Softly, Helen said, “It’s about growing up. Teddy, you have to grow up.”
“I am grown up,” Teddy protested. “You just don’t get it, Mom. You think you’re so wildly different from Dad and Aunt Grace—”
Stunned by Teddy’s insight, and hot with guilt because she secretly did think that, Helen said, “I never said—”
“Oh, you’ve always been the champion of the underdog, the rebel; how can you think I haven’t noticed? But you see, you think of me as an underdog, a rebel, because you’re just as brainwashed as the rest of them. You really believe, in your heart, there is only one way to be!”
“Teddy! I don’t!” They had argued before, a hundred times, a thousand times, with as much heat and anger, but all this was new and it cut deep.
“And you know why? You want to believe there’s only one way to be, because you are so stuck in your life. You never ever got to spread your wings and fly.”
Helen stared at her youngest child, her beautiful son. “My children were my wings, Teddy,” she said. “My children were my flight.”
“Were.” Teddy tossed his head.
“Are,” she corrected herself. She looked over at Suzette, who had stopped dunking cookies to stare at Teddy and Helen, her mouth hanging open. Her bare belly protruded, the little belly button sticking out like the tied-off end of a balloon. “When you have your baby, Teddy, you’ll see what I mean.”
Suzette awkwardly shuffled her body around in her chair, so she could face Teddy, and gave him a look. Helen couldn’t see Suzette’s face, so she didn’t know what Suzette meant to convey, but after a few minutes Teddy shrugged and, with one of his easy smiles, relented. “Fine. I’ll get a job.”
family Meeting
Fourteen
Two weeks after her birthday, Nona lay on her chaise in the garden. It was unusually hot for this early in July but Nona welcomed the heat and relished these few moments of solitude. Tomorrow was Family Meeting. The house would be full again, the air trembling with the strong emotions and real or imagined wounds and desires and disagreements of her family.
The birdbath, with its recirculating water fountain, made a pleasingly musical trickling sound and, if she kept very still, all sorts of birds, not only the bold mourning doves, lighted there to give themselves vigorous baths, splashing water up under their wings, glancing around to be sure they were safe, and then dunking their heads right down into the water. At the far end of the garden, shaded by the wall of hedge, a pair of robins pecked in the alyssum bed. Nearby, a catbird called. Nona called back, “Hello, pretty fellow.” Catbirds were friendly, and she’d always thought they were quite dapper, with their neat black and gray plumage.
“Hello?” The sound was scarcely more than a whisper.
Nona looked up. Suzette loomed next to her, as swollen as a ship under sail. Gradually, over the past ten days, Suzette had become a bit less shy. She’d pretty much kept to her room right after Nona’s birthday party, but Nona didn’t blame her for that. She’d kept to her room, too. So much folderol was exhausting. And poor Suzette had been just thrown to the lions by Teddy’s showing up with her like that, without any warning or explanation.
“Hello, dear.” Nona nodded toward a wicker rocking chair. “Sit down. It’s nice here in the sun. How do you feel?”
“Icky” Suzette lowered her bulk into the chair. She wore a pretty swirly skirt and a T-shirt, and her rounded belly protruded in all its naked glory into the sun. “I can’t get a good night’s sleep. The baby kicks.”
Nona laughed softly. “I remember those days. I was sure Grace was going to be either a ballerina or a quarterback. And the head wedges up against your lungs so you can’t get a deep breath.”
Suzette extracted a fingernail file from her pocket and began to shape her nails. Nona found the little grating sound—well, grating. “How’s Teddy?”
Suzette’s chin jutted out as she asserted stoutly, “He’s gone to AA every day.”
“And has he found a job?”
Suzette scratched away even faster. “He’s looking.”
“From the little I’ve seen of him, I gather he’s been playing a bit of tennis. And sailing.”
Loyally, Suzette insisted, “He’s networking. Teddy thinks he might meet an old buddy who could steer him toward a decent job.”
“Has he checked the classified ads in the newspapers?”
Suzette poked at her belly button with the nail file. “I guess. But the jobs are all for dishwashers and stuff.”
“I see.” Nona wanted to be careful here. Suzette was about as skittish as the birds in the birdbath. At the slightest hint of criticism, she vanished, whisking her pregnant self back upstairs to hide away in the attic bedroom she shared with Teddy or to find refuge in the den, paralyzed in front of the television set. “The problem is that any job available now on the island is bound to be pretty much a summer job. Is that what Teddy’s looking for?” Nona didn’t want to pry, but she as well as the rest of the family were curious about just how long Teddy planned to stay here and what his long-term plans were.
“Teddy’s smarter than most people think,” Suzette said. “Just because he didn’t finish college—”
“Oh, I understand that.” Shifting on her chaise, Nona turned to face Suzette. “And believe me, I have no intention of pressuring him to work in the bank.”
“I know.” Suzette smiled shyly at Nona. “You’re nice to him.”
This was as friendly as the girl had been since she arrived. Nona settled back. “I wonder, what sort of work would Teddy like to do?”
“He says—”
“Good morning, Nona!” Mellie waddled out into the garden, hands supporting her back, which was curved like the moon with her pregnancy.
“Good morning, Mellie. How do you feel?”
“Like a kangaroo. Oh.” Mellie’s tone changed when she saw Suzette in the rocker.
“Won’t you join us?” Nona invited. “The sun is lovely.”
“No. No, I’ll—” With a listless wave of her hand, Mellie waddled back into the house.
“I should go.” Suzette put her hands on the arms of the rocker, trying to lever herself up.
“Nonsense. Sit still. You just got settled.” All this domestic drama made Nona just tired. “Mellie’s irritable because of her pregnancy, that’s all.”
But Suzette had achieved standing position. “That’s okay. I’m tired anyway. I think I’ll take a nap.”
“All right then, dear.”
Nona sighed. Any sane person would assume that Mellie, being pregnant, would befriend the pregnant Suzette so they could commiserate. But Mellie acted as if Suzette carried a fatally contagious virus. Partly, this was Grace’s fault. Grace was unashamedly disparaging about Teddy and his wife. It didn’t help that Helen was still in Boston. She was to arrive today for the summer, but without her balancing opinions, Grace’s bitter suspicions filtered through the house like that expensive perfume Grace used, the one that smelled like cat pee.
Dear Lord, Nona thought, if her own family—her fortunate, wealthy, healthy family—couldn’t get along, how would world peace ever be achieved? For that matter, to bring the issue down to practical terms, how would they manage to get through Family Meeting without confrontations? Nona was dreading Family Meeting. She had never enjoyed them. All the statistical analyses of funds bored her. When Helen and Grace presented the charitable distributions and their suggestions for the coming year, Nona often received a rush of pleasure at imagining someone somewhere receiving comfort, and over the past few years there had been little reason for altercations. But now Teddy was here, so very much here, and not shaping up into any kind of practical, reliable man. And Charlotte, out there grubbing in the dirt, had made four thousand dollars from her little garden, which was driving her millionaire relatives wild.
“Oh, good.” As if summoned by Nona’s thoughts, her daughter appeared in the doorway. “I want to talk to you,” Grace said.
I
n khaki shorts and a hunter-green polo shirt and sneakers, Grace had the appearance of a camp counselor or Girl Scout. All she needed was a whistle around her neck. Actually, Nona thought, Grace would love to go through life with a whistle around her neck.
“Please.” Nona gestured to the rocking chair. “I’m always so popular the day before Family Meeting,” she observed lightly.
Grace arranged herself in the chair, resting a sheaf of papers and a clipboard on her knees. “Joke all you want, Mother, but we do have some important matters to discuss.”
“Would you like to wait a little while? Helen’s flying in this afternoon, and—”
Officiously, Grace cut in. “No, Mother, I need to talk with you in private first. My concerns involve Helen’s children, actually, and I think we need to get our ducks in a row before Helen gets involved.”
“And these ducks would be?” Nona could feel her blood pressure begin to simmer as it always did when Grace cornered her.
“Don’t be coy, Mother, you know exactly what I’m talking about. First of all, I’ll just be blunt: Owen. I know Oliver and Owen are going to have their ridiculous little marriage ceremony, but I feel very clear on the matter: Owen should not be allowed to attend Family Meeting.”
“Oh, Grace.”
“And second, Teddy should not be allowed to bring Suzette into Family Meeting unless they provide written documentation that they are actually married.”
“Oh, Grace.”
“Mother.” Grace’s face turned florid, her lips thinned, and her head jerked high, like a beast hearing a battle cry. “I don’t think you realize how much you favor Worth’s children and ignore mine.”
“What?” Nona shook her head sadly. “That’s ridiculous.”
But Grace was up and away. “I don’t think you appreciate the devotion of my side of the family. Kellogg works in Daddy’s bank. Mandy’s Claus works in the bank. Mellie’s Dougie works in the bank. Our side of the family is carrying on the Wheelwright tradition.”
“Worth works in the bank,” Nona reminded Grace quietly.
“Oh, yes, Worth!” Grace spat his name bitterly. “We all know Worth is your favorite child. He’s the charmer; he’s the Mary talking while I’m the Martha doing housework. But consider his children, Nona, seriously! Oliver has no interest in the bank, and he is not furthering the Wheelwright name in any way; he’s not going to provide you with an heir, do you think? Oh, perhaps he and Owen someday will adopt some homosexual AIDS child from Africa, just what we need to carry on the Wheelwright name. And Charlotte? She’s playing farmer in the dell or pretending to; Charlotte’s the smart one in the family, and just because she’s pretty, you think she’s incapable of duplicity, but you just wait! She’ll play out there in her little garden, and when you die, she’ll claim that all that land is hers and she’ll sell it and make a fortune.”
Nona straightened in her chair. This was uglier than she’d expected. “I really don’t think Charlotte—”
“No, you think Charlotte hung the moon, don’t you? And what about Teddy? He’s a fool and a freeloader. He’ll never be anything but a useless alcoholic. And that Suzette!”
“Grace, lower your voice.”
Grace recoiled as if Nona had slapped her. More quietly, she continued. “All you have to do is look at that girl to see she’s not much more than a whore.”
Nona’s heart wrenched. “Honey. Why are you so venomous?”
“Because I feel these things deeply. Because I have to be the one to say these terrible things, which is only what we’re all thinking, but no one else is brave enough to speak out. Mother”—Grace drew herself erect—“when that baby’s born, I insist on a DNA test to prove it’s a Wheelwright.”
Nona raised her hand to her forehead, which felt congested. Her hand, her left hand, still ringed with a simple platinum band—she’d given the four-carat diamond engagement ring to Worth when he told her he wanted to marry Helen, and that was another decision Grace could not forgive her for—her hand was trembling. Frail old crone, she told herself. Yet crones were supposed to be wise, and she did not feel wise at all. She felt very tired. She rubbed her forehead lightly and strained to hear birdsong. She only heard her daughter breathing like a bull in the ring.
“Aren’t you going to give me the honor of an answer?” Grace demanded.
“Grace, please remember I am ninety years old. I am tired; I am very tired. I don’t quite understand what more you want. To me, it seems you have so much. But I do comprehend your concerns, and I’ll consider them.”
“Mother—”
“That’s all I can say for now. I need to rest.”
Nona leaned her head back against the chaise. Now, as more and more often these days, life seemed to dissolve into a kind of gel around her, a warm, soothing, buoyant, cradling substance, rather like an ocean combined with a hot bubble bath. She was safe, nestling into this cushion; she was supported. She sank into it gratefully.
1943–1944
Anne didn’t wear a wedding dress when she married Herb in September of ’43. There wasn’t time for that sort of fuss. She bought a pale rose lightweight-wool suit with a little jacket and a hat with a half veil that tilted quite adorably. Anne’s best friend, Gail, was her bridesmaid, and Hilyard Clayton was Herb’s best man. Both men wore their dress uniforms and were proud to do so.
Herb’s parents attended, looking stern and disapproving, and his sister, Holly, came, brightening the occasion, and Anne’s parents flew to Boston for the event, for which Anne was fervently grateful. At the celebration dinner at the Ritz, her parents charmed Herb’s parents so much that the Wheelwrights seemed to soften their opinion of Anne. Still, the entire event was overshadowed by world events. It was difficult, in spite of the occasion, to talk about anything except the war. They spent their wedding night at the Ritz, and Herb joined his battalion the next day and moved out to Arizona for special training.
Herb’s parents made it clear that it would be inappropriate for her to continue to remain in the apartment with the single, convivial Gail. They invited—commanded—Anne to come live with them. Herb said he would like that, too; he would know Anne was safe. Anne intended to continue as a secretary at Stangarone’s. She believed her work was, in its own small way, important. Because she would be gone all day and could meet Gail and other friends for dinner on weeknights and for fun on weekends, Anne reluctantly agreed to move in with her in-laws, even though the thought both terrified and bored her.
Living with her in-laws wasn’t quite as ghastly as she’d feared. In fact, it was rather nice to come home from the noisy, overwrought, disorganized, frantic shipping office to the calm of a delicious meal and a nice glass of wine. The war curtailed much of Charity Wheelwright’s social appointments. Instead, women were getting together to knit stockings and pack goody boxes filled with tins of homemade cookies. Once in a while, Anne’s mother-in-law insisted Anne join them at a cocktail party or a concert or an afternoon tea. “We want to show you off, my dear,” Charity said smoothly. “Our new daughter-in-law.” Right, Anne thought. You want to show off my nice neat waistline, proof that your son didn’t have to marry me.
On weekends, Herb’s sister, Holly, drove up from Rhode Island, where she taught sailing and math at a private school. Holly was engaged to another teacher, now an officer in the U.S. Army Air Corps, stationed in England. If Anne didn’t know about the fiancé, she would have believed Holly was a lesbian, because Holly was such a jock, very no-nonsense and abrupt. Plus, she wore really dowdy clothing. Often Holly was joined by some of her girlfriends, who nattered away loudly about their tennis, their squash, their dinghies, their Indian sailboats, their trips fly-fishing in Montana and golfing in Florida, and how amazing it was that Anne had landed the handsome Herb when she didn’t sail or play tennis. There was no malice in their remarks, though, no sense of threat. The group of athletic women regarded Anne with the fond amusement of human beings watching another species. When they went out at night to
a movie or a party, they always invited Anne along and, best of all, whenever Charity Wheelwright began to criticize Anne for one thing or another, loyal Holly jumped to her defense.
In May, Charity and Norman Wheelwright went down to Nantucket to open their summer house. They left on a weekday, so Anne couldn’t go with them, and they took Mrs. O’Hara, their housekeeper, and for a few blissful nights Anne had the large old mansion on Beacon Hill all to herself. At first it seemed eerie, being alone in the empty mausoleum, but Anne revved up her courage with a glass of wine and decided to snoop. Perhaps she might learn something about her in-laws that would help her be more comfortable around them. She had seen Holly’s bedroom, and the bedroom Herb slept in as a boy, and Anne was using the guest bedroom, which happily had a private bathroom. But she’d never seen Herb’s parents’ room, so she bravely set off up the stairs and down the long wide hallway to the room at the front of the house. She paused outside the closed bedroom door, asking herself what she was looking for, what she wanted to find. Well, she answered herself, she hoped she’d find signs of the small secret passions that make life rich. A stack of romance novels or mysteries. A bedside drawer stuffed with expensive chocolates. Even satin sheets, or a drawer of silk underwear. Perhaps—these were wealthy people, after all—perhaps a charming little Impressionist original oil over the fireplace.
“Ta-da!” she yelled, giving herself courage, and threw open the door.
The room could have been anyone’s. It was a handsome, comfortable room, with lots of heavy Empire furniture and brocade draperies and a thick Persian rug, but the signs of an individual personality were not in evidence. On the bedside table: a clock, a crystal water tumbler, a small china box holding nail clippers and an emery board. On the walls: framed photographs of Holly and Herb as children, framed photographs of distinguished, straight-backed, prune-mouthed citizens who had to be Charity and Norman’s parents. On Charity Wheelwright’s vanity table, a silver-backed brush and hand mirror, a small jar of cold cream, and a small wooden jewelry box holding Charity’s best pearls. Everything was set at right angles and aligned as if by a ruler. Anne pulled open the closet door. Charity’s dresses hung at attention, straight and proper, as if Charity never once had pulled something out, put it on, groaned at herself in the mirror, and tossed it back in the closet. She opened a drawer in one of the bureaus and saw not a rainbow of silk nighties, or a shocking quantity of satin underpants, but a large quantity of rubbery girdles. She decided not to open the other drawers. She could keep her fantasies that Charity Wheelwright had secret luxuries. She closed the drawer, looked around the room to be sure she hadn’t disturbed anything, and left.
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