“He’s lucky too.”
Betty swallowed, blinking as fast as a hummingbird flaps its wings. But even with Nannie’s hand on her arm, and her grandmother’s attempt to soothe her, the distance between them had already grown to miles.
Nannie affixed Betty’s cap-style headpiece and pushed bobby pins against Betty’s scalp. The veil skimmed the back of her shoulders. “There. All finished. Now, look in the mirror.” She prodded Betty toward the rest of her life.
“You’re getting married. For heaven’s sake, smile.”
Betty did as she was told.
Chapter 1
BOOP
Summer 2017
Boop Peck had looked everywhere for her favorite lipstick. It wasn’t in the bathroom, or in her purse, bedroom, or pocket. She shuddered at the injustice: Boop remembered her first telephone number—359J—but not the whereabouts of the lipstick she’d worn the day before. Or was it the day before that? She peeked around and patted herself again. Nothing. A lost lipstick wasn’t the end of the world. Unless it was Sly Pink, her discontinued color of choice, which it was.
Enough with the lipstick.
The girls would arrive soon. No, the ladies would arrive soon. Boop chuckled. Ladies sounded stuffy, boring, and inaccurate. Even at eighty-four, Boop and her friends would always be girls—and they’d never be boring.
In the bathroom mirror, her reflection was framed by the floral shower curtain behind her. The hair she’d allowed to go white under the watchful eye and skillful hand of her Chicago hairdresser had lost most of its bounce but retained a bit of its wave. A year earlier she’d had it cut into a chin-length bob. She tucked it behind her ears. Boop looked nothing like the girl who grew up here, back when everyone still called her Betty. Back when she was Betty.
Boop turned her head from side to side. In the old days her hair would have brushed against her cheeks. Marvin wouldn’t have liked this ’do, but he’d never minded the lines on her forehead or the ones on her cheeks where the rouge liked to settle.
She’d been a widow for three years now; would she ever stop wondering what Marvin would think of her?
Boop believed her stylishness was like wine and had improved with age. Over the years she had taken bohemian bubbe and mixed it with beach chic. When her granddaughters Hannah and Emma were teenagers, they’d dubbed her flair “Boop-tastic.”
The woman before her had panache.
When the girls arrived, she’d also have purpose.
Boop dressed in a soft yellow rayon shift with bracelet-length sleeves and decorated her wrists with silver bangles. Then something unlatched in her brain—maybe the tinkling of the metal jewelry had an effect on her memory—and the location of Sly Pink tumbled forward, as if it’d been awaiting an invitation. Boop’s lipstick rested in her grandmother’s small white Lenox bowl among pennies.
Downstairs by the front window with lipstick applied, Boop tugged down her sleeves to guard against the late-May chill. She bobbed her head in time to watch the day’s flock of gulls resting on the shimmering surface of Lake Michigan. My lake. It looked like someone had called a meeting to order. Did the birds grow bored or did they know that the summer people would arrive with Memorial Day weekend, and with them an abundance of crusts and crumbs?
Boop rubbed her hands together, which didn’t work to warm them. There was a time she would have ignored the chill and slipped out of her sweater, allowing it to puddle on the floor behind her as she pushed through the door, which she’d let swing and slam even though she hadn’t been raised in a barn. She’d have abandoned her shoes, if she’d been wearing any, and then run onto the beach, kicking sand so high it would have landed in her hair.
Boop couldn’t recall the last time she’d walked on the beach, let alone kicked up anything, and that had nothing to do with her memory.
Canes were a bitch in the sand.
The shrill of Boop’s landline reverberated from the kitchen. By the time she reached the only receiver, where it had been attached to the wall since the 1960s, it had stopped ringing. They’d call back.
She sat at the kitchen table, then looked at her watch. The bedrooms were prepared with fresh linens, new towels, and bunches of dried lavender tied with purple ribbon. She’d raised the windows so the breeze would refresh anything she’d missed. Still, there was no time for lollygagging. She figured she had fifteen or twenty minutes before the girls arrived, just enough time to brew a pot of decaf and set out a late-afternoon snack. Boop filled a vase with daisies, Doris’s favorite flower, and broke out the embroidered cloth napkins she usually saved for holidays, as this was as close to a celebration as she’d felt like having in a long time. She’d defrosted some blueberry muffins and set out the chocolate bridge mix that Georgia loved.
Then the front door squeaked, and Boop gathered her thoughts as she left the half-readied feast and hurried to greet her friends, glad they’d coordinated flights and would arrive together for a double homecoming. Boop’s pulse quickened with girlish giddiness. What would they do first? Eat? Chat? Unpack? All of the above! Years had passed since it had been the three of them in South Haven—alone together, which meant not alone at all.
“I’m coming,” Boop called. “You’re early!”
“Boop?”
That was not Georgia’s voice. Or Doris’s.
After having only seconds to revise her expectations, Boop watched her granddaughter Hannah walk through the living room. She held a gray duffel bag in one hand, and in the other a bouquet of purple alstroemeria in a plastic sleeve. A smile tugged at Boop’s lips. She loved purple flowers and Hannah knew it.
But with Hannah here—a duffel bag didn’t signal a quick visit—all plans would change. Boop couldn’t ask Hannah to leave. She’d adapt. That’s what she’d always done.
“Hey!” Hannah hugged her with the force of undeniable love. Boop wrapped her arms around her granddaughter, and Hannah laid her head on Boop’s shoulder and sank in. Tears welled in Boop’s eyes. She hadn’t seen Hannah in a month or two. This was what she missed—regular hugs. The realization closed in around her with a hug of its own.
“This is a surprise, right?” Boop said. “I didn’t know you were coming, did I?”
“No, I wanted to surprise you. I hope that’s okay.”
Hannah stepped back. Her jeans hung low on her hips, and the fly was unbuttoned in an intentional way. The knees of her pants were torn, a fashion trend Boop tried to neither understand nor emulate. Hannah’s hair draped over one shoulder as if in a side ponytail without the rubber band. Not a stitch of makeup on the girl’s face, yet she was beautiful—big brown eyes, flawless skin.
Hannah rested her arm over Boop’s shoulder and guided her through the house to sit at the kitchen table. Then Hannah opened the correct cabinet for a vase, filled it with water, and arranged the blooms. She set it on the table and sat across from Boop, leaned on her elbows, and smiled.
How Boop loved this girl, all grown-up at twenty-six, yet with her whole life still ahead of her—a life that she was mapping out for herself as a high school English teacher, with a master’s degree, no less. Maybe she’d go on to get a PhD. Maybe she’d write a book. Or a screenplay. For her, limitations were nonexistent.
Her youngest granddaughter had always been Boop’s sidekick, content to watch the lake and count the colors in the sky at dusk, while her sister, Emma, wanted to be swimming in the lake and hadn’t the same notion of sunsets. Sometimes Boop wished Hannah were less like her. Less reflective. More carefree.
Hannah drummed her hands on the table. “Why haven’t you been answering your phone? Dad said his calls went to voicemail two nights in a row.”
“Oh, that. I was busy. Your other bubbes will be here soon.” Hannah and Emma had spent summers in South Haven with Georgia and Doris as their intermittent bonus Jewish grandmothers.
“I know, and I can’t wait to see them, but can we talk about you not answering the phone? That’s why you have a cell phone. So we ca
n reach you. Make sure you’re okay. He worries about you. So do I.”
“Oh, Hannahleh, you’re sweet. Do you want a muffin or some chocolate? I was just setting out a snack.”
Hannah shook her head. “Boop, are you listening to me? You have to answer your phone.”
“Yes, yes. I was busy, that’s all.”
She didn’t want to worry Hannah, who called regularly and lived just fifty minutes away in Kalamazoo, close enough for a short visit and far enough to maintain her privacy—not that Boop was dropping in on her and her boyfriend, Clark, the “artist.”
Emma, two years older than Hannah, lived in Highland Park, Illinois, with her husband, Grant, and their three-year-old twins, Oliver and Holden. Emma didn’t call on a schedule, but she did call every week or so. Boop was proud and at peace with her presence in her granddaughters’ lives.
She and Hannah settled onto the ticking striped couch in the living room. Boop sat at one end with her feet on the floor, and Hannah rested at the other end, her legs stretched out across the cushions and her now-bare feet resting on Boop’s lap. The arrangement reminded Boop of when her granddaughters were little girls, when a tickle and a kiss cured all ills, when her own troubles were of no consequence to them. But Hannah was an adult now.
“Your dad thinks I should move to San Diego,” Boop said. “I wanted to tell you myself. That’s why the girls are finally coming. It’s our last chance to be here together.”
Hannah lurched forward, grabbing her shins. “You can’t move away.”
Boop patted Hannah’s legs, and she eased herself back upright. “We can still talk on the phone. And your visits to California will be twofers with me and your dad there.”
“I didn’t mean you can’t. I guess I mean—why would you? You always said you’d leave this house—”
“Feet first,” Boop said. “I know.”
“You grew up here. You married Pop here. We spent summers here with you two and Dad. What will I do if you’re not here? Don’t do it, Boop. Please stay! Some of my best memories are in this house, and I don’t want that to end.” Hannah’s voice quivered. The tears were next.
Boop’s heart thumped. This was out of character. Something was wrong. “I know, dear,” Boop whispered in a singsong manner, and rocked side to side. She hoped her tone and demeanor would ease Hannah’s worries, whatever they were. “I love that you love it here, I do. But it’s a big old house, and it’s only me most of the time. I’m not getting any younger. Don’t you dare tell Georgia I said that. And no matter where I go, South Haven will still be here; it’s not like you can’t come back.”
Hannah smiled, her lips together, so it wasn’t a real smile. It was an okay-whatever-you-say smile. “It wouldn’t be the same without you. To me and Emma, you are South Haven.”
Boop understood. The wonder of South Haven was more than the colors of the sunsets and the silkiness of the sand, the blueberry farms, or even the lighthouse—though Boop wouldn’t trade those away. When she had been a girl growing up in the shadow of her family’s business, Stern’s Summer Resort, or a young mother bringing Stuart here for summers, or a grandmother doting on Emma and Hannah, the people here had been her family. Her friends, the resort guests, the neighbors. They were part of her life, and she theirs. But times had changed. People her age had died or moved to assisted living. Homeowners rented out their houses now. Her neighbors weren’t her neighbors for more than a week. In the resort days, families stayed for two to four weeks and returned every summer.
Stern’s Summer Resort had been lavish in a welcoming way—hamish yet elegant. Offering guests a cozy and sophisticated escape had been Yetta and Ira Stern’s trademark—along with the abundance of food. The closest Boop had ever come to experiencing the same gourmet gluttony of her grandparents’ resort was on her and Marvin’s one Caribbean cruise vacation.
But this house had always been her true home, even though resort guests had believed that Betty and her grandparents lived in the main house of the resort, despite it having no bedrooms. With the resort’s grandiose dining and activity rooms, in addition to the massive kosher kitchen that housed two of everything—one for milk, one for meat—where would they have slept? Boop smiled at the magnificent innocence of that era, when even the adults believed teachers lived at school. Nannie and Zaide needed to escape at the end of summer days that lasted from before breakfast until after dinner. And that’s where home came in. It had been their safe haven from the staff’s requests and the guests’ demands, at least for the hours they slept.
For Boop, “home” had served as a respite from the public life of being the Stern granddaughter, and later from the private pressures of marriage and motherhood. And it had always been the gathering place for her friends.
It was moments like this when Boop agreed with Hannah. How could she leave? But she knew the bigger question was, How could she stay? The house had more bedrooms than they’d ever needed and a hardwood staircase. The winters were long and frozen. Stuart lived in California, Georgia in Florida, Doris in Arizona. Boop had moved back to South Haven from Skokie after Marvin died. She had thought the house and the surroundings would be enough to sustain her, but she’d been wrong.
Hannah sniffled, and tears dripped down her cheeks.
No one loved South Haven more than Boop, and it seemed like this was a bit of an overreaction from Hannah. It wasn’t like Boop was leaving tomorrow. They’d have this one last summer.
“What’s really wrong?” Boop asked.
Outside, a horn beeped twice. Then a third time.
“That must be the girls,” Boop said. “We’ll talk later?”
“Of course.” Hannah stood. “Go! I’ll be right out.”
“Are you sure?”
Hannah nodded, and then Boop stood, steadied herself, and walked outside onto the porch as Doris and Georgia were shutting the back doors of their cab and retrieving their suitcases from the driver. He shooed them away and carried their bags to the porch.
Doris waved both hands over her head. “Yoo-hoo!”
Even from a distance, Boop could see Doris’s natural silver hair was tinted lavender—more like the color left behind after attempting to wash a blueberry stain from a white tablecloth than the vibrant shades she’d favored as a younger woman. Her makeup was light, as she had never needed much more than a little pink lipstick to accentuate her turquoise eyes that had not faded or changed over the years. Her petite frame, though, had softened as the result of natural padding. She walked up the three steps to the porch. In that moment Boop imagined the short sandy-haired, curvier version of the woman with an undetectable waistline who stepped toward her, smiling wide.
Doris had married Saul recently—her fifth husband after two divorces and two funerals. That much loss was unimaginable, as was Doris’s romantic resilience. Her motto? You’re never too old to find love and throw a good party. What skin was it off Boop’s nose? Doris should live and be well.
Georgia walked around the cab from the passenger’s side. She strode toward the house, regal with her still-auburn hair skimming her shoulders against her white linen blazer. She had neither a slouch nor a stoop belying her five feet, nine inches. Her face appeared a smidgen slimmer than last November, when Boop had visited Boca Raton, likely the result of all that tennis and early-bird kale salad. She placed one hand on her head as if holding down a wig—though it wasn’t a wig at all. She turned toward the beach and tipped back her head before pivoting around to Boop, her arms wide. “We’re back!”
Boop met the girls in the center of the porch, a lump lodged at the base of her throat. She had so much to say yet couldn’t speak. She grasped Georgia’s left hand and Doris’s right, and then they clasped hands as well. Georgia and Doris squeezed her hands, their touch familiar and restorative. Boop gripped their hands more tightly in return as the lake breeze seemed to swirl around the trio like a playful older brother, mussing their hair and scattering sand on their feet. It had missed having them here
together.
Maybe Hannah was just missing South Haven—and missing Boop—before she needed to. But that wouldn’t explain the duffel bag.
With her attention back on the girls, thoughts of Hannah faded, and Boop smiled. Then her heart stirred up the perfect words: “Welcome home.”
Chapter 2
BOOP
“Can an outsider break into this circle?”
Hannah’s voice reminded Boop of her worry about her granddaughter, and Doris and Georgia flinched. It seemed none of them had heard her step outside. Nostalgia was like that—blocking the present the way a cloud blocked the sun.
Doris pulled her hands away from Georgia and Boop, and held out her arms. “Hannah! We didn’t know you were here!” She turned to Georgia. “Did you know?” Georgia shook her head, and Doris nodded once and returned her gaze to Hannah. Then she hugged her as only a bonus bubbe could. “You look wonderful.”
Hannah’s eyes were red and swollen from crying, but through Doris’s bubbe lens—and Boop’s—she still looked lovely.
“How long has it been? How long are you staying?” Georgia asked.
Boop hadn’t thought to ask. Her granddaughter rarely stayed more than one night, but it was a big duffel bag. Boop needed to know what troubles were packed inside. Good thing she and the girls were expert listeners and problem solvers.
Hannah pulled back and scurried a few feet to Georgia and kissed her cheek. “It’s been years since I’ve seen both of you. Or the three of you together!”
“It’s been years since the three of us have been in South Haven,” Boop said.
Georgia removed her sunglasses with a flourish, even though the sun was shining down. “That’s why we’re here.”
Boop pulled open the door, and Hannah grabbed the suitcases and followed everyone inside.
They all walked to the kitchen and sat at the Formica table, the refurbished one that had belonged to Boop’s grandparents. Years back, Hannah had told her that old was new. She’d called it retro.
Sitting there, Boop could almost taste Nannie’s blueberry doughnuts and hear Doris and Georgia shouting, “Go fish!” She’d played checkers with Stuart at this table, and one summer served grilled cheese with the crusts cut off every evening for dinner. Tea parties with Hannah and Emma were some of her fondest memories. Having two granddaughters around had felt like hitting the family jackpot, and their dress-up clothes and dolls had sparked Boop’s girlie-girlishness.
The Last Bathing Beauty Page 2