The Wideness of the Sea

by Katie Curtis

  She put the picture back on the mantle.

  That evening, the air was cool and moist, and the setting sun cast a glow on the room as Anna sat with her nephew, coloring and eating veggies while they waited for dinner. Henry banged on the table loudly with his sippy cup. “More ranch!” he yelled.

  “Say please,” said her sister as she swirled the creamy white goodness next to his cucumbers and peppers.

  The house smelled heavenly, the aromas of the red wine it had been cooked in with the beef and onion and rosemary made Anna’s mouth water. Mike was strolling around the house with Anna’s father, discussing which plants to move, what things would make nice additions to the landscaping. Even though Mike had grown up in Minnesota, he had adopted the New Englander passion for keeping your yard looking pristine. They looked like they were deep in thought as they came into the house.

  “Smells good, Marie,” Mike said sweetly as they walked in, and he gave her a kiss.

  “Goodness, it smells wonderful,” her father agreed as he took off his shoes, poured himself a glass of Scotch, and sat down at the table next to Henry. Marie worked steadily behind them in the adjacent kitchen, and Mike tended to the fire. For a moment, Anna had to pinch herself. This night was just what her heart needed. If only her father’s presence didn’t put her on edge.

  As if he could read her thoughts, he turned to her and asked, “So how’s New York? How’s your boyfriend?”

  “He’s good,” Anna said. “He’s as disciplined as ever, in early at work, and fitting in his crazy workouts. But we’ve had a fun winter trying out some of the new restaurants and art shows. And the gallery has had a lot of success lately,” she said, realizing she meant her own shows, so she quickly changed the subject. She turned to Marie in the kitchen. “There is this new Brazilian restaurant we just tried, the meat melts in your mouth. I wish you could all come down and try it.”

  “Mmm. Meat.” Mike said in his best caveman voice.

  “Sounds amazing,” Marie nodded.

  Her father colored with Henry, and looked up at the mention of art shows. “I meant to tell you, there’s a new artist who just opened a gallery out by the harbor. She’s from away - came up from New York. She’s quite good. You should go see her.” He tilted his glass back. The ice cubes made a familiar clinking sound.

  Anna felt her neck and shoulders tighten at the suggestion. She knew her father was just trying to share this information with her, but it felt heavy with the weight of past expectations. She tried to sound light in her reply. “Okay, I’ll have to take a look. Where’s the gallery?”

  “Just down the road from Riley’s market, before you turn to go to the harbor,” he said. He looked tired, like he had aged a lot since the last time she had visited. No doubt the toll of Charlie’s death added to the tightness around his eyes.

  “I’ll try to swing by,” she said. “How’s the magazine going?” In addition to running the Foundation, her father was a regular contributor for Art: Yesterday and Today, a magazine that kept art historians updated on contemporary art. He didn’t really believe in retirement.

  “Good, pretty good. Some crazy art teacher in L.A. hosted a crit where no one spoke for two hours, then just held hands. Like it was a damn séance. Drives me crazy when I think of the cost of that class.” Anna was used to her father’s criticism of the contemporary art world, mainly directed at conceptual art. His academic focus had been figurative art, and he was more comfortable with the masters of the Renaissance and Impressionism, though he respected a few recent artists, such as Lucian Freud and Luc Tuymans, a figurative painter from Belgium. And though she wouldn’t admit it to him, Anna shared his dislike of the craziness of the art world, especially the overinflated ego of many contemporary artists and dealers. But she tried to turn the conversation to lighter stuff. She wanted to get into some of her questions and didn’t want things to take a confrontational turn over the art world before she started.

  “Want some help, Marie?” she said as she got up to help her sister serve in the kitchen. Anna came back in carrying plates of steaming beef and potatoes with parsley sprinkled on top.

  “So, Dad, you’ll never believe who we bumped into yesterday at Shaw’s Wharf.”

  “Who?” he asked.

  “Andrew Toomey.”

  Her father was silent he stroked his mustache thoughtfully. “How’s he doing? And how’s what’s her name . . . that Marie was friends with . . . Liz?” he asked.

  “They’re doing well, I guess. Andrew is still fishing, on his own lobster boat. Liz is bartending at Shaw’s Wharf. They said that Henry can go on a ride on his boat this summer.”

  At the mention of his name, Henry banged on his high chair. “Boat ride!” he yelled, his blond curls filled with ranch, his eyes wide at the mention of a boat.

  “Yes, boat ride!” Marie echoed him from the kitchen.

  “So I see their family has really reached their potential in life,” he said. He took another sip from his Scotch.

  Anna looked up from the doorway. The comment hung in the air like a thick cloud. “What do you mean?” she finally asked.

  “Well, they were both honor roll students, varsity athletes. Now they fish and pour beer? Seems like a waste of potential.”

  Anna was both glad and angry that the conversation had arrived here. This was the John Goodrich she ran from. Opinionated and ignorant, and obsessed with people’s full potential as a righteous platform for judging them.

  “Well, we can’t all be academics. The world needs to eat,” Marie said. She put the salad bowl in the center of the table and sat down, the corners of her mouth smiling in amusement at the hubris of her father.

  “And drink,” added Mike.

  “I know, but that boy had talent. Gifts. And he threw it away,” her father said.

  “Just like I did?” Anna asked. Her hand was on her hip, her head cocked sideways. “He took me with him, right? What is it with you and what Andrew does with his life?”

  “It isn’t what he did with his life; it’s what you didn’t do with yours,” he said.

  Marie interrupted them. “Can we please sit down and eat? Don’t do this in front of Henry.” She motioned for Anna to take a seat next to her. Anna sat down and started to eat. Her pulse raced, and she started to think maybe Marie was right. It was a mistake to ruin this amazing dinner.

  “Actually, this is a great conversation with Henry here,” Anna’s father said. He set down his fork and stared at them. “Imagine if Henry went to school, and they found he had the most amazing scientific gifts. They encouraged him to go to a special gifted school, and there he thrived. Won awards. Came up with amazing questions, and wrote amazing studies. Learned about medicine from both of you. But when it came time for college, he chose to follow his friends. Or maybe a girlfriend. And he went to the state school they went to. And when he was done, he announced he wanted to hang out with her for the summer. Maybe help his friend working on roof tops or new construction. Because it was comfortable. Easy. Somewhere along the way, he had lost his hunger to be great. His desire to excel. Because of who he was hanging out with. And you could say nothing at all, Marie. Even though you knew he wasn’t truly happy. He spent his free time at the local bar, with his girlfriend. How would you feel?”

  They sat silently at the table. “Dad, it was hardly the same thing,” Anna started.

  “How is it different?” he asked.

  “His mom didn’t die in the process.”

  “Marie? Mike? If one of you passed, would Henry’s choice pain you less or more? Wouldn’t it add to your grief? Wouldn’t you be losing not one loved one, but two?”

  Marie and Mike sat silently, and looked at Henry.

  “I’m going to get some more wine,” Marie said.

  “Dad, I wasn’t working construction and drinking at the bar. I was taking a summer to think about it. If Henry took some time off after college, maybe it will lead him to even better things.

  “Not if he wa
s influenced by those around him. He might never get back on track.”

  “Well, in your analogy, Henry would be about 21 or 22. Which means he gets to decide for himself what his choices are,” Anna said.

  “Yes. And people can still make bad choices. And the people who love them can try to keep them from continuing to do so.” A vein started to pop out of John Goodrich’s temple. “Maybe we even have a responsibility to help them when they make bad choices. Are you going to say it will be easy to watch him throw away his gifts?”

  “Dad, calm down. Anna, let’s get off this,” Marie said.

  “I didn’t get us on this, Dad did. I’ll make it easy for you. I’ll leave.” Anna stood up.

  “Leaving is easy,” said her father. “You should be good at it by now. But how would you feel if that was Henry’s response? Leaving?”

  “If Marie rode Henry the way you ride me, I would let him crash on my couch when he left,” Anna said. She stormed up the stairs. A familiar wave of anger left her after a while, and she fell asleep as she heard her father’s car start down the drive.

  When she woke up the next morning, she headed down to get coffee and heard Henry and Marie up in the kitchen.

  “Hey,” she said. “I’m sorry about last night. You were right, we shouldn’t have gotten into it.”

  Marie looked up from wiping the mess Henry had left under his plate and shook her head. “I just can’t believe that red wine beef stew couldn’t distract you guys from fighting. It was the best thing I have ever made!” Marie said. She put down the rag in the sink. “I can’t believe you guys can get right back there so fast. I keep hoping one of you will let it go, but it appears that the stubborn streak isn’t going anywhere.”

  Anna sighed. “I guess. I just don’t get why that whole bit about ‘freedom’ escapes him. Why he feels like he has to decide what is right for others.”

  “I know,” Marie said. “It is his version of loving, but it feels like the opposite of love. He just doesn’t know it. But all you can do is not let it eat you up so bad, I guess,” Marie said.

  “I know,” said Anna. “It still does. That is for sure. I’ll try not to let it. I will be the big girl. Especially since we are going to a reading of the will together today. How weird is that?”

  “Ugg, I’m dreading it,” said Marie as she packed up snacks and toys in Henry’s bag.

  “Hey Marie?” Anna asked.

  “Yea,” she said, looking up from the sink.

  “Can I try your beef stew for breakfast?” Anna asked.

  Just as she had hoped, her sister rolled her eyes and laughed.

  Chapter 6

  The lawyer’s office was a red brick house sitting on the main road just before heading into downtown Damariscotta. Its trees and bushes were almost electric with their spring green blossoms, setting off a black sign with gold lettering that read Sloan, Ferris, and Wadsworth.

  James P. Sloan was Uncle Charlie’s lawyer, a middle-aged, round-bellied gentleman with a full head of thick brown hair. He greeted them all warmly while remaining matter-of-fact about his duties. They gathered first in the front office. They were waiting for Stephen, who again had to drive up from Rhode Island, only to turn around promptly after lunch and head back for the dinner service. The attorney offered his condolences while Henry zoned in on the large water cooler. He walked over to it, grabbed a Dixie cup, and pressed the button. He giggled each time his chubby thumb managed to let out a few drops of water. The secretary eyed him as she pushed through some paperwork, smiling at Marie as both an acknowledgment that Henry was in fact cute but also was not free from her unspoken reign on the order in this space. Stephen walked in just as Henry filled the cup to the brim, and Marie beat the secretary to him, pulling the cup gently from his hands.

  “Right into this conference room here, please,” Mr. Sloan said. “This shouldn’t take long. We’ll do a reading of the will of Charles Goodrich and discuss a few matters regarding his estate.” He placed a silver watch neatly next to the paperwork, and kept straightening the corners of his stack of papers. “Please take a copy to read along with me, and note that I will start reading at the middle of page three. The first few pages are just legal jargon and matters of health proxy, power of attorney, etc.” Things that would only matter if Uncle Charlie were alive, Anna thought.

  He spoke clearly, enunciating et cetera in an academic fashion. Anna felt as if she were listening to a professor. “As you can see on page three, we have an initial listing of assets and an approximation of their amounts as of last Monday. We must of course take into account market volatility. I will just begin to read them and announce the beneficiary designation of each.” He cleared his throat as he began. “To Catherine Goodrich Kearns, we have the bequeathing of all family heirlooms, silver, china, furniture and such as designated by Charles Goodrich, in addition to fifty percent of assets held in a brokerage account in Damariscotta, Maine. To John Goodrich, we have the bequeathing of the personal effects of Charles, his automobile, library, and other itemized artifacts in his home, along with the remaining fifty percent of the brokerage account. Upon either of your passing, these amounts are intended to be dispersed equally among your children.”

  Though Mr. Sloan was not talking especially fast, Anna found herself a bit slow in absorbing the content of his speech. The amount listed on the page under “Brokerage Account” was $3.5 million. Half of that belonged to her father now. Before she could absorb this, she was sent reeling by the next item.

  “To the children of John Goodrich, the paintings owned by Charles Goodrich will be equally divided by amount and preference. This should be decided among them, and if an arbitrator is necessary, Atty. James P. Sloan should serve in this capacity until a favorable outcome is decided upon.” She recalled all the paintings that were at Uncle Charlie’s from her mom’s gallery. A strong desire to see the forgotten pieces came over Anna. She had most of her mother’s work cataloged in her memory, as well as in an actual file at the gallery, but she couldn’t recall all the pieces at Uncle Charlie’s.

  “To the children of Catherine Goodrich Kearns, the remaining shares of Bank of America stock from his firm’s buyout are in a clearing account, and shall be divided between Sarah and Phillip as either an in-kind transfer or, if they prefer, a liquidation with the cash proceeds representing a taxable event for purposes of their income tax declaration.” Anna looked down. The paper read $500,000 next to the stock value.

  “Finally, this estate grants the ownership of Charles Goodrich’s residence, Thirteen New Harbor Road, and those furnishings not previously listed in any other itemized gift to his niece Anna Goodrich. Mr. Goodrich wished to declare his intention for this perhaps inequitable distribution to his belief that she should return to the state of Maine. He has escrowed an amount to cover the cost of roughly five years’ worth of taxes as well.”

  Mr. Sloane paused as he glanced over the remaining contents of the paper and, when satisfied, lifted his head, cleared his throat, and looked around the table at the stunned family members. Anna stared numbly at the shaft of light on the mahogany table in front of her, and felt the hair on her arms stand up. Uncle Charlie was a millionaire? Uncle Charlie left her his house?

  “Are there any questions?” Mr. Sloane asked. The secretary entered just then, handing him a piece of paper, prompting a curt nod and dismissal before she backed away.

  “When does all of this take effect?” asked Aunt Catherine, rubbing the area above her right eyebrow.

  “The distribution of brokerage assets can be transferred as soon as you provide us with information about where you want it to go. If you have a broker already, feel free to provide us with their contact information. If you don’t, we can certainly give you a recommendation, and then the transfer will be started as soon as you have an account opened with them. The contents of Mr. Goodrich’s home can be handled anytime. The itemized section will be your guide, and if there are any discrepancies, a meeting at the house can be arrang
ed where I oversee the distribution. I am not sure that will be necessary given your family’s lack of previous discord or dissension, but at times these events can trigger some tension. I will let you contact me if you want to set something like that up. Any of you are free to contact me at any time.”

  They sat in stunned silence, as Mr. Sloan left and pressed on with his day.

  After Mr. Sloan stunned them all with Uncle Charlie’s will, they all went to lunch to process the news. She had been worried that her cousins would be upset about the house, but Sarah and Phillip were excited at the prospect of having her closer. Her father had returned to his neutral attitude toward her, and she did the same. He and Catherine discussed their amazement at their brother. By all accounts, Uncle Charlie was a frugal New Englander. He was very generous at Christmas and birthdays, but he hardly lived a glamorous life. Though his house was on the ocean, he had bought it from a foreclosure that had come through the bank for a great price almost forty years ago. His one vice had been his boat, and he had gifted that to his best friend last summer, saying he was getting too old to use it anymore. The fact that he had amassed that kind of wealth amazed them all. Having such a detailed will was surely because he was a banker, and consequently was aware what could happen without one.

  She could barely start to process taking over her uncle’s house, since she was still processing the fact that he was gone. She had to wait for the transfer to be official, but her father had a set of keys, and Anna, Marie and Aunt Catherine had gone over after lunch to try to sort through some of the belongings.

  It had been very difficult. Seeing soap in the shower, milk in the fridge, his old sweater across the back of a chair in the kitchen made it feel like he had just stepped out for a bit. But he was never coming back. The hollowness of this fact, facing death in all the evidence of life, made Anna go into the bathroom and weep. She tried to hide it from her aunt, but Anna noticed she was crying as well on the back step, staring out at the ocean. Marie came in and hugged her.