The Season of Us

by Holly Chamberlin

  Ellen, walking ahead of Gincy and Clare, looked over her shoulder. “I really do think you’ll like this store, Clare,” she said. “It’s not Virginia’s taste, of course.”

  Clare caught Gincy’s eye and winked. Gincy grimaced.

  Tamsin pushed open the door to the shop and ushered the other women inside, where they were greeted by the cries of a large orange tabby with an alarmingly fat tail and the overwhelming scent of potpourri.

  Ugh, Gincy thought. Cats were fine—she admired their attitude—but she loathed potpourri of any sort. What was it anyway? Little shredded bits of—what? And why was it so often an awful shade of pinky-purple? As if to prove this loathing, she loudly sneezed.

  “Cover your mouth when you sneeze, Virginia,” Ellen Gannon said.

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “And use a tissue.”

  “Yes, Mom.” Gincy felt another sneeze coming on. “I think,” she said, “that I’d better wait outside.”

  CHAPTER 31

  “I could never eat in a place like that,” Ellen Gannon protested from the passenger seat. “It’s far too fancy for the likes of me!”

  Gincy restrained an eye roll. After all, her mother was probably right. What was Clare thinking, suggesting they have lunch at the Red Rose in Commons Corner? Pretty much everything in Commons Corner, two towns to the west of Appleville, had been out of the Gannons’ reach, from the high-end specialty clothing shops, to the exclusive jewelers, to the even more exclusive golf club. And the Red Rose, the town’s most popular restaurant, had an excellent reputation for its fine cuisine–and the prices to go with it.

  “Don’t worry,” Clare said firmly. “I have a friend who’s eaten there many times and she assures me it’s lovely and not at all pretentious. I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

  I hope this friend is right, Gincy thought. She wasn’t so sure it was a good idea to take her mother to a relatively upscale restaurant. Would Mrs. Gannon send the milk back claiming it had turned or make no bones about cramming a fistful of sugar packets into her handbag or in some other way annoy the waitstaff so that the service would be horrid or their food poisoned? There I go again, she thought, being dramatic. Well, if Clare wanted to be the leader of this adventure, fine, Clare could be responsible for the consequences.

  But Gincy’s fears proved groundless. First, Clare’s friend had been right. The Red Rose was lovely and not at all pretentious, and the prices were not as inflated as Gincy had feared. Second, Ellen Gannon conducted herself perfectly, as if she was used to such semiformal surroundings and a waitstaff highly trained in the art of being polite and pleasing. It was Tamsin, if anyone, who seemed a bit overawed by the soft-spoken waitress and the menu that came clipped to a heavy piece of highly polished wood. After the second time she clanged her water glass with the menu, she slipped the board of wood onto her lap and whispered to her mother to please order for her.

  As they ate their entrees, Gincy couldn’t help but wonder. Had it been in her mother all along, the desire for nice things and the ability to handle new experiences? Maybe she had been doing her mother a disservice, assuming she was “common” just because she couldn’t afford a cruise to a tropical island and lunch at the Red Rose. And when had it ever occurred to her to treat her mother to lunch or dinner at a pretty place like this, instead of to the diners and family-style, all-you-can-eat restaurants Ellen Gannon was used to? Suddenly Gincy felt immensely sorry for all the time she had wasted over the years making negative assumptions about her mother.

  “Do you know,” Ellen Gannon said, turning to Clare, “that Virginia missed being Appleville’s first baby of the new year by only three minutes? She was always a stubborn one.”

  Tamsin quickly took a drink of her water, and Gincy stabbed at her quiche.

  Clare, ignoring Mrs. Gannon’s comment, said brightly, “I’m sure, Mrs. Gannon, that you know all about that big story the Globe ran a few months back, the one exposing a shocking amount of corruption among the administration in some of the city’s public schools.”

  Ellen frowned. “No,” she said. “I don’t read that paper. My husband used to bring it home but . . .”

  Gincy opened her mouth to say something to the effect of, “Clare, please shut up,” but before she could speak, Clare was going on with her tale.

  “Well,” she said, “Gincy was responsible for a large part of the journalistic investigation exposing the people involved. The story earned her a lot of public attention, as well as an award from the official journalism community.”

  Ellen turned to her daughter, a look of—was it confusion? —on her face. “You never mentioned an award to me, Virginia,” she said.

  Gincy shrugged. Public recognition of her accomplishments had always made her feel awkward, even as a kid. But would she have told her father about the award, if it had been given to her when he was still alive? Yes, she thought. She probably would have.

  “I didn’t think you were interested in my work,” she said to her mother.

  “Well, of course I’m interested,” Ellen replied, her eyes wide. “Why would you ever think otherwise?”

  “Mom just doesn’t like to toot her own horn,” Tamsin said.

  “That’s true,” Clare added with a smile. “You might not think it at first, but she’s actually quite humble.”

  “All right, guys,” Gincy said, with an embarrassed smile. “Enough.”

  When the women had placed their dessert orders, Clare once again steered the conversation to the subject of her friend’s vast accomplishments.

  “Gincy,” she said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that organization you volunteer for, the Voter Education Initiative.”

  Gincy shrugged. “It’s going well.”

  “It’s going more than just well,” Tamsin added excitedly. “Mom organized the latest outreach to the immigrant communities, you know, trying to get people ready for citizenship and to convince the ones who are already citizens that they should vote. It was a huge success, and Mom’s picture was on the cover of the monthly newsletter and she got a personal note from the governor, thanking her for all her hard work!”

  Ellen Gannon turned to her daughter. “I never knew you were interested in such things, Virginia.”

  You’ve never asked what interests me, Gincy thought. Then again, she had never volunteered much about herself to her mother. Why? Her much touted humility? Or was there another reason? Relationships were a two-way street. They both had been at fault in not pursuing knowledge of each other. But she said none of this aloud.

  “And when another volunteer flakes out,” Tamsin was saying, “Mom’s the first person they call.”

  “Her father was a hard worker, too,” Ellen said with a conclusive nod. “That’s where she gets it from. Reliability. I could always rely on Virginia’s father.”

  Gincy didn’t know whether to beg her daughter to stop talking, to thank her mother for the roundabout compliment, or to crawl under the table. She was prevented from any of these options by the arrival of their waitress with the desserts.

  Ellen had ordered a slice of key lime pie. Her choice had surprised Gincy; she would have sworn that her mother had never even heard of key limes let alone key lime pie. But maybe the idea of key lime pie made Ellen Gannon think of tropical climes and palm trees and cruise ships.

  “I wish you could bake like this, Virginia,” Ellen said when she was halfway through the dessert. “You never could make a decent piecrust.”

  What did her mother know about piecrust, Gincy wondered? The few times she had even made a pie she had used a prebaked frozen crust from Harriman’s.

  “Maybe I’ll take a course in pastry at the CIA,” Gincy said, unable to keep a trace of perversity out of her tone. “Maybe I’ll give up my job in print journalism and become a professional pastry chef.”

  Ellen frowned. “There’s no need to go to extremes, Virginia.”

  Well, Gincy thought, her mother was in no danger of developing a sense of h
umor.

  Clare excused herself to pay a visit to the ladies’ room. As soon as she was out of sight, Ellen leaned across the table toward her daughter. “She’s so pretty and charming! She seems like such a wholesome person.” And then she sighed. “If only you had had a real wedding in Appleville, I could have met her long ago.”

  “I really like that pair of mittens you got at the fair, Grandma,” Tamsin said brightly. “They’re a nice color green. Who are they for?”

  “I thought I would give them to Tommy,” Ellen said. “He’s always losing his gloves and mittens. He must have gone through four or five pair last winter.”

  Tamsin smiled. “Too bad he’s not a little kid anymore. Then you could clip his mittens to the sleeves of his jacket.”

  The image almost made Gincy smile. Almost. Where would her brother be without their mother? She had never heard her mother say a critical or judgmental thing about her son—the one family member who, some might say “deserved” criticism or judgment. Her mother was kind to her son, if not always kind or pleasant to her daughter, but really, Gincy thought, why do I need kindness from her if it’s something she simply can’t give? What had Danielle said? Her mother gave what she had to give. It was all anyone could do, really.

  Clare returned and took her seat at the table.

  “Maybe you can help me with something, Clare,” Gincy said. “I’m trying to get Mom to see her doctor.”

  “But I’m not sick,” Ellen protested. “It’s a waste of time and money, I’ve told Virginia that.”

  “Mom, you’ve lost weight. Maybe it means nothing but . . .”

  “I think Gincy is right, Mrs. Gannon,” Clare said. “It will put everyone’s mind to rest if the doctor gives you a clean bill of health.”

  Ellen nodded. “Well, Clare, if you really think that I should see my doctor, I will.”

  “Good,” Gincy said. “I’ll make an appointment first thing tomorrow.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of making the appointment, Virginia.”

  Seek peace and pursue it, Gincy thought. At least her mother had agreed to the visit. “Okay, Mom,” she said. “If you’d rather call.”

  CHAPTER 32

  At the end of the afternoon Clare brought the family back to Number Nineteen Crescent Road. She came inside with them to say her good-byes.

  “It was so good to meet you, Mrs. Gannon,” she said, giving the older woman a gentle hug. “Thank you for allowing me to spend the day with you.”

  She always knows exactly the right thing to say, Gincy thought. If only Clare would give lessons in being politic, she would be the first to sign up.

  Ellen laughed. “I’m suddenly so tired! I can’t remember when I’ve had such a nice day. Thank you, Clare. You drive safely now. Virginia, I’m going to lie down for a while before dinner.”

  Mrs. Gannon went off to her room.

  “How can I thank you for what you did for us today?” Gincy said when her mother had gone. “You know, I think my mother probably wishes you were her daughter instead of me.”

  “Mom!” Tamsin cried. “That’s not true!”

  Clare laughed. “I was just a change for her. And maybe I was able to give her a glimpse into her daughter’s professional world, a world I’m guessing she knows very little about and probably assumes would intimidate her if she did.”

  “Whatever the case, it was like being with a different woman today, almost a stranger,” Gincy said. “Except for the criticizing.”

  “We all have trouble really seeing those people closest to us,” Clare said. “My presence helped you to get a bit of a new perspective on your mom, and maybe helped her get a bit of a new perspective on you, that’s all. And honestly? I don’t think your mother is half aware that she’s criticizing you. I think it’s just the habit of a lifetime. Just how she talks to you. Automatic behavior.”

  “I think Clare is right, Mom,” Tamsin said. “I think it’s, like, unconscious.”

  Gincy frowned. “It’s still annoying.”

  “I know,” Clare said sympathetically.

  “I mean, she’s so perverse with me, so contradictory. If I said that the sweater I’m wearing is blue, which as you can see it is, she’d say, ‘Nonsense, Virginia, that sweater is green.’”

  Clare laughed again. “Sorry, but it is funny in its way.”

  Gincy thought about that for a moment. And then she said, “You know what? It is sort of funny.”

  The three said their good-byes and Clare prepared to head north. “Visit me,” she called as she pulled away in her massive vehicle. “Remember, life in Maine is the way life should be!”

  Except for the ice-fishing, Gincy thought. The Mainers could keep that all to themselves. And the moose. They could keep those, too.

  “I think Grandma really enjoyed herself today,” Tamsin said when she and her mother had gone to the kitchen to prepare for dinner.

  “Me too. You were right to invite Clare, Tamsin. I guess we needed an infusion from the outside world. We needed a breath of fresh air. Family can be so claustrophobic.”

  “I think it’s the ideas you have of your family that makes being with them feel claustrophobic,” Tamsin said. “I mean, if you could magically meet your father or sister or whoever for the first time with no memories of them, you’d be meeting a totally different person from the one you knew. Or something like that.”

  Gincy nodded. “You’re right. The bad part of familial relationships aren’t really the people themselves but the accumulated resentments and prejudices and imagined slights and distorted memories.”

  “Maybe Danielle can come spend a day with us, too,” Tamsin suggested. “Maybe she could bring her girls! I haven’t seen them in, like, forever.”

  “Well,” Gincy said, “I think we’ll be all right from this point on. But you never know.”

  “Grandma ate a huge lunch. Do you think she’ll be able to eat dinner?”

  Gincy grinned. “I think she’ll manage to choke down a morsel or two!”

  “And I’m setting the table for four, just in case Uncle Tommy decides to show up.”

  “Thanks,” Gincy said. “Thank you.”

  “Mom? We’d already met those women from the fair, didn’t we? Marilyn and Lizzie. Back at Grandpa’s funeral.”

  “Yes,” Gincy said. “We did.”

  Tamsin frowned. “Do you think Grandma just forgot that she’d introduced us before?”

  “No, Tamsin,” Gincy said. “I think that she remembers it all too well.”

  CHAPTER 33

  “She was in fine form today, my mother was. She was literally fawning over Clare!”

  Rick laughed. “People do tend to have that reaction to Clare. Maybe it’s the blond hair and the perfectly coordinated outfits. More likely it’s her kindness.”

  “Yeah, well,” Gincy said, “I have to admit it annoyed me at first—a lot, actually—but then I got over it. And it’s hard to be mad at Clare. All she was doing was being her charming self.”

  “It was seriously nice of her to visit. You’ve got two really good friends in Clare and Danielle.”

  “Don’t I know it! And one very crafty daughter. Imagine her calling Clare behind my back.”

  “I’d say Tamsin is resourceful,” Rick said, “rather than crafty.”

  “And Mom even paid me a compliment, sort of. She said I got my hard work ethic from my father.”

  “Sounds like a genuine compliment to me,” Rick said. “She acknowledged that you’re a hard worker. And that’s something you take pride in.”

  “There was one odd thing about the day, though,” Gincy went on. “As we were getting into Clare’s car, Tommy drove by. I’m pretty sure he was on his way here, to the house, but then he just kept going. And he didn’t wave back when I waved to him. I don’t know, I can’t help but feel he might have been intimidated by the sight of Clare’s big expensive car or . . . I don’t know. Anyway, I told Tamsin that he probably didn’t stop because he was on his way to
work.”

  “Maybe he really was on his way to work,” Rick pointed out.

  “The convenience store is in the opposite direction.”

  “Have you called him since then?”

  “No, but I will, later. And Mom ate a big dinner, after an even bigger lunch and a snack after breakfast. I don’t think we have to worry about the weight issue anymore, at least for the moment. Though Clare did get her to agree to see her doctor, and that was something I couldn’t do.”

  “Good,” Rick said. “That’s one big goal accomplished.”

  “Are you watering the tree?”

  “Yes, Gincy,” Rick said. “I’m watering the tree.”

  When Rick had gone off to watch the latest episode of whatever cable series he was currently addicted to—Gincy could hardly keep track of his television obsessions—she tried her brother on his cell, but the call went to voice mail. “Call me,” she told him. “Nothing’s wrong, but let me hear from you.”

  Then she remembered that Tommy had—or had once had—a landline. The number would still be in her mother’s old address book. With some difficulty she found it—for some reason the number was in the “S” section; for son?— then she dialed. A recorded message informed her that the number was no longer in service.

  Well, she thought. If her mother wasn’t worried about Tommy and his erratic appearances, then she shouldn’t be worried, either.

  But she was.

  CHAPTER 34

  By a bit of luck, Ellen Gannon’s GP was able to see her the next morning. “People often cancel right before a holiday,” the receptionist had explained to Gincy, who, in actuality, had been the one to call the office. “I don’t think anyone wants to risk hearing bad news about their heart right before they’re off to celebrate with calorie and cholesterol-laden meals.”