Maine

by J. Courtney Sullivan

  “She’s good. We went to Nantasket Beach on Sunday. We rode the carousel.”

  “That sounds like fun.”

  “Yeah. Regina had never been before. And we went to Castleman’s for lobster afterward.”

  That sounds expensive, she thought. But she only said, “Good for you. Did you go to Mass at St. Mary’s while you were there?”

  He chuckled. “Mom.”

  “It’s a beautiful church, that’s all. I don’t think you’ve ever been. Which means you would have gotten three wishes.”

  She had no idea who had decided that a person got to make three wishes whenever he entered a new church. Probably some desperate mother whose child was throwing a fit in a church parking lot. It had always worked well on Ann Marie’s children.

  “I’m on my way to Maine now,” she said. “Going to head to the Cliff House at some point this week to do the food tasting so I can report back to Regina on what I like best. I’ll just try to narrow it down for her to save her some time.”

  “Cool. Tell Grandma I say hi, and we’re excited to see her in July.”

  “Will do. When are you coming?”

  “Not sure yet.”

  She pulled the Mercedes through the tollbooth and sped up. It wasn’t safe to be on the phone when you were accelerating. She hoped none of her kids would ever do it.

  “I’ve got to go, honey,” she said. “But one last thing. Maybe you should invite Daddy to have dinner with you some night this week. I’m sure he’d like that. He’ll be lonely.”

  “I would, but I’m totally strapped for cash.”

  She thought about his lobster dinner the night before.

  “You could go to our house. I made your favorite.”

  “Ziti bake?”

  “Yes. And there’s strawberry shortcake in the fridge, left over from Sunday. And plenty of wine. You could bring a bottle or two home if you want. Bring Regina too. I left those bridal magazines I told her about on my desk in the office.”

  “Okay, I’ll stop by.”

  She hung up. The guy in the car beside her looked a bit like Steve Brewer—that sharp chin and brown shaggy hair.

  For the next forty minutes, she ran over their e-mail exchange in her head.

  You’re a wonder, he had written. This calls for a celebratory drink.

  She wished it could be just the two of them, and then she could tell him how she was feeling. She imagined him nodding along, telling her he understood completely, telling her she had done a great job—with the kids, her figure, the housekeeping, the dollhouse, everything.

  As she crossed the Piscataqua River Bridge, which connected New Hampshire and Maine, she thought of Pat’s favorite road trip game: whoever spotted the bridge first would get a quarter. When her kids were small, you’d think that quarter was a hundred-dollar bill, the way they hooted and hollered and fought and accused one another of cheating. (There’s no way you saw the bridge yet—we’re still in Boston!)

  When Pat tried the game on the grandchildren the previous summer, Foster said, “What do we win if we see it?”

  “A quarter!” Pat had said excitedly.

  Ann Marie glanced into the rearview mirror, to see her six-year-old grandson reaching down to the floor. “But I just found two quarters right here under the mat,” he said. Then he and Maisy started playing their handheld video games and didn’t say a word until they reached Cape Neddick. Ann Marie knew she should be thankful for the peace and quiet, but she almost wanted to grab their faces and tilt them upward, holding them in place. Were kids these days too busy to look out a car window and daydream?

  She turned off the highway and onto Route 1, where you still saw gas stations and the big Shop ’n Save and traffic lights every quarter of a mile. But after five minutes, she was in Ogunquit, where the streets were lined with gift shops and cafés. She followed the road to Cape Neddick, and within a couple of minutes she passed all the familiar houses and the big dilapidated barn at the end of Whipple Road. She looked out over the water, at the sailboats glistening white in the sun, under a cloudless blue sky. She had never loved a place as much.

  When she arrived at Briarwood Road, she pressed harder on the gas. It was nearly ten. Alice would just be arriving at church. That gave Ann Marie a couple of hours to get settled in at the cottage and make them some lunch, and maybe she’d have a bit of extra time to get to work on her dollhouse curtains.

  Her car zipped down the sandy street, pine trees blocking out the daylight. And then she had arrived, the sight of the cottage like seeing an old friend. Beside it stood the big house, and down below was their beach, empty, ready for her. She felt a giddy rush as she got out of the Mercedes.

  Ann Marie opened the trunk and gathered her dollhouse gear first. She held the sewing machine in one hand, and hooked the heavy beach bag full of fabric over her free arm. Then she sort of scooped up her ribbons and paint and nudged them to the top of the pile. She was going only twenty feet, so she might as well take as much as she possibly could.

  She pushed the cottage door open with her hip. It was never locked. She crossed the screen porch and then stepped into the front hall, inhaling the familiar scent of ocean mixed with the old, musty smell of the house itself.

  She moved toward the living room, thinking that it was actually nice to be alone, and that’s when she saw her niece sitting at the dining table in her underpants and a Kenyon Lacrosse T-shirt, typing away at her laptop. She looked chunkier than usual.

  “Maggie.” Ann Marie said it softly, so as not to startle her, but the girl gasped and clutched her stomach anyway.

  “Oh my God, you scared me!” Maggie said. She climbed to her feet, smiling sheepishly. She reached for a pair of shorts that lay on the floor and pulled them on.

  “I wasn’t expecting anyone. Can I help you with that stuff?” Maggie asked. She looked it over. “What is that stuff?”

  Ann Marie dropped everything in her arms onto the table, which was already strewn with papers and books.

  “What are you doing here, dear? I thought you were going back to New York on the fourteenth.”

  “I decided to stay a while longer,” Maggie said. “Didn’t Grandma tell you?”

  “No. No, she didn’t.”

  “Are you just dropping this off?” Maggie said, gesturing at her dollhouse supplies.

  Ann Marie took in a deep breath. It wasn’t Maggie she was angry with; it would be wrong to take it out on her.

  “I had arranged with Alice to be here for the rest of the month, since you and your mother couldn’t stay,” Ann Marie said.

  “But I told her three weeks ago I was staying through the end of June,” Maggie said. “Not that we can’t both stay. That might be fun.”

  She was a polite girl, shockingly so given her upbringing, but Ann Marie could tell that Maggie found the prospect every bit as unappealing as she herself did.

  “That’s true,” Ann Marie said.

  “I’ll help you bring your luggage in from the car,” Maggie said.

  They made small talk as they carried in her suitcases and bags of groceries and cleaning products.

  “How are Patty’s kids?” Maggie asked. “They must be getting big.”

  “They’re adorable,” Ann Marie said. “Foster has Big Daniel’s ears! I’ll show you pictures.”

  “I’d love that,” Maggie said.

  “Oh, and the baby’s doing swimming lessons! He goes to his classes twice a week.”

  “What? How old is he?”

  “One!” Ann Marie said.

  “Wow.”

  “That’s nothing. Maisy’s four, and she’s already in her third year of T-ball class. She knows all the moves. She’s ready to start on a team next fall.”

  Maggie raised an eyebrow. “Is that typical, T-ball for two-year-olds?”

  “They don’t let them stay babies for long anymore,” Ann Marie said.

  “How much does stuff like that cost?” Maggie asked—a terribly odd question if you ask
ed Ann Marie.

  “I’m not quite sure,” she said. “Not too much. Josh even takes her to these toddler batting cages they have now. All the dads go.”

  Maggie looked stricken. Should she not have mentioned fathers?

  Ann Marie always felt a bit sad for the girl. She probably should have done more for her niece over the years. She had tried, when she could, to make Maggie feel special, loved. But she had her own three children to think about first, and any time she gave Maggie a nice gift just because, or offered to take her away with them to Disney World, Kathleen would fly into such an unholy huff that Ann Marie regretted ever getting involved.

  “How’s your mom?” she asked now.

  “Oh, she’s good.”

  “Life on the farm keeping her busy?”

  “Yup. Hey, did you see that article in The Times a couple weeks ago about Peace Corps volunteers?”

  Ann Marie felt her entire body contract. “No.”

  “It was great, all about famous alums. Sort of a ‘Where are they now’ kind of thing. It made me think of Fiona.”

  “Oh, that’s nice,” Ann Marie said.

  “I thought I might send it to her.”

  “That would be sweet. I know she’d love to read it.”

  “She’s been gone so long.”

  “Yes.”

  “Does she have any idea what she wants to do next?” Maggie asked.

  Ann Marie tried to sound casual. “The mother is always the last to know.” It felt like more than she had meant to say, but Maggie just smiled.

  After they had brought in all the bags, Maggie worked on her laptop at the dining table while Ann Marie read her dollhouse magazines out on the porch. She tried to relax and take in the view. But she was eager for Alice to get back and explain things. They spoke almost every day. How had her mother-in-law managed not to mention Maggie’s presence? Ann Marie was struck with a fearful thought: Maybe Alice’s memory was worse than they had realized. Maybe she had somehow forgotten about the overlap.

  But when Alice walked into the cottage an hour or so later, that possibility vanished. She stepped out onto the porch, sliding the door closed behind her.

  “Oh, good, you made it!” she said. “How was the drive?”

  “Fine. I was sort of startled to find Maggie here.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, and I think she felt the same way. I wish you’d have told me she was staying.”

  “Why?” Alice asked. “Would you not have come? In my day, people actually enjoyed going to the beach with their family. It wasn’t a chore.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Ann Marie said.

  “Come out front and see my garden,” Alice said. “It looks like a million bucks.”

  That night, the three of them ate dinner at Barnacle Billy’s. While they waited in line to place their order at the counter, Ann Marie looked into the cloudy lobster tank, feeling somewhat sorry for the poor creatures. Their situation here was unpleasant at best, and when they finally got out they’d become someone’s dinner. She had submerged live lobsters in a huge pot of boiling water dozens of times in her life, throwing on the cover and squeamishly listening to them clank around for a bit until they gave up the fight. Occasionally she had even allowed Little Daniel to stick a fork and knife upright into their claws, which were held closed with thick rubber bands. He would send them wobbling into the living room, where the girls would scream with delight. “They’re having you for dinner tonight,” Little Daniel would tell his sisters, and Ann Marie would laugh.

  It had never once seemed cruel. But now, suddenly, she could not bear the thought of it. She ordered the clams.

  The dining room was crowded with young families and couples holding hands. They took a table by the window, one of the only free spots left. There was a crackling fire in the fireplace, and outside, fishing boats bobbed up and down in the harbor.

  When Maggie went to the ladies’ room, Alice said, “Now, I know you’re mad at me. Please don’t be. I absolutely hate when you’re mad.”

  “I’m not mad,” Ann Marie said.

  “Yes, you are.”

  She sighed. “Really, Mom, I’m not. It’s fine.”

  “It was naughty of me not to tell you,” Alice said. “But you know Kathleen and her kids—when Maggie said she was staying on, I figured she’d probably change her mind any day.”

  “But she didn’t.”

  “No.”

  Alice’s tone took on an edge. “Look. I told you not to come in the first place. If it’s such a burden for you, why don’t you go home?”

  Ann Marie felt like a chastened child. She had changed all her plans to be here, yet Alice acted as if she were the ungrateful one.

  “I want to stay,” she said to keep the peace. “I’m sorry.”

  Alice smiled. “You’ll stay in the big house with me. We’ll put you in that front room with the best view of the water.”

  “That sounds nice,” Ann Marie said.

  Maggie came back to the table. Alice ordered two glasses of rum punch from the cocktail waitress.

  “This one is becoming a killjoy like her mother,” Alice said accusatorily, pointing at Maggie. “Doesn’t drink anymore.”

  Maggie had never been much of a drinker, which was hardly a surprise. In Irish families like theirs, there was always a person or two so terrified of becoming an alcoholic that they never gave themselves the chance. In Ann Marie’s case, it was her sister Susan, who hadn’t had anything stronger than an O’Doul’s since college.

  “I’m just on a health kick lately,” Maggie said now. “Trying to lose some weight for summer.”

  Ann Marie tightened up, waiting for the inevitable.

  “That’s smart thinking,” Alice said. “Obviously you don’t look your best at the moment. But you’re young. The weight will fall right off you.” She paused. “Your hair looks nice, though.”

  “Thanks,” Maggie said. She rolled her eyes at Ann Marie.

  Alice switched gears. “Ann Marie, did you see that awful story on the news about the black boy in Dorchester who got killed by one of those scummy gangs? Two blocks away from the house I grew up in. What is wrong with these blacks? They’re mad for murdering each other. It’s their favorite hobby. They can’t help themselves.”

  “Grandma!” Maggie hissed.

  “What? It’s true.”

  Maggie looked flummoxed. “There’s a lot of history there. A lot of inequality and suffering.”

  “Oh, please,” Alice said. “Our ancestors had to suffer horrible racism when they got to this country—there were IRISH NEED NOT APPLY signs in every window in Boston. Our people were treated worse than dogs. But they never made excuses. They helped themselves up, just the way the blacks should have done.”

  “It’s different. African Americans’ ancestors came here on slave ships and ours came here by choice.”

  “Do you really call dying from famine or going off to some unknown land a choice?” Alice said. “And did you really just compare the Irish to the blacks?”

  “You shouldn’t call them the blacks like that,” Maggie said.

  Alice looked genuinely confused. “What should I call them? Afro-Americans? Or Negroes, as we said when I was young.”

  The couple at the next table swiveled their heads toward her.

  “You shouldn’t call them anything,” Maggie said. “Let’s change the subject.”

  Alice’s face grew stony, a look that said she was going to the dark side. The Kellehers never did know how to handle her.

  Before Alice could respond, Ann Marie whispered urgently, “Canadians! Call them Canadians.”

  Alice made an expression as if to say that it was silly, but she would indulge them.

  “Fine. Canadians need to shape up. Better?”

  Maggie shook her head. “I guess.”

  “And why do Canadians have such filthy mouths?” Alice asked. “I stumbled onto something on the radio this morning. And well, why?”

>   “I don’t know,” Maggie said, looking weary.

  “Ann Marie?” Alice asked.

  “No clue, Mom,” she said.

  Ann Marie flagged down the waitress and ordered another rum punch, even though her first one was still half full.

  She called Pat from the phone in Alice’s kitchen before bed. She was feeling slightly drunk and sorry for herself. No one ever told her anything. She tried to be an agreeable person, but what did it get her?

  When she told him that Maggie hadn’t left, Pat said, “Well good, then come home.”

  “No, I’ll stay,” she said. “There’s still so much to do around here.”

  She felt like a prisoner. She knew it was an overreaction—anytime she wanted she could get in the car and go. But then what would she do for the next ten days? Patty had gotten another sitter for the kids. Her sisters were dealing with her mom. It was a bit disturbing how easily she could slip out of her own life without causing anyone much trouble. And anyway, all of her dollhouse furnishings were being sent here.

  “Whatever you think,” Pat said. “I miss you, though. The house is too quiet without you puttering around.”

  She smiled. “What did you have for dinner?”

  “I’ll plead the fifth on that.”

  “Patrick!” She knew it. He had gone to McDonald’s. He was never allowed to eat fast food when she was present.

  “I promise it won’t happen again,” he said. “Forgive me, I’m a weak man.”

  “Okay then,” she said.

  “Little Daniel called this afternoon,” he said.

  “Oh?”

  “He said he misses his dear old dad and thought he might come over for dinner some night this week.”

  Good boy. “Well, isn’t that sweet?”

  “It really put a smile on my face, I have to say.”

  “I’m glad.”

  The exchange cheered her. She vowed to start tomorrow off right, to focus on the good. Before sleep, as always, she prayed. For her children and grandchildren, her mother and Alice, for Pat and the loved ones they’d lost. She said a special prayer for Maggie, who seemed so alone. She thought of her niece in the cottage next door, and had half a mind to go over there and tuck her in. Instead, she closed her eyes and listened to the crashing waves through the window.