Summer Days

by Lisa Jackson

  A long moment passed before Nadia spoke again. “This thing people call closure,” she said. “I am not so sure there is such a thing, but if there is, it must be something very different for everybody who seeks it. Don’t you agree? Maybe it would be good to decide what this closure would look like for you with this man. And then, maybe it would be good to seek that closure.”

  Ellen looked up. “Maybe,” she said. “I just don’t know.” “Better to do something, no, than to wait and—what is the word? To wallow?”

  “That’s the word.”

  Nadia looked at her watch. It was the same one she had been wearing the first time Ellen had met her.

  “Is that an heirloom?” Ellen asked.

  “The watch? Yes. It belonged to my mother. It is all I have left of her. But I must go to work,” she announced. “Come in to the restaurant some time. The chef is very good.”

  Ellen smiled. “Thank you for listening. And for caring.”

  Nadia shrugged. “Maybe one day you will do the same for me.”

  “I would be honored,” Ellen said. “Really.”

  CHAPTER 18

  It was yet another one of those perfect midsummer days. The sun was out in full force, the sky was cloudless and blue, and the water sparkled. It was mid tide, so there was plenty of sand for everyone to enjoy. The humidity was low; it hadn’t rained now for a month.

  Ellen had gone down to the beach in an attempt to shift her spirits to a happier place. Shimmering water, a bright blue sky, and clean, white sand. Who couldn’t be—who wouldn’t be!—positively affected by such pristine beauty? Ellen Tudor, that’s who. Her spirits were as dark and troubled as they had been in the middle of that night when she had woken from those disturbing dreams.... Or, from those disturbing memories disguised as dreams.

  “Oh, no,” she murmured. Up ahead . . . Yes, it was Rob Penn. He was sitting cross-legged on a yellow blanket, a sketchbook on his lap. He was not wearing a shirt. Ellen tried to ignore that fact. And the fact that his thighs were admirably muscled. And the fact that his magnificent hair was tousled and glinting in the sun.

  Turn around and walk the other way, she told herself. He hasn’t seen you yet. You can easily avoid an unpleasant encounter.

  But no. Ellen took a deep breath. She remembered what Nadia had said about figuring out what closure between she and Rob might look like, and pursuing it. Well, she hadn’t been able to determine that yet, but maybe, once she spoke to Rob, a sense of closure might be achieved. Maybe.

  Ellen continued on until she stood within a few feet of Rob.

  “Oh,” he said, taking off his sunglasses and squinting up at her. “Hello.”

  “You’re so tall.” Now, Ellen thought with dismay, why did I say that?

  Rob put his sunglasses back on. “Well, that wasn’t exactly a greeting.”

  “It’s just that you were so short that summer back in camp.”

  “I was eight. People do change over the course of time, you know. Like the fact that when I got to college I started calling myself Rob. It seemed more mature.”

  “How was I supposed to recognize you?” Ellen asked, vaguely aware of the absurdity of the question. This conversation was not going well at all.

  “You weren’t supposed to recognize me.”

  Ellen shook her head. “What do you mean?”

  “What I mean is, I didn’t know you were—Nellie.” Rob laughed. “It’s not like I came to Ogunquit knowing you were here and planning to trick you into falling in love with me just to get back at you for some childish pranks.”

  Ellen recalled her own thoughts along that line and blushed. “I didn’t fall in love with you.”

  “You made that abundantly clear. But I fell in love with you. Look, do you want to sit down and—”

  “No,” Ellen said. “The other night you called me a psychopath.”

  “I’m sorry about that.”

  “You said I had a criminal mind.”

  “I believe I said it was a brilliant criminal mind.”

  “That doesn’t make it any better.”

  Rob sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. It was a poor choice of words. Okay, you don’t want to sit. Then do you want to go and get a coffee or—”

  And suddenly, Ellen was helpless to stop the tears that coursed down her cheeks. “Do you know how afraid I was that that awful nickname would follow me back to school that September? I lived in fear of my classmates finding out. I swear I could hardly sleep at night for worrying. I was miserable for months.”

  Rob looked appropriately stricken. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Really, I can’t say how sorry I am. Do you wear glasses anymore?”

  Ellen wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “No. It was a childhood weakness. I outgrew it.”

  “That’s good.”

  Ellen waited, for what else she wasn’t quite sure. Certainly not for closure! Maybe Nadia had been right when she said there might not even be such a thing.

  After a moment, Rob said, “Since the other night it’s occurred to me that maybe you got on my nerves so badly back at camp because unconsciously I was attracted to you. You know, you like a girl, so you dunk her braid in the inkwell.”

  This was not at all what Ellen had expected to hear. “We were prepubescent,” she said. “We were too young for romance.”

  “Boys and girls—and boys and boys and girls and girls—can like each other at a very young age.”

  Ellen shook her head. “I thought all boys were disgusting.”

  “We probably were.”

  “I would never have—have done those things to you—because I liked you.”

  “Okay.”

  “I must have done those things because I didn’t like you.”

  “All right.”

  “In fact,” Ellen said, “I must have hated you.” But even as she said the words, she knew they weren’t true. Could a seven-year-old really experience the ferocity of hate?

  “Okay,” Rob said wearily. “But why didn’t you like me? Why did you single me out as the kid to torture? What had I ever done to you?”

  Ellen opened her mouth, but not a word came out, no witty reply or stinging retort, no accusation real or false. Nothing. Had Rob/Bobby ever done anything to her to make her torment him? Maybe she just hadn’t liked anyone that summer, not even herself. It was the first time she had been away from her parents, and her father had been sick and she had been afraid she would never see him or her mother again. And she had been so young!

  “Well, I guess you’re right,” Rob said after the silence had grown even more uncomfortable than the conversation had been. “I guess I didn’t like you. If I had liked you I wouldn’t have called you a nasty name. I would have ignored you.”

  “I’ve kept you long enough from your work,” Ellen finally managed to say.

  Rob looked back to his sketchpad. “Good-bye, Ellen.”

  Ellen turned and started back in the direction of the Wells town line. Her eyes were still blurred with tears. And with every step forward she had an increasingly strong urge to turn back, to sit down in the sand next to Rob, to take his hand, to . . .

  “Ow!” Ellen stumbled and clutched her shoulder.

  “Sorry!” It was a girl about twenty, one of a group of people playing volleyball. “But you kind of walked right into the middle of the game. Didn’t you see us?”

  Ellen bit back another flood of tears. She shook her head, unable to trust her voice. And she did not turn back to Rob.

  CHAPTER 19

  A week had passed since that awful night at Rob’s house. And it had been a fairly miserable and lonely week. Clovis had not come to visit Ellen since her last and very awkward conversation with Cora. The mail had consisted only of bills and coupons. The new printer cartridge she had been expecting had been delayed; she had not even had the opportunity to exchange greetings with a UPS driver. Nadia had been working double shifts at the restaurant and had barely had time to send her a text. Caroline had not reac
hed out via e-mail or text or phone call. Even her mother had been silent except for a brief e-mail to say that she was suffering a bad cold.

  So, Ellen had concentrated on work, which was always at least a partial antidote to misery. She had watched a slew of British period mysteries on Roku. She had caught up on laundry and ironing and had swept and vacuumed a ridiculous amount.

  And she had thought. And thought. And thought some more. But still, the answers hadn’t come.

  By the week’s end, the cupboard had grown quite bare, and if she wasn’t going to starve, she would have to go into town for groceries. She would just have to pray she wouldn’t run into Cora Compton or Rob Penn.

  Ellen finished the grocery shopping in record time, avoiding people she knew even vaguely. Hoping her luck would hold, Ellen next stopped at the post office. The clerk behind the counter was a round-faced, gray-haired woman about forty-five years of age. Her nametag proclaimed her to be Marion. Ellen was relieved to find that she didn’t at all recognize the woman. Maybe the woman wouldn’t recognize her.

  “You’re Ellen Tudor,” the woman said cheerily, before Ellen had quite reached the counter.

  “Um, yes,” she answered glumly. “I am.”

  “I heard you were in town. I remember your parents. They were lovely people.”

  Ellen managed a smile. “Yes. Thanks. I—”

  “I remember they were friends with Old Mrs. Compton.”

  “Yes. I just need—”

  “You must have seen her since you’ve been back in town. Mrs. Compton, I mean.”

  “As a matter of fact I—”

  Marion leaned forward over the counter, as if she were about to impart important or confidential information. “I’ll tell you who’s been seeing a lot of Cora,” she said. “That nice young painter, Rob Penn. He’s renting the old Harper house, well, studio, really, out on Sand’s End Street.”

  “Yes. I heard that he—”

  “He and Cora have become great friends. And Miss Camp, too. Mr. Penn took Miss Camp to the podiatrist just the other day. You know she has terrible trouble with her bunions, poor old thing.”

  “Really?” Ellen said. “I mean, I’m sorry. About the bunions.”

  Marion shook her head. “Terrible things, bunions. And the other day Mr. Benson from the gas station across the street saw Mr. Penn escorting Cora and Emily into the Cape Neddick Lobster Pound for luncheon. You know, don’t you, that it’s Cora’s favorite restaurant? She just loves their French fries. Personally, I think their steamers are the best around, but I know people who differ.”

  Ellen managed a sickly smile. “I didn’t know about the restaurant being Mrs. Compton’s favorite. Or about the fries. And the steamers.”

  “Oh, yes,” Marion went on. “And yesterday afternoon Mr. Penn took both old dears to the Hannaford for their groceries. What they would do without Mr. Penn I don’t want to think about!”

  Ellen swallowed hard. Could it really be that she had misjudged Rob Penn the adult so badly? Yes, she thought, it most certainly could be.

  But in her mind Rob would always be the obnoxious little boy from camp. The connection to that dreadful summer could never be severed.

  Right?

  Or, wrong?

  “Well, what is it I can help you with today?” Marion asked brightly.

  Ellen hesitated. She had almost forgotten what she had come in to purchase. “A roll of stamps, please.”

  “Will that be all then?” Marion asked, handing them over and taking Ellen’s money.

  Ellen could barely meet the woman’s eye. “Yes,” she said quickly, “thanks,” and hurried back out to the street.

  Darn a small town, she thought. Did everybody know everything about everybody? Had Cora or even Emily told her neighbors (who would in turn have told their neighbors) that Ellen Tudor had had a falling-out with Rob Penn and had announced she was not going to be a friend to Cora Compton as a result? It seemed entirely possible.

  Ellen walked through the parking lot to her car. She thought she caught a sidelong, accusatory glance from a grizzled old farmer getting out of a pickup truck, and an admonishing frown from a skinny, well-dressed matron exiting a Mercedes.

  Ellen slid behind the wheel of her own car. It was clear that she had made a huge mistake in coming “home” this summer. This was not her home, not any longer anyway. She should have retreated to someplace far more isolated and sparsely populated.

  When she reached the house she went inside and locked the door firmly behind her. She was considering pulling down the shades when the ringing of her cell phone startled her.

  The call was from her mother.

  JoAnne Tudor was recovered from her cold. “Cora called me,” she said by way of greeting. “Ellen, what in God’s name is going on? She said you told her you couldn’t see her anymore, or some such nonsense, and that you gave her absolutely no explanation.”

  There was no point in beating around the proverbial bush.

  “Do you remember my ever mentioning a boy named Bobby when I was a kid?” Ellen began. “Specifically, that summer Dad was sick and I went to camp?”

  “Let me think.” Her mother hummed. “Bobby. No. Not that I can recall. In fact, I don’t think you mentioned anyone from that summer when you came home, boys or girls.”

  “Well,” Ellen said, “here’s the thing.”

  She told her mother about meeting Rob Penn, and about Cora’s matchmaking efforts, and about what had happened between her and Rob over the course of a few weeks, culminating in the awful revelation that he was her childhood nemesis.

  Her mother was silent for a long moment. A long moment, Ellen thought, during which her mother was no doubt regretting the fact that she had produced such an idiotic child.

  Finally, JoAnne Tudor spoke. “First,” she said, “talk to Cora. She befriended you when you were new to town. Apologize for hurting her feelings and be humble about it. She’s not the sort to understand someone ‘needing her space.’ You should know that.”

  “I know. I will apologize,” Ellen mumbled. But would Cora Compton accept her apology? She certainly was under no obligation to do so.

  “Then,” her mother went on, “consider the fact that it’s only been a few months since the breakup with Peter. Your emotions are still riding high. So what if this Rob person was mean to you that long-ago summer? What does it matter now? Ellen, you’re thirty-one years old. Let it go. Let bygones be bygones.”

  “Mmm,” Ellen said.

  “After all,” JoAnne continued, “I remember getting several calls from the camp supervisors that summer about your troublesome behavior. I’m not making an excuse for what this Bobby/Rob person did to you, but you weren’t exactly an angel yourself.”

  “So I’ve heard. The camp people really called you?”

  “They most certainly did. But I set everything right. I explained that your misbehavior was probably due to the fact that you were away from home for the first time and were worried about your father.”

  “I was really that bad?” Ellen felt slightly sick. So, Rob was telling the truth. And maybe some of what had happened in those dreams the other night was real, too. “Tell me, Mom,” Ellen asked. “Did I ever run away from camp?”

  JoAnne sighed. “Oh, yes. Do you mean you don’t remember?”

  “No. I don’t remember. But I had a dream the other night. . . .”

  “I was frantic, of course, until the counselors and the police found you after about ten hours. And then, I was—puzzled.”

  “What do you mean you were puzzled?” Ellen asked. “I could have been hurt. I could have been mauled by a bear! I could have died from eating poisonous berries! I was probably cold and terrified and . . .”

  “Not according to your rescuers, dear. From what they told me you were angry that you had been found—‘an ungrateful child,’ I was told.”

  “This is awful, Mom,” Ellen cried. “Then why didn’t you and Dad bring me home, if I was so miserable at camp?
”

  “You swore you weren’t miserable. You begged us to let you stay on at camp. You said you liked it.” JoAnne sighed. “Frankly, the camp supervisors were pretty eager to ship you back to Massachusetts, but you put up quite a fuss. They concluded that you had run away just to get some attention. But then in the end it wasn’t quite the sort of attention you wanted. Whatever that was. I doubt you knew yourself.”

  “I don’t understand any of this,” Ellen admitted.

  “Children are irrational and emotional. You were going through a hard time.”

  Ellen thought it sounded as if her mother were quoting from a manual.

  “Ellen,” JoAnne went on, “I might as well tell you now that it wasn’t the first time that year you’d run away. You did it once just after school got out. I thought you were afraid to go away to camp. But you said that no, you were excited about going to camp. You just wanted to see what it was like to run away.”

  “How far did I get?”

  “The neighbor’s house.”

  “I see,” Ellen said. But I don’t see at all, she added silently.

  “I’ve often thought that we should never have sent you away that summer. But at the time your father and I really thought it was the right thing to do. Still, so many times afterward I’ve wondered. . . .”

  “What happened when I got home from camp?” Ellen asked, afraid to know. “How did I act?”

  “You were a model child once more, even more well-behaved than before you had gone off to camp. There was no more running away and certainly no acting out. It was almost as if that summer had never happened.”

  That’s not how it feels to me, Ellen thought.

  JoAnne Tudor sighed. “Ellen, you should know by now that running away—whether it’s into the woods or back to your childhood haunts—rarely solves anything. You take yourself everywhere you go, Ellen. At least when you’re home you can turn to your friends or your family.”

  “Yes,” Ellen murmured. “I know.”

  “Well,” her mother said briskly, “I have to run. Your father is giving me that I’m-going-to-die-if-I-don’t-get-lunch-immediately look.”