Sea Glass Summer

by Dorothy Cannell

  Twenty minutes later they were back around the table, each in his or her established seat. Sarah remembered with a wave of unhappiness that’s how it had always been with her family. Her parents, along with Kristen and Tim, would be surprised by her upcoming news. Maybe a little concerned by the suddenness of it all; she’d only mentioned Evan in passing – as with Oliver, no point leaving them thinking she was jumping blindly into whirlpools. But, once she explained, they’d be happy about Evan and supportive of their relationship with Oliver. There would never be an issue of either of them picking at meals she produced. Evan might be thin, but apparently not from starving himself half to death. After the last of the crab cakes and a second helping of French fries had disappeared from his plate, he gave a smile that made her dream of further expanding her cooking repertoire – which had been extremely limited since her arrival in Maine.

  ‘That was delicious, but I don’t think Oliver and I will leave you to slog it alone in the kitchen. We’ll take our turns. He’s likely to be of the most help at first; I’ve already gleaned he’s a wizard at peeling potatoes and no mean hand at making tuna salad. But I have learned how to put a simple, tasty meal on the table – courtesy of The I Hate to Cook Book by Peg Bracken, given to me by Aunt Alice. It’s her long-time mainstay, published back in the sixties, and – as she kindly informed me – idiot proof. My favorite of the recipes is Jetty Spaghetti. Time for Oliver to fetch down those drawings?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  They listened to the fleet scamper up the stairs.

  ‘You were the art major, Sarah. Your opinion will be the one that counts.’

  ‘All we can judge them on is the belief they were drawn by Nat, at around eleven years old – or younger. If they show talent that would indicate he shared at least to some degree his brothers’ gifts, but we can’t make that assumption. What would tend in his favor is if they really aren’t all that good.’

  Evan had just cleared the table when Oliver came through the doorway and laid the thin sheaf of paper into the middle of it. ‘Did you hear anything of what Sarah was just saying?’

  ‘No, my mind was full of what you’d both think of these.’

  While Evan briefly filled him in, Sarah shifted the yellowing sheets toward her. There were three. The voices of the other two faded out. As Oliver had said, the subject was sailing vessels, of which she knew nowhere near enough to even guess at the pen and ink accuracy. But she did know enough about art to be impressed by the skill of the dexterous delicacy of the artist’s hand. Amazing, given their miniature size, that they all possessed that sense of movement – the heave to the wind and the roil of the few threads of sea in the first two, and the serene glide in the halcyon calm of the third.

  ‘Incredible.’ She finger-tipped them back to the center. ‘If done by the boy you saw on the window seat in your bedroom, Oliver, he was one talented kid.’ Before the conversation could progress, her cell phone rang.

  ‘You go answer it,’ said Evan, ‘I’ll stay here and look these over with Oliver; I know enough about the key details to make a stab at their accuracy.’

  ‘Shouldn’t be long.’

  On hearing Harris’s voice in her ear she was doubly certain of that. He didn’t ask if this was a bad time, just continued on as if he’d been speaking to her three minutes ago, rather than a number of months. But when she heard why he hadn’t gotten back to her after saying he need to talk to her again soon about what he’d curtailed from asking, she understood completely why doing so had faded fast into the background. The day after he’d rung her, his daughter had fallen off a swing at his in-law’s home and fractured her skull. Naturally, he and Lisa had been panic-stricken until convinced she was going to fully recover. ‘It left us shaken up for weeks,’ he finished.

  ‘Oh, Harris, what a dreadful scare for all three of you. How’s she coming along?’

  ‘Fine, thank you. But it was all way too much for Lisa to have to go through. She’d just found out she was pregnant again. What more needs to be said?’

  ‘On my part, congratulations. And I mean that wholeheartedly.’

  ‘I can hear it in your voice.’ A pause. ‘I get the feeling things must be going well with you.’

  ‘It was the right decision to move here.’

  ‘Good. The thought of you pining on bothered me.’

  ‘That’s kind, but you shouldn’t have. I think we both know we stuck it out too long.’ She was eager to get back to the kitchen to hear what Evan had to say about the accuracy of the renditions.

  ‘We had our good times.’

  ‘And I’m grateful for those, but tell me what it is you’ve been wanting to ask me.’

  ‘Here goes! And don’t go losing your cool. It’s about that antique diamond and garnet ring my mother gave you. I’m sure she said she wanted you to keep it after the divorce, but Lisa and I wonder if, now the waters have calmed, you’d be willing to let us have it.’

  ‘That wasn’t a gift from your mother.’ Her ear was cued to Evan and Oliver’s laughter. Something had amused them. Possibly Dusk landing in one of their laps. She had a habit of that and had just wandered into the kitchen. ‘It was my great-grandmother’s.’

  ‘That can’t be true. Lisa says it was obviously valuable, and we know your family members were never loaded. Get over the spite, Sarah. For us it’s the sentimental value. We want it to give to Adele when she’s older. The baby on the way is a boy.’

  ‘Lovely. But I’m busy, Harris. Check with your mother about the ring, and when you do please give her my love, I was always very fond of her. On second thought, I’ll write to her myself.’

  ‘Oh, there’s no need for that!’ Sarah couldn’t remember hearing Harris splutter before.

  ‘Isn’t there? This seems to me to be the perfect time.’ She hung up the phone. Threading its way throughout the phone call had been the thought that she would go to Portland and show the drawings to her friend, the one whose wedding had been the source of Sarah’s coming to Maine. Anne taught high school art and should, therefore, have a pretty good idea of what a boy of, say, eleven, could produce.

  Eleven

  Gwen stopped at the top of the stairs with Jumbo at her side at four thirty on that Saturday afternoon to listen to the joy of fragments of Bach, Mendelssohn and Liszt mingled into each other drifting up from the piano. Sonny could no longer play cohesively; but that he was continuing to play at all, after having stopped until the evening that Sarah had come into their lives, was cause for celebration. And Oliver’s lessons with Gwen had been further encouragement. Sonny was increasingly at his most peaceful when that dear boy was with them, a happy reminder no doubt of the many young students he had taught over the years and cared for deeply regardless of their musical promise. But also because there was something so incredibly heartwarming about Oliver’s blend of innocence and the maturity that enabled him to empathize beyond his years. Best of all, perhaps, was that he had a rollicking sense of humor that brought laugher back to a house that had lacked it for much too long. He was showing definite ability at the piano, coupled with enthusiasm. Good in itself as well as having the bonus of his being able to tell his aunt and uncle he needed, and wanted, to practice often. Legitimate. But it also provided frequent opportunity for his spending time with beloved Twyla.

  What interested Gwen was that the Cullys had been prepared from the start to allow him to spend plenty of time with Sarah, either on her own or with Evan. Elizabeth had phoned to say that she and her husband had appreciated the garden club’s generous offer of volunteering to landscape the grounds of the Cully Mansion, but weren’t prepared for the upheaval this summer. What upheaval? The members wouldn’t be digging and planting in the living room. The only indoor intrusion would be the occasional request to use the bathroom or a pitcher refilled with iced water. She’d gleaned from Oliver that the only people, other than Robin Polly, who’d gained more than one-time admittance inside the Cully Mansion were those two boys with the weird nam
es whom he disliked so much. And that had sprung from their mother’s convenient offer to drive Oliver in to school and back.

  To Oliver’s relief that relationship had dwindled away, suggesting that the Cullys had never been sociable, which somehow Gwen didn’t believe. Or did they have some other reasons for being bound and determined to keep as many people as possible from getting an inside look at their lives? Twyla being foremost in mind, and now perhaps Sarah, whose invitations to accompany Oliver on some of his visits had not only been refused with one excuse or another, but unreciprocated. Ah, but it seemed they had just been outmaneuvered by Evan, on the basis of the location of the potluck being changed that morning to Bramble Cottage. Poor Sid Jennson had been up most of the night in the throes of one of those wretched stomach bugs. Libby hadn’t thought it right to go ahead with hosting when she might also be coming down with it, so she’d called Sarah at eight to ask if she mind pitching in. The other members of the group had either already taken their turn or were on the calendar to do so. The potluck started at six, but Gwen had dressed early and had asked to come ahead of the others for a chat.

  Such a shame for the Jennsons. Anyone who had suffered one of those hideous bouts knew how they make you pray for instant death. And they were one of the nicest couples; Sid had continued to be incredibly kind to Sonny, taking him out for drives and sometimes lunch. But there is that cliché of an ill wind. Evan had seized the straw along with the day and phoned the Cullys to issue an invitation now the switch had been made. They must have found it impossible on the spur of the moment to reasonably refuse. So right for Sarah! As she was for him! It had been clear from the first time of seeing them together that they were made for each other and that they had both fallen hard for Oliver.

  After a day’s gardening Gwen had gone upstairs to shower and change into a narrow blue and white striped shirtwaist. Innumerable washings had vanquished the material’s original stiffness, making for a cottony softness, light as air. Welcome on a hot evening. Libby had told her on calling with the invitation that the dress code was casual. In some places that could have meant coming in shorts or merely downplaying the diamonds, but not so here in Sea Glass, where overdone at such an event would be a man buttoning his sports shirt to the neck or a woman wearing perfume.

  The music had ceased, but Sonny was still seated, head bent at the piano. Jumbo had followed her into the room. He did not retreat from Sonny, who no longer displayed hostility toward him, but indifference. The result, she was sure, of Jumbo being gone for part of each day with Sarah. She went in and bent to kiss her son’s cheek. Her heart brimmed with love for who he was now and the boy and man he had been. So many moments still to be gathered for holding later in her hand like pieces of sea glass. Birthdays, Christmases, and other celebratory occasions had a way of fading one into the other, while the trove of tiny treasures remained to be recalled with thankfulness, even if sometimes viewed through tears. Thank God for those whose lives had been interwoven with theirs – Sonny’s and hers – this summer. Her gratitude for this blessing had occasionally brought in its wake the thought that it might be a final benediction, but not this time.

  ‘I love you, Sonny.’

  ‘Love you, Mom.’ He turned his head before resuming what appeared to be a blank stare, but might mean he was peering into his own shifting memories, one overlapping the other at random, perhaps making it impossible to hold onto any treasured ones – even his wife Beatrice’s face – for more than a few seconds without some reinforcement.

  ‘I’m going out shortly, but only for a few hours. Twyla has set aside enough shrimp Creole for the two of you. But she’ll make you anything you like. Pancakes, if that’s what you want.’

  ‘Do they have meat in them?’

  ‘They can, if that’s your wish.’

  ‘How does Mrs Broom make them?’

  ‘To your special instructions.’ She again kissed his cheek.

  ‘I don’t know.’ He stirred restlessly. ‘Did you say you’re going out?’

  ‘Yes, dear.’

  ‘Is he going with you?’

  ‘Who, dear? Jumbo?’

  ‘Father.’

  She stroked his hair, her sadness for Charles surfacing. He and Sonny could have had a close relationship with each other after the divorce if he’d put in the time and love earlier. Or perhaps made an attempt to mend fences later. Sonny had not been one otherwise to bear grudges. ‘He won’t be here, dear.’

  ‘Then that’s all right. She’ll read me a story. Twyla. I didn’t know that was her name.’ He got up and sat in one of the armchairs, closing his eyes, one hand moving up and down in response to the music he was hearing.

  Gwen went into the kitchen to see Twyla stowing the containers of shrimp Creole in a large wicker basket. She was never one to rush at the last minute. ‘Is he OK about you going?’ The warm brown eyes met hers.

  ‘I think so, but remember – don’t hesitate to call if you feel I’m needed back here.’

  ‘You breathe easy and enjoy your outing – you surely don’t treat yourself often enough to going off and playing on your own some.’

  ‘I could if I wanted to,’ Gwen smiled at her, ‘but being able to continue with the garden club and return to playing for the choral group is all the community activity I need. As for the personal stuff – being able to take walks again alone with Jumbo and go down to see Sarah, either with him or without, is bounty enough. And let’s not forget my going in for a physical at your urging. I still have an appointment coming up for a treadmill test, but my doctor seemed reasonably confident, from what I described, that the episodes I’ve been having are panic attacks, not my heart. For the main part my happiness is here in the house and garden, either when it’s just the three of us or when our visitors come, especially Oliver – for your sake and because he’s such a joy.’

  ‘That’s my lamb baby.’ Twyla spread a red and white checked cloth over the wicker basket. As with Mrs Broom she was one for the extra homely touch. ‘I surely can’t thank you enough, Gwen, for making that possible by coming up with that garden club plan as a way to get past the barricades, then working your way round to the piano lessons. He’s coming on real good, isn’t he?’

  ‘His mother would be so pleased with his quick progress. I’m sure she and his father are cheering us on, along with Sarah and Evan, for trying to find out as much as we can about all that goes on at the Cully Mansion. Nellie Armitage told me it was Nathaniel’s father who imposed that grandiose name upon it, which should surprise no one who’s sat in that living room under the surveillance of his austere patriarchal portrait.’

  Twyla moved the basket to the edge of the counter near the garage door. ‘That Nellie is some woman to have in your corner. She slipped word to me that to hopefully find out from Mrs Polly about what goes on at that house was the reason why she asked if Mrs Polly could come in once a week to clean. Said she’s never cared a hill of beans what her place looks like, but with Oliver being best friends with her Brian she’s gotten real fond of him and has been fretting about how things are going with him. Even more so when I’d told her Oliver doesn’t feel he can talk to me about problems for fear I’d worry myself sick, especially since I couldn’t bring it up to Frank in his continuing failing state.’

  ‘What a difficult position for him and you.’

  ‘It sure is a comfort now he has Sarah and Evan to turn to.’

  ‘Talk about turning up at the right moment.’ Gwen let Jumbo out to the fenced area in the back. She had wondered in recent days if Twyla might be a little wistful as well as thankful at this turn of events. Either this thought showed on her face, or the woman she had come to admire as well as like profoundly was a mind reader.

  ‘Don’t you go worrying that I’m feeling a little displaced, Gwen. It your kind nature to see things from every angle, but even if Oliver could bring his worries to me same as always, what he’s going to need after Frank is gone is what he’s lacked for as long as he can remembe
r – parents of the right age. Mine was always something of a concern, even before the Cullys stepped in. And I don’t need Nellie’s spirit guides to tell me that Sarah and Evan will end up married and my lamb baby couldn’t be better off than with them. And then my relationship would be how it should, as his one living grandmother.’

  Gwen let Jumbo back in. ‘You are a remarkable woman, Twyla – no wonder Oliver loves you so much. I was foolish. It’s so obvious nothing can ever diminish the bond between you. As for Sarah and Evan, I’m not only convinced there’ll be a wedding, but that they’d also be thrilled – honored – to take guardianship and if possible adopt him. But that can only be wishful thinking. I imagine this would require court approval.’

  Twyla glanced at the wall clock, which showed it was close to five. Gwen would need to leave shortly to be in time to get to Bramble Cottage ahead of the other guests. ‘Nellie said it took time gaining Mrs Polly’s confidence sufficiently for her to open up about Gerard and Elizabeth Cully. Said she’s not readily the gossiping sort.’

  ‘That’s usually the opening line with most gossip, but I tend to believe it in her case. Robin Polly may have had to withstand enough talk going the rounds about what her father’s gotten up to over the years, and how she’s to blame for not keeping him under lock and key, to put her off gossip for life. But, let’s say the Cullys have been holding it over her head that her neglect as to his whereabouts contributed to his holing up in their cellar as a means to get her to work on the cheap, and she’s found other reasons to dislike them, then she may well have decided to make an exception to her closed-mouth rule.’

  It was Twyla’s turn to smile. ‘You sure have a way of getting the pieces in the right places. That is pretty much what I got from Nellie. Mrs Polly told her she agreed to go back and work at the Cully Mansion out of curiosity after Elizabeth got in touch with her. And when it came to paying her, the amount wasn’t as promised, for the reasons you just said. There was even talk about civil charges for aiding and abetting. All nonsense, but Mrs Polly said Elizabeth must have figured she was too dumb to realize that.’