That Summer

by Jennifer Weiner

  Before Beatrice could figure out whether Diana had actually pulled away from her father, and what it meant, Grandma Judy and Arnold Mishkin arrived. Beatrice received a kiss on the cheek from her grandmother, who was short and plump, with silvery-blonde bobbed hair, and probably looked exactly the way Beatrice’s mother would in forty years. She watched from the foyer as the adults made small talk. “Where are you based?” Arnold asked Diana.

  “New York,” Diana said. “But I’m hardly ever there. I have an apartment, but it’s really just a place to unpack my suitcase, and pack it again.”

  Arnold nodded. “It’s a hard life, with all that travel.”

  “And such an expensive city to live in!” said Grandma Judy. “I hope your clients pay you well.”

  “Oh, there are definitely compensations,” Diana said, with a kind of tucked-in, ironic smile that hinted at another meaning to the words. Beatrice wondered what it was. Something about sex, maybe. In her experience, whenever adults hinted, instead of coming out and saying what they meant, sex was usually the reason why. Personally, she thought that Diana was lucky, and that traveling all the time sounded glamorous, and exciting. No home meant no kids, no husband, nobody nagging you or needing you or dragging you down.

  She was just about to say something along those lines when the doorbell rang again. Her mom detached herself to greet Beatrice’s Pop-Pop, and Evelyn, his lady friend, whom Beatrice knew her father didn’t like.

  “Hello, dear,” said Pop-Pop, giving Beatrice a hug, and a full dose of his denture breath. Her grandfather didn’t have much use for girls. His favorite was Scott, Beatrice’s cousin, her father’s brother Jeremy’s son. Scott was nineteen and in college now. When he was in elementary school and junior high he’d played baseball on some special select team that practiced year-round and traveled all over New Jersey. He’d gotten to skip out on half of the family functions because he had games, or practice, and leave the rest of them early. Beatrice had envied him desperately… just not desperately enough to take up a sport.

  “Trixie!” said Evelyn. Beatrice gave her partial credit for at least remembering what Beatrice used to be called and not resorting to “dear” the way Pop-Pop did. Evelyn was slender and elegant, with close-cropped white hair and dramatic, penciled-in eyebrows. She wore lots of rings, with colorful stones, and bright silk scarves that she could tie in all kinds of shapes around her neck. Evelyn loved Broadway and travel, and had been to every big city in Europe, as well as Iceland and Moscow. Pop-Pop hated musicals—“all those people singing instead of talking”—and saw no reason to travel any farther than Augusta, Georgia, where he’d once golfed on the course where the Masters was played. Beatrice could not understand why they were together. It was easy enough to see what Pop-Pop was getting out of their arrangement: three hot meals a day, a well-ventilated garage for his collection of vintage comic books, and an extra-large flat-screen TV on which he could watch the Yankees and the Giants. Evelyn, meanwhile, had gotten a man with a pulse and a driver’s license. Beatrice knew Pop-Pop had been living by himself, in an apartment, before he’d met Evelyn, and had moved into Evelyn’s four-bedroom house in Fort Lee after they’d been dating for six months.

  “Evelyn’s generation was raised to believe that a woman needed a man,” Beatrice’s mom had said. Beatrice had wanted to ask her mom what her generation believed, but knew that any conversation that could involve love or marriage was just two or three perilous steps away from a reprise of the dread masturbation talk, so she’d just nodded and gone to her room.

  In the foyer, Pop-Pop removed his coat, helped Evelyn off with hers, handed both coats to Beatrice’s mom, and said, “What’s for dinner, dear?”

  “Chicken,” her mother said. The one time she’d said coq au vin to her father-in-law, he’d spent the entire night saying every French word he could think of—Croissant! Escargot!—in an exaggerated French accent and demanding to know what was wrong with American food. Now her mom just called it chicken, or chicken stew, or, sometimes, that chicken you like.

  “I’ll take a Scotch,” Pop-Pop said, before her mom had even asked what he wanted to drink. Her mom looked to her father for help, but Beatrice’s dad was already talking to his father about the baseball game the night before.

  Beatrice saw Diana, standing by the staircase, watching the other guests. Diana’s expression was thoughtful, her dark eyes following her mom on her way to the coat closet. Beatrice wondered what Diana made of it all: their small suburban lives. She couldn’t imagine Diana carrying coats and fetching drinks. Probably, she had people who did that for her. An assistant. Maybe more than one.

  Another knock on the door came. Lester bayed his basset-hound howl, alerting them to the presence of newcomers, and Beatrice went to welcome Uncle Danny and Uncle Jesse. Uncle Jesse was handsome as ever, with his white teeth and his glossy curls, but his smile looked strained. Uncle Danny, meanwhile, looked terrible. He’d always been round-faced and cheerful, like a Jewish Santa with a brown beard instead of a white one. Now his face looked baggy and droopy. There were dark smudges under his eyes, and gray in his beard. Beatrice gave him an extra-long hug, her heart already fluttering in her chest as she wondered if he was sick, and if the adults would tell her the truth. Already, she could hear Grandma Judy’s voice, high and nasal and anxious. “Danneleh, you look terrible! Are you eating? What’s going on?” and Uncle Jesse’s voice, lower and soothing, saying they’d been taking care of a baby, that the baby hadn’t slept, and neither had they.

  Beatrice knew how the evening would go. First, the guests would spend a half hour or so in the living room, where her dad had laid a fire, nibbling nuts and olives and crackers. Evelyn and Grandma Judy would ask about her grades and her field hockey team (that was back in middle school, when she’d been forced to take a sport); her uncles would ask about her crafts. Pop-Pop would ask if she’d met any nice young men. All the adults would sneak sideways glances at her clothes and her hair, and Uncle Jesse’s would be the only look that was approving.

  Then it would be time for dinner. At the table, Pop-Pop would talk about sports with—or, really, at—whoever would listen. Grandma Judy and Arnold would describe the latest trip they’d taken, and the next one they’d planned, while Evelyn would look envious, and Uncle Danny and Uncle Jesse, who’d also been all over the world, would offer tips, or stories of their own. Pop-Pop would look at Uncle Danny and Uncle Jesse with his lip curled when he thought no one was watching. A few years ago, Beatrice had noticed that he wouldn’t take food that either of them had passed or served him. When she’d asked her dad why, he’d looked startled, then said, “Older people have a lot of weird superstitions.” Then he’d pretended he had to make a phone call, and it wasn’t until she’d asked her cousin Scott, who’d said, “He thinks they’ll give him AIDS, probably,” and turned back to his video game, that she’d understood.

  When everyone was finished, her mom, who’d probably barely even sat down and might not have eaten more than a few bites, would clear the table, with Evelyn and Grandma Judy’s help, and make coffee, and get the dishes started as whatever she’d made for dessert came to room temperature or warmed up in the oven. Uncle Danny and Uncle Jesse would help wash dishes, and Grandma Judy would keep them company in the kitchen while her dad and his father and Arnold adjourned to the den to watch TV. Coffee and dessert would be taken back in the living room. Her grandfather would tell them the same handful of jokes, her dad would look at his watch and say, “It’s getting late,” and everyone would get their coats and leave.

  But this dinner party was different.

  26

  Diana

  What do you do, dear?” Evelyn asked Diana, as they all took their seats in the living room.

  Diana smiled the smile she’d practiced in the mirror as she’d gotten dressed that afternoon, in all that black. The cashmere sweater was lovely, one of the nicest things she owned, one of the few pieces that could successfully be worn by the woman she was a
nd the one she was pretending to be, but everything else was Rent the Runway–provided, or a drag queen loaner, including the gold cuff. She’d applied her makeup carefully, coating her face with concealer and foundation, wishing she had an actual mask to wear, one that would keep her real feelings hidden when she saw, for the first time since that summer, the man who’d raped her, and the man who’d watched.

  Hal Shoemaker looked much the same as he had on the Cape. Older now, with lines on his face and gray at the temples of his dark hair, but essentially unchanged, with a confidence that was almost cockiness, an attitude suggesting that it was the world’s job to lay its riches at his feet, and that the world had, for the most part, complied. He addressed his wife with the same hearty, almost condescending good humor with which he spoke to his daughter. When he’d kissed her cheek, Diana struggled to keep her hands loose at her sides when they wanted to curl into fists. She’d had to excuse herself to go to the powder room and run cold water over her wrists. She’d wanted to rinse her face, but knew she couldn’t risk ruining her makeup.

  Daniel Rosen looked terrible. Stricken, almost ill, his face pale and jowly, his eyes haunted. She wondered what was behind that, if word of Brad Burlingham’s suicide had reached him, or if something else was responsible for his appearance.

  “I’m a consultant,” she answered. “And Daisy’s been giving me cooking lessons.”

  “You don’t cook?” Evelyn asked, cocking her head.

  “I do now. Thanks to Daisy,” Diana said, and Beatrice’s mom had beamed. Diana felt the other woman’s pleasure like a thumbtack piercing some soft part of her. The poor woman got so little praise, so little gratitude. “But I never really learned.”

  “Your mother didn’t teach you?”

  Diana shook her head. “My father was actually the cook in our house.”

  At that, Vernon Shoemaker made a show of incredulity. “What kind of consulting do you do?” he asked Diana.

  “I work with pharmaceutical companies.” When she told him she was there working with Quaker, Vernon’s expression became respectful. “You must be good at what you do. They’re, what, a hundred-billion-dollar business?”

  “And still growing, with the genetic screening kits they’ve launched.”

  Vernon looked at her hands. “So no family? No husband?”

  Diana shook her head, with her smile still in place, and quickly glanced at Hal, and Danny, to see if they were paying her any special attention.

  Vernon, meanwhile, nodded as if she’d confirmed something. “That’s how it goes for women,” he said to Beatrice. “It’s either a big job or a husband and kids. You can’t have both.”

  Jesse put his hand on Danny’s shoulder as Beatrice asked, “Why not?”

  All three of the adults turned to look at her. Beatrice stood up straight. “I mean, Dad’s got a big job and a family.”

  “Your father’s got a wife,” Vernon said, with heavy good humor.

  “Well, maybe I’ll grow up and have a wife. Or a husband who wants to stay home. And I’ll be the one with the big career.”

  Her grandfather laughed. Or, really, he spoke the syllables Ha, ha, ha. “I wish you a lot of luck,” he said. “Good luck finding a man who wants to stay home while you’re out hunting and gathering.”

  “You don’t think that there are men who want to stay home?” Beatrice asked indignantly. Again, Diana wanted to look, to see how Hal was reacting to this, as Daisy jumped in to ask who was ready for another drink.

  “Another Scotch, sweetie,” Vernon said, and Daisy hurried to get it.

  Beatrice plopped on the couch, looking disconsolate, and helped herself to a fistful of cheese-dough-wrapped olives. Diana couldn’t help herself. She sat down beside the girl and said, quietly, “Don’t let them discourage you. You can do anything you want. The world is changing.”

  Beatrice nodded, then looked at Diana. “Did you ever want a family?” she asked. “Like, do you feel like you missed out?”

  Diana’s heart gave a terrible wrench. She hadn’t longed for a baby, or a toddler, or a house in the suburbs, hadn’t cared about cars or clothes or jewelry, but she would have loved to have a ten- or twelve- or fourteen-year-old daughter, a smart, spirited girl like Beatrice. She pressed her lips together, then said, “I wanted a lot of things when I was your age.”

  Beatrice looked unhappy at that answer. Diana wondered what she was thinking, if she was coming to the conclusion that adulthood was just one long process of settling for what you’d gotten, whether or not it was what you’d wanted.

  “But, listen, you have plenty of time to decide what you want to do, and what your life will be like.”

  “I don’t know,” said Beatrice, as Daisy came to the living room entrance. “Dinner’s ready,” she said, and everyone went to the dining room. Diana was seated with Daisy on one side and Beatrice on the other, across from Danny and Jesse. “Let me help you,” she said to Daisy, as Hal spread his napkin on his lap. Daisy, flustered, said, “No, no, you’re my guest.”

  “You can show me how you plate the food,” said Diana. She didn’t trust herself to stay at the table with Hal and Danny. All she wanted to do was grab Beatrice, and maybe Daisy, too, and throw them in her car and drive away, maybe all the way back to Cape Cod, so that she and Daisy could keep Beatrice there until she was old enough to move safely through the world. In other words, Diana thought, forever.

  She watched in the kitchen, with her trembling hands in her pockets, as Daisy put a scoop of mashed potatoes on the bottom of each shallow bowl and spooned chicken and sauce on top. “Can you grab me the slotted spoon?” she asked, and Diana handed it over. “Vernon doesn’t eat mushrooms,” she explained, straining the sauce for his portion. Diana didn’t comment as she helped Daisy carry the food to the table. When everyone was served, Diana picked up her fork. She was wondering how to proceed when Beatrice did her job for her.

  “So,” she said, “what do you all think will happen with Huey Sanders?” Huey Sanders was a twenty-one-year-old pitcher who’d been signed by the Phillies for a contract worth six million dollars for his first year. A few days ago some social-media sleuth had discovered tweets and Reddit posts he’d made when he was fourteen using the n-word and calling his friends faggots. Huey had issued a version of the statement most athletes released in similar circumstances, saying that the words did not reflect the man he’d become, saying that he’d been wrong and that he was sorry. He’d asked for forgiveness and had promised to do better. So far, the Phillies hadn’t said anything about whether they intended to ignore the incident, cut him loose, or find some middle ground.

  “I hope the Phillies get rid of him,” Beatrice said.

  Daisy looked proud. Hal pressed his lips together. Vernon Shoemaker swung his head around to peer at his granddaughter. “Oh, really?” he said. “You want to punish a young man for stupid things he said when he was younger than you are right now?”

  “Fourteen is still old enough to know what hate speech is,” Beatrice said.

  “I agree,” said Jesse, and, beside him, Danny nodded his assent.

  “Maybe you’re old enough to know,” said Hal, in a patronizing tone. “You’ve had the benefit of a fine education. We don’t know anything about how this young man was brought up.”

  “And why should one mistake mean he loses his chance to play for the Phillies?” Vernon asked Beatrice. “More chicken, please, dear,” he said to Daisy, who’d just pulled out her chair to sit.

  “I’ll get it,” said Evelyn, standing up and taking his dish.

  “It’s all being blown out of proportion,” Vernon scoffed. “I mean, a few twits, or tweets, or whatever it is he did.” He picked up his water glass, his thumb leaving a smear of chicken grease on its side. “Poor kid’s not the only one to have done something stupid when he was young.” He grinned at Beatrice’s father. “I mean, if they’d had Tweeter when you were a kid, you probably would’ve never gotten into Dartmouth.”

 
“Dad,” Hal said sharply. But Vernon kept talking. “Remember that party in—oh, where was it, Newport? One of your friends’ families had a place. And you and your buddies went there for the weekend.” He used his knife to point at Danny. “You were there, weren’t you?”

  Danny gave a nod, his pale face looking even paler. Jesse frowned and said something quietly. Danny picked up his water glass in a hand that seemed to shake.

  Ignoring that byplay, Vernon turned back to the table and picked up the story. “It’s the middle of the night, and I get a call from the police, because they’d gotten a call from the neighbors, because…”

  “Dad.”

  “… my sons, both of them, got drunk, and decided to go skinny-dipping at two in the morning…”

  “Dad.”

  “… and then run naked through the neighbors’ backyard.”

  Diana saw Daisy glaring at her father-in-law. She saw Jesse take his husband’s hand. She saw Hal sitting, enraged and frozen, as Vernon kept talking, oblivious to everyone’s discomfort, or maybe just enjoying the spotlight. “One of the boys had driven his car right onto the next-door neighbors’ backyard and through their screened porch, and passed out, naked as a jaybird, on the hood. The police couldn’t identify him because, obviously, he didn’t have his wallet. So they called the homeowners, who called all the boys’ parents. Including me.” He wiped his eyes and said to his son, “It’s a good thing your mother didn’t pick up the phone that night!”

  Hal’s face was stony. Daisy looked desperately embarrassed. Danny gave a faint, protesting moan. “Excuse us,” said Jesse, standing up and taking Danny by the shoulder, practically hauling him out of the dining room.

  “Did Dad get in trouble?” Beatrice asked. Diana could feel the tension in the room as she waited for Vernon to answer.

  “Oh, I’m sure we punished him somehow,” Vernon said, with a conspiratorial wink at his son. “But there was no internet, is my point. The stupid things you did when you were young never made headlines. Which, in the case of your father, Beatrice, was a very good thing.”