being right?”
“I’m not always right,” said Helen, mildly defiant.
“That’s right,” said Pammy. “So quit pretending that you are. We’ll give you the Medal of Honor, if you’d like, for taking care of Mom. But you’re going to have to admit that it’s not that hard, and you enjoy doing it. Plus, you certainly must enjoy Mom’s company because you’re just like her.”
Helen looked at Charlotte. “Bingo,” she said. “Nicely worded, Pammy.” Helen started to get up from her chair. “Sit down, for God’s sake, Helen. This is not the end of the world here. You were giving us a bunch of shit, and we gave some back. That’s what sisters do, right?”
Helen sat. “I didn’t realize I was such an asshole.”
“Most assholes don’t,” said Pammy.
After a few seconds, Helen laughed out loud. “Okay,” she said. “I’m sorry I’ve been such an asshole.”
“And I’m sorry, too, Charlotte,” said Pammy, softly. “What I’ve been doing is inexcusable. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“That’s easy,” said Charlotte. “You’re not getting enough sex.” Helen laughed again. “I don’t care,” Charlotte said. “While you shouldn’t have been hitting on my boyfriend in front of me, I don’t really care. He’s a child, Pammy. He’s not for me, and he’s not for you. And, if I really loved Daniel I wouldn’t have had sex with Steve Johanson last night.”
“What?!” Pammy and Helen said together.
The Summer Cottage Page 28
