The Family Beach House (18 page)

Hannah took Susan's hand. “Well, that was a bad idea,” she said. “What was I thinking?”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to let fly at Adam like that. I guess my anger's just been building.”

“Oh, Adam can take it. It's my fault, really. I feel like such a fool. Why did I suggest we all hang out together like normal people?”

“Only Adam causes problems,” Susan rightly pointed out. “Tilda and Craig aren't troublemakers.”

“No. But what was up with Craig tonight? When he came back from the men's room he looked like he'd seen a ghost or something. He hardly said a word after that.”

“Ssshh. They'll hear us.”

Hannah and Susan and Craig and Tilda climbed into the car and drove back to Larchmere in weary silence.

Tuesday, July 24

There was another newly or about to be wed couple on the beach that morning. This bride, older than the other Tilda had seen, and fashionably slight, wore a slinky ice blue satin sheath. Her groom, also middle-aged, wore a navy suit, expertly cut. Tilda guessed that they had money. The photographer, whose hair was a flamboyant orange, was calling out directions to the couple. They moved and posed as if professional models. Tilda wondered if people took lessons in posing for their wedding pictures. People took dancing lessons for the wedding reception. Why not lessons in assuring beautiful photographs?

She began her walk to the Wells town line, and left the couple and their photographer behind. Since when, she wondered, had Ogunquit become a wedding destination? She thought that it probably always had been a wedding destination but that, given her relatively new status as widow, she was now hyper aware of the presence of summer brides.

Tilda had been thinking a lot about weddings and marriage and, in particular, about wives. There was a Hebrew proverb that said, “Whosoever findeth a wife findeth a good thing.” She had been thinking a lot about that.

What did it really mean to be a wife in today's culture, in the United States in the early twenty-first century? Did the role of “wife” have any validity? Well, so much had changed, and mostly for the better. Now both Hannah and Susan could be a wife, a legally recognized entity with rights and responsibilities and public standing. But Tilda wondered if marriage itself was really necessary any longer.

No. Well, maybe for some it was, those who followed a religious system that required—or strongly urged—women to marry. But for those for whom marriage was not an economic or religious necessity, was it still preferable to the other options? It seemed that it might be. Marriage brought with it social privileges. It shouldn't still be that way but it was. Marriage meant respectability. No matter what the sordid or boring truth was behind the closed door of the married couple's home, the fact that they were legally married conferred upon them greater status than that afforded to single people.

Married people were offered discounts on everything from car insurance to vacation packages. Single people, no matter what the reason for their single state, were considered less stable and mature and successful than married people. Two was better than one. It was ridiculous and unfair but that was the way it was.

When she was married, when Frank was alive, Tilda had never once given any thought to the plight of the single person—widowed, divorced, living alone by choice or by chance. She hadn't passed judgments; she just never had given the position of the single person a thought. She was a bit ashamed of that now, ashamed of her lack of concern or interest in everyone “else” or “other.” Had she been one of those self-satisfied, even smug people, who simply failed to empathize with those in a situation not her own? She was afraid that she might have been.

At the Wells town line, Tilda turned and began the walk back to the parking lot. Along the way she ran into Nancy Brown, Ogunquit's librarian. She and her partner, Glenda, had been at the recent party at Larchmere.

“Oh, did you see the bride?” she cried, rushing up to Tilda and grabbing her arm. “The one in the pale blue dress?”

“Yes,” Tilda said. “I did.”

“Oh, isn't she exquisite! I honestly don't think I've ever seen a more beautiful bride in my entire life. I really don't!”

Tilda extricated her arm from Nancy's grip and forced a smile. “Yes,” she said, “she is lovely. But I really must be getting home now. Give my love to Glenda.”

Nancy continued on toward Wells and Tilda walked rapidly back to her car, eager to be at Larchmere. The bride and groom were gone. Just before getting behind the wheel she scanned the sky. Nothing.

 

Tilda was sitting at the kitchen bar drinking a cup of tea and leafing through a catalogue of out-of-print books. With a pen she was marking off books she might like to buy. It would all depend, in the end, on money. Still, it was fun to dream about owning rare first editions and peculiar books long out of print. She made a mental note to visit Cunningham Books when she got back to Portland, a wonderful bookshop at Longfellow Square that sold old and rare books.

Footsteps—the sound of high heels—alerted her to the fact that someone had come into the kitchen. Tilda turned.

Kat stopped midstride. “Oh. Hi,” she said. “I'm just getting something to drink.”

Tilda thought Kat sounded embarrassed, almost guilty, for being in the kitchen when someone else was there. As if she were invading McQueen territory.

“Sure, of course,” Tilda said. “There's some iced tea in a pitcher in the fridge if you'd like. Ruth made it earlier.”

“I'll just have water. But thanks.”

Kat went to the sink, where there was a water filter, and poured a glass.

“So,” Tilda ventured, “how long have you and Adam known each other?”
If Kat is going to be my sister-in-law,
she thought,
I really should try to know more about her. I don't even know if she has brothers or sisters.

Kat smiled and took a seat at the bar. Tilda thought she might be grateful for Tilda's interest in her life.

“We met at a networking event about a year ago,” she said. “He didn't call me for a while and I was pretty upset, because I really liked him. But when he did call we started seeing each other all the time. And after a few months he proposed. I couldn't believe my luck. I still can't!”

Well, Tilda thought, here was a woman who seemed to be marrying not for economic or religious reasons. Here was a woman who was marrying for love. “It's a lovely ring,” she said. It was lovely, if a bit ostentatious for Tilda's taste.

Kat held out her left hand and admired the platinum and diamond monster on it. “I know. I absolutely love it. There are three carats total. All my friends are jealous, even the ones who are already married.”

Adam had to make a statement, Tilda thought, had to be the biggest and the best. Well, if it made him happy to conquer, or, at least, to think he had conquered, then so be it. Tilda's mind flashed again on the young man with whom Kat had been having cocktails the night of the Front Porch expedition and wondered if Adam had, indeed, really conquered in this case.

“I'm sure the ring is insured,” Tilda said, and then wondered why. Adam's insurance was none of her business.

“Oh, yeah. Adam won't tell me what it's worth, exactly, but I know it has to be a lot!”

Tilda only nodded, not knowing what else to add to the subject of the ring.

“We're going to have a family, you know,” Kat said suddenly. “Adam promised we'd start trying to get pregnant just after the wedding.”

“Oh,” Tilda said. She was taken aback. The idea that Adam might want more children had never occurred to her. She had just assumed he was marrying again for the trophy aspect of it. She tried to sound enthusiastic and believing. “That's very nice,” she said.

Would Kat be one of those sexy pregnant women who showed their belly in skintight tops, one of those women who continued to wear heels well into the third trimester? Of course she would. Tilda felt oddly jealous, again. During her pregnancies she had taken to wearing Frank's shirts over stretch maternity pants. They were comfortable and concealing. She had not looked sexy.

“Yeah,” Kat was saying. “I've always really wanted kids—I'm an only child—but I really wanted to have a career first, you know? But when I have my first baby, that's it, I'm done, I'm staying home.”

“And Adam understands what you want?” The question was out before Tilda realized that it probably shouldn't have been asked.

Kat looked surprised at the question. “Sure. I think so. I mean, I talked to him about it.”

“Oh. Then he must know what you're expecting. That's good.” Again, Tilda had meant to sound reassuring but was afraid she had failed. Kat's face was registering big doubt.

“Yes,” she said, her eyes flickering away from Tilda. “I'm sure he understands.” There was a moment of silence and then Kat said, “Well, I should be going.”

She left the kitchen in a hurry, brushing past Hannah, who was on her way in. Hannah looked at her sister inquiringly.

“Well, I just had an awkward conversation.”

“I'm guessing it was with Kat.”

“Yes, it was with Kat.” Tilda lowered her voice. “She told me that she's planning on getting pregnant right after the wedding. And that Adam is fine with the idea of starting another family.”

Hannah's expression tightened. “He should not be having more children,” she declared. “He's barely a father to the ones he's already got.”

“But Kat has a right to children of her own,” Tilda said.

“Of course. All I'm saying is that she might want to choose a different father. Someone who actually gives a damn.”

“Oh, I think Adam loves his children. I just think he didn't realize they would be so much work.”

“What kind of a person has kids without accepting the full responsibility of their care?” Hannah asked rhetorically. “A selfish, irresponsible person, that's what kind of person.”

Hannah's voice rose as she spoke. She was visibly angry. Tilda's imagination made a sudden leap. She thought that by talking about bad or inadequate parents her sister might be referring not only to their brother, but also to her own fears of being a bad or inadequate parent. Was that the real reason she had been putting off making a decision to start a family?

It didn't feel like something she could ask about, not yet, anyway. “The children don't seem to be suffering,” she pointed out. “And Sarah makes up for so much. She's a wonderful mother.”

“Be that as it may,” Hannah replied, “I just don't believe that Adam should be having more kids. For that matter, I don't believe that he even wants more kids. I think he's lying to Kat, stringing her along. Oh, he'll marry her, but then he'll find all sorts of excuses why they shouldn't start a family. By then, she'll be totally in his thrall. And if she tries to divorce him, he'll threaten to leave her with nothing.”

“You really think he's lying to her?” Tilda asked. “Well, of course, it's a possibility. Adam lies. But about something as big as wanting another family?”

“Yes, I think he's lying.”

Tilda sighed. “Well, I guess I think so, too. I feel awful about this, Hannah, but I kind of hinted—very subtly—to Kat that she might want to make extra sure he means what he says.”

“Don't feel awful. Women need to protect each other.”

“But Adam is my brother.”

“Adam,” Hannah said, “isn't a very nice person.”

It was later that day, before dinner, and Hannah was stretched out on the bed in the room she shared with Susan. It was decorated much the same as was the room Tilda occupied, with the exception that the watercolors on the walls depicted pines and oaks and maples throughout the four seasons, and not seashells. Above the bed was a large framed quilt, all subtle colors and hues, which Charlotte had bought at an auction. Hannah had never understood why they had not been allowed to actually use the quilt. After all, it had been made as a practical item, something to keep a person warm on cold winter nights. But even now, ten years after her mother's death, Hannah would never dream of taking the quilt down from the wall.

Hannah yawned. She felt unaccountably tired. She felt that if she fell asleep now she would sleep through the night. She knew she should get up soon and change for dinner. Her clothes were rumpled and slightly sweaty. There was a fan on the dresser but she felt too lazy to get up and turn it on. She continued to lie there, almost motionless. This, she thought, is lassitude.

The door to the bedroom opened and Susan came in. She shut the door behind her.

“Hey,” Hannah said.

“Hey yourself. What's going on?”

Hannah wanted to tell Susan that Adam claimed—through Kat—that he wanted more children. There was no reason to hide the information from her wife. But any mention of children would, inevitably, lead to another no doubt fruitless discussion about starting their own family and Hannah, recently feeling very cowardly, did not want to talk.

“Nothing,” she said.

Susan sat on the bed next to Hannah. She lowered her voice when she spoke. “I was wondering,” she said, “has anyone said anything to you about Larchmere? I mean, about what's going to happen to it when Bill…”

“I don't want to think about my father dying,” Hannah said quickly, sitting up against the pillows. “It makes me very uncomfortable. He's always been my anchor, you know that. I don't like to imagine life without him.”

“Of course you don't,” Susan said. “But someday he will be gone. He's going to leave Larchmere to one of his children. It's only smart to think ahead in case you turn out to be the heir. And if you are the heir, naturally, that effects the both of us.”

Hannah nodded. “Of course. I know. But please, could we not talk about it right yet? Please? I promise we'll talk soon. When we get back home. Not here.”

Susan sighed. Hannah wondered just how much more putting off she was going to tolerate.

“All right. When we get back to South Portland then.” Susan got off the bed. “Dinner is at seven, don't forget. Ruth and I are making a seafood stew.” And then she was gone.

Hannah slid down again until she was prone on the bed. Inheriting Larchmere. Until this week, until learning of her father's romance, the idea had never even occurred to her. Why? she wondered. Why hadn't she ever thought about what would happen to the family home when her father died?

Well,
she thought now,
what if Dad does want me to have Larchmere? What then?
How could she ever afford to keep such a huge house and estate? She would have to steal Adam's idea and convert the house into a bed and breakfast just to pay for basic maintenance. But if she did that she would need financing. No bank would lend her all the money she would need. She might have to consider asking her aunt to be a business partner. And that would be tricky. Hannah figured that Ruth might have some money tucked away, but she would not want to put her aunt on the spot. True, Ruth was tough enough to say no to a request she didn't want to fulfill, but still…asking for money, even a loan, from a family member, was scary. She thought she knew why even Craig, who was always short of cash, didn't do it.

Hannah sat up again, restless. Of course, she thought, running a bed and breakfast might mean having to live in Ogunquit year round, as neither she nor Susan had a taste (or the money) for a winter home in Florida, where many Ogunquit residents went for the worst of the winter months.

And they so loved their life in Portland! There were the museums and galleries and the great bookstores like Longfellow and Cunningham, all within walking distance of their home. What would they do if they couldn't have dinner every Wednesday evening at the Pub, with all the other regulars she and Susan had gotten to know and love? And the Sea Dogs! Hannah would not be happy without easy access to the Sea Dogs' games. And Ogunquit off-season was so deadly quiet; Hannah really didn't know if she could handle it. And what about her job? Would she have to quit (and then where would their health insurance come from!) or would she be able to maintain basically two careers? And what about Susan's career? She absolutely loved her work in social services. Sure, they could commute to Portland daily—they knew someone who did just that—but commuting was a physical as well as a financial strain. It would mean they would need a second car, a backup, and that was yet another expense.

Hannah got up from the bed and went to the window. A massive blue jay was perched on a branch of an oak tree, screaming his unpleasant scream. She thought of screaming children and of that family she had seen in Kittery, the little girls being dragged along, the mother massively pregnant. She thought of the big issue looming in her life: the notion of having a baby in the near future. She and Susan had agreed they wanted to raise a child in an urban environment, not tiny little Ogunquit no matter how beautiful and serene.

Hannah sighed. She loved Larchmere but she really hoped that Tilda inherited the house. It would make things so much easier for Hannah and Susan. Their lives wouldn't be totally disrupted. But she doubted that Tilda could afford the ownership and upkeep of a house the size of Larchmere, either. What then? Only Adam—and maybe Ruth—had the money to take over the responsibility of the estate without having to resort to drastic measures. Ruth didn't want Larchmere. Adam wanted it for all the wrong reasons.

It was all a muddle. The only thing Hannah did know for sure was that if her father did leave Larchmere to her, there was no way she would reject the gift—and there was no way she would ever sell the house. She felt enormous gratitude toward her father for being the supportive parent he had always been, especially in light of her mother's indifference. She believed that it was her duty as a grateful daughter to accept any responsibility he chose to give her.

But how would Susan deal with the privilege—and the burden—of Larchmere? Hannah wondered if she would be forced to prioritize, to choose what was more important: her own life with Susan, her wife, or the maintenance of her family's physical legacy. The question frightened her.

Slowly, she turned from the window and went to take a shower.

 

“Did Sarah finish that degree she was going for? What was it, a master's in management?”

Craig and Adam were in the kitchen. Craig was brewing a pot of tea. He had a sudden craving for Lapsang souchong, with its heavily smoky flavor, which was odd because he usually preferred to drink Lapsang souchong in the fall and winter. Adam was mixing some sort of protein shake. It was a bright, acid green. Craig shuddered. He was all for healthy eating but he preferred to chew his calories. And he preferred them to be colors found in nature.

Adam looked surprised. “How would I know? I don't talk with her about anything other than the kids. I've got enough on my plate.”

Craig was shocked. He knew he shouldn't be—he knew what his brother was like—but he was. “How can you just ignore someone you were married to?” he said. “She's the mother of your children. Don't you care even a little about her as a person?”

“Who are you to talk?” Adam shot back. “You've never made a commitment to a woman in your life.”

“Maybe so.” Craig thought of the woman from Vermont, Mary, and cringed a little. “But at least I didn't dump my hardworking wife for a woman twelve years her junior. Come on, Adam, your divorce was a classic midlife crisis thing. It's pretty lame stuff. It's been done to death.”

Adam glared at his brother. “You know nothing about the circumstances of my divorce. No one does. Except Sarah, of course. And my lawyers.”

Craig was not intimidated. “Have you told Kat how you refused to give up half of your CD collection, even though Sarah is the music lover? Or about the time you keyed that car—what was it, the one Sarah got in the divorce—so that she couldn't get its full worth when she sold it?”

“My past is none of Kat's business,” Adam said. His voice was cold.

“She's going to be your wife. You have to be honest with her.” And, Craig wondered, if Kat knew the entire, gritty truth, would she still want to be Adam's wife?

“Selective honesty is all that's required in this situation. I don't need to know every minor little detail of Kat's past. In fact, I'd rather not.”

“As long as her credit is good, right?” Craig laughed. “Don't want to be responsible for someone else's debts.”

“Her credit is impeccable.”

“Did you check for a criminal past as well?”

“Of course. She's clean.”

“And she's hot.”

Adam shrugged. “What's wrong with that? It doesn't hurt my professional image to have a beautiful, well-dressed wife.”

“You're a caricature,” Craig said. “Straight out of central casting for middle-aged male panicking over the loss of his youth and virility.”

“My virility,” Adam replied coldly, “has never been an issue.”

Craig smirked. “I'm not sure I'd go around admitting that.”

“Grow up, Craig.”

Craig put down his cup of tea, untasted. “Why are you even bothering to get married again?” he persisted. “Doesn't the single life suit you better? Or is this new marriage all about appearance? It doesn't look good for a guy in your professional position to be footloose and fancy-free, does it? You need to look respectable, dependable, like a politician, get yourself a wife, go to church on Sundays. Marriage makes sense for someone like you.”

Adam slammed his almost empty glass on the bar top. “Someone like me? Oh, right, you mean someone who accepts responsibility for his actions. Someone who has a career, someone who pays his bills. Someone who's not living in a disgusting, rust-ridden van at the age of forty. Someone who has some real value in the world, someone who contributes to society. You might think I'm worthless, Craig, but I'm the one paying taxes. I'm the one contributing to charities. I'm the one raising children. When was the last time you voted? Wait, I bet you're not even registered to vote! When was the last time you showed up for a town meeting? Oh, wait, you'd actually have to live in the town to go to its meetings.”

Craig was silenced.

Adam laughed. “That's right. Got nothing to say to that, do you? Talk to me when you get a life.” Adam, leaving his empty glass on the bar top, picked up his laptop and left the room.

Craig slumped onto a stool. He felt shaken. He felt badly that things had gotten so heated. He acknowledged that he had spoken with unnecessary ill intent. He also acknowledged that some of Adam's criticisms, some of his charges, while harsh, were also valid.

What was his value in the world? Did anybody need him, did anybody want him around? Well, Tilda needed him but that need wasn't entirely healthy. Could a person have value when he lived isolated from human responsibility? Well, yes, life itself was sacred, Craig thought he believed that, but…Wasn't a life of service to others more valuable than a life of—of what? Avoidance?

Not for the first time Craig wondered if he was even serving himself by the way he was living his life. Was he a selfish person? No, he didn't think that he was. Not selfish, not really, not grasping or greedy at all. A shirker. Maybe that's what he was, a shirker of responsibility, a shirker of duty. You couldn't be proud of being a shirker.

His father, Bill, wasn't a shirker. Neither was Bobby, nor Teddy, for that matter. Frank had been one of the most responsible guys Craig had ever known. Those men were brave. He respected them all. They all were deserving of respect.

The question for Craig was, was he?

Craig dumped the now cold tea down the sink, washed his cup and his brother's glass, and went out to his old red van.
Maybe,
he thought,
this is where I really do belong.