All Our Summers

by Holly Chamberlin

  She found Bonnie standing on the doorstep. Her expression was tight as she pointed to two large plastic bags lumped at her feet.

  “I’m just here to deliver these bags of mulch for the vegetable garden.”

  “Thanks,” Carol said. She wondered why Bonnie hadn’t brought the bags around back. Why even let Carol know she was there?

  “Why don’t you stay for a bit, have a cup of tea or something?” Carol said, before she could consider the wisdom of her invitation.

  Her sister accepted.

  “I’ve got chamomile, peppermint, and Irish Breakfast,” Carol said. “I can make it with ice if you want.”

  Bonnie chose Irish Breakfast, hot. Carol remembered that their mother had always drunk hot tea on even the steamiest of days. That was a habit both of her daughters had inherited.

  “The back deck is the coolest place on days like this,” she said. “I’ll be out in a moment.”

  Carol went to the kitchen to prepare the tea. She used the microwave, ancient though it was, to heat the water. Did Bonnie have a microwave at the cottage? Carol thought it likely that she didn’t.

  Carrying a mug in each hand, Carol joined her sister. Carol was expecting Bonnie to mention Bill Elliott’s article and when she didn’t, she was relieved.

  Still, she wished her sister would say something. The silence began to weigh heavily. Carol felt sweat trickling down her chest.

  And then she wondered. Shirley hadn’t made Carol promise not to tell her sister what she had revealed just before dying. Maybe Bonnie deserved to know about an important moment in their mother’s youth, before marriage and motherhood had changed her from girl to woman.

  Besides, Carol thought rather desperately, maybe sharing Shirley’s story would serve as a sort of roundabout apology for her recent bad behavior.

  “When I last saw Mom,” she began, “she told me something she’d never told anyone else.”

  “What?” Bonnie said sharply, looking up from her mug of tea.

  “About six months after Mom started to date Dad she met someone. He had just sort of shown up in the area, and no one really knew anything about him, other than that he drove a flashy car and seemed to have cash to spare.”

  “And?” Bonnie prompted.

  “And they had a brief and passionate affair, brief because after about a month he left for California, something about a cousin in Los Angeles with a can’t-miss business scheme. He didn’t ask Mom to go with him and that was that.”

  Bonnie’s expression darkened. “You’re lying.”

  “No,” Carol said evenly. “I’m not.”

  “Was she dating Dad all along?” Bonnie asked after a moment. “While she was having the affair?”

  “That’s what she said.”

  “How in the world did she keep it a secret?” Bonnie cried, setting the mug of tea heavily on the table at her side. “This is Yorktide!”

  Carol shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe people just looked the other way for once. Anyway, Mom swore she was in love with Dad, but that she just couldn’t help herself with this other man. It was one of those once-in-a-lifetime things.”

  “Why didn’t she tell me?” Bonnie said.

  Carol heard the plaintive note in her sister’s voice. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe she thought I’d be less shocked than you would, though I certainly was surprised.”

  “An affair is hardly something to brag about,” Bonnie said sternly.

  “Which is probably why she only spoke of it on her deathbed.”

  “A guilty conscience?”

  “I don’t think so. Just a secret that needed to be told.” Carol knew all about secrets. And about not telling them.

  “She never saw the man again?” Bonnie asked.

  “Never. She had no idea if he was alive or dead. If I thought it would have changed anything for her I’d have offered to hunt him down, but I don’t think that’s what she wanted. She didn’t even tell me his name.”

  “Do you think she was lying?” Bonnie wondered. Her tone sounded more thoughtful now, less strident.

  “No, it’s not the sort of thing you lie about on your deathbed. If anything, you’d pretend to have been better than you were.”

  “You’re probably right,” Bonnie admitted. “Do you think Mom thought about that man all those years she was married to Dad?”

  “I don’t know,” Carol said. “She certainly never forgot him, but that doesn’t mean she was pining away.”

  “I’m sure Dad never knew,” Bonnie said stoutly. “If he did he wouldn’t have married her.”

  “I doubt he knew, either, but even if he did know, or suspect, he might still have married her. Shirley and Ronald were different people before we knew them as Mom and Dad.”

  “I don’t like to think about our parents—”

  “As people?” Carol smiled. “Bonnie, isn’t it about time you recognized your mother and father as full individuals? Life can’t be all rosy retrospection.”

  Bonnie never answered that question. Not long after, she went home, looking distressed.

  And Carol was left with a bad feeling that she had made another mistake. Why was she sabotaging her plan to heal old wounds by revealing secrets best kept hidden, by lying, by antagonizing her sister in every way that she could?

  Was she losing her mind? She owed Bonnie an apology. Why hadn’t she offered it?

  Carol’s hands began to shake ever so slightly. Her mouth felt dry. She took the last sip of her tea. It helped a bit. But not enough.

  Chapter 59

  Sophie had persuaded Nicola that an afternoon at Ogunquit Beach was an awesome idea.

  “But it’s Saturday,” Nicola had pointed out. “It’ll be a mob scene.”

  “So what?” was Sophie’s reply. “Oh, come on. It’ll be fun.”

  Nicola’s idea of an enjoyable visit to the beach involved walking along the shore, collecting the occasional interesting stone, noting the dramatic cloud formations, and watching the seagulls gracefully swoop and dive through the air.

  Sophie, on the other hand, was committed to the idea of sunbathing. She had come laden with a chair, a blanket, a sunhat, two tubes of sunblock (one for her face and neck especially), a battery-operated, handheld fan, two giant bottles of flavored water, and a super-size bag of chips.

  “Don’t you have a bathing suit?” Sophie asked, eyeing Nicola critically.

  “Not at the moment,” Nicola admitted, glancing down at her T-shirt and cargo shorts. “Usually when I come to the beach I wear, you know, clothes.”

  “But what about when you go into the water?”

  “I guess I haven’t gone swimming in a while.” Nicola wondered why.

  “You should have more fun,” Sophie pronounced.

  “I have plenty of fun. I really enjoy my job.”

  That made Sophie prop herself on her elbows. “You like spending every day with a bunch of sick, old people?”

  “The point is that they’re people,” Nicola scolded. “And not all are sick. You can learn a lot from people who’ve been around longer than you have, both good and bad things. You just have to listen.”

  Sophie looked dubious. “I wish I didn’t have to work,” she said, settling back on her blanket. “I’d come here every morning and stay until the lifeguards made me leave.”

  “Do you ever bring a book?” Nicola asked.

  Sophie laughed. “Why? I’ve got my phone.”

  Nicola smiled to herself. She and Sophie were so very different in so many ways. But they were family. And that meant something.

  Carol Ascher was also her family. Arguably, she was the most important person in Nicola’s family. So why was Nicola so awfully grim and unbending where her mother was concerned?

  It was a question for another time.

  “So, what are your friends doing today?” she asked Sophie. “You could have asked someone along.”

  Sophie sighed. “Yeah, I guess.”

&nbs
p; “Is there a boy you like?” Nicola asked. Why? She had hated being asked that question when she was Sophie’s age.

  “A boy?” Sophie tone was incredulous. “Boys are ridiculous. They’re so immature.”

  “Then, someone older?” Nicola did not say the word man.

  “Maybe.”

  “Where do you know him from?” Nicola asked, thinking of that creepy guy she had seen outside Sophie’s camp.

  Sophie shrugged. “Just around. Anyway, it’s not like we’re going out or anything. He’s just—cool. You know.”

  “Do your parents know he exists?”

  “Are you kidding? Like I would tell my father? After what he did to me, I don’t owe him anything. And like my mother would even know I was in the room? She’s not interested in anything these days but herself.”

  “Sorry,” Nicola said lamely.

  “It’s all right. Like I said, their problems aren’t mine.”

  That was true to a certain extent, Nicola thought. But Sophie’s problems were certainly of importance to her parents. At least, they should be. Not that she was judging her cousin. How could she really know what Julie was going through?

  “So, what about you?” Sophie asked.

  “What about me?”

  “Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

  Nicola laughed. “I don’t know. I just don’t.”

  “Isn’t there anyone you like?” Sophie pressed.

  “Not at the moment.” Sophie didn’t need to know that her cousin’s attitude toward romantic love was less than enthusiastic. Sure, for the last ten years she had had the good example of Bonnie and Ken, but before that she had grown up with a woman who eschewed romance as totally unnecessary for a fulfilling life. Early impressions went deep.

  “Well, you never know when you’ll fall in love. That’s what my grandmother always says.” Sophie frowned. “But what does being in love even mean? Supposedly my father loved my mother, but look what he did. What’s the big deal about love, anyway, if it can fall apart? I mean, why bother?”

  Nicola feared they had wandered into territory about which she was too unfamiliar to be of any help. Her own mother had avoided love to have her child with an anonymous sperm donor, the least romantic way you could go about starting a family. And Nicola had had only one semiserious relationship back in college. At the moment, she couldn’t for the life of her remember Harry’s last name. Was that normal?

  Nicola looked down at Sophie and was about to say something—she wasn’t sure what—but realized from the girl’s slightly open mouth and even breathing that she had fallen asleep. A wave of fondness for her young cousin coursed through her, followed closely by a surge of annoyance. Why wasn’t Julie getting the help she needed to effectively deal with the trouble in her marriage? Sophie was suffering. It wasn’t right.

  Nicola drew her legs up to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. But you couldn’t force someone to take a step she wasn’t able or willing to make.

  And you couldn’t force yourself to take a step you weren’t able or willing to make. Like forgive your mother.

  Chapter 60

  There were floaters in Julie’s eyes. They were worrying her. The Internet said they could either be harmless or a sign of something serious. The Millers’ medical insurance didn’t cover much in terms of eye care, but Julie felt she had no choice but to have her eyes looked at by a professional. Dr. Murphy knew her well and she trusted him.

  There was one hitch, though. Her pupils would be dilated; she would need someone to drive her home. Scott had offered. It would be no problem to take the afternoon off, he said. He would talk to the foreman. Bob was a family man, too. He would understand.

  But the last thing Julie wanted was to feel beholden to Scott. Anger, sadness, hurt, and resentment had become friends of a sort. Toxic friends but familiar.

  Problem was, there wasn’t much in way of public transportation in Yorktide. There was only one taxi company and that operated only in the evenings. There were a few Uber and Lyft cars around, but Julie hadn’t signed on for either service and. at the moment, she felt utterly incapable of handling a new task, even one so simple.

  She could, of course, ask her mother for a ride, but her mother would ask why Scott couldn’t drive her, and Julie would have to lie and say that he couldn’t get out of work. It would be the same with Judith, only Judith probably wouldn’t believe the lie. Nicola might not ask questions, but Julie didn’t want to drag her cousin away from her job. Nicola’s work was so important.

  Reluctantly, Julie accepted Scott’s offer.

  Scott was waiting for her in his car; he smiled when she slid into the passenger seat. Julie didn’t return the smile. She was very conscious of Scott only inches away. She hoped he didn’t try to touch her.

  Before the affair, Scott and Julie had often gone on road trips together. Scott drove. They took turns selecting the music. The Beatles. The Rolling Stones. Pearl Jam. Counting Crows. They would pack a picnic lunch and stop somewhere picturesque to eat. Sophie had taken to teasing them about acting like two lovestruck teenagers.

  Now, those days of easy friendship seemed so very far away.

  Scott was talking.

  “She must feel so alone. I’m glad she at least has Nicola.”

  “What do you mean, at least?” Julie asked. She assumed he was talking about their daughter.

  “Because she doesn’t really have you or me at the moment.” Scott sighed. “She doesn’t want either of us.”

  Was that true? Julie realized she didn’t know much of anything about what her daughter wanted or needed at this moment, except for Julie to go back to being the person she had been before the affair.

  That was impossible.

  Julie was vaguely sorry she couldn’t help her daughter, but she didn’t feel the deep regret she knew she should feel.

  That was wrong.

  “Maybe we should take her to a professional.” Scott went on. “Maybe a therapist could . . . could make her not hate me so much.”

  Julie wondered. Was she supposed to comfort Scott, reassure him that his daughter didn’t hate him? Maybe Sophie did hate her father.

  Hate wasn’t good. At all. Ever. But it could be real. Maybe it was real for Sophie.

  It wasn’t for Julie. She didn’t hate Scott. What did that mean? That there was hope for them? That she could forgive him for what he had done to her?

  “She has my mother,” Julie said as Scott pulled into the parking lot outside Dr. Murphy’s office.

  “What?”

  “Sophie. She can turn to my mother.”

  Scott shook his head. “Do you want me to come in with you?” he asked quietly.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Just because.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I’ll be here then.”

  Julie got out of the car and walked up to the medical building. It was one of those long, nondescript, one-story buildings, with a big pot of flowering plants on either side of the entrance. Julie stepped inside, out of the summer sun.

  And as she walked down the corridor, a small but insistent voice whispered in her head. Sophie, it said, might have her cousin and grandmother looking out for her. But you’re her mother. Don’t forget that, Julie.

  You are her mother.

  Chapter 61

  The roar of the old vacuum, loud as it was, was not loud enough to drown out the thoughts racing through Bonnie’s head. She had hoped, vainly as it turned out, that a vigorous session of housecleaning might help her forget, even just a bit, even for just a while, what Carol had told her about their mother.

  Shirley had had an affair.

  Bonnie remembered Judith pointing out that her parents had been far more liberal than Shirley and Ronald Ascher. How little she knew!

  Bonnie turned the vacuum to the worn runner just inside the front door and attacked it as if her life depended on stripping it clean of every particle of dust and grit it possessed. Bonnie wip
ed a bead of sweat from her forehead. She had always seen her mother as a model of moral rectitude, a genuinely decent person who always did the right thing no matter how it might inconvenience her.

  But an affair . . .

  She was sure her mother had loved her father. There had been evidence in the way Shirley had taken Ronald’s arm whenever they were in public, protective and proudly possessive at the same time; it was obvious in the way Shirley’s eyes had lit up when Ronald came home from work at the end of the day.

  The vacuum began to whine alarmingly and Bonnie turned it off. It was probably time for a new machine. Ken had been urging her to buy a new one for months before he got sick. Bonnie unplugged the vacuum and hauled it to the closet, where she stored her cleaning supplies.

  Suddenly, she felt exhausted. She went back to the living room and fell gratefully into the plaid lounger. It had been her gift to Ken on his fiftieth birthday.

  Bonnie rested her head against the back of the chair. The thing that hurt and confused her most about the whole thing was the fact that Shirley Ascher had chosen to share her secret with Carol. Why not with her? Bonnie was the dutiful daughter. The least her mother owed her was her confidence. But perhaps with Carol, the adventurous child, Shirley had trusted she would not be judged.

  In spite of her tiredness, Bonnie hauled herself out of the chair and went into the kitchen. She would at least clean the window over the sink. No matter how careful she was when washing the dishes, splashes of soapy water found their way to the window pane. She spritzed Windex onto a sheet of paper towel and began to scrub.

  If Carol was telling the truth about their mother’s long-ago lover, and for better or worse, Bonnie believed that she was, there might have been other secrets Shirley Elgort had kept from her family. Like another child? Like a second affair? Of course, everyone had a right to her secrets, but . . .

  Bonnie shook her head and gave the window one final wipe. She had to let it go. It was in the past, all of it. You could think about the past, obsess over it, reinterpret it, view it from a variety of angles, but you couldn’t fundamentally change it. End of story.