All this reminded Pix: she had taken Mother's supply of sheets down to Aleford for the winter to wash and repair. “You can't get percale like this anymore,” Ursula asserted, and Pix agreed. The linens were like silk. She'd have to unearth them, or her brother and his wife would be sleeping on mattress ticking. She laughed at herself and felt better. Sure Arnie and Claire were a little self-centered, but they were also fun to be with and very generous to their nephews and niece. With no children of their own, they encouraged visits; Mark had once spent a whole vacation with them, exploring cliff dwellings and learning about the Anasazi.
Pix stood up and stretched. The first day with one foot still in Aleford was always a little difficult. It would take some time to get into her island rhythmâmaybe another hour or two.
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After returning home, she spent the rest of the afternoon unpacking. Samantha had left her a note saying she'd taken her bike over to Arlene Prescott's house but would be back by five o'clock, in plenty of time to go to Granny's. Ursula had invited them for dinner this first night. Arlene was Samantha's best friend on the island. They'd known each other all their lives and each year picked up where the last had ended. They had been faithful pen pals when younger. More recently, the correspondence had degenerated to a few postcards. Presumably, teenage life on Sanpere was just as time-consuming as it was in Alefordâeven with the closest mall sixty miles away.
Pix unpacked her clothes. It didn't take long. She smiled to herself at what Faith would say about her choice of raiment.
On Sanpere, Pix lived in jeans, shorts, and turtlenecks or polo shirts, depending on the weather. Tonight, though, she'd change into a skirt. Mother had worn pants all her life, but she didn't like to see them at dinner. Pix donned a white wraparound skirt and, with a nod to Faith, paired it with a bold black-and-white-striped Liz Claiborne shirt. She slipped on some red espadrilles, washed her face and hands, combed her hair, and was ready. When Samantha came home, she eyed her mother approvingly. “You look nice, except you forgot your lipstick.”
“No I didn't,” Pix replied. “I'm on vacation.”
“Oh, Mother.” Samantha went off to get ready, a process that took considerably longer than her mother's titivations.
She emerged in what Pix knew was the latest fashion, but it still looked like something she'd give to the thrift shop: a long flowered-print housedress with a crocheted vest on top. To complete the ensemble, Samantha was wearing a pair of heavy-soled black boots that managed to suggest the military and orthopedics at the same time. Sam's hair was at that in-between stage where everyone either comments, “Are you growing your hair?” or says, “You need a haircut.” Pix chose the latter.
“Your hair is so cute when it's short, and think how easy it is for the summer.” They'd had this conversation before.
Samantha explained patiently, “I want it to look good when I go back to school. Up here, it doesn't matter what I look like and please, Mom, for the last time, I don't want to look cute. That's not the idea.”
“Well, attractive, then.” Pix knew she should shut up, but old habits die hard.
Her daughter nobly chose to ignore the remark. “Why don't we go to Granny's? You know how much she hates it if we're late.”
“We're never late!” Pix protested.
“There's always a first time.” Samantha smiled sweetly. “Why don't I drive?”
Pix sat in the passenger's side, wondering when the reins had slipped from her grip.
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Ursula Rowe greeted her daughter and granddaughter. “Don't you both look lovely.”
“You're looking pretty spiffy yourself, Granny,” Samantha said as she gave her a kiss.
Gathered in the hallway, the three generations bore a general resemblance to one another, most blurred oddly enough in Pix, not Samantha. They were all tall and had good posture. Ursula, in her ninth decade, carried herself as proudly as she had at Miss Porter's in her second. Ursula's high cheekbones were softened in her daughter's face, only to emerge sharply again in Samantha's. All three had the same thick hair. Pix and Samantha's was the dark chestnut color that Ursula's had been before it turned snowy white. Pix's was cropped close to her head. Her mother's was almost as short but curled slightly, whether by nature or art, she did not reveal. Samantha's eyes were a deeper brown than her mother's and grandmother's. Her father's genes had turned almond into chocolate.
“Shall we go in?” Ursula linked one arm through Samantha's, the other through Pix's. Pix felt a sudden rush of well-being. It was going to be a good summer. She'd tend her garden, put up a lot of preserves, spend time with her mother and her daughter, and maybe clean out the attic at The Pines, a herculean task that had been put off for twenty years of summers. And she'd make Arnie take her over to Vinalhaven.
Over the creamed haddock Gert had left, they talked about the summer. Ursula had been on the island since Memorial Day. Unencumbered by school-age children, she spent May to October on Sanpere. Pix was dying to ask her the latest gossip, but their custom of not discussing such things in front of the children, even when said children weren't children anymore, was too strong, so they stuck to safe topics.
“When do you start working, Samantha? Have some more beans, Pix dear. They're the last of last year's.”
“Monday. The campers arrive tomorrow, but Mr. Atherton said he won't need me until then. I'll be there in the mornings to teach the younger children sailing, stay to help with lunch, then I'm through for the day. I promised the Fairchilds that I'd be able to take care of Ben and Amy when they come up in August, so that will be in the afternoons.”
“Phew, that's quite a schedule.”
“Yes.” Samantha laughed. “But think how rich I'll be!”
“Are you going to have any time for fun?” Her grandmother looked concerned.
“It's all fun! Besides, Arlene is working at the camp, tooâfull-time, so I wouldn't be seeing her, anyway. And I don't work weekends.”
“It's nice that Jim Atherton keeps the camp going. It must have been the early thirties when his parents started it. He certainly doesn't need the money.” Ursula exchanged a sharp glance with Pix hinting good gossip to come.
“A labor of love,” Pix remarked. “I can't imagine Jim without the camp, and Valerie seems to enjoy it, too, although it's not really her thing.”
“What do you mean, Mom?” Samantha asked.
“Well, Valerie Atherton is some kind of interior decorator. I think she likes having the camp around to keep Jim busy while she goes antiquing.”
“It's funny. We're so close to the camp if you go by water, but we don't really know them. I guess it's because none of us ever went there. I haven't even met Mrs. Atherton. My interview was with him.”
“I think you'll like her,” Ursula said. “She's not as flashy as she looks.”
Samantha brightened, “This is going to be interesting.”
“You know she has a son about your age from her first marriage.”
“Yeah.” Samantha made a face. “Arlene says he's a real dork.”
“It couldn't have been easy for him, moving to the island, especially after losing his father the way he did,” her grandmother commented, correctly translating Samantha's opinion. “Now, why don't you clear the table. We can have our dessert on the porch. Gert left your favoriteâlemon meringue pie!”
“What a sweetheart! Please thank her for me.” Sam jumped up from her chair and began to clear the old, large, round dining room table with alacrity.
“I'll make some coffee,” Pix offered, wondering how she could drop a gentle hint to Gert Prescott that Pix's own personal favorite was black walnut. Gert probably figured Pix made her own pies, but she figured wrong.
After consuming two pieces of pie, Samantha went down to the shore to poke around and watch the sunset. Her mother and grandmother stayed on the porch in the fading light.
“More coffee, Mother?”
“No thank you. I want to sleep tonight.”
Ursula was a notoriously sound sleeper, and Pix laughed.
“You could drink the whole pot and not worry.”
“So
you
say. Nobody knows how much I toss and turn. Now, when is Samuel coming?”
“Not until the Fourth. Maybe the weekend before, if he can get away. He's preparing a big case and it goes to trial soon. It all depends how long the jury takes. We could get lucky.” As Pix spoke, she realized how much she was going to miss her husband. It happened every summer. She didn't want to leave him, but she really wanted to goâand it was wonderful for the kids.
“Now, tell me what's been going on since you've been here,” she said to her mother.
“Not much. You know how quiet things are in June. It's
heavenly. And the lupine was the most spectacular I've ever seen.”
Ursula said this every year. Pix had come for a long weekend one June especially to see the fields of tall purple, blue, and pink spiked flowers. She had no doubt that every year would be better than the last, because no memory could equal the impact of that palette stretching outâin some parts of the island, as far as the eye could see.
“No scandals? Come on, Mother, you're slipping,” Pix chided.
“Let me think. You heard that the manager of the IGA is keeping company with his ex-wife's sister? And the two sisters have, of course, stopped talking to each other and the ex-wife has to drive clear off island now every time she needs a quart of milk.
“And what else? Oh, I know. It will probably be in the paper this week, but Gert told me about it this morning. They had a real scare at the nursing home. When Karen Sanford went to open up the common room, she found glass all over the place, and she'd left it spick-and-span the night before. Obviously vandalism. So she called Earl to come investigate. Turns out the vandals were a Yoo-Hoo bottle that had exploded and knocked over a tray of dishes!”
“It will definitely make âPolice Brief,” Pix said when she finished laughing. What a change from reading the news at home, she thought to herself. Sgt. Earl Dickinson was the one and only law-enforcement official on the islandâand so far, the only one needed. It reminded her.
“Do you think Earl and Jill are going to get married?” Jill Merriwether was the proprietress of a gift shop in Sanpere Village.
“It's certainly about time, but they seem to be content the way they are and so long as they both feel the same, it's fine.”
“I know what you mean. If one or the other starts getting itchy for the altar, then there could be a problem. Still, I don't
know why they don't. It's nice being married.” Pix had no regrets.
“Then, as you might imagine”âher mother continued to catch her upâ“there's a lot of talk about the Athertons. I didn't want to say too much in front of Samantha, but their house is finally finished and everyone's calling it âthe Million-Dollar Mansion,' which is quite likely close to the truth. I don't think there's a person on Sanpere who doesn't know they have six bathrooms, three with bidets.”
“The bidets may have taken some explaining.”
“True, but the gold-plated faucets didn't.”
“Where did Jim get all his money? The fees at the sailing camp have always been pretty steep, yet nothing that would produce an income like this.”
“His mother's father invented scouring pads or some such thing and money made money. Keeps on making it, if the house and those boats of Jim's are any indication.”
“So they really intend to live on the island year-round. I'm not so sure I'd want to be here all winter. It gets pretty quiet.” Pix thought of her constant round of activity in Aleford and realized with a start that she'd miss it if she moved.
“Your father and I considered living in The Pines when he retired, but when it came down to it, there were too many things and people we didn't want to leave.”
The two women paused in their conversation and looked out across the water at the sunset. They could see Samantha silhouetted against the horizon. The Pines had been built to take advantage of “the view.” There was a large front porch and one extending off the second-floor bedrooms. It was an ark of a house, with rooms added to the rear as needed. By modern standards, it was dark. The windows were small and the interior pine paneling old-fashioned. The only remodeling that had been done since it was built was to the indoor plumbing and the addition of a gas stove and other modern appliances in the kitchen. The old woodstove was still used for
heat and Gert kept it blackened, its chrome sparkling. Pix had seen a similar one for sale in an antiques shop for five hundred dollars. Her mother had been stunned.
The sun was a ball of fire, descending rapidly into the sea, leaving streaks of purple, pink, and orange as it fell that would have seemed garish in any other context. Flashy. It brought Pix back to the Athertons. It wasn't that Valerie dressed in gaudy colors or was dripping with rhinestones. Her jewels were real, especially the large diamond solitaire Jim had given her as an engagement ring. It was that she
dressed.
She wore
outfits.
Blouses matched shirts and pants. Sweaters matched both. Her shoes matched her scarves, as did the polish on her perfectly manicured nails. Pix's nails, clipped short, tended to suggest activities like weeding and clamming. Valerie's indicated pursuits like sunbathing and page turning.