Scott met them at a table in the center of the space; he had gotten two slices of sausage pizza and a massive cookie studded with M&M’s. Something about the cookie made Nicola smile. It was the first time she had smiled in . . . in a very long time.
They had eaten without speaking much. Scott offered both women a piece of his cookie. A half hour later they got back in the car. The rest of the drive north passed quickly.
And then she was in her new home.
It was only years later that Nicola began to understand how difficult it must have been for Scott and Julie to perform the task of bringing her to Maine. They had been young parents at the time; what had they made of Carol Ascher’s decision to send her child away?
No doubt about it, Nicola would be forever grateful to her cousin and to Scott for their friendship. If Scott had messed up with Julie, well, that didn’t erase the good things he had done and the sacrifices he had made for Julie’s family.
Suddenly, Nicola became aware that night had fallen. She had been lost in memories for hours. She still hadn’t eaten dinner and wasn’t sure if there was anything other than peanut butter and a can of soup in the house. She wished someone was there to feed her.
She wished . . .
Chapter 36
Julie knew why her mother had come by the other day. To check up on her. Julie had been annoyed but also ashamed at how dirty and messy things had gotten in her home. Once she had found genuine fulfillment in offering herself and her family the gift of a clean and tidy home.
Once.
But her mother’s unexpected visit had shaken her into action. At least, into the intention of action.
The first room she decided to tackle was her office. Every surface was covered with papers and books, unwashed coffee mugs, plates, and glasses. First, Julie gathered the latter and brought them to the kitchen. Next, she returned to the office and from underneath the desk, she dragged a cardboard box of miscellaneous papers and dumped the contents onto her work table. There had to be hundreds of photographs in the mix of school reports, clippings, and receipts. Here was a shot of her and Scott taken at their engagement party at Ferndean House. Julie frowned. Here was another of them taken at Christmas a few years before her father died. She turned abruptly from the table.
Julie moved across the room to an old metal filing cabinet she had inherited from the school. The frames inside two of the four drawers had somehow gone missing; in those two drawers Julie kept stacks of articles she had been collecting from magazines and newspapers since before her marriage. It was unlikely she would ever reread any of those articles. Why was she still holding on to them? The papers on the bottom were probably yellowed; some might even have crumbled into dust.
“Anybody home?”
Julie startled. She hadn’t heard the front door open. She slid closed the drawer of the filing cabinet. A moment later Nicola stood in the doorway of the office.
“Sorry to just drop in,” Nicola said brightly. “But I was in the neighborhood and I thought, why not?”
Julie bristled. In the neighborhood? Had someone sent Nicola as a spy?
“What are you up to?” Nicola asked, glancing around the room.
“Organizing,” Julie said tersely.
Nicola went over to the pile of papers and photos on the work table and began to sift through them. “I make it a point to throw something out every day. Getting rid of stuff on a continual basis helps keep my place organized. And my head, for that matter.”
Julie said, “Mmm.”
“Oh, this is cute!” Nicola held up a class photo that showed Sophie in pigtails and wearing a My Little Pony T-shirt. “What grade was she in?”
“That was kindergarten,” Julie said.
Suddenly, Nicola laughed. “Oh, this is embarrassing! This is me, the second summer I was living here. Why I thought men’s overalls were a good idea I’ll never know. Still, they were comfortable.”
Julie remembered those big, baggy overalls Nicola had lived in that summer. Maybe she should get herself a pair. The overalls would mask her ever-increasing figure.
“Where was this taken?” Nicola asked, lifting another photo from the pile. “It says May 1974. That’s the year my mother left Yorktide.”
Julie peered at the white bordered photo; the colors were slightly faded. “That was Dad’s family’s backyard,” she said. “The Elgorts still had that old swing set when I was little. And that’s Judith on the end, and Bonnie next to her. That guy I don’t know, or that girl. But those two are, of course, Carol and Ken.”
“But he’s got his arm around her waist.”
Julie shrugged. “Well, they were dating.”
Nicola looked up at Julie, her eyes wide. “Wait a minute, my mother dated Uncle Ken?”
“Yes,” Julie said matter-of-factly. “I assumed you knew. I found out about it when I was a kid. Not that Bonnie or Carol ever talk about it. I guess you could say it’s a secret hiding in plain sight.”
Nicola tossed the photo back onto the table. “I can’t believe this!” she said, her voice trembling. “Aunt Bonnie and Uncle Ken were made for each other! What could he possibly have seen in my mother?”
“She was beautiful—well, you can see that in the photo—and she was vivacious, the sort of girl every guy wants to date and every girl wants to be friends with. Anyway, that’s what I’ve heard.”
“But . . . I can’t wrap my head around this!”
“You don’t really have to. It was ages ago.” Julie glanced at the window, as if expecting to find someone peering in. “Though small towns never forget.”
Nicola was silent for a moment; then she said, “I just had the strangest thought. What if my mother thinks that Aunt Bonnie stole Ken from her? Maybe she’s trying to steal Ferndean as a way of getting back at her sister.”
“Revenge? You don’t really think that’s what’s going on, do you? And why would she wait all these years before acting?”
“I don’t know,” Nicola admitted. “Revenge is a dish best served cold?”
“I think Carol wants Ferndean for herself because she’s a selfish person and always has been. There’s nothing more to it than that.”
Nicola visibly bristled. “Carol is my mother, you know,” she said coldly.
“Sorry,” Julie said. “But I thought you felt the same way the rest of us do.”
Nicola shook her head. “I do but . . . Never mind. Sorry I snapped.”
“Look, did someone send you here today?” Julie asked.
“No! Absolutely not.”
Julie studied her cousin’s face. Nicola was telling the truth. “Do you want something to drink?” she asked. “I think there’s a packet of iced tea mix around somewhere.”
“No, that’s okay. You’re busy. Sorry if I interrupted.” Nicola began to hurry toward the door.
“Nicola?” Julie called. “Thanks for stopping by.”
“Sure.” Nicola waved and was gone.
The articles in the filing cabinet. Two drawers stuffed full of them. Julie stared at the old metal cabinet for a long moment. And then she left the room.
Chapter 37
“What a nice surprise. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Am I interrupting anything?” Nicola asked.
“You’re never an interruption,” Bonnie said warmly.
Nicola had come through the kitchen door rather than the front. Only close family ever did that.
“I don’t know why you want to leave this place,” Nicola said, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “It’s so cozy. I mean, I know you love Ferndean and you have a right to it, but . . . I don’t know. All the wrangling with my mother . . . Is it really worth it?”
“I’m fine,” Bonnie assured her niece quickly, but she did not answer her question.
“You never told me that Uncle Ken dated my mother before he hooked up with you,” Nicola blurted.
Bonnie’s eyes widened. “I guess I just assumed you knew,” she said. “Your mother never
told you?”
“Not a word. I just found out about it at Julie’s. There was a photo from 1974, taken at the Elgorts’ house, and I asked her about it. What on earth did Ken see in my mother?”
Bonnie hesitated before answering. “There’s a lot more to your mother than what you allow yourself to see,” she said finally. A lot more than Bonnie had encouraged Nicola to see.
“Like what?” Nicola demanded.
Bonnie sighed and feeling more than a little guilty, she sat down across from Nicola. Absent-mindedly, she began to trace the pattern of roses on the tablecloth. “Carol was different from everyone else in Yorktide,” she said. “She had a natural flair for attracting attention. Some people are just like that, effortlessly magnetic. You can love them for it or you can grow to dislike them for it.” That’s what happened with me, Bonnie thought. I grew to dislike my sister for being who she was.
“How did the relationship between them end?” Nicola asked.
Bonnie hesitated. Should she tell Nicola the truth, the story Ken had told her, the one that didn’t match the public tale? Yes, she thought. Why not?
“Ken ended things and not long afterwards, Carol left Yorktide. I had always liked Ken, and once Carol was gone he noticed me. We started to date after a while and when I was eighteen, we married.”
“Mom must have been furious,” Nicola said.
“I don’t know what she felt,” Bonnie said truthfully. “She sent me a note of congratulations from New York. That was just before Ken and I were engaged. She came to my wedding and acted like nothing had ever happened between herself and Ken.”
“But she wasn’t your maid of honor,” Nicola stated.
“No,” Bonnie said. “Not given the circumstances.” But she had wished it could have been Carol by her side at the altar. How she had wished it!
“I thought I knew all there was to know about this family,” Nicola murmured.
Bonnie wondered. Could her niece really be so naïve as to believe anyone ever knew all there was to know about her family? “Well,” she said, “it should make no difference to you that your mother dated your uncle for a time.”
“I suppose,” Nicola said. But she didn’t look convinced.
Bonnie rose from her seat. “How about staying for dinner? I could whip up some macaroni and cheese with breadcrumbs on top. Just the way you like it.”
“Awesome. You spoil me, Aunt Bonnie.”
Bonnie felt her heart swell. “It’s always been my pleasure.”
“Is there any weeding to be done?” Nicola asked. “I don’t know why, but I find weeding therapeutic.”
Bonnie smiled. “There’s always weeding.”
Nicola went off to the backyard and Bonnie began to gather ingredients for dinner. She went about chopping chunks of dried bread for breadcrumbs and grating cheese, all the while aware that without Nicola her life would have been so very different. Less fulfilling. Less happy. But if Bonnie’s reservations had prevailed . . .
Because it had been Bonnie, not Ken, who was against their taking in Nicola. The fact that Nicola’s father was an anonymous sperm donor had always bothered Bonnie. At the back of her mind lurked the possibility that the man might have been a psychopath or a moral degenerate. Was fifteen-year-old Nicola’s wild behavior the incipient sign of something much more dangerous to come? Was it insanity to bring such a potentially damaged person into one’s home? Bonnie had never been comfortable with the idea of The Unknown. She couldn’t be blamed for that.
To these arguments, Ken had replied: “She’s family. We have to do this.”
Ten years later, Bonnie knew that her fear of Nicola’s revealing herself to be mentally ill had had more to do with her own feelings of moral superiority, a way to feel she had won where Carol had failed.
Bonnie had had her child the “normal” way.
“Ken,” she said aloud, as she reached for a mixing bowl. “You were always right about the important things. Why can’t I sometimes be right, too?”
Chapter 38
“I’ve never been here before,” Judith noted, with an appreciative glance around the bar of the restaurant Carol had chosen for their outing. “A bit rich for my blood. Thanks for offering to pick up the check.”
“No problem,” Carol said. And it wasn’t. She had been wanting to try The BlueFin since arriving in Yorktide.
Judith was drinking a dry martini, and Carol had ordered a Manhattan. They had chosen an appetizer of a dozen raw oysters. Carol had just enjoyed her first oyster when she became aware of a woman not so discreetly looking at her from across the room.
“Who is that rude woman staring at us?” Carol said quietly.
“I don’t know and she’s staring at you, not me. Wait a minute,” Judith went on. “I do know who she is. Nancy somebody or other. She used to own a gallery in Perkins Cove about twenty years ago.”
“You’d think I had a notorious reputation the way some people stare. All I did was leave town.”
“For a lot of people, that’s notorious enough.”
Carol sighed. “I was always an outsider in Yorktide. But now that I want to belong, no one will let me.”
Judith raised an eyebrow. “Is being accepted into this community what you really want?” she asked. “What would you do with yourself in Yorktide? Nothing much happens here besides the rising and setting of the sun, the coming and going of the tide. Sure, we have the occasional black bear sighting in someone’s garden, and when the corn comes in late there’s a minor panic. Otherwise, we enjoy our peace and quiet.”
“I plan on getting to know my sister and my daughter again,” Carol said promptly.
“But they have lives to lead. You can’t expect everyone to be at your beck and call, free to entertain you.”
Carol took a sip of her drink. Judith didn’t need to know that she hadn’t thought through the details of what her new life in Yorktide might entail, the challenges she might face, the obstacles she might encounter. She had acted so quickly after the news of little Jonathan’s tragic death. She had felt so desperate and alone.
When Carol answered her cousin’s question she did so in a manner intended to cover the fact of her distress. “I’ll offer my services as a speaker to the local women’s society or the community college,” she said. “I could mentor young men and women interested in going into interior design.”
Judith nodded. “Fair enough, but what will you do for entertainment?”
“I’m perfectly capable of entertaining myself,” Carol replied readily. “It’s not like I’m a thirty-year-old needing to be out until all hours drinking and dancing. And if I feel the need for culture, I’ll pop down to Boston or New York or up to Montreal or Quebec.”
“There’s plenty of culture in Maine, you know. There are several good museums and lots of music and theater and galleries. The Ogunquit Playhouse puts on a good show twice a summer. Musicals, mostly. They do a very professional job.”
“See? I’ll be just fine.”
“Have you considered mud season?” Judith said suddenly. “You’ll have to buy yourself a pair of wellies or some sturdy waterproof walking shoes.”
Carol fought back a grimace. She remembered what mud season was like. She felt damp and chilled just thinking about it. But she had seen a pair of so-ugly-they-were-chic wellies online recently. They would help get her through.
“Mud season only comes once a year,” she said. “I’ll survive.”
And then an idea began to form in Carol’s mind. Not a brilliant idea or even a very unusual one, but one so simple she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before. “I’m going to host a family dinner, at Ferndean,” she announced. “I haven’t seen Sophie yet this summer, or Scott for that matter. A dinner party might be a way to bring everyone together and pave the way for real communication in the future.”
Judith frowned. “They won’t come. Not all of them, anyway.”
“Of course, they will,” Carol said, with far more conviction th
an she felt. “And if they do resist, you’ll convince them it’s a nice idea.”
“I will?” Judith shrugged. “I can try, but I’m not promising anything.”
“We won’t talk about anything serious or contentious. We’ll keep the conversation light. It will simply be a pleasant evening where we can all let our guard down and get to know one another again.”
“Are you hallucinating?” Judith asked. “What’s in that drink anyway?”
“No, I’m not hallucinating. All right,” Carol admitted, “I know it won’t be easy to get everyone to Ferndean. Certainly, Bonnie and Nicola won’t be thrilled. But that’s the whole point. To connect.” And it meant so very much to her that she connect.
Judith raised her empty martini glass. “I’ll have another drink if anyone’s asking.”
Carol gestured to the bartender. When she had gone to prepare their drinks, Nancy somebody or other, her companion in tow, approached Carol and Judith. The woman’s air was deferential.
“Excuse me,” Nancy said. “Aren’t you Carol Ascher, the famous interior designer?”
“Yes,” Carol said. “I am.”
“We love your work,” the other woman gushed. “I mean, what we’ve seen of it in magazines. You wouldn’t by any chance . . .”
“What my friend means,” Nancy continued, “is that we were wondering if you would be willing to give a talk at the Wilde Gallery. It’s in Kennebunkport. We’re on the board, you see, and—”
“I’m sorry,” Carol said in a tone she had perfected over the years. It was a tone that conveyed regret at having to refuse a request while at the same time leaving no room for argument. “I’m afraid I’m unable to help you. But thank you so very much for asking.”
All Our Summers Page 13
