Summer House, page 17
“I’m paying Nona rent for the use of the land,” Charlotte replied.
Mee barked out a laugh. “Yes, a pittance of what the land is really worth.”
“I see much of the profit deriving from ‘container gardens,’” Claus said, tapping his forefinger on a line item on her financial statement. “What does that mean?”
Charlotte had been hoping someone would ask this very question. “In the off season there’s not a lot I can do to make an income. The garden is basically done after the middle of November. But I discovered there is a huge demand for container gardens, as gifts and decorations.” Reaching into her folder, she brought out a few photos she’d printed off and passed them around the table. “These are container gardens.”
The first garden was a fishbowl filled with sand, a variety of seashells, and a miniature evergreen tree made from a twig of pine, all of it sparkling with soap-flake snow. The second was an old wicker tray piled with gourds, autumn leaves still vivid with color, bits of barberry and ivy, and plumes of beach grass. The third was a china water pitcher filled with dried hydrangea.
“These are cool,” Oliver said.
“Did you make them yourself?” Grace asked.
“I did.” Charlotte started to elaborate, but Mandy cut her off.
Mandy said, with a bite in her voice, “Under the expense column, I find no item for containers.”
Charlotte smiled. “That’s because there was no expense. I get all the containers at the dump.”
“Oh, gross!” Mee said.
“Not gross at all,” Charlotte told her. “You have no idea of the quantity and quality of items that are dropped off at the Take It or Leave It shed. This island fills up with fifty thousand people in the summer, and the flower shops deliver centerpieces, arrangements, bouquets, and thank-you gifts to many of them. The containers—inexpensive glass vases and bowls—end up at the shed and I retrieve them. Then I give each one a thorough cleaning in the dishwasher, with hot water and a strong disinfectant soap.”
“Ah!” Claus pounced. “So you are using Nona’s electricity and water for your own private gain.”
“As you can see,” Charlotte coolly replied, “I pay for a portion of Nona’s electricity in addition to the rent I pay her for her land.” She looked around the table. “By using these containers, I’m holding to the guiding principle of Beach Grass Garden. A return to the natural, a return to local production and recycling.”
“That’s all very nice,” Grace said, her voice tight. “Yet I am uncomfortable with your use of Nona’s land. You are setting a precedent here. You are making a profit from Nona’s land.”
“I’m paying Nona rent for the land.”
“True,” Nona agreed, leaning forward. “And I’ve put the money into a savings account, so that when I’m gone you can divide it equally among yourselves.”
“Still.” Grace chewed her lip, discontent. “It’s the land,” she said finally. “It’s the use of the land. What if Charlotte continues to run Beach Grass Garden for years?”
“Aunt Grace,” Charlotte replied, “that land has lain unused for years.”
Oliver spoke up. “Here’s a thought. Charlotte is using three acres of Nona’s land. Why don’t Aunt Grace and her family choose three acres to use as they see fit?”
“That seems like a fair suggestion,” Nona said.
Grace and her daughters and all the husbands exchanged glances.
“That’s a good solution,” Worth told his oldest son.
“The three acres would be for rent,” Oliver stressed. “This would not affect the matter of ownership.”
Grace and Kellogg nodded stifly.
“But we don’t want to do anything with the land!” Mellie protested.
Grace clearly wasn’t happy, but she admitted, “But we could if we wanted to.” She looked at her brother. “This might work, at least for a year, and then we can review matters at the next Family Meeting.”
“Blessed be the peacemakers,” Nona murmured under her breath.
After Family Meeting, it was customary for the family to go to the yacht club for a long, indulgent meal. This was Nona’s innovation. She’d realized long ago, and she was still right, that family issues could not be discussed in public, and a friendly, familiar atmosphere where no one person had to carry dishes, cook, or clean up would go a long way toward lessening any tensions caused by Family Meeting.
By evening, the rain clouds had been blown away, leaving the sky a clean rinsed blue and the air sparkling with evening sun. Charlotte wore a sleeveless low-backed white sheath dress with a clever short jacket and very high heels. It was fun to change out of her work clothes, and fun to see her cousins and her mother and aunt and grandmother all dolled up again. Even Suzette wore a floaty yellow dress that covered her usually bare belly. It wasn’t the best color for the sallow young woman, and she could use a decent hairstyling as well, but she was certainly what Aunt Grace called presentable. As the family entered the yacht club, Charlotte felt proud of her family as she often did, so many of them they took up two long tables, all of them good-looking separately and, together, a striking pack.
Tonight Mee chose to attach herself to Charlotte, complimenting her on her dress and earrings, making jokes and touching Charlotte’s arm. Perhaps Mee, newly divorced, wanted the company of another single woman. Mee was the least attractive of the three sisters, but since the settlement of her divorce from Phillip, she’d become by far the wealthiest. She was announcing her return to single life as brazenly as she knew how, with too much makeup and low-cut tacky clothes. Charlotte gave herself a mental demerit for her cattiness and reminded herself she had a lot of karmic work to do.
“Mee,” Charlotte said, “where did you get that necklace? I’ve never seen it before.”
“Do you like it?” Mee’s face lit up at Charlotte’s compliment. “It’s awfully gaudy, I know, but aren’t people wearing big stones now?”
“Absolutely,” Charlotte assured her. “You look smashing.”
The group was led to their tables and seated. Charlotte saw Suzette being gently tended by Helen, who helped Suzette into a chair, slipped off the silk shawl draped over her own shoulders, and wrapped it around Suzette. Helen’s gestures were so nurturing—so maternal—Charlotte felt a twinge. Why, she was jealous of Suzette—or at least of the attentions Helen was paying her. And Suzette was going to give Helen a grandchild, a gift beyond measure. Charlotte was ashamed of her emotions, but she could not erase them. She wanted a child, too, but she wanted to be married to a man she loved first.
Oliver was seated on Charlotte’s right. He noticed her glance and drew close to her, whispering, “So what do you think of Suzette?”
Charlotte shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s hardly said a word to me, and I’ve really tried.”
“She seems to like Mom.”
“It’s easy to like Mom.” Charlotte flicked her linen napkin into her lap and picked up the menu.
“Aunt Grace is really on a tear this summer.” Oliver spoke softly, picking up his own menu and pretending to discuss entrees with Charlotte.
“I know. I’ve noticed that, too. Mom’s not her normal self, either. What’s going on, I wonder?”
“Perhaps now that Family Meeting’s over, everyone will relax.” Oliver turned his attention to the waiter.
They were finishing dessert when Mee clutched Charlotte’s arm. “Look who’s here!” she squealed. “And he’s coming this way!”
Charlotte followed her cousin’s gaze and saw Whit Lowry walking across the room toward their table. His navy blue blazer made his dark hair and dark blue eyes flash. He made Charlotte think of a blue jay.
“Very dishy,” Oliver whispered into Charlotte’s ear.
“Talk to me!” Mee hissed at Charlotte, jerking her arm. “Say something funny!” Without waiting for Charlotte to speak, she tossed her blond hair and laughed trillingly.
“I didn’t know you had a crush on Whit,” Charlotte said softly, as Whit stopped at the head of the table to speak with Nona and Worth.
“Oh, Charlotte, duh. Everyone has a crush on Whit.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Well, I’m not saying I want to marry the man, although I sure wouldn’t turn him down. I’d just like the opportunity to—spend a night with him.”
“Well, you randy little thing,” Charlotte teased, and then Whit approached her.
He put a hand on the back of Mee’s chair, and a hand on the back of Charlotte’s. Bending close, he said, “Hey, Charlotte. Mee. Remember Devin O’Conner? He’s been in Tibet for the past year. He’s visiting us, and he’s got some fascinating tales. We’re having some people back to the house tonight, and I thought you might like to come over.”
“We’d love to,” Mee gushed. “Wouldn’t we, Charlotte?”
The Lowry house was an enormous old shingled Victorian off Cliff Road. The front door was open, and laughter and chatter floated out on the night air. Charlotte and Mee went up the steps, across the porch, and into the hall and followed the sounds to the back of the house, where the party was gathered in a family room that opened onto the patio. Seated on sofas or leaning against walls or lounging on the rug, backs against a couch, were twenty or more friends they’d known forever. Mee left Charlotte to make a beeline for Whit. Charlotte went to the drinks table, poured herself a glass of seltzer, and joined the group around Devin O’Conner. Devin had been a short, muscular, energetic little boy, and now he was a short, muscular, energetic man whose flaming red hair had turned auburn since Charlotte had last seen him. His hair might have calmed down, but Devin himself was as enthusiastic as always, happy to be the center of attention, describing his trip with great flourish and drama. Charlotte allowed herself to be entertained for a while; then she grew bored and slipped away, out the door, into the fresh night air.
At the far end of the garden, a cluster of people were smoking, and the sweet smell of pot drifted through the night air, mingling with the stronger, darker smell of tobacco. In the brick wall delineating one edge of the property, a bronze cupid spilled water into a shallow pool. Charlotte sat on the low stone side of the pool basin, dipping her fingers in the cool water. It was after eleven. She should go home and get a decent night’s sleep. But Mee’s laughter bubbled from the party, and she didn’t want to spoil Mee’s fun.
“May I join you?”
She looked up. Whit stood there. He’d taken off his blazer, and his white shirt gleamed in the moonlight.
“Hi, Whit. Of course. Great party.”
He settled on the edge of the pool, carefully setting his glass next to him. “Devin is still the entertainer, isn’t he?” Whit leaned his elbows on his knees. “Charlotte, I’d like to talk to you about something.”
“Oh?” Charlotte was surprised at how her heart kicked. She’d always thought Whit was good-looking, but when she’d worked at the bank, she’d hated him, or at least resented him, Mr. Goody Please-the-Father Bank Boy. It was also true, she admitted to herself, that she’d felt he was judging her—and he was judging her, judging her ability to do the sort of work her mind could not seem to find engaging.
But out here, on this warm summer evening, with the fountain trickling its musical notes and laughter drifting on the air, she really felt that he was, as Oliver had said, absolutely dishy.
Whit leaned closer to Charlotte and spoke in a low voice. “Oliver told me Teddy’s looking for a job.”
Charlotte gave a little snort. “The entire family’s looking for a job for Teddy. Except maybe Teddy.”
“Well, I think I’ve found the perfect thing for him. You know Gray Lady Antiques? On Centre Street?”
“Sure, although I’ve never gone in. The last thing we need out at Nona’s is another antique.”
“George Jameson and his wife, Audrey, own it. It’s got good stock, pricey but worth it. Well, Mom told me that George is having some surgery, prostate trouble, not uncommon for men his age, but he and Audrey will have to be going off-island a lot this summer. They need someone to run the shop.”
“And you think Teddy could do it?”
“Why not? He’s intelligent, friendly, well-spoken. The Jamesons know your parents and Nona; I’m sure they know Teddy, too.” Whit shifted on the pool’s edge. “I know Teddy might not want to work in retail, but he doesn’t have a college education or, as far as I can tell, any particular skills, so I’m not sure what sort of work he’s prepared for. The antique shop is classy, so Teddy might think it suits him more than—”
“—than selling T-shirts,” Charlotte finished for him, with a grin. “Whit, I think it’s a brilliant idea. You are so great to think of it!” Impulsively, she leaned over and pecked a kiss on Whit’s cheek.
Her action surprised them both. She felt her breath catch as Whit turned to look at her more fully. In the moonlight, his blue eyes seemed black and serious and compelling. She felt drawn to him—she felt paired with him—she felt spellbound, as if her spontaneous deed had been a kind of magic wand, and now they were enclosed together in a shimmering world of sensation; everything else in the world was distanced, muted, and all that mattered was this small magic sphere.
“Charlotte,” Whit said.
“Hi, guys!” Mee pranced up, her high heels clicking on the patio stone. “What are you two doing all alone out here?” With much flipping of her full skirt, Mee plopped down next to Whit, close to him. “Great party, Whit!”
“Actually, Mee, I was just saying goodbye.” Charlotte stood up. “I’m sorry, but I get up at four-thirty. I have to, to use all the daylight.”
Whit rose. He put his hand on her wrist, lightly. “I’m glad you came.”
“Well, I don’t want to go home yet.” Mee pouted. “I’m a free woman, I want to enjoy myself!” She waved her arms above her head. “I’d stay if I could get a ride home.” She smiled encouragingly at Whit.
“Perhaps Devin could drive you when he leaves,” Whit suggested.
“Devin.” Irritated, Mee jumped to her feet. “He’s a—a leprechaun.”
“Well, if you want a ride with me, you have to leave now,” Charlotte told her cousin.
“Oh, you are such a party pooper.” Mee sighed, made a face, then threw herself against Whit and kissed his mouth quickly. “Thanks for the invitation, Whit. It was fun!” Grabbing Charlotte’s arm, she pulled her toward the side of the house and the drive where Charlotte’s Jeep was parked. “See you!”
As Charlotte looked back, Devin’s younger sister Fiona came out of the house, heading toward Whit, her long curly red hair floating around her head, her body slim as a reed in a silk dress. She put a possessive hand on Whit’s arm.
“I thought you wanted to go home,” Mee snapped.
Charlotte realized she’d stopped walking, was standing there staring. “Right,” she said. “Right.” She forced herself to turn away, to walk with her cousin to the Jeep, to drive through the warm fragrant night to her lonely attic bed.
Oliver’s Wedding
Sixteen
Oliver and Owen’s rehearsal dinner party, held at the yacht club, was a great success, but Helen was afraid, as she slid between the cool sheets of her sleeping-porch bed, that she had eaten too much. And perhaps had one too many glasses of celebratory champagne. She wanted to get a good night’s sleep, because tomorrow would be a memorable day. Tomorrow her older son would be married.
Lying on her side, she shoved and folded the pillow beneath her head, trying to ease her body so it would relax her mind. Marriage. What did it mean to Oliver, that he wanted to hold this ceremony with the man he loved? If nothing else, Helen was glad she had kept her silence about Worth’s affair over the past three weeks. That Oliver wanted to be married surely was a sign that he believed marriage was a worthwhile state, an enviable commitment, a circumstance graced with honor and hope. She did not want to stamp his days of joy with the imprint of his parents’ disillusion.
She flipped onto her back, rearranged her limbs, and still she was uncomfortable. Rising, she padded across the floor to the little table holding her vanity items. She found the bottle of aspirin and her glass of water and took two pills. She stood for a moment, appreciating the fresh velvet night air, but she was too tired to stand for long. Was this going to be one of those nights, when her mind fretted and her muscles cramped and her brain pleaded for the relief of sleep but her body would not oblige, would not pull her under into sweet oblivion? Tomorrow was the wedding! She would be hollow-eyed, with dark bags on either side of her nose; she would be dizzy and short-tempered. She threw herself back onto the bed and tried to compose herself. Concentrate on happy moments, she instructed herself. Count your blessings.
When she met Worth, Helen had just graduated from college with a degree in art history. She’d taken a job working at a posh art gallery on Newbury Street while she tried to decide what she really wanted to do. An inheritance from her grandparents meant that she wouldn’t have to work at something she hated but could find the time to search out work she loved, whatever that would be. She enjoyed working in the gallery, especially when there was a new show to be hung and an opening to be organized and publicized and orchestrated.
One day in early summer, she was seated at the Chippendale writing desk, trying to look busy but really doodling on a notepad, when a tall man about her age walked in. He had thick gold hair, real gold, not light brown or strawberry blond, and eyes as blue as heaven. He wore a suit and tie, and his shirt was crisp, and he moved with a confident, comfortable stride, a man happy with himself and with life.
Helen rose and walked toward him. “May I help you?”
He smiled at her. She smiled at him. For a long moment they just looked at each other. He seemed to cast a magic circle, and she was included.
“Have we met before?” Worth asked.
Thank goodness she had chosen the sleek black dress and high heels today. “I don’t think so.” She couldn’t stop smiling at him.
