Home for the Summer

by Holly Chamberlin

  Bella felt slightly disoriented. Clara’s room was so vastly different from her own room back in Massachusetts. There was not one photo of Ariel or her father on the dresser or walls or tucked into the frame of a mirror. There were no physical reminders of them at all. Bella needed it that way.

  “All these pictures,” she said. “They’re of Marc? The guy you told me about?”

  “Yeah. And look.” Clara opened the middle drawer of the narrow dresser. “These are some of the things he gave me over the years. Like this necklace. It’s an amethyst. And this little plush panda. I love pandas. Don’t you love pandas?”

  “They’re okay,” Bella said. “I like koalas better.”

  “And here,” Clara said. “This is a ticket stub from the first movie we ever saw together.”

  Bella almost laughed. “You kept a ticket stub? I lose those things the minute the ticket guy hands them back. Not that I go to the movies a lot.”

  “Of course I kept it,” Clara said. “I knew it would be important to me. To us. Sometimes it’s the littlest things that matter most in a romantic relationship, you know?”

  Bella nodded though in fact she didn’t have much to say about what was important or not in a romantic relationship, not ever having been in one. Sometimes she wondered if she would ever fall deeply in love. Then again, what was the point of being in love when anyone could be taken away in the blink of an eye like Ariel had been, or even if the person could choose to abandon you like Marc had abandoned Clara? For that matter, like her grandfather had abandoned her mother and grandmother.

  Bella pointed to a photo of Marc and Clara by a lake surrounded by pine trees. “Where was this taken?” she asked.

  “That’s at Marc’s parents’ vacation house on Lake Erie. They invited me two summers ago but not last summer.” Clara frowned. “Marc went with them for a week. It was the longest week of my life. I thought I’d go crazy without him.”

  It was only a week, Bella thought. I’ve lived over a year without my father and my sister. But what she said was: “You must have been happy when he got home.”

  “I was,” Clara said earnestly. “I was never happier in my entire life. Hey. Why don’t you drive? You’re old enough, right?”

  Bella hesitated. Clara was being open with her; maybe she could be open with Clara. “Back before the accident,” she said, “I couldn’t wait to get my license. But after . . . It’s no big deal. I get around okay.”

  Clara flopped down onto the bed. “There was a kid in my high school,” she said, “who was totally paralyzed in a car accident in his freshman year. I think he broke his back. Something about his spine, anyway. His cousin was driving. The cousin was drunk and he died after about a week.”

  Bella sat in the room’s sole chair. “That’s too bad,” she said. And then words just began to spill out of her mouth. “I know it’s crazy, but sometimes I ask myself why both my father and my sister had to die. I think, didn’t they know how hard it would be for Mom and me to get along without both of them? Okay, I know dying wasn’t Dad and Ariel’s fault. But then I wonder, whose fault was it? And what did I do to deserve losing both of them at the same time? What did my mother do to deserve that? None of it makes sense. I’m sort of a good person and my mother’s definitely a good person. So, why us? Why can’t anyone answer that question?”

  Clara shrugged. “I don’t know. Like you said, nothing makes sense. I was totally devoted to Marc. There was no reason for him to break up with me.”

  “Well, he probably had a reason. What was it?”

  Clara scowled. “It doesn’t matter. It didn’t make sense.”

  “That’s the weird thing in life,” Bella said. “More and more it feels like nothing makes any sense at all. So what’s the point in even trying to figure stuff out?”

  “I don’t know,” Clara said. “Maybe there is no point.”

  “I don’t know who to miss most,” Bella blurted. “Every time I start to think about how much I miss my father I feel guilty I’m not thinking about my sister. And when I’m missing my sister really bad I start feeling guilty that I’m not thinking about my father. I feel like I’m going crazy. I mean, I can’t blame Dad and Ariel for dying when and how they did, but sometimes I feel so mad at them. It makes no sense to be mad at dead people who didn’t ask to be dead, so I must be losing my mind.”

  Clara leaned toward Bella. “I know, right?” she said. “Sometimes I think I’m losing my mind, too. I mean, sometimes I look in the mirror and I think, who is that? It’s like I’m a totally different person than I was a few months ago. Hey, what did your sister look like?”

  “My sister was a bit taller than me and had this gorgeous red hair, just like Ariel in The Little Mermaid. She was way better looking than me. She was like a Disney princess. Most days lately I feel like The Beast.”

  “Can I see a picture of her?” Clara asked, ignoring Bella’s last comment. “You must have pictures on your phone.”

  “No,” Bella said abruptly. “What I mean is there are no pictures on my phone. They got . . . they got lost.” It was a lie. The photos were there. It was just that she hadn’t been able to look at them in a while.

  Bella got up and walked over to a photograph of Clara and Marc wearing matching Yankees sweatshirts. “I’ve never had a boyfriend,” she said. “I mean, I like guys, but after my father and sister died I kind of lost interest in going out with anyone.” Bella laughed a bit embarrassedly. “I’ve never even been on a date.”

  “Really?” Clara sighed. “I was so lucky when Marc chose me. I mean, he’s perfect. He’s gorgeous—well, you can see that!—and he’s smart and he played trombone in the jazz band and he’s going to be a lawyer someday. He could have had any girl in town, but he picked me.”

  Bella seriously doubted anyone was ever perfect, but what she said was: “So, were you guys having sex?”

  “Yeah,” Clara said. “Since we were sixteen. We had to keep it from our parents and that was sometimes tough; Marc and I almost got caught once on the daybed in his parents’ basement. But it was worth sneaking around. We were in love. We are in love, no matter what Marc says. We’ll be together forever and he’ll be the only guy I’ll ever sleep with. We grew up together. We have to spend the rest of our lives together! It makes sense that we do. Marc will see that someday.” And then Clara added, very quietly, “I have to believe that he will.”

  Bella sighed and sank back into the sole chair. “You know,” she said, “I thought Ariel would be my maid of honor someday. I thought my father would walk me down the aisle. But that’s not going to happen now.”

  “Stupid bitch,” Clara muttered.

  Bella felt as if she had been slapped. “What!” she cried.

  Clara waved her hand. “Not you, sorry. Don’t you hear that singing?”

  “Oh. Yeah. One of your housemates?”

  “Yeah. She never stops singing those stupid show tunes from those stupid old musicals! It drives me nuts. All of my housemates are such idiots.”

  Bella listened intently for a moment. “Her voice is pretty good.”

  Clara shrugged. “Whatever. You don’t have to live with it.”

  Maybe not, Bella thought, but there were far worse things than listening to show tunes. Still, Bella could understand Clara’s being touchy. She had been like that for a while last summer; every little thing anyone said had made her want to scream. The whole world had seemed one colossal annoyance. She had even snapped at her grief counselor. She had apologized and Colleen had accepted her apology, but Bella had felt bad about her behavior for weeks. Somehow she had moved past that stage of being angry at the world. But were the feelings of dullness and apathy that had been oppressing her since the anniversary of her father’s and sister’s deaths any better?

  “You know,” she said suddenly, “I never thought that something really bad would happen to me or my family. Tragedy was something that happened to other people. Other people got cancer or were raped or got caught i
n terrorist bombings or died in car wrecks.” Bella shook her head. “And then my grief counselor told me that sort of thinking is typical of teenagers. Teenagers feel invulnerable, she said. They think they’re going to live forever and that all their friends and family will live forever with them.”

  Clara frowned. “But that’s not the way it happens, is it?”

  “No,” Bella said. “It’s not. The car accident knocked those stupid ideas out of me in a big way. Now there are days when all I can think about is the fact that someday I’m going to die. Me. Dead. I’ll totally cease to exist. I think: How is that possible? And it’s also possible that I might die a horrible death like my sister did. She really wanted to go to Europe. One lousy trip to London or wherever. Was that too much for her to ask from her time on this planet?”

  Clara sighed. “Why can’t things be the way we want them to be?”

  “Because life just doesn’t work that way, that’s why.” Like, Bella thought, you want to be with Marc. He wants not to be with you, no matter what you think. Someone wins and someone loses. “Hey,” she said. “You want to come over to my grandmother’s house for dinner sometime? She’s an awesome griller. And she makes really good tomato sauce from scratch.”

  “No, thanks,” Clara said quickly. “I mean, meeting other people’s family makes me nervous. Especially parents and grandparents.”

  “Well,” she said, “if you change your mind.”

  Clara smiled a bit. “Maybe. Damn. What time is it?”

  Bella checked her phone. “It’s almost two o’clock.”

  “I’ve got to be at work in half an hour. Sorry, Bella. Look, can we get together again?”

  “Yeah,” Bella said. “Sure.”

  “Cool.” Clara grabbed her bag off the top of the dresser and Bella followed her out of the cottage. “Thanks for coming over,” Clara said as she slid behind the wheel of her car.

  Bella waved as Clara drove off, and then she got on her bike. Clara’s okay, she thought as she rode off in the direction of home. She was kind of odd—what had Clara said about them on the Marginal Way, that they were both nuts?—but that was fine. Two nutty troubled people could probably get along pretty well for a summer, Bella thought. They might even become friends. Anything could happen. Bella had learned that the hard way.

  Chapter 19

  “This is my favorite clam shack,” Jack said as he and Frieda took seats at a picnic table overlooking the ocean. “The food’s about the same as at The Clamshell in town, but the view is unbeatable.”

  Frieda smiled. “Agreed. And I haven’t been to The Razor Clam in years, so this was a perfect choice.” In fact, Frieda thought, the last time she had been here was with Aaron, Ariel, and Bella the summer before the accident. It had been a gusty afternoon and keeping the paper plates and cups anchored on the table had been a chore. There had been, Frieda remembered, much laughter.

  “So, what’s been going on since we last spoke?” Jack asked.

  “Well,” Frieda said. “I guess the biggest news is that my father called to talk to me. It’s a first since he left us. He and my mother talk on occasion, but as for me . . .”

  “Wow. That is news. What did he want? If that’s not being too personal.”

  “I’m not sure what he wanted,” Frieda admitted. “He said the spirit had moved him to call. He asked if Phil was giving his annual Independence Day party and then he asked if we could speak again.”

  “What did you tell him?” Jack asked.

  “I told him yes, but honestly, I’m not so sure.” Frieda waved her hand dismissively. “Sorry. Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about. Listen, that’s our number. I’ll go.”

  While Jack went up to the shack to get their orders, Frieda wondered what had moved her to tell him about her father’s call. Maybe, she thought, it’s because Jack and I go back so far. It’s almost as if he’s a brother. Almost, she amended, but not quite.

  Jack rejoined her balancing two red plastic trays laden with food and drink.

  “Impressive,” Frieda said as he placed the trays on the table without sloshing the waters or sending the onion rings skidding.

  “I waited tables in college. I hated it, but hey, it was a job. I had a few scholarships, but my parents weren’t in a position to help much with the financial stuff. In terms of their emotional support, they were great.” Jack smiled. “I guess I’m one of the lucky ones. I never hated my parents.”

  “Probably because you never had cause to hate them.”

  “That doesn’t stop a lot of people from turning against the mother or father who raised them,” Jack pointed out.

  “That’s true,” Frieda said. Her father had certainly given her just cause to turn against him, but to actually hate him? Hate was just too ugly and exhausting. “I guess I’m one of the lucky ones, too,” she added. “I’m eternally grateful to my mother for all she’s done for me. For all she’s still doing by having Bella and me here this summer.”

  “What else are you grateful for?” Jack asked. “I’m not trying to get all spiritual or anything; it’s just that since Veronica died I’ve become pretty focused on the idea of gratitude. On identifying and acknowledging the good stuff in life. Frankly, it helps keep me sane.”

  Frieda took a bite of her lobster roll before she answered. “At the risk of sounding grim,” she said, “I’m thankful for the three passersby who pulled Aaron and Ariel from the wreckage before it burst into flames. I wanted so badly to thank them personally for risking their lives trying to save two complete strangers, but I was told that once the ambulance came the Good Samaritans melted away into the crowd. And by that time there really was a crowd, gawkers and ghouls all staring at my poor husband and daughter.”

  “It’s an unfortunate human tendency to need to connect to a tragedy,” Jack said. “Most people don’t mean any disrespect. And I don’t think most people get a kick out of witnessing someone else’s misfortune.”

  “I know, but . . .” Frieda shook her head. “It’s hard not to imagine the scene.”

  “I know. Hey, can I tell you my Good Samaritan story?”

  “Please do.”

  “There was a volunteer at the hospice named Matt,” Jack said. “He was young, in his early twenties I’d guess. Anyway, one day Veronica mentioned that she used to love listening to the Allman Brothers instrumental song ‘Little Martha’ and that she hadn’t heard it for ages. So the next day Matt brought in an old boom box and a CD copy of the original album on which the song appeared. I can’t tell you how happy that made Veronica, and that a virtual stranger could be so loving to my wife is something I’ll never forget. Luckily, I had the chance to express my thanks.”

  “That’s something most of us don’t do often enough in life, I think,” Frieda said. “Express gratitude for all the little things other people do for us. Saying thank you when someone holds a door for you, or when someone lets you go ahead of him on line because you only have a carton of milk and he has a cart full of groceries. Saying thank you when someone makes your favorite meal even though he’s absolutely exhausted.” Frieda smiled. “Aaron was big on gratitude. And he was very good about teaching the girls how to be thankful.”

  Jack grimaced. “I know this makes me sound ancient, but given my job I spend a lot of time around young people, and too many of them have this air of entitlement, like they expect special treatment as their due. There’s a lack of basic politeness and appreciation for the effort other people are making on their behalf.” Jack laughed. “Okay, wow, I really am becoming a grumpy old man!”

  “I hope I’m not guilty of raising a rude child,” Frieda said. “I don’t think that I am. Aaron and I both tried to make the girls feel valued and respected and loved. At the same time we tried to instill in them a work ethic and a sense of responsibility to others.” Frieda shook her head. “It’s bad enough that Bella lost her sister, but to have lost her father, too. He was such a good role model. Let’s j
ust say nothing is the way I hoped it would be.”

  Jack reached across the table and gently laid his hand on Frieda’s for a moment. “You can’t count on anything being the way you hoped it would be,” he said. “You’ll go crazy unless you accept that. Believe me, I almost did go crazy at times during Veronica’s illness. I’d count on a procedure being successful or a drug working the way it was supposed to work and then something altogether different would happen and I’d be left practically wailing to the heavens.”

  Frieda smiled sympathetically. “It must have been so awful.”

  “It was,” he replied. “But it got a little easier once I really accepted the fact of Veronica’s illness. Once I let go of the almost frantic determination that things would be well in the end. Once I really let go.”

  “Of hope?” Frieda asked.

  “Not of hope,” Jack said firmly. “Of expectations of a particular outcome.”

  “That makes an awful lot of sense. We’re asked to bear so much in this life, aren’t we? We’re asked to be so brave, day after day after day. How do we do it? How does anyone manage to get through? How does anyone manage to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think anyone knows, and that makes the act of living pretty heroic and wonderful in my opinion.”

  Frieda smiled. “You’re an optimist, Jack Tennant.”

  “Not so much an optimist as a realist. For every lousy thing about being alive there’s a wonderful thing. Maybe two wonderful things!” Jack smiled. “Okay, maybe I am an optimist.”

  “I like that about you, Jack,” Frieda told him. “More than ever in my life I need to be around optimistic people.”

  “Good. Now, if you’re not going to eat that last onion ring . . .”