Reunion Beach

by Elin Hilderbrand

  During the past week, Bram and I had declared a truce. He apologized for not being honest about his ex but clammed up on further discussion. Why couldn’t I just be happy that he and I found each other when we did, he’d demanded? If he’d wanted to get back with his ex, he wouldn’t have pursued me. Which was such a potent argument that I let it go. I was too busy for much else. In order to take a week off, I’d put in extra days at work, then got home exhausted. Bram put aside writing the memoir to plan for the filming. As in the original special, it’d start with an opening shot of the family playing on the beach, but the hour-long show would focus mostly on Bram in the kitchen preparing Lowcountry-themed dishes for the family dinner. The final scene would show everyone gathered around the dining room table. All the cast of characters had to do was as Bram said: stuff our faces and fake having a good time.

  Bram and I stand helplessly aside as Michael and Missy haul baby Adeline and a mountain of baggage out of the car. When we try to help, Michael waves us off and loads himself down like a pack horse. Eight months ago, when Adeline was born, Bram flew to DC, where Michael works as a congressional aide, to meet her. After a brief visit he returned a bit despondent. He’d looked forward to preparing healthy meals for them to freeze for later, only to find her parents there with a private chef in tow. This time it’s Jocasta who’s playing fairy godmother, bringing with her a nanny from an exclusive service in Charleston. This we learned when I emailed Michael and offered to line up a sitter for the filming. Nellie Bee hooted at my assumption that three grandparents and a great-aunt would’ve been enough help. “Honey, you’ve got a lot to learn about how the other half lives,” she teased.

  Bram gives his son and daughter-in-law awkward half-hugs and offers to carry the baby, whom Missy’s toting in a big car seat contraption. With a weary smile of gratitude, Missy hands the car seat over. After my welcome to the young couple, I stop Bram so I can see the sleeping baby. She’s small and delicate, with a fuzz of pale hair and long lashes resting on pink cheeks. “Oh, look how precious she is!” I coo and gush like a pure fool until Bram shoulders past me in exasperation.

  Chagrined, I hurry to hold the basement door open as everyone files in. Next to the golf cart parking is the newly renovated basement area. It’d been one large game room for TV viewing, a pool table, and bunk beds until recently, when I’d talked Bram into converting it into private quarters for guests and future grandchildren. Neither Michael nor Missy have seen the final results and I watch anxiously for their reaction.

  “Wow. Nice,” Michael says, looking around with a grin, and even Missy (who’s obviously used to the best) seems pleased. She’s a perky little thing with dimples and a beguiling smile. Nellie Bee dismisses her as an entitled princess, but she seems sweet enough to me. “Oh, Papa O’Connor—this is wonderful,” she cries. “It was so dark and dreary before.”

  “You can thank Christina.” Bram shrugs. “I thought it fine the way it was.”

  “You would, Dad,” Michael says, but his tone’s light. He’s a preppy young man with his mother’s blond coloring and slender build. The only thing he got from his father was Bram’s rich, melodious voice, minus the hint of Irish brogue. Because they’re so different, Bram seems baffled by his son, whose main interests are tennis and politics. When I asked Bram if Michael planned to run for office one day, he merely shrugged. The few times I’ve observed them together, they appear ill at ease. But so much better than Michael’s teen years, Bram told me. He’d take awkwardness over anger any day.

  Missy tucks the baby in the new crib to finish her nap, and I point out other additions to the refurbished rooms. I can’t help but wink at Bram when Missy exclaims over the kitchenette area I’d pushed for. Bram had argued it was unnecessary with his enormous kitchen, while I’d countered that guests might prefer some private meals. When I show them how I’ve stocked the fridge and pantry, I’m inordinately pleased by their gratitude.

  It’s later before we have the first indication of how things could go wrong. After the baby wakes up and is playing on a quilt, I suggest to Missy that they take a dip in the ocean before dinner. Seeing Adeline at ease with Bram and me, off they go. When I get on the floor to join Adeline at play, Bram plops down beside me. “Look at Grandma,” he teases, eyes twinkling. “Maybe I should have a talk with your kids. Doesn’t look like they’ve figured out where babies come from.”

  I laugh as I roll a musical ball to Adeline, and she laughs with me, clapping her chubby little hands. “Aww . . . look, Bram! What a happy baby. Does she remind you of Michael at this age?” As soon as I say it, I cringe at my insensitivity. Bram doesn’t respond, but he looks at his granddaughter with such longing it almost breaks my heart. I’ve seen him watching her, eyes aglow, but he’s kept his distance. Finally he nods.

  “Aye, she’s a bonnie wee lass,” he says, laying on the exaggerated brogue to hide the catch in his voice. Suddenly he stands and lays a hand on my shoulder. “Since Grandma’s got this covered, I’ll go do some prepping for dinner.”

  I start to protest but catch myself, thinking he needs some time to himself. He spent a lot of time and effort fussing over a meal of Michael’s favorite dishes. I think back to what Nellie Bee said, that this reunion could either bring Bram and his son closer, or tear them apart again. I know he has to be anxious, though of course he’ll act otherwise. And deny it vehemently if I prod. Or worse, sneer at my tactics. It’s an occupational hazard; a simple inquiry on my part can put others on the defensive. Even Joe, mild-mannered as he was, would bristle if he thought I was analyzing him.

  I hear the golf cart roll in, then the kids squealing in the outdoor shower, where the temperature fluctuates wildly. They come in wrapped in towels and looking sun-kissed and happy. Adeline regards her parents with interest but keeps playing. “Adeline’s such a little angel,” I tell Michael. Missy had announced she needed the bathroom first so she could feed the baby. Beaming, Michael kneels beside his daughter as she gnaws on a toy. “She’s got my disposition,” he says.

  “So you were a good baby, huh?” I ask, studying him.

  Without meeting my eye he says, “You’re a child psychologist, right?” When I nod, somewhat wary, his mouth tightens. “You’ll have a heyday in this family.”

  “Michael, if you ever need to talk—” I begin, but Missy appears, donned out in a bright sundress, to call, “Bathroom’s ready!” Michael heads off and she scoops Adeline up, taking her to the kitchenette area. Without asking, I place the new high chair by the little pull-down table I’d designed, pull a chair around for Missy, then plop down in the other one. “Thanks, Christina,” Missy chirps. A hand flying to her mouth in a childish gesture, she gasps, “Oh! Is it okay if I call you that?”

  “Of course. Or Chris. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

  Brow furrowed, she microwaves a couple of little food pouches then squeezes the contents into a sectioned baby plate. Pulling herself closer to the high chair, she says, “My mom wants Adeline to call her Mimi, and Michael’s mother likes Jo-Jo. But I haven’t thought about you since you’re not really her grandmother. Guess she can call you Christina, too.” Like a hungry little bird, Adeline opens her mouth eagerly each time Missy brings the spoon her way.

  I don’t let Missy see how her remark stings. New to the role of stepmother, I’ve been foolish to assume I’d be treated otherwise, or that Adeline will think of me as anything except some old lady who lives with her grandfather. For the briefest of moments, I have an inkling of how Michael’s rejection hurt Bram. It makes you feel devalued, I realize. Oblivious, Missy feeds the baby and chatters about how rough the waves were and how the undertow terrified her.

  Michael, changed to shorts and a polo shirt, has just come to the kitchenette to grab a water bottle from the fridge when Bram comes in the door. He takes in the scene with a playful grin. “I trust that’s gourmet food you’re feeding my granddaughter, Missy.”

  Missy preens but before she can answer, Michael snorts. �
��It better be, considering what it costs.”

  His wife makes a face at him. “Oh, hush. You know it was one of Mommy and Daddy’s gifts to us. The best present ever!”

  Bram stands with his hands on his hips to watch Adeline finish her supper. “Glad to see she’s got a healthy appetite.”

  “Tell Papa O’Connor that you’re Mommy’s little piggie,” Missy coos as she wipes off the baby’s face. Adeline’s lower lip quivers and she lets out a wail when she realizes the meal’s over. Missy wags a finger at her. “Now, now. That’s all for tonight. You may eat like a little piggie but Mommy can’t let you look like one.” To Michael she says, “Daddy? Would you fix her bottle?”

  I note Bram’s frown but he keeps quiet. He’s asked me if I think Missy’s anorexic, as little as she eats. My reassurances that most young women her age are obsessed with their weight failed to satisfy him. A typical chef, Bram loves feeding people and doesn’t take kindly to the unappreciative. If he’d been feeding Adeline, she’d still be eating. I dare not say so, but her portions seem pretty meager to me, too. Maybe I’ll find a tactful way to suggest that an increase won’t make her overweight, as tiny as she is.

  “So,” Bram says, turning his attention to Michael. “Chris and I have our wine about this time, then I finish fixing dinner. Sound good to you two? I’m making some of your favorites tonight.”

  Michael takes the baby’s bottle from the microwave and looks at Missy expectantly. When she takes the baby out of the high chair, I blurt out, “May I feed her?” To my surprise, she hands her over. I take the baby and bottle to the rocker quickly before she changes her mind. When I position Adeline in the crook of my arm and hold the bottle for her, I see that it’s less than half full.

  Missy turns to Bram with a pleading look, her hands clasped in front of her. “Poor Papa O’Connor! I know you’ve worked hard on dinner, but Michael and I are going to pass tonight. We’ve had a long day and—”

  “Pass on dinner?” Bram thunders, and Missy flinches. But with her chin held high, she doesn’t waver.

  “I’m sure it’s wonderful, but please excuse us tonight. You and Christina enjoy a quiet dinner alone. It’ll be your last one for the next few days.”

  “But—what the hell will you eat?” Bram sputters. His face is flushed and his eyes narrow in disapproval.

  “Dad—” Michael begins, but his father holds up a hand. Before anything else can be said, Adeline finishes the bottle and lets out a wail even more indignant than her protest at the meager baby food.

  Feigning innocence, I say to Missy, “If you’ll show me how to mix it, I’ll fix the rest of her bottle.”

  “Oh, she always cries like that,” Missy says dismissively as she takes the baby from me. “Don’t you, little miss piggie? Sometimes she’ll cry herself to sleep, she gets so mad. Tries to make us feel guilty for putting her to bed hungry.”

  “Bram,” I say quickly, noting his glowering look with alarm, “let’s go upstairs and have our wine so they can get the baby down for the night.” I turn to Michael with a forced smile. “Why don’t you come upstairs with us, and your dad can fix a tray for your supper?” To Bram I say brightly, “You’ll come up with the perfect thing, I know, for two weary travelers, and we can have your special dinner tomorrow evening.”

  I know he’s not happy, but what else can we do? Reluctantly, Bram nods and Michael lets out a sigh of relief. Glancing at his wife, he assures her he’ll be back in a few minutes to help with the baby. He leaves with us to go upstairs, but it’s Bram who has the last word. As I’m closing the basement door, he sticks his head back in to say to Missy, “That baby’s hungry. Fill up her bottle and she won’t cry herself to sleep.” Then he closes the door with a slam.

  * * *

  Since the production crew would be getting in later in the afternoon, I propose a picnic lunch on the beach before their arrival. Even as I make the suggestion, I’m not sure it’s the right move. Bram’s still fuming over the kids’ rejection of his dinner last night. He might’ve been less touchy if it’d only been Missy, but when he’d suggested that Michael take the tray to his wife then join us for dinner, Michael balked. Missy wouldn’t allow that, he’d said, then bristled when his father rolled his eyes in disdain. I’d been sitting close enough to give Bram a kick of warning, but he’d ignored me. “You mean she won’t let you join your family for a dinner she wouldn’t eat anyway?” he snapped. When I kicked him harder, he wisely shut his big mouth.

  To my surprise, everyone thinks the picnic’s a great idea, and off we go. The day’s too perfect not to enjoy: not too hot for early June but still brightly crisp and sunny. We set everything out under beach umbrellas meant to keep us safely shaded. Bram channeled his disappointment over last night’s dinner into preparing a feast: fried chicken, deviled eggs, marinated veggies, and mini fruit tarts. I’m delighted that Michael invited his aunt Nellie Bee to join us. She and I haven’t had our beach time in over a week.

  Even the ocean breeze is kind today, blowing in gently with a sharp salty tang. As we spread our blankets in the shade and unpack the picnic basket, the mood’s jubilant. Missy brought a walker-looking seat to put Adeline in, and Nellie Bee plops down by her. Stroking Adeline’s fuzzy head, Nellie Bee coos and carries on over her great-niece. With an indulgent grin, Bram says, “Between you and Grandma Chris, that little girl’s going to be spoiled rotten.”

  “That’s what grandparents—and great-aunts—are for,” Nellie Bee responds tartly.

  And that’s when Michael puts a damper on our bright, cheery day. As he passes around icy bottles of Perrier, he says nonchalantly, “Mom’s going to be even worse, I’m sure. She’s here and will be joining us in a few.”

  I freeze over the paper plates I’m unwrapping, and Bram’s head snaps up. “I thought your mom wasn’t getting in until late this afternoon,” he says to Michael, frowning. Over breakfast (with Michael but not Missy, who doesn’t eat in the morning), Michael had once again squelched his father’s dinner plans by saying they’d be with his mother.

  Misinterpreting his father’s frown, Michael peers into the basket. “No worries—you’ve got plenty. Even with the nanny coming.”

  “Oh, look,” Missy squeals as she jumps to her feet to wave. “There they are!”

  We turn our heads toward the wooden steps leading down from the villas to watch the two women approach. Even though she’s wearing an enormous straw hat and big sunglasses, I would’ve recognized Jocasta anywhere. No one else could make an ankle-turning walk down steep beach steps look like a Parisian runway. The white caftan she wears billows out around her in the breeze, and she reaches up to hold her wide-brimmed sunhat. The young woman trailing behind her appears to be in a uniform, and Nellie Bee nudges me with her foot. I dare not look her way, especially now that Jocasta has appeared before us. Both Michael and Missy hurry out to hug her as Bram gets to his feet, ducking under the umbrella. Reluctantly I rise, too, as does Nellie Bee, though with a put-upon grunt. I note with satisfaction that when Jocasta reaches out to Bram, he offers his hand instead of a hug. Although it’s been two years since I’ve seen her, she’s as stunning as ever. She’s older than me, almost Bram’s age, but looks considerably younger. When I’d lamented that to Nellie Bee, she’d smirked and said thank the good Lord for collagen and Botox.

  Just as she did at the wedding reception, Jocasta turns the fawning charm on each of us, even me. “Oh, Nellie Bee—I’m so delighted that you’re here!” she cries, as if they were long-lost sisters. Her eyes sweep over me as she says, “And Christina, how lovely to see you again. You must share the secret of that gorgeous tan.” Her gaze falls on Adeline and she gushes in delight. “My adorable little Adeline!” But when Michael takes the baby to hand over to his mother, Adeline puckers up, lets out a wail, and buries her face in her father’s shirt.

  “Adeline!” Missy gasps in dismay, but Michael laughs it off. “It’s the hat, Mom,” he says. “I’d forgotten that they scare her.”

>   Or maybe it’s dragon ladies that scare her, I think with unseemly glee, but Michael proves to be right. Jocasta removes the hat and her dark-blond hair tumbles over her shoulders. When she pushes the sunglasses on her head and reaches for Adeline, she relents and goes to her. Jocasta kisses her cheeks, and Adeline gives her a dimpled smile. “And aren’t you a lucky little girl to have dimples exactly like your precious mommy’s,” Jocasta says with a glance at Missy, who beams in pleasure.

  With a pretty tilt of her head, Jocasta beckons to the young woman who’s been standing meekly aside. “Everyone, this is Nanny. She comes highly recommended by all of my friends.” She runs through our names so quickly that the poor girl couldn’t possibly remember them. Although Nanny nods shyly at each of us, she’s dignified and poised for someone who appears so young. What looked from a distance like a white uniform is more subtle, designed to mimic a tennis outfit with its smart little skirt and crisp cotton shirt. Nanny’s well-trained, I note; when she takes the baby from Jocasta, Adeline regards her curiously rather than wailing again. “Shall I feed her?” she asks Missy, with a musical lilt to her voice that suggests the Caribbean islands, and Missy eagerly agrees.

  Finally we settle down on the blankets to enjoy the picnic, plates in our laps. I notice that after getting her plate, Jocasta manages to seat herself next to Bram. Nellie Bee relinquishes her spot by the baby to the nanny and seats herself by me, her plate piled high. A chicken leg in hand, she turns to the nanny and asks in a voice so loud that it’s obvious she intends everyone to hear: “A nanny named Nanny? That’s rather a coincidence, isn’t it?”