The Summer Cottage

by Viola Shipman

  I nod.

  He remembers, I think. Our cottage rules, our family, our history, and he will never forget. I look down at the paperback and think of the passage I’d read earlier.

  “You were dreaming,” Evan says. “About what?”

  I look at my son and then at the magnificent sunset.

  “This,” I say.

  EPILOGUE

  Rule #14:

  Shake the Sand from Your Feet,

  But Never Shake the Memories of Our Summer Cottage.

  It Is Family!

  July 2019

  “You’re wearing white?”

  Trish laughs. “Just kidding,” she says, grabbing my hands. She gives them a tight squeeze and when I look up, her eyes are filled with tears. “You look beautiful.”

  I can feel my heart rise in my throat. “Thank you,” I say. “Don’t make me cry. I don’t want to look like a raccoon on my wedding day.” I release my hands and flutter my fingers over my eyes to dry any potential tears.

  “What a difference a year makes,” Trish says. “You and Scooter. This inn. A totally new start. The old Adie Lou is back!”

  “I know,” I say. “Oh! What you just said—old and new—reminds me.” I look at Trish. “Ready? Something old...”

  “Watch it,” Trish starts.

  I laugh. “Not you,” I say. “This. Look.”

  I lift the bottom of my wedding dress. A tiny swatch of satiny fabric I found from Sadie’s time capsule has been sewn inside the hem.

  “Perfect,” Trish says. “Just perfect. And speaking of which, I have the rest of the equation.”

  She turns and retrieves a small box from her bag. “Close your eyes and hold out your hand,” she says. “Okay, open.”

  In my palm is a beautiful gold cuff bracelet. Three small stones—a heart-shaped pebble, an adder stone with a hole in it and a piece of pale blue beach glass—are set between three diamonds.

  “I had the bracelet made by a jeweler in Chicago,” she says. “I ‘borrowed’ the stones from your front porch while I was here. I thought they were perfect.”

  “They are,” I say, welling up again. “Oh, Trish. I don’t know what to say.”

  “I do,” she says. “I love you. And I’m so, so happy and proud to call you my friend.”

  She hugs me and places the bracelet on my wrist. There is a soft knock on the door, and Evan peeks his head inside. “Mind if I come in?” he asks.

  “I’ll let you two have a minute,” Trish says. “It’s time for a drink anyway. Evan, did you bring any of your fraternity brothers?”

  Evan laughs, and I pretend to cover my ears.

  “I did,” he says.

  “And they’re over twenty-one?” she asks.

  “They are,” he says. “Should I warn them?”

  Trish rolls her eyes. “You should congratulate them,” she says with a big laugh. Then she leans in and kisses him on the cheek. “You done good, Adie Lou.”

  “I know,” I say, studying my son as Trish closes the door. “You look handsome,” I say.

  “Thanks, Mom,” he says, ducking his head.

  Uncomfortable in his black tux, with his hair slicked back, he resembles a small boy who has been forced to dress up for church. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bow tie. “Can you help?” he asks. “I can’t tie it right, and neither can any of my friends. We tried to watch a YouTube video, but everything’s backward.”

  I smile. “What are moms for?” I ask. I line up the bow tie and begin to tie it, adjusting it as I go, before making a bow and then tightening it just-so. “There.”

  “Where’d you learn to do that?” he asks.

  “Your father,” I say. “The man loves his bow ties.”

  Evan laughs. “I’m just a little nervous, to be honest.” He holds out his hands. “See?” They are trembling.

  “Oh, honey,” I say. “Are you okay?” I stop. “Is this all okay? I thought...”

  “It is, Mom,” he says. “I really like Scooter. You and him are a perfect match. It’s just that...well...I feel like Grampa should be giving you away. Is it okay that a son walks his mom down the aisle?”

  “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want,” I say.

  “No, I do,” he says. “It just feels like...we’re all grown up now, aren’t we, Mom?” His cheeks quiver.

  “We are, sweetheart,” I say, holding out my arms. “But you’ll always be my baby, and I’ll always be your mom.”

  “I know,” he whispers, hugging me tightly.

  Evan turns and stares at his reflection, his hands fluttering over his bow tie. They are still trembling a little.

  “Is there such thing as a happy ending?” Evan asks. “Or is that just in books and movies?”

  I grasp his hands tightly and give them a little shake. “It’s not corny to have happy endings,” I say, “and I don’t like it when people say they’re not possible. Look at me. It’s a blessing to have happy endings, Evan. They’re really just the result of hard work, being true to yourself and a touch of luck.”

  I kiss him on the cheek and adjust his bow tie just-so once more.

  “Deep breath,” I say.

  “Okay,” he says. “Mom? Next time we really talk, you’ll be a married woman.”

  “I know,” I say. “Again.”

  There is a soft knock on the door. Evan opens it, and Nate is standing there.

  “I’m glad you could make it,” I say. And I mean it.

  “I’m glad you invited me,” he says. Nate walks over and hugs me. And then he does the same to Evan.

  “Hi, Dad,” he says.

  Nate holds his son at arm’s length and just looks at him for the longest time before turning to me and saying, “Our baby.”

  The emotion in his voice moves me, and I nod. “He always will be,” I say.

  “I have something for you, Evan,” he says. “I know the whole something old, something new adage is for brides, but I wanted to give you this.” He reaches into the pocket of his tux and produces a pocket square. Nate unfolds it to show an embroidered K on it.

  “Oh, my gosh,” I say. “Is that...?”

  “It is,” Nate says. “Evan, your grandfather gave this to me the day I married your mom. He always called a tux without a pocket square a naked suit. It’s only right I pass this on to you.”

  Nate takes the pocket square and holds it in front of Evan. “Do you want a square fold, a throw or a one-point?” Nate asks.

  “I have no idea what any of those are,” Evan says with a laugh. “You decide, Dad.”

  Nate begins to fold the fabric, almost as if he’s creating origami, and then tucks a perfect white triangle into Evan’s jacket pocket.

  “One-point,” Nate says. “I’m more of a classic.” He turns to look at me. “What a surprise, huh?”

  I smile.

  Nate grips Evan’s shoulders and then turns to look at me. “Scooter seems like a great guy,” he says.

  “He is,” I say.

  “Of course you’d pick the Fourth of July to get married. It’s always been a special holiday to you, hasn’t it?”

  I nod.

  “I’ll see you in a few minutes, Mom,” Evan says. “If I fall, just step over me.”

  “Back atcha,” I say, and he gives me a big wink.

  “Can I have a second?” Nate asks after Evan leaves.

  “Of course,” I say.

  “I just want to tell you how proud I am of you,” he says. “Not only the wonderful job you’ve done raising Evan and the incredible man he’s turned into, but also the wonderful job you’ve done with the inn.” Nate hesitates. “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have pressured you into selling the cottage.” He hesitates again. “I shouldn’t have done a lot of things.”

  His admission f
eels as if a weight has finally been lifted from my body, and I feel freer, lighter. I think back to when he sent Trey and Cissy to spy on me. I don’t know if they ever told him I busted them, but it no longer matters.

  “And I’m happy you found Scooter,” he says. “You deserve only love and joy.”

  Again, his words stop me cold. “Thank you,” I say. “I appreciate that.”

  There is yet another knock on the door, and I open it to see a young Thoroughbred of a woman—all legs and lustrous mane—holding a glass of champagne and looking very impatient. “Is Nate in here?” she asks.

  I open the door fully and gesture.

  “I missed you,” she says in a baby voice.

  Fuschia has been replaced by Nate’s latest girlfriend—Britney? Tiffany? Stormy?—who chugs her champagne.

  “Ashley...” Nate starts.

  Ashley!

  “...this is Adie Lou, the bride and my former wife.”

  Ashley eyes me up and down. “It’s, like, nice to meet you. Your dress is totally vintage.”

  It is? I think. It’s new.

  “Like, congrats,” she continues. “So, yeah.”

  I look at Nate, eyes wide as if to ask, Why is a college professor dating a human emoji?

  He smiles.

  “Thank you,” I say to Ashley, who doesn’t look up. She is already furiously tapping on her cell with a purple nail. The color of her polish makes me think of Fuschia, and I have to stifle a laugh.

  Suddenly, I see Trish in the hallway. She gives Nate an overly dramatic and sarcastic thumbs-up.

  This time, I laugh out loud. “I deserve that,” he whispers. “You have a good friend—and attorney—there.”

  “I do,” I say.

  Nate gives me a hug and then looks at me for the longest time.

  “You figured it out,” Nate says, his voice coming out as a fragile whisper. “I hope I do, too, one day, Adie Lou.”

  Adie Lou, I think. He finally called me Adie Lou. It’s like he finally sees the woman I am, the girl I always was.

  I watch him walk away with Ashley as Trish rushes in with two glasses of champagne.

  “Looks like you could use this,” she says.

  “He was actually...” I search for the right word. “Nice.”

  Trish clinks my glass. “Ready to get hitched?” she asks.

  “I am.”

  I really am, I think.

  We drink our champagne, and then Trish peeks her head out the door. “Coast is clear,” she says. “Guests are all on the beach.”

  She escorts me out of the inn. Evan is waiting for me at the top of the steps leading to the beach.

  “You look so beautiful, Mom,” Evan says.

  “Thanks, honey,” I say.

  “I’ll see you on the other side,” Trish says, giving me a big hug. As she starts down the steps, she turns. “And I know a great attorney if this doesn’t work out.”

  “This is it,” I say.

  “You ready?” Evan asks.

  I nod and look down at the ceremony I’ve orchestrated on the beach.

  A boardwalk has been set up from the stairs to the shoreline for the guests to walk. I hired a “shoe valet,” so guests can trade in their dress shoes and heels for casual flip-flops that have my and Scooter’s names and wedding date printed on them. A small arbor sits by the lake where we will exchange vows. The arbor is encircled by lake stones in the shape of a heart. I built a sandcastle in the shape of the inn nearby, and photos of Scooter and I sit behind it.

  Wow, I think. This turned out prettier than I imagined.

  Thank you for cooperating, Mother Nature, I continue, admiring an afternoon in the upper seventies with a light wind.

  I take a deep breath and my son’s hand, the music starts, people turn and we descend the stairs.

  As I walk down the boardwalk, the train of my simple white dress floats on the lake breeze. When I reach the end, Trish is waiting. She is holding a bouquet of roses and peonies from my garden.

  “Ironic choice,” Trish whispers with a wink. “Roses.”

  I can no longer control my tears when Evan gives me a soft kiss on the cheek and Scooter takes my hand. You look beautiful, he mouths. I love you.

  “Welcome, friends and family,” the minister from the tiny church on the lakeshore begins. “This is a love story that began right up there.” He stops and points toward Lakeshore Drive. Guests turn to look. “A love story that began when Scott and Adie Lou were kids. A love story that began when Adie Lou first called Scott ‘Scooter’ because of his adolescent transportation.”

  The crowd titters.

  “A love story that started out as a friendship,” he continues.

  As the minister speaks, I can feel myself leave my body. I am hovering over the crowd, and I can see my life flash before me.

  I am ten years old, my head out of the car window, excited to spend the summer at Cozy Cottage with my parents.

  I am fifteen years old and working on the chain ferry with Scooter.

  I am nineteen and in love with Nate.

  I am a young mother in my twenties.

  I am in my thirties and in a loveless marriage.

  I am in my forties and starting over.

  I am here.

  Life is fleeting, a series of moments that fly by too quickly.

  I look out at the lake. We get caught in the tide and let it carry us, lull us, and when we wake up, we too often have drifted someplace we never expected or wanted to be, I think. We must be the current, not at the whim of the current.

  As Scooter and I exchange vows, I can feel my family alongside me. I can hear the voices of my parents in the sand and the lake. I can hear the voices of my grandparents in the wind whistling through the aspen trees and the dunes grass.

  The guests laugh, and I return to my body. Sonny is running down the boardwalk, a diamond around his neck, my golden ring bearer.

  “I do,” Scooter says.

  “I do,” I say.

  “You may kiss the bride,” the minister says.

  After the ceremony, we retreat to the inn. A huge tent sits on the grounds behind the guest cottage, and it glows with candles. After dinner, we dance. My first dance with my new husband feels like I am home, at one in his arms as I am in this cottage. We sway to the music, lost in each other’s eyes, just the two of us, united. Forever.

  My mother-son dance with Evan is a blur—just like his childhood—and when we are done, the music immediately takes a turn. Eighties dance music blares from the speakers, and I turn to see Trish standing alongside the DJ. She shoots me a big thumbs-up and then screams—jumping up and down like a teen girl—before racing onto the dance floor, kicking off her shoes and taking my hand. I follow her lead—kicking off my heels—and we shimmy.

  After Trish and I “Walk Like an Egyptian” and get “Footloose,” Esme suddenly joins us on the dance floor, and, together, we “Push It” good, laughing so hard we have to take a break to catch our breaths. A Wham! song starts and then abruptly ends.

  “I’d like to make a toast!”

  I turn, along with the guests, and Iris Dragoon is standing alongside the DJ holding the mic, a glass of champagne raised.

  “‘Remember me fondly as the Girl in the drawing and not as the one in Leg O’ Mutton sleeves,’” Iris begins, before sharing the story of Sadie, her time capsule and how it brought Iris and me together. “That is how I will always remember Adie Lou. The girl who took chances, believed in herself and lived the life she dared to dream.” She stops, and, though it is dim, I swear she is crying. “Like Sadie wrote over a century ago and like Adie Lou models every day, I propose we always paint our cheeks with rouge, I pray that we seek our own stars, and I endeavor that a smile is forever upon our faces.” She stops and looks at me, raising her glass even hig
her. “To unconventional women!”

  “To unconventional women!” the crowd responds.

  As it grows late, Scooter whispers to me, “Are you about ready? The guests are waiting to watch us drive away.” He winks at me.

  “I am,” I say. “I love you.”

  “Me, too.”

  I grab my shoes and begin to walk with Scooter, when I hear, “Mom?”

  I jump at Evan’s voice.

  “Can I talk to you for a quick second before you leave?”

  “Of course,” I say, looking at Scooter and then Evan. “Is everything okay? Do you need to know anything about the inn before I leave you in charge?”

  “No, I just need to ask you something. In private.”

  My heart quickens. “Sure,” I say.

  “I’ll see you in a few,” Scooter says.

  Evan leads me into the inn, through the kitchen and dining room, and across the lobby.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  He smiles and opens the front door. I drop my shoes on the hook rug as he guides me onto the front porch. It is pitch-black, but I can hear guests stirring beyond, waiting for me and Scooter to depart.

  “Evan, what’s going on?” I ask again.

  “I want to give you my wedding gift,” he says. “Are you ready?”

  “Ready for what?”

  “Ready to recite the rules!” Evan says, his eyes as wide as they used to get when he was a child and he saw his grandparents. “It’s the Fourth of July!”

  My heart explodes.

  “It’s the only time I’ve seen you pay attention to rules,” I say, recalling the words I used to say to him.

  Evan reaches into the woven Nantucket basket still hanging from the front door, and then turns as if he is a magician, his hands behind his back.

  “Ta-da!” he says, producing two sparklers.

  “Oh, Evan,” I say. “What in the world?”

  He hands one to me, and then pulls a long fireplace lighter from the basket and lights them. I giggle when I see the shimmering sparks, just like Evan did as a child.

  “Remember, we have to recite all the rules before our sparklers go out,” Evan says, his voice warbling with excitement. “First rule of the summer cottage, go!”