The Meryl Streep Movie Club

by Mia March

“Wow,” Isabel said. “We’ll have to show that to Kat. Lolly acted like she couldn’t be bothered three-quarters of the time with what was going on with any of us. But behind the scenes, there she was, raising hell with Principal Thicket.”

  The inn’s phone rang upstairs, and Kat called, “Isabel, telephone for you.”

  Isabel dashed upstairs to the office and picked up the receiver Kat had left on the desk. Kat had also left inn mail on the desk, including a small card addressed to her with a teenaged girl’s handwriting. Isabel flipped it over—no return address. “Hello, Isabel speaking.”

  “I’d like to book the Osprey Room, if it’s available for Saturday night. One adult, two children.”

  “Griffin?” she asked, but there was no question that the strong, deep voice at the other end of the phone, the first connection they’d had since Monday, was his.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t called back. I’ve been— Anyway, we can talk about that this weekend—if the room’s available, that is.”

  “We had a cancellation for the Osprey Room just yesterday.”

  “Then the girls and I will see you Saturday. Oh, and Isabel, maybe we can go for a walk on Saturday night, after I get Emmy to bed.”

  Her heart leapt. “I’d like that.”

  She wanted to ask him so many questions. But he and his girls were coming. Which said something was being offered.

  She opened the card. It was from Alexa Dean.

  To Isabel,

  I’m sorry for what happened on Monday. I shouldn’t have said I’d keep an eye on Emmy while you went inside if that’s not what I planned to do. I was wrong. Sorry for all the trouble I caused.

  Alexa D.

  Isabel raised an eyebrow and smiled. She could just imagine Griffin standing behind Alexa, her earphones in and scowl on, insisting she write a letter of apology with exactly the sentiments Alexa drily noted.

  She couldn’t wait to see them all. Alexa D. included.

  When Isabel brought the popcorn into Lolly’s room for Movie Night on Friday, Lolly was looking through one of the photo albums that June had brought up, an old family album of Lolly and her sister, Allie, as kids.

  “I love looking at these pictures,” Lolly said, laughing at a photograph of Isabel’s mother, no older than ten, holding up two fingers behind Lolly’s head while making a funny face.

  Isabel smiled. She still got a kick out of seeing her stoic aunt Lolly as a mischievous eight-year-old, sticking out her tongue. “June and I have been looking through the albums too. We found such amazing stuff in those old trunks. Old letters, little mementos that you wouldn’t think would stir up such great memories, but they do. I still can’t find the journal books, though. Maybe they got misplaced?”

  “Maybe,” Lolly said without hesitation, flipping another page.

  Isabel eyed her aunt. She had a feeling she’d been played. “Lolly Weller, do those journals even exist?” she asked with a smile.

  “I was sure they did, but maybe I was mistaken?” Lolly yawned, letting Isabel know not to press too hard.

  Isabel sat down on the edge of Lolly’s bed and took her aunt’s hand. “Thank you for making me look. I found a lot of unexpected treasures.” You weren’t who I thought you were.

  “I was sure you would.”

  “Those trunks helped June too,” Isabel whispered. “We found some letters our mom wrote us at camp that were just what the doctor ordered for her. And some copies of letters that you’d sent to teachers and principals. Thank you.”

  Lolly smiled and gave Isabel’s hand a gentle squeeze.

  Just then June came in with tonight’s DVD—Postcards from the Edge, which no one had seen except for Lolly, twice, but a while ago—and Kat was behind her with four chocolate cupcakes with white icing. It was a wonder none of them had gained twenty-five pounds since the first Movie Night. Lolly, of course, had lost too much weight.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Lolly said. “Pearl and I went to the bridal salon where we found Kat’s gown, and I took pictures.” She reached for her camera in the drawer of her bedside table, pressed a few buttons, and handed Isabel the camera.

  “It’s beautiful!” Isabel said, passing the camera to June.

  “Gorgeous,” June agreed.

  Kat wasn’t rushing over to gape at her own wedding gown, the way an excited bride-to-be might. She didn’t ooh over the delicate beading or aah over the lovely neckline. She didn’t say anything. She only smiled her thanks. Isabel put the camera back in the drawer.

  “Everyone ready?” Kat said, her hand on the light. She clearly wanted to change the subject. Was she unsure she wanted to get married? Problems with Oliver? Interested in Dr. Viola? Worried about her mother? Maybe she and June would try to talk to Kat that night, after the movie. They’d tried before, but Kat always got cagey or insisted everything was just fine.

  Lolly pressed PLAY on Postcards from the Edge. “I think you’ll all love this one. Such great acting. Meryl and Shirley MacLaine. And Dennis Quaid is in it too, and, oh my, he’s quite attractive.”

  Meryl played an actress—the daughter of famous former film star Shirley MacLaine—with a drug problem. Fresh out of detox, the insurance company on her new film wouldn’t cover Meryl unless someone was responsible for her at all times during filming. Which meant she had to live with her outrageous mother, with whom she barely got along.

  “Shirley MacLaine is so insufferable—the role she’s playing, I mean,” Kat said. “Her daughter just got out of detox, she’s trying so hard, and Shirley MacLaine just has to put her down and one-up her.”

  “Oh my God, did she just say she might not live much longer because they found fibroid tumors?” June asked, shaking her head with a smile. “You can’t help but love her, even as you hate her for being so melodramatic.”

  Lolly was laughing, even if Kat wasn’t. Especially when Shirley told Meryl that she wanted Meryl to be prepared for her death.

  “Is the whole thing like this?” Kat said. “I’m not sure I can watch this. I know it’s supposed to be funny but—”

  Lolly peeled away the edge of her cupcake. “One of the things I love about this movie, Kat, is how Meryl and Shirley start out so far apart—in every way—and find their way back to each other. But you’ve got to start with the bad to get to the good. It’s all worth it, I swear.”

  Kat stared at Lolly. “I’ll shut up and watch,” she said, shooting her mother a warm smile and taking a bite of her own cupcake.

  Isabel burst out laughing when Dennis Quaid, who was absolutely gorgeous and sexy in this movie, just professed his love for Meryl with “I think I love you.” Meryl’s response: “When will you know for sure?”

  “Good Lord, I hope she doesn’t fall for that line,” Kat said. “Dennis Quaid telling her she’s the ‘realest person he ever met in the abstract,’ that she was his fantasy and he wanted to make her real. Do you think people do that? Have relationships with people that are built on fantasy?”

  “To start, maybe,” Lolly said. “The fantasy goes pretty fast. Then you have reality.”

  It struck Isabel how Griffin Dean was fantasy and reality rolled into one.

  “Wow, is that Annette Bening?” June asked. “She’s stunning. It’s no surprise she became a huge actress. And there’s the answer to your question, Kat, since Dennis Quaid is cheating on everyone, even her.”

  As the movie neared the end, Kat grabbed a tissue and dabbed under her eyes. “You were right, Mom. I love that Meryl and Shirley discovered what was really important in their relationship—each other, having each other, being there for each other. They both have a ways to go, but you really believe that they’re going to have a fresh start.”

  “I wish my mom and I had before— I hate that I treated her that way,” Isabel said. “Like she had nothing to tell me, like she w
as trying to run my life. I wished I listened more.”

  “But Mom saw through all that, Izzy. Those letters we found in the basement, that’s what it was all about.”

  “You’re right,” Isabel said. “It’s helped me so much to know that. To know now that she saw through my stupidity and bravado. But if I’d listened more to her, I might not have made that stupid pact. I might have been stronger, had more self-esteem, believed in myself more.”

  “What pact?” June asked.

  Isabel glanced around at the faces. She’d never told anyone about the pact. She’d just shrugged when anyone used to ask if she and Edward were thinking of babies, starting a family. “When I was sixteen. With Edward. We made a pact not to have kids so they’d never have to suffer a similar loss.”

  “Oh, Isabel,” Lolly said.

  “Edward once said I probably wouldn’t be a very good mother. It was so hard not to believe him, even though deep down, I did think I’d be a good mother. I used to defer to him in everything because of how he helped me when Mom and Dad died. I always thought he was so right about everything. But he wasn’t. He was so angry that I’d changed my mind, that I wanted a baby.”

  “Bastard. I hate that,” June said. “He was the stuck one, Isabel. He was stuck and couldn’t move forward, and he put you in place and kept you there until you started getting uncomfortable.”

  Kat was shaking her head. “I’m surprised it only took you fifteen years. God, no wonder you were so broken up about what happened with Emmy running off. You thought it was reinforcing what Edward said.”

  Isabel leaned back. She could feel the cool breeze on her face as though she were in the backyard with Edward that night they’d made the pact. She understood why she’d made that pact. Why she’d fallen so deeply in love with Edward. Why she’d stayed with him long after his slights and jabs and small betrayals made her realize she wasn’t the same scared girl of twenty-one he’d married. That young woman who’d felt so alone in the world, despite having a sister, a cousin, an aunt. She’d let Edward tell her who she was for a long time. But she was done with that. Never again would she let anyone tell her who she was or what she was capable of.

  “I wished I’d talked to you about it then, Aunt Lolly,” Isabel said, but when she glanced over, Lolly was asleep, her hand on the remote control.

  “ ’Night, Mom,” Kat whispered, moving the remote and pulling the quilt up to Lolly’s chest. She turned out the light as Isabel and June collected the popcorn bowls and glasses.

  They headed into the kitchen, and June started the kettle for tea.

  “Things we feel as teenagers shouldn’t get to define us,” Kat said, storing the extra cupcakes. “Sometimes I… wonder if that’s why I’m with Oliver in the first place. I’m supposed to be.”

  June added loose Earl Grey tea to the strainer of the teapot. “Are you having second thoughts about getting married?”

  “Maybe?” Kat said, dropping down into a chair. “Yes. No. I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Ignore me.”

  “Impossible,” Isabel said, putting a hand on Kat’s shoulder before pouring the boiling water over the tea leaves. “I just hope you’ll do what you really want. Not what anyone else thinks you should do. Capisce?”

  Kat smiled. “Capisce.”

  “One thing I’ve learned,” June said, “is that when you’re not sure about something, there are two things you can do. Take a step back or stay still—but not move forward. Something will give you clarity. You’ll wake one morning and realize that you understand something you didn’t the day before.”

  Kat filled three cups with the fragrant tea. “I hope so. I’m waiting for that morning. At least Isabel knows how she feels.” Kat grinned. “You have a date with Griffin tomorrow night, right?”

  “It’s not a date. It’s just another walk. Maybe he wants to make a truce. And then let me know it’s over before it started.”

  June dropped a sugar cube into her tea. “I don’t think he’d spend a hundred and fifty bucks on the Osprey Room for that.”

  Isabel smiled.

  Isabel had seen the Deans coming and going throughout Saturday afternoon. When they’d arrived, Alexa barely looked at Isabel, and Emmy asked if she could visit nice Elvis, the dog she’d curled up around the last time she’d been to the inn, which elicited an almost comical death-stare jaw-drop from Alexa. The way Griffin had looked at Isabel when he’d come through the door—with utter feeling—had sent goose bumps up her arms, and she’d wanted nothing more than to grab him into the office, shut the door, and pull him into a long, hot kiss. But Emmy had been asking for a Popsicle, and the phone was ringing, and Alexa was charging up the stairs, so any thought of a kiss would have to wait until that night.

  If there would be a kiss at all. Isabel had been unable to sleep last night, thinking about their date. About walking, maybe hand in hand, with Griffin down to the harbor, along a moonlit pier, the way he might tilt up her chin for that slow, deep kiss.

  Isabel had been going over the books in the office when she caught the Deans leaving; a few hours later, when she’d been dusting the parlor, they’d returned with Emmy holding a chocolate, lobster-shaped lollipop and Alexa with a blue slush drink and her earbuds in. Griffin had smiled and asked if eight thirty would work for their walk.

  At seven, Isabel raced up to the attic bedroom and took a shower, imagining that kiss, the feel of Griffin’s hands on her, on her soapy body in the shower. On her unsoapy body in bed. That her thoughts turned so X-rated about Griffin thrilled her. Like that old Carly Simon song from Heartburn, it meant to her that she was coming around again.

  She put on her favorite casual dress, a new one she’d bought in the harbor a few weeks ago. It was the palest yellow cotton and had embroidered tiny flowers at the straps and an Empire waist. It made her feel pretty and carefree. She added a light spritz of Coco, her favorite perfume, a few swipes of mascara, and a berry-stain lip gloss, gave her hair another once-over, and headed downstairs. At the second-floor landing, she could hear someone crying. She stopped, listening for where it was coming from. The Alone Closet. Was it June? She knocked gently and something was thrown against the door. Like a book.

  Alexa.

  “Alexa, it’s me, Isabel. Let me in.”

  “No.”

  Isabel stood in front of the door. “I really want to talk, honey.”

  “What’s the point? You hate me and now you’re my father’s girlfriend. My life is great. What could possibly be wrong.”

  Father’s girlfriend? They’d barely taken one walk together. But to a teenaged girl with a divorced father, that was enough. “I don’t hate you, Alexa. Not one bit. I’m not angry at you.”

  There was silence for a moment, then the sounds of crying. “I don’t believe you. But whatever. Aren’t you late for your date?”

  Ah. This wasn’t her place, to talk to Alexa about her father’s love life. Not that there was a love life between her and Griffin. Yet. Or maybe not ever.

  Isabel turned the doorknob, wanting to talk to Alexa face-to-face. The knob turned, but the door wouldn’t budge. Alexa had moved something heavy in front of it. “Your dad and I are going for a walk. With Happy.”

  “You’re going on a date. Just like my mother went on a date with her boss and broke up the family. And now my father is going on dates. I hate my mother. I hate her, I hate her, I hate her,” Alexa shouted. “If she hadn’t ruined everything, everything would be great. I hate her and I’m glad I told her so.”

  Good Lord, this was heavy stuff. Isabel wasn’t sure if she should go get Griffin and let him handle this or if she should follow her instincts. She leaned closer to the door. “I really want to talk to you, Alexa. There’s some stuff I think would help you to know about me.”

  “I don’t want to know anything about you.”

 
Isabel touched the necklace she wore, one of her mother’s delicate gold chains with a small heart locket. “Well, I do want to share one thing with you.” She took a breath; she hadn’t told anyone this story in a long time, since she was sixteen and had opened up to Edward. “The last thing I ever said to my mother was that I wished she was dead. We had a terrible, stupid fight. And when I woke up the next morning, I found out she was dead. She’d been killed in a car crash on New Year’s Eve. With my dad and my uncle—Kat Weller’s father.”

  Silence.

  Isabel took a deep breath. “I didn’t mean it. I loved her, really loved her, even if sometimes I didn’t know it. I was mad at her for setting my curfew at twelve thirty for New Year’s Eve, for getting mad at me all the time, grounding me, telling me I was running wild, that one day I’d do something I’d regret. And you know, she was right. I never had the chance to tell her I didn’t mean it, that I was sorry.”

  Isabel could hear crying and some books being shoved onto the floor.

  “She didn’t cheat on your father, though,” Alexa shouted. “She didn’t break up your family and ruin your life.”

  “No, but she’s gone, honey. Gone forever. I’ll never be able to fix things. She’ll never have a chance to fix things with me. Alexa, you never know what’s going to happen in life. Painful things happen all the time. But if you walk around all mad at everyone, you’ll just feel worse and worse. Making things right with your mom will change your entire life.”

  “So I’m just supposed to forgive her? Right.”

  God, Alexa was tough. “You can try to forgive her. And you can still love her even if you’re mad at her. You can let her love you. You can let her try to make things as right as they can be for you two. She’s your mother, Alexa. My mom died when I was sixteen. She’s gone forever.”

  There was silence, then a few moments later, Isabel heard the sounds of something being pushed away from the door, then the latch sliding open. She waited a moment, but the door didn’t open. Isabel slowly turned the knob, and Alexa sat on the love seat, which was now sideways in the middle of the small room, her eyeliner and mascara running down her face.