“Well, I don’t think you’re a coward,” Nicola said staunchly.
“I should hope not! It takes courage to live in or out, along the sidelines or hiding in plain sight. No one has it easy in this life.”
Nicola agreed. No one had it easy. But sometimes, it was hard to remember that. “ ‘To thine own self be true,’ ” she said. “Isn’t that Shakespeare?”
“Everything is Shakespeare.” Judith reached for another cookie.
“Thank you for coming here today.”
“You’re welcome,” Judith said with a smile. “Now, I could do with another cup of tea. And get these cookies away from me. But not yet.”
Nicola rose to put the kettle on the burner.
“By the way,” Judith said, “I’m going to be getting rid of a perfectly decent sofa for no reason other than I’m bored with it. Do you want it? Oh, wait, you’ll be leaving before long for parts unknown, won’t you? Everything you own will have to go into storage or be gotten rid of.”
Nicola felt herself blushing. Her family didn’t know that her plans to apply for a position in the Peace Corps had stalled. Nicola honestly didn’t know why; she was still passionately committed to the idea of service. But something was preventing her from taking the next step on her proposed journey.
“Yes,” she said vaguely, bringing the tea kettle to the table. “But at some point, I’ll need help furnishing a new place and I’ll be happy to take whatever you have to offer.”
Judith laughed. “Don’t be so sure!”
Chapter 48
Julie was sitting at the kitchen table, a half-empty cup of coffee before her. She had let the coffee grow cold and was debating whether it was worth the effort to get up and bring the cup to the microwave. She was still struggling with this question when Sophie came into the kitchen. Her hair was piled up in a messy bun and dotted with sparkly clips. She was wearing pink sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt. They had cost a small fortune, and Julie remembered that she had told Sophie to return the pieces to the mall. Had that been last month or the month before?
“Mom,” Sophie said, “where’s that dress you were going to hem for me? I want to wear it later when I meet my friends from camp.”
Julie frowned. “What dress?” she asked.
“Uh, the sundress I got at Urban Outfitters? The one that comes to my knees, but it should only come to mid-thigh so you said you’d hem it for me, like, four days ago?”
Julie thought hard. What had she done with the dress? “I’m sorry,” she said. “I totally forgot. Can you wear something else?”
“I could,” Sophie replied, “but I don’t want to. I already planned my whole outfit. If I can’t wear the dress I have to start all over again.”
Julie sighed. She could probably hem the dress in less than an hour. But the thought of tackling even that relatively simple task seemed too daunting. “I’m sorry,” she said again. Did she sound as pathetic as she felt? “I’ll do it tomorrow. I promise.”
“Why should I believe you?” Sophie cried. “No wonder Dad cheated on you! You’re pathetic. You just mope around here all day! I’m embarrassed to have my friends over. I don’t want them to see you this way! You used to be so . . . Oh, never mind!”
“So what?” Julie asked. She wasn’t sure why she had; did she really want to hear the answer?
Sophie lowered her eyes. “So normal,” she said quietly. “Fun even. My friends liked coming here. I was proud that you were my mom.”
“And now?” Julie’s voice trembled.
“Grrrrrr!” Sophie threw her arms in the air and let the palms of her hands slap down against her thighs. “Don’t make me say it!”
She turned and stomped from the kitchen.
Julie stared down at the cold coffee. She was angry. She had not been put on this earth to entertain her daughter’s friends. She had a right to her misery, just like everyone else did. If Sophie couldn’t care about her own mother when she was struggling, then . . .
Then what? Did that make Sophie an ungrateful child? Or only an ordinary one?
Abruptly, Julie rose from her seat, dumped the cold coffee into the sink, and put the cup in the dishwasher.
She had a responsibility to her daughter.
She would hem the dress now. With any luck, it would be ready if Sophie still wanted to wear it later in the day. But she probably wouldn’t.
Chapter 49
Bonnie hurried to answer the knock on the door. The last time she and her sister had met and talked about that long-ago bike accident, Bonnie had been left feeling that things between them were a bit less tense. They were a long way—maybe a very long way—from reconciliation, but Bonnie felt somewhat confident that she might be able to convince her sister of the rightness of her cause. To that end, she had finally invited Carol to the cottage.
“Welcome,” Bonnie said.
Carol, dressed in a linen sheath dress, smiled and stepped inside. She looked around the front room, which served several purposes—living room, TV room, den—and nodded. “This is a charming home.”
Something about the tone of Carol’s pronouncement—judgment—hit Bonnie the wrong way.
“You’ve been here before,” she said briskly. “Don’t you remember?”
“Of course, I do. And I found it charming then, as well.”
“When was it that you were here?” Bonnie challenged. Suddenly, she felt sure her sister was lying. She felt sure that Carol had forgotten the meals they had eaten at the kitchen table in the days between their mother’s death and her funeral. She felt sure that Carol had dismissed the memory of the college graduation party Bonnie and Ken had hosted for Nicola. There had been other occasions, too, but as they had not been grand affairs, no doubt her sister had barely noticed them.
“I’ve been here many times, Bonnie,” Carol replied calmly. “The week before Mom’s funeral. Nicola’s college graduation party. The first year that Nicola came to live with you and Ken I visited at least three times. I remember being shown her room, the one that had been Julie’s. Ken had helped Nicola paint it yellow. Is that enough proof for you that I haven’t blocked out all memory of your home?”
“I thought no such thing,” Bonnie replied heatedly. She refused to feel embarrassed about her earlier assumptions. A few random memories hardly measured up against a more general history of neglect. “Come through to the kitchen.”
The kitchen was small but well laid out. And it was spotless. Bonnie nodded toward the table and Carol took a seat.
“Have you given any more thought to my offer to buy you out of Ferndean?” Carol asked.
Bonnie, standing at the counter, her back to her sister, froze. What had she been thinking? They had achieved no closeness the other day. It had all been in Bonnie’s stupidly hopeful imagination.
Bonnie turned, a tray of tea things in hand. “I don’t need to give it any more thought,” she said firmly. “The answer is still no. I refuse to sell.”
“Bonnie, I—”
Bonnie put the tray on the table with a bang. Tea cups that had once belonged to their grandmother rattled dangerously. “You see Ferndean House as just a professional project, something to be torn apart, rebuilt, photographed for a magazine. But it’s more than that. Ferndean is a living, breathing part of the Ascher family.” It’s a living, breathing part of me, she added to herself. And I’m proud of that.
Carol sighed. “Please, sit down.”
Bonnie remained standing.
“Why won’t you accept my offer?” Carol went on. “It will be a very generous one, I promise, above current market value. You’re just being stubborn saying no.”
“I am not,” Bonnie cried. With effort, she lowered her voice. “I love Ferndean. I always have. I’ve been the one to care for it all these years! Do you realize how much time and energy I’ve put into keeping Ferndean happy and healthy?”
“I probably don’t,” Carol admitted, “but I take your word for the fact that it was a big job, managin
g the old pile. But, Bonnie, once the house is mine you can visit. You can have your old room if you like, use it as a little getaway. I’ll have some changes made to suit you, maybe put in a nice window seat or build out a bigger closet. And let’s face it, the money you’ll get by selling the house to me will solve a lot of your problems.”
Bonnie bristled. “And what, exactly, are those?”
“Ken can’t have left you particularly secure.”
“How do you know how Ken did or did not leave me?” Bonnie retorted angrily. “He was an excellent husband. Not that you know anything about husbands, except maybe stealing them from other people.”
“I have never, ever stolen a man from a woman. You’ve never seen the real me, just an image you created of some coldhearted, attention-seeking bitch.” Carol paused and when she went on her tone had softened. “We liked each other when we were kids. I remember. We both do. So, when was it that I became someone you chose to hate?”
“When was it that I became someone you chose to lord it over and mock?” Bonnie snapped.
“I have never mocked you,” Carol stated. “And why would I lord anything over you?”
Bonnie leaned over her sister in what she realized could be perceived as a menacing way. “Because you’ve always needed to be better than everyone else!”
“Oh, this is nonsense!” Carol said angrily. “We’re talking in circles again and I’m putting a stop to it immediately.”
She rose from her seat and reached for her Chanel bag. Bonnie had to take a step back for her sister to move away from the table.
Carol walked from the kitchen with a show of dignity, her step slow and even, and that angered Bonnie even further.
The front door closed. Carol had not let it slam. She was always so eager to prove that she was in control!
Bonnie sank into her usual seat at the table.
When had Carol become someone she had chosen to hate?
No. Not hate. Never hate.
So, when had Carol morphed in Bonnie’s mind from an admirable if sometimes difficult human being to a person with only bad and selfish intentions? How had Bonnie allowed that transformation to happen?
It seemed likely that the physical distance between the sisters after Carol left Yorktide had contributed to this growing distortion. Physical space could too rapidly be filled with imagined crimes. If Carol had stayed on in Yorktide, things might have been different between them. But Carol, being Carol, could not have stayed on, not without doing irreparable damage to her true self. Even Bonnie could admit that, if grudgingly.
Gingerly, Bonnie touched the rim of one of the old tea cups. She was suddenly overcome with regret about the way she had behaved with her sister just now. But she wasn’t sure she had it in her to throw off the attitude of resentment and suspicion that had come to weigh so heavily around her.
She just wasn’t sure.
Chapter 50
Judith had persuaded her cousin to meet her at one of her favorite craft breweries in the next town. Carol hated beer, but she needed to vent.
The two women were seated across from each other at a picnic table, one among rows of end-to-end picnic tables that constituted the seating provided for beer lovers. Carol tried to ignore the strong smell of hops or yeast or whatever it was that went into beer and took a sip of water. What sort of place didn’t serve wine? Even a cup of coffee would have been appreciated.
“So,” Judith said, after a long drink of a beer the color of mud, “what’s bugging you?”
“Bonnie. What else? She invited me over for tea and I was stupid enough to think that it was a gesture of friendship, or at least a sign of a thaw, but within two minutes she was on the defensive and then she was attacking me, accusing me of all sorts of bad behavior. I mean, what’s that about?”
Judith sighed. “I can’t speak for Bonnie, you know that. All I can do is guess that she feels she’s in over her head with you. She badly wants something that you also want and in her mind, with the exception of Ken, you always come out the winner.”
“That’s ridiculous. She hardly knows me! She has no idea what I’ve suffered in the years since I last lived here in Yorktide. Believe me, I’ve had my share of losses.”
“Of course, you have. We all have.”
Carol shook her head. “Bonnie is truly maddening. Was she always this stubborn and closed-minded, or is it just that I’ve been away for so long I’ve forgotten the worst of it?”
“Have you ever heard of the Cain Complex?” Judith asked.
“Is it the title of a book?”
“No, Cain as in Cain and Abel. The Cain Complex is the unconscious desire of an older sibling to kill the younger sibling.”
Carol’s eyes widened. “Good Lord, I’ve never wanted to kill Bonnie!”
“Maybe not, but why are you trying to bully her into selling Ferndean to you?”
“I’m not bullying my sister,” Carol said after a moment. “That’s ridiculous.”
“You’re a bulldozer, Carol. You always have been and maybe that’s been helpful in business, but it’s not often, if ever, helpful in relationships.”
“I never bulldoze my clients,” Carol countered. “I listen carefully to what it is they want in their homes and—”
“And then you lead them to what you think they should have. And that’s fine. But not with Bonnie.”
There was some truth in what her cousin said. But Carol wasn’t in the mood to examine her character flaws. “You should be glad you never had a sister,” she said. “I know that if Bonnie were a boy—I mean, if I had a brother—we’d be close, certainly closer than Bonnie and I are now.”
“You can’t know that. And I’ve never cared either way about having a sibling. I don’t know anything other than being an only child. And it’s always suited me just fine.”
“Not all sisters are so grossly incompatible,” Carol murmured. “Look at the Blackwell sisters, or the Grimké sisters. Productive together. Game changers.”
Judith raised an eyebrow. “Look at Jackie O and Lee Radziwill. Not such smooth sailing there.”
“You haven’t answered my question. Has my sister always been this maddening?”
“As maddening as you are to her? Probably. People don’t change all that much over time. We might like to think that we do, but we don’t. We’re all fundamentally who we were when we were little.”
Carol frowned. “How very reassuring. Or how very depressing, depending on your point of view.”
“Romulus and Remus,” Judith said.
“What have they got to do with anything?”
“Romulus killed Remus. They were twins.”
“I know who they were. Legendary founders of Rome, suckled by a wolf, blah blah. And I’m still not thinking of killing my sister.”
“Good,” Judith said. “Because the idea of visiting someone on death row scares me. Are you sure you don’t want to try a beer?”
Carol grimaced. “I’m sure.”
Chapter 51
“Thanks, Nicola.” Sophie took a lick around her ice-cream cone.
Nicola was always charmed by the Nubble Lighthouse in York. Sophie, because she was Sophie, was most interested in Dunne’s Ice Cream shop. Before they settled on a bench looking out to sea, Nicola bought her young cousin a Chocolate Extreme cone.
“Did you put on sunscreen before we left?” Nicola asked. The midday sun was beating down brutally.
Sophie gave Nicola a teenaged look. “You sound like my mother. Well, like how my mother used to sound. These days she doesn’t seem to notice me.”
“I’m sorry,” Nicola said.
Sophie shrugged and continued to eat her ice cream. After a while she said, “What was going on before you came to live with Grandma and Grandpa? I mean, all I know is that you were going through a tough time and that your mother sent you here because she thought it was safer or something.”
Nicola thought carefully before answering. She did not want to make her past troubl
es sound in the least bit glamorous. They had not been glamorous. And she had gotten so used to blaming her mother for sending her away she had almost forgotten what must have led her mother to make that drastic decision.
“I went a bit crazy I guess,” she said finally. “Not crazy as in insane,” she added quickly, “just a bit wild. It started when I turned fourteen. Before that I was a pretty average kid. I did okay in school. I was fairly spoiled, though not as badly as some of my classmates. There were two girls I was sort of close to, but I didn’t have a best friend. Maybe that was unusual, I don’t know. Anyway, it’s all a bit foggy now.”
“Like, you blocked it out?” Sophie asked.
Nicola squirmed inside. Yes, she had blocked things out. In order to keep the focus on her evil mother.
“I guess so,” she admitted. “Anyway, a few of the tough kids in my class started being friendly to me—at least, I thought they were being friendly, but they probably just thought they could get something from me, don’t ask me what.” Nicola shook her head. This was not going well. “Sorry,” she said. “I’ve never really talked about that time of my life. All you need to know is that I started doing things I never would have dreamed of doing.”
“Like what?” Sophie pressed.
“Stupid things,” Nicola said firmly. “Dangerous things. Cruel things.”
“Was it peer pressure? Adults are always talking about peer pressure.”
“At first maybe peer pressure played a part,” Nicola conceded. “Every kid wants to fit in, feel important. A lot of adults, too.” She paused a moment before going on. “Later,” she said, “I think I was frightened and that’s why I acted out.”
“Frightened of what?” Sophie asked.
All Our Summers Page 17