Nineteen
On a Thursday afternoon in the middle of August, Helen sat on a folding chair at a long table in the church basement, trying not to yawn in the stifling air. The committee for the annual church fair, which would be held the last week in August, was gathered for its final meeting. Most of the business had been concluded, but Bridget Houghton, the chairperson, continued to twitter on, bustling and self-important, like a fat robin rearranging all the twigs in an already perfectly fine nest. Helen looked across the table at her friend Phyllis Lowry Phyllis rolled her eyes and Helen grinned. She had long ago surrendered to the eccentric power that was created by a dozen good-willed individuals and transformed by the presence of a table and a set of minutes into a creature called the Committee, with all its rambling, disjointed parts, like a centipede wearing different shoes on each foot.
The Wheelwright family gave a substantial amount to charity each year, but Helen believed the slogan Think Globally, Act Locally. She could not change the world. She could, however, change a few moments, a few conditions, in a few individual lives. In Boston, two evenings a week, she tutored English as a Second Language students at the local library, and she was on the library committee that held fund-raisers to pay for, among other things, the use of electricity and space for tutoring. Here on the island, she’d been co-chair of the July book sale, and it had done well this year. She was also in charge of the church fair’s quilt committee. Every year, sixteen women each needlepointed a square designed by a local artist and then stitched them together to form a wall hanging of real and original beauty. Helen organized the women who made the quilt, and the women who sat on Main Street in Nantucket to sell raffle tickets to win the quilt, and the ticket drawing on the day of the church fair. Perhaps the money helped repair the toilets in the basement, or bought new hymnals, or supplied Christmas trees and turkeys to impoverished citizens. Whatever it was for, it was something. If it could provide a moment of grace in someone’s life, she was glad to do it.
And of course it helped keep her mind off Worth and Sweet Cakes.
Finally, the meeting was adjourned. The room emptied gradually, and Helen joined Phyllis to walk out into the sunshine. The late afternoon was hot and humid and bright and still. Helen realized she was looking forward to returning to Nona’s house and kicking off her shoes, perhaps taking a little swim before dinner.
For over a month now, the Wheelwright household had clicked along like a reliable clock. The Bank Boys had come and gone, spending weekends on the island, sailing and playing tennis and dining with friends. Nona’s health had improved, probably because she spent most days in her garden, a book in her lap, pretending to read but really taking frequent and delicious catnaps. Teddy had stayed sober and begun to share details of his workday with the family at dinner. He was discovering that he liked antiques and had just the kind of personality needed to charm a reluctant buyer into making a purchase. He’d already been given a raise and the promise of a bonus at the end of the year, if he would stay on.
Suzette had brightened up, too. Charlotte was teaching her about garden vegetables and flowers, and every night now when they sat down at the dining room table, Charlotte pointed out a new arrangement of flowers done by Suzette. She did seem to have an artistic flair. With her straw tabby-cat hair growing out into its genuine silky light brown, and her skin glowing from work in the sun, Suzanne looked quite pretty. And she was happy. It was wonderful, how happiness could change a face.
Lost in her thoughts, Helen didn’t catch what Phyllis was saying. “Sorry, what?”
“I asked whether Charlotte’s still dating Bill Cooper,” Phyllis said.
“Oh, groan.” Helen shook her head ruefully as they continued along the sidewalk beneath the shade of the tall maples. “She is. I think they’re serious. She spends a lot of her free time with him, and she’s brought him in for dinner several times. He’s attractive, I’ll grant you that. Is Whit still seeing Fiona?”
“He is. Oh, dear, too bad.” Phyllis laughed. “Remember when the kids were adolescents? We used to say that if they became adults and weren’t in jail or dead, we would be happy.” She stopped next to her ancient station wagon. “Here’s me. I need to rush. I’ve got to get to the grocery store.”
Helen and Phyllis kissed goodbye. Helen walked on down the quiet one-way street to her father-in-law’s antique Chrysler convertible. Teddy was driving Nona’s old Jeep to and from work, which left Helen with the convertible. She didn’t mind. The handsome old heirloom had deep soft seats and a luxurious, stately ride. She drove home, savoring the trip, idly thinking about what there was for dinner that night. She hoped Grace and her gang realized that the vegetables Charlotte provided for their evening meals were not only delicious and nutritious, they also saved a lot of driving around to the other island farm stands for fresh produce. But hoping that Grace and her family would ever say anything positive about Charlotte’s garden was a waste of time. It still made them uneasy. It made them think that Nona was favoring Charlotte. Families, Helen thought with a sniff of disdain. They must have been designed by a committee.
As she drove along the winding road, she felt almost young again. It was fun to drive her father-in-law’s classic convertible, with the sun beating down on her shoulders. She’d tied a scarf around her hair and a light breeze whipped it around her face, making her feel a little like Audrey Hepburn in one of those blithe black-and-white movies. Well, she wasn’t young and beautiful, and her life was not a romantic comedy, but still she was fortunate. Her children were happy and safe.
She hadn’t decided what to do about Worth. She didn’t see him often. He was away at work during the week, and when he arrived with the other Bank Boys on Friday afternoon, or sometimes Thursday evening, he wanted only to get out in his catboat and sail or play a round of golf with Lew Lowry and Kellogg and their friends. Almost every night there was a dinner party, or a dance, or cocktails at a friend’s house, or a benefit for one of the island’s many worthy organizations: the library, the hospital, the conservation group, the science museum. Since the night before Oliver’s wedding, Worth had not come to Helen’s bed and she hadn’t gone to his. But she slept well. She realized that thirty years ago, even twenty, she would have flown at him in a jealous rage the moment she heard him talking love talk to another woman, she would have dragged her nails down his face, she would have thrown vases and broken windows, and she would have gone out and slept with every man she knew. She didn’t know why she hadn’t done any of that now. It was not simply a matter of having less energy. It was not that she didn’t care; when she thought about her husband with another woman, it hurt so terribly it took her breath away. So she did her best not to think about it, but she felt her anger building inside her like a storm.
She had arrived at the long gravel drive leading from the main road to the waterfront and Nona’s house. As she turned, she slowed, and waved at Suzette, who was at the farm stand, chatting with a customer as she filled a brown paper bag with lettuces and tomatoes. Suzette was hugely pregnant now, so full-bellied that Helen wondered if perhaps the young woman had gotten her dates wrong. Suzette looked as if she could go into labor any day.
They were pretty much prepared, Helen thought. There was plenty of baby furniture in the house—a cradle, a change table, a high chair, and so on, but Mellie had laid claim to them in no uncertain terms. “These are Wheelwright baby things, and at least we know my baby is a Wheelwright!” Mellie had hissed when Helen brought up the subject of the furniture. Mellie was going to have her baby in a hospital in Boston and wouldn’t be using the furniture for weeks, if she came back to the island at all, but Helen didn’t argue. She, Suzette, Teddy, and Charlotte went into Marine Home Furniture and indulged in an orgy of shopping: a crib, blankets, baby towels, paper diapers, and many unnecessary stuffed animals. Teddy had carried everything up to the third floor, for even though Helen had protested that Suzette wouldn’t feel like climbing so many stairs after having a baby and should
move to the second floor, Teddy and Suzette herself had insisted they preferred it up there. That way, Suzette said, her crying baby wouldn’t wake everyone else in the house—only Charlotte, who said she slept like a log.
Helen carefully steered the convertible into its spot at the end of the gravel drive—on the far side, where no other vehicle might scratch it—gathered up her purse and book bag full of committee papers, and walked beneath the arch in the hedge into the garden.
Gathered on the shady patio was a small party—it only took a few members of the Wheelwright family to look like a party—Worth, Kellogg and Grace, Mandy and Claus, and Nona, snuggled in her wicker rocker and looking at her family with affection and happiness. Christian knelt on the slates by the far wall of hedge, running a model dump truck into the mulch and making growling noises. Baby Zoe lay nestled in her bouncy chair, watching everyone with bright eyes.
“You’re all here already!” Helen said. Automatically she went to Worth and pecked a kiss on his cheek. She always did this when Worth arrived; she’d done it for the thirty-one years of their marriage, and it was expected. She kissed Nona’s cheek, too.
Worth was still in his work clothes, although he’d discarded his suit jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, as had Kellogg and Claus. “The city is steaming. The air conditioners can’t keep up. It was too muggy to think.”
“Come on, Worth,” Kellogg said to his brother-in-law. “You just wanted to arrive in time for a sail.”
Worth grinned. “True. It’s supposed to turn stormy this weekend, and I want to get in a sail while I can. Anyone want to join me?”
“I do,” Kellogg said.
“Me, too,” said Claus.
“I’ve got to get the kiddies fed and bathed,” Mandy said.
Helen said, “I’m going to see if Glorious needs help pulling dinner together. Shall we say around nine?”
The men went off to change into swim trunks, then walked down to the shore, waded out into the water, hoisted themselves onto the boat, and set sail. Helen went to her porch, changed out of her committee clothes into a T-shirt, sarong, and flip-flops, and went down to the kitchen to confer with Glorious.
“I’ve got all the potatoes and salad I need,” Glorious told her, “but I only have enough chicken for four or five people. I could thaw a frozen one—”
“I’ll just zip back into town and get some fresh fish,” Helen told her. “We haven’t had any for a while.”
“Oh, Helen,” Glorious said, “you don’t want to be making that long drive again.”
Helen grinned. “I’m driving the convertible, remember? Teddy’s got the old Jeep. Want to come with me?”
Glorious started to shake her head and then smiled. “You know, I think I will. It would be nice to get out in a breeze.”
Helen loved being with Glorious. The young Jamaican woman seemed to think that everything about the Wheelwrights was humorous, and she was tender and patient with Nona. Glorious was engaged to a Jamaican man who worked as a carpenter on the island. They were in no hurry to get married, but then Glorious didn’t seem to be in a hurry about anything.
As they drove the beautiful old convertible in to town, Helen turned on the radio, which still, amazingly, worked, and they listened to Ella Fitzgerald singing jazz, which was perfect for this summer evening. They went to Sayle’s and conferred about whether to buy cod, halibut, or sole, chose the cod, and carried their purchase, wrapped tidily in white paper, out into the evening. The road back was narrow and winding. In summer the traffic moved like molasses, and sometimes this irritated Helen, but tonight with the soft music and the soft air and Glorious’s easy companionship, she relaxed and enjoyed the drive.
They were almost home when they noticed the car in front of them swerving back and forth over the road, and with an electrifying shock of fear Helen realized that it was Nona’s old Jeep. Of course, the island was crowded with old hunter-green Jeeps, but this vehicle had a row of Trustees of Reservations stickers on the back bumper. Helen was sure Teddy was driving.
“Oh, no,” Helen breathed. “That’s Teddy. And I think he’s drunk.”
As she spoke, an SUV rolled around a curve from the opposite direction, and even though the Jeep was quickly corrected and aimed for the right side of the road, the driver of the SUV laid on his horn, filling the gentle night with its piercing blare, then leaned out his window and yelled, “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Dear God, dear God,” Helen prayed aloud.
“We’re almost home,” Glorious said reassuringly. Reaching out, she patted Helen’s hand, clenched white on the steering wheel.
They rounded the final curve, and Nona’s white gravel drive came into view. As they watched, Teddy made the turn, but he was going too fast, and he steered too sharply to the left. With a shriek from the tires as he slammed on the brakes, the Jeep hurtled across the road, rammed the old farm-stand table up onto its bumper, and plowed into the trunk of an ancient pine tree. The bang of impact was loud.
Helen steered the convertible onto the drive, switched off the ignition, and jumped out. The Jeep had come to a stop with its nose smashed against the tree trunk. The hood of was buckled and steam hissed from the radiator, spiraling up into the air.
Helen ran around to the driver’s side. “Teddy?”
The driver’s door opened and Teddy stumbled out with a big grin on his face. He held up his arms like an athlete who’d just performed an astonishing feat, as if expecting applause. “Ta-da!”
Helen reached out to steady him. “Teddy, are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Mom, be cool.” He didn’t have so much as a cut or a bump on his head.
“Be cool?” Seeing her youngest child completely intact sent shock waves of relief through her, and then all at once she wanted to shake him. “Teddy, you’re drunk! You just wrecked the Jeep!” Even in her frantic state, she realized exactly where the accident had taken place. “Teddy, look where you are!”
Teddy staggered, held out his arms, and gave a bewildered smile. “I’m here, I’m not injured, and no one was hurt. Don’t be so dramatic.”
“Oh, Teddy,” Helen said, and began to cry. “Look, for God’s sake! You’ve smashed up Charlotte’s farm stand. Thank God they’ve already closed up for the day. Fifteen minutes earlier, and you might have hit your own wife!”
Her words seemed to sober Teddy slightly. Then a familiar stubbornness possessed his features. “But the farm stand is closed!” he argued.
Helen felt an arm around her. “It’s okay, Helen,” Glorious said.
Helen breathed out, trying expel her fear and anger. “Teddy, we’re going to drive to the house. You can walk. It might sober you up a little. And while you’re walking, you can think of what you’re going to say to your father.”
When they got to the house, Glorious went on into the kitchen with the package of fresh fish. Nona was in the den, dozing in front of the television set. Helen looked out the window and saw the cat-boat just returning to the dock. Charlotte and Suzette were in the living room, talking with Grace about their day in the garden. When she went upstairs, she heard Mandy singing a lullaby to Christian, and for a moment Helen just leaned against the wall, remembering the days when she could tuck her children lovingly into bed, knowing they were safe.
She went into the sleeping porch, shut the door, and sank onto the daybed, holding her head in her hands. Her headache was back. It had been a long time since she had suffered from one, but this was intense. She didn’t need a psychiatrist to tell her that she was anxious, not just about Teddy and his drinking but about her husband’s reaction. She had read books and attended meetings and talked to other parents about tough love, but she still didn’t know what to do. How did anyone ever know what the right thing was to do? Did Teddy drink because his father was so judgmental? Or was his father so judgmental because Teddy drank? Or was something slightly awry with his body chemistry? Everyone else in the family could handle alcohol. But there were
no easy answers, and right now her concern was for Teddy’s wife and her unborn child.
When would be the best time to tell Worth about Teddy’s newest escapade, before dinner? After dinner? Should she let Worth fix himself a nice relaxing alcoholic drink first? She had been in this situation more times than she could remember over the past few years, and she knew she would leave Teddy to face his father by himself, if she weren’t so afraid of how it would affect Teddy’s wife.
She went into the bathroom, splashed water on her face, smoothed her tousled hair, and went downstairs and into the kitchen where Teddy sat at the table, drinking a cup of coffee while Glorious stood at the counter, slicing vegetables.
“Let’s go into the den,” she said to Teddy.
Teddy squirmed. “Nona’s in there.” The coffee seemed to have sobered him up.
“Well, your grandmother needs to know you’ve wrecked her Jeep,” Helen told him. “Would you rather go into the living room with your Aunt Grace and Uncle Kellogg?” Without waiting for an answer, Helen said, “Glorious, if Suzette comes down, will you please tell her to come into the den? And give us about thirty minutes before you start dinner.”
“You got it,” Glorious replied easily.
Just then Worth and Kellogg came into the kitchen from the mud-room. Worth’s hair was windblown, and the tan on his nose and cheeks had been burnished with fresh sun, giving him a healthy glow. He looked relaxed and happy.
“Worth, could you come into the den for a minute?” Helen asked. “We need to talk.” She kept her voice as pleasant as possible, but even she could hear the tension tightening her tone.
Worth frowned, puzzled. “Sure.”
In the dark den, the television set droned out the evening news. Nona was asleep. Helen walked to the other end of the room, where a complicated jigsaw puzzle had been laid out on the long refectory table a few days ago when it was raining.
Nancy Thayer Page 22