She had been surprised at how easy it was to get on with her life. It was almost as if Harry had never really made an impression on her. That was scary—to realize that for ten years you had been with a person you could so easily live without. Both Harry and Delphine had been responsible for the faulty state of their union. She knew that even if he didn’t. They had each lacked the ability to communicate and to commit. Convenience was not the same as intimacy, though it often pretended that it was. She had learned that the hard way.
Most important, she had begun weekly visits to a therapist in Portsmouth. She wanted to explore and hopefully come to understand what might have become a habit of passivity and resignation. She wanted certain things about her life to be different. She wanted to be happy. At first, she had told no one about seeing the therapist. After several sessions, she’d worked up the nerve to tell her sister, who, predictably, was thoroughly supportive, and then Maggie, who was both supportive and impressed. Delphine was working toward someday telling her parents and the rest of the Crandall family. She had kept enough secrets in her life. Still, she thought that she might never tell Jemima. There were some people who saw therapy for emotional or psychological issues as a sign of moral weakness. Delphine suspected that Jemima was one of those people, but maybe she was doing her friend a disservice. The decision to tell or not to tell could wait until she felt stronger, until she learned not to care so much about what other people thought of her.
Thus far, things had been going well, but progress was slow. She was determined to stick it out, though, because the alternative—the sort of half -life she had been leading—was unacceptable. Almost too late she had realized that the two people in her life to whom she had been most drawn—Maggie Weldon and Robert Evans—were people “from away.” Both were distinctly different from her in so many ways, but both spoke to an essential part of her. Both Maggie and Robert had given her love. They had opened vistas for her, pointed out possibilities. Almost too late she realized that she needed—and wanted—something outside of the comforts and restrictions, beyond the joys and the limitations, of home, even if the form that took was a strong relationship with an “other.”
As for a romantic relationship, well, that would have to wait until Delphine got right with herself. And when she did, she was not going to sell herself short. She would rather live alone forever than be allied with someone who couldn’t or wouldn’t give her his loyalty. And next time, she was going to rely on Melchior’s opinion, as well. If he gave the guy a malevolent yellow-eyed stare, the guy was history.
Delphine put down the half-finished glove she was working on and stretched. She then turned to her laptop and opened her e-mail. Two new orders had come in since the morning. “Yikes,” she said to Melchior. “Mommy’s going to be busy.” He opened one eye, and then closed it again.
With Maggie’s help Delphine had expanded her knitwear business. The first step had been admitting that it was an actual business and not only a hobby. She now advertised in Ogunquit and the neighboring towns and had a Facebook page and a designated e-mail address for communicating with customers. At first, she had been uncomfortable marketing her work, but once she got into the groove she found the habit of self-promotion less unappetizing than she had feared. Plus, there was great satisfaction in making a sale and satisfying a customer. Okay, there was that old desire to serve, but that was fine. She didn’t ever want to become a selfish person. She just wanted to be someone who knew how to take care of her own basic emotional needs.
Gradually, she was cutting back on her hours at the farm. Lori was increasingly showing an interest in the behind-thescenes working of the family business. But Delphine still hoped that her niece would opt for college before settling down. Delphine was doing what she could to encourage Lori’s studies, and Jackie, too, was urging her daughter to set her goals if not higher, then perhaps wider or farther afield than her mother and her aunt had done. Lori had said something about getting a degree in agricultural studies or maybe a degree in veterinary medicine.
Dave Jr. had graduated from high school that spring and was now working with his cousin Norman for Dave Sr.’s small contracting business. He still helped out at the farm on weekends. Norman’s wife had had the baby, a boy they named Thomas. Kitty was fascinated by the little guy and loved to play with him, though for health reasons her access to Thomas was sometimes restricted.
The good news was that Kitty had responded remarkably well to the first and then to the second round of chemotherapy prescribed for her ALL. She was now undergoing maintenance therapy that, the Crandalls were told, might last for two or three years. She was not entirely out of the woods but getting better all the time. Her illness—and Maggie’s reappearance in Delphine’s life—had taught her that there were experiences she simply could not and should not try to handle on her own. She was learning to allow herself to be vulnerable. She was learning that “vulnerable” didn’t have to mean “weak.”
Delphine picked up her needles again. She was also learning to say no to clients with unreal expectations or repeat clients who were ridiculously late with payment. That newfound toughness she had to attribute just a little bit to Jemima’s influence. She had been known to scold unpleasant customers at the restaurant. Because she was the best waitress on staff, her boss took her righteous indignation in stride.
Jemima’s wandering son, Kurt, had returned for an unspecified amount of time, and while she grumbled about having another mouth to feed and another messy person to pick up after, she was, in reality, very happy to have her oldest child back home, even if it was only for an undetermined amount of time. There had been a subtle shift in Delphine’s relationship with Jemima since Maggie’s visit the year earlier. A slight degree of formality had crept into their friendship. Jemima stopped by unannounced less often and waited for Jim or one of her children to mow the lawn rather than ask Delphine to do it. And she never mentioned Maggie, though she knew, through Jackie, that Delphine was regularly in touch with her. Delphine wasn’t really bothered by this new dynamic. She was still a person who focused on the present rather than the past, even if she was learning that the past couldn’t and probably shouldn’t be ignored.
The Burton brothers had begun work on their new home on what had been the Crandalls’ ancient plot. Piers had shown the architects’ design to Delphine when she had last visited the shop to say hello. The house would be magnificent but no McMansion. The Burtons had been careful to respect not only the land itself but also the history and the spirit of Ogunquit. The house would be a welcome addition to both the landscape and the town. The fact that the land was no longer a part of the Crandall legacy hurt; Delphine couldn’t deny that. But at least the land—and the old lilac bush—was in good hands, and that counted for something.
Delphine occasionally wondered if Robert would have found Ogunquit as provincial and uninteresting all those years go if he had met residents like the Burtons, and Nancy and Glenda, and Bobby Taylor and the McQueens and not just her own family. She couldn’t be certain.
What was certain was that Robert Evans’s glorious career had become even more glorious since his capturing yet another international humanitarian prize back in March. There were rumors online of an HBO movie to be made about his work in the Middle East. He was spotted at the Academy Awards escorting a very young woman in a very tight dress. His hair was still suspiciously without a trace of grey. Watching him pose and smile for the cameras, Delphine was more certain than ever that she had been right to leave Robert Evans. They never would have survived as a couple. They were better off without each other, Robert working for change in his wide world and Delphine working for the good in her more proscribed world. Still, a little part of her would always love him, even if only in memory. She would always wonder if a little part of him still loved her. But she would not contact him. That, she felt, would be foolish. It would serve no purpose. She had, however, taken his books from behind the Dickens volumes and put them on a shelf as she would
any other book. There was nothing to hide; there had never been anything to hide.
Thinking of couples, Delphine thought now of poor Ellen, Harry’s wife. She continued to live her sadly diminished life, and as far as Delphine knew, Harry continued his weekly visits to her. Word around town was that he had recently begun to date another woman, a single mother in her late thirties. Delphine wished the new girlfriend well. She assumed the woman was a good cook. Delphine hadn’t run into Harry since this latest development in his romantic life and wondered if he would mention the new girlfriend when she did run into him. She might have to kick him in the shin with her dirty old work boot if he did.
Delphine’s eye caught a stack of papers on the worktable, orders already placed for Christmas gifts. A day or two after Christmas this year she would be leaving Ogunquit for her second holiday visit to Maggie’s home in Lexington. The two days she had spent with the Weldon Wilkes family the year before had been wonderful. Gregory was a kind and welcoming host. Kim and Caitlin were home for a month between semesters and Delphine had felt deeply touched by the very fact of these pleasant and intelligent young women. Maggie had done something extraordinary; she had given birth to new life and had raised two fine human beings. Spending time with the family, Delphine had felt keenly her own regrets about not having a child—regrets she had admitted to her therapist—but she hadn’t let those regrets ruin her visit. Though eager to see Melchior and Kitty and to get back to work, she had also been a bit sorry to leave Lexington.
They had seen each other again in May, when Maggie had driven up to Ogunquit for four days. She stayed with Delphine, and though Delphine had offered her use of her bedroom, Maggie had insisted she was fine sleeping on the living room couch. On the second morning Maggie awoke to find Melchior crouched on the back of the couch just above her head, staring intently at her. Her first instinct was to throw off the blankets and run from the room. But then she realized that he was purring. Melchior wasn’t intending to eat her face. He was saying, You’re okay. I accept you. She was still a bit freaked out by him but no longer actually afraid.
Maggie and Delphine had kept mostly to themselves during that visit, getting together only once, briefly, with Jackie. One night they got slightly—well, maybe more than slightly—drunk on the rum punch at Barnacle Billy’s. Ice-cream cones helped the sobering-up process. One day they drove to Portland to see an exhibit at the Portland Museum of Art. Afterwards, they had lunch at J’s Oyster, an old dive bar and local favorite, right on the water. In the afternoon they took the ferry to Peaks Island. Whenever Delphine had to stop in at the office or the diner, Maggie shopped at the outlets in Kittery and Freeport. And they talked. Maggie told Delphine how close she had come to cheating on Gregory with the man they had met at the Old Village Inn. Delphine admitted that she had lied to Maggie all those years ago. She hadn’t applied to graduate schools. Maggie had figured as much. They talked about fear and about courage. They talked about family and expectations, both real and imagined.
Now, they were planning that long-awaited trip to Boston the weekend after Labor Day. Delphine would meet Maggie at the hotel around seven o’clock Friday evening and drive back to Ogunquit on Sunday night. They would have lunch one afternoon at Union Oyster House, in memory of that long-ago weekend when Jackie had visited them during their senior year. They would visit the museums, take a walk through the Public Garden, and maybe, if there was time, go to the aquarium. Maggie had promised to forgo a visit to the mall.
If anyone asked them, both Maggie and Delphine would say that their friendship was not what it had been when they were children or even what it had been when they were young women. It was something better. It was a friendship fully chosen, something they had fought for and won, and the friendship was more appreciated now than it ever had been because each knew there was nothing accidental or circumstantial about it.
Delphine’s cell phone rang. It was Maggie’s special ringtone.
“It’s me,” Maggie said.
“I know. I just got two new orders.”
“Congratulations. I picked up the tickets to a play at the ART. It’s a production of A View from the Bridge. Sound okay?”
“Maggie, I haven’t been to see a professional troupe’s performance in over twenty years. We could be seeing A Charlie Brown Christmas and I’d be happy. What’s all that noise?”
Maggie laughed. “That’s Gregory, in the kitchen. He’s making—I should say he’s trying to make—a soufflé. We learned about soufflés in our last class.”
“You’re sure he doesn’t mind that we’re staying in a hotel and not at your house?” Delphine asked.
“Are you kidding? First, he’s totally supportive of my having a good friend. And second, he gets to be alone with Barney. I totally expect Barney will be wearing a little doggie outfit when I get home, hat, booties, and all.”
“I think it’s adorable Gregory’s so into the dog. But . . . booties? In the summer?”
“I know. I’ve created a monster.”
There was a loud, metallic crash, followed by a louder, “Damn!”
Maggie sighed. “I’d better go and check on the chef.”
“Good idea. Talk tomorrow.”
“Good night, Delphine. Say hello to Melchior.”
“Good night, Maggie. Love to everyone.”
Delphine hung up. She looked fondly at the mass of fur at her feet. No matter how deeply asleep he was, the mere whisper of the approach of food could rouse him.
“Is it dinnertime?” she asked her sleeping cat softly.
Melchior bolted to his feet. Waah, he said.
Delphine laughed. “Then let’s go to the kitchen.”
Please turn the page
for a special Q & A with
Holly Chamberlin!
Q. Summer Friends is your ninth novel and you’ve also written four novellas as part of collections for Kensington. How has your writing process changed over the years?
A. Well, I wish I could say that the writing process has gotten easier, but I can’t. If anything, it’s more exhausting than ever because I’ve become more exacting with my writing. I’ve set higher standards; whether I’ve been successful in meeting those standards, only the reader can judge. One thing hasn’t changed. From the beginning I’ve never been hesitant to delete entire chapters if necessary. I suspect the habit comes from the years I worked as an editor. If it doesn’t work, toss it.
Q. What is the most difficult part of the writing process for you?
A. Without a doubt, it’s plotting. A plot comes to me in painful dribs and drabs. Sometimes, only a month away from my deadline, the plot is still filling in. Oscar Wilde said something about his characters being able to do nothing but talk. Not that I’m comparing my lowly skills to Mr. Wilde’s considerable ones, but my characters also seem to want only to talk, never to do. Maybe they’re just lazy. Maybe I’m just lazy.
Q. Do you ever have a problem finding jumping-off ideas for the novels?
A. Ideas are easy to come by. You just need to keep your eyes and ears open. Making an idea personal and meaningful by attaching it to the life of a particular character is the challenge. My novels aren’t about ideas; they’re about people or characters. At least, that’s what they’re supposed to be about!
Q. In Summer Friends you present two women who were very close from childhood through college but who have been largely absent from each other’s lives for over twenty years before one of them decides to seek out the other in an attempt to recapture the old relationship. Were you able to draw on your own experiences for this aspect of the story?
A. I’m afraid that the idea of two old friends reuniting after a breakup that occurred under murky circumstances hit very close to home for me and caused a lot of retroactive shame and embarrassment. There are several people I feel I’ve treated carelessly over time and I can find no really good reasons for my behavior. At least, from the perspective of the present I can find no good reasons for letting certain
friendships drift away. That said, the particular story of Maggie and Delphine is entirely fictional. I don’t write about myself or about those close to me. Though I might steal their names for characters, the resemblance ends there.
Q. In several of your novels, including Summer Friends, you talk about the notion of nostalgia. Why do you think nostalgia warrants discussion and exploration?
A. Anyone who attempts to deny, bury, or ignore her past is in for a rude awakening. And anyone who attempts to whitewash, sugarcoat, or actively reshape her past is also in for a tough time. The past, one’s personal and family history, is a powerful thing and it’s almost impossible—maybe entirely impossible—to avoid some degree of distortion or self-deception when confronting it in the present (which is today, and then will be tomorrow, and then will be the day after that, ad infinitum), but I firmly believe it’s worth the effort to remain conscious while attempting to do so. So, nostalgia—yeah, it’s a bad thing. But if you can scrutinize and question a happy memory and in the end still find it happy, you’re lucky. Keep it.
Q. You have lived in Maine since 2003 and before that in Boston for about seven years. You’re originally from New York City. I’m wondering if you personally can relate to Delphine’s deep attachment to her birthplace after having left your own.
A. The answer to that is yes, I certainly can relate to Delphine’s love of her hometown. I swore I would never leave New York. I couldn’t at all conceive of my life lived elsewhere. But clearly, my attachment to place didn’t turn out to be as strong as Delphine’s, because I left New York at the age of thirty-three, albeit crying all the way to Boston. For a while the sense of loss was very hard to bear, but thirteen or so years later, happily married to the man for whom I left New York, I’ve finally adjusted and am glad to be living in Maine, which boasts a very proud people and has a wonderfully distinctive character. Plus, my mother now lives down the block and she’s a very strong reminder of home!
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