So much for social anthropology.
“Anyway,” she went on, “I’ve heard they got along just fine when they were young. It was Carol’s going away to New York that changed things.”
“How?” Sophie asked.
“I’m not sure, exactly,” Nicola admitted. “But Bonnie’s led me to believe that nothing was ever the same between them again.”
“Maybe Grandma was jealous that her sister got out of Yorktide and she didn’t. It’s so boring here.”
“I don’t think it was that. Bonnie was happy in Yorktide. She still is. I think it had more to do with the fact that Bonnie felt abandoned when Carol left. They were never close again.”
“I want to get out of Yorktide, too,” Sophie announced. “I think your mother was smart.”
“So was Bonnie,” Nicola argued. “Each sister did what she wanted to do.” And that, Nicola thought, was the point. No one could rightly blame Carol Ascher for living her life. As much as some people may want to. “Do you really mean it, about getting out of Yorktide?”
Sophie nodded. “I do. This town is just too small. I mean, if I stay here I’ll never get away from being the kid whose parents’ marriage was ruined by her idiot father who had an affair with the town tramp. Everyone knows everything about you or they think they do, which is worse. How can I ever be me—whoever that is!—if I stay here?”
Nicola didn’t know what to say. Sophie had a point.
“Is that why you want to join the Peace Corps, to get away from Yorktide?” Sophie suddenly asked.
Nicola laughed. “No! I like it here. I’m thinking about joining the Peace Corps to challenge myself. I believe I’ll come home to Yorktide after my service a better, stronger person.” If, Nicola thought, she ever left in the first place.
“If I were going away I’d go to, I don’t know, Aruba maybe. Someplace warm!” Sophie suddenly snapped her fingers. “Hey, maybe your mother could help me if I decide to move to New York!”
Nicola felt a stab of jealousy. Would her mother lend a helping hand to Sophie in a way she hadn’t been able—or willing to—for her own daughter? “New York is hardly much warmer than Yorktide,” she said lamely.
“Yeah, but it’s a lot bigger and there’s way more stuff to do!”
“Well, I can’t argue with you there,” Nicola said. Museums on Saturday afternoon. Ice skating in Central Park. The Bronx Zoo. Dinners in Chinatown. Broadway theaters. Yes, her childhood had been filled with exciting activity, and she did not forget it and she was not unappreciative. Maybe one day she could tell her mother that.
Suddenly, Sophie sighed. “Anyway, it’s not like I’m going away soon. I have to at least finish high school. And—”
“And what?” Nicola asked. Sophie’s expression had turned sober.
“Nothing. Well, just that Mom probably would miss me if I left home.”
“So would your father,” Nicola said. “We all would.”
“Yeah, I guess I’d miss you guys, too.”
Nicola took a sip of her iced coffee. She had often wondered if her mother had ever missed her once she was living in Maine. She must have. Carol Ascher was not a monster. Nicola had seen the stricken look on her mother’s face at the diner the other day when she had stormed off. To show up at Nicola’s apartment, uninvited and unwanted, must mean that her mother had been desperate to see her.
But Nicola didn’t want to think about that.
“How’s the job going?” she asked.
“It’s fun,” Sophie said, “except for the kids. Well, a few of them are okay, but mostly they’re annoying.”
“And the other counselors?” Nicola asked, remembering that nasty-looking guy she had seen earlier.
“They’re okay.” Sophie shrugged.
“Come on,” Nicola said, getting up from her seat. “I’ll drop you home.”
“Thanks, Nicola,” Sophie said, after she had slurped the remainder of her drink. “For listening.”
Nicola smiled. “My pleasure.”
Chapter 20
Scott had gone to work and Sophie to her job at the day camp. Julie was alone in the house. She was sitting at the kitchen table with the remains of three breakfasts. There was a blob of grape jelly on the butter dish. That would have been Sophie. She could be very messy at the table and never cleaned up after herself. That was Julie’s job.
Scott had taken his empty bowl and coffee mug to the sink. It was beyond his domestic abilities to put them into the dishwasher. That was Julie’s job, too.
Julie sighed and folded her hands on the table. She was still wearing her wedding ring. She had sworn she would wear the ring Scott had given her until the day she died. She thought of her mother, who was still wearing her wedding band. Ken Elgort’s death didn’t erase the fact of his marriage to Bonnie; Bonnie Elgort was as devoted to her husband now as she had been when he was alive. Julie respected that devotion. It was what she had always wanted in her own marriage.
The ring. The visible token of her commitment to Scott. A commitment that had been mocked.
Suddenly, Julie decided that she would take the ring off. It was a symbol of what had never really been. From the start her marriage had been a myth she had convinced herself was true in order to be like every other married woman in Yorktide. Safe. Content. Loved.
Julie tugged at the band of gold. It wouldn’t budge. The flesh of her finger looked puffy above and below the band. She tugged again with no luck. She went to the sink and ran cold water over her hand in the hopes that her finger might shrink enough for the ring to move. That didn’t work. She soaped her finger. Still, no luck. Short of having the band severed by a jeweler it was staying where it was. On her fat finger.
No doubt about it. The ring was now a sign of how trapped she had become in her troubled self, a prisoner in her own body, a slave to a mind she could not control.
Scott wasn’t overweight. Scott wasn’t a victim of crippling self-doubt and self-loathing.
But he was a liar and a cheat. Two things Julie was not.
Not long after Julie had confronted Scott about the affair, she had gone in search of his wedding band. The idea that he might have lost or sold it was plaguing her.
The ring lived in Scott’s sock drawer; he only put it on for special occasions, like Sophie’s baptism and Ken’s funeral. And there it still was, in the original box from the jeweler, next to the underwear and socks, some of which were so threadbare they should be thrown away. Julie had stared at the socks. Why should she continue to perform the myriad little services she had always performed for her husband, like replacing his socks when they were worn, presoaking the most stained of his work clothes, and making sure he took his daily vitamin?
Because she was still his wife. She had not asked Scott to make her doubt the validity and importance of her role in his life. But he had.
Julie had left the worn socks where they were.
Slowly, Julie rose and brought the dirty breakfast things to the sink. She turned to open the dishwasher and stopped. Shoulders hunched, she made her way upstairs to her bedroom. On the way, she remembered that her mother and her aunt were meeting that morning at Judith’s house with the express purpose of coming to a fair and amicable agreement regarding Ferndean House. Julie highly doubted that such a thing was possible given the fact that each sister wanted all or nothing. Well, maybe Judith could work a miracle.
Julie highly doubted that, too.
Chapter 21
Bonnie and Carol arrived at the same moment. Bonnie didn’t know how to take this. Was it mere coincidence, or had Carol planned to upstage her sister’s entrance? But that was silly. She needed to calm down and keep a clear head if she was to emerge victorious from this meeting.
Each sister got out of her car. Carol looked as if she was dressed for a board meeting of a big corporation. She was wearing a tailored lightweight suit and pumps with heels. Her face was made up, and as Bonnie got closer to her sister she realized that Carol was wearing a s
cent. It smelled expensive.
Bonnie was now acutely aware of her own casual appearance. The cotton pants she had on could pass for pajama bottoms, and the blouse had to be at least ten years old. It was clean but faded. Bonnie had never minded that before. The sandals on her feet had also seen better days.
Carol nodded at her sister just as Judith opened the door and waved to them.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been to your home before,” Carol noted as they came up the walk and passed through the front door, on which was hung a wreath of dried herbs.
“You haven’t. Welcome.”
Bonnie liked Judith’s home. It was very cozy. It had been built in the bungalow style and was decorated with all of Judith’s favorite things: seashells, rough gemstones, fluffy pillows, books, milk glass items, more books. The furniture had accumulated over the years, largely culled from flea markets and antique shops. The walls were covered with artwork—paintings by local artists; posters from museum exhibits; embroidered samplers Judith had inherited from her mother.
Bonnie noted that in deference to Carol’s dislike of dogs, Judith had let Cocoa and Puff into the yard, where they were happily romping with each other and their pile of outdoor toys.
“I’ve made coffee and tea, and there are scones and muffins,” Judith said as the women took seats at the table in the sunny kitchen. “I don’t think important conversations should take place on an empty stomach.”
Carol accepted a cup of black coffee. Bonnie poured a cup of tea and added her customary milk and two sugars. Neither sister took a scone or muffin. Judith put one of each on her plate and began to eat with relish. “So,” she said between mouthfuls, “we’re here to see if we can come to some sort of agreement about the future of the family homestead. Yes?”
“Yes,” Carol said briskly.
Bonnie nodded.
“As I understand it,” Judith went on calmly, “Carol, you want to buy Bonnie’s share of the house and live there full-time. On your own.”
“That’s my plan,” Carol said.
Your desire, Bonnie corrected silently. I have to consent and I won’t.
“And, Bonnie,” Judith said, “you want to live at Ferndean full-time. Alone.”
“Yes, I can’t afford to buy Carol’s half of the house, even if I sell the cottage. She knows that. It’s not fair. I’m the one—”
Judith put her hand in the air. “One step at a time. Carol?”
Carol looked squarely at her sister. “My buying you out of your share of Ferndean is a win-win for you. You get a packet of money and the house stays in the family. You’ll no longer be burdened with the care and upkeep, but you’ll be able to visit.”
Bonnie frowned. “How can I be sure you won’t decide to sell Ferndean to some stranger next year or the year after that, just because you’ve grown tired of Yorktide again? No, I don’t trust you.”
“Well, at some point the house might have to be sold.” Carol’s tone was maddeningly reasonable. “Properties are investments. If a disaster strikes that makes it necessary for me to sell the house and the land it sits on, I’ll have to do it. I can’t promise what it’s not in my power to promise.”
“Scone? Muffin?”
Judith was holding the plate of baked goods aloft. Bonnie, usually unable to resist bread in any form, shook her head. Of course, Carol wouldn’t have anything. She probably never ate carbs. Or only rarely.
“Properties are not investments,” Bonnie said, turning back to her sister. “Well, maybe some are, but not Ferndean. It’s a home. It’s a legacy.”
“We’re going in circles,” Judith murmured.
“And whose fault is that?” Carol asked. “My sister refuses to see reason.”
“Your reason is not the same as my reason,” Bonnie snapped.
“It’s time for old wounds to heal,” Carol declared. “It’s time for us to be close like we once were, when we were little.”
“Why?” Bonnie demanded. “Because you want it? It takes two to reconcile, Carol. And I’m not sure I want to reconcile on your schedule and according to your rules.”
“What rules? And what schedule? I’m not in any rush.”
Judith laughed. “Sorry. Just that none of us at this table are spring chickens. Our time on this earth is limited.”
“Judith has a point. We’re not getting any younger,” Carol said. “If I lived here in Yorktide, we could help each other as we age.”
“I’m not stopping you from moving back to Yorktide,” Bonnie cried, her voice high and thin. “Buy yourself a swanky condo on the beach or one of those McMansions in a gated community. I want to live at Ferndean. I believe I have a right to the house. I’ve been the one taking care of it. Besides, I know Mom and Dad would have wanted me to have Ferndean.”
“If they’d wanted you to have the house, they would have changed their wills.”
Judith cleared her throat. “Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, but there’s no reason both of you can’t live comfortably at Ferndean. The house is certainly big enough.”
“No,” Bonnie said emphatically.
“It wouldn’t work,” Carol said firmly.
“And what, exactly, is your objection to living under the same roof as you did when you were children? Bonnie, you go first.”
Bonnie hesitated. “We’re not children,” she said finally. “Nothing is the same as it was.”
Carol nodded. “Bonnie is right.”
“Fair enough,” Judith murmured.
Carol suddenly turned to face her sister. “If my being at Ken’s funeral meant so much to you,” she said, “why didn’t you postpone it until I was back in the States?”
Judith choked on a bit of scone.
Bonnie was appalled by the callousness of the suggestion. “My husband,” she said coldly, “deserved a timely burial. Who do you think you are that you’d matter more to me than Ken?”
“You could have hosted a memorial the following month,” Carol pointed out. “I would have been here for that.”
“Would you have?” Bonnie laughed a bit wildly. “I don’t think so!”
Once again, Judith raised her hand. “Whoa! We’re way off topic now. Calm down, the both of you.”
Carol rose from her chair. Bonnie noted how her sister held herself, so erect and still; she looked as if she might be royalty. Bonnie felt a shiver of fear.
“I think we’re done here,” Carol said. “I’m open to another meeting at a time when my sister is ready to take a negotiation seriously.”
Judith rose. “I’m sorry we don’t seem to have made any progress,” she said.
Carol nodded and left the kitchen. A moment later the front door opened and closed.
“Well, that was unproductive,” Judith said, sinking back into her chair. “But I think if you’re going to get anywhere with your sister you’re going to have to give a little, just at first, sort of open the gates as it were.”
“If I give an inch she’ll take a mile,” Bonnie said darkly. “Anyway, what can I give? There’s no compromise here, Judith.”
Judith sighed. “Maybe not. I just don’t know.”
“Thank you,” Bonnie said feelingly. “It was good of you to try to broker a peace.”
A few minutes later, Bonnie slid behind the wheel of her car and started the engine. Her relationship with Judith had always been warm and uncomplicated. There were several reasons why they got along. The biggest one, Bonnie believed, was that they were not sisters.
Bonnie glanced at the dashboard clock. It was only ten thirty, but the morning had been a trying one; she was ready for a nap.
Chapter 22
Carol was surprised her daughter had agreed to meet. After their last meeting, she had been fairly sure Nicola would make it a point to avoid her mother like the plague. Of course, the intention behind Nicola’s agreeing to see her mother now might be to lambast her for her bad behavior or to criticize her for her poor decisions.
Because Nicola had mad
e it clear she didn’t believe her mother had come back to Yorktide for her family.
“Thanks for meeting me,” Carol said, taking a seat across from Nicola in a little coffee shop Judith had recommended. Since when did a mother have to thank her child for agreeing to have coffee with her? Since the mother had unintentionally created a situation of estrangement.
Nicola didn’t respond. Nor did she look directly at her mother. For a second, Carol felt almost sick. Did her daughter genuinely dislike her? Then she got a grip on herself.
“Have you heard anything from the Peace Corps?” she asked.
“Not yet,” Nicola said shortly. “I heard you and Aunt Bonnie met at Judith’s to talk about Ferndean. Bonnie said it didn’t go very well.”
“No, it didn’t.” Carol decided to say no more. That matter was between the two Ascher sisters. Carol only hoped that Bonnie hadn’t told Nicola about her suggesting that Bonnie should have delayed Ken’s funeral. Yes, she knew of cases where just such a thing had been done, but she should have known it was a choice her sister never would have made.
Nicola leaned forward. “Why are you doing this to her? Why are you persecuting your own sister?”
“I’m not persecuting anyone,” Carol protested. She had been right. Nicola had agreed to meet her mother only to take her to task. “I have an equal right to the house.”
“Maybe legally, but not morally.”
“The money Bonnie would make from a sale of her half of the house would set her up for the rest of her life.”
“You can’t equate money with time and effort and love,” Nicola argued. “Bonnie and Ken put all of those things into Ferndean over the years. That’s worth far more than any amount of cash.”
Carol restrained a sigh of frustration. “Can we let this subject drop for the moment?”
Nicola sat back again. “Fine. For the moment.”
“Thank you. By the way, I haven’t seen Julie yet. Has anything changed between her and Scott? Is she feeling any better about herself?”
All Our Summers Page 8
