The Family Beach House (25 page)

Hannah laughed. “God, Tilda, your mind always leaps to the most awful ideas!”

“I know. Sometimes it would drive Frank crazy, my habit of gloom and doom.”

“Don't you think Dad will miss Ruth?” Hannah asked after a moment. “Even though he's got Jennifer?”

“Yes, to some extent,” Tilda said. “But Ruth is right to give them some space, at least part of the time. Though I'm not sure giving Dad and Jennifer space had anything to do with her decision to get a master's degree.”

“Anyway,” Susan pointed out, “Jennifer's got the condo in Portland. That can be their getaway, I suppose. Now that he wants us to take possession of Larchmere as soon as possible…”

There was another lull in the conversation, this one longer than the last. Tilda was thinking of Dennis, who would be going back to Florida very soon. She so wanted to avoid an awkward parting. She had no idea what was on his mind concerning their relationship. She dreaded a big declaration of feeling from him at the same time she chided herself for thinking she was special enough to deserve one from a man she had known only a short time. She would miss him, a little. She wanted him to miss her but not to pine for her. She wanted to try kissing another man.

Hannah, though happy and excited about the inheritance, was at the same time nervous and afraid and, against her will, entertaining disaster scenarios. What if she started a bed and breakfast only to find out that she had no head for business? What if she neglected to pay the insurance bill and then the house burned to the ground? She was also worrying if she was becoming too much like her doom and gloom sister.

Susan was mentally going through her business contacts, considering which one might best help her find a therapist to deal with Hannah's fears of starting a family.

Craig was thinking about Charlotte. “You know,” he said suddenly, “Mom wasn't all bad.”

“Of course she wasn't,” Tilda said automatically, though she wondered again what her mother had done with all of the knitted gifts she had given her through the years. Some of those sweaters had been very difficult, and not inexpensive, to make.

Susan, who had never met her mother-in-law, was, as always, torn between loyalty to her wife and a more general fairness. “Few people,” she said, though without conviction, “are entirely bad or heartless or mean-spirited. Or, whatever.”

Hannah shifted against the pillows. “Maybe she really did the best she could do,” she said, though it sounded to Tilda a little begrudging.

“Maybe she really wasn't meant to be a parent but just sort of went along with it because all her friends were having kids or it was the thing for women of her generation to do or…” Susan trailed off.

“Whatever the truth about Charlotte McQueen,” Craig said now, almost as if trying to further convince himself, “she's gone. She has no power over us anymore. We're free to be who we need to be.”

Hannah was not quite ready to agree. “I know she gave money to charity,” she blurted. “There was some arts organization or something.”

“Yes,” Tilda said. “Back in Boston. She chaired a fund-raiser, I think. I remember her buying a new gown for the event. It was black velvet. I thought she looked like a queen that night. I so worshipped her.”

No one had anything to say to that.

“Well,” Craig said, hoisting himself from his chair, “I'm off to bed.”

The others trailed off after him. Tilda was the last to leave the sunroom. “Goodnight, Mom,” she whispered, as she turned off the light.

Tuesday, July 31

It was about eight-thirty in the morning. Tilda had just come back from town where she had picked up several daily papers and, in Bread and Roses, had bought an assortment of pastries for breakfast. In the bakery she had run into Pat Riley, who owned a pizza joint in Wells, and Anne Bauer, his wife. Both had been at the party after the memorial. Both were effusive with good wishes for Bill's total recovery and for his upcoming nuptials. (Not surprisingly, word had gotten around!) Love and respect for her father seemed to be universal. It made Tilda feel proud to be his daughter.

Tilda got out of her car and saw that Adam was at his own car. The rear hatch of the Range Rover was open and she watched him reach inside and pull out several pieces of paper on which one of the kids had colored, an empty PowerBar wrapper, and a still dripping juice box. He crumpled these and shoved them in a plastic bag that sat on the ground by the right back tire.

Tilda was appalled by her brother's behavior and by the things he had said about Hannah and Susan, and her native cowardice argued strongly for her to walk on into the house, to ignore him. But at that moment the desire for family peace was stronger than her disgust, disapproval, or fear. She decided to seize that moment. She walked over to him.

“Adam,” she said, “I was thinking that maybe we could talk.”

He walked round to the back left door of the car, opened it, and began to rummage inside. “I'm really not in the mood, Tilda.”

Tilda followed him. “Adam, please. I know the last few days have been hard on you and maybe if you just talk it all through it would help.”

Suddenly, Adam backed out of the car and slammed the door. Tilda flinched. His face was contorted with emotion. “You want me to talk? Fine. I'll talk. I think this entire family is crazy. Dad's a doddering old man with no more sense than his sister, who doesn't have a normal bone in her body. My ex-wife is interfering with my custodial rights. I've lost my rightful inheritance. And this whole thing with Kat is all your fault. Yours and Hannah's and Ruth's. I know you all talked to her. I know you put ideas into her head. Everything was perfectly fine between us when we came to Larchmere. And now, my life is a train wreck.”

Tilda squirmed. She could not change Adam's mind about Bill or Ruth or Sarah. But her own sense of guilt forced her to attempt a defense of herself, even if she was, indeed, the cause, or part of the cause, of Adam's current romantic distress. “Don't be silly, Adam,” she said. “Hannah and Ruth and I had nothing to do with Kat's breaking the engagement.” That was a lie. “She probably just changed her mind. It happens all the time. She's young. Maybe she didn't think she would be a good stepparent. Not everyone can be, you know.”

“Yeah, well, all I know is that I'm out fifteen thousand bucks for the ring.”

“I'm sure you can sell it,” she said, hiding her shock at the cost.

“That's not the point. I don't have time for this crap. I'm a very busy man.”

And that was the moment when Tilda realized that her brother was exhibiting no emotion other than anger. The embarrassment had been momentary. But had there never been a sense of loss or grief? He couldn't have loved Kat at all! It was appalling. He didn't seem at all sad that she was gone. Maybe he was hiding a more tender emotion but Tilda doubted it.

She thought about Sarah. She and Adam had dated for four years before getting married. She remembered how happy he had been at the wedding. She believed that he had been in love then. What had gone so terribly wrong for him?

“You know,” he said then, as if spitting out the words, “the only person of any use in this family was Mom. Why she had to die like that…It makes no sense!”

Tilda could think of absolutely nothing to say.

Adam stalked into the house. She followed him. As Adam passed through the front hall, Percy, who seemed to come out of thin air in the way that cats do, took a swipe at his ankle. If cats could smile, Tilda thought, noting the force of the swipe, Percy would be smiling. Percy disappeared as mysteriously as he had appeared.

Adam leaned over and grabbed his ankle. “Damn that cat! He ripped a hole in my sock!”

Yes, Tilda could feel sorry for her older brother, but she didn't have to like him.

“I'm going right back to Boston and getting in touch with my lawyer. We're going to contest this ridiculous will.” Adam headed for the stairs.

Tilda found her father and Teddy in the library. “Adam is leaving,” she said. “He's going back to Boston. He told me he's going to contest Dad's will. Can he do that?”

Teddy nodded. “Of course. But he hasn't got a leg to stand on. Don't worry one bit, Tilda. Larchmere isn't going anywhere.”

 

Preparation for the wedding proceeded at a necessary breakneck pace. Hannah made arrangements with the minister, who expressed his joy at the occasion, especially, he said, coming on the heels of Bill's trip to the hospital. God, he said, worked in mysterious ways. Hannah wasn't sure it had been God who brought her father to the altar this time but she just smiled and shook the man's hand.

Tilda—she wasn't quite sure why as a professional cleaning service handled the heavy household chores—scrubbed the walls and floors and windows of her father's bedroom, laundered the curtains, and bought beautiful little bunches of lavender, tied with silk cords, for the dresser drawers in which Jennifer kept her clothing.

Susan spoke to a local florist about a bouquet for Jennifer, who said that she would be wearing an A-line ivory silk dress and that she liked peach and yellow roses best. If they weren't available on such short notice, any color rose would do. For her father-in-law, who was to wear a navy suit with a white shirt and a yellow silk tie, Susan ordered a yellow (or white) rose boutonniere.

At Bill's request, Craig made reservations for lunch upstairs at MC Perkins Cove. There would be a champagne toast and a special cake that Bobby, a smart, thrifty man in a dangerous business, had already ordered and paid for.

Ruth spoke to Lex and Joe, who knew her as a longtime fan and supporter, and arranged for them to play back at the house that evening, after the ceremony and the luncheon.

Everything that could be done had been done. Ruth, Tilda, Hannah, Susan, and Craig were now lounging around the kitchen. Ruth was half thinking about what to make for dinner—maybe she would make a run to the fish market and see what had just come in—half thinking about what she would wear to the wedding. There was a pale gray dress she had not worn in an age. With her lilac sling-backs and a darker gray clutch, she might be set.

Tilda, seated at the table with a glass of iced tea, shook her head. “I still can't believe that Dad is getting married, and so soon!”

“Believe it,” Craig said. “He got the license and he and Jennifer bought wedding bands in Swamp John's.”

“I wonder what Dad did with his first wedding band?” Hannah asked. “When did he stop wearing it? I don't remember.”

Craig shrugged. “Me, neither. But I don't notice girly things like jewelry and hairstyles.”

Hannah stuck out her tongue at him.

“I have Mom's rings,” Tilda said. “Actually, it's not her original set. She told me not long before she died that as soon as Dad had been promoted to some high level or another in his company, she traded in her first rings for the platinum and diamond set she was wearing when…Well, I have the rings in my safety deposit box at the bank. I can't bring myself to wear them or to have the diamonds reset. It seems sort of a waste but…”

“Maybe you could offer the rings to Jane someday,” Susan suggested.

Or maybe,
Tilda thought,
I will offer my own wedding ring to her. Maybe someday I will be able to let it go. Maybe.
Naturally she then thought of Adam and his fifteen thousand dollar ring and she voiced a concern that had been at the back of her head all day.

“Should someone call Adam and see if he's okay? I mean, Kat's defection did seem to upset him.” Rather, she thought, the loss of time and money and social standing had upset him. But upset was upset. The results could be the same. “We don't even know if he got back to Boston in one piece! What if he has a panic attack, like Dad did? Or a heart attack? I know he was absolutely horrible to Hannah, to everyone, but—”

“No!” That was Ruth. “Adam's not the type to let emotions bring him down. Not like your father. Adam is completely insensitive. He's too self-interested to be overly emotional. It's beneath his sense of dignity to drive off the road in a fit of misery.”

“Do you think he'll show up at the wedding?” Hannah asked. Her tone was casual but her face betrayed her concern. “I mean, to make trouble?”

“Don't get me started on the subject of Adam and weddings. If he ever shows his face at Larchmere again I'll—”

“Susan, please,” Hannah begged. “There's been enough bad feeling already.”

“He won't show up,” Ruth said. “I'm sure of it. The next we hear from him will be through his lawyer.”

Tilda said, “Teddy says he hasn't got a chance at getting Larchmere. He'll be wasting his time and his money trying.”

“Well, that's his decision. Meanwhile, I suggest we put Adam and his evil schemes out of our minds and concentrate on the upcoming happy occasion.”

“Hear, hear! Is there another bottle of Prosecco around?” Craig asked. “If not I'll run to the store and get one. Or two.”

A bottle was found, as was a bag of almond biscotti Ruth had bought earlier that day while on her errands. “To the happy couple!” she said, raising her glass.

“To Jennifer, the newest addition to the McQueen family!” That was Tilda.

Around a mouthful of cookie, Hannah said, “To us!”

Wednesday, August 1

The beach was almost her own that morning. Except for Wade, down by the shoreline with his fishing gear and folding chair, and a shirtless jogger Tilda had never seen before (a summer visitor, she supposed), she was alone. The sea was calm. The sand felt silky and cool on her feet. Frank would have enjoyed such a morning, though he would have brought a big cup of coffee down to the beach with him. Tilda smiled remembering how, for Frank, waking up was a slow and sometimes painful process.

She tried then to imagine how different her life would have been had she never met Frank. And what she saw, very suddenly and very clearly, was a life so very empty, so very unfulfilled, so very opposite of the life she had now. The vision made her stop in her tracks. And then, toes digging into the cool sand, she felt a surge of pure joy such as she had never felt in her life. Yes, she had met him and she had loved him and she had married him and they had had two wonderful children together. How beautiful her life had been and how beautiful it would always be because she had known and loved Frank and he had known and loved her. No one or nothing could take away the fact of the having. Oh, it was so much better to focus on the having rather than on the loss!

Tilda put her hands to her face in astonishment. Was transformation just this simple? Was it only a matter of shifting your focus from the empty to the full, from the absence to the presence? Was it only a matter of realizing all that you had to be thankful for? Was thankfulness the key?

Almost automatically, Tilda looked up at the sky. And there it was, soaring effortlessly, high above, a magnificent eagle. It was the sign she had been waiting for. Tears came to her eyes and she let them flow. They were tears of joy and of sorrow. She watched the eagle dip and swoop, marveling, as always, at the enormous bird's grace and power. After a few minutes he flew off farther down the beach to astonish someone else in need of his presence, perhaps Wade, who might be thinking of his ailing mother-in-law and his sorrowful wife.

Tilda took off her wedding ring. She put it in the pocket of her windbreaker and zipped the pocket safely. She would always keep it, always; she would not offer it to Jane or to anyone else. But she no longer needed to wear it.

“Thank you, Frank,” she whispered, sure now that he could hear her. “Thank you.”

The prayer Bobby had taught her came to her, the words of the thirteenth-century Dame Julian of Norwich. In a soft voice she repeated:

The wedding of William McQueen and Jennifer Fournier would take place in the gazebo on the lawn of the Larchmere estate. Present were Ruth, Tilda, Hannah and Susan, Craig, Bobby, and Teddy and Tessa Vickes. Jon and Jane had driven down for the ceremony, but they wouldn't be able to stay long. Each had to be at work later that afternoon. Jane couldn't stop smiling at the happy turn of events, and exclaimed over Jennifer's ring. Jon slapped his grandfather's back a lot. Craig, much to his surprise, was to be best man. Jennifer's sister, Gwen, who lived in Scarborough, was to be maid of honor.

Tilda had brought only the one suit, the one she had worn to her mother's memorial. It would have to do for her father's impromptu wedding. But this time she wore the floaty silk scarf her children had given her. It took four or five attempts before she found a way to wear it comfortably and, she hoped, stylishly. And then Ruth and Susan had complimented her, so she knew she had gotten it right.

As she stood behind her father and his fiancée, Tilda felt Frank right there with her. He had given her his blessing, he had told her that it was okay to move on, and yet she felt closer to him now than she had since his death. Closer, but also, free. She had not imagined she could feel so well.

The vows were read, the blessing was given, and the pair was married. The groom kissed the bride, most of the witnesses cried, and Susan pulled out her camera. After the photos were taken the group drove down to the Cove for lunch, which, of course, was accompanied by several bottles of champagne. Bobby surprised them all with the special wedding cake, as well as with a beautiful book, a collection of photographs of and poems about the sea. Sarah sent a happy, brilliantly colored arrangement of flowers to the house. Everyone was looking forward to an evening of music and just maybe of dancing back at Larchmere. Craig and Jennifer's sister, Gwen, the owner of an independent bookstore, found much to talk about. There was no word from Adam.

Life, thought Tilda, as the McQueen family headed back to Larchmere, could be so amazingly good. That was worth remembering.

 

The celebrations were over. The Vickes and Bobby had gone home, as had Gwen. Bill and Jennifer had retired first, followed soon after by Ruth and the others. Only Hannah and Susan were awake, sitting on the front porch, holding hands, quiet in the late night. The air was cool and sweet. It was the proverbial calm after the storm and everything felt clean and new and refreshed.

Hannah's mind had been racing since the shocking announcement of her inheritance. And this was the goal it had come to, at that very moment on the front porch, hours after her father's wedding.

Life was too short and too precious to waste in hesitation and fear. She had free will. She could choose to change and to grow. No one had to be a slave to the past. At least, she, Hannah McQueen, did not have to be a slave to her mother's child-rearing legacy. She would reject that legacy! Craig had said that she could, that they all could!

“Oh, what the hell,” she blurted. “Let's start that family.”

Susan twitched in surprise. “Do you mean it?” she asked after a moment. “Are you totally, absolutely, one hundred percent sure? This isn't just the champagne talking?”

“Yes, yes, and yes. And yes. And no, it's not the champagne talking. It's me.”

Susan turned to more fully face Hannah. She grabbed her other hand. “I'm stunned. I'm so happy. But what about therapy? We talked about seeing a therapist to help you get past your reservations. What happened?”

“Pooh to the therapist. I'm past my reservations. I'm tired of them. I am not my mother. I will not become my mother with our children. I promise you and I promise me and I promise those children we're going to have.”

“Was that it?” Susan asked. She truly thought that she had misunderstood Hannah's words. “You were afraid of repeating your mother's mistakes? That's all?”

“That was enough.”

Susan shook her head. “I'm so sorry, Hannah. I wish you had been able to tell me. I could have assured you. Your father could have told you how different you are from Charlotte!”

“He did. But that wasn't all that freed me from that fear. Now, no more about the past. It's time to concentrate on the future. Okay?”

“We are going to be such great parents, do you know that?” Susan didn't bother to check the tears streaming down her face. “Do you know how lucky our children are going to be? Do you?”

Hannah laughed. “I'm not quite as sure as you are about the great part, but I don't think we're going to suck.”

“None of that language once the baby is born.”

“‘Suck' isn't a bad word. Sucking is a baby's main activity, next to sleeping.”

“Don't be bad. ‘Suck' isn't the nicest word when you use it like you did.”

“Oh, all right. If you say so, Mom.”

“Mom. Doesn't that sound amazing?”

“It does.” Hannah touched her forehead to Susan's. “It really does.”