by Trevor Scott
Christina took care of some things at work and then went to her house, which she shared with a young couple—two graduate students from Bennington College working on their MFAs in writing. Hopefully the two of them would take their degrees and move away. Bennington had enough out-of-work writers collecting unemployment or working in fast food.
She stopped at the liquor store for a bottle of single malt Scotch, and then started driving north toward Manchester. Since her brother Bobby started living and working at the Winthrop Inn estate, the family had stayed there a number of times—mostly in the off-season when they had the place to themselves. It was a great time to renew their spirits. The place transformed her to the past, when life was simpler and getting dressed took much longer. Where technology had not completely consumed everyone into screen zombies.
Finding a number on her hands-free phone, she tapped her mother’s number and waited. Jackie Borelli could be stubborn at times, and she was balking at coming to the reunion. After the divorce with her father, Jackie felt left out most of the time. She didn’t fit in, her mother would declare. But did anyone fit into this world? Christina wasn’t sure about that.
Her mother answered, “Hello, darling. I can tell you’re driving.” She was sounding more and more like that Hungarian woman on Green Acres every day.
“On the way to the Winthrop,” Christina said. “When do you plan on coming?”
“I’m still on the fence.”
“Bobby is holding rooms for all of us. I’ll be there in a half hour and make sure your room is far away from Papa’s.”
“I’m not really part of the family anymore,” she said, her voice like a whining thirteen-year-old girl.
“Nonsense. Your only children will be there. Your nephew Frank is coming over. And you get along with Auntie Anna and her husband.”
“Francesco is coming?” she asked.
“He’s flying his private plane up from Boston.”
“He doesn’t fly.”
“His pilot is flying him,” Christina corrected. “And I’m sure he will have some of his men with him.” That should sweeten the pot, she thought. Uncle Francesco always came with at least three men, and her mother liked to flirt with these younger men.
“Oh, all right,” her mother said. “What kind of shenanigans does Bobby have planned?”
Bobby was notorious for his pranks and elaborate planning.
“As far as I can tell, he’s arranged for a nice meal tonight. I just picked up some Scotch.”
“Good girl. I’ll put some things together and get on the road.”
Christina looked out the window at the clouds. “It looks like the weather might be turning bad. You should get up there soon.”
“I will. See you soon, honey.”
She barely tapped off that call when a call came in. It was her cousin Frank. “Hey, cousin. Are you on your way?”
“Just heading out,” he said. “I had a job at Dartmouth to finish.”
“On Saturday?”
“The hospital, not the college. They were concerned about their backup power. This storm could be bad.”
“Okay, that’s about an hour and a half drive,” she said.
“How are they?”
“Our cousins Max and Robin? They seem really nice. Max is like you, former military. Right winger.”
“Awesome. We need more on the right in our family. What about his twin sister?”
“Beautiful. Taller than me. She looks like a professional beach volleyball player.”
“Too bad she’s my cousin.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“I didn’t know you played for that team.”
“Ha, ha. I was thinking of you. You need to find a girl soon.”
“You should talk. I don’t have a biological clock.”
“Hey. Leave my uterus out of this.”
“Your problem is you’re looking in all the wrong places,” Frank said.
“That’s what Max said. You do think alike.”
“Is cousin Robin a right winger like Max?”
“I don’t know. She’s a lawyer from Salt Lake.”
“Mormons are all on my side.”
“She was married to a Mormon, but she’s divorced now.”
“Have you heard from my mom?” Frank asked.
“No, why?”
“I hope you don’t mind, but she’s driving over with a friend from the hospital. A doctor.”
“Man or a woman?”
“A woman. Do you think my father would allow a man to drive her?”
Anna Aldo was a woman of leisure. She sat on boards and did charity work, but she had never had a real career. She spent half of her time at their large home in the Boston suburb of Weston. The other half of her time was spent in the Hanover and Lebanon area at their lake home.
“I’m sure there are plenty of rooms this time of year,” Christina said. “Is she on her way?”
She heard noise in the background and thought it sounded like a truck engine starting.
“What about your papa?” she asked.
Heavy sigh. “He was reluctant to come, since Max and Robin aren’t his blood relatives. But in the end, he seemed somewhat intrigued. He should be in the air right now.”
She had no idea the flight time from Boston to Manchester in a small plane.
“Alright,” she said. “Drive carefully.”
“Are you bringing anything to drink?”
“Scotch.”
“Sweet. I better pick up some beer. Your dad never brings enough.”
She tapped off of her call and turned left onto a side road, which would wind down to the Batten Kill River valley. Soon, she would be at one of her favorite places in all of Vermont. Christina wished she could live like her brother at the Winthrop Inn.
•
Frank decided early in his trip from New Hampshire that he would take a slower route across the Green Mountains. He did this for two reasons. First, he had to stop for personal business in Killington. And second, he wasn’t a hundred percent behind this reunion. He wanted to meet Max and Robin, but he also knew that things always got strange when the Borelli and Aldo families got together.
He was a half hour out of the winter sports mountain town of Killington when his phone buzzed and he looked at the screen to see his mother was calling.
Frank tapped the green button on the screen of his phone. “Hey, mother. Where are you?”
“Heading south on Ninety-One,” his mother said. “The rain is really starting to pick up. But the wind is worse. I’m guessing you’re just ahead of us.”
He didn’t want to tell his mother that he was stopping in Killington or taking a slower route. “You might get there before me. I got a late start. Dartmouth-Hitchcock had a problem I needed to handle before I left.”
“Which department?” came a voice from the background.
“That was Doctor Kamala Sen,” his mother said. “You’re on speaker.”
“It was the emergency power system,” Frank said. The truth, but not the whole truth. He had finished that job hours ago.
“Good, good,” the doctor said. “This storm is looking bad.”
Not where he was, he thought. Perhaps the storm was tracking somewhat to the south. Or, more likely, he was simply driving through a lull on the northern route.
“Your father’s flight has been delayed in Keene,” his mother said.
“Why there?”
“He didn’t say. But with this weather coming in, it’ll be a miracle if he gets here at all.”
If Frank had to guess, his father was probably sitting at home in Boston watching hockey on his big screen. He wasn’t into family reunions on his mother’s side of the tree.
“The weather’s getting bad,” Frank said. “And you should be watching the road.”
“Kamala is driving her BMW,” his mother said. “She’s a very good driver.”
“This storm is expected to knock down a lot of trees,” Frank said. “Her
BMW can’t go over those.”
“Neither can your truck,” she said.
“I have a chainsaw in the back and a winch on the front,” Frank said.
“Always the Boy Scout,” his mother said.
“Goodbye mother,” he said, and then hung up.
She wouldn’t think of him so highly if she knew why he was taking the northern route and stopping in Killington.
He wasn’t sure about his mother’s intentions. Knowing her, this doctor from Dartmouth-Hitchcock was coming along as a set up for him. He was always being pulled in two directions—his father continued to pull him toward the family business, and his mother wanted grandchildren. Before that, he would need to find a girl and marry her. There would be no bastard children in the Aldo family.
10
Robin left her room on the second floor of the Winthrop Inn, stopping for a second outside her brother’s room next door. Despite the wind and rain pounding the building, she could still hear her brother’s heavy breathing. He wasn’t snoring, but he was definitely sleeping. What did he call it? A combat nap? She used to call it a power nap, but her twin brother had perfected it. He could normally fall asleep within seconds and somehow wake himself within a half hour.
She smiled and walked gently down the wooden hallway toward the staircase. As she started down the stairs, the front door opened below and she heard the wind whip in for a second.
When she got downstairs, she saw that her cousin Christina had just gotten there. She was shaking rain from her coat and standing before the small front desk talking with the manager.
Christina saw Robin come down the stairs and said, “Hey, there’s my cousin. You found the place.”
“It wasn’t hard,” Robin said, padding closer. “Just look for the castle on the hill.”
“It is a beautiful property,” Christina said. “My brother is lucky living here.”
The manager, Martha Grant, handed Christina her key and told her she was staying in the giraffe room.
“That’s just down the hallway from me,” Robin said.
Christina said, “Let me drop my bag upstairs and come back down. I’ll make you a cappuccino and we can talk. Martha said I could use her machine in the kitchen prep room. Where’s your brother?”
“Taking a quick combat nap in his room.”
“Good idea,” Christina said. “I have a feeling it will be a long night. I’ll be right back.” Her cousin went upstairs.
Now Robin and the manager were alone in the foyer. “Have you heard from my cousin Bobby?”
Martha shook her head. “Not for a while. He’ll be here soon though. I started a fire in the living room fireplace in case you want to cozy up to that on this dreary day.”
“That sounds fantastic,” Robin said, and she wandered into the large parlor living room, the small fire already warming the place.
She took a seat near the fireplace and found a book on a side table, the classic House of the Seven Gables by Nathanial Hawthorne. She had read the book in her college undergraduate studies, and she was drawing comparisons to this place. But she had heard that the actual home in Salem, Massachusetts was tiny compared to this massive estate. Still, she opened the book and started to read.
In what seemed like a few minutes, her cousin wandered into the parlor carrying two cups of coffee. “Good spot,” Christina said. “The rain is really coming down out there. We have people driving across from New Hampshire. I hope they’re alright.”
“God willing,” Robin said, accepting one of the cappuccino cups from her cousin.
Her cousin sat on the leather sofa next to her, slipping out of her clogs and tucking her stockinged feet under her buttocks. “Are you a big believer in God, Robin?”
“Through the years my faith has been tried,” Robin said.
“Divorce?”
Robin nodded. “And not being able to have children. I really wanted a family.”
“What about adoption?”
“I was willing,” Robin said. “But my ex-husband wanted to pass down his genes. It was important to him and his family.”
Christina touched Robin’s arm and said, “I’m so sorry.”
“What about you?” Robin asked.
“Family? Children? I don’t know. The world is such a strange place. It’s hard for me to consider bringing them into this world.”
“Darkness leads to light,” Robin said. “It will get better.”
Nodding, Christina said, “My parents are still strict Catholics. It was very difficult for them to get a divorce. Finally, they departed from the church teachings and just did it.”
“What happened?” Robin asked.
“They were never really compatible,” Christina said. “My mother is a socialist. My Papa calls her a Marxist-Leninist. And he’s not technically wrong, even though my mother doesn’t agree with him. Papa is a good man, but he can be rigidly right. He believes in our Constitution without question.”
“It’s stood the test of time,” Robin said. “As a lawyer, I’m obviously a huge advocate. I don’t like to have politics define me, though. So, I don’t talk about it much.”
“And Max?”
“Being military for twenty years, he’s in the same camp as your father.”
“And your parents?”
Robin considered that for a moment. “My father was a fan of Reagan, but he didn’t talk much about politics. It wasn’t a big part of our upbringing. He worked hard in the gold mine, and then went home. He was more into sports.”
“I should probably warn you about a few people,” Christina said.
“Why?”
“My mother can be overwhelming. She thinks there’s only one side to every issue—her side. My Aunt Anna and Uncle Francesco are right there with her—east coast liberals all.”
“You said your cousin Frank was like my brother Max,” Robin said. “What about your brother Bobby?”
“Good question. I’ve never heard him talk politics. When the debate starts, he usually tunes out. He has his bees and his honey business, and not much time for anything else.”
“You haven’t said how you feel,” Robin reminded her cousin.
“I try to keep an open mind. Owning a small business, I’m obviously a capitalist. But I do believe in the rare abortion, or at least the right to choose. I’m not crazy about guns, like my Papa, but I also want people to choose to own a gun or not also. I believe guns in the wrong hands can be evil.”
“I agree. I don’t own a gun, but my brother owns many. And I want people like Max carrying a gun. I don’t believe in abortion, but I have advocated for women to terminate their pregnancies in rare medical cases.”
Christina set her cappuccino on a side table and hugged Robin. Then she said, “You are such a beautiful person. I’m so glad you came here and found us.”
Robin squeezed back, trying not to spill her own coffee. “I’m glad too.”
Suddenly they both heard a commotion out by the front door.
Christina said, “That’s my mother. Grand entrances are her thing.”
Robin turned to see her aunt coming in from the foyer.
“There you are,” Jackie Borelli said to them.
“I could make you a cappuccino, mother,” Christina said.
“Only if you put some Scotch in it,” Jackie said. She turned to Robin and said, “What do think of this place?”
“It’s gorgeous,” Robin said. “I could stay here for a long time.”
“It takes you back in time,” Jackie said. “Where’s Max?”
“Regenerating,” Robin said.
“He’s like a cyborg,” Jackie concluded. “He definitely looks the part.” She hesitated and glanced back toward the foyer. “I should go to my room to freshen up before dinner. I’m told I have the donkey room. I’m not sure if Martha is making a statement or not.” She shook her head and wandered back out toward the staircase.
Christina smiled.
“What?” Robin asked.
The two of them laughed. Robin was beginning to really like her cousin’s sense of humor.
Christina asked, “Do you like Scotch?”
“I’m not much of a drinker,” Robin said. “It’s not a moral protest. It just doesn’t sit well in my stomach.”
“I saw last night that Max can put away some beer.”
“If you let him, he’ll drink your Scotch also.”
“Cousins should share everything,” Christina said.
Robin wasn’t sure if her cousin really meant ‘everything.’ She had a feeling that Christina had some moral ambiguity brewing inside her. Nothing Max couldn’t handle, though.
“I understand your mother gave Max a thumb drive this morning,” Robin said. “Do you have any idea what was on that?”
Christina bit her lower lip and shook her head. “I have no idea. I was hoping you would tell me.”
“Max hasn’t had a chance to open it yet,” Robin said. She studied her cousin carefully now, and finally started to see what Max saw in her. It was little things mostly. Like the bite of the lip, the flick of the hair and the slight tightening around her eyes as she smiled. These little non-verbal cues were very similar to her own. Although they had different facial structures, their bodies were quite similar.
Smiling, Christina said, “Max offered to have me come out to Nevada to meet some real cowboys.”
Robin laughed. “He’s tried to do the same for me. But, unfortunately, I grew up with most of those men.” She hesitated long enough to tamp down the negativity in her inflection. “Don’t get me wrong, cowboys are the salt of the Earth. They will give you the shirt off their back and love you ‘till the day you die.”
“That sounds pretty good to me,” Christina said.
“It’s just a rough life out on the high desert,” Robin explained. “It’s desolate. Most have to drive fifty miles just to buy groceries. Of course, a lot of the ranches are pretty self-sufficient, with chickens, cattle, hogs, sheep and horses. Everyone has a huge garden.”
Christina put her hand on Robin’s knee. “A lot of people talk about sustainability out here, but it sounds like those ranchers are living the life.”