Home for the Summer

by Holly Chamberlin

  Bella shrugged. “Okay. I don’t think she’s really a friend, though.”

  “Oh.”

  “In fact,” Bella went on, a bit surprised that she was, “I’ve decided not to see her anymore. She’s . . . She’s not at all like me. Not really.”

  “Sometimes opposites attract,” Phil pointed out.

  “Yeah, but not this time.”

  “Well,” Phil said, “you know what’s best for you. Now, it’s time to open up. Can’t keep the customers waiting.”

  “Especially not when it’s Mr. Abbott,” Bella whispered. “He’s been pacing outside for the past five minutes.”

  Phil winced as he walked toward the door. “What a way to start the day,” he muttered. “A visit from Arrogant Adam Abbott.”

  Chapter 80

  The girl who opened the door of the cottage was wearing her waitstaff uniform of white shirt and black pants. Bella hadn’t seen her before; maybe this was Julie. “I’m here to see Clara,” she said. “Is she in?”

  The girl laughed. “I didn’t know she had any friends other than those losers she’s been hanging around with after her shifts.”

  The druggies, Bella thought. Those are the people she means.

  “So, is she in?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” The girl stepped back to allow Bella into the cottage. “I’m off for work and Leah will be leaving soon, too, so if you and Clara go out, lock the front door, okay? Clara’s not great about remembering stuff like that.”

  Bella nodded and walked on to Clara’s room. The door wasn’t quite closed and it opened a few inches with the force of her gentle knock. “It’s me,” she called out. “Can I come in?”

  There was a dry cough, followed by a grunt that Bella chose to interpret as a yes. She pushed the door fully open and stepped inside. Clara was leaning against the window frame, staring out, arms folded across her stomach. She was wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt with a large stain down one side. Her cut-off jean shorts hung low on her bony hips. Her hair was pulled into a messy knot at the top of her head. Bella was shocked by the rapid deterioration Clara had undergone in just a few days. Shocked and dismayed. For a moment she wondered if she had the courage to do what she had come here to do. But did she really have a choice? Her being Clara’s companion hadn’t helped Clara at all, had it? If anything, Bella thought, she might unwittingly have encouraged Clara’s decline.

  Bella closed the door behind her. “What are you looking at?”

  Clara didn’t turn from the window. “Nothing,” she said.

  Bella considered sitting in the room’s one chair and then thought better of it. Standing might help her feel brave enough to accomplish this act of self-preservation. “Clara,” she began, “we need to talk about something.”

  Clara slowly turned her gaze from the window and looked at Bella. Her eyes had an awful hollow look. “What?” she asked.

  Bella took a deep breath. “We need to talk about our—about our relationship.”

  “What about it?” Clara asked.

  “I . . . I can’t be your friend any longer, Clara. I mean, I can’t spend time with you.”

  For a long moment Clara didn’t move or speak. Finally, she pushed off the window frame, let her arms drop from around her stomach, and shook her head. “Why?” she asked.

  “Because,” Bella said carefully, “your behavior is self-destructive and it bothers me.”

  Clara laughed a bit wildly. “What do you mean self-destructive? I swore I wouldn’t kill myself.”

  “Yes,” Bella said, “I know, and that makes me happy, Clara; it does. But you haven’t stopped using heroin, have you?”

  Clara didn’t answer, which was answer enough for Bella. “It makes me sad to see you using that stuff,” she said. “Heroin is bad news, Clara. Nothing good ever comes of it. I can’t be a party to your drug use anymore.”

  “I’m fine,” Clara protested, again crossing her arms against her stomach. “Everything’s under control.”

  “No,” Bella argued, “you’re not fine and everything is not under control. It’s obvious you’ve lost a lot of weight. Are you even eating? When was the last time you took a shower? You’re going to lose your job if you don’t shape up.”

  “I don’t care about the stupid job.”

  Clara took a step back and again leaned against the window frame. Bella wondered if Clara was too weak to stand unsupported. “I really think you should tell your parents how miserable you are,” she said. “I think you should go back home so they can help you. I can’t help you, Clara. I tried, honestly I did, but I never could succeed. I don’t know how.”

  Suddenly Clara became agitated. She began to scratch her arms so intensely Bella could hear the rasp of dry skin under her nails. “You’re abandoning me!” Clara cried.

  “No! That’s not it. It’s . . .” Bella put her hand to her forehead. “It’s not abandonment. It’s that I need to really get past the grief and guilt that have been haunting me since my father and sister died. And that’s not going to happen if I continue to hang out with you. I know that.” Bella paused before going on in a softer voice. “I’m not saying you’re a bad person or that I don’t like you. Believe me.”

  Clara dropped her hands to her sides; Bella saw the raw red marks her nails had made on her forearms. “You can’t leave me,” Clara said dully. “Everybody leaves me. Go home to my parents? Really? They didn’t want me around; I told you, they were the ones who sent me away. I have no one, Bella, no one but you.”

  Just like she once had no one but Marc, Bella thought. “I’m sorry about that,” she said gently. “I really am.”

  Suddenly Clara stumbled over to the unmade bed and sank onto the mattress. She sat with shoulders hunched and her hands clasped between her bony knees. “You’re right,” she said, and in her voice Bella thought she heard a note of resignation—or maybe, just maybe, it was a note of realization. “I’m in trouble. I promise I’ll call my parents tonight.”

  “Why not right now?” Bella suggested.

  Clara shook her head. “They’re at work.”

  “You’re their daughter, Clara. They’ll talk to you at any time, especially if you tell them it’s important.”

  “I’ll call tonight,” Clara said more firmly.

  Bella restrained a sigh. “All right.” There didn’t seem to be anything else to say but good-bye. Bella turned and walked to the door, the back of which was covered with pictures of Marc. Marc on his own. Marc with Clara. Only weeks earlier Bella had thought Clara’s devotion to her former boyfriend sort of romantic. How wrong she had been. “Take care of yourself, Clara,” she said without turning back.

  Clara didn’t reply and Bella left the room to make her way to the front door. She heard noises from the kitchen and she wondered if any of Clara’s housemates knew what Clara was doing to herself. She wondered how they would feel about having a user of illegal drugs share their summer home. Then again, for all Bella knew one of Clara’s housemates might be the one supplying the heroin; one might be a user herself.

  Bella put her hand on the doorknob but did not immediately open the door. She felt guilty about walking away from Clara, so clearly a troubled person. But she also felt relieved. In breaking away from Clara she had given her own sanity and recovery priority. It felt like a mature thing to have done. Difficult but mature. Dad and Ariel would have approved, she thought. Finally, she opened the door of the cottage and with tears in her eyes she headed back to her grandmother’s house. Her home for the summer.

  Chapter 81

  Ruby stripped the final leaves and silk from the tenth ear of corn she had bought at her favorite farm stand. If she tended to binge on corn in the summer it was perfectly understandable. Get it while the getting was good was a motto shared by all locavores.

  After filling a big pot with water and putting it on the stove to boil, Ruby went back to the sink and looked out of the window over it. There was George; he had come by to drop off a promised cutting from
his garden and to mow the lawn, which he was now doing. Ruby smiled. He was wearing his goofy sun hat and those dreadful old cargo shorts he refused to toss in the trash though they were permanently stained with green paint and who knew what else and the hem of the left leg was shredded. “They’re perfect for working,” he argued, and of course he was right. Ruby still thought they looked awful.

  She watched as George guided the mower around the Japanese maple tree. She had been thinking about the conversation with her former husband the other evening. Steve had told her she deserved to be happy. He had tried to take the blame for her fear and distrust of marriage. He had told her that he loved her still. To have Steve’s blessing regarding her relationship with George felt like a gift of sorts, and the fact of her ongoing relationship with her ex-husband seemed like a bit of a miracle. Maybe, Ruby thought now, it was also a message. Maybe the message was that love was worth whatever risk it entailed and all love involved a certain amount of risk. That’s just the way it was and if you didn’t like it you might as well go off and be a hermit in the desert.

  What is wrong with me? Ruby thought as she watched George shut off the mower and wipe his forehead with the back of his gloved hand. I’ve been such an incredible fool! Even though she had kept George on tenterhooks this summer, avoiding giving him an answer to a terribly important question, he still mowed her lawn and brought her cuttings from his garden and agreed to be a guinea pig in her ice-cream experiment. Even though in the past year and a half he had been witness to her daughter and granddaughter’s difficult and sometimes self-absorbed passage through grief, he had never wavered in his devotion to any member of the family. He loves me, Ruby thought, her heart flooding with feelings of affection, and he shows it in the most important and meaningful ways—through service. He gives of himself to me and mine. Of course I’ll marry this man—if he’ll still have me!

  Ruby dashed to the door of the mudroom and out into the yard. George looked quizzically at her, but before he could say a word she threw her arms around him and buried her face against his neck. “Yes,” she whispered fiercely. “Yes, I will marry you. Please say you’ll have me as your wife.”

  “Of course I will,” George said, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the top of her head. “Thank you, Ruby,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “I should be thanking you,” Ruby said, pulling away a bit so she could see his face. His dear face! “You have more patience than Job. I promise I’ll never take advantage of it again.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.” George laughed. “So, what made you finally come to a decision?”

  Ruby smiled slyly. “You’re the hottest guy I’ve ever known.”

  “Prove it. Though I am pretty sweaty at the moment.”

  “I don’t care if you’re sweaty or if you never throw those disgusting shorts in the garbage.” And as Ruby kissed the man she loved she realized she was perfectly and one hundred percent happy.

  Chapter 82

  Frieda had made a cold pasta salad for dinner with sliced red and green peppers, chopped hard-boiled egg, celery, and tuna, tossed with a garlicky mayonnaise dressing. On the side she served a green salad and a loaf of bread from Bread and Roses. For dessert there was blueberry pie.

  Frieda watched curiously as her mother ate with more than her usual gusto. Between swallows she smiled beamingly on her daughter and granddaughter, and when Bella related a humorous anecdote about a customer who had come into Phil’s shop earlier that day Ruby had practically screamed with laughter. “You look like the cat who discovered the cream, Mom,” Frieda said at last. “What’s going on?”

  Ruby shrugged. “Nothing. I’m just happy. Life is beautiful. It’s a fine summer evening and I’m sharing a lovely meal with two of my favorite people in the world.”

  Bella raised an eyebrow. “She’s hiding something all right. Grandma, you are such a lousy liar. What’s lovely about pasta salad? No offense, Mom.”

  “I’ve got to run,” Ruby said, suddenly getting up from the table. “George and I are going to the Leavitt to see a screening of Roman Holiday. Do you know I’ve never seen it? How is that possible, that I should reach this ripe old age and have never seen such an iconic movie?”

  “No pie, Mom?”

  “I’ll have some when I get back later. There’s George’s car now. I can recognize that Volvo engine a mile away. Gotta dash!”

  And she did, leaving the kitchen at a run.

  “Well, that was interesting,” Frieda noted.

  “Yeah.” Bella put down her glass of lemonade. “I’ve been thinking about something, Mom. Why do you still call your father Dad when for so many years he wasn’t really around to be your dad?” Bella asked. “I mean, why not call him Steve?”

  Frieda shrugged. “I don’t know. Old habits die hard?”

  “Or maybe you do really feel he’s still your father, you know, deep down in your heart, and that’s why you call him Dad.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” she admitted.

  “Do you look forward to talking to him?” Bella asked. “I mean, do you think, when Dad calls again I want to tell him about X or Y?”

  “I didn’t look forward to his calls at first,” Frieda told her daughter. “I kind of dreaded them even though I was the one to agree to them. But then something changed. Now I look forward to hearing his voice. It’s . . . familiar.” It’s even comforting in an odd way, Frieda thought with some surprise. My father’s voice is one of the two most important voices of my childhood.

  “I hear Dad’s voice in my head so clearly,” Bella said. “And Ariel’s. Sometimes it feels like my own thoughts are happening in their voices. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes. Most certainly.”

  Bella sighed. “I lost my father and it’s awful. I’d do anything to have him back. Anything. So, what does it matter how you lost yours, Mom? I mean, okay, maybe he was a jerk, but he’s back now, at least for a while, so why not enjoy him while you can, right? Besides, Grandma thinks he’s okay.”

  “You know he probably doesn’t have any interest in being a real grandfather to you,” Frieda pointed out.

  Bella laughed. “So what? Grandma is enough of a grandparent for an army!”

  “That’s true.” And, Frieda thought, she wouldn’t be surprised if her mother’s happy mood this evening meant that she had finally accepted George’s proposal. If she had then Bella would be gaining another grandparent and that would be no bad thing.

  “I never knew my grandfather, so I can’t miss him. But for eleven years you knew him as Daddy. That has to count for something, doesn’t it?”

  “It does,” Frieda admitted. “Eleven years together is eleven years better than nothing. Thank you, Bella.”

  “For what?”

  “For being so smart and supportive about me and your grandfather.”

  Bella smiled and shrugged. “Whatevs.”

  “Now,” Frieda said, “how about a slice of that blueberry pie?”

  Chapter 83

  Bella went to the window of her room and looked out at her grandmother’s well-kept yard, at the daylilies that had already tucked themselves in for the night, at the birdbath empty now of visitors, and she felt a great sense of peace come over her. She thought about what she and her mother had talked about just a little while ago. They had agreed that having someone in your life for a space of time was far better than never having had him. That space of time, however long or short, mattered.

  The same principle, Bella thought, applied to her friendship with Kerri. All those years they had spent together mattered. Bella remembered as if it were yesterday the day she had asked Kerri to sit next to her at lunch so she wouldn’t feel left out and alone. And she thought about all the times Kerri had returned that first gesture of friendship, like when Bella had a bad flu in sixth grade and Kerri had slipped a Get Well card under the Braithwaites’ front door for the entire ten days Bella had missed school. And when they were in eighth grade Bella had broken her arm f
alling off a set of monkey bars and had to wear a cast that wouldn’t fit into the sleeve of the dress her mother had bought her for the graduation dance. Kerri had totally saved the day by offering Bella the brand-new sleeveless dress she had bought for the dance.

  And when Dad and Ariel died, Bella thought, Kerri was there. She hadn’t shied away like some of her other friends and if the words she had spoken to Bella weren’t always the words Bella needed to hear, well, who could blame her? How was Kerri supposed to know what to say to someone who had just lost her father and sister so tragically? The point was that Kerri had tried. She had tried to show Bella that she cared. And she had only given up after Bella’s harsh rejection back in April.

  Bella took a deep breath. She wanted Kerri back in her life and there would be no running away again if she took this step toward reconciliation. Abandoning Kerri a second time would be downright cruel and Ariel would be the first to say so. Bella turned from the window and went over to her bed where her laptop sat. She opened it and went into the e-mail program. And then she began to type.

  Hey, Kerri. It’s me. Look, I know I checked out on you and I’m sorry for that. I really wish it could have been different. You’ve always been the best friend anyone could ever have. I want you to know that a lot has changed this summer. At least, I feel like it has. So if you want to be my friend again, I promise I’ll do my absolute total best to be a friend back. Love, Bella.

  Bella read through what she had written and hit send. Leaving her laptop open, she got off the bed. She knew she couldn’t expect Kerri to reply immediately. Nevertheless, she found herself pacing the room, wondering how she would handle Kerri’s not responding, wondering how she would handle Kerri’s responding with anger or, worse, with coldness.

  Ding!

  Bella ran to her laptop, her heart racing. It was Kerri.

  Call me when you get home. We’ll go to the mall for a giant cookie. K. xx