Home for the Summer

by Holly Chamberlin

  “Good,” Ruby said briskly. “Then it’s settled. I’ll get the machine cleaned up and ready to go.”

  “If you need help, just let me know,” George offered. “That’s not being entirely altruistic. I want ice cream.”

  “At least you’re honest!” Ruby turned to her granddaughter. “How’s it going at Phil’s, Bella?” she asked.

  Bella looked up briefly. “Okay.”

  “Just okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you learning anything interesting?” Ruby pressed.

  “Not really.” Bella put her fork on the table next to her plate. “Can I be excused?”

  Ruby held back a sigh of frustration. “You’ve hardly touched your dinner.”

  Bella shrugged. “I guess I’m just not hungry. Sorry.”

  “Of course you’re excused,” Frieda said. “I’ll clean up the kitchen for you tonight. You can take my next turn.”

  “Thanks.” Bella got up from the table and left the room.

  “She’s going to waste away at this rate.”

  George shook his head. “Poor kid. I wish I knew what I could say or do to help.”

  “Thanks, George,” Frieda said. “I know you’d do anything for Bella, but I’m not sure what can be done. And yes, Mom, I know I let her off the hook again.”

  “Your heart is in the right place. Look, are you sure you’re okay with this ice-cream thing?”

  “Yes,” her daughter told her. “I think it’s a good idea. Bella used to love concocting different flavors with her father. Remember the chocolate with coconut and almonds?”

  “Yes, but I’d like to forget the chocolate with bubble gum and gummy bears.” Suddenly Ruby was flooded with doubt. “Maybe this is a bad idea after all,” she said. “Maybe we should let the past alone. It’s the past for a reason, right?”

  “No, Mom,” Frieda said. “We’ll go ahead with your plan.”

  George got up from the table and brought his plate and glass to the sink. “Thanks for dinner, Ruby,” he said. “Sorry to eat and run, but I’ve got a pile of paperwork to do tonight. Those mean budget people gave me homework. Take care, Frieda.”

  “I’ll walk out with you,” Ruby told him. “Are you sure I’m not making a big mistake with this ice-cream thing?” she said when they reached the front hall.

  “No,” he said, “I’m not sure, but I wouldn’t waste another minute worrying about it. Remember—”

  Ruby smiled. “Worry is interest paid on a debt that might never come due.”

  “You were listening! Good night, Ruby.”

  Ruby watched him drive off and then returned to the kitchen, where she found her daughter still at the table.

  “The pesto really was excellent, Mom,” Frieda said with a smile. “Though I don’t plan on breathing on anybody for quite some time.”

  “Garlic is supposed to thin the blood, you know.”

  “Heart-healthy?”

  Ruby nodded. “Not to mention handy if you happen to find yourself in the presence of a vampire. Here,” she said, reaching for an empty glass, “let me help you clean up.”

  Chapter 10

  Frieda had lied to her mother. She wasn’t at all sure it was a good idea for the family—what was left of it—to make their own ice cream like they had in the old days. The memories might prove too poignant to bear. That was one of the frustrating things about memories. Sometimes they were as welcome as a warm embrace. And sometimes they were as unwelcome as a pinprick.

  Frieda turned onto her side and adjusted the light cover around her. Well, the memories of the fun times the family had shared might be hard to bear, but for Bella’s sake she would attempt to make the experience a positive one. Correction. For Bella’s sake she would succeed in making the experience a positive one. There was no choice but to succeed. There was no choice but to accept the new reality and face the new future.

  A future without Ariel. Frieda turned onto her back again and stared at the ceiling. How she missed every little thing about her daughter! She missed the scent of her skin. She missed the pattern of freckles across Ariel’s nose and the way she crossed her long legs at both the knees and ankles. She missed the sound of her giggle. At times she found the loss of Ariel’s physical presence almost harder to bear than the loss of the person inside the so tenderly familiar body.

  And the person inside that body had been so very special. Ariel had always been different from the other kids, even her two closest friends. While girls in her class were experimenting with makeup, Ariel was teaching herself about ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. When most kids were obsessing about the latest boy band or female pop star, Ariel was discovering Mozart. She hadn’t set out to be different from the majority of her peers; she just was and her being different hadn’t bothered her in the least. So what if her eighth-grade classmates’ greatest desire was to spend spring break in Disneyland? Ariel had shrugged at the idea of a theme park and had instead asked for permission to enroll in a week’s intensive course at the community college in the identification of local flora.

  But Ariel’s biggest desire, bigger even than her desire to make first violin in the school orchestra, had been to visit the great cities of Europe. She hadn’t known it when she died, but her mother had already begun to plan a week in Paris in celebration of Ariel’s sixteenth birthday. Frieda had sent for brochures and city maps; she had spent time online discovering places to stay and sights to visit. They would journey down the Seine on a bateaux mouche. They would climb to Sacré-Cœur in Montmartre. They would spend an afternoon at the Musée national du Moyen ge. They would eat croissants for breakfast and crepes for lunch. And on July 6, Ariel’s birthday, they would . . .

  Frieda rubbed her temples with the tips of her fingers. They would do none of those things. Not one of them. But . . . Why not? she thought with a sudden clarity. Why not celebrate what would have been Ariel’s sixteenth birthday? Why not honor the day with a private, formal gesture of remembrance? Last year the wound had been too great, but time had passed and recognition should be paid to what would have been a landmark in Ariel’s young life. Frieda was sure it was an idea of which her grief counselor would approve.

  Yes. A small celebration in honor of Ariel’s birthday was a good idea. It would benefit them all, Frieda’s mother, her daughter, and herself. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it sooner.

  Chapter 11

  Bella turned onto Clove Street and stopped her bike in front of what had been Ariel’s favorite store in Yorktide, The Bookworm. She stared at the window display, at the large selection of books by Maine authors, at the colorful poster of the famous Andre the seal, at the row of New York Times best sellers. She hadn’t been inside the store since the Christmas vacation before the accident. The owners of The Bookworm had hosted an open house one afternoon, with free hot chocolate and homemade cookies and two local musicians playing holiday music on a guitar and fiddle. There was a raffle, too, on a first edition of some book Bella had never heard of and Ariel had won.

  Where was that book now? Bella wondered. Was it packed away with the other books Ariel had left behind? She felt her throat tighten as she continued to stare at the shop window. They had had so much fun that afternoon....

  Abruptly Bella turned her bike around and rode on to Wainscoting and Windowseats. As she came through the door Phil emerged from the back of the shop. “You’re late,” he said.

  “Am I? Sorry.”

  Phil smiled. “Well, only by a few minutes.”

  “I went by The Bookworm.”

  Phil looked at his watch. “I shouldn’t have thought it was open yet.”

  “It wasn’t. I . . . Never mind.”

  Phil outlined Bella’s duties for the day and returned to the office to handle some paperwork. “Running a shop isn’t all fun and games,” he intoned. “There are a whole lot of nasty financial matters that need constant attention.”

  The first few customers were what Bella had already come to thin
k of as “the usuals,” by which she meant women somewhere between her mother’s and her grandmother’s age, very well dressed and wearing either sophisticated jewelry like delicate gold bracelets and diamond rings or arty jewelry like big, chunky necklaces and dangling earrings. But the fourth customer of the morning was not “a usual.” Bella thought she was probably younger than her mother, maybe thirty-five or so, and she was wearing a pair of cut-off jeans, a T-shirt, Crocs, and no jewelry whatsoever.

  “Hi,” the woman said brightly.

  It was only then that Bella saw she had a companion, a girl about six or seven with wild curly red hair. The girl stared at Bella with big, solemn green eyes.

  Bella barely managed a nod in reply to the woman’s greeting. The girl . . . She didn’t really look like Ariel except for the hair, but that one strong resemblance struck Bella as forcefully as a physical blow.

  “What . . .” Bella cleared her throat. “Can I help you?” she asked, uncomfortably aware that she felt slightly sick to her stomach. She tried to look away from the child but just couldn’t seem to.

  The woman smiled. “I know,” she said. “It’s the hair. People are always kind of amazed by it. This is my goddaughter, Cindy.”

  The child, Cindy, gave Bella a little wave. Bella opened her mouth to say something, anything, but not a word would come out.

  “Good morning!”

  Bella startled at the sound of Phil’s voice just behind her. “Can I help you find anything?” he asked the woman. “Bella, would you be a dear and reply to the e-mail on my screen. Thanks.”

  Gratefully Bella hurried to the office and sank into the chair at the smaller desk. That little girl . . . Bella took a few deep, slow breaths and gradually her stomach calmed. It was just because I was remembering the party at The Bookworm, she thought. It was just because Ariel was on my mind that I reacted so badly.

  A few minutes later she heard the door to the shop open and shut. Then Phil was standing before her. “You okay?” he asked. “She bought some candles, by the way.”

  “Yeah,” Bella said. “I’m okay. Thanks. I’m sorry I—”

  “No apologies.” Phil perched on the desk and smiled kindly at her. “So many things can call up the memories. Resemblances. An overheard word. A song. A chill in the air. Sometimes it feels there’s no escaping the past and all it meant to us, even for a moment.”

  Bella nodded. “Yeah.” She thought of her grandmother wanting them to make ice cream like she and Ariel used to do with their father. Bella didn’t see the point. Her father and sister weren’t coming back, no matter how many pints of ice cream they made.

  “You know,” Phil said brightly, “I’m throwing a Fourth of July party again this year. I’m going all out. I’m renting glassware and plates and utensils so I don’t have to spend days cleaning up afterward. There’ll be the usual feast and I found colored sparklers in addition to the traditional white. It might all be a bit showy, but everyone should be allowed one showy display in a lifetime. Maybe two.”

  Bella tried her best to feign enthusiasm. After all, Phil had rescued her from having to deal with that woman and the red-haired girl. And he had been sensitive enough to cancel last year’s party out of respect for her father and sister. “I’m sure it will be great,” she said. “Your best party yet.”

  Phil laughed. “It had better be, what with all it’s costing! Now, let’s get back to work. I spotted a tour bus on my way in this morning and I’m betting we’ll be inundated with browsers before long.”

  “Not buyers?” Bella asked.

  Phil sighed. “I’m afraid we’re a little pricey for the tour bus crowd. Still, we have to be pleasant.”

  Pleasant, Bella thought, getting up and following Phil out front. It used to be so easy to be bright and pleasant. But not so much anymore.

  Chapter 12

  Frieda had made eggplant stuffed with lamb and Mediterranean spices for dinner; Ruby’s contribution was a Caprese salad and a loaf of fresh sourdough bread. Ruby’s appetite was hearty, as was her daughter’s, but once again Bella seemed more interested in playing with her food than eating it.

  “How was work today?” Ruby asked her, though she didn’t expect much more than the usual one-word answer.

  “It was okay,” Bella said, glancing up briefly. “Busy.”

  “Being busy helps the time pass,” Ruby pointed out.

  Bella shrugged. “I guess.”

  “Well,” Frieda announced, “I’ve been busy thinking. I’d like to celebrate what would have been Ariel’s sixteenth birthday with a small party.”

  Ruby darted a look at her granddaughter. Bella had to have heard her mother’s words, but her expression remained unengaged. As for Ruby’s own expression, she hoped it didn’t reveal the extent of her discomfort. Her gut told her this was a bad idea, not the acknowledgment of Ariel’s birthday but the way in which Ruby’s daughter wanted to do it, with a party. “Are you sure that’s a good idea, Frieda?” she asked carefully.

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  Ruby thought hard about how to answer without sounding critical, but before she could speak Frieda had turned to her daughter.

  “Bella?” Frieda said. “What do you think?”

  “I think it’s macabre to have a birthday party for someone who’s dead,” Bella said flatly.

  Ruby was struck by her granddaughter’s use of the word macabre. It was a strong word, far stronger than silly or stupid or pointless.

  “Then let’s call it a celebration,” Frieda suggested. “A celebration of Ariel’s life. We didn’t mark the occasion last year.”

  “We couldn’t,” Ruby pointed out. “It was too soon, no matter what those grief counselors told us.”

  “All the more reason we need to do it now,” her daughter insisted.

  “Why, Mom?” Bella demanded. “Why do we need to do this? Why do we need to keep remembering out loud? You didn’t make me go to the memorial for Ariel at school back in April.”

  “I thought that would be too difficult for you, too public,” Frieda explained. “This will be just you, me, and Grandma. We’ll have a cake and we’ll make a toast to Ariel and we’ll share our most special memories of her. It will be a way of honoring her life. Of keeping her memory alive and with us.”

  “Maybe we could talk about this some other time,” Ruby said diplomatically. “Let the idea sink in.”

  Frieda opened her mouth to protest (Ruby assumed), but Bella spoke before she could.

  “Phil told me he’s doing the Fourth of July party again. He said it’s going to be better than ever.”

  Ruby nodded. “Yes. He mentioned it to me.”

  “I’m not really in the mood for parties.” Bella looked steadily at her mother. “Big or little.”

  “Well, we have to attend Phil’s party,” Ruby said firmly. “No two ways about it. He’d be hurt if one of us didn’t show up for any reason other than a bad case of the flu or . . .” Or a death, Ruby added silently. Phil had canceled last year’s party, only a few short months after Aaron’s and Ariel’s passing; the only other time he had canceled was soon after Tony’s dying, and that had been over thirty years ago. Death had a way of distorting everything, of interrupting and harassing the everyday. Yes, Ruby thought, she could understand Bella’s aversion to celebration all too well. There were times when celebration was cathartic. And there were times when it was . . . Well, when it was macabre.

  “You guys don’t have to do anything for Ariel’s celebration,” Frieda said into the silence. “I’ll handle it all.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Bella announced suddenly. “May I be excused?”

  Ruby bit her tongue.

  “All right,” Frieda said.

  Bella took her plate to the sink and then left the kitchen.

  When she had gone, Ruby turned to her daughter. “This party for Ariel. Just think about it a bit longer, okay?”

  Her daughter sighed. “I don’t know why you’re objecting so strongly to
this idea, Mom.”

  “Bella clearly isn’t happy about it and—”

  “And you’re the one who keeps telling me not to coddle her, to push her out of her shell.” Frieda laughed. “Now you’re saying I should abandon the idea of marking my child’s birthday because Bella isn’t in the mood?”

  “I’m sorry, Frieda,” Ruby said. “I’m not telling you to do or not to do anything. I’m just asking you to reconsider. Frankly, the idea of a party doesn’t sit well with me, either.”

  Frieda frowned down at her plate. “All right,” she said after a moment. “I’ll reconsider.”

  “Thank you,” Ruby said. “And thank you for cooking tonight. The meal is delicious.”

  Frieda nodded. Together the women finished their dinner in silence.

  Chapter 13

  It was a gloomy day, blustery, cold, and rainy. Bella wasn’t surprised she had met no one along the Marginal Way. She remembered what she had said to Phil the other day about liking gloom and what he had said about the sunshine being good as well. The problem with sunshine was that it made everything all so obvious and public and right in your face. It was way easier to hide and feel safe in gloom.

  Bella adjusted her baseball-style cap so that it sat lower over her eyes and shoved her hands into the pocket of her sweatshirt. The Marginal Way, located along the cliffs between Perkins Cove and Main Beach, was a dramatic spot in all weathers. Ariel had loved it here. She thought the gnarled pine trees were romantic; the colorful dragonflies in high summer exotic; the blue-green ocean expanding to the horizon inspiring. Ariel had been one of those people who could always find the exciting in the most mundane; she could transform every little detail of life into something spectacular. Frankly, sometimes it had gotten on Bella’s nerves. “What’s the big deal with a stupid piece of fruit?” she would ask when Ariel went into raptures about an apple at the farmers’ market. “Just look at its color!” Ariel would exclaim. “It’s the most intense red I’ve ever seen! Isn’t it gorgeous?” Well, Ariel’s enthusiasm for beauty was probably due to all that reading she used to do about art history. Her room had been plastered with postcards of famous paintings and statues and buildings.