Sailing Lessons

by Hannah McKinnon

  “I’ll get it.”

  Beverly began to rise from her chair, but it was deeply cushioned, and she faltered.

  “Allow me.” Caleb hurried to her side and offered his hand. She stared at it like it was something that might bite her, then up at him.

  Piper felt her insides chill, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

  Here it was. They had been separated from the bustling crowd all night, but now they were face to face.

  Hank had straightened and seemed on the verge of going over; for whatever reason, Beverly had been his charge all night and he did not seem ready to be relieved of his position. But he was also a gentleman.

  “May I?” Caleb asked again, a little louder.

  Beverly looked to Wren. Then Piper. Lindy spoke. “It’s okay, Mom.” And with that she extended her hand.

  “Thank you,” she allowed.

  Hank excused himself to pull the car around to the front. Wren scooped Lucy off her mother’s lap, so Lindy could follow.

  “What time do you open in the morning?” Lindy asked.

  Wren seemed dazed. “Ten o’clock. We get to do this all over again.”

  Ari had begun cleaning up platters, and Piper joined in. “Go on home,” she told Wren. “Let us finish up.”

  “I couldn’t possibly.” But the look on her face said otherwise.

  “Your sister’s right,” Lindy insisted. “We’re taking grandma home, and you should do the same with Lucy. It’s been a long wonderful night. Go rest.”

  Wren looked prepared to argue, but her mouth opened and shut. “All right,” she agreed. “It’s time for all of us to call it a night.”

  Caleb had just gotten to the door with Beverly when something happened. It happened so fast, Piper could not say if Beverly lost her balance or if he tripped, but suddenly there was a shout and a flurry of motion. When she turned, Hank was in the doorway clutching Beverly, who had not fallen but was sagging in his arms. But Caleb was crumpled on the floor, his limbs askew.

  Piper froze. She felt the wind of her mother come up behind her and pass over her. She watched Wren swing Lucy into Ari’s arms before running after her mother to the doorway. Both women knelt beside Caleb, Lindy feeling his chest, Wren cradling his head. The walls pressed in against her temples and Piper couldn’t make sense of anything they were saying. Her grandmother seemed all right. But then, why wasn’t Caleb getting up?

  When Wren spun around to face Piper, her voice was urgent, her words jagged. “Piper! Call an ambulance. Now!”

  Thirty

  Shannon

  She was still awake when the call came just before midnight. Reid was snoring softly on his side, but that wasn’t what had been keeping Shannon up. All night she’d felt guilty.

  “What do you mean we aren’t going to Aunty Wren’s opening?” Avery had asked at dinner. Shannon had been working in her office on the photos she’d taken of the Ridgevale place. The work had to get done, but really she was trying to distract herself from the anger she’d felt at Wren and her father. Surprisingly the photos had come out well. Far better than she’d thought. She’d opted to use her wide angle 17-millimeter lens, a risk because it could result in a little distortion in the images. As she scanned the photos, she was happily surprised. The home’s open-concept space had translated beautifully, appearing generous both in light and square footage, just as she’d hoped. She found a few living room shots that needed tweaking. And one taken from the dining area looking into the kitchen. Nothing she couldn’t fix in Adobe Photoshop. As she worked, she felt an ease of contentment swell within her. The same ease she’d felt in college when she minored in fine art and photography, and she’d had her first show on campus. There was something about being in the studio, alone with your work and your thoughts. The images you produced became your thoughts. It was a satisfaction she had not felt in a very long time, something familiar and sweet that caused an ache akin to nostalgia and yet created an energy to do more. To create. To capture. To share. But it was how she felt afterward that hit her most. More than the two vodka tonics she’d had at her desk, more than the prescriptions her doctor had given her, working like this gave her a profound sense of peace. Something she realized she’d been chasing.

  When she was done editing she compiled the best shots in a folder marked Ridgevale. She couldn’t wait to show Bitsy. In more ways than one. Though she was still a little nervous. Upon learning that she was Caleb Bailey’s daughter, Everett Banks had been intrigued. It was the only time Shannon had seen the man exhibit any interest or faith. “If you’ve inherited any of your father’s talent, I believe we’ll have a winner. I look forward to seeing your work.” Bitsy, of course, had seized upon this. The same man she’d once referred to as a “hippie picture-taker” was suddenly exalted to artist. Shannon had felt a stab of defensiveness, if not on his part then at least for the work and the family name. There was no denying the man’s brilliance, even if it had caused his ruin, in her opinion. Now the question was: Did she possess any of it? It was a question that had caused a nervous flutter in her rib cage. A flutter that went well beyond the scope of this demanding client and her mother-in-law’s agency.

  As a result, she’d gotten so absorbed in her work that she hadn’t realized it was already six-thirty. The empty drink glasses on her desk hadn’t helped. Avery and George had found her at her laptop, claiming they were starving. Shannon hadn’t even given dinner a thought. Reluctantly, she’d trailed them into the kitchen.

  “Did Aunt Wren cancel the party or something?” Avery wanted to know.

  “Not exactly. She’s still opening the store tonight, but as I’ve been trying to explain it’s not a family party. It’s for the customers. I can only imagine how hot and crowded it’s going to be in there. We’ll pop by tomorrow.”

  “Is Grandma going?”

  “I think so.”

  “So Hank and Piper will be there.”

  “Probably.”

  “What about Great-Grandma Bev?” She was the kids’ favorite, and frankly Shannon was especially bummed not to be seeing her at the party. Knowing her, she’d get all dressed up and work the crowd, charming everyone who came through the door into buying some of her granddaughter’s wares.

  “I don’t know. I guess Grandma Bev will go, too.”

  Avery scowled as she set one of the last napkins down. “It sure sounds like a family party.”

  “Avery, please. We’ll go tomorrow.”

  “Will the whole family be there tomorrow?”

  Shannon did not answer.

  Reid came inside from the back patio carrying a platter of burgers and grilled salmon. He was still in his work clothes, his shirtsleeves rolled up. He, too, had apparently been surprised to arrive home to a dark kitchen and empty table “What, am I a short order cook and waitress?” Shannon had asked them all as they gathered around the island like stray cats. “It’s not like there’s no food in the house. Let me introduce you to the fridge! Meet the pantry! Knock yourselves out.”

  This concerned George. “You want us to make our own dinner?”

  This was not how their house worked. Their mother had dinner on the table by five o’clock every night. One serving of protein, two of vegetables, at least a whole grain and a glass of cold milk. Hell, there were usually fresh-cut hydrangeas in a crystal vase. What was wrong with her? she imagined them thinking as they wandered through the dark kitchen while her desk light hummed beneath the closed office door.

  At least Reid was trying. “I would cook once in a while,” Reid had calmly chimed in. “If only you communicated such wishes.” Now, as he set the grilled meat platter beside the salad she was dressing, he gave her a look. Dinner may have been salvaged, but he was not in agreement with her unilateral decision to skip Wren’s opening. She could perhaps count on him to respect her rationale, but explaining that to the kids—well, that was all on her.

  Avery was setting the table. Since she was “starving,” she’d taken it upon herself to
get up off the couch and get things moving without Shannon having to nag her. George was pouring glasses of milk. As Shannon mixed herself another vodka tonic she looked around at all her family members pitching in. This “forgetting about dinner” thing was working out very nicely, after all. She’d have to do it more often.

  “Drink?” she asked Reid.

  “No, thanks.” He loosened his collar. “I’ve been running around with the Pearsons all afternoon looking at building lots. Think I need a water instead.”

  Shannon sliced a lime, dropped two wedges in her glass. She was okay drinking alone.

  Avery was not letting the opening party go, however. Winnie came in from playing basketball in the driveway. “What time are we leaving?” she asked, plopping down in her chair.

  “Wash hands,” Shannon said.

  She groaned but went to the sink.

  “Never,” Avery informed her. “Mom said we’re not going.”

  “What?”

  Shannon had just speared a piece of salmon. It was lightly grilled with a golden crust, just the way she liked it. She’d meant to thank Reid, to offer up a smile to show her appreciation and perhaps a little apology. She had been distracted lately. Distracted and irritable. But now she set her fork down. “Everyone, please. I did not cancel on Aunt Wren. We’re just going tomorrow, instead.”

  “What about our new grandfather?” Winnie asked. Then quickly correcting herself, “I mean, your dad.”

  She’d asked the children not to call Caleb that. “He’s never been a grandpa,” she’d said simply, when she first told them the news of his arrival. “Hank and Grampy Whitcomb are your grandpas.”

  “We have no plans to see him either,” she said.

  “Does he want to see us?”

  This was what she had warned Wren about. Inviting Caleb Bailey back into their lives was not singular to them. Now there was another generation involved. A wonderful, thriving, curious, sensitive generation that all this time he had neglected to know and were doing just fine without him. Having him back was too complicated. The children would have questions. They would likely get attached. And who knew how he would disappoint them next? No, she was not opening her family up to that.

  “You are all wonderful grandchildren to your real grandparents. But he’s not family.”

  She gauged their faces for confusion. For hurt. For anything of that nature. They’d been over this before, and she would keep going over it as long as they needed her to.

  Avery poked at her food. “But we’re still going to miss the party. I had a great outfit picked out, too.”

  So it was the party they were most concerned with. What started as relief turned to annoyance. What about “Because I said so,” like her mother used to say when she and her sisters were kids. Shannon looked to Reid for support, but he was concentrating on his plate. She pushed her chair back. “You know, I should get back to work. Mommy has a project she’s trying to finish. A very important project.”

  “But you didn’t eat,” George said.

  “I’m not hungry.” She picked up her plate and set it in the sink, still full. Looking down at the roasted fingerling potatoes and the perfectly cooked salmon made her sad. She was ruining a dinner she hadn’t even made. So much for showing Reid some appreciation. So much for family time.

  She stalked back to the table. The kids looked up at her in various stages of stunned concern. Reid didn’t even bother. “You’re not going to eat with us?” Avery asked.

  Shannon plucked her vodka tonic off her placemat. “Not tonight.”

  • • •

  When the phone rang before midnight, she was almost relieved. Let it be Wren calling to chew her out. She deserved as much. Or Lindy, calling to fill her in on all the details of the evening that she’d missed out on: who came, what they said, what they wore. She bet the food was delicious; Wren had put together a unique menu of summer bites. A menu their father had somehow become involved in helping to bring to fruition. What good fortune for all of them that he’d decided to show up just in time to fry Wren’s potato pancakes! Christ—Shannon bet his appetizers tasted the best. She’d have to ask her mother if she’d tried any.

  She rolled over and pressed the phone to her ear, ready for all of it. Bring it on, she thought. Tell me all about the happy family reunion you had without me. But it was not Lindy.

  “Shannon?” It was Wren. She sounded very far away.

  “I’m sorry . . .” Shannon began. She didn’t mean to act like such an ass to her sisters. She really didn’t, but she also didn’t know how to stop, and so the only thing she seemed capable of doing these days was to keep on being one. It wasn’t like she was particularly discriminating in her asshole-ness. After all, Reid and the kids got a fair dose of it tonight, too. Maybe Wren would forgive her if she told her that. Maybe they’d even laugh together about it, like they used to.

  “It’s Dad,” Wren interrupted.

  “What about him?”

  “We’re at Cape Cod Hospital. He collapsed at the opening tonight. They’ve done some tests and he’s resting now. But he looks pretty bad.”

  Shannon pressed the phone harder to her ear.

  “You should probably come,” Wren said.

  “Was it a heart attack?”

  “We don’t know yet. They’re still waiting for results.”

  Shannon glanced at the clock. She could be in Hyannis within an hour. She could wake Reid and go right now. “Is he dying?”

  “What? No, I don’t think so. But we still don’t know what’s going on.”

  “Thanks for letting me know,” Shannon said.

  “Aren’t you coming?”

  “Sorry you have to deal with this on your special night. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Before Wren could reply she set the phone back in its cradle and lay back down. If she fell asleep soon, she could probably get a decent night’s rest before the kids got up. They had a busy weekend ahead. She wanted to look good for the Hooker’s Ball.

  Thirty-One

  Wren

  The male attending physician in the emergency room, Dr. Verelli, looked to be ten years younger than Wren. Under the glare of the fluorescent lighting and after the night she’d had, Wren was pretty sure she was sporting another twenty.

  It was just her and Piper in the waiting room. Hank had taken Beverly home, and Lindy had gone home with Lucy, who never woke even during all the chaos.

  So far, Dr. Verelli had come out to speak with them twice. First to let them know their father was stable and that as far as they could tell it did not appear to be some kind of cardiac episode, and then again to run through some lab tests they were administering. But that had seemed like forever ago.

  “At least the coffee is good.” Piper had been up and down out of her seat, pacing and offering to make Wren tea or coffee or fetch her water. Wren had finally agreed to a cup of tea just to get her to stop. It had gone cold, but she sipped it now, thinking. She hadn’t told Piper yet that Shannon wasn’t coming. Piper was distracted, texting the whole time, and Wren was afraid to ask to whom. At one point her phone rang, and Wren caught a glimpse of the illuminated screen. Derek. She’d watched her sister hurry outside, the phone pressed to her ear, and then as she paced back and forth on the sidewalk outside the glass emergency-room doors. So Piper was still talking to him, after all. A plume of anger rose inside her. Not just because Piper was falling back in to her old nonsense, but because she had no one, herself. There was no one else to leave Lucy with at a time like this. Just as there was no one else for her to call, or to comfort her. She was exhausted and alone, and frankly she didn’t feel like putting on her brave face or “handling it” anymore. Damn it, didn’t she deserve to have someone, too? Though she had no one but herself to blame for that.

  When Piper came back inside, she seemed lightened. “So, if it wasn’t his heart, then it must just be exhaustion.” She plopped onto the seat beside Wren. “He did travel on that awful bus for almost a wee
k, and what with all the stops and detours he probably didn’t eat or sleep a bit.”

  Wren tried to shift gears and focus on their dad. She had wondered the same, but there was something in the back of her mind that refused to let her relax her fears with Piper’s hopeful outlook. She’d have to hear it from the baby-faced doctor before she’d allow herself to believe it. “Did you call Hank? He’s probably wondering.” She would not ask her sister who she’d been on the phone with, but she’d sure as hell remind her who she should have called first.

  Piper nodded. “Done. I called Mom, too. She said not to worry, she’d sleep over at your place with Lucy.” Piper looked so young, hugging her knees on the chair and looking at her with such hope that Wren couldn’t stay mad at her. She didn’t have the energy for it.

  “Hopefully we’ll be out of here soon,” Wren managed.

  Piper turned suddenly to Wren, and her smile crumpled on her face. “We just got him back.” Tears sprang to her eyes.

  “I know, Pipe. I know.” Wren draped an arm around her. She could feel Piper’s back heave against her, her narrow spine rising and falling with each tearful hiccup.

  “I can’t lose him. Not again.”

  Wren tugged her closer. “We’re not going to. No one said anything about that.”

  But how were any of them to know? Even if this incident turned out to be mere exhaustion, there were other ways to lose the man. As Shannon had warned, did any of them really know their father better now?

  Wren wanted to say she did. She knew him in the way he’d stood at the oven with Lucy, making the pancakes for her opening. In the way he’d challenged her to rethink the ocean sculpture in terms of art and placement. The laugh at Lindy’s table, where after twenty-three years, he was still allowed back if not entirely welcomed by the woman he’d left.

  Sitting in the overly air-conditioned waiting room with Piper tucked up against her like some kind of broken bird, Wren wished she could tell Shannon those very things right now. She wanted to yell them at the top of her lungs. Shannon should’ve been there. At the very least for Wren and Piper, if not for Caleb Bailey.