All Our Summers

by Holly Chamberlin

  Bonnie did, taking the armchair that had been their mother’s and folding her hands on her lap.

  “Look,” Carol said, before her sister could leap up on another mission of mercy, “there’s something I need to tell you. I’ve given it a lot of thought and I’m one hundred percent sure about this decision, so you have no choice but to accept it.”

  “You’re bossy.” Bonnie said this with a smile.

  “And that’s news? I’m turning over my half of Ferndean House to you, Bonnie. And along with it I’m giving you a financial gift to help make the necessary repairs that will keep this old pile going for another hundred years.”

  Bonnie’s expression changed from one of surprise to one of confusion to one of disbelief. “I can’t . . .” she said faintly. “You can’t . . .”

  “Yes,” Carol said firmly, “I can. There’s something else. I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but I actually decided to give you my share of Ferndean some weeks ago. I didn’t tell you then because . . . because I thought that you and Nicola would want . . . would expect me to leave Yorktide immediately and I wanted to stay on. I wanted to spend more time with you both.”

  “Why would I have sent you away?” Bonnie asked, her eyes wide.

  “Well, earlier this summer you told me I wasn’t wanted here.”

  Bonnie blushed. “Oh, right. I’m sorry about that. It wasn’t true. Really, it wasn’t.”

  “Be that as it may, the house is yours or soon will be and I’m not changing my mind, so deal with it. I’ll be moving back to New York, but things are going to be different with you and me. I’m going to visit you. You’re going to visit me. Often. But I just can’t live here in Yorktide.”

  Bonnie was now grinning. “I never thought Yorktide was right for you.”

  “It isn’t. I know that now, but my family is right for me, you and Nicola and the whole lot of them.”

  “And Alex?” Bonnie asked.

  Carol smiled sadly. “Poor Alex. I hope I can be of help to him in the time he has left. I hope I can make up for at least a little of the pain I’ve caused him.”

  “He made his decision,” Bonnie pointed out. “But I think it’s wonderful that you two are, well, are finally acting as a family.”

  “The family we always should have been? It’s what I’ve been thinking, too. Anyway, all I ask is permission to bunk down in my old bedroom when I come to Yorktide.”

  “No more staying in one of the fancy resorts?”

  “No, though I will need an air conditioner.”

  “Deal. And I promise that in addition to repairs and maintenance, I’ll make some much-needed updates to the furnishings.”

  “I’d love to bring my expertise to bear,” Carol admitted, “but I promise to respect your need for continuity and tradition.”

  “Thanks. But you were right when you said that the past is over. We don’t have to forget it entirely, but we do need to acknowledge the present and the future.”

  “Amen to that.”

  “Can you believe I’ve never been to New York?” Bonnie said suddenly.

  “We’ll do the whole tourist thing when you come, Rockefeller Center, the Staten Island Ferry, the Empire State Building, all the museums.”

  “And can we actually have breakfast at Tiffany’s?”

  “We can, at The Blue Box Cafe. Or we could have afternoon tea if you’d prefer.”

  “No! Oh, what will I wear?”

  “We’ll see to that, don’t worry.” Carol would buy her sister a wardrobe appropriate for New York. Bonnie might even enjoy the experience.

  “Maybe I’ll leave Ferndean House equally to Nicola and Julie in my will,” Bonnie said a bit mischievously. “Let them battle out the sole ownership the way we did!”

  “They’ll be fine. They’re not sisters.” Carol thought for a moment before going on. “But before you go ahead with that idea,” she said, “keep in mind that sometimes a gift can be a burden. I’d talk to Nicola and Julie before making any changes to your will. If neither wants the property, it could be held in trust for Sophie. If she doesn’t want Ferndean when the time comes, well, then, it can be sold. Time moves on. Things have to change.”

  “I know. You’re right. I’ll be careful with the disposition of Ferndean House. But for now, I’m going to enjoy every moment of its being mine!”

  “I know you will, especially when I show you something very special I found this summer. You’ll scold me if I try to get up, so would you go into the den and bring me the large box file on the coffee table?”

  Bonnie hurried off and was soon back. “I’m dying to see what’s inside!”

  “Open it,” Carol instructed. She watched as her sister carefully pulled a large sheaf of papers from the box.

  “I don’t understand,” Bonnie said, looking up to her sister. “What is all this?”

  “Evidence of a rather ambitious plan Marcus Ascher imagined for a folly on the property. You know those half-buried stones we’ve always wondered about? Well, a few weeks back I got curious and long story short, Terry Brown from the historical society was able to uncover Marcus’s long-lost plans. I thought it would be a good idea to finally bring to life what we can of our ancestor’s dream.”

  Bonnie’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know what to say. This is . . . this is wonderful, Carol!”

  “It was thoroughly impractical, useless, and no doubt too expensive to build, but the idea behind it was beautiful.”

  “What does it all mean?” Bonnie asked, paging through the notes and drawings. “All the symbols.”

  “It means that Marcus Ascher was a whacky Victorian. I’m not sure he had a thoroughly coherent message in mind. I’m guessing the images all somehow express his devotion to his wife. I don’t think we need to know more than that.”

  Bonnie carefully returned the papers to the box and placed her hands flat upon it. “I wonder what Rosemary thought of the scheme,” she said, “if she scolded him for extravagance, or if she was as enthusiastic as he was. Without letters or diaries, we’ll never know. Do you know I haven’t visited their graves in years? Do you want to go with me one day soon?”

  “Sure,” Carol said. She was curious to see what images Marcus might have had inscribed on his headstone.

  “We’ll bring some flowers,” Bonnie went on. “And we’ll tell them what we’ve found.”

  Carol winced. “You’re going to actually talk to our great-grandparents? They’re dead.”

  “And? Don’t worry. You don’t have to say anything.”

  “Good.” Carol hesitated. “While we’re at the cemetery, would you mind if I paid my respects to Ken?”

  Bonnie’s eyes began to swim with tears again. “That would make me very happy.”

  Carol cleared her throat and shifted in her father’s old, lumpy chair. “I’ll tell you what would make me happy,” she grumbled. “A new set of living room furniture!”

  Chapter 139

  Nicola and Carol were seated comfortably in Julie’s backyard, sipping icy lemonade.

  “Mom told me that you’ve given her Ferndean,” Julie said. “Thank you, Carol.”

  Nicola beamed. She felt hugely grateful to her mother for having relinquished her claim on Ferndean House, and very proud of her as well.

  Carol waved her hand dismissively. “No need to thank me. It was the right thing to do and I should have seen that earlier. And your mother probably told you that I’ll be going back to New York in the fall. It’s my home. It’s where I belong.”

  “Yes, but I hope we’ll see more of you than we have in the past.”

  “We’ll make sure of that,” Nicola said. “Anyway, Mom and I came here to tell you something. It’s nothing bad,” she added hastily. “But we . . . we’ve been keeping this from you for a few weeks. What with all that was going on with Scott and Sophie and . . .”

  “I get it,” Julie said. “I wasn’t in a good place. So, what is it?”

  Nicola gave her mother a look of
encouragement. Succinctly and powerfully, Carol told Julie about Nicola’s father, and about how a period of addiction to prescription opioids had contributed to her decision to send Nicola to live with her family in Maine.

  “This is monumental,” Julie said after a moment of stunned silence. “Like something that would happen in a soap opera! Nicola, I’m so very happy for you. And I’m so sorry that your father is ill.” Julie turned from daughter to mother. “Your struggle with that drug must have been awful, Carol.”

  Carol nodded. “It was. And I don’t think that my addiction is something that Sophie needs to know about, at least not at this point in her life.”

  “But you wanted me to know,” Julie said.

  “Yes, I want you to know that you’re not the only one in the family who’s fought the good fight. There’s a physical component to depression as well as to addiction, we know that. The mind/ body connection is real. If one of them is ailing, so is the other.”

  “Indeed. And I agree that Sophie doesn’t need to know, not now.”

  “Speaking of my great-niece,” Carol whispered.

  Sophie was rounding the corner of the house. Once again, she was wearing those impossible short shorts she and her friends were so fond of. But she was also wearing something Nicola hadn’t seen on the young woman in a long time. A genuinely open smile.

  “What’s up?” she said, giving her mother’s shoulder a squeeze. “Did I miss anything fun?”

  So, Carol told her, briefly, about Nicola’s father.

  “That is so seriously cool,” Sophie cried when Carol was finished. “And you’re gonna get to go to Buenos Aires! Wait, where is that exactly?”

  Nicola smiled. “It’s the capital of Argentina.”

  “Wow.” Sophie suddenly frowned. “But I’m sorry your father is sick. That part sucks.”

  “Yeah,” Nicola said, “it does.”

  Sophie frowned. “I remember things I said to you earlier this summer, Nicola. About not wanting anything to do with my father. And about how you were lucky you didn’t have a dad. I’m sorry I said those things. It was stupid. I don’t know what I’d do if Dad wasn’t here. Or if . . .” Sophie shuddered dramatically. “I don’t want to think about it.”

  Julie reached for her daughter’s hand. “Then don’t,” she said. “Just be glad that we have each other right now.”

  Nicola and her mother left shortly after. When Nicola had dropped Carol at Ferndean, she headed for her apartment. And while she drove along the quiet back roads of Yorktide, past green fields and old farmhouses, Nicola smiled remembering how happy her friend Hermione had been when she told her about all that had happened in the past week. A father discovered. A mother restored. A family reunited.

  The summer had been a transformational time for Nicola, that was for sure. She wished her uncle Ken was there to share her joy, but she was certain that he was watching over her, feeling proud and pleased.

  Nicola’s path had become clear, at least the path she was meant to travel at this moment in her life.

  She was the keeper of her kin.

  Chapter 140

  Julie couldn’t seem to stop smiling. Rather, grinning. Like the infamous Cheshire cat.

  She and Scott had had sex the night before. It had been surprisingly good. Scott was more attentive to her needs than he had ever been and that was nothing to dismiss lightly. And not once—truly—had she thought of Laci Fox.

  Julie wasn’t naïve enough to believe that everything in her marriage was suddenly back to normal—not that she wanted the old normal, not all of it anyway. But change was happening, and she knew for sure that she had a say in the shape of that change.

  Ferndean House. Julie pulled into the drive and turned off the engine. It really was a grand old place. She was glad that her mother would be taking up residence in her childhood home. She was glad that all had worked out so amicably between the sisters.

  Carol opened the door on the first knock. There was a dust rag thrown over one shoulder.

  “Hi,” she said. “What brings you around? I’m afraid you’ve caught me doing some cleaning.”

  Julie followed her aunt into the house. “Let’s go out to the back deck,” Carol suggested. “There’s a lovely breeze out there.”

  “I wanted to talk to you about something,” Julie said when the women had taken seats in the new wicker armchairs Carol had bought. “If the offer of a short stay in your apartment in the city is still open,” Julie went on, “I’d like to take you up on it.”

  Carol smiled. “The offer is still open. I won’t be going back to New York until after the anniversary of Ken’s death in mid-September.”

  “Mom is happy you’ll be with her for that,” Julie said earnestly. “As am I.”

  “So, what does Scott think about your venture?” her aunt asked.

  “I think he’s a bit nervous I’ll decide not to come back!” Julie laughed. “He’s being totally supportive, but it surprised him that I want to spend time on my own so far from home.”

  “Good. He needs to realize that you’re not just his predictably comfortable wife but your own person as well.”

  Julie agreed. “And I’ve applied for a scholarship from the Ackroyd Institute in Chicago,” Julie went on. “It’s for a week-long intensive course next spring on teaching religious tolerance. If I get it, the Windy City is in my future, too.”

  “That’s fantastic,” Carol said. “I haven’t been to Chicago in years. Try to stay a few extra days after the course if you can. There’s just so much to see.”

  “You’re assuming I’ll get the scholarship,” Julie noted.

  “Why not? It doesn’t hurt to think ahead with confidence.”

  That was a new notion for Julie. To think ahead with confidence. She liked it. “There’s something else,” she began. “I’d appreciate it if you kept it to yourself, but I really need to tell someone. I approached Laci Fox this summer, the woman Scott had the affair with.”

  Carol raised an eyebrow. “You did? Well, I must say that was either very brave or very foolhardy. How did it turn out?”

  “Not bad really,” Julie told her aunt. “I went to her house when I thought it likely she’d be there. She was. She said I shouldn’t be the one to feel guilty for anything.”

  “Smart woman. So, you got a bit of closure from the encounter?”

  “I’m not sure closure is the right word,” Julie admitted, “but I don’t regret confronting her. In a way, it was the turning point for me.”

  “Good.” Carol nodded. “Back to your New York plans. As soon as you give me your dates I’ll let the concierge know that my niece will be staying.”

  “I’ll need to go very soon if I’m to be back for the first day of the semester.” Julie smiled. “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. I haven’t gone anywhere on my own, not even overnight, since before Sophie was born. I absolutely have to visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art,” Julie went on. “All my life I’ve wanted to see the Impressionist collection in person. And the Temple of Dendur. And all the medieval art! And I want to take the train to New York. There’s something so romantic about train travel as opposed to air travel. At least in my mind there is.”

  “Visions of the Orient Express?” Carol said with a smile.

  Julie laughed.

  “Well, you’re letting me get you a first-class ticket and that’s the end of that,” her aunt declared. “Consider it making up for all the birthdays and graduations I missed.”

  “You never missed anything,” Julie argued. “You always sent a card.”

  “But I was never here, was I? Please let me do this.”

  Julie smiled. “All right. Thank you. Mom always said you were the most stubborn person she ever knew.”

  “She was right about that. Though I’m going to try to be less stubborn and more flexible going forward. We’ll see how it goes. An old dog and new tricks.”

  “You know, I don’t think we’re ever too old to learn.” Juli
e smiled. “That is, if we want to. Thanks again, Carol, for all the encouragement you gave me this summer.”

  Julie couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw the glimmer of a tear in her aunt’s eye.

  “Don’t mention it,” Carol said, standing abruptly. “Now, how about something to drink?”

  Chapter 141

  “All the wonderful summers we spent as children in this house.” Bonnie shook her head.

  “All our summers together add up to an awful lot of memories,” her sister noted. “By the way, have you chosen a Realtor yet?”

  “No,” Bonnie admitted. “There’s some work that needs to be done to the cottage before I can put it on the market. There’s a chance it might be ready this fall but if not, then I’ll wait until spring to list it.”

  “There’s no rush,” Carol said. “Ferndean isn’t going anywhere.”

  “But there is something that needs to happen quickly,” Bonnie said. “Replacing Dad’s and Mom’s armchairs!”

  “My back,” Carol said, “thanks you. By the way, I noticed the garden gnomes have found a home in the herb garden.”

  “I know you don’t like them but—” Bonnie began.

  “But the house is yours. Actually, the more I think about it the more I . . .” Carol laughed. “Okay, I still don’t like them. But take a look at this. I hunted down Dad’s shell collection.” Carol lifted the flaps of a dusty cardboard box that sat on the maroon-colored couch to reveal hundreds of shells piled haphazardly one on top of another.

  “I often wondered why Mom put them away after Dad died,” Bonnie said, peering into the jumble. “Maybe the shells were too painful a reminder of him. Or maybe she just didn’t like them. But what’s not to like about seashells?”

  “It’s a pretty eclectic mix,” Carol noted. “Anyway, I thought you might want to make something out of the smaller ones, like a mirror frame or a collage.”

  “I thought you didn’t like crafty art,” Bonnie said, examining a particularly delicate shell with a pale-pink interior.

  “It doesn’t really matter what I like or don’t like,” Carol said. “I just thought that Dad’s collection might deserve to be seen and enjoyed.”