Home for the Summer

by Holly Chamberlin

  There was no way Bella was going to watch what might happen next. “I’ve got to go,” she blurted. “I’m late for—” She didn’t bother to finish the sentence but hurried out into the hall.

  “Close the door!” Clara called, but Bella pretended not to have heard and kept going. When she was out the front door of the cottage she suddenly bent over and retched. She was afraid. She was disgusted. She wanted to be home. Bella wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and ran toward her bike.

  * * *

  The laptop was a hand-me-down from her mother; it wasn’t the fastest machine, but it was fine for idling through Facebook or her favorite blogs—or, like now, for doing research. If for some reason her mother or grandmother checked the laptop’s online search history Bella could quite honestly say that she had been curious to know more about the heroin crisis; the news sources had been reporting on it for the past few years. And the news sources had also been claiming an alarmingly high percentage of accidental heroin overdoses.

  Bella glanced again at the door of her room to be certain she had firmly shut it behind her. She wasn’t quite sure where to start her research but quickly found that information was aplenty, like the fact that heroin was sometimes cut with seriously harmful substances such as talcum powder and strychnine. There were so many dangers, not the least of which was the risk of contracting HIV from using a dirty needle. One in four people who used heroin would become addicted. Addiction could come on suddenly or over a prolonged period of time. An overdose could easily kill a person.

  The facts were scary enough, but it was the “Before” and “After” photos of people addicted to heroin that really shook Bella. Sometimes the radical change in their appearance—and health—had taken place in mere months. One “After” picture in particular, that of a young man, elicited in Bella a feeling of disgust. Immediately she felt ashamed. It wasn’t this guy’s fault that he looked so ravaged and frail. It was the fault of the drug. It was the fault of whoever had sold it to him. It was the fault of whoever was at the top of the whole mess, manufacturing the drug for illegal sale.

  Suddenly Bella couldn’t take any more. She shut the laptop and looked around the beautiful room her grandmother had created for her granddaughters. The contrast between this room, with its rosy pink walls and pretty lace curtains, and Clara’s room at the cottage could not be more powerful. Here was safety and peace; there was danger and threat. Here was order and cleanliness; there was chaos and dirt. I have it so good, Bella thought. I have so very much.

  And she didn’t want to risk losing all she had by spending time with someone who was using illegal drugs. She was glad she had flushed that pill down the toilet. She would never smoke pot again. She would never see Clara again.

  But Bella’s conscience pricked at her. Didn’t she owe Clara a degree of loyalty and friendship? She had decided yesterday at the beach that she would try to listen and to help, but maybe it was too late for the kind of help she could offer. Still, except for her Clara was on her own in Yorktide.

  Bella got up from the desk and walked to the window. She looked out at the perfectly mowed lawn and the beds of well-tended flowers. A blue jay flew onto the rim of the stone birdbath and dipped its beak into the water her grandmother refreshed daily. It was an idyllic scene for sure, but not idyllic enough to calm Bella’s troubled spirit. She wished she knew how to get in touch with Clara’s parents. Maybe the guy who owned The Flipper, Clara’s boss, had their contact information. But he would ask why Bella wanted Clara’s personal information, and what could she say without betraying Clara? And would it be right to rat on Clara to her parents? They had, after all, sent their daughter away from home this summer. Maybe they were glad she was gone.

  A strange thought suddenly occurred to Bella as she watched the blue jay fly off. What had prompted Clara to approach her that rainy afternoon on the Marginal Way? What if Clara had known or sensed that Bella was someone she could . . . Someone she could use? What if a local had mentioned Bella’s story to Clara in passing, pointing her out as the girl who had lost both her father and sister in one fell swoop? Had Clara ever cared for her at all, or was Bella just someone she had targeted for her usefulness, someone to support her in her downward spiral of misery? Someone who would be an enabler.

  Bella turned away from the view of her grandmother’s pleasant backyard. No, she thought. That seemed a bit far-fetched. Clara didn’t seem to be thinking clearly about anything and it would take some clarity of mind to seek out someone vulnerable enough to unwittingly aid you in your journey of self-destruction.

  “What a mess,” Bella said aloud; she thought she had never felt so frustrated by a situation in her life. “What a stupid mess!”

  Chapter 63

  “Her behavior could have put someone at risk, so I had no choice but to report her misconduct to her boss.” George sighed. “Even though she needed to be reprimanded I felt like a heel, like one of those obnoxious, teacher’s pet type kids in middle school who were always ratting on their classmates.”

  “Listen to this.” Ruby looked up from the local paper opened on the kitchen table before her. “There’s a Blue Grass Festival next week in Saco. How did I miss that? I bet Frieda and Bella would enjoy it.”

  “Did you hear any of what I just said?” George asked.

  Ruby felt her stomach drop as a vivid memory of George chatting with the beautiful and animated Peggy Smithson flashed across her mind. “No,” she admitted. “I’m sorry, George. It’s just . . .”

  “It’s just that you were thinking about Frieda and Bella. I know.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ruby repeated. “Really. Tell me what you were saying. I promise I’ll listen.”

  George sighed and took a seat across from Ruby at the table. “It wasn’t important,” he said. “Look, maybe I’m speaking out of turn, but I feel I have to say this. Don’t hide behind your duty to your family, Ruby. Caring for them shouldn’t prevent you from caring for me—or for yourself. There’s always enough love to go around.”

  Ruby couldn’t manage a response. She felt tears prick her eyes, tears of fear and shame.

  “For the three years I took care of my father,” George went on, “I still had plenty of time for our relationship. If you don’t want to grow old with me, I understand. I won’t be happy about it, but I can accept it. But please, Ruby, be honest with me.”

  “I’m scared, George,” Ruby admitted, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I’m scared of getting married.”

  George leaned across the table and put his hand on hers. “Don’t you trust me? Don’t you believe that I love you?”

  “I do, I really do, but—”

  “But what?” George took his hand off hers. “You do or you don’t, Ruby.”

  “I do trust you,” she insisted. “And I do believe in your love for me.”

  “Then what’s stopping you from saying yes, you’ll marry me? Please, Ruby, explain it to me. We’ve been over this before and I still don’t understand. Okay, I know that Steve hurt you badly, but that was a long time ago and I’m not Steve Hitchens.”

  Ruby sighed. “Just give me a bit more time, please, George.”

  There was a long moment of silence during which Ruby wondered if she had pushed her luck too far. And then George said, “Of course you can have more time. I’m invested in this, Ruby. I’m invested in us. I’ve said this before—I’m not walking away unless you tell me to go. I’m a stubborn old goat; I think you know that.”

  Ruby managed a smile, as did George, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. She got up from her chair and went to him. She put her arms around him tightly. “I love you, George Hastings,” she said, “and that’s a fact.” And why, she thought, can’t that be enough?

  “I love you, too, Ruby.” George stood, kissed the top of her head, and took his leave without another word.

  When he had gone Ruby sank back into her chair and pushed the newspaper aside. This is getting ridiculous, she
thought. If she was honest with herself she could admit to seeing no obvious downside to marrying George. In fact, marriage might very well strengthen the union they had already built. Until George, Ruby had never been part of a team; in her marriage to Steve she had been the undisputed leader, if by default. But to formalize that union, to give official blessing to that team, would make its potential demise that much more horrible to bear.

  Ruby took a deep breath. She wondered what would happen if she suggested to George that they simply live together without what in the old days was referred to as “the benefit of marriage.” She suspected the idea would not be welcome. If living together were what George wanted he would not have proposed marriage. There was a difference; a choice could be made. So, what then? In spite of George’s protestations of devotion, Ruby felt there was a strong possibility that he would end the relationship if she said no to marriage, and that was not what she wanted. And if George was somehow able to carry on seeing her, maybe even to move in with her, would she be comfortable, knowing she had denied the man she loved something so important to his happiness?

  Ruby put her hand to her head. It was a big stupid muddle and Ruby didn’t like muddles, especially ones she had created. She didn’t like them at all.

  Chapter 64

  “Thanks again, Mom, for suggesting this.”

  Frieda glanced over at her daughter as she turned off the engine of the Subaru. “I thought we could use an excursion. Portland seemed as good a destination as any. Lunch first?” she suggested as they climbed out of the car.

  “Yes! Do you want to go to Andie’s?” Bella asked.

  “If you’d like, sure.” Andie’s Wharf had been a Braithwaite family favorite since the girls were small. Frieda thought it was a good sign that Bella didn’t feel the need to avoid revisiting the restaurant. Together they headed down to Commercial Street, that wide thoroughfare bordered on one side by the water. The traffic was heavy and slow moving as it always was in summer and the sidewalks teemed with vacationers, many of them speaking French Canadian.

  “We haven’t been to Portland in a long time,” Bella noted.

  “You’re right. Not since before the accident.”

  “There’s all this new stuff going on. Nothing ever stays the same, does it?”

  “No,” Frieda said. “It doesn’t. Well, feelings can sometimes remain unchanged. I mean, fundamentally unchanged. Feelings like love.”

  “Yeah,” Bella said. “I guess that’s true. Look, this is the place Phil asked me to check out. Arabesque. He said he thought it might turn out to be fierce competition. I was like, ‘How can I tell if it’s going to be competition when I’ve only just learned to tell the difference between chintz and brocade?’”

  Frieda laughed. “What did he say?”

  “He said, ‘Do your best, Bella.’ So I guess we should go in.”

  Frieda followed her daughter into the high-end home decorating shop, where they were greeted by an overwhelming scent of very sweet flowers.

  “There’s no way this place can seriously threaten Wainscoting and Windowseats,” Bella whispered after she had taken a quick walk around the shop. “They’ve only got like three kinds of doorknobs. What’s that about? Phil’s got fifteen! And what’s with that smell? It’s too strong. It’s going to put customers off.”

  “The selection of home decorating books is pretty nice, though,” Frieda remarked.

  Bella frowned. “Phil’s selection is much better. It’s more wide-ranging. Come on. I’ve seen enough.”

  Frieda held back a smile and followed her daughter out of the shop. To think that Bella, of all people, was becoming a bit of a retail snob was pretty amusing.

  Andie’s Wharf was located across the street on an actual wharf long since out of commercial use. Frieda and Bella found a table on the restaurant’s upper deck overlooking twenty or so leisure boats at dock. They ordered and sat back to wait for their meal.

  “Remember the boat tour we went on in Jamaica,” Bella said, “the one that took us to that spectacular waterfall? The scenery was so different than it is here. I remember Ariel calling the landscape fecund and I thought it was a bad word until she explained.”

  Frieda smiled. “Yes,” she said. “I remember.”

  Bella pointed to the water below. “The tour boat was kind of like that one there, the one with the blue awning.”

  “You’re right,” Frieda agreed. “It was. There are reminders everywhere, aren’t there?”

  “Yeah.” Bella cleared her throat as the waitress placed their meals on the table. “Good,” she said. “I’m starved. I love the fried calamari here.”

  “The sauce is a little too spicy for me,” Frieda admitted. “But the fish-and-chips are always perfect.”

  They ate for a while in companionable silence. Finally, Frieda introduced a subject she had been considering for some time. “I never apologized to you for going ahead with the party to celebrate what would have been Ariel’s sixteenth. Or for getting angry that night. So I’ll say it now. I’m sorry.”

  Bella smiled a bit wryly. “That’s okay. I wasn’t exactly calm, cool, and collected, was I?”

  “Do you remember how Colleen and Charlie talked about how anniversaries could cause trauma for survivors?” Frieda asked her daughter. “They explained that grief could come rushing to the fore again, making you feel as raw as you did at the time of the tragedy.”

  “Yeah,” Bella said. “I remember.”

  “With that in mind I felt so strongly that keeping you from attending the school’s memorial for Ariel back in April was the right thing to do. I really believed the event would only serve to tighten your grip on the feelings of loss and loneliness and guilt, all those feelings you had begun to release but that seemed to be torturing you again. And I think I made a good call.” Frieda paused. “But then, when Ariel’s birthday came around, I felt so sure that to mark the occasion was the right thing to do. I felt it was the necessary thing for us both. But I was wrong.”

  “It’s okay, Mom,” Bella said, wiping her hands on her napkin. “I was the one with the problem, not you. Colleen told me once that for some people, constantly memorializing someone’s death was a way for them to keep stuck in their grief. She said that some people needed to do things to keep them feeling sad because the idea of feeling happy was too frightening. But I guess for me it was kind of the other way around. Celebrating Ariel’s birthday felt like letting go of guilt I thought I still deserved to feel. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes. I understand that now,” Frieda assured her. “I just wish I had understood at the time.”

  Bella shook her head. “Back in early April I started to think, oh my God, how am I going to get through the anniversary of the day that wrecked everything without totally going crazy? I didn’t plan on losing what progress I had made. It just sort of happened. The guilt was so bad . . . I kept hearing myself laughing at Ariel and calling her a dork for wanting to go to that museum. I kept remembering how I hadn’t really told Dad how much I appreciated his taking us on my dream vacation. And as the anniversary got nearer and nearer I felt worse and worse.” Bella laughed a bit. “Did I even get out of bed that day?”

  “I heard you use the bathroom once,” Frieda told her with a smile.

  “How did you handle it, Mom? Was it awful?”

  “It wasn’t a great day, no,” Frieda admitted. “But I was so worried about you that in a way my own feelings of sadness took a backseat.”

  “I’m sorry I scared you.”

  “It’s nothing for which to apologize,” Frieda assured her. “We feel what we feel. Bella, do you think our coming to live with Grandma in Maine this summer has been a good idea?”

  “I think so, yeah,” Bella said. “I wasn’t sure at first, especially when she told me I had to have a job! But I actually like working at Phil’s. He gets some really whacky customers, like this one woman the other day who had one of those ridiculously little dogs with her.”

 
“What was whacky about that?”

  “Uh, the dog was wearing a dress and a hat and sunglasses. She introduced the dog as her daughter, Patricia Ann. Patricia Ann is a Libra.”

  Frieda laughed. “I’m glad you’re having fun while making money. You are putting some of it away, aren’t you?”

  “Of course,” Bella said. “In fact, I’m hardly spending any of it. Grandma keeps making me lunches so I don’t have to pay for a sandwich at some ridiculously high-priced tourist place.”

  “Don’t you and Clara spend money when you go out?” Frieda asked. “It’s pretty hard not to spend money these days.”

  Bella took a long sip of her soda before answering. “Mostly we just talk,” she said.

  “I wish we could meet her. Is she really so shy she feels she can’t come over for dinner some evening?”

  Again, it was a moment before Bella replied. “I’m not so sure it’s that she’s shy as much as she’s kind of awkward sometimes. I mean, I have the feeling she doesn’t really get along with her housemates.”

  “But you like her?” Frieda asked. Their waitress brought the check to the table and Frieda reached for her bag.

  Bella shrugged. “You know me, Mom. I can get along with pretty much anyone.”

  “But there must be something about Clara that attracts you,” Frieda went on, “something that keeps you spending time with her. I don’t mean to pry, really. But I’m your mother. I’m allowed to be curious.”

  “OMG! Mom, look at that puppy!” Bella cried. And indeed a young woman had taken a seat at the next table accompanied by an adorable pug puppy. Frieda suspected that Bella had used the arrival of the dog as a way to avoid answering the questions about Clara. But maybe it didn’t matter.

  When Bella returned to her seat, Frieda said, “I’m so glad we’re talking again, I mean really talking. When you began to pull away back in April I felt so scared and helpless. I probably should have given you no choice about continuing to see Colleen. I’m afraid I’ve made more than one bad judgment call in the past months.”