Maine (37 page)

Ann Marie opened the trunk and gathered her dollhouse gear first. She held the sewing machine in one hand, and hooked the heavy beach bag full of fabric over her free arm. Then she sort of scooped up her ribbons and paint and nudged them to the top of the pile. She was going only twenty feet, so she might as well take as much as she possibly could.

She pushed the cottage door open with her hip. It was never locked. She crossed the screen porch and then stepped into the front hall, inhaling the familiar scent of ocean mixed with the old, musty smell of the house itself.

She moved toward the living room, thinking that it was actually nice to be alone, and that’s when she saw her niece sitting at the dining table in her underpants and a Kenyon Lacrosse T-shirt, typing away at her laptop. She looked chunkier than usual.

“Maggie.” Ann Marie said it softly, so as not to startle her, but the girl gasped and clutched her stomach anyway.

“Oh my God, you scared me!” Maggie said. She climbed to her feet, smiling sheepishly. She reached for a pair of shorts that lay on the floor and pulled them on.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone. Can I help you with that stuff?” Maggie asked. She looked it over. “What is that stuff?”

Ann Marie dropped everything in her arms onto the table, which was already strewn with papers and books.

“What are you doing here, dear? I thought you were going back to New York on the fourteenth.”

“I decided to stay a while longer,” Maggie said. “Didn’t Grandma tell you?”

“No. No, she didn’t.”

“Are you just dropping this off?” Maggie said, gesturing at her dollhouse supplies.

Ann Marie took in a deep breath. It wasn’t Maggie she was angry with; it would be wrong to take it out on her.

“I had arranged with Alice to be here for the rest of the month, since you and your mother couldn’t stay,” Ann Marie said.

“But I told her three weeks ago I was staying through the end of June,” Maggie said. “Not that we can’t both stay. That might be fun.”

She was a polite girl, shockingly so given her upbringing, but Ann Marie could tell that Maggie found the prospect every bit as unappealing as she herself did.

“That’s true,” Ann Marie said.

“I’ll help you bring your luggage in from the car,” Maggie said.

They made small talk as they carried in her suitcases and bags of groceries and cleaning products.

“How are Patty’s kids?” Maggie asked. “They must be getting big.”

“They’re adorable,” Ann Marie said. “Foster has Big Daniel’s ears! I’ll show you pictures.”

“I’d love that,” Maggie said.

“Oh, and the baby’s doing swimming lessons! He goes to his classes twice a week.”

“What? How old is he?”

“One!” Ann Marie said.

“Wow.”

“That’s nothing. Maisy’s four, and she’s already in her third year of T-ball class. She knows all the moves. She’s ready to start on a team next fall.”

Maggie raised an eyebrow. “Is that typical, T-ball for two-year-olds?”

“They don’t let them stay babies for long anymore,” Ann Marie said.

“How much does stuff like that cost?” Maggie asked—a terribly odd question if you asked Ann Marie.

“I’m not quite sure,” she said. “Not too much. Josh even takes her to these toddler batting cages they have now. All the dads go.”

Maggie looked stricken. Should she not have mentioned fathers?

Ann Marie always felt a bit sad for the girl. She probably should have done more for her niece over the years. She had tried, when she could, to make Maggie feel special, loved. But she had her own three children to think about first, and any time she gave Maggie a nice gift just because, or offered to take her away with them to Disney World, Kathleen would fly into such an unholy huff that Ann Marie regretted ever getting involved.

“How’s your mom?” she asked now.

“Oh, she’s good.”

“Life on the farm keeping her busy?”

“Yup. Hey, did you see that article in
The Times
a couple weeks ago about Peace Corps volunteers?”

Ann Marie felt her entire body contract. “No.”

“It was great, all about famous alums. Sort of a ‘Where are they now’ kind of thing. It made me think of Fiona.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Ann Marie said.

“I thought I might send it to her.”

“That would be sweet. I know she’d love to read it.”

“She’s been gone so long.”

“Yes.”

“Does she have any idea what she wants to do next?” Maggie asked.

Ann Marie tried to sound casual. “The mother is always the last to know.” It felt like more than she had meant to say, but Maggie just smiled.

After they had brought in all the bags, Maggie worked on her laptop at the dining table while Ann Marie read her dollhouse magazines out on the porch. She tried to relax and take in the view. But she was eager for Alice to get back and explain things. They spoke almost every day. How had her mother-in-law managed not to mention Maggie’s presence? Ann Marie was struck with a fearful thought: Maybe Alice’s memory was worse than they had realized. Maybe she had somehow forgotten about the overlap.

But when Alice walked into the cottage an hour or so later, that possibility vanished. She stepped out onto the porch, sliding the door closed behind her.

“Oh, good, you made it!” she said. “How was the drive?”

“Fine. I was sort of startled to find Maggie here.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, and I think she felt the same way. I wish you’d have told me she was staying.”

“Why?” Alice asked. “Would you not have come? In my day, people actually enjoyed going to the beach with their family. It wasn’t a chore.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Ann Marie said.

“Come out front and see my garden,” Alice said. “It looks like a million bucks.”

   That night, the three of them ate dinner at Barnacle Billy’s. While they waited in line to place their order at the counter, Ann Marie looked into the cloudy lobster tank, feeling somewhat sorry for the poor creatures. Their situation here was unpleasant at best, and when they finally got out they’d become someone’s dinner. She had submerged live lobsters in a huge pot of boiling water dozens of times in her life, throwing on the cover and squeamishly listening to them clank around for a bit until they gave up the fight. Occasionally she had even allowed Little Daniel to stick a fork and knife upright into their claws, which were held closed with thick rubber bands. He would send them wobbling into the living room, where the girls would scream with delight. “They’re having you for dinner tonight,” Little Daniel would tell his sisters, and Ann Marie would laugh.

It had never once seemed cruel. But now, suddenly, she could not bear the thought of it. She ordered the clams.

The dining room was crowded with young families and couples holding hands. They took a table by the window, one of the only free spots left. There was a crackling fire in the fireplace, and outside, fishing boats bobbed up and down in the harbor.

When Maggie went to the ladies’ room, Alice said, “Now, I know you’re mad at me. Please don’t be. I absolutely hate when you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad,” Ann Marie said.

“Yes, you are.”

She sighed. “Really, Mom, I’m not. It’s fine.”

“It was naughty of me not to tell you,” Alice said. “But you know Kathleen and her kids—when Maggie said she was staying on, I figured she’d probably change her mind any day.”

“But she didn’t.”

“No.”

Alice’s tone took on an edge. “Look. I told you not to come in the first place. If it’s such a burden for you, why don’t you go home?”

Ann Marie felt like a chastened child. She had changed all her plans to be here, yet Alice acted as if she were the ungrateful one.

“I want to stay,” she said to keep the peace. “I’m sorry.”

Alice smiled. “You’ll stay in the big house with me. We’ll put you in that front room with the best view of the water.”

“That sounds nice,” Ann Marie said.

Maggie came back to the table. Alice ordered two glasses of rum punch from the cocktail waitress.

“This one is becoming a killjoy like her mother,” Alice said accusatorily, pointing at Maggie. “Doesn’t drink anymore.”

Maggie had never been much of a drinker, which was hardly a surprise. In Irish families like theirs, there was always a person or two so terrified of becoming an alcoholic that they never gave themselves the chance. In Ann Marie’s case, it was her sister Susan, who hadn’t had anything stronger than an O’Doul’s since college.

“I’m just on a health kick lately,” Maggie said now. “Trying to lose some weight for summer.”

Ann Marie tightened up, waiting for the inevitable.

“That’s smart thinking,” Alice said. “Obviously you don’t look your best at the moment. But you’re young. The weight will fall right off you.” She paused. “Your hair looks nice, though.”

“Thanks,” Maggie said. She rolled her eyes at Ann Marie.

Alice switched gears. “Ann Marie, did you see that awful story on the news about the black boy in Dorchester who got killed by one of those scummy gangs? Two blocks away from the house I grew up in. What is wrong with these blacks? They’re mad for murdering each other. It’s their favorite hobby. They can’t help themselves.”

“Grandma!” Maggie hissed.

“What? It’s true.”

Maggie looked flummoxed. “There’s a lot of history there. A lot of inequality and suffering.”

“Oh, please,” Alice said. “Our ancestors had to suffer horrible racism when they got to this country—there were
IRISH NEED NOT APPLY
signs in every window in Boston. Our people were treated worse than dogs. But they never made excuses. They helped themselves up, just the way the blacks should have done.”

“It’s different. African Americans’ ancestors came here on slave ships and ours came here by choice.”

“Do you really call dying from famine or going off to some unknown land a choice?” Alice said. “And did you really just compare the Irish to the blacks?”

“You shouldn’t call them
the blacks
like that,” Maggie said.

Alice looked genuinely confused. “What should I call them? Afro-Americans? Or Negroes, as we said when I was young.”

The couple at the next table swiveled their heads toward her.

“You shouldn’t call them anything,” Maggie said. “Let’s change the subject.”

Alice’s face grew stony, a look that said she was going to the dark side. The Kellehers never did know how to handle her.

Before Alice could respond, Ann Marie whispered urgently, “Canadians! Call them Canadians.”

Alice made an expression as if to say that it was silly, but she would indulge them.

“Fine. Canadians need to shape up. Better?”

Maggie shook her head. “I guess.”

“And why do Canadians have such filthy mouths?” Alice asked. “I stumbled onto something on the radio this morning. And well, why?”

“I don’t know,” Maggie said, looking weary.

“Ann Marie?” Alice asked.

“No clue, Mom,” she said.

Ann Marie flagged down the waitress and ordered another rum punch, even though her first one was still half full.

   She called Pat from the phone in Alice’s kitchen before bed. She was feeling slightly drunk and sorry for herself. No one ever told her anything. She tried to be an agreeable person, but what did it get her?

When she told him that Maggie hadn’t left, Pat said, “Well good, then come home.”

“No, I’ll stay,” she said. “There’s still so much to do around here.”

She felt like a prisoner. She knew it was an overreaction—anytime she wanted she could get in the car and go. But then what would she do for the next ten days? Patty had gotten another sitter for the kids. Her sisters were dealing with her mom. It was a bit disturbing how easily she could slip out of her own life without causing anyone much trouble. And anyway, all of her dollhouse furnishings were being sent here.

“Whatever you think,” Pat said. “I miss you, though. The house is too quiet without you puttering around.”

She smiled. “What did you have for dinner?”

“I’ll plead the fifth on that.”

“Patrick!” She knew it. He had gone to McDonald’s. He was never allowed to eat fast food when she was present.

“I promise it won’t happen again,” he said. “Forgive me, I’m a weak man.”

“Okay then,” she said.

“Little Daniel called this afternoon,” he said.

“Oh?”

“He said he misses his dear old dad and thought he might come over for dinner some night this week.”

Good boy
. “Well, isn’t that sweet?”

“It really put a smile on my face, I have to say.”

“I’m glad.”

The exchange cheered her. She vowed to start tomorrow off right, to focus on the good. Before sleep, as always, she prayed. For her children and grandchildren, her mother and Alice, for Pat and the loved ones they’d lost. She said a special prayer for Maggie, who seemed so alone. She thought of her niece in the cottage next door, and had half a mind to go over there and tuck her in. Instead, she closed her eyes and listened to the crashing waves through the window.

   Four days passed, more or less pleasantly. She went to the Cliff House and took copious notes on the chicken (very good) and the beef (a little tough) and the shrimp (her favorite) for Regina. She cooked dinners, some of which she froze for her mother-in-law to eat later in the summer. She jogged on the beach and helped Alice in the garden and chatted with her niece, who seemed overburdened—by her breakup, Ann Marie supposed. The arrangement was strange; not at all what she had expected, but that was life. Soon enough June would be over, Maggie would go back to New York, and Pat would be here, along with Steve Brewer.

On her fifth morning in Maine, Ann Marie woke with a jolt to the sound of the garbage disposal and Alice’s voice coming from downstairs. It was only six thirty.

Alice sounded bright, happy.

“That’s what I meant,” she was saying. “I don’t know if maybe one of the little ones put a marble down there or something.”

“A marble?” came the amused voice of a man.

Ann Marie sat up in bed, straining to hear. Who was that? Her heart began to thump. She pictured Alice innocently answering the door, allowing some psychopath who claimed to be a plumber inside. Next, he’d be killing them both with a wrench and making off with their jewelry.