Summer Sisters

by Judy Blume

  Vix covered the thirties hairstyle with her fingers. She did look like Caitlin.

  “They wouldn’t have been very good parents anyway,” Caitlin said, slipping the photo back into a glassine envelope.

  “They might have stopped drinking,” Vix said.

  “I doubt it.”

  “Some people do.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter, does it? Because they’re dead!”

  “Why are you getting angry at me?”

  “Who’s angry? Did I say I was angry?”

  “No … but you’re acting like you are.”

  “You take everything personally, don’t you?”

  “Just some things!” Vix told her. Now she was getting angry. And over what? She took a couple of deep breaths and said, “Lamb turned out okay.”

  “Lamb was perfect … until he married her!”

  Vix wondered if Caitlin was ever going to get over Abby.

  Grandmother Somers looked elegant in her white linen pants suit and wide-brimmed straw hat. Her face was still beautiful and hardly wrinkled, even though she had to be really old. Caitlin said Grandmother had plastic surgery the way other people had their teeth cleaned. “She’s got staples in her scalp.”

  “Staples in her scalp?”

  “And maybe behind her ears, I’m not sure.”

  While Vix was contemplating having staples behind her ears Caitlin introduced her to Dorset, Lamb’s sister, who was tall and muscular, with long honey-colored hair held off her face with tortoiseshell combs. She’d been married three times and had been at Hazelden for rehab twice. At the moment she was living with Grandmother in the big house in Palm Beach. Caitlin said anyone who could live with Grandmother Somers deserved a medal. Dorset had a great tan.

  “No matter what Grandmother says,” Caitlin whispered, “don’t talk back.”

  “Me, talk back to somebody’s grandmother?” Vix had to laugh it was such an absurd idea. Besides, she was still in shock that the name, Regina Mayhew Somers, neatly printed in green ink inside all the hottest books in the house, belonged to somebody’s grandmother. “A grandmother read those books?” she’d asked Caitlin.

  “What are grandmothers supposed to read … the Bible?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Vix said. “I don’t have any grandparents.”

  Grandmother Somers was so polite, so refined, that Vix couldn’t believe it when she came inside and after a quick look around, said, “So this is what the Jew did to my house. Well, it’s quite something, isn’t it? Quite a statement.”

  Vix felt prickles down her spine but she remembered Caitlin’s warning. Don’t talk back. Lamb winced but didn’t say anything either. Vix was grateful Abby was in the kitchen and hadn’t heard Grandmother’s remark.

  Regina Mayhew Somers

  SHE TRIES NOT to let her memories of this island intrude. The police at her door on the night of the accident. The hastily arranged double funeral. The realization that it would be up to her and Lamb Senior to raise those tiny orphans, to begin again just when they’d planned on celebrating his retirement with a round-the-world cruise. And his anger at her for devoting herself to the babies! She never could understand that. What was she supposed to do, walk away from her responsibilities? To get out of it he’d keeled over one Friday afternoon at the club, on the seventeenth hole, dumping it all in her lap. The children, the responsibilities, and, yes, the money. Not that the Mayhews didn’t have their own. She’d trusted Charlie Wetheridge to advise her, until Charlie had gone and died on her, too, literally, in bed at the Ritz. She’d stayed close with Lucy, his widow, who’d never suspected Charlie was more to her than a financial counselor.

  No, it wasn’t easy, raising two children by yourself in those days. And having to listen to that awful music. Elvis, and then those English boys. And the most unbecoming clothes and hairdos. As far as she’s concerned you can take those years and flush them down the toilet. Revolution, indeed! Make love not war! Where did that get them?

  And now her house! He’s let this new woman have her way with it. This Jew! It was all more than she could bear. Really.

  Dorset

  SHE PRAYS FOR Grandmother’s death. Get it over with while they’re all together so Lamb can take care of the details. She doesn’t wish her pain or suffering. Just closure. So she can take control of her own life.

  Why does she have to die for you to grow up and take control of your own life? her shrink wants to know.

  You tell me, Dr. Freud.

  So far he hasn’t.

  WHEN DORSET ASKED for a volunteer to help her run errands, Vix jumped. Last stop on the list was John’s Fish Market, to pick up the poached salmon Abby had ordered for lunch. The second they walked into the fish market Vix stopped dead, because who should be working behind the counter wearing a long white apron but the National Treasure himself. Wouldn’t Caitlin be sorry she hadn’t come!

  “Well, well …” he said when he finally noticed her. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

  Vix was flattered he remembered her, although her loyalties lay with Bru. Still, the heat from his smile drifted across the counter and made her fidget. She ran her hand over the lemons sitting in a basket while Dorset asked if Abby’s order was ready. Von disappeared into the back and came out carrying the salmon arranged on a platter, decorated with flowers. He presented it with a flourish, singing, “Ta-da … ”

  “Flowers …” Dorset said. “How pretty.”

  “Yeah … and they’re edible,” he said, eyeing Dorset up and down even though she had to be old enough to be his mother. “I never knew you could eat … you know … flowers until I started working here.”

  Dorset cleared her throat and took her time signing the charge slip. Then she said, “Could you get the door please, Victoria?”

  “What?” Vix asked, because by then she was locked into a staring contest with Von.

  “The door,” Dorset repeated.

  “Oh, sure …”

  “Wait …” Von called. “I’ve got something for your friend.”

  He disappeared into the back again.

  Vix could see Dorset wondering what all of this was about. Von returned and handed her a small brown bag. “Give her this, with my regrets … I mean, regards.”

  Just when she thought it couldn’t get any better she stepped outside and there, sitting in a parked truck with his feet propped up on the dashboard, was Bru. Oh God, oh God, oh God … she couldn’t believe her luck!

  “Hey …” he said when he saw her. He was doing something to his finger with a pocketknife, maybe digging out a splinter.

  “Hey,” she answered.

  “What’ve you got?”

  “Got?”

  “In the bag … I’m starving.”

  “Oh. I doubt you’d want what’s in the bag.”

  “Let’s have a look.”

  “I don’t think it’s …”

  “Vix!” Dorset called. “Let’s get going.”

  “I have to go.”

  “Take it easy,” he said.

  “Yeah … you, too.”

  “He’s a little old for you, isn’t he?” Dorset asked, on the way home.

  “Oh, it’s not like that,” Vix explained. Was she talking about Von or Bru? “We’re just sort of … friends.”

  Dorset mulled that over. “Good. Because I don’t like to see young girls getting in over their heads. It’s just not wise.”

  Vix nodded, as if she knew exactly what Dorset was talking about.

  The minute she got home she handed Caitlin the bag from the fish market. From the way Caitlin sucked in her breath when she opened it, Vix knew it must really be a fish head.

  “Have either of you seen my Percocet?” Dorset asked, dumping everything out of her purse onto the kitchen counter. “Because I was sure I had it with me.”

  “Sorry,” Caitlin said and she and Vix took off, running all the way to the beach, tripping over each other, laughing hysterically as they fed Von’s gift to t
he cormorants.

  9

  UNTIL THE NIGHT BEFORE Vix hadn’t realized Lamb’s full name was Lambert Mayhew Somers the Third, or that Sharkey was named Lambert Mayhew Somers the Fourth, like some king, some king who pumped gas at the Texaco station on Beach Road. They’d planned on calling him Bert, Caitlin told her, to distinguish his name from Lamb’s, but when he was little he became so fascinated by sharks they started calling him Sharkey and the name stuck.

  “When they made Jaws Lamb took him down to the lagoon to meet Steven Spielberg,” Caitlin said, “but all Sharkey cared about was that huge mechanical monster. Then Lamb made the mistake of taking him to see the movie and Sharkey totally freaked out. He hasn’t gone swimming since. Did you see it?”

  “The shark?”

  “The movie.”

  Vix shook her head. “My parents wouldn’t let me.”

  “If they show it again we’ll go together. It doesn’t scare me,” Caitlin told her. “You know what a shark bite feels like?”

  “No, what?”

  Caitlin suddenly jumped onto Vix’s bed and bit her on her rear end.

  “Cut that out!” Vix yelled.

  When Sharkey joined them at the house for lunch, Grandmother bopped him over the head with her purse. “Straighten up, Bertie. Walk tall. You’re a Mayhew.”

  Sharkey slumped into a chair at the porch table, set for lunch with Abby’s blue and white dishes. Vix could feel the tension building and wished she could escape to the beach with a peanut butter sandwich and a book. Maybe she’d run into Bru and Von again. Now that would be interesting!

  Dorset sat across from her, a blank expression on her face. Her eyes were unfocused, as if she were already somewhere else, probably back at the fish market with Von. She fiddled with the combs in her hair, first taking out one and repositioning it, then the other.

  The conversation at the table centered on Grandmother’s health. “But you’re looking so well, Mrs. Somers,” Abby told her.

  “Oh, pfoo,” Grandmother said.

  Vix had to remind herself that this woman was Regina Mayhew Somers, that she’d once read Valley of the Dolls and Peyton Place. She probably knew all about coitus interruptus.

  “I’m not well at all,” Grandmother continued. “And those Florida doctors can’t find the problem. But you know who you get down there … doctors looking for sunshine, doctors who want to fish all day or sail boats … and so many of them of the Jewish persuasion. Not that they don’t make good doctors,” she hastily added.

  “Now, Grandmother …” Lamb said, putting down his fork.

  “Oh, I knew you would take that wrong!” she cried, as if she were a naughty girl. “But Abby understands, don’t you, dear?”

  “Yes, I understand completely,” Abby said.

  “We all understand, Grandmother,” Caitlin added.

  “Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” Grandmother asked lightly.

  Regina Mayhew Somers

  OH, WHAT FUN, making them squirm in their seats! But if they’re going to treat her like some kind of relic she’ll act the part. Not that she’s denying her years … far from it … she’s proud to be an octogenarian. Of course, she doesn’t look a day over sixty-five. She could easily be taken for Lamb’s mother, not his grandmother. There’s still plenty of spunk in the old girl.

  Caitlin is quite a beauty, isn’t she? She should marry well. What about Charlie Wetheridge’s grandson? An investment banker, she hears. But Caitlin isn’t ready yet, is she? No … she’s just thirteen or fourteen.

  Bertie’s an odd one. And that noise he makes. Even with her hearing loss it’s obvious. Isn’t Lamb aware? Can’t he do something about it?

  This salmon is quite tasty, actually. Maybe she’ll ask for a second helping. Good thing the Jew doesn’t go in for those ethnic dishes. She’s heard they have strange dietary habits.

  Dorset

  WHAT A NUMBER Grandmother is doing on Abby, calling her the Jew, testing her. And that story about doctors! What doctors? There’s nothing wrong with her. She’ll probably outlive all of them. Ha!

  Where the fuck is her Percocet? She’d wrapped it in a tissue, hidden it in the pocket of her pants. If they hurry and finish lunch she’ll still have time for a quick trip back to the fish market. Maybe fishboy can get away for an hour. Now there’s a positive thought. What a body, and those lips … she can feel them on her already … on her mouth, her neck, her breasts, between her legs. Yes, think about that, Dorset … that’ll get you through this meal. Where’s her vibrator? In her overnight bag? Maybe she can excuse herself. If she can’t have fishboy she can at least think of him while using her magic pole.

  Sharkey

  WHAT A JOKE his family is, sitting at the table with the Old Bird, every one of them wishing they were someplace else. And what’s Dorset thinking about with that weird little smile on her face? She’s not bad looking, his aunt. No trouble picturing her in underwear. The old-fashioned kind, white cotton panties, pointy bra. Like in the old Sears catalog he keeps hidden in his closet. Probably goes back to the Old Bird’s day. So what?

  Wonder what Vix is thinking, licking the crumbs off the corner of her mouth when she thinks no one’s looking … like a cat.

  He’s got to get back to work. Zach’s going to be real glad he hired him. He can do a whole lot more than pump gas. He’s almost sure he can convince Lamb the Datsun truck makes sense. Twenty thousand miles. Almost new. Jet black. Like something James Bond might drive if he drove a truck. Perfect for next summer when he has his license. With a VIP plate spelling out SHRKY. Then Carly can write a song about him. Nobody Does It Better …

  ALL THROUGH LUNCH Vix watched as Caitlin seethed. She waited for the explosion, surprised when it didn’t come. It wasn’t until later, after Grandmother and Dorset left, that Caitlin stormed into the kitchen where Abby and Lamb were cleaning up. “I don’t see how you can stand it,” Caitlin said to Abby. “She’s such a prejudiced old bitch!”

  Abby looked stunned. So did Lamb. “I won’t have you bad-mouthing Grandmother!” Lamb said in a tone Vix had never heard him use.

  “I wouldn’t have to if you’d tell her off yourself.”

  “If it weren’t for Grandmother—” Lamb began.

  Caitlin cut him off. “What? You’d have been sent on the orphan train?”

  “Watch your step, Caitlin.”

  “It’s disgusting, the way you just let her say anything … without thinking how it comes across to the rest of us!”

  “That’s it!” Lamb said. “Go to your room.”

  “Oh, please … isn’t it a little late in the game for sending me to my room?”

  Abby reached out and touched Caitlin’s hand. “Thank you, Caitlin. It means a lot to me that you care.”

  Caitlin pulled away. “Don’t take it personally,” she said. “I was talking about prejudice in general. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I’m being punished!”

  Upstairs, in their room, Vix wondered herself why Lamb let Grandmother Somers get away with those rude remarks. She didn’t have to ask. Caitlin volun teered the information. “You know what it’s all about? Money! You don’t tell off the one who controls the big stuff.”

  Oh, the Big Stuff. She couldn’t believe how naive she’d been, assuming Lamb was struggling to support his family, because who did she think paid for the fancy house, the new Sunfish, the camera Lamb and Abby gave her for her birthday—a gift so extravagant, she’d never show her parents? She’d heard Tawny refer to some of the Countess’s friends as trust-fund babies—always with disdain—but until now she’d never known any personally.

  “The one with the big stuff has a lot of power,” Caitlin said.

  “I wouldn’t know,” Vix said.

  “You’re lucky.”

  “No,” she argued. “You are.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  She was right, of course. But Vix knew her parents would do anything to have plenty of money. W
ell, not anything, maybe, but close to it. And they wouldn’t need a lot. Not as much as Grandmother Somers, however much that was. Not even as much as Lamb. Just enough so they’d never have to worry. Just enough to buy a nice house, maybe one of those new places off the Old Taos Highway, and a couple of vacations a year, maybe to Hawaii, and plenty of help for Nathan. She could hear Tawny reminding her, The rich are different, Victoria.

  Yeah … right, she thought. They have more money.

  Abby

  SO, CAITLIN HAS a social conscience. Well, good for her! She’s a spunky girl. Challenging but spunky. Just last week when she’d joined the girls on a bike ride, Caitlin had stopped off at the cemetery on Spring Street to show Vix Lamb’s parents’ grave.

  If they’d lived they’d be my grandparents, Caitlin said.

  If they’d lived they’d be my in-laws, she told Caitlin, placing a small stone on top of the double gravestone. Then she’d ambled through the cemetery checking out the Somers and the Mayhews, all of them Lamb’s ancestors. Caitlin and Vix followed. When she came to a wrought-iron arch with the words Martha’s Vineyard Hebrew Cemetery, she stopped. I could be buried here, she told the girls.

  What are you talking about? Caitlin asked.

  I’m Jewish. You know that.

  But if there’s only one god, what difference does it make which part of the cemetery you’re buried in?

  She looked at Caitlin for a minute. That’s a profound question.

  I’m a profound person, Caitlin told her, in case you haven’t noticed.

  I’ve noticed, she said, trying to keep a straight face.