The Summer of Good Intentions

by Wendy Francis

  She, Mac, Jess, Tim, and Virgie all climbed out of the car as Mac handed over the keys to the valet. Before them, Gretchen’s house twinkled with hundreds of tiny white lights. Tiki torches lined the walkway, and elegant paper lanterns hung from the porch, fat, luminous globes suspended in the night. A familiar song—was it Hootie and the Blowfish?—floated out from the house. Maggie smiled; Gretchen was so old-school. At the front door, they were greeted by a swarm of people, women in sequined gowns, men in tuxedos, and a waitstaff parading around. Maggie suddenly felt underdressed, and her eyes flashed at Mac apprehensively. He took her hand and squeezed it.

  “Maybe they’ll think we’re part of the help,” he whispered. She batted at him, saying, “You’re terrible,” but it made her laugh. To hell with it if they weren’t as wealthy as half of the people here. Gretchen was her friend. Maggie belonged here as much as, even more than, anyone else.

  At that moment, the hostess ran up to greet them. “Maggie! Mac! You made it. I’m so glad. Hi, everyone,” Gretchen said, shaking all their hands. She was stunning, her hair done up in a loose twist, long diamond earrings dangling from her ears. Her face glowed with a healthy tan, and her blond hair seemed more natural in the evening light. Or perhaps it had faded to a subtler hue over the summer. Either way, Maggie’s friend was a knockout in a long blue shimmering gown.

  “You look fabulous,” Maggie said. “I’m afraid I didn’t get the memo about it being a black-tie event this year. Sorry.”

  “Pshht. Pleeease,” said Gretchen with a roll of eyes. “I’m only dressed this way because I’m hosting the thing.” She leaned in closer to Maggie and Mac. “You know this is just a chance for the millionaires to show off who’s got the most money.”

  Mac chuckled. “Don’t mind us. We’ll go hang with the kitchen help.”

  Gretchen smiled and elbowed Maggie. “That’s why I love your husband. A man who knows his place. Now scoot! Go eat some of this outrageously expensive food before it’s gone. And don’t forget to put your names in for the raffle.” And she was off, grabbing other guests’ hands, telling them how fabulous it was to see them.

  Maggie and Mac wound their way to the back of the house, through the living room that was layered with Oriental rugs and leather couches, to a deck with stunning views of the water. She and Mac found a small pocket of uninhabited space on the deck and planted themselves there. Maggie leaned against the railing and studied the handsome young waiters who darted in and out of the crowd, carrying trays of spinach and goat cheese crepes, pigs in a blanket, Chinese dumplings, and prosecco. Maggie grabbed two bubbly glasses off a tray and handed one to Mac. “Cheers,” she said and clinked glasses.

  “Cheers, my love.”

  “Here’s to hoping the rest of the month is a bit calmer,” she said.

  “Aw, it hasn’t been that bad, has it?” Mac asked. “I was kind of enjoying having everyone around.”

  “You’re joking, right? All the drama? It’s like One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest at Pilgrim Lane.” Mac laughed.

  Virgie swept up beside them, a crepe in hand. “Have you guys tasted these? Seriously good,” she proclaimed. “Your friend knows how to throw a party. Oopsies! Excuse me,” she said and dashed off to chase a waiter carrying a tray of dumplings.

  “Stop fretting,” Mac whispered into her ear. “Did I mention how beautiful you look tonight?”

  Maggie tilted her head back and smiled. Her husband was right. Virgie seemed to be feeling better. Jess and Tim had been casting each other furtive looks all day and holding hands, as if they were young lovers again. Even Arthur had been his old irascible self today. And there were no kids handing her their wet towels or their trash. She reminded herself that this was her night to have fun. “You’re absolutely right,” she said. “I need to let it all go. And thank you. You don’t look half bad yourself.”

  When a waiter passed, she nipped a dumpling off a tray, dipping it in the small bowl of sauce proffered, careful not to dribble any on her dress. She took a bite, a savory blend of pork, cabbage, and carrots. Divine. She reached for another before the server flitted off to another group. She struggled to remember the last time she’d been offered an appetizer and could only recall Gretchen’s party last year. Of course, there had been the occasional “date night” with Mac, but those were more often places like Chili’s or the 99. Restaurants that required a mere dash of lipstick or eyeliner, if that. Certainly not Japanese hair sticks.

  It occurred to her that there were likely a lot more nights of frozen pizza and chicken fingers in her future if she and Mac went ahead with her foster care idea. Was she really willing to give up the newfound freedom they’d have once all the kids were in school? There was the possibility she’d be able to get back in shape, read again, have casual lunches with her girlfriends. Adding a new member to the family would, of course, change all of that. But, as she sipped her prosecco, she knew she wasn’t ready to give up on the thought of raising another child. She wanted this. She would tell Mac. Soon.

  She watched as guests gathered themselves into small circles, suggesting an intimacy that she suspected no one really felt. The downside to these events, Maggie considered, was that, despite the goodwill propelling them along, they always carried a whiff of being forced, the rich strutting about to better establish themselves in the pecking order. That she and Mac were so far removed from this world, as if in another galaxy altogether, made it all the more interesting. She felt like a voyeur, spying on how the other half lived.

  Tim and Jess had disappeared somewhere, but Maggie glimpsed Virgie off in a corner talking to an older man and, presumably, his wife. The man, with a head of thick gray hair, bore a striking resemblance to Walter Cronkite. His wife had a snow-white bob that highlighted her ruby red lipstick. She was exaggeratedly thin, like so many women in these opulent circles. Maggie watched while her sister talked, admiring Virgie’s ability to charm a crowd wherever she went.

  Maggie was grateful that her dad had offered to babysit the kids tonight. They’d left him with a pile of G-rated movies and detailed instructions on how to make the microwave popcorn, though he’d waved them away. “For God’s sakes, I’m not a small child, you know,” he said. This past week, she’d watched her dad come to life around Gloria and then just as quickly shut down when Gio appeared. Virgie had even caught Gloria and Gio skinny-dipping the other night. Imagine! Two people of their age whipping off their clothes on the beach.

  Just then, the Stonehills swept up beside them to say how lovely it was to see them, hadn’t the children grown, and how was their father doing? Local year-rounders, the Stonehills made it their business to know everyone else’s business in their tightly knit community. Both were retired now, but they had amassed a small fortune in the restaurant business. Tonight, Susan Stonehill was dressed in an elegant burgundy sheath with a ballet neck and cap sleeves. A large ruby necklace rested on her freckled chest. George wore a tuxedo with a bow tie and pulled uncomfortably at his shirt collar, as if eager for the chance to escape. Maggie had always liked Mr. Stonehill, a Vietnam vet. He projected a judicious air, as if he’d seen everything he needed to in life and nothing could surprise him now. His shock of white hair and dark, horn-rimmed glasses suggested that he might have been a college professor, an intellectual in another lifetime.

  “How is your dad doing, honey?” Susan leaned in toward Maggie, concern etched on her face.

  “Oh, he’s fine,” Maggie said. “He’s hard at work on the next book.”

  Susan took Maggie’s hand in hers. “You let us know if you need us to do anything. I know you’ve got Jay looking in on the house, but if there’s anything else we can do, don’t hesitate to ask. We adore your dad.”

  “You bet,” George said. “Happy to do anything for your old man. I love that guy. Speaking of which, where is he tonight? You didn’t make him dress up in a penguin suit?”

  Maggie snickered. “We left him at home with the grandkids. Figured he’d have more fun there th
an at a fund-raising event.”

  George offered a knowing nod. “Smart move. The old man’s bound to say something to embarrass you here. You know how he hates rich folks.”

  And they all shared a laugh at her dad’s expense before George clapped Mac on the back and the Stonehills plunged themselves into the next wave of benefactors.

  “What was that all about?” Maggie asked.

  Mac shrugged. “They’re the friendly type. They consider themselves mayors of their little inlet. And they like Arthur.”

  “I guess.” She suddenly felt in need of sustenance, something to clear her head. The prosecco was shooting straight to her brain. She grabbed Mac’s hand to go in search of more dumplings. Eventually, they found their way to the main table and bar, an extravagant spread laid out in the dining room. Succulent pink shrimp hung by their tails from crystal bowls, a pool of tangy sauce in the center. There were trays of roasted vegetables, miniature crepes, and an assortment of chilled hors d’oeuvres. Maggie took a small plate and helped herself to the shrimp and vegetable skewers.

  On an adjacent table sat posters highlighting stories from the Boys & Girls Club. There were pictures of kids of all ages from various Boston communities, including Roxbury and Dorchester. Above the photos was the heading ENGAGED. INVOLVED. ENVELOPED BY LOVE. WHY NOT DO YOUR PART TODAY? Maggie peered over Mac’s shoulder at the shots of kids rock-climbing, hiking in the Blue Hills, cruising on a whale watch, painting a mural. Seeing so much goodwill on display made her bubbly. Here were people who cared deeply about mentoring children, about building a better world. Perhaps it was the prosecco, but Maggie felt herself among like-minded souls. The do-gooders, the givers, for whom helping formed the crux of their lives. She wanted to get involved, volunteer somehow. She’d have to ask Gretchen. And, of course, if she and Mac took in a foster child, they would be an extension of this world.

  “Oh, honey,” she said, leading Mac into a corner with their appetizers. “I have something to tell you.”

  Mac was caught in mid-chew of a shrimp. “Uh-oh,” he got out around a mouthful.

  “No, it’s good!” She set down her plate on the fireplace mantel. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while now.”

  “Double uh-oh.” Mac swallowed and grinned. “What’s up?”

  She took a deep breath and plucked a piece of lint off his jacket lapel. Then she slid her arms around his waist. “I’ve been thinking,” she said, looking up into his eyes. “With Luke starting kindergarten in September, and the girls practically teenagers, well, maybe we should look into adding another member to our family.”

  Mac’s face blanched slightly in the dim lighting of the room. “Like a dog?”

  “Not like that,” she said quickly. Mac was allergic. “I mean foster care. You know, helping a child who wouldn’t otherwise have a home.”

  “Oh?” He raised an eyebrow and then coughed into his hand.

  “I’ve been researching it a bit, and there seem to be plenty of kids who could use a loving family.”

  “And by ‘loving family,’ I assume you’re describing ours?” Mac joked. “Wow, Mags.” He paused. “Where did that come from? That’s a pretty big commitment, don’t you think? It’s not like you have the kid sleep over a few nights and then send him back home.”

  “Of course not!” she exclaimed. She waved at the table with the pictures of all the children in the Boys & Girls Club. “But look at all the good this organization is doing. Doesn’t it make you want to be a part of something bigger?”

  Mac eyed her skeptically. “I’m happy to volunteer on weekends, but actually signing up to be a foster parent? That’s something else entirely. Don’t you want to enjoy the fact that all our children are finally out of diapers? Signing up for another one? I don’t know, Mags. I kind of thought we were done.” His voice trailed off doubtfully.

  “I know, but this would be different. Most of the kids who need homes aren’t babies. They’re older. Toddler age, even five or six. He or she could be a playmate for Luke.” She clapped her hands together, as if adding an exclamation point to her idea.

  “Don’t you have to get approved by the state or something, prove you’re worthy?” continued Mac. “We might be shooting ourselves in the foot, inviting a stranger to evaluate our parenting skills.”

  Maggie laughed. “Something tells me we’d pass. Look, I get that it’s a big deal. You don’t have to answer now.” She picked up her drink and let the prosecco sweep over her tongue. “Just promise me you’ll think about it, okay? And in the meantime, I’m going to talk to Gretchen about volunteering for the organization. You know, something different. For me.”

  Mac sighed. “I’ll think about it, honey, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to give you the answer you want to hear.”

  She shrugged, trying not to let on how very important this was to her. She would give Mac time. He always needed time with big decisions—this one was no different. Eventually, she was confident he would come around.

  She turned on her heel and scanned the crowd, which appeared to be expanding by the minute. Poor Gretchen, she thought. She must be going crazy trying to glad-hand all these guests. She was about to seek out her friend to see if she could help when the Shania Twain tune that Sophie had picked for her new ringtone played on her phone. She shot Mac a smile, as if to say, Our girls, then pulled the cell from her purse.

  “Hello?” She held a finger to her other ear. “Hello?”

  “Is this Mrs. McNeil?” She moved to a corner, away from the noise of the party.

  “Yes?” Telemarketer she mouthed to Mac.

  “Mrs. McNeil, I don’t want to alarm you, but this is Fire Chief Souter. There’s been a small fire at your residence on Pilgrim Lane but—”

  “What?” She shot Mac a look. “Is everyone . . .?” She struggled to hear and headed for the front of the house. Mac followed her out to the front porch.

  “Everyone is fine. It was a small kitchen fire.” She put the phone on speaker so Mac could hear, too. “We got it out, but I think your dad and kids are pretty shaken up.”

  “Can I talk to my dad, please?” She could hear the pleading in her own voice, the crackle in the phone, a bad connection.

  “Mommy!” It was Lexie. She was bawling. “Mommy!” Maggie heard her daughter gulp for breaths of air. “There was a fire!”

  “Lexie? Are you okay?” Her voice was panicked, and Mac wrapped his free arm around her.

  “Lexie, honey, listen to me,” Mac began, but suddenly the phone switched over. “Maggie, Maggie is that you?” It was her dad, coughing, rasping into the phone.

  “Dad, what’s going on?” she cried.

  “Maggie, I’m so sorry. I left the kettle on. We’re all okay. I think it’s out. The fire.”

  “Dad, it’s Mac here. Are all the kids with you?” Mac was shouting, and a small group was beginning to form around them.

  “Yes, yes. I’ve got them right here,” Arthur said. Suddenly, Jess and Tim were by her side. They could hear sirens in the background, more shouting across the phone lines.

  “Count them, Dad. Just count them for me please, okay. There should be five kids,” Maggie pleaded.

  They waited as her dad counted aloud. “One, two, three, four, five. Yes, we’re all here. Everyone’s safe.”

  “Oh, thank God,” Jess whispered.

  Maggie remembered to breathe. “They’re okay,” she said as much to herself as to anyone else.

  “We’re on our way, Dad,” Mac said now. “We’ll be right there. You guys sit tight.” They were the words she needed to hear to remind her that she could get to her children and hug them. They were safe.

  Mac grabbed her hand as they careened through the small throng, Tim and Jess following. Somewhere Virgie was calling out Maggie’s name. Gretchen rushed after them. “Maggie, my God! I just heard. Are the kids okay?”

  “Yes. They’re out of the house. I’ll call you when I know more.” It was a jumble of words, but it was all sh
e could manage as they piled into the car.

  “We’ll follow you,” Gretchen said.

  When they pulled up to the house, flashing sirens circled the front yard. Two fire trucks and a handful of police cruisers were parked at jagged angles on the lawn. Maggie leapt out of the car, her eyes searching for the kids. Pillows of smoke billowed from the kitchen window. The air smelled acrid, the singe of smoke lingering. To the left of the house, a good twenty yards away, stood Arthur and the children.

  “Mommy!” shouted Luke. He ran toward them, the rest of the kids racing behind him. Arthur slowly began to make his way over.

  “Oh, honey. Are you okay? Let me look at you.” She cupped Luke’s face in her hands, checking for any burns or scrapes. His cheeks were streaked with tears. Lexie’s and Sophie’s eyes were wide with fear. But each one was okay. Maggie kissed their sweet, angelic faces. Jess did the same with Teddy and Grace. “Are they all right?” Maggie asked, and her sister nodded, tears of relief leaking from her eyes. A fireman brought over blankets and wrapped them around Arthur and the kids, still in their pajamas.

  Arthur collapsed on the hood of the car, rested his head in his hands, and began to weep.

  “There, there, Dad,” Mac said, coming over to rest an arm on his back. “It’s all okay now, everyone’s safe.”

  “But it could have been so different,” he said between sobs. “I just forgot about the kettle. It must have steamed up all the water. My kettle at home has a whistle,” he said, as if it explained everything. “And the house! Look at the house! It’s ruined.” His breathing was labored, his face streaked with soot.

  “No, no. Come on now. All of that is fixable. Don’t you worry about the house. What’s important is that you’re all okay.”

  Two paramedics walked over to check her dad’s pulse and breathing. “Sir, your oxygen levels are a little low. Do you mind if we put a mask on you for a few minutes?”