The Summer House

by Hannah McKinnon

  “Are you serious?”

  Sam hesitated. He’d done this without consulting Evan first. It might not be taken the way he’d hoped.

  “We can swing this?” Evan pressed.

  Sam nodded, nervously. They could, but would Evan want to?

  After a moment, Evan stood and circled the table and Sam rose to meet him. Evan grabbed him, hard, by both shoulders. “For us?”

  Sam thought for the second time that night that his chest might break open and he would burst into a million starred pieces, sky-bound. “Yes. So we can nest.”

  Clem

  She stood at the head of the stairs, weighed down by so many bags, she feared she might tumble down headfirst. “Kids!” she shouted, down the hall. “It’s time.”

  When no one answered, Clem groaned and let the bags drop to the floor. “Don’t make me come down that hall.” There were anticipatory giggles coming from different directions across the second floor, and she laughed, too. “I’m going to get you!”

  “Ten, nine, eight . . .” She passed her parents’ room, the bed neatly made, the pillows plumped at the headboard. Clem poked her head in and did a quick sweep under the bed. No children there. Outside the window, the day was quintessential summer: sky, salt air, and sea. She headed back into the hallway. Paige and David were in their room, talking quietly. Their suitcases lay open like hungry mouths on the bed, and she stopped to watch them pack. “Almost done?”

  “Why does it always seem like you go home with so much more stuff than you brought with you?”

  Clem studied her sister from the doorway. She looked more relaxed than she had since arriving, more like her old self. “Are we talking physical baggage or the emotional kind?” Without waiting for a reply, she winked, and continued down the hall. “Seven, six . . .” There was a scuffle in the hall closet to her right, and she tugged the door open.

  Maddy screamed and sprang out.

  “Gotcha!” Clem laughed, sweeping her up. “Now help me find your brother.”

  They passed Sam and Evan’s room, which was already packed up and emptied out. Three seashells had been left on the dresser. Maddy picked one up. Clem wondered if they would keep this room—Sam’s childhood room—or if they’d move into the master next summer. The thought filled her first with sadness, then relief. The summer home was staying in the family. That was all that mattered.

  “Five, four, three . . .” She reached the end of the hall. Maddy danced behind her, nearly beside herself.

  “Shhh!” Clem warned her.

  Clem pushed the door open to the bunkroom. It had always been her favorite. Sunlight streamed in from every window, and the old sailing cloth Flossy had fashioned down the middle to divide the girls’ half from the boys’ held the faint smell of age and sun. She swept it aside. There, on Ned’s top bunk, was a boy-shaped lump beneath a blue blanket. “. . . two, one!” she shouted.

  The bunkroom exploded with commotion as George leaped up from under the blanket. To her right, Ned flew out from behind the door, so that Maddy screamed and flung herself at her mother. Emma rolled out from under her own bed, a tangle of red hair and laughter. They all hollered and ran about, and Clem rounded them up with tickles before setting them back to work. “Strip beds, empty dressers, grab bags!” she shouted. She left them there to pull themselves together. She had one thing left to do.

  Downstairs, the house was calm. Gone were the servers, the dishes cleaned and put away, the food consumed, and all of Flossy’s heirloom pieces returned to the dining room table in neatly polished rows. Only the towering hydrangea arrangements remained on the kitchen island. Clem breathed deeply as she passed them.

  Flossy stood at the window with a cup of coffee, watching the event company workers take down the white tent. As the poles were removed, the taut top crumpled and sunk, like a sail without wind. Flossy sighed.

  “It was a good party, Mom. You did it.”

  Flossy turned and smiled at her youngest. “We survived it, you mean.”

  “That we did.” Clem glanced at her watch. It was almost nine o’clock.

  Richard was outside on the deck with the morning paper in hand. “Good morning, birthday boy. You’re officially an old man now.” She stopped by his Adirondack chair. He looked tired, but happy.

  “An old goat,” he said thoughtfully, setting his newspaper down.

  “A handsome old goat,” Clem said. She leaned over and kissed his forehead.

  “Where are you off to?” he asked her.

  “To say goodbye to the beach.”

  “Ah.” Richard nodded appreciatively. “Your mother already did.”

  “Have you?”

  He shook his head. “You know the rule. I always go last.”

  It was a family tradition they adhered to each summer, each one at their own time and in their own way. Flossy never made it all the way down to the sand. Instead, she’d walk to the edge of the yard and look over the bluff. “I know what’s down there,” she told them impatiently. “I just need a moment with the view.”

  Paige would run down to the beach and back in less than a minute. Clem pictured her racing down to the sand and tagging it, like some kind of relay, before sprinting back up. She could be found packing up the kitchen or organizing the car moments later. Sam would head down the beach trail, and stand at the base, hands in his pockets. Clem knew, because she’d watched him do it from her bedroom window before. But for Clem, her goodbye was a longer one. She went all the way down to the water’s edge, each time. There, she’d remove her shoes, if she had any, and roll up her pants and wade in. It was a sensory thing, as much as a visual thing. She needed to hear, to see, and to feel the ocean, in all its vast breathing glory. It was a feeling she tried to summon on winter days, to sustain her through all the seasons until the next summer.

  Now, standing beside her father, Clem glanced at her watch again. It was exactly nine o’clock. It was time.

  On her way down she could hear the waves before she could see them. The sun bounced off the white sand, and she shaded her eyes. Her chest caught. Fritz stood down by the water, right on time, as she hoped. She had told him last night that they were not leaving until tomorrow, a white lie she’d felt bad for telling. But it was better this way. She did not want him looking for her. She did not want him to alter his morning routine to come over and say goodbye. Too many things had changed that year, and this—this moment—was one she wanted to keep.

  The beach was empty, save for a couple with a golden retriever making their way in the opposite direction. Gulls wheeled and cried overhead. Clem glanced up and down the beach. So much life had been lived here: the early years shaded by sun bonnets and the making of sandcastles—the dribble kind that Flossy had taught them to create. Followed by a careless stretch of teenage and college summers spent around bonfires, with nothing but their lives before them, as vast and open as the ocean they took for granted beside them. And later, her life as a wife—now a widow—and as a mother with children of her own. There was still so much living here to be done.

  Ahead, Fritz had waded into the surf, and she almost called his name. But she stopped herself. She would watch him dive in, one last time. That would be a worthy goodbye, she thought. But she would not get it. As if sensing her presence, he turned suddenly in her direction. Clem raised a hand in greeting, and he jogged over to her, smiling. How she would miss this smile.

  “Where are the kids?” he asked. “You guys coming down to the beach this morning?”

  When she didn’t say anything he looked down at her capri pants, her blouse, and the driving moccasins in her hand. “You’re leaving?”

  Clem nodded, sadly. Last night, as they stood outside the white tent at her father’s party, Fritz Weitzman had told her he thought he was falling in love with her. Clem had nearly cried. She did not remind him of how much older she was, or how inexperienced he was, by comparison, in the world. She did not mention the geographical logistics, or his ink-still-wet law degree, or th
e greatest grounds of all—her children. Because while she knew all of those preexisting facts, her heart had felt a similar tug. She took his face in her hands, and kissed him, wishing things were different.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he’d said in a rush. “You’re thinking of the kids, of our age difference. And I get it.”

  She’d shaken her head. “You don’t know me, Fritz. Not anymore.”

  “No,” he’d said. “You’re wrong. I’ve known you your whole life.”

  They were words that tumbled through her thoughts all night.

  Now, she looked into his eyes, trying to memorize them.

  “Can I see you? Can I at least call you back in Boston?” he asked.

  “Fritz,” she said softly. Clem did not love him any more than she knew he loved her, but she allowed that maybe, another time or simply with more time, she could have. Now, she saw in him sweet youth and chance, a gamble she was not foolish enough to make, lovely as it felt. He was right that he had known her his whole life; in that way, Fritz had given something back to her that week in the summer house, a piece of her past, a piece of herself. But there was more to her than what she brought to the summer house, a life that stretched inland to a home in Boston that she needed to return to. She had growing still to do.

  Clem wrapped her arms around his neck and let Fritz kiss her. His lips were warm and full, and she pressed her own against them until she tasted salt. “I’ll see you next summer,” she said, pulling away.

  He studied her, then let go. “Next summer.”

  Clem looked past Fritz, at the water. The glittering surf sparkled like fractured glass, reflections splintering across the sand and all around them. She shielded her eyes with one hand. “Good-bye, Fritz.” She pressed her fingers to her mouth, then his, one last time. And then she turned and ran.

  Clem ran through the dunes and up the beach path, back toward the summer house. She ran until her lungs ached and her heart pounded, and she wasn’t sure if the roaring in her ears was from the beach or her body, but it did not matter because she felt alive. Up ahead, she could hear her children laughing. And Flossy’s voice rising above the din in the driveway, as car doors slammed and goodbyes were being said. Clem ran back, as fast as her legs would carry her, to all of it.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thanks must be given. To my editor, Emily Bestler, of Emily Bestler Books at Simon & Schuster, I am ever grateful for your remarkable attention to detail and perfectionism that translated through edits and into the characters who traverse these pages. Our working together was a joy. Your team at EBB is simply the best!

  To my agent extraordinaire, MacKenzie Fraser Bub, who has been with me since the very first book and up to the very last draft, I would not be able to sit down and put the words on paper without your support, encouragement, and constant enthusiasm. When I send you a manuscript, you accept it like birthday cake.

  To my keen publicists, Ariele Fredman (big baby congrats!) and Yona DesHomes, who came on board ready to set sail. And editorial assistant, Lara Jones, who cheerfully kept things on track and was a book fairy to my daughters. To Ciara Lemery, who saved me on copy edits and protected the purity of my metaphors.

  To my friends, this year has been one of great change, and I cannot think of a step I’ve taken forward or backward without each of you by my side: KA, AB, AC, CD, AR, JJ, BM, JR, JS, DV—you are the divine stuff of sisterhood. From chocolate pound cakes to mostly lady-like luncheons and crappy dinner parties, you showed up. Better yet, you stayed. And to JB: what a beautiful surprise. Then and now.

  This novel is about family. To my own who has cheered me on through journeys big and small, there are not words of gratitude enough even from this writer. It all went noticed—and it will always be cherished. Mom, Dad, Jesse, Josh: I love you all. The Merrills have nothing on the Roberts. And to the Chicago clan and the Connecticut cousins, and family near and far who shared turkey dinners and Cape Cod summers—you helped shape the heart at the center of this story. Family is everything.

  This year found me climbing a mountain and deciding to stay awhile. Proper thanks must be given to Catharine Cooke and Ian Gribble who not only invited me up and shared their breathtaking view, but who also welcomed my children, my rescue dogs, and all seven of our chickens with Yankee warmth and British cheer. A book was written and a new chapter begun: for that, I will be ever grateful. Chicken parties, forever.

  For my own little family, for Finley and Grace: I love you up and down and inside out. You are brave and clever and beautiful and good. And I thank those lucky stars over our mountain that I am your mama. Never forget how they sparkle.

  The Summer House

   A Novel

  Hannah McKinnon

  A Readers Club Guide

  INTRODUCTION

  After a year of challenges for each of her grown children, Flossy Merrill gathers her family at their beloved beach house to celebrate their father’s birthday. But as soon as everyone arrives, it becomes clear that a carefree week on the shore might not be in the cards. With the youngest Merrill, Clementine, mourning a devastating loss, middle child Sam waiting for life-changing news, and the eldest, Paige, attempting to maintain her façade of a perfect family, there’s much to discuss over the dinner table every night. And that’s to say nothing of Flossy’s own secret: she’s selling the family’s summer house.

  As the Merrills say goodbye to their beloved home, childhood memories and family secrets come to the surface, reminding each of the Merrills of what’s truly important to them and to their family.

  QUESTIONS AND TOPICS FOR DISCUSSION

  1 The Merrill beach house is another important character in the novel. In what ways do Hannah McKinnon’s descriptions of the house encapsulate the family itself? How does the house reflect the Merrills? What does the house represent for each of the Merrill family members?

  2 “[T]here was nothing as healing as the ocean . . .” Flossy thinks to herself. Do you agree? How does the ocean heal in this novel?

  3 Although Richard has perhaps a quieter influence upon their children than Flossy, how do you see his personality express itself in each of their offspring?

  4 Although all the Merrills undergo some type of transformation during their week at the beach, which sibling, would you argue, has the most dramatic change over the course of the novel? Find examples in the text to support your answer, in addition to discussing the more emotional changes.

  5 Each of the Merrill grandchildren is a distinct character and an important part of the narrative arc. Who do you think each grandchild takes after in the family? In what ways have the Merrill family characteristics come through in Ned, Emma, George, and Maddy?

  6 One of the major forces that drives The Summer House’s plot is how our ideas of people change and grow over time. How are Clem’s, Paige’s, and Sam’s assumptions about each other altered by their vacation together?

  7 How do Flossy’s domestic concerns, such as the upkeep of the house, her dogged hunt for the oyster recipe, and the state of the garden reveal her character traits? What do her traditions, anxieties, and goals tell you about her?

  8 Some of The Summer House’s most important scenes revolve around meals and food. What role does food play in this story? In families in general?

  9 Do you think Flossy and Richard play favorites? If so, whom, would you argue, do they favor? In what ways does this favoritism manifest in the story?

  10 A big theme of the novel is the role of tradition, including what traditions are important to hang on to, and when it’s time to let traditions go. Which of the Merrill summer traditions do you like the most?

  11 Hannah McKinnon emphasizes the importance of learning to be honest with yourself about what you want. How do you see this trait evolve in each of the main characters, and what does it take for them to admit their hopes and needs to themselves?

  12 Toward the end of the novel, Paige asks her sister, “Why does it always seem like you go home with
so much more stuff than you brought with you?” To which Clem responds, “Are we talking physical baggage or the emotional kind?” What “stuff” is Paige bringing home with her from her week at the beach? What is she leaving behind?

  13 Do you think it was fair of Flossy and Richard to not tell the children they were selling the house? How would you have handled the announcement, if you were in their shoes?

  14 Are you happy that Sam and Evan ending up with the summer house? Did you expect them to be the family members to buy it from Flossy and Richard?

  15 In what ways does Clem’s open-ended decision about Fritz reflect both her core personality and the ways in which she’s changing? If they do indeed reunite next summer, do you think there’s a possibility for them to have a future together?

  TIPS TO ENHANCE YOUR BOOK CLUB

  1 One of the main Merrill family vacation activities is planning and eating delicious meals together. Host your own potluck featuring dishes inspired by Flossy’s meals. Suggest hosting a book club potluck with dishes inspired by Flossy’s cooking and traditional New England recipes. Don’t forget lemonade, wine, and cocktails!

  2 Coastal Rhode Island is filled with beautiful homes that have a rich history. Do a little research and pick one of the historic homes to learn more about—who lived there? What is the architectural style? What was life like when the home was built?

  3 Hannah’s two other novels also feature families in beautiful waterfront locations. Read The Lake Season or Mystic Summer and compare and contrast the families in each story.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  HANNAH MCKINNON is the author of The Lake Season and Mystic Summer. She graduated from Connecticut College and the University of South Australia. She lives in Fairfield County, Connecticut, with her family, a flock of chickens, and two rescue dogs.