“Oh!” I suddenly yell, looking down to find my glass of rosé in my lap and Scooter’s beer foaming and soaking my shorts. My heart is pounding, and I scan our surroundings, wondering what just happened. Finally, I see a football rolling to a stop next to us.
“Sorry!”
A kid jogs up, a University of Michigan hat on backward.
“My friend can’t pass at all,” he says.
I look at Scooter. “Show them how it’s done,” I say. “Show me that arm.”
A sheepish look crosses Scooter’s face. “Nah,” he says, grabbing the football off the blanket.
“You don’t have to leave everything in the past,” I say, leaning over to whisper in his ear. “It’s a part of you. Show ’em. Show me.”
Scooter beams, hops up and tells the kid, “Go long. Then cut in by the old pier over there.”
The kid turns and looks where Scooter has indicated before turning back around. “That’s, like, forty yards, mister. Got a cannon on you?”
“I do,” says Scooter. “Go long.”
The kid starts running, and Scooter sets his body, just like he did in high school. While the kid is still running straight down the beach, and yet to turn around, Scooter pulls his arm back and spirals the ball into the air. The kid cuts in at the pier and—when he turns—the ball is there waiting for him. The kid’s eyes grow even wider when the football drops into his arms while he’s still in full sprint.
“Holy crap!” the kid yells. “Are you a pro?”
“Scott Stevens!” I yell back. “Look him up.”
The kid runs over to his friend and starts pointing.
Without warning, Scooter picks me up into his arms and starts running toward the lake. He sprints in at full speed before we plunge into the chilly water. When I come up, water cascading off my face, Scooter is standing there, looking just like the boy I grew up with: handsome, confident, sweet, mischievous.
He pulls me into his arms and kisses me, our lips and bodies wet.
Music from a distant radio carries across the breeze, and I smile when I recognize the song: “Survivor” by Destiny’s Child.
Survivors, I think, as Scooter twirls me in the water, and the blue, blue sky spins overhead. Destiny, indeed.
FORTY-FOUR
“Are you sure, Mom?”
Evan is white-knuckling the steering wheel of the Adie Lou, while Sonny paces excitedly in the back seat, his tail thumping the leather.
I nod. “You got this.”
Sonny barks his support.
Evan turns on the boat, and I untie the forward spring line. I hold the rope and lean over to walk the boat out of its slip. Since the Adie Lou is so much smaller than other boats and Evan is just learning—pardon the pun—the ropes, it’s easier to push the boat from the dock like a pontoon than risk an accident that could further fray Evan’s already frazzled nerves.
I hop into the passenger side at the last minute, tossing the rope onto the dock. Evan looks at me, eyes wide, as if he’s just seeing me for the first time.
“Mom! Wow! You’re really good at this,” he says.
“I’ve had lots of practice,” I say.
The truth is, I’ve always loved this boat, but I’ve enjoyed being a passenger and copilot more than being the captain. Perhaps it’s because my dad was always THE captain—I mean, that’s even how it was stated on his skipper’s cap. He taught me everything about this boat: I know how to tie every nautical knot, I know how to gas her up without scraping the sides, I know how to use a toothbrush to clean the hull, I know how to operate the boat. I just never really enjoyed driving it.
“I think it’s the only time you allow yourself to relax,” my dad once said. “Here, on this boat, with me.”
You were right, Dad, I think.
“Put her in reverse,” I tell Evan, “but don’t punch the gas. Just ease it out.”
It’s late on Sunday, and the marina is empty. Most of the boats are in their slips for the week, waiting for their owners to return next weekend. Evan checks behind him a half dozen times before hitting the gas. I jolt forward.
“Easy,” I say.
“Sorry.”
I turn to check Sonny, whose eyes are wide and seeming to watch Evan’s every move, as if to say, “Keep your hands at ten and two!”
Evan eases the boat forward and then putters out of the marina.
“You can go a little faster,” I say. “It’s okay.”
Evan blows the bangs from his eyes and nods before picking up speed.
It is the perfect end to what has been a perfect weekend: my first women’s weekend was a success, my first real date with Scooter was dreamy and now I get to spend an evening on my family boat with my son.
Evan heads down the river leading to the lake. Saugatuck is magical from the water as dusk falls over the town. Lights twinkle in rambling cottages, candles burn on the outdoor patios of restaurants, kids roast marshmallows over firepits while their parents sit on docks drinking wine. On the opposite side, people stroll the narrow road that curves along the river, working off their dinners.
I inhale. There is nothing like the smells of a summer evening on the lake. The scent of pine and firewood mingle with the smell of water. I turn and smile at Sonny, who is also sniffing the air.
Dragonflies flitter across the still water, darting off as the Adie Lou approaches.
I look over at Evan, his knuckles still white. He refuses to look anywhere but forward although only a few boats are returning up the river and back to their slips.
“Breathe,” I say.
Evan exhales, a mix of a sigh and a laugh. “This is Grampa’s boat,” he says. “I just don’t want to mess it up.”
I reach over and rub my son’s shoulder. “He would be so proud of you,” I say. “You’re a good captain.” I stop. “You’re an even better person.”
Evan turns to me and smiles like a little kid. “Mom,” he says softly.
“I mean it,” I say. “I don’t say it enough.”
“I feel the same about you,” he says.
“Thank you,” I say. “That means the world.”
I do have a good kid, I think, my heart swelling with pride.
I know it sounds corny, but it’s true. I have so many friends whose kids have not only caused them heartaches and headaches, but also don’t seem to appreciate their parents. Evan not only works hard to be a success and a good person, but he also acknowledges the sacrifices made by me and Nate as well as his grandparents. That is rare.
“I’m a little nervous about taking this out on the big lake, Mom,” Evan says as we head down the channel.
I can see the opening into Lake Michigan. There is a northwest wind, and it has turned the big water choppy.
“Why don’t you just park in the party cove?” I ask.
Evan looks relieved, and heads the boat out of the channel and into a big circle of water, which is tucked into the shoreline and protected by the dunes. This is the spot where boats moor every pretty summer day, and people hop from boat to boat and party. Tonight, only a sailboat and pontoon are moored, and the party cove is peaceful.
Evan stops the boat in the middle of the cove, away from the other boats.
“Do we need to anchor?” he asks.
“I don’t think so,” I say. “It’s dead calm here. Let’s just sit for a few minutes and have dinner.”
I’ve packed a small basket of sandwiches, chips and fruit for us, and a baggie of dry food for Sonny. I hand Evan a sparkling water and open one for myself, filling a collapsible water bowl for Sonny. We eat in silence and watch the fishermen come back in from a day on the lake.
My dad said you could always figure life out on a boat ride. A wise man once said, “The goal is not to sail the boat, but rather to help the boat sail herself,” my dad told me long a
go when I was trying to figure things out. He took me out on the Adie Lou, and we floated and talked.
Dad, you were a wise man, I think, studying my son’s silhouette, the shape of his face, the bridge of his nose, the strong chin.
He looks so much like you, Dad, I think.
Evan has always been a sensitive child, an observer. He assesses the people and situations around him before stepping in. But once he’s in, he’s all in.
“How are you doing?” I ask. “I know school is fine, but life.” I hesitate. “You know. With your father and me?”
Evan takes a chip and flings it into the water. A fish surfaces almost immediately, along with a turtle, and the two nibble on it together.
“It was hard,” he says, his voice soft, calm and deep, like the water thumping on the side of the boat. “You know, a kid wants his parents to stay together. It’s selfish, I know, but you want to feel safe and protected. When that ends, the world is different than it once was. You grow up. You realize you’re not a kid anymore, and that life is going to be hard sometimes.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
“You don’t need to be sorry,” he says. “And you don’t need to apologize all the time.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Mom,” Evan says with a chuckle. He stops, looks out over the boat and continues. “I’ve also realized that I wasn’t happy because you two weren’t happy. You’re different now, Mom. So is Dad. So am I. Things change, and that’s okay. What’s the old phrase? The only constant in life is change. That’s true.”
“I hope I’m allowing you to figure things out on your own,” I say. “I hope your father and I aren’t pressuring you to be someone or do something you don’t want. That’s my greatest fear.”
Evan smiles. “You and Dad may not have been good together, but you’ve been great parents,” he says. “I’m figuring it out. I’m still young.”
“Yes, you are,” I say.
“But I’m realizing Saugatuck, this place, this lake, our cottage, this boat...” Evan stops and looks around. “All of this is in my blood. What if I want to be part of this someday, part of what our family started and you’ve created?”
“I would be so proud,” I say, “if that’s what would make you happy.”
“I just don’t want you feeling guilty, Mom,” he says. “You’ve spent a lot of your life feeling that way, and it is time that ends.”
I burst into tears. I don’t mean to, but my son’s words feel as if I’ve just eaten a million balloons. I’m soaring—with hope, elation, love, admiration for the man my son is becoming—and I can’t contain my emotions.
“I love you so much, Evan,” I say.
“Me, too, Mom.”
I reach over, and my son gives me the tightest hug of his life. And then we float in silence on the Adie Lou, drifting back and forth and back and forth, going nowhere but everywhere.
Part Thirteen
Rule #13:
Everyone Must Be Present for Sunset!
FORTY-FIVE
“I want everything to be perfect.”
I place a bouquet of peonies on a table in the honeymoon cottage. White peonies with pink centers sit prettily in an aqua McCoy vase of my grandma’s. I rush around arranging more bouquets—roses in Ball jars and sprays of ferns in baskets—until Evan urges me to stop.
“You don’t want it to look like a funeral home, Mom,” he says.
His choice of words unnerves me.
“You do know who this is for, don’t you?”
Evan shakes his head.
“Bob and Grace DeLancey,” I say. “They’re celebrating their sixtieth wedding anniversary.” I stop. “It’s just that...” I stop again and fidget with a falling fern to mask my emotions.
I continue, my voice warbly, as if I just swallowed a hummingbird. “It’s just that your grandparents never reached that anniversary. I will never reach such an anniversary. It’s a big deal, and I want it to be perfect.”
Evan walks over and tucks the frond just-so, before putting his hand on my back. “And it will, Mom.”
I stand and survey the room.
“They remember when this used to be a fish house,” I say. “Mr. DeLancey’s father sold goods to my grampa at his grocery. He even came here once, a long time ago.”
“That’s so cool,” Evan says. “I wonder what he will think of all the changes.”
“Me, too,” I say, my voice hushed.
“Want to help me make them an anniversary cake?” I ask.
“Isn’t that an awfully big undertaking?” Evan asks.
“That’s the whole point,” I say.
“But we’ve got a full house this weekend. Did they request it? Was it part of a package you offered?”
“No,” I say. “I just wanted to do something special and nice for them.”
“Nice doesn’t pay the bills,” Evan says.
I shoot him a dirty look. “No, but sometimes being nice is worth more than money,” I say. “Remember what your grampa used to say? Ethics is...”
“...what you do when no one is looking,” Evan says, finishing my thought. “I got it, Mom.”
“I think if we are always going above and beyond, people remember that,” I say. “What did you tell me? Things go viral?”
Evan nods. “Like wildfire.” He looks at me and then the room. “Okay, okay, I get it. Let’s go make a cake.”
We head outside, and I shoot a wary look at the sky. “It can’t rain,” I say, even as ominous clouds begin to crowd out the blue sky, and the wind shakes the trees. “It’s their anniversary.”
“You can’t control the weather, Mom,” Evan says. “Shocking to realize, isn’t it?”
A small smile crosses my face. “It is, actually,” I say with a laugh.
We head into the kitchen, where I begin to pull out flour, sugar and butter from the cabinet and refrigerator.
“What kind of cake?” Evan asks.
“I was thinking a traditional white cake with buttercream frosting, and that we’d write on top of it,” I say. I stop and grab my phone, pulling up a string of emails. “Here, why don’t you take a look at the messages Mr. DeLancey’s sent to me.”
“I love that he’s in his eighties and knows how to email and text,” Evan says.
He leans his long body against the island and grows silent, his eyes moving left and right as he reads the messages, his index finger tapping my phone every few seconds. When he looks up, his eyes are soft.
“These give me chills, Mom,” he says. “They are so sweet. He really loves his wife.”
I nod. “That’s why I want to do something special for them,” I say. “It’s rare. Their family is having a big celebration next weekend, but Bob wanted to surprise his wife, too. We were thinking champagne and cake on the beach at sunset.”
“I have an idea after reading his emails to you,” Evan says. “Isn’t a sixtieth wedding anniversary the diamond anniversary?”
I nod.
“And did you notice he calls his wife ‘cupcake’?” Evan asks.
I shake my head. “I guess I didn’t.”
Evan continues, his deep voice rising in excitement. “What if we made cupcakes and then arranged them in the shape of a diamond? And what if we decorated the cupcakes with little diamonds? I’m sure that bakery downtown has edible decorations. Cupcakes are so trendy right now.”
“I love it!” I say. “When did you get to be so smart?”
“Birth,” Evan says, walking over to hand me my phone and nudge my side with his bony elbow. “Good genes.”
“My genes,” I say.
“Dad might not be street smart,” Evan says, “but he’s book smart.”
“I’ll give him that,” I say.
I grab my dog-eared version of The Silver Palate Coo
kbook, written by famed chef Julee Rosso, who, coincidentally, owns and runs Saugatuck’s beautiful Wickwood Inn, which has been in business for decades.
“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,” I mutter to myself, flipping through the cookbook to find a cupcake recipe. “I’ll pull these together if you want to run into town and get some champagne and those cake decorations.”
“Okay,” Evan says, his long legs already striding for the door.
“And get the good champagne, too, like Veuve,” I call.
“Not the cheap crap you drink, is that what you’re saying?” Evan yells back.
I turn on the blender to cover not only my laughter but also the echo of truth.
FORTY-SIX
Evan and I hold umbrellas over Mr. and Mrs. DeLancey as we usher them to the honeymoon cottage. He has a firm grip on his wife’s arm as she maneuvers slowly with a cane.
“I hope you had a nice drive,” I say.
“We had a nice driver,” Bob laughs.
“Well, we’re so honored you’ve chosen to stay with us.”
I open the door and usher them inside.
“Happy anniversary!” I say.
Evan retreats and begins bringing in their luggage.
They are about the cutest couple I’ve ever seen: they resemble Henry Fonda and Katharine Hepburn from On Golden Pond—elegant and refined yet comfortable and not fussy—although Bob is much more affable than Fonda’s Norman Thayer.
For the longest time, no one says anything, and I begin to panic, thinking they don’t like the accommodations, the renovations, the flowers, even me.
Bob is leading Grace around the cottage, and she is studying each piece of furniture, every floral arrangement.
I can hear my heartbeat in my eardrums. I feel dizzy. I sneak a glance at Evan, who is wet from the rain. He shrugs his shoulders.
Unable to take another second of silence, I finally say, “If there is anything you don’t like, or if this doesn’t meet your expectations...?”
The Summer Cottage Page 27