Maine (48 page)

He did as she said. Father and son returned a few moments later, though Foster’s hands were empty.

“He said he had achieved perfect balance and would topple if I took anything,” Foster reported.

“Okay,” Patty said. “Well, it was nice of you to ask.”

“When can we see the bears eating out of the Dumpsters?” Foster asked.

Maisy covered her eyes with her hands, as if the bears were right there on the porch. “I don’t want to see them at all, please!” she said, and everyone laughed.

A few moments later, Maisy started shuffling from one foot to the other.

“You need to hit the bathroom again, bug?” Josh asked.

Maisy shook her head no, and then nodded yes.

“Dad, you gotta help me get my suit off!” she said.

“Okay, okay, let me put everything down.”

Ann Marie thought of how they were just as likely to go to Josh as to Patty. She had never wanted Patrick to understand the children like she did, preferring that the mystery of child-rearing be mostly her domain. Perhaps that had been a mistake, but it still seemed strange for a father to take his daughter to the bathroom, especially when the mother was standing right there.

“Little Daniel and Regina are coming up for dinner,” Patty said now.

“Oh?”

“They just called me in the car to say so. They called you, too, but it went to voice mail.”

“Well, that’s wonderful,” Ann Marie said. “What should we have?”

A debate ensued over whether to drive up the coast toward Kennebunkport or to stay at home and cook hot dogs and hamburgers on the grill.

Ann Marie’s spirits were high. Here was her family, swirling around her, just as she liked, only beginning a week away at their summer home. She knew that it would go by in a flash, but even so she said a silent prayer, asking God to help her enjoy whatever time they had left.

Kathleen

On the fifth of July, Kathleen went to her sleeping daughter and gently shook Maggie’s shoulder. Through the open bedroom window, she could hear the sound of the surf, seagulls calling to one another.

“Mags, wake up, we’ve got to go,” she whispered.

“Go where?” Maggie asked, her eyes still closed.

“Home. I’m taking you back to New York.”

Maggie opened just her left eye. “Why are we leaving in the middle of the night?”

“It’s seven thirty in the morning,” Kathleen said.

Now Maggie opened the other eye, and said, “For you, seven thirty in the morning is the middle of the night. What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you in the car,” Kathleen said. “Hop in the shower. I want to get out of here before Ann Marie wakes up.”

“Did you do something bad to her?” Maggie asked.

“No, as a matter of fact, I didn’t. Now come on!”

Kathleen had been up all night trying to decide how she should handle the situation. Should she write Ann Marie a note letting her know that her secret was safe, and then stick around for a couple more days to make things look normal to everyone else? Should she try to get that asshole Steve Brewer in private, and tell him that if he didn’t keep his mouth shut, he’d have her to answer to? Or should she simply go away, sending Ann Marie the silent message that the whole silly episode could now vanish too? Kathleen decided that if the roles were reversed, she’d want Ann Marie to leave.

She had never felt protective of her sister-in-law before. It was a strange sensation. It felt nice when you saw yourself evolving a bit; it felt better than any bitchy comeback or snide remark ever could. She wished Arlo were there so they could discuss it.

She had called him before she went to sleep, but instead of mentioning Ann Marie she said, “I took a step back tonight and I finally realized Maggie really doesn’t want to live with us.”

“And how do you feel about that?” he asked.

She thought this over. “Sad. Scared. Thankful.”

“She’s going to make it,” he said.

“I know.”

“Remember that there’s a gray area between having her live with us and having her all alone,” he said. “You can go back and forth for a while. Maybe she can bring the baby out here for the summer. We’ll figure it out.”

“Yes.”

“You raised a really smart, tough daughter,” he said. “A girl like you.”

Kathleen thought to herself that Maggie was nothing like she had been at that age. It had taken Kathleen so much longer to find herself, because she had spent twenty years trying to be someone else. Maggie had gotten straight to the good stuff—her chosen career, her city, even the men she dated were exactly what she wanted. You had to give them that, though not much else. Kathleen felt proud, even as she knew it might have less to do with her parenting skills and more to do with the time. Maggie had been born at a point when girls were told they could do anything. God knows that hadn’t been the case for Kathleen, never mind Alice. She imagined the world her granddaughter might inherit, incrementally better than the one they lived in now. The thought of it excited her more than she might have expected.

   The previous night, she had grudgingly gone along with Maggie to watch the Fourth of July fireworks in Portsmouth after dinner. Within minutes of their arrival, Maggie had to pee, and so they went to the Porta-Potty lines, and got into what looked like the shortest one. They stood there, barely speaking. At the restaurant, Kathleen had once again pleaded her case—Maggie should move to California and live with her. Once again, Maggie had refused. She had been a bit mean about it, really. Kathleen worried that this was Alice’s influence. She had to remind herself about all the hormones that were coursing through her sweet daughter’s body.

“Your place is a pigsty,” Maggie had said, as Kathleen paid the bill. “I can’t imagine a worse house for a baby to crawl around in.”

“Babies don’t exactly come out of the womb crawling,” Kathleen said.

“Fine. I can’t imagine a worse house for a baby to live in, crawling or not. Gabe was afraid to sleep there, for God’s sake.”

A moment later Maggie apologized, but the damage was done.

Her house wasn’t
that
bad. Was it?

“So sorry to have offended that darling Gabe with my filth,” she said.

They didn’t talk in the car on the way to Portsmouth. But standing there by the portable toilets, Kathleen said, “When my brother was at Notre Dame, he and a few other guys once got suspended for tipping one of these over while a friend of theirs was inside.”

“That’s awful,” Maggie said.

“Yeah. Pat was kind of a bad boy before Ann Marie came along and sucked all the fun out of him.”

“I don’t know if I’d call that fun,” Maggie said.

“Good point,” Kathleen said.

“I can kind of picture Chris doing that,” Maggie said.

“I know. It’s scary, but I know.” She put an arm around Maggie.

Maggie nodded. She held on until it was her turn to go in.

“Don’t you dare tip me over,” she said over her shoulder as she moved toward the stinking plastic enclosure.

“Well, you shouldn’t have called my house messy,” Kathleen said, and stuck out her tongue.

She stood there, watching the crowd for what seemed like ages. Teenage couples kissed, and gaggles of girls ran around giggling. Young parents chased their offspring down the path, and older parents read books on blankets in the grass, eating pizza or submarine sandwiches wrapped in tinfoil while their children texted away on cell phones. A group of high school kids competed to see who could shove the largest number of glow sticks into his or her mouth. Well, that was charming.

Kathleen glanced over at the Porta-Potty Maggie had gone into. What was taking her so long? She wondered if something was wrong. She pictured a gunman lurking behind the flimsy door, covering Maggie’s mouth with a gloved hand.

She shook off the thought.

When her children were small, she’d experience a miniature panic attack at least once a week, thinking one or the other of them had been snatched. In the grocery store, she would turn her head this way and that, looking for Chris, her heart pounding, imagining the most gruesome possibilities—and then, a moment later, there he’d be, clutching a package of Oreos, which she gladly let him have as a sort of reward for not getting kidnapped and ruining both their lives.

Kathleen looked down at her watch. When she looked up, she noticed her brother’s friend, Steve Brewer, standing two lines over. She hoped he wouldn’t see her. She wasn’t interested in making small talk with anyone who would consciously choose to socialize with her brother and sister-in-law.

Right on cue, she saw Ann Marie come through a wall of people. She was wobbling, and she looked plain drunk. Not tipsy, or just over the limit. Drunk. Some tiny part of Kathleen had softened to her sister-in-law this week. It had probably started with Ann Marie trampling Alice’s tomato plants, and her all-out meltdown around the priest. You couldn’t exactly wish more unhappiness on somebody who was so clearly coming undone, even if she was your mortal enemy.

Ann Marie approached Steve with a smile and said something to him. She fingered his lapel. Her face was dangerously close to his, as if they were two lovers about to kiss. As the thought struck Kathleen, she saw her sister-in-law lean forward and plant her lips on his.

“Oh my God,” Kathleen said out loud, putting a hand over her mouth, feeling almost giddy, as if she were watching the season finale of her favorite soap opera. Her sister-in-law was having an affair with her neighbor’s husband. It was almost too good. She had a momentary vision of all of them squeezed together, watching the fireworks, and hearing herself say,
So, Ann Marie and Steve—when did you two get together?

She remembered when she had found out about Paul’s infidelity all those years ago, Ann Marie self-righteously saying, “I think you’d better take it up with your husband.”

How stupid she had felt then. How powerless. And now this. Maybe if you only waited long enough, all your life’s wrongs would right themselves one way or another.

But then, quite suddenly, Steve pulled away. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but she understood from his expression that he had been taken by surprise, and not in a good way. The two of them exchanged words, and he stormed off, leaving Ann Marie standing in place, in tears. Some gentleman, abandoning a clearly intoxicated woman in the middle of a crowd.

Kathleen instantly felt sorry for Ann Marie. It was the excruciating expression on her face that did it, a look of embarrassment, shame. Kathleen felt a sense of pride, realizing that that was all she wanted. Not to hold it over Ann Marie’s head as some sort of threat, but just knowing that Ann Marie herself knew she was not perfect.

At that moment, Ann Marie saw her.
Shit
. Kathleen almost hoped she would walk away, but instead Ann Marie came toward her.

“Oh God, please, Kathleen, don’t tell Patrick what you just saw.”

Ann Marie spoke in a rush, sounding desperate.

Kathleen had to remind herself that Ann Marie was drunk; that was probably part of it. She felt like being kind. Not her Kelleher self but that other, better version of her she thought she had left behind on the farm.

“I didn’t see anything,” she said. “I’m just waiting for Maggie to get out of that disgusting bathroom. She’s been in there for ages.”

Ann Marie looked skeptical.

“Please,” she said again. “I can explain what that was.”

Maggie finally came out of the Porta-Potty then, thank the universe.

“Here she comes,” Kathleen said, waving to her. She wanted to make it clear that she posed no threat. She put on her sweetest voice, the type she’d use with a school superintendent she wanted to charm. “Now, where are you guys sitting and what did you bring for dessert?”

The rest of the night whizzed by, Kathleen feeling almost giddy. For all time, she would now be the bigger person. Goddamn, it felt good. She talked to that slimy Steve about golf and the Grateful Dead (these middle-aged Dead Heads could surprise you with their Brooks Brothers polo shirts and Nantucket Reds). She talked to his wife about a trip they were planning to San Francisco. She praised the gloppy, over-sweet dessert, and she oohed and aahed over the fireworks until Maggie grabbed her sleeve and said, “You’re kind of freaking me out, Mom. It seems like you’re actually having fun.”

   While Maggie showered, Kathleen finished packing. She hadn’t brought much. She had worn the same faded T-shirt of Arlo’s for the past three days.

Eventually, Maggie came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, a wall of steam floating around her.

“Did you make the bed in your room?” Maggie asked.

“Yes!”

“Did you wash the sheets?”

“No. What is it with you and the sheets? Do you think I was performing an animal sacrifice in my sleep or something?”

Maggie sighed. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Kathleen found Alice in the kitchen washing dishes, already dressed in a dark blue pantsuit, her makeup done to perfection, her black bob sleek and in place. She looked like she was going to a funeral.

“We’re taking off,” Kathleen said.

Alice frowned. “Oh? Where to?”

“I’m driving Maggie back to New York.”

“Is that right?”

Kathleen opened the fridge and pulled out a pitcher of water. Beside it, dripping onto a saucer, was a tea bag.

“Maybe you should start living a little and stop reusing the tea bags, Mom.”

“Waste not, want not,” Alice said. “So, has Maggie come to her senses about Gabe? Are they getting back together?”

“No, thank God.”

“How can you say that?” Alice asked. “It’s always better for a child to have married parents. Do you know what children call other children who don’t have fathers?”

“It’s not 1951, Mom.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that.” Alice paused. “If she’s not going to make up with Gabe, what’s the point of going back there?”

“To start getting ready, I guess,” Kathleen said.

Alice fiddled with the spray nozzle on the sink.

“Now this thing’s acting funny, as well as the disposal. And Ann Marie has succeeded at scaring Father Donnelly away from the place for as long as she’s still here.”

Neither of them mentioned the reason. Kathleen wasn’t sure whether she cared that her mother had given the property away, but she knew her siblings were upset. The whole situation was absolutely bizarre, Alice at her most Alice-like.

“Speaking of Ann Marie, will you give her a message for me?” Kathleen asked.

“That depends.” Alice’s tone was cautious, as if Kathleen were some traveling salesman asking her if she was in the market for an overpriced vacuum cleaner.

“On what?”

“The message! You can’t expect me to agree to say something before I even know what it is.”

Kathleen shook her head. “Oh my God. Okay. Tell her I was finally ready to leave the beach and get out of her hair.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Just tell her.”

“Fine.”

   In the car, Kathleen told Maggie about the kiss. She had to. In fact, she was surprised she had been able to hold it in for that long.

“You can’t tell Arlo,” Maggie said.

“Why not? He’s not going to spill the beans.”

“I know, but once you’ve told me, and then him, it’s a hop, skip, and a jump and you’re telling Aunt Clare, and then it’s out to the family. And that’s dangerous.”

“Why are you such a Goody Two-shoes?” Kathleen asked, genuinely curious, though she knew Maggie was probably right.

“Promise me,” Maggie said.

“Okay, I promise. Sheesh.”

“I still don’t really understand why we left so abruptly,” Maggie said.

“It was time,” Kathleen said. “I’m not going to try to talk you into moving in with me anymore.”

“You’re not?”

“No. You’ve done a great job of convincing me that my house is a shit hole and no self-respecting person would ever want to live there with us.”

“I’m sorry.”

Kathleen smiled. “It’s okay. You’re an amazing young woman, Maggie. And if what you want is to stay in New York, then I support that.”