East Hope (7 page)

Vivien lived in the Palisades neighborhood in a charming bungalow forever in need of painting. She also had an office downtown. Vivien was not in a garden club or a book club and, having no children, had never been caught up in chatter about soccer games, carpool arrangements, college admittance, and the ongoing concerns of Caroline's neighborhood friends. Instead, Vivien talked about food, book projects, illustrators, photographers, and publicists. Thanks to Vivien, Caroline had a small part in that other world, and she spent less and less time with the local mothers.

“Honestly, Caroline. I'm worried you're going to turn into some kind of weird recluse, one of those oddball women who talk to themselves and never answer the phone.” Vivien looked accusingly at her across the pot of tea, though she spoke in a familiar joking way. They sat in Vivien's kitchen, a chaotic room painted tomato soup red, every surface cluttered and an entire wall covered with shelves full of cookbooks. They had met at the Cuisine Academy. Rob was in preschool then, and Caroline had decided to take a class on the art of French cooking. Vivien had encouraged Caroline to write a dining-out-with-kids column for a community newspaper and later hired her to write for the cookbook division of World Life Books.

“I called you back, didn't I?”

“Three days later.”

Caroline shifted in her chair. “I know. I don't deserve you, Vivien. You've been so patient.”

“Enough of that.” Vivien smiled and reached over to pat Caroline's arm. Her hands were broad and strong, good hands for kneading bread, though Vivien spent more time molding words than dough. “Sure you're okay? You look different.”

Caroline shook her head. “Same old me. But I do have some news.”

“Let me guess.” Vivien picked up the earth-toned ceramic teapot and poured. “The all-perfect Marjorie shared some savory bit of gossip with you. How was her dinner party, by the way?”

Vivien seemed to have a sixth sense about things, as if she knew Caroline better than Caroline knew herself. Caroline shifted uneasily and lifted her mug. Wafts of smoky Lapsang souchong steamed into her face, too hot to drink. She set it down.

“It seems that I've inherited a house. Well, Harry did, and as the lawyer explained, now it's mine.” She handed Vivien the letter from East Hope, Maine.

She blew across her tea and sipped it slowly while Vivien read the typed pages from Hollis Moody. Vivien, in her mid-fifties, looked no different than when Caroline had met her twelve years before. Tall, big-boned, she wore the colorful loose clothes that reminded Caroline of an art teacher. Her dark hair was swept into a topknot and held in place with two large pins resembling chopsticks. Her husband, Roger, a research scientist at the National Institutes of Health, was her exact opposite, quiet and slight, and all but disappeared in a crowd. Both were devoted to their work.

“This Lila was Harry's aunt?”

“Great-aunt, actually. She died last summer. Ninety-one years old. I took Rob there for a week the summer after Grace died. Harry wasn't able to come. Lila was lovely to us. That was the last time I saw her. We exchanged Christmas cards over the years, but nothing more than that.”

Vivien's dark eyebrows drew together. “Any idea what the house is worth?”

“Not really. But selling it would certainly help.”

Vivien knew about Caroline's financial worries. She had also been urging Caroline to sell her house in Chevy Chase.

Vivien looked up and waved the letter, then passed it back to Caroline. “This is great. I hope you told the lawyer to sell it.”

“It's not that simple.”

“How do you mean?”

“I spoke to Mr. Moody. He sounded sweet. I think he's an older man, a friend of Lila's. Anyway, he suggested I come up there and clean out the house first. He thinks that having the exterior painted would help too. I'd get a better price.”

“Are you responsible for that?”

“Lila didn't have much family,” she said. “There are a few distant cousins, as well as Richard, Harry's dad. Lila apparently always wanted Harry to have the house. She never had children. Once her husband, Francis, died, Lila gave up her teaching job and moved to Maine full-time. Harry used to spend summers with her when he was a teenager.”

“There must be some money in Lila's estate that could be used to paint the house.”

“When I called Mr. Moody, he said there wasn't much. She lived in a nursing home for a while, and that ate up most of it. I have a feeling Mr. Moody paid her bills in the end. Richard is already paying for Rob's college tuition. I can't ask him for money for this too. I might have to use a little of my own money to fix up the house.”

“Fix? I thought it only needed cleaning out.” Vivien looked dubious. “Here. Have one of these.” She reached behind her for a plate of cookies. “It's a recipe I'm testing for the baking book.” Vivien took one and bit into it, dropping crumbs onto the pine table. “Hmm . . . could be chewier. I'll have to work on that.” She pushed the plate in Caroline's direction. “So, what does Pete think?”

“I haven't told him yet.”

Vivien's brows lifted. “Why not? He's advised you on everything else. Come on; have a cookie.”

“Thanks.” Caroline took one from the plate. “Things have gotten a little complicated with Pete.”

Caroline was accustomed to telling Vivien everything. After Harry had died Vivien was the only one who seemed to know what she needed. She was always ready to listen, and yet she respected Caroline's need for privacy.

Also, Vivien had had no patience for Caroline's sister, Darcy. In Darcy's perfect world, husbands didn't die young or leave their wives with worthless shares of stock. Vivien had suggested that Caroline ignore Darcy's pleas for her to move home to Connecticut after Harry's death. Vivien had been right. Working on the cookbooks had helped her move forward, and having Pete to help her sort out Harry's affairs had been invaluable.

Vivien spoke more seriously. “I don't want to play guessing games, so you'd better define
complicated
right up front.”

Caroline leaned back in her chair and told Vivien about the party and how she had slept with Pete. “I'm afraid this could be the start of something. He's been so good to me. He's not happy with Marjorie.” She picked at a jagged cuticle on her thumb. “You must think I'm terrible.”

Vivien sat quietly for a moment and then looked over at Caroline, her expression kind, reassuring. “You're human. These things happen.” She held her hands around her mug and appeared to be thinking seriously about this turn that Caroline's life had taken.

“It's not right,” Caroline said. She pressed her hands to her forehead and pushed back her hair. “I wish I could run away from this entire mess.”

“Have you seen him since the party?”

Caroline shook her head. “He's phoned every day. He's left messages saying he wants to see me. I don't know what to tell him.”

“Wait. This is perfect.” Vivien set her mug down on the table. “Go to Maine. Take a few weeks away.”

“What? Leave home?”

“Go up to Maine for a few weeks, even a month. It would do you good to get away.”

“But the editing job, the vegetable cookbook?”

“Take it with you.”

“To Maine?”

“Of course. Take your laptop. You can work anywhere. Plus, that way you'll be there to oversee the work on the house yourself.”

“I'm just not sure.”

“If you hire someone to manage the work in Maine it will take away from your profit when you sell the house.”

“I see what you mean, but—”

“You just said you'd like to escape from everything.”

“But Rob's coming home this weekend.”

“So?”

“It's out of the question. I can't leave him this summer. He'll have his job at the tennis club and—”

“Caroline, he's nineteen. He can take care of himself for a few weeks. You do tend to coddle him. He'd probably like to have some time on his own.”

“Oh, Viv. I can't do that. I'm worried about him. He never talks to me anymore.”

“I know Rob. That's just his way. You're making too much of it. He doesn't need to be babied.”

“Vivien, please. I can't leave him alone.”

Vivien shrugged. “Well, think about it. East Hope,” she said, seeming to look beyond Caroline at some distant place. “I like the sound of it.”

The idea of escaping to Maine was tempting. Caroline thought of her visit to Lila's those many years before. She could picture the older lady, still pretty in her late seventies in a flowered shirtwaist dress, waving good-bye to her from the lawn. She remembered the freshness of the air and the house, crisp white against the blue sky. And the water, the sound of it, the smell of it filling every breath, the relentless movement of the ocean.

“I'd come and visit you,” Vivien said.

“What?” Caroline's thoughts had turned to Rob. It was as if he were moving away from her, pulled out by a tide.

“If you went to Maine I'd come visit. Roger is up to his ears in a new project. You know how he gets. It would be easy to sneak away for a bit.”

“Rob's coming home for the summer this weekend. I'm not going anywhere,” Caroline said. She finished the last of her tea, knowing it was time to go home. She planned to stop at the grocery store to buy what she needed to make Rob's favorite dinner: lamb chops, asparagus, stuffed baked potatoes, and coffee ice cream with chocolate sauce for dessert. It had been Harry's favorite dinner too.

“You'd better call Pete,” Vivien said. “The longer you wait, the harder—”

“I know.” Caroline's stomach tightened. She started for the door. “Thanks for listening, Viv. You always make me feel better.” She smiled at her friend and went out to her car. The sky was intensely blue that afternoon, and for a brief moment she thought again of Lila and the house in East Hope. Maine seemed very far away.

Caroline came down to the kitchen and was surprised to find Rob already up. He had been home for a week, and though he'd frequently been out, meeting his old high school friends, she realized how lonely she had been without him. After months of living alone, she now found dishes lingering on the counter next to the sink, shoes on the floor by the TV in the den, wet towels in the hall bath, a steady thumping music coming from his room, the sounds of doors opening and closing, all part of having him home. With Rob back in the house it was as if her other life, her family life, had returned. This made her happy.

“You're up early,” she said, and went to take a mug out for her coffee, which she had set to the timer the night before.

“Hey, Mom,” he said softly. He was loading the blender with strawberries, his back to her. He turned and gave her a quick smile. He still had the loose-limbed puppyish gestures of a teenage boy, but his face had lost its former softness and taken on the more focused features of a young man. A large container of vanilla yogurt sat open on the counter beside him. He wore baggy shorts, putty colored, that hung on his thin frame. For a moment, from the tilt of his head and the angle of his spine, she thought Rob could have been Harry. She remembered Harry standing just this way in front of the stove when he made pancakes for them on the weekend.

The blender whirred loudly, like a rocket about to take off. Caroline poured her coffee and carried it to the table. The roar stopped. In the sudden silence she watched while Rob poured the soupy pink mixture into a glass. Just as it was about to overflow he righted the container and licked the rim.

“What time did you get in last night?” she asked.

“Mom. Come on.” He frowned at her while pulling out his chair at the table.

“Okay. I know. No more curfew.” Caroline took a sip of coffee, knowing it wasn't going to be easy to talk to him if she began like that.

She hadn't slept well, listening for Rob's car in the driveway, worrying about him and thinking about Pete, whom she'd finally spoken to the afternoon before. Fortunately, Rob had been at the tennis club when Pete had called from his office. As she expected, Pete had wanted to see her again. He had acted hurt when she said no, and his voice had cooled noticeably when she made her excuses, one of them being Rob.

Rob sipped his smoothie. What was he thinking about? Maybe his friends, his evening out, or maybe what it was like to be home again in the familiar kitchen, the sun hitting the table where it always had at this time of morning, though now there was no possibility of Harry coming in to join them or kiss them hurriedly on his way to the office.