Anyway, she had more immediate problems to tackle. Like her own future. How was she to live the rest of her life, with or without possession of Ferndean House? Bonnie just didn’t know. Maybe she could talk to Judith now that she no longer had Ken to advise her.
But she was only in this situation of confusion and loneliness because Ken had died! For the very first time since her husband’s death, Bonnie felt a flare of anger toward her husband. He had abandoned her. The fact that he hadn’t wanted to die meant nothing. He had died. And now she was alone.
Bonnie didn’t want to be alone.
It was all too much. Bonnie clutched the edge of the sink and sobbed.
Chapter 62
“I thought it was a charming article. Really charming. Bill Elliott is such a charming man.”
Carol’s smile was about to crack. This woman was not the first to have approached her that evening at the cocktail party being held at the Ogunquit Museum of Art to mark the retirement of the current longest serving docent. Carol was longing to say: “It’s just a silly piece in a silly local rag.” But she wouldn’t say that. The woman meant no harm.
The woman moved off in the direction of the bar. Carol was on her own that evening. She had asked her sister if she planned on attending the party. Bonnie had laughed. Maybe it had been a naïve question. A glance at the well-heeled guests was enough to demonstrate that they were not the sort of people among whom Bonnie Elgort felt most comfortable.
Carol hadn’t even considered asking Nicola to join her. She knew that Nicola would reject the invitation. Nicola had thanked her mother for the gift certificate to The Bookworm, but there had been a grudging spirit in her thanks. At least, Carol had thought there was.
Poor Julie was out of the question as a date. She didn’t have enough energy to smile at her family, let alone make polite conversation with strangers.
Judith had made other plans. She had promised to help a friend just home from the hospital. “Believe me,” Judith had said, “I wish I could join you. Ted is a terrible patient.”
But Carol was an old hand at navigating the world on her own. In truth, she preferred it that way. At least, she had for a very long time. Now? Now it would have been nice to have a companion with whom to share remarks about the food, observations about the art on display, and critiques of the guests’ attire.
Carol took a sip of her champagne and surveyed the crowd; she estimated the average age of the guests at about fifty-five, or even sixty. The good-looking man in the navy suit, the one with his arm around the waist of his female companion. Carol was sure they all had gone to high school together. She wondered if either of them had read Bill Elliott’s article and thought: I remember her! But if they did remember Carol Ascher, they had not recognized her in their midst.
“It is Carol Ascher, isn’t it?”
Carol smiled at the woman who had joined her. “Yes,” she said. “And you’re Abigail Collins. You had the nicest boutique in Yorktide when I was growing up.”
“You have a good memory, my dear. I closed the shop twenty years ago. Anyway, I heard you were back for the summer and I’ve been hoping to run into you so I could say hello. You always were so different from the others in your family. Right from the start.”
“Yes, well . . .” Carol didn’t know what else to say.
“You and your sister were such opposites. She always struck me as one of those people who thrive on a simple life.” Abigail Collins smiled a bit roguishly. “Would I be correct in assuming she’s never been to visit you in New York?”
Abigail was correct, but Carol didn’t much care for her slightly mocking tone. “Bonnie,” Carol said, “is very much needed here in Yorktide. She doesn’t have the leisure to travel.”
Abigail Collins didn’t seem to know what to make of Carol’s response. With a nod, she moved on to chat with another guest.
Carol left the party soon after this encounter. She had had enough of small talk.
One of those people who thrive on a simple life.
The keyword there, Carol thought as she slid behind the wheel of her car, parked on Shore Road, was thrive.
Bonnie had always thrived in Yorktide. Her sister had not.
And never would?
Carol wished she had stayed home that evening.
If she could call Ferndean—or Yorktide—home.
Chapter 63
Carol Ascher was stubborn and persistent. There was no point in saying no. She would only ask again, and again after that, so Nicola had accepted her mother’s invitation to lunch.
But there was another reason for Nicola’s having accepted the invitation. She had been thinking a lot about her recent conversation with Hermione Wolcott. No one lived forever. The idea of her mother—or herself—dying before they had made at least a little progress toward a reconciliation suddenly seemed very much to be avoided.
You couldn’t force yourself to take a step you weren’t able or willing to make.
Like forgive your mother.
Nicola had been thinking about this, too, and the conclusion she had come to was that she was in fact able to forgive her mother for whatever wrongs or missteps she might have committed in the past. Of course, Nicola was able. She was strong and intelligent.
Was she willing? The answer to that question was still open.
They arrived at the restaurant moments apart.
The Daffy Duckling was one of Nicola’s favorites. It did not serve duck. It was in fact a vegetarian place with a few vegan options. Every inch of it was decorated with duck-related items, from kitschy ceramic statues from the 1950s and ’60s, to paintings on a board in a consciously primitive style, to vintage advertising signs for products as various as shoe polish and baby food.
“It’s very cute,” Carol said when they had taken their seats at a tiny table barely big enough for two.
“You don’t find it tacky?” Nicola asked.
Her mother shrugged. “Tacky can be fun. If done the right way.”
“Aunt Bonnie told me you went to a party at the Ogunquit Museum,” she said.
“I did.”
“And?”
Her mother shrugged. “And it was all right. So, tell me what you do for fun?” she asked.
Nicola frowned. “Fun?” It was a strange word for her mother to use. Adults didn’t set out to have fun. Not really.
“Yes, social activities, hobbies. That sort of thing.”
When the waitress had taken their orders, Nicola replied, “I like to go hiking and camping,” she said.
Her mother smiled. “I remember the summer your aunt and I went camping with Judith and her parents. I think I was thirteen, so that means Bonnie was ten and Judith eighteen. Judith brought a friend along with her, but I can’t remember her name. It was the first time I’d had to use an outhouse, share cooking and cleanup chores, carry my portion of the equipment into and out of the site. I was not amused.”
“I can imagine,” Nicola remarked. It was no surprise that her mother had always preferred the easy way of getting through rather than the more arduous, responsible one. Except when it came to her career.
“Your aunt wasn’t thrilled, either,” Carol said with a laugh. “She was pampered at home. As the older child, I was the one with chores, like doing the dinner dishes three nights a week and sweeping the front porch and dusting the downstairs rooms every Saturday morning. Still, she didn’t whine too badly.”
Nicola wondered. The idea of her aunt whining didn’t fit well with the image she had formed of Bonnie these past ten years. But Bonnie had been only a child at the time of the camping trip, and children whined. And maybe Carol was bending the truth for her own self-serving reasons. Nicola decided to let it go.
“Aunt Bonnie said you encountered a bear one night in the campsite,” she said.
“We did and that marked the end of my nascent camping career. Never again.”
“What happened?”
“Didn’t your aunt tell you the story?”
“Yes,” Nicola said. “But I want to hear it from you.”
The waitress delivered their meals then, an Asian-inspired salad for Carol and a cold pasta dish for Nicola. When she had gone, Carol resumed her story.
“We four girls were sharing a tent. I remember suddenly waking up in the middle of the night to find Judith and her friend peering out of the tent flap and whispering frantically. I asked what was going on, and Judith told me there was a bear in the campsite. I suppose he was looking for food, but Aunt Mary and Uncle Matthew had hung our supplies in a tree . . .” Carol frowned. “Wait. Can’t bears climb trees? Anyway, then Bonnie woke up and when Judith told her about the bear she started to scream. It was ear-shattering. I clapped my hand over her mouth and we both just froze. I was sure we were about to be mauled to death by an angry beast. And then I heard a shot and the next thing I remember, Aunt Mary was poking her head into our tent to tell us everything was okay and that Uncle Matthew had scared the bear away by shooting into the air.” Carol shook her head. “The next morning, I asked Bonnie if she’d had enough of camping and she said yes and I announced that we wanted to go home. Uncle Matthew hiked us back to the nearest road, called our parents from a pay phone at a little grocery store, and they were there in about an hour to pick us up.”
Nicola pushed a bit of pasta around her plate. “That’s not how I heard the story,” she said, aware there was a bit of a challenge in her voice. “Aunt Bonnie told me that you were the one who started screaming and that Judith had to slap you to make you stop and that after the bear was gone you refused to stay there for the rest of the night and that your aunt and uncle had to break camp and hike out before dawn.”
Nicola’s mother put her fork carefully against her plate and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “Well, it’s probably how she remembers the incident. That’s the trouble with memory. It’s often grotesquely at odds with reality. But if everyone recalls the reality differently . . .” Carol shrugged. “What’s really the truth?”
Whatever you need it to be, Nicola thought. After a moment, she said, “I guess it wouldn’t have been safe to set out through the woods in the middle of the night.”
“As seasoned campers, Aunt Mary and Uncle Matthew would never have agreed to that. And I wasn’t silly enough to suggest it.” Carol picked up her fork again. “So, who do you go camping with?”
“Mostly I go with a group of people from a church I sometimes attend,” Nicola told her. “Anyone wanting to plan a trip e-mails the others and something gets organized. Sometimes you wind up camping with families with small children, sometimes with older, retired people, sometimes with people your own age.”
“And do you see these people at other times?” Carol asked.
“Rarely,” Nicola admitted. “Most people are too busy with kids and work and other obligations.”
“Yes, I know what that’s like, being too busy. But you like your job?”
“I love my job,” Nicola said stoutly. “I’m doing what I’m meant to be doing.”
“And the Peace Corps?” her mother asked. “How does that fit in?”
Nicola flushed. “Maybe it doesn’t right now. I don’t know. Don’t say anything to anyone,” she added hurriedly. “I need to think about my immediate future without a lot of questions. People are well-meaning but . . .”
Carol smiled understandingly. “You’ve learned a lesson. It’s often best to keep an idea or a resolution to yourself until it’s fully formed and ready to be put into action. My lips are sealed.”
“Thanks,” Nicola said. She realized that she trusted her mother to keep her word. She didn’t really know why.
They left the restaurant soon after.
“Do you want a ride back to work?” Carol asked when they were outside.
“No, thanks. I’ve got my car.”
“Oh. Right. How else would you have gotten here? Anyway, this was fun.”
“Yeah,” Nicola said. And it occurred to her that her mother hadn’t mentioned Ferndean House and her plans for it. It might mean anything. It might mean nothing.
“Well,” her mother said. “Goodbye.”
Nicola took a step back before her mother could hug her. If that was what she had intended. “Goodbye,” she said. And then she turned and walked purposefully toward her car.
Her mother did not call her back.
Chapter 64
The second workshop of the summer was not a total disaster for Julie. In fact, it wasn’t a disaster at all. She had held her own in the guided discussion and had even managed to chat beforehand with a few of her colleagues. Thom had just come back from Provence and was eager to share photos of his pastoral adventures. Shelly asked after Sophie, and Julie had smiled and not let on that she really didn’t know how her daughter was faring. She had even caused the clueless Miranda to chuckle when she declared that the highlight of her summer so far had been learning that the floaters in her eyes were not a sign of imminent death.
When the meeting broke up, Sara asked Julie to stay behind. It was only then that Julie felt the hand of doom on her shoulder. At least, the sure sense that she had done something wrong or stupid and was about to be taken to task for it.
“Have you ever heard of the Ackroyd Institute?” Sara asked when they were alone.
Julie hadn’t.
“It’s relatively new,” Sara explained, “but already it’s gaining respect for its work promoting religious tolerance and fighting religious prejudice. The Institute has developed courses for all ages of students, starting as early as preschool.”
“That sounds admirable,” Julie said. She wondered why Sara was telling her this.
“The Institute offers a limited number of scholarships for a week-long intensive course each spring. All educators are welcome to apply.”
“Have you won a scholarship?” Julie asked. She wouldn’t at all be surprised if Sara had. She was a very intelligent and skilled educator.
Sara smiled. “No, I want you to apply for one.”
“Me!” Julie laughed. “You must be crazy. Sorry, I don’t mean that, but . . .” She shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Hear me out,” Sara went on. “I know you’re as passionate about tolerance as I am. This could be an excellent opportunity for our school to make a difference. Look, in the past, towns like Lewiston have been a destination for African immigrants. Portland is currently the big draw, but just because families aren’t flocking to Yorktide doesn’t mean they won’t be. We need to be ready to welcome them when and if they do.”
Julie nodded. “I agree,” she said. “But I just don’t think . . . I don’t think I’m the person you should be asking.”
Sara leaned forward. “Look,” she went on, “I know you’re going through a rough patch right now. But I know you’ll get through this intact and in my opinion, as someone who respects your devotion to education, you’ll regret not having applied for the scholarship. Maybe you’ll get it. Maybe you won’t. The competition will be stiff. But I wouldn’t suggest you go for this opportunity if I didn’t believe you stood a good chance of winning.”
Julie was silent. She felt a disconcerting mix of emotions. Fear. Gratitude. Excitement. “Where is the course given?” she asked.
“Chicago. At the Ackroyd Institute itself. Our children need this, Julie,” Sara said firmly. “The children of immigrant families deserve this.”
Julie swallowed. Did she need this? Did she deserve this opportunity? “All right,” she said. “I’ll give it some thought.”
Sara beamed. “Great. But we don’t have much time. Applications are due in a few weeks. You can find the form on the website.”
Julie left the building soon after this conversation. On the way to her car she reminded herself of how she had always derived a hefty portion of her self-worth from her work. It was hers and hers alone. Not Scott’s. Not Sophie’s or her mother’s or her father’s. She was pretty sure that no one in her family really understood how much thoug
ht and preparation went into teaching small children. It wasn’t that they were dismissive of her work, just that they were not all that interested in the details. Not like she was.
Julie slid behind the wheel of her car.
Chicago. How cool would it be to visit Chicago?
She realized she was smiling.
Chapter 65
Bonnie woke with a shout. The sheet was wet with sweat. She was wet with sweat.
She reached for the lamp on her bedside table. The light further helped to dispel any remaining shreds of panic and dismay. The details of the nightmare were soon vanished. All that remained now was a terrible sense of loss.
Bonnie struggled to sit up.
Loss.
Why were the most revolutionary moments of a life so often about loss?
The death of her parents had changed so much. Ken’s passing had irrevocably altered Bonnie’s future. And Carol’s leaving Yorktide all those years ago . . .
Bonnie shivered and reached for the lightweight robe she kept at the foot of the bed. She held the robe tightly against her as the fateful day that Carol had announced her intention of going away played out as if before her eyes, as if she were watching a film of the moments in which her young life drastically shifted course.
Bonnie had been watching The Six Million Dollar Man on TV when Carol had come striding into the living room of Ferndean House. She was wearing lime-green platforms. Bonnie was annoyed when her sister turned off the TV, and embarrassed when Carol commented on her sister’s crush on Lee Majors. But all was forgiven when Carol announced she had something very important to tell her. Bonnie had always loved being sought out by her older sister for the sharing of a secret or a bit of juicy gossip.
“What is it?” Bonnie asked eagerly, sitting forward on the couch.
Carol perched on the arm of their father’s favorite chair. Only Carol ever did that. It was something Bonnie would never do, out of respect. “I’m leaving Yorktide,” Carol said.
Later, Bonnie remembered thinking: No one we know leaves Yorktide.
All Our Summers Page 21
