Home for the Summer

by Holly Chamberlin

  Chapter 89

  “Are you ready for this?”

  Bella nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “As ready as I’ll ever be. I know Mom doesn’t think this a good idea, but it’s something I need to do.”

  “It’s closure,” her grandmother said as they stood at the door of Clara’s room. “Everyone needs closure. Come see me after if you want to talk, okay? Call me on my cell and I’ll let you know where I am.”

  “Thanks, Grandma,” Bella said. “Well, here goes.”

  Her grandmother walked off and Bella went quietly into the room. She knew that Clara was about to be discharged, so she wouldn’t be in bed hooked up to drips and monitors and wearing an awful johnny. She knew that Clara had been told how she had been found and by whom. What she didn’t know was if Clara felt resentful of the person largely responsible for saving her life, a life she might not have wanted saved.

  Clara was sitting in one of the two visitor chairs by the bed. She was wearing a clean pair of jeans and an oversized T-shirt. Her hair looked freshly washed, but her eyes still had a hollow look and the skin was still tight across her cheekbones. Bella supposed it would take some time for Clara to gain back the weight she had lost so rapidly this summer. She would need proper rest, good nourishment, and, above all, love.

  “Hi,” Bella said. She remained standing; she didn’t want to sit next to Clara; it might suggest a friendship that wasn’t really there.

  Clara looked up at her. “My parents are here,” she said without expression. “They’re picking up my stuff from the cottage and when they get back to the hospital I’ll be discharged.”

  “Good,” Bella said. She wondered what Mr. and Mrs. Crawford would feel when they saw that their daughter’s room was a shrine to her ex-boyfriend. Would they be shocked? Or would they have known what to expect? “What about your car?” Bella asked. “You’re not driving back to New York alone, are you?”

  Clara laughed. “Are you kidding? I’m being watched like a hawk watches a mouse. My parents are going to find someone to drive my car home.”

  “That’s good. I mean, it’s good you won’t be alone.”

  “I’ll be a prisoner,” Clara spit.

  Bella bit back a sharp reply. Patience, she thought. Be patient with her. “They just care, Clara,” she said. “That’s what parents do.”

  Clara shrugged and looked toward the window. The blinds were lowered, but the strong late-morning August sun shone through. “I’m going to send Marc’s wolf head coin back to his parents,” she said after a moment. “It’s not mine to keep and it never was. I can’t believe I took it the way I did.”

  “You’re doing the right thing giving it back,” Bella said.

  “I won’t put a return address on the package. They won’t know where it came from.”

  Yes, Bella thought. They’ll know.

  Clara turned back to Bella. “The overdose was accidental,” she said with some vehemence. “I swear. I never meant to kill myself. The doctors told me the strength of the stuff I injected was double what I was used to, but I swear I didn’t know that!”

  But why had Clara chosen to shoot up in a public place? Had it been a cry for attention? Or had she cared so little for her life she didn’t mind doing something not only illegal but also humiliating in full view of passersby? Whatever the case, Bella wasn’t sure she believed Clara’s overdose was unintentional. The only thing she was sure of was that her responsibility toward Clara was at an end. “Okay,” she said.

  “Bella?” Clara scratched a red patch on her wrist. “Thanks for coming to see me.”

  “Sure.”

  “None of my housemates have come by.”

  Bella said, “Oh?” but she wasn’t surprised by this news. Clara had never spent any time with her housemates; she had almost seemed proud of that; she had called them all losers. Why should any of them care?

  “If you hadn’t been riding your bike past The Flipper the other day . . .”

  “Don’t think about it, Clara,” Bella said quickly. “Just think about getting better.”

  “Yeah. My parents want me to see a therapist. I told them I’m not crazy, just sad. Marc made me sad. It’s his fault.”

  No, Bella thought. Marc hurt you, but you made yourself sad. Maybe you couldn’t help it, but it wasn’t Marc’s fault. “Being sad is hard,” she said carefully. “It takes a lot out of you. I think maybe you should listen to your parents.” Bella smiled a bit. “It’s annoying, but they usually know best.”

  Clara shrugged. “I wonder if Marc will find out about what happened. I wonder if . . .” Clara looked up at Bella then, a pleading expression on her face. “Do you think he’ll come back to me when he hears that I almost died?”

  Bella swallowed hard. “I’ve got to go,” she said. “I hope that your future is happy.”

  Clara shifted in the chair and looked again toward the window with its lowered blinds. Bella left the room and made her way to the main lobby. She did not check in with her grandmother. She didn’t need her support, not at the moment. But it was nice to know that it was there.

  Bella walked through the front entrance/exit of the main lobby and out into the welcoming summer sunshine. She knew that she would probably never see Clara again, though she might think of her from time to time. They had needed each other for a while. And now they needed each other no longer. Bella looked over her shoulder at the hospital building for a very brief moment and then she walked purposely toward where she had locked up her bike.

  Chapter 90

  “Coming, coming,” Frieda called to no one in particular as she hurried from the hall into the kitchen, dust cloth in hand. As she reached for the receiver of the phone she thought, Good. It’s Dad.

  “Hello?” she said.

  “Frieda, it’s Dad.”

  Frieda smiled. This was the second time she had known it was her father on the other end of the line and for about a half a second she wondered if her father had intuited that she wanted to talk to him. But that was wishful thinking. That was hoping for too deep a connection with the man who had walked away so long ago. The fact that he had called would have to be enough.

  “Hey, Dad,” she said. “What’s up?”

  Steve laughed. “Nothing worth telling. Besides, I’m more interested in what’s going on back in Yorktide.”

  “Well,” she said, “we had some excitement here.” And she told her father about Bella’s having come across Clara in the nick of time. “The hospital confirmed that she had overdosed on heroin,” Frieda explained. “It seems it’s everywhere these days.”

  “Damn,” her father said. “That’s pretty awful. You must have been a wreck when you learned what had happened.”

  “‘A wreck’ is putting it mildly.”

  “How is Bella faring after such a frightening experience?” her father asked.

  “Strangely,” Frieda told him, “or maybe not so strangely, Bella’s involvement with this troubled girl helped her to let go of the guilt and grief that was hounding her and move forward. She’s definitely in a better place now than she was at the start of the summer.”

  “Well, I’m glad for that, but I’m sorry Bella had to experience what she did. I’ve come across a fair share of people in my time who use hard drugs and it almost never ends well, for anyone even remotely involved with them. But if you say Bella’s all right now I believe you. Look, if you think it appropriate, please tell her I think she was brave to stay with her friend until the ambulance came.”

  “I will, Dad,” she promised. “I’ll tell her. Hey, do you remember singing a song called ‘The Tale of the Tadpole’ to me when I was little? I don’t actually remember—Mom says I was only about three—but the tune has stuck in my head all these years.”

  “Yes, I do, Frieda.” Her father sang a line—“Through the wavelets and under the dew/the littlest tadpole sings how do ye do”—and then laughed. “I haven’t been in voice in years. Sorry.”

  Frieda wiped the tears from h
er eyes and cleared her throat before going on. “Remember how at the start of the summer you apologized for not doing more when Aaron and Ariel died. I want you to know that I accept your apology.”

  There was a moment of silence before her father replied; Frieda wondered if he felt as emotional as she did at that moment. “I’m grateful,” he said finally. “I probably don’t deserve your kindness, but I am genuinely grateful for it.”

  “And one more thing.” Frieda took a deep breath. “You also said you hoped to learn that you existed for me. You said you weren’t asking for me to tell you that I loved you, but just that . . . just that you were alive for me.”

  “I remember,” her father said quietly.

  “Well, you do exist for me, Dad. You’re my father and I love you.” God, Frieda thought, it felt so good to say those words after so many years of silence!

  “I love you, too, Frieda,” her father said promptly. “I always have, though I’ve been lousy at showing it. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone away. Maybe . . .”

  “What’s done is done. What matters is what’s happening now. You have to believe that.”

  “I try.”

  “Dad? Do you think you’ll ever come back to Yorktide? I mean, even just for a visit?”

  “I wouldn’t count on it, Frieda,” her father replied. “But if I should get the itch I promise I’ll let you know before I just show up on your mother’s doorstep. Deal?”

  “Deal,” Frieda agreed. I’ll take what I can get, she thought. And I’ll be glad for it. “Oh, and Dad? Remember when I said I thought there was something between me and an old friend from school but that it didn’t work out?”

  “Yeah. I do.”

  “We’re trying again. I was the one who put a halt on our friendship. I was scared and I felt I was betraying Aaron. But Mom and Phil helped me to gather my courage and ask if he’d like to start over.”

  “Good for you,” her father said robustly. “Do I know this guy?”

  “Jack Tennant. His wife died about four years ago. His family used to live on Trainor Lane.”

  “Sure,” Steve said. “I remember them. Nice people. I hope they’re well.”

  “They are. Jack said his parents always liked you. He said they were surprised when you left Yorktide.”

  Steve laughed. “I’m sure they weren’t the only ones. Well, Frieda, I’ve got to go. Take care and we’ll talk again. I promise.”

  Frieda chose to believe him. “Good-bye, Dad,” she said. “I love you.”

  There was a beat of silence before her father spoke again. “I love you, too, Frieda,” he said. And then he was gone.

  Slowly, Frieda replaced the receiver. Before she could begin to process the momentous fact that her father had told her he loved her, her mother came into the kitchen.

  “Who was on the phone?” she asked.

  “It was Dad,” Frieda said.

  “How is he?”

  “Okay, I guess. Mostly we talked about what’s been going on here. Well, with the exception of your getting engaged. I didn’t think that was my business to tell.”

  Ruby smiled. “I’ll tell your father when I next talk to him. He’ll be happy for me.”

  “Yeah,” Frieda said. “I think he will. He told me that he loved me, Mom. And I told him the same.”

  Frieda saw tears spring to her mother’s eyes. “I can’t tell you how happy that makes me, Frieda. I know it’s not an ideal relationship, but I really do believe that what exists now between you and your father is better than nothing. I really do.”

  The new normal, Frieda thought. Aaron and Ariel gone and Dad back in my life. “Mom,” she said, “do you have a photo of Dad I could take back to Massachusetts with me?”

  Ruby smiled. “As a matter of fact, I have one handy. I dug it out a few weeks ago in the hopes of your asking. See? I’m an optimist at heart. And you know there are albums full of photos upstairs. Take what you want.”

  Her mother went over to the drawer in which she kept recent unrecorded grocery receipts and rubber bands and chip clips and from it retrieved a four-by-six-inch photograph she handed to Frieda.

  Frieda looked down at the image of her father holding her in his arms. She thought she must have been about two years old. She was wearing a pink dress and a white bonnet; her father was in a short-sleeved T-shirt and jeans. Both of them were smiling. “We look happy,” she said quietly. “Genuinely happy.”

  “Things weren’t always bad,” Ruby said, tucking her arm through Frieda’s. “And neither was your father.”

  “I guess if you loved him, Mom, he can’t have been a total bum.”

  Ruby sighed. “He was awfully good-looking in those days, wasn’t he? I wonder what havoc life has wreaked on him. Time gets to us all.”

  Until that moment Frieda hadn’t made a decision whether or not to tell her mother about Steve Hitchens’s heart attack. Now, she made that decision. She would fulfill her father’s request to keep his illness a secret and spare her mother the pain knowing about it might bring. Frieda didn’t enjoy keeping secrets from the people she loved, but in this case she honestly felt it was for the best.

  “I finally understand why you’re okay with Dad’s calling like he does,” she said. “I really do. He’s part of us and we’re part of him. We’re a family.”

  “Good,” Ruby said briskly, withdrawing her arm from Frieda’s. “And I hope you can also understand why I’m thinking of retiring next February when I turn sixty-five.”

  “You!” Frieda cried. “Mom, I thought you’d work until your very last breath!”

  “So did I, but I was young and naïve then. Now I’m older and wiser. And this darn leg acts up when I’ve been on my feet for a few hours. I’m worried I won’t be able to do my job properly if I keep on for too much longer. Better to bow out gracefully while I still can.”

  “What does George think of your retiring?” Frieda asked.

  Ruby laughed. “He’s all for it. But if he thinks I’m suddenly going to become an old-fashioned housewife and greet him at the door each evening with a martini and a three-course meal in the oven he’s sorely mistaken!”

  “I don’t think George is that kind of man, Mom.”

  “I know. It’s just that I’m worried about who I’ll become when I stop working. I’ve been working since I was fourteen, babysitting, mowing lawns, bagging groceries. I took whatever jobs I could get, and though some of them were unpleasant, I never wanted not to work.”

  “You’ll still be you, Mom,” Frieda assured her mother. “You’ll still be the intelligent and curious and optimistic and loving woman we all know and admire.”

  Ruby put her hands to her face. “If I were the type to be embarrassed easily my cheeks would be aflame!”

  “It’s all true, Mom,” Frieda insisted. “And once George retires in a few years, assuming he’s waiting until he turns sixty-five as well, you’ll have a companion in crime and who knows what adventures you’ll have.”

  “Hmm. ‘A companion in crime’ does sound interesting! On another note entirely, I wanted to tell you that Ariel hasn’t been to visit me in weeks. I have a feeling she’s done her job for us and has decided to move on, now that she knows we’ll be okay, you and me and Bella.”

  Frieda felt an enormous sense of relief upon hearing these words; the idea of Ariel’s visitations had never sat easily with her. “I’m glad,” she said. “Besides, you have enough to focus on in the here and now. Like planning a wedding!”

  “You will stand up for me, won’t you?” Ruby asked. “George has asked Phil to be his best man.”

  “I’d be honored, Mom. Nothing would make me happier.”

  Bella chose that moment to join them in the kitchen. “So,” she said. “Not that I was eavesdropping or anything, but can I be a bridesmaid?”

  “Of course!” Ruby said.

  “Good. As long as I don’t have to wear a scratchy dress with poofy sleeves. Ugh.”

  “No scratchy
dresses with poofy sleeves, I swear.” Ruby shuddered. “And no big white gown for me, either! Once was enough for that and look where it got me!”

  Bella grinned and opened the door of the fridge. “What will you wear, Grandma?”

  “I have no idea. But I’ve got plenty of time to shop around. The wedding isn’t until next fall. There’s no need to rush.”

  “I suppose I’ll need something nice to wear, too,” Frieda said. “I think a trip to the shopping center at Copley Place is in order, Bella. By the way, I was just talking to your grandfather and he asked for you.”

  Bella turned from the fridge to face her mother. “Really?”

  “Yes. He said he thought that what you did for Clara was brave.”

  “Yeah?” Bella grinned. “Cool.”

  Yeah, Frieda thought. It was cool.

  “Well, next time you talk to him,” Bella said, “tell him I said hi.”

  “I will,” Frieda promised. “I know he’ll be glad. He is, after all, our family.”

  Bella put an arm around her grandmother’s shoulders. “Hey, speaking of family. I was thinking that maybe Mom and I could spend next summer here, too. Make it a tradition. What do you guys think?”

  Frieda laughed. “I don’t think we should put Grandma on the spot like this, Bella.”

  “Nonsense,” Ruby said robustly. “I think it’s a fantastic idea. And I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Epilogue

  Bella tossed the flowered midi dress she had been planning to wear onto the bed. What had she been thinking? It was way too casual, like something you would wear to a party on the beach. She wanted to show respect for Phil on this big occasion. I’ll wear the plain blue dress, she decided, taking it from her closet. With its high neckline and at-the-knee hem it was way more appropriate for the morning’s event.

  Actually, Bella thought as she pulled the dress over her head, this was a big occasion for everyone in her life, not only Phil. Last fall Bella had made good on her promise and contacted the offices of the Names Project AIDS Memorial Quilt to find out how to make and submit a panel in memory of Tony Worthington. Armed with instructions and advice, Ruby and Phil had constructed the panel together. Along with Tony’s name and the dates of his birth and death it was decorated with meaningful images, like a whisk constructed of thin flexible wire that stood for Tony’s passion for cooking. Cutouts of a paisley dog and a calico cat represented the endless hours Tony had dedicated to the local animal shelter. A border of hyacinth flowers embroidered in silk thread paid homage to Tony’s continued presence in Phil’s life. In the center of the panel there was a felt outline of a heart with Phil’s and Tony’s names stitched on to it in bright purple thread; both Tony and Phil were mad for purple.