All Our Summers

by Holly Chamberlin

  But within two weeks’ time Nicola was packed off to Yorktide, an inconvenience to a busy parent, an embarrassment to a successful businessperson. No one wanted anyone associated with a juvenile delinquent having access to their homes chock-full of valuable art and antiques. What if Carol Ascher’s problematic daughter got her hands on the alarm code to their Fifth Avenue apartment or their estate in the Hamptons? What if she and her equally delinquent cohorts broke in and trashed the place, made off with the jewels, terrorized the staff and tortured the pets?

  Nicola’s Pine Hill colleagues at the next picnic table suddenly got up and began to gather their empty cartons and paper bags. Nicola looked at her watch. Her lunch hour was over. She hadn’t read the article she had meant to and had barely touched her food.

  She took a deep breath and began to gather her things. She would never stop feeling ashamed about the way she had behaved. She had never apologized to Ana; she had never really had the chance. Maybe it wasn’t too late to seek forgiveness. She could send Ana a letter. But maybe it was better to let the incident rest. Ana had probably forgiven Nicola long ago; she would have known about Nicola’s troubles at the time and figured the verbal attack was just another instance of teen angst.

  Nicola walked back to the building. Mothers forgave their children anything, she mused; at least, in novels and movies they did. And daughters forgave their mothers almost anything. Or, they were supposed to. The problem was that there were still so many unanswered questions. Like Hermione Wolcott had said, there had to have been a very good reason for Carol Ascher’s sending her daughter away above and beyond punishment. There had to have been.

  But would she ever learn the full truth? Or would her mother’s motives always remain in the realm of the unknown?

  Nicola was tired of the unknown.

  Chapter 68

  Sara Webb had left Julie a voice mail in which she asked if Julie had given any thought to the Ackroyd scholarship, and offered to talk through any questions involving the application process.

  Julie felt vaguely guilty for not having even glanced at the Institute’s website; after all, Sara was making an effort on her behalf, and the topic of religious and cultural tolerance was one that Julie felt passionately about. Rather than respond to Sara with a call, she had sent a text promising to read the application guidelines that very afternoon.

  Once Scott had left for his dental appointment.

  Scott had always been afraid of going to the dentist, which meant that he didn’t go as often as he should. The last time he had seen Dr. Wilde she had predicted that a back tooth would have to be pulled before long; it had been neglected for too many years to be saved without procedures that would cost the Millers a small fortune.

  Now, the tooth was ready to come out. Scott hadn’t told Julie about the appointment; she had seen his scrawl on the old-fashioned calendar that hung in the kitchen. Before the summer, Julie would have dropped everything to be with Scott during the ordeal. But things were different now.

  Scott had gone out of his way to take her to the eye doctor the week before. He had been pleased to learn that the floaters were harmless. But Julie was not prepared to reciprocate the favor or the support.

  Her husband chose that moment to walk into the kitchen.

  “Good luck,” she said without much expression.

  Scott took his car keys off the hook by the landline. “Thanks.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Julie went on.

  Scott didn’t look convinced. Suddenly, Julie wanted to drive him to the dentist’s office, to sit in the waiting area during the procedure, to bring him home afterward, where she would give him an aspirin and a cold cloth to help ease any pain. It was what a good spouse would do. But she couldn’t make the words “Let me help” take shape.

  Scott stood there for another moment, as if hoping for something more than his wife’s silence. “I’ll be late,” he finally said, and turned toward the kitchen door.

  When he was gone, Julie realized that she felt slightly sick. Why couldn’t she figure this out?

  She knew for sure that she didn’t hate her husband. According to some, she had a right to hate him for what he had done to her. Revenge was popular. Vindictive behavior was allowed in a case like this. Reality television told you so, as did pop music. It was okay for women who had been scorned to fight back. Hell hath no fury.

  Everybody believed that.

  But fury wasn’t going to work for Julie. It just wasn’t.

  Julie rose from the table and headed for her office. She was going to log in to the Ackroyd Institute’s website like she had promised Sara she would do.

  Chapter 69

  “Hi!”

  Bonnie flinched. Running into her sister was something she was going to have to get used to, at least for the moment. Carol, a member of the Yorktide community, strolling along the same sidewalks, chatting with the same shop owners.

  “What are you doing in town?” Bonnie asked.

  Carol smiled. “I might ask you the same thing. Running errands.”

  “We’re in for rain.”

  “So the Internet tells me.”

  “You don’t watch the local news?”

  “No,” Carol said. “Oh, listen to this. I got a call earlier from someone named Clare Wood. She said she’s the president of the Women’s Benevolent Society.”

  “I know who Clare is. What does the WBS want with you?” Bonnie asked suspiciously.

  “They asked me to march at the head of the Independence Day parade. I suppose I should be honored that they want to include me with the local notables—the mayor, the high school principal, even the police chief.”

  “Yes,” Bonnie said tightly. “You should be honored. Are you going to accept?”

  “I don’t know,” Carol admitted. And then she laughed. “I don’t like sashes. I hated having to wear that awful sash when I won the title of Miss Yorktide 1973. I don’t know how the royals do it, though maybe the fact of there being important jewels pinned to the sash makes it bearable.”

  Bonnie, who had never been offered the opportunity of wearing a sash, bejeweled or not, was silent.

  “I have to run,” Carol said abruptly. “I have an appointment for a facial. Don’t get caught in the rain.”

  With a wave, her sister was dashing off across the street, dodging traffic as she went. A New York thing to do, Bonnie supposed. Crossing the street anywhere at any time, regardless of the rules.

  Bonnie was not happy. She was the sister who had lived in Yorktide all her life, paid taxes, voted in every single local election. She was the one who had served seafood casserole and blueberry pie at church suppers and had stuck around to clean up afterward. She was the one who had joined with her neighbors to help the sick and needy of Yorktide both at the food bank and with the town’s hot meal delivery service. She was the one who had seen her child—and for a while, Carol’s child!—through the local school system. Why hadn’t she been the subject of an article in the Yorktide Chronicle? Why wasn’t she the one being honored by the Women’s Benevolent Society? More like the Women’s Sucking Up Society!

  Ken. What would Ken think of this situation? “It’s a tradition for a community to honor one of its own who made good in the wide world before coming home,” he would have said. “What harm is it doing you?”

  No harm, Bonnie admitted, her anger cooling. Just—annoyance. First the lie. Then the article. Now the parade.

  A big fat raindrop landed on Bonnie’s forehead. It was followed by another and another. By the time Bonnie reached her car, she was soaked.

  Chapter 70

  That very afternoon Carol declined the Women’s Benevolent Society’s invitation to march at the head of the Fourth of July parade. She wasn’t stupid or insensitive. She had seen that Bonnie was upset about her sister’s being chosen as one of the parade’s VIPs. Truly, the last thing Carol wanted was to further alienate her sister and daughter, and yet that seemed to be happening without her consent
.

  “I was very diplomatic,” she told her cousin over the phone. “They seemed a bit disappointed but not heartbroken.”

  “Good,” Judith said. “I’d been hearing grumblings from the socially active residents of Yorktide who couldn’t see why someone who left town over forty years ago and who never since then contributed to the good of the community should be singled out for such an honor. I can’t say I don’t see their point.”

  “You mean you wouldn’t have supported me if I had accepted?” Carol asked, feeling slightly stung.

  “I always go to the parade,” Judith replied carefully. “I would have cheered like I always do.”

  “Just not for me.”

  “I wouldn’t have shouted your name, no.”

  “You’re quite the diplomat.”

  Judith had agreed and signed off.

  Carol felt chastened. If even Judith, notoriously neutral, was not entirely pleased about the attention being paid to her cousin, then Carol’s situation in Yorktide was indeed more complicated than she had expected it to be. She should never have lied to Bonnie about the breakup with Ken. She should not have agreed to that silly article. She should not have considered for even a moment the WBS’s proposal. She had failed to imagine the consequences her sudden reappearance in her hometown might have not only for her family but for her neighbors as well.

  That little boy’s death. The sudden, intense need to assure that someone would genuinely mourn her when she was gone.

  Alex. Alex would mourn her.

  Wouldn’t he?

  Carol’s purse was in her bedroom. She went upstairs and from her wallet she removed a photograph slightly worn around the edges. It was the only photo she had of her and Alex; it had been taken at a party about two years before she had approached him with her plan.

  Her fabulous plan.

  Holding the photo gingerly, Carol sank onto the edge of the bed. Her family thought her unsentimental, maybe even cold. What would they say if they knew she had kept this photo in her wallet for the past twenty-eight years? Of course, that would presuppose they knew of the deal she had made with Alex and they must never know. Bonnie, Julie, Judith, Nicola.

  Especially Nicola.

  But the burden of her greatest secret was weighing more heavily on Carol than ever before. She felt trapped inside the secret, held prisoner by it.

  She felt—unmoored. Confused. Unsure.

  Abruptly, Carol got up and returned the photo to her wallet. She could not afford to be defeated by doubts and worries. Not now.

  Not when the relationship with her family was at stake.

  She would just have to listen and learn. Stop misjudging. Stop telling lies. Do her utmost best to be accepted.

  Do her utmost best to be remembered and mourned.

  Chapter 71

  Nicola was miserable.

  She was very rarely sick but seemed to have caught a cold in spite of using hand sanitizer several times a day as she moved around Pine Hill. A sore throat and a congested and achy head meant that she was confined to her apartment for the duration. Working with the elderly, many of whom had compromised immune systems, meant she couldn’t take a chance on infecting someone in turn.

  The worst part about being sick—not so sick that you couldn’t think straight, but just sick enough that all you could pretty much do was to think—was thinking! She had tried to read but couldn’t seem to get past a paragraph. She had begun to watch a movie on her phone but staring at the small screen had hurt her eyes. So, she was left to sit propped in her bed, thinking and dozing and all in all feeling miserable.

  And guilty. That awful story she had told her mother all those years ago! How must her mother have felt when her child, disheveled, bleeding, and in tears, had begun to relate a tale of a near kidnapping or rape! Nicola cringed. She was pretty certain she hadn’t even noticed her mother’s expression before the story fell apart. She had been focused only on her own sorry self. Nicola tried to imagine what her aunt Bonnie would feel if Julie came to her with a similar story, or if Sophie came to Julie with a tale of having been a victim of force and brutality. They would be devastated. Sickened.

  Carol Ascher was not a monster. She must have felt as if her world was crashing to the ground. Maybe that was one of the reasons she had sent Nicola away only weeks later. Could she have been so angry with her daughter for telling such an outrageous lie that the very sight of her was impossible to bear?

  Nicola sneezed and coughed and squirmed. She would probably never know. What did it matter now, anyway? Nicola was alone and it hurt to swallow and her nose was red and . . .

  Poor pity me. Stop it, she told herself.

  Her mother was strong. She was tough. She had gotten over that incident. She must have. She was back in Yorktide, wasn’t she, supposedly eager for her daughter’s friendship? And she was determined to lend a hand hosting the annual Independence Day party at Ferndean. Not that her contribution was going to be appreciated, Nicola thought. Her aunt had laughed in scorn when she told Nicola what Carol had planned. Nicola had laughed, too, though a small part of her had felt bad that she was mindlessly joining in her aunt’s mockery. A painting station or whatever you could call it wasn’t a terrible idea in and of itself, just not a good idea for a Ferndean gathering.

  Nicola squirmed, this time not because of physical discomfort but because her conscience was nagging her more forcefully. In a way, she had betrayed her mother by immediately taking her aunt’s side in a conflict that shouldn’t even be a conflict. Why couldn’t Carol do her thing and Bonnie do hers? Why did the Ascher sisters always have to be at odds, fighting, jabbing at each other? It could be exhausting. It was unfair to Nicola, always being put in a position to take sides. It was . . .

  It was up to her to be an adult and step back from the sisters’ problematic dynamic. She was twenty-five-years old, not a child. She didn’t need to be a favorite or a pawn or—

  “Achoo!”

  Nicola was miserable.

  Chapter 72

  Julie was not looking forward to the annual Independence Day festivities. Lately, loud noises were bothering her more than they ever had. She would have to stay away from the various fireworks displays around town; she would have to remember to buy earplugs. Her parents had always forbidden everything but sparklers at their party; neither had wanted the risk of injury or fire. Still, the guests gathered at Ferndean would be a loud lot. Revelers always were.

  The microwave alerted Julie to the fact that her lunch was ready. A few days before she had bought a large supply of instant soup. Just add water and pop into the microwave. Couldn’t require less effort. She removed the cup with a dishtowel. The soup was a sickly yellow. She blew on it and took a sip. It was like swallowing a spoonful of salt. Julie drank it all anyway.

  There had been a scene the night before. Sophie had announced that she wasn’t going to her grandmother’s Fourth of July shindig; a fellow counselor at camp was having a party that was, according to Sophie, going to be totally awesome.

  Julie had said nothing. Scott, however, had insisted that Sophie attend Bonnie’s party with her parents. Julie didn’t share her husband’s intense concern about their daughter’s summer friends, but she still had enough respect for Scott’s parenting instincts to let him have his way. Sophie had stomped off in a rage.

  There was another reason Julie had not fought Scott’s decision. Guilt. Scott had been at the dentist’s office for about an hour the other day when the receptionist had called to let Julie know that the extraction had been a success but that Scott was extremely woozy from the anesthesia.

  “He’s welcome to sit here for as long as he needs to,” Shari explained. “Unless someone can come to pick him up.”

  Julie had fought hard with her better instincts. But pride had won out. “I’m sorry,” she said finally, staring blindly at the far wall of her office. “I’m not able to get there right now.”

  If Shari thought Julie Miller heartless, she didn’
t let on.

  Scott was home about an hour after that. He said nothing about not having felt well. Julie wasn’t sure he knew that she had been called—and that she had refused to help him. Part of her hoped that he did know. Part of her hoped that he didn’t.

  So, Julie had backed her husband’s decision to keep Sophie from her party. It was a way of making amends.

  But there was still the matter of her own attendance. It wasn’t in her at the moment to be social, to ask after a person’s parents, to admire a person’s attire, to answer a person’s polite enquiries about how her summer was progressing. Maybe if Aggie was going to be at the party things might be easier, but she wasn’t. Julie had not invited her.

  Of course, at the last minute, Julie could claim a headache and stay at home. Some people might believe her, but not her sharply intuitive mother. No, for Bonnie’s sake, Julie would go to the party, the first one without Ken Elgort as cohost. Julie felt ill-equipped to be of much help to her mother—to anyone; she had proven that—but her gut told her that her presence would be better than her absence.

  And she would try to remember what Sara had said to her. That she believed Julie was going to make it through this difficult phase of her life intact.

  Not broken.

  That didn’t mean not damaged. But it did mean whole.

  Chapter 73

  Bonnie Ascher shook her head at the folly of it all. Expecting the guests to stop having a good time and draw pictures! Ridiculous. And those designer cocktails! Carol had hired a professional bartender to create artisanal spritzers and other such nonsense. She and Ken had never served anything but beer and wine and soft drinks, and nobody had ever complained.