All Our Summers

by Holly Chamberlin

  “I don’t think so. All I really know is that the situation is hurting Sophie. Children feel their parents’ troubles very keenly.”

  “I’m aware,” Carol said carefully. “So, you and Julie aren’t close?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Nicola argued. “It’s just that she doesn’t talk to me about what she’s feeling since she found out about Scott’s affair.”

  “Is she talking to anyone?” Carol asked. “A friend maybe?”

  “Why do you care so much about Julie anyway?” Nicola demanded.

  “She’s my niece,” Carol answered.

  “You hardly know her,” Nicola countered.

  “And?” Carol said. “Do you need to know someone intimately before you can feel sympathy for them in a time of need?”

  Nicola frowned. “No, sorry.” Then she shrugged. “Julie has a best friend, Aggie, but Bonnie thinks they haven’t seen each other in a while.”

  “So, she’s pretty much isolated.”

  “No, she isn’t. She has her mother and me and Judith.”

  “All too close to the situation to be of real help. She needs the perspective of an impartial counselor. I don’t suppose Scott would agree to couple’s therapy?”

  Nicola shook her head. “I have no idea. I haven’t said more than two words to him since all this happened. My intuition is . . . Never mind.”

  “No,” Carol pressed. “Tell me.”

  “Aren’t I too close to the situation to be of any help?” Nicola snapped. Then, she shook her head. “Okay, my intuition is that Scott would do whatever it takes to get the marriage back on track. I think it’s Julie who’s . . .”

  “Stalled.”

  “Yes, that’s one way to put it.” Suddenly, Nicola pushed back her chair and reached for her floppy canvas bag. “I really have to be going.”

  “But we—” Carol began.

  “Thanks for the coffee.”

  And Nicola was off, hurrying to the door of the coffee shop.

  Carol remained where she was.

  Had there been progress between mother and daughter?

  No. Not much.

  A burning itch on the left side of Carol’s neck prompted her to raise her hand, then drop it. One did not scratch the evidence of eczema or psoriasis. Stress. This always happened when she began to feel out of control of a situation. Overwhelmed. Plagued by self-doubt.

  Abruptly, Carol rose and left the coffee shop. She did not want to go back to Ferndean.

  She wanted to go home. To New York.

  Chapter 23

  Nicola and Sophie had promised to help Judith set up a trellis in her backyard. Judith had promised them pizza as payment for their time and labor. Nicola would do just about anything for free pizza. Besides, she liked Judith and hoped to grow into the sort of woman her relative was—independent, kind, wise, funny. In short, all things good.

  Not like Carol Ascher. Okay, she wasn’t an evil person, but she could be so incredibly annoying, saying that family wasn’t capable of helping Julie in her current crisis. Julie’s family was being of help, Nicola was sure of it. At least, she hoped they were.

  And another thing. She probably shouldn’t find her mother’s interest in Julie suspicious, but she did. It wasn’t that she was afraid Julie would snatch away what little attention Carol currently paid her daughter. It wasn’t that at all.

  And she wished her mother hadn’t mentioned the Peace Corps. She still couldn’t understand why she hadn’t taken a step beyond the preliminary research she had done weeks earlier. She was annoyed with herself; it wasn’t like her to stop before she had gotten started.

  But there was Judith’s house. Sophie’s bike was leaning against the garage. Scott had bought the bike on Craig’s List for a song and had refurbished it beautifully for his daughter. Scott was not a bad guy. It was a shame he had done what he had done.

  Nicola joined the others in the backyard. Sophie was wearing the shortest of jean shorts. How did she ride a bike in those things, Nicola wondered? Judith was wearing cropped jeans, espadrilles, and a navy-and-white-striped boatneck T-shirt. She always managed to looked put together, no matter how casual or spontaneous the occasion. Nicola glanced down at her own oversize T-shirt and floppy, knee-length shorts. A fashion icon she would never be.

  It didn’t take long for the three women to get the trellis in place, after which they sat around the table with the promised pizza and homemade lemonade. Judith was drinking a beer. She was a fan of the local breweries.

  “Can I give Cocoa a piece of my pizza?” Sophie asked. The mutt was staring up at Sophie with big brown doggie eyes that could move even the stoniest heart.

  “Sure, but you’d better give one to Puff, too. He gets jealous very easily.”

  “You spoil them,” Nicola said with a smile, scratching behind Cocoa’s floppy ear as he chewed the last of his snack.

  “Guilty as charged.”

  Having gotten their treats, the dogs trotted off. Judith had adopted the brothers when they were puppies. Now, they were going on ten. Adults they may be, but they often still acted like silly children.

  Suddenly, Sophie sighed. “If only Grandpa were alive, Dad never would have had an affair. He would have been too afraid of what Grandpa would think of him.”

  “Dear girl,” Judith said, her tone ever so slightly amused, “sex is far more powerful than the thought of being taken to task by an irate father-in-law. Nothing could have stopped your father from having an affair with that woman, not once he’d entertained the thought.”

  Sophie groaned dramatically. “I swear, I am never going to have sex ever if all it causes is trouble.”

  “Sex when you’re in love is wonderful,” Nicola said automatically. Not that she knew all that much about sex or about love.

  Sophie shrugged. “Whatever.”

  “How is your mother faring?” Judith asked suddenly.

  Sophie shrugged. “You know.”

  “If I knew I wouldn’t be asking,” Judith pointed out.

  “It’s got to be tough for her,” Nicola said gently.

  Sophie suddenly got up from her chair. “I have to go,” she said huskily before she turned and began to hurry away.

  “Thanks for your help,” Judith called to Sophie’s retreating back.

  Nicola sighed. “When I look at her I can’t help but see myself at her age. It worries me. I know we’re very different people and the circumstances of our family life—mine then and hers now—are very different. But still, I wish I could make things better for her.”

  “We’re doing what we can,” Judith said. “It takes a village, or at least an extended family when times are tough and the parents seem unable to function at their best. And we’re that family.”

  “My mother thinks that you and Bonnie and I are too close to Julie to be of any real help to her.”

  Judith shrugged. “Well, maybe she’s right. But I don’t think it hurts to try.”

  Nicola smiled gratefully at her cousin. “I agree,” she said. “Like how you tried to help my mother and aunt at your house the other day.”

  “Not that I was successful,” Judith noted.

  “How could you have been? My mother is as stubborn as a mule when it comes to Ferndean. Well, to anything, really. She wants what she wants when she wants it.”

  “She was always a willful person, as far back as I can remember. That willfulness probably had a lot to do with her success in business.”

  But what about success in the personal sphere of family and friends? No, Nicola thought. There was no way Carol Ascher had come back to Yorktide for her family, no matter what she claimed. “Do you have any hope at all that my mother will forget about Ferndean and leave us in peace?” she asked.

  Judith looked thoughtful for a moment. “I really can’t say,” she admitted. “I have a feeling there’s something more going on with her being back in Yorktide than she’s letting on. I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “Yes
,” Nicola said. “I suppose we will. But I’m not happy about it.”

  “You’re not the only one.”

  Chapter 24

  Julie was sitting at the kitchen table. She had eaten half a package of Oreo cookies in less than ten minutes. She was sure there were dark cookie bits in her teeth and knew she should brush them or at least rinse her mouth with water, but she couldn’t seem to move.

  The day before, Scott had asked Julie if she wanted to go to a new place in town for dinner. “How about it?” he said. “I hear they do a mean mac ’n’ cheese, and they’ve got a nine-dollar burger and fries special.”

  Why should she say yes? Julie had thought. So they could sit in sulky silence or have an argument in public? So they could pretend that no one was watching their every move? “No,” she said.

  “But we have to go out at some point,” Scott had pressed. “We have to get back to living our lives together.”

  Did they? Julie had been wondering. What did that mean, anyway? But maybe Scott had no intention of reviving their life together. Maybe by asking her out he was torturing her, mocking her, aware she felt unfit for public scrutiny.

  Public scrutiny or not, there were times when Julie felt compelled to leave the house. Only that morning, just as the shops opened, she had driven into town to her favorite bakery for one of their massive cinnamon buns. On her way from the bakery back to her car she had spotted her impeccably dressed aunt walking purposefully along on the opposite side of the street. Julie had put her head down and quickened her pace. It had been a merciful escape.

  Julie had eaten the cinnamon bun in the car.

  “Julie?”

  She looked up, startled. Scott was standing over her. She felt like a small, defenseless animal that had been cornered by a predator.

  “I need to talk to you,” he said. He sat in the chair across from her and pushed the package of Oreos to the side. “I need you to listen to me, please, Julie.”

  Julie didn’t say yes or no.

  “Sometimes,” Scott went on, taking her silence for acquiescence, “I feel overwhelmed by you and your mom and Nicola and Judith and now Carol. Part of what’s frustrating me is that I feel we’re never alone. We’re surrounded by all these people watching us and waiting for something to happen and—”

  “These people love me,” Julie said, finally finding her voice. “They’re my family.”

  “I know that. But we need to find a way to be alone,” he pleaded, “just you and me, to work this out.”

  What did Scott mean by being alone? Sex? Because that was never going to happen again. He would only be thinking of Laci Fox and of how Julie came up short compared to The Other Woman. Wasn’t that always the way?

  “You’re ignoring us, Julie,” Scott went on, his voice now low and urgent. “And you’re ignoring Sophie. I’m trying with her, I really am, but she’s so mad at me. You’re her mother. You’ve got to help her.”

  “She doesn’t need any help,” Julie replied automatically. Why had she said that? Of course, Sophie needed help.

  Scott shook his head. “Haven’t you heard her talk about that guy at her camp, Tim? He’s no good, Julie, I can feel it. I’ve asked around, but nobody seems to know who he is or where he comes from. I’m afraid she’s getting involved with him and if she won’t even talk to me there’s nothing I can do to protect her.” Scott sighed. “God, I wish Ken were here. Sometimes I feel so lost without him. In a lot of ways, he was more of a father to me than my own was.” Scott swallowed hard. “Julie,” he went on, “I know you’re depressed. It’s obvious, like the last time, after Sophie was born. I’m worried about you. You don’t seem to care about riding your bike or hiking or about . . .”

  “About what?” Julie said. “My appearance? Well, you’re right. I don’t. What’s the point?”

  Scott put his hands to his head. “The point is that . . . I don’t know how to put it. The point is that it’s wrong. I mean, it’s not right that you shouldn’t care about yourself.”

  Julie rose from her chair. “Why don’t you run off to Laci’s house then?” she snapped. “I’m sure she’s skinny and pretty enough for you!”

  “That’s unfair.” Scott dropped his hands and rose from his seat. His expression was grim.

  Julie shook her head and walked from the room. Unfair, she thought. Welcome to my world.

  Chapter 25

  “Oh, my God, I haven’t seen you two side by side in forever!”

  Bonnie managed a smile. Carol didn’t seem able to, or maybe she just didn’t care to.

  “So, Carol, what are you doing in Yorktide?”

  Gina Collins was a nice woman and there was nothing at all wrong with her greeting two people she had grown up with. Still, Bonnie wished she would go away.

  “I’m visiting my family,” Carol said. She didn’t ask after Gina’s family.

  Bonnie continued to say nothing.

  Gina looked a bit miffed. “Well, nice seeing you,” she said before walking off.

  “How did things go with Nicola?” Bonnie asked her sister when Gina had gone, moving her coffee spoon from one side of the saucer to the other.

  “I’m sure you know that they didn’t go well.” Carol smiled slightly. “Sometimes I get the feeling you’ve turned my daughter against me.”

  “I did no such thing,” Bonnie said loudly. Quickly, she glanced around the café. There was only one person other than Bonnie and her sister, and he was wearing ear buds. She doubted he had heard her, or that he cared what two mature women were talking about.

  “What happened?” Carol pressed. “We haven’t been terribly close in years, but now it’s almost as if I disgust her. Is it something to do with Ken’s dying? Did it affect her badly?”

  Bonnie laughed. “Of course, it affected her badly! He was her father for the last ten years.”

  “Yes, all right. I know she’s angry with me—you all are—for missing Ken’s funeral. But it’s got to be more than that. Has she had problems in other areas of her life since Ken died? Work? Friends?”

  “No, she’s been fine,” Bonnie insisted.

  “Any romance?” Carol asked.

  “No.”

  Carol was quiet for a moment, occupied with stirring her coffee, though she had added neither milk nor sugar.

  Bonnie wondered again why she had accepted her sister’s suggestion that they meet for coffee this afternoon. She doubted that Carol had undergone a radical change of heart about Ferndean. Indeed, so far Carol hadn’t said a word about the house. But she hadn’t been particularly harsh or combative, either. That might be a good sign.

  Suddenly, Bonnie became aware of the song playing softly on the café’s music system: “You and Me Against the World.”

  “This song was a big hit the summer of ’74,” she said. “The summer you went away.” Bonnie hesitated a moment before going on. “It reminds me of when we were young, the two of us against the world.”

  “I think it’s pretty insipid,” Carol replied. “I’ve always been more interested in art that challenges and provokes.”

  “I think you should be able to understand lyrics,” Bonnie countered. “And I don’t want to look at a painting and have no idea what it is I’m supposed to be seeing.”

  Carol shrugged. “To each her own.”

  Suddenly, the door to the café opened and in walked Judith. Bonnie waved eagerly at her cousin.

  “What have you two been discussing?” Judith asked, joining them. “Wait. Let me guess. Ferndean.”

  “Art, actually,” Carol said.

  “We have different tastes,” Bonnie said stiffly.

  Judith laughed. “No surprise there.”

  “What Carol finds amusing, I find cruel.”

  Carol said nothing.

  Judith frowned. “Cruel? What are you talking about?”

  Bonnie gripped the cup of her now-cold coffee. “The ghost,” she said.

  “What ghost?” Judith asked.

  “I though
t it would be fun to scare my kid sister,” Carol explained, in an unmistakably weary tone, “so I invented a story about a fifteen-year-old servant girl who had worked for our ancestors.”

  “It wasn’t entirely a fiction,” Bonnie cut in. “Carol showed me a photo of Ferndean’s staff from around 1860. There was a teenaged servant girl. There’s no record of what happened to her.”

  “Or of her name,” Carol went on. “I called her Emily. I told Bonnie that Emily had fallen in love with the son of the local bigwig and that he had seduced her and, finally, as the son of a bigwig would, dumped her. Poor Emily was so heartbroken—and possibly pregnant—that she lost her mind and went rambling off into the winter’s night in only her nightgown. By the time she was found the next day, she was delirious and sick. She was brought back to the house and died two days later in her bed in the servants’ quarters, now the attic.”

  “Then,” Bonnie went on with a frown, “Carol told me Emily’s spirit roamed the halls at night, moaning and sighing over her cruel lover. Can you imagine how the tale affected an eight-year-old? For months, I was petrified to turn the lights off at night. Finally, Mom got me to tell her why I was so upset and set me straight.”

  Judith whistled. “Carol, you really were a little shit at times, weren’t you?”

  “It was only a story,” Carol protested. “I was an imaginative kid.”

  “And you didn’t get punished for terrorizing me, did you?” Bonnie said.

  “It was hardly terrorizing.”

  “I couldn’t go near the attic for years!”

  “Well,” Judith said, “it’s normal for siblings to taunt and tease one another. But not when they’re adults, I should think.”

  Carol took a sip of her coffee.

  “I agree,” Bonnie said robustly. “Adult siblings should treat each other with respect.”

  “Our mothers weren’t particularly close,” Judith noted. “But they were nice to one another.”

  Carol shrugged. “Weren’t they eight years apart? Maybe the age gap kept them from being closer.”

  “I think that age might have been a factor early on,” Judith said. “But it shouldn’t have been a problem when the sisters were adults. I think their poor relationship had to do with my mother and father joining that whacky church when I was little. Even though they didn’t stick with the church for all that long, they were different people after. Far more liberal than Shirley and Ronald.” Judith shrugged. “Then again, that’s my mother’s explanation for the divide. Who knows what Shirley would have to say about it.”