Poppy walked over to the bookcase and pulled out a yellowed, moth-eaten dime-store paperback of All Creatures Great and Small—Connie had loved that series about the British veterinarian. She’d forgotten how her father had used scraps of toilet paper as bookmarks. They floated to the floor, and Ann panicked: she’d never again know which pages he’d marked.
Noah set the water glasses down. Ann counted: one, two, three, four … five. “Why are you setting five places? Who else are you expecting?”
“A friend,” Poppy said. “He should be here soon.”
“What friend?”
“Just a friend. Someone I met out here.”
Ann wasn’t sure what to do next. The windowsills were rotting. So much to do, so much, and now Carol was out of the picture. Noah, always alert, sensed her tension. He stood behind Ann and rubbed her shoulders. “You should try some of Poppy’s lavender oil.”
“Her what?”
“She says if you rub it on your feet it’ll relax you.”
“The only thing oil on your feet does is make you slip and fall.”
“Your feet are incredibly receptive,” Poppy said. “If you stand on an onion for half an hour you’ll start to taste it.”
“Who has time to stand on an onion for half an hour?”
Brad laughed.
“God, you haven’t changed,” Poppy said.
“Dinner is a long way from being done,” Brad said. “I’m not sure the oven works the way it’s supposed to.”
“It worked in 1979,” Poppy said, and hit Brad’s ass with a dish towel. Poppy lit some candles and opened the game cabinet next to the fireplace where the family stored taped-up boxes holding ancient versions of Boggle, Parcheesi, Chinese checkers, and Pollyanna. There were at least a dozen decks of cards held together with crusty rubber bands, scattered dice and orphan game pieces. Poppy dug around. “Where’s Yahtzee?”
Ann knew the game cabinet would be the last—and the hardest—space to clean out. If a house had a heart, that’s where it was.
“I guess we’ll do a jigsaw puzzle.” Poppy held the box in front of Noah, smiled, and shifted into a graceful, well-practiced warrior three position while dumping the puzzle pieces into a dusty mound on the kitchen table where Ann had picked up the cards. Ann thought Poppy was showing off, forcing the world to acknowledge that yes, she taught yoga and yes, she was still in great shape. Yes, yes, yes—there was always an imperative to admire Poppy for her easy good looks, her sweetness, her athleticism, and her free spirit.
Poppy opened another bottle of wine and poured three glasses almost to the rims. “Here,” Poppy said, holding the glass in front of Ann like a peace offering. “You need this.”
“Now you’re talking,” said Brad, who lifted his glass to initiate a toast. “To this awesome place.”
“… that will soon be sold to strangers.” Noah made a face at Ann.
“OK,” said Poppy. “Here’s to being together again.”
The puzzle was so old that the cardboard rose like phyllo dough and the photograph was peeling off the pieces. Without discussion, the sisters began to divide up the land and sky and started with the edges, the way they always had. It was like muscle memory. Noah pulled up a chair and sat between Poppy and Brad. Ann felt outnumbered.
“You do the lighthouse,” Poppy said.
“Oh sure, give me the hard part.”
Poppy tousled Noah’s thick, brown hair, and Noah’s face lit with a smile of satisfaction that both pleased and angered Ann. She wanted to say to her son, “You hardly know her! Or Brad!” But she held herself back, because even if she was upset with Poppy, she wanted Noah to have a decent relationship with her. She was all the family she had left.
Ann looked at the clock on the wall. The battery was dead, and the hands had frozen in place at 2:34. “When is your guest coming?”
Brad and Poppy looked at each other, an inside look. “Wasn’t he supposed to be here ten minutes ago?”
“What’s going on?” Ann asked. The room was filled with energy.
“Nothing,” Poppy said. “I’ve got the corners.”
They got to work on the puzzle as if its completion really mattered. Noah snuck sips of Ann’s wine so he’d look cool for Poppy. Ann didn’t mind, not really. He was sixteen. Who knew? Maybe Poppy had gotten him drunk or high when they spent the last few weekends alone together. Now they had shared secrets and inside jokes.
Noah propped his chin on his cast. Ann noticed that Poppy still bit her lip when she concentrated. She had to admit that Poppy was kind of adorable. Ann found the familiarity of her gestures oddly endearing, and somehow reassuring. Brad was also staring at Poppy. Oh man, he had it bad, poor sucker. Didn’t he know Poppy would desert him, just like she had deserted everything—and everyone?
The wine and physical exhaustion set in. Ann allowed herself to relax. The soft rain on the windows and the flickering candlelight made the space feel intimate, like it was the only place in the world that mattered. She allowed herself to imagine that she and Poppy were kids again, and that it was Michael instead of Noah who sat at the kitchen table, and their parents were sitting next to each other in their respective spots on the couch in the next room, their reading glasses perched on the ends of their noses, her mother intent on a book, her father’s head tipped back, asleep, a gentle snore.
Ann put her hand over Noah’s. “You used to call her Puppy.” Ann gestured to her sister. “Do you remember that?”
“I did?”
Ann nodded. “Poppy would visit from college. When she went back to Madison, you’d would walk around saying ‘I want puppy, I want puppy.’ Everyone thought you wanted a dog.”
“That’s sweet,” Poppy said. “I didn’t know that.”
“No,” Ann said. “You didn’t.”
“But I did want a dog,” Noah said. “I mean I do. I’ve always wanted one.”
“You’ll be in college in a few years. I don’t want to be stuck with it.”
“God forbid you should be burdened with a dog or a house.” Noah looked at Poppy. “How about you get a dog? We can pick one out at the shelter. We could give it a real Wellfleet name, like Dune or Whydah.”
Poppy said, “It should have an oyster name, like Spat.” She put another piece in the puzzle. “Or Shucker.”
“Nobody’s getting a dog,” Ann said. She tried to force a spade-shaped piece into the corner. It didn’t fit, but it looked like it should. “Besides, Poppy, you won’t stick around.”
“How do you know what I will or won’t do?”
Ann began to feel some alarm; she never counted on Poppy really wanting to stay.
“I was thinking,” Poppy said. “We could rent out the house and live in the barn while people are here.”
“Nobody wants to rent this place,” Ann said. “It’s a disaster.”
“I’ve slept in worse places.”
“I’ll bet you have. Don’t worry about the house. You don’t want to be tied down. You know how many crossed-out entries I have for you in my address book?”
Poppy was quiet. She and Brad exchanged another knowing glance.
“I don’t know how you can live like this,” Ann said.
“What do you mean, ‘like this’?”
“You don’t even have any savings, do you? Not even an IRA?”
“So what?”
“You need some security.”
“You need to stop being so judgmental.” Poppy pushed her chair back and looked up at the ceiling.
“I’m being realistic. Tell me, what’s the longest you’ve spent in any one place? A year? Two?”
“Mom,” said Noah. “Don’t. Please just don’t. Poppy’s great the way she is.”
“I’ll stay,” Poppy said. “I’ve been working, you know.”
“Working?”
“I always work, Ann. Everywhere I go I have a job, sometimes two. My life isn’t totally free of responsibility. Sue me if I don’t want to waste my life in a cubicle i
n some corporate office.”
“I don’t just have myself to think of.”
“That’s a choice you made.”
It was all she could do not to say that it wasn’t a choice, it wasn’t a choice! Instead, she took a deep breath. “So, what kind of work did you find out here? Are you at that yoga place by the lumber store?” Ann tried hard, for Noah’s benefit, to strike a tone that was calmer, kinder, but instead she knew she sounded fake, falsely cheerful.
“Oysters,” Poppy said. “I’m oystering. I like it. And the pay is pretty great.”
“I’ll bet it comes with a terrific benefits package.”
She could hear Poppy’s breathing slow down, as if she were trying to calm herself. “Do you have to be a bitch?”
“Seriously, what if you get sick?”
“Sick?” Poppy said, her head tilted. “Like, if I get, say, Alzheimer’s?”
The word slipped out of Poppy’s mouth as unexpectedly as a dove from a magician’s hat.
“I had to hear it from Brad. He’s the one who told me Mom was sick.”
“So now you know,” Ann said. “And what difference does it make? Really, Poppy, is it my job to tell you everything?”
What Ann really wanted to say was: “I didn’t think you’d care.” She had to be careful, though. She needed to tread softly with her sister, at least until the house was worked out.
“You could have said something,” Noah said.
“Well,” Ann said, “I thought Dad told you.”
“He didn’t.”
“He probably didn’t want to upset you, or make you feel like you had to come back.” Ann tried to be clinical, matter-of-fact. She used her work voice. But she couldn’t stand to see the crushed look on her sister’s face. She could tell tears would come next, and Ann didn’t want to deal with Poppy’s tears, not after everything. It was all she could do to hold it together herself. “It set in fast,” Ann said, her voice softer. It was hard to think about the panicked phone calls from her dad. “Like really fast. They weren’t even sure it was Alzheimer’s. There’s nothing you could have done.”
“I just wish I knew.”
“But why? You were an ocean away. I was the one who talked to them every day. They told me every little thing, like how warm their showers were.”
“You love making me feel guilty, don’t you?”
“I’m not making you feel anything.” But Poppy was right. It was horrible and petty, Ann knew, but she did want Poppy to feel guilty—or something, because, deep down, her extended absence felt like an extended rejection.
Poppy said, “This is our house. It belongs to us. All of us.”
“Amen!” said Noah.
Ann said, “Suddenly you’re nostalgic.”
“Well, suddenly Mom and Dad are fucking dead. Excuse me for having feelings about that.”
“They died over half a year ago and you’re just home now. Those are your feelings.”
“Wait a minute: you’re the one who told me not to bother coming home right away. There was nothing to be done until probate was over. Your words. Yours!”
Poppy was right. What could Ann say? She pushed her chair away from the table. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
That was a lie, but she needed to get away, be alone for a minute. She sat on the edge of the claw-foot tub and stared at the damp wood floor around the base of the sink. Another problem, a leak. All these problems with the house: How could she deal with them on her own? Houses like this, old family homes, aren’t meant to be owned by just one person.
Finally, she emerged to face her sister again. Only there, standing right next to her in the kitchen, was Michael. He wore jeans and running shoes. It was as if, when she’d imagined him there earlier, she’d invoked his presence, made him real.
“So, you’re the mystery guest,” Ann said. This was the voice she used at work when she was the only woman in a meeting full of men, or when she asked for the raise she didn’t want to seem desperate for, or when she turned down a request for a second date from a perfectly nice guy for no good reason. It was a practiced, cold voice that belied her raging emotions.
Poppy stood next to Ann. “We thought it was a good idea to talk.”
“No, this is a bad idea.” Ann could feel her jaw clench. Her hands balled up at her sides. Her body grew stiff. Liquid anger coursed through her. “You’re all in on this.”
“Isn’t it better to discuss the house face-to-face?”
“No. It’s not. This is sneaky and manipulative.”
Poppy said, “Sneaky and manipulative is leaving Michael off the estate. Now we’ve got a mess on our hands.”
Noah was standing up in front of the table where they’d been working on the puzzle; what must he think? Why did Poppy feel it was OK to say this in front of her son?
“This is a mess he created.” She refused to speak directly to Michael. “He doesn’t deserve a thing, not even my time.”
“Ann, please,” Brad said. “He’s got a claim—”
“Stay out of it!”
Poppy stood with her hands on her hips. “He’s just trying to help.”
“I don’t need help.” Ann went into her room, threw on her coat, and slipped into her shoes. She walked back into the living room, head down, and made her way to the door.
“Where you going?” Noah asked.
“I’ll come get you Sunday. I need to go back to Boston.” She took a deep breath and stepped outside.
Michael followed her. Even his footsteps sounded the same. “Please, Ann. Can we talk? This doesn’t need to go badly.”
“It’s already gone badly.”
The motion sensor flicked on above them on the back stoop. He grabbed her arm and she swung around. “Please?”
The light above Michael’s face made him appear so ghostly that she wondered if he was real. She had to admit he looked great; she’d always thought he looked great. His features seemed more distinct now—his cheekbones more defined, his nose more angular. In her mind, he’d been frozen at the age of eighteen. But here he was, and he was older, a real man now. Everything had changed, and yet—nothing. He still had that wildly misbehaving cowlick on the right side of his hairline, only now his thick, jet-black hair glimmered with a few silver strands—or was it the porch light and the rain?
Ann felt Michael watching her in his steady way. She’d almost forgotten what it felt like to have his eyes on her; he’d always watched her, hadn’t he?
“I need to go,” she said. It was too much, seeing him here after all these years. She had to fight this strange and unexpected impulse to collapse in his arms. He’d been not just part of her life, but her family’s life. She had to keep reminding herself of what he’d done, although now, with so much happening, it was hard to even remember what, exactly, that was.
“You just show up like this after all these years?”
“Hello to you, too.” He tried to force a crooked smile. He seemed embarrassed by his own gesture, or perhaps overcome? He fixed his eyes on the rotted porch board he nudged with the toe of his shoe. Ann almost wanted to feel sorry for him—but that was what had gotten her into all that trouble in the past, wasn’t it? She’d thought of herself as an object lesson in what happens when you go soft. And yet—what was it about him? It was like listening to a chord change in music that plucked on her most vulnerable emotions. A part of her wished that nothing had come between them, that they’d always been there for each other.
“So, you’re the reason the Realtor canceled the contract.”
“I’m a legitimate heir. Poppy knows it,” he said. “And come on, Ann. You know it, too. I don’t care about the house in Milwaukee or any of your parents’ other assets. All I want is my third of the house. This house. I’ll buy you and Poppy out of your shares. Or if Poppy wants to share it, we can work something out.”
Ann crossed her arms even more tightly across her chest. A straitjacket, arms that were doing their best to keep her from coming co
mpletely undone. “Two years you lived with us, and you call yourself an heir?”
The drizzle intensified. It felt good, actually, and she knew Michael thought so, too. They used to love running together in the drizzle and fog, both on the lakeshore path back home, and along Ocean View Drive here. Once, when it was raining really hard, Michael stopped running and stood on the Humboldt Bridge over the river, his hands in the air like Jesus, his head tipped back, drinking the rain as it fell from the sky.
“I’m not trying to take anything from you.” He looked at her, sincere, trying to draw her into his gaze, his argument—
No, no, no! Ann ripped her eyes away from him, staring into the fire pit where the family—including Michael—used to sit in their better days, her dad with his guitar on his lap, her mom using a pocketknife to sharpen sticks for s’mores.
“Here’s the thing: I don’t want you to buy us out with your dirty money, the money you took from Anthony. Did you tell Poppy about that, too, or did you conveniently leave that part out?” This anger was so familiar to Ann that it felt like it held her up, a second spine.
Michael cleared his throat. “I talked to my lawyer.” His voice was deeper than she’d remembered it, more gravelly and wise. He sounded like what he was: an adult now. They were adults.
“You’re a big man now, huh? Your lawyer? You love saying that, don’t you?”
She could tell she was hurting him. Good. She wanted him to hurt the way she’d hurt all these years. “I won’t let you buy this house.”
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