The Summer Cottage (17 page)

“Well, thank you.”

Claire again turned to Helen. “How was your walk? What kind of day do we have on tap?”

“A good one, I think, even with this chilly start.” Helen stood and draped the blanket Pammy had shaken out and then folded, over her mother’s legs.

“Thomas comes today,” Claire pointed out.

“Yes,” said Helen, still uncertain about whether he would actually arrive.

“Then it will be a good day indeed,” said Claire.

C
HAPTER
20

 

T
homas walked along Main Street feeling refreshed. He had delivered Mr. Sloan’s baked goods by nine o’clock. After dropping the truck off, he stopped at the bank for some cash and then drove home for a quick run and swim before showering, shaving, and dressing in khaki pants and a light blue button-down shirt to take Anna out to lunch. She had just an hour, so he wanted to be prompt. He was always on time anyway, arriving at every destination within minutes of his goal. This had not been the case when he was younger and habitually late to everything, from baseball practice, to and from which he rode his bike, to dinner. His father had taken him aside one evening when he was thirteen or fourteen, when he had been thirty minutes late to the table and Claire had refused to serve him, and told him that late people were under the mistaken assumption that their time was more important than everyone else’s. And it was the understanding that being late is a discourtesy to others, much more so than the disappointment in eating cold potatoes for dinner, that swayed Thomas. He hadn’t been late since.

He had talked with Anna on the phone several times since the cookout, but he had not seen her, and his heart was active in anticipation. His mother had spoken with him again about Anna, reiterating that she was concerned about his future. He could go as far in life as he wanted to go, Claire told him, unless something or someone held him back.
Not that this Anna probably wasn’t a very nice young woman. But the mere fact that she had a daughter presented problems. If he stayed with Anna, he would be forever supporting a child he didn’t sire
. Thomas assured his mother that he hadn’t yet considered marriage after a single date and that he would take her advice to heart. To push back a little, he asked her about all the children who were adopted and supported by fathers who had absolutely nothing to do with their conception. That, she said, was another matter altogether.

After his swim, shower, and shave, Thomas quickly dressed and then drove into town and parked in front of Anna’s building. He opened the thick glass door that read H
UDSON AND
L
AMBERT
in gold lettering and walked in. Within seconds, his feet were off the tiled floor and onto a plush Oriental carpet that covered more than half the lobby. Straight ahead was a large mahogany desk, occupied by a young dark-haired woman who was not Anna. Thomas checked his watch. He was two minutes early. He approached the desk. “May I help you?”

“I’m looking for Anna Santiago,” said Thomas, looking at the woman and then glancing behind her, hoping to see Anna.

“She’s getting ready to go out to lunch,” she said. “Is there something I could help you with?”

“No,” said Thomas. “I’m the one she’s getting ready for.”

“Oh,” the woman said, visibly startled. “I’ll go see if I can find her.”

Within seconds, Anna appeared from a room in the back, carrying a large stack of paper. Thomas rushed to her. “Let me carry that,” he said.

“I can get it, Thomas.” She set the pile down on the side of the desk.

“What is all that?”

“Information,” said Anna. “That’s what everybody around here calls briefs, reports, their children’s summer school term papers—information.” She pushed her hair back from her face and turned to the other woman. “I’ve sorted and labeled everything. So if you can just deliver the right stuff to the right people that would be terrific. I know Mr. Lambert wants to get to this as soon as he gets back to the office.”

“You got it,” said the young woman, who Thomas realized was more of a girl. She was, Anna told him later, Mr. Hudson’s daughter, who answered the phone for Anna during the lunch hour.

Anna turned back to face Thomas and smiled. “Take me out of here.”

“Gladly,” said Thomas. He put his arm around her for just a moment, guiding her toward the front door. When they reached the sidewalk, Anna took his hand in hers.

“What a morning,” she said. “I’ve spent the last hour at the photocopier. I’m just about blinded by the flash of light from that machine.”

Thomas held his hand in front of her face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Fourteen!” Anna laughed.

“I’m so happy to see you,” he said. “You look terrific.”

“Thank you. You look pretty handsome yourself.”

Thomas smiled. “I thought we’d go to that restaurant on the water, the Boat Dock. I think we can get in and out in an hour.”

“I can stretch it another fifteen minutes or so.”

When they reached his car, Thomas opened the passenger side for Anna, like his father had taught him. He walked around to his side and quickly got in. Just as he sat down, Anna leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ve missed you,” she said.

“Tell me how much,” he said, kissing her lips.

“I’ve thought about you every day,” she said, as he kissed her cheeks and forehead. “And I’ve thought about you every night.” She kissed the tip of his nose. “I’ve dreamed about you kissing me, just like this.”

Thomas picked up her hands and kissed her fingers, slowly, individually. He put her hands back in her lap and started the car. “We’ve got to go now,” he said, “or lunch will definitely not happen.” Anna laughed. “How’s Amy?” he asked, putting the car into gear and pulling out of his parking space.

“She’s great. She was so excited I was having lunch with you today. She’s quite the matchmaker, you know.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. She’s got us walking down the aisle together by September.” Thomas blushed. “I’m just teasing you, Thomas.”

“Is it a joke?” he asked, serious suddenly.

“Thomas, you’re eighteen, unencumbered, and headed for college, and I’m a twenty-one-year-old single mother. I understand the law of averages.”

“You’re only twenty-one?” asked Thomas.

“How old did you think I was?” said Anna. “And be careful, young man.”

“I just assumed you were older, because of Amy and all.”

“I got pregnant when I was sixteen, Thomas. I dropped out of school and set up house. I did get my high school diploma, though, by going to school at night. I’m taking college courses now and hope someday to go to law school.”

“Anna Santiago,” said Thomas. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Surprised about what?”

“We’re cut from the same cloth. We’re both work-till-you-drop capitalists.”

“You’re the capitalist, Thomas. I’m just a realist. If I want the best for Amy, I’ve got to set an example, and I’ve got to pay for it.”

“Yes, you do, Anna. There are no free lunches.”

“Except for today,” she said, smiling.

Thomas pulled into the parking lot of the Boat Dock, a shack-like, wood-shingled restaurant with no more than ten tables inside and many more outside on a deck overlooking the river. They chose the table at the far end of the deck and sat down next to each other. When the waitress came, Thomas ordered a beer and Anna asked for a glass of ice water. “So, tell me more about these plans,” he said to Anna when the waitress disappeared.

“I’ve only taken three courses,” Anna said. “I’m taking accounting now.”

“What are you going to major in?”

“Economics, I think, with whatever courses I’ll need or want to prepare for law school.”

“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Very,” she said. “If I do well in my undergraduate studies, which Hudson and Lambert pay for, they will also pay for my graduate work.”

“That’s generous.”

“Yes, it is. I’ll have to work for them afterward, though.”

“Do you have to promise them that?”

“In a tacit way,” Anna said. “If history repeats itself, and I’m told it does, they’ll want me to come back for at least four years.”

“That seems fair.”

“And if the pay is good and the work is interesting, I’ll stay.”

When the waitress brought the menu, Thomas glanced at it quickly, then ordered two chef salads with blue cheese dressing on the side. Anna smiled at him. “How’d you know I like chef salad?”

“You told me it was your favorite,” he said, “the night you had me over for dinner.”

“When I wanted you to stay.”

“When I wanted to stay,” said Thomas, sliding his hand under Anna’s hair and massaging her neck.

Anna put her hand on Thomas’s thigh and rubbed his leg. The two stared at each other, sipping their drinks until the waitress came. Thomas asked her if she could put the salads in boxes to go. When she came back, Thomas paid her, put the boxes under his arm, and held Anna’s hand tightly. He led her, laughing, through the restaurant and out to the street to his car. Thomas put the salads in the back seat, then opened the door for Anna. He ran to his side, hopped in, and started the car and put it into gear. He looked at his watch. They had forty-five minutes. He drove quickly to Anna’s house, where they ran to the front door while she grabbed her keys from her purse. Once inside, Thomas picked her up into his arms and kissed her. He put her down and watched as she took off her suit jacket, blouse, and skirt. He moved toward her. “Wait,” she said softly. She took off her slip, stockings, and underwear and stood before him naked. “Now come here.”

Thomas went to her. She told him to stand still, but he began to shake as she unbuttoned his shirt. He was breathing hard, almost to the point of panting. She took off his shirt and unzipped his pants. She reached in and grabbed his hard penis and held it in her hand. Within seconds, he came. “I’m sorry,” he said afterward, unable to look at her.

“It’s okay,” said Anna. “Come to my room.”

There, she took off the rest of his clothes and led him to the bed. She pulled back the covers, and they both got in. They lay next to each other, holding each other, looking at each other. And twenty minutes later, Thomas was no longer sorry and definitely in love.

C
HAPTER
21

 

C
harles lifted the platter of steaming scrambled eggs off the table and scooped some onto his plate. He passed the eggs to Charlotte, who made a face at them and passed them to Daniel. He shoveled a large, yellow mass onto his plate, then held the platter for Pammy, who, blushing, took a small serving. Helen made a face at Pammy, helped herself, and then served her mother, who hadn’t taken her eyes off the eggs from the minute Daniel set them down in front of Charles. Thank God, Helen thought, she’s hungry. Todd and Ned had shuffled past the adults several minutes earlier, dressed in white shirts and shorts and carrying tennis rackets. They’d had cereal and toast and were on their way to a grudge match with the Fischer twins, who’d beaten them in a tie-breaker in the previous summer’s Labor Day tournament.

“This is delicious,” Claire said after she’d swallowed her first bite. “Who made the eggs?”

“Charlotte,” said Pammy. “She’s a whiz in the kitchen.”

“Look,” Charlotte said to Pammy, “not everyone wants to be Martha Stewart.”

“Daniel made them, Mom,” said Helen.

“You’re quite a cook, young man.”

“When you live with Charlotte, it’s cook or starve.”

“I love this,” said Charlotte, pushing her chair away from the table. “Everyone’s a comedian today.”

“Have some more coffee, Charlotte,” said Helen.

“I will have some coffee.” Charlotte stood. “And I’ll take it to the porch.”

She disappeared into the kitchen and then reappeared with a filled mug. She walked through the dining room without saying a word, prompting Pammy to shout, “Miss you already!” Charlotte, not looking back, flipped them her middle finger. She had never been a morning person, finding cheerfulness before noon fake and annoying. No one was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, whatever that meant, until noon at least, no matter what their mother had told them about early risers. People needed time in the morning, to think about their day, to wonder about their night, and scrambled eggs were simply not a part of that process. She sat down on the porch couch and picked up a magazine. Turning the pages, Charlotte stopped at an advertisement for Lucky jeans. Daniel appeared out of the living room and sat down beside her. “You okay?”

“Fine, darling, thank you. I just needed some time alone.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“Stay, you handsome thing. You’re the one I most like being alone with.” Daniel smiled. “How would I look in these?” said Charlotte, leaning into Daniel’s body and showing him the page with the jeans.

“I’d be the lucky one.” Charlotte laughed. “You look great in everything, baby,” he said.

“How do I look in nothing?” Charlotte was whispering in his ear. “Let’s go upstairs.”

“I’d love to, honey, but I promised Todd and Ned I’d watch some of their match.”

“Run along then,” said Charlotte, putting on a pout.

“Baby,” said Daniel, “we’ll have time later.”

“I can hardly wait.” She was looking at the magazine again. “Go watch that match.”

Pammy walked onto the porch just as Daniel was leaving. She called good-bye, hoping he’d turn around and engage her with meaningful eye contact, but he just waved and walked across the yard in the direction of the tennis courts. Although she wanted to watch him walk, to follow with her eyes his hard, sexy backside until he was out of sight, she sat down and looked at Charlotte. “Feeling any better?”

“I never felt bad,” said Charlotte, eyes on the magazine.

“So storming off and telling everyone to fuck themselves is all in a day’s work?”

Charlotte gave her sister a bored look. “It’s early, Pammy. At nine o’clock in the morning, I’d rather be sleeping than eating chicken embryos.”

“The embryos were terrific.”

“Fabulous, Pammy. You can’t begin to know how happy I am for you.”

“Why are you such a bitch?”

“Why does everyone pick on me?”

“Because you ask for it, Charlotte. With your big hair, double scotches, slim cigarettes, and now, enormous chest, you ask for it.”

“You’re jealous.”

“I don’t think so. If I won the lottery, breast implants wouldn’t be the first thing on my list.” Pammy looked out through the screens.

“Daniel adores them,” said Charlotte, taking a sip of her coffee. “He says the twenty-five-year-olds at the gym would love to have my body.”

“Why are you in competition with twenty-five-year-olds?”

“We all are, dear. If you want a man, Pammy, you need to know your competition.”

Pammy looked down at her protruding abdomen. “I can’t compete with women in their twenties.”

“Then start looking for a man in his sixties.”

“That’s doesn’t seem right.”

“It’s not,” said Charlotte. “But it’s reality.”

Pammy sipped her coffee. “Is that what you’re doing with Daniel—showing other women your age that you’ve got what it takes to snag a younger man?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“What’s he doing with you?”

Charlotte finished her coffee before responding. “I make his life easier with what I can provide him. He makes my life better by making me feel younger and attractive. We have a mutually beneficial relationship.”

“Sounds pretty superficial to me.”

“Says the woman who’s not in any relationship at all.”

Helen appeared in the doorway. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Not really,” said Charlotte. “Pammy was just telling me my relationship with Daniel is superficial.”

“Pammy,” Helen said in a schoolmarm’s pedantic voice, “didn’t we agree not to be mean?”

“I’d be mean too,” said Charlotte, “if I hadn’t been laid in two years.”

“Shut up!” said Pammy. “I could buy a whore, too. That’s not the kind of so-called loving relationship I want.”

“Oh, so Daniel’s a whore now? I can’t wait to tell him that.”

“I didn’t mean that,” said Pammy, shoving her hands into the pockets of her shorts.

“What kind of relationship do you want, Pammy?” Charlotte lit a cigarette. “Just exactly who are you holding out for?”

“Someone who means something.” Pammy’s eyes were moist with tears.

“Then you’re going to be a shriveled-up, old spinster,” said Charlotte, exhaling a stream of smoke into the room. “If you happen to stumble across one the few men on the planet in his forties who is interesting, caring, smart, sensitive, and employed, he’s not looking for a woman in her forties, my friend. He wants someone he can shape and control, a younger woman, with toned muscles, even skin, and straight teeth.”

“They’re not all like that, the men my age,” said Pammy, hoping they weren’t.

“Sure they are,” said Charlotte. “Why the hell do you think you’re still single? All the men your age are looking for women in their twenties.” Charlotte took a drag of her cigarette. “When you are a forty-year-old woman in this country, you are invisible to most men—unless you’re looking for a sixty-year-old partner. I refuse to be irrelevant.” She blew the smoke through the side of her mouth at the screen. Done with the conversation, she put her feet up on the wicker coffee table and stared, without purpose, out the window.

“I won’t have smoking in this house!” Claire shouted from the dining room.

“Shit!” Charlotte stood, grabbed her pack and silver lighter, and walked out the porch door. “I feel like I’m still fifteen.”

“That’s because you are,” Pammy said to the space Charlotte had just vacated.

Helen patted her sister’s hand. “You stay here,” she said. “I’ll get some more coffee.”

 

Charlotte walked toward the tennis courts with the vague notion that she would watch her nephews play. She finished the cigarette she had lit as soon as she was outside the cottage and lit another one. She was shaking. How dare her mother holler at her like a disobedient teenager? She was forty-seven years old, for Christ’s sake, and didn’t need anybody telling her she couldn’t smoke in the house. At forty-seven, she could do whatever she wanted, without the approval of her mother—except when she was at home, when she was a daughter again.

Halfway down the road, Charlotte stopped walking and sat on the edge of the grass. She had lost her marginal interest in watching the tennis match and was also not interested in seeing Daniel just yet. Pammy’s words had stung. Their relationship was, indeed, superficial. She was attracted to his body, and he was attracted to her money. She lay back on the grass and stared up at the sky. In fact, she knew how much he loved her money because he spent it as if it were his own. He shopped for clothing more than she did, and they ate out three or four nights a week—all at her expense. And even though Daniel usually cooked the other nights and bought the groceries, he never looked at prices, coming home with cloth bags filled with the freshest, organic ingredients from the finest grocery stores and farmers’ markets. He wanted a car, to drive to his philosophy classes, and, he said, to whisk her away on weekends. But Charlotte had held out because she was secretly afraid that if she bought him one, he would drive out of her life.

And yet, she wondered, would she care if he left? Couldn’t she find another gorgeous body and face to replace his? Several men had propositioned her recently: Pete from the coffee shop; Juan, her yoga instructor; George, who owned the dealership where she’d bought her latest Mercedes. But she had playfully rebuffed their advances, mostly because they were married. The clandestine nature of a relationship with a married man was, at first, thrilling. And the sex was always fabulous, since most of the men had long ago lost any physical attraction to their middle-aged, muffin-top-waisted wives. The Sallys and the Pattys and the Joans and the Jennifers were all pretty and often charming—Charlotte ran into these women everywhere she went—but they were far more enthralled with their Range Rovers and their club luncheons than their husbands’ penises. What Charlotte needed, she concluded then and there, was a single man closer to her age. Not a flabby, balding CPA, but a trim, tanned, and devilishly handsome executive. She had the looks and the body, the snappy repartee, to entice a man in his fifties, but she knew that time was running out.

“Charlotte?” She looked up at the man calling her name and, for an instant, thought the gods had answered her plea. Standing before her was a muscular middle-aged man with deep blue eyes and blond hair combed back on his head. She blinked in the sunlight. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” said Charlotte, starting to get up. The man extended his hand and pulled her off the ground as easily as she had pulled on her shorts that morning.

“You probably don’t remember me,” he said. “I’m Steve Johanson.”

“Oh my God,” said Charlotte, “of course I remember you! What are you doing here?”

“I came down this morning. I’ve got to get some work done this weekend and there are just too many distractions at home.”

“Where’s home?”

“In the city. I’ve lived there for about two years now, since my divorce.”

“Oh, you’re divorced?”

“Yeah, marriage doesn’t seem to agree with me.”

“Me neither.”

“What are
you
doing here? I haven’t seen you in years.”

“We’re here for a reunion, of sorts,” said Charlotte, not wanting to go into the details of her mother’s illness, of her family issues. “My younger sister Helen organized it and insisted we comply.”

“That’s Helen for you. I run into her every now and again when we’re both here. She still looks like the ten-year-old I remember running around the beach.”

Charlotte laughed. “In many ways, she still is.”

“All of you are here?”

“Thomas comes today. We’ll be a houseful.”

“Who’s with you?”

“No one, really.” Charlotte was unexpectedly embarrassed about Daniel. “I brought a friend.”

“Where are you living?”

“San Francisco. For several years now.”

“Really? I’ve got several accounts there, so I’m out that way a few times a year. Can I call you?” Steve asked. “I mean, are you involved with anyone?”

“No one I can’t lose for an evening. I’d love to hear from you.”

Steve said good-bye and jogged down the road. He looked good, Charlotte decided as she watched him, in his navy blue shorts and white T-shirt. The muscles in his calves moved up and down as he ran. She would go out with him if he called. And if he didn’t call, she’d call him.