The Summer of Good Intentions (25 page)

Cleaning usually helped her feel better, but she knew she was being short with everyone today. She might as well be tossing her emotions while she dressed the salad. Earlier she'd scolded Luke for a minor infraction.

“Honestly, Luke, can't you pick up your own socks?” she'd asked when she was doing a sweep of the living room. “I don't know how many dirty socks I've picked up this vacation. There's a hamper—conveniently located in your bedroom, I might add—that you can toss them into at the end of the day.” She was sick of tidying up after everyone. And the water glasses! How many glasses could she be expected to wash a day? They were constantly running out, no matter how many times she ran the dishwasher.

“Yeah, Luke,” Lexie said. “You're such a slob.”

That got her. “And, you, missy!” Maggie pointed an accusing finger. “Don't pretend you're not a culprit here, too. Dirty clothes in the hamper, wet suits on the deck. I shouldn't have to remind you girls, you're old enough now. And when you open up a box of cereal, please,
please
reseal the package. Otherwise everything goes stale.” She was a wrecking ball, picking up speed. Why did everyone expect her to magically take care of everything with the wave of her wand?
Because it was what she'd always done
. “I swear you kids think we're your maids. Someday this house will be yours and you'll be responsible for keeping it clean, yelling at
your
kids!” She'd meant it as a threat, but she realized she'd spoken out of turn. This wasn't her house to give; it was her parents'.

And then Lexie and Sophie had gotten into an argument over whose turn it was on the hammock. Between two white oaks on the side of the house stretched a rope hammock where the kids liked to read and nap. Maggie had been hauling out the trash, wondering why she hadn't assigned this chore to one of the kids, when she caught sight of the girls. Sophie appeared to be hanging on to the hammock for dear life while Lexie swung it as high as it would go. Maggie was about to yell at them to stop fooling around when Sophie screamed, “Lexie, stop it! I was here first!” Only too late did Maggie realize it was a full-blown fight, one that ended with Lexie slugging her sister with a tight little fist.

“Ow!” Sophie wailed, grabbing her arm, and fell off the hammock.

“Alexandra Ann McNeil!” Maggie dropped the trash and raced over to grab her daughter by the shoulders. “Don't you ever hit your sister like that again!” She searched for the words. “What were you thinking? Unacceptable!” She dragged Lexie into the house and hauled her up to the kids' bedroom, where she slammed the door, her hands shaking. She leaned against the wall, her heart racing, and tried to slow her breathing. Where was Mac? She could hear Lexie bawling. She needed reinforcements here.

“Honey?” Mac called up the stairs. “Everything okay?”

She almost laughed. “Um, no? Everything is most definitely not okay. Your daughter just punched Sophie.” She heard Mac thunder up the stairs.

“Let me talk to her,” he said, and she could tell by the look on his face that it was a conversation they both might live to regret. He reached for the door handle.

“Hold on a sec,” Maggie said, thinking, buying time. “Let's pull ourselves together before we go in there. I think we're all on edge after last night's debacle.”

“What the hell was she thinking?” For a man whose job demanded violence, Mac was intolerant of any in his own home. “Is Sophie okay?”

“I think so,” Maggie said, but she couldn't really be sure. Her focus had been trained on Lexie. As if she'd heard them, Sophie stormed up the stairs. “I hate her!” she yelled. “I really hate her!” She darted into their room, threw herself on the bed, and burst into tears.

Maggie shook her head. “Well, there's your answer.” She waited. “You want to take Soph and I'll try Lex?”

“Really?” Mac eyed her. “You sure you don't want me to be the heavy here?”

“Let me try first,” Maggie said and let herself into the girls' room, pulling the door closed behind her. She sat down on the bed next to her daughter, whose head was buried in a pillow. Maggie ran her fingers through her hair. “Lex?”

Lexie rolled over, revealing a splotchy red face soaked in tears. “I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't mean it. Is Sophie okay?”

Maggie handed her a tissue. “I think she'll survive, but honestly, Lexie, what were you thinking? Why are you so mad?”

“I don't know.” She sniffled into her Kleenex. “It just kind of happened.”

“But, honey, it's not like you to slug your sister. What's going on? Is there something else? Is it this Matt boy? You haven't been yourself all summer.”

She shrugged. Maggie combed her daughter's hair behind her ears with her fingers. “Do you really miss him that much?”

Lexie shrugged again. “Not anymore, I guess.”

Maggie searched her daughter's face. “Not anymore? What does that mean?”

Lexie started to cry again. “He broke up with me!” She buried her face in her pillow again. “In a text.” Maggie's heart tugged for her daughter. Her thoughts raced from
What a jerk!
to
Poor Lexie.

“Oh, honey, I'm sorry.” She rubbed between her daughter's shoulder blades. “Any boy who breaks up with you doesn't deserve you.” She wondered how many more conversations like this they would have. She wished her daughters could be spared the kind of heartbreak that left a girl desolate, feeling as if she couldn't bear to fall in love ever again. Maggie didn't think Lexie had been dating this boy very long, maybe a couple of weeks? Though she understood all too well that in tween years, a few weeks could feel like months.

Eventually, Lexie calmed down. She found her way to her sister, who was still lying on her parents' bed, and apologized. “Your punishment, young lady,” Mac said, “is to make your sister's bed for the rest of vacation.” Lexie groaned, but within a matter of minutes, the girls were back to being friends and headed downstairs to hunt for shells on the beach. Maggie marched down to the kitchen and posted a new hammock schedule on the wall by the door. Why hadn't she thought of it earlier? From now on, people would need to reserve their hammock time in half-hour increments. She hesitated a moment, then wrote her own name in the first slot for today.

Upstairs she tugged off her smoky clothes and pulled on a bathing suit.

“Mommy!” Luke shouted, need laced in each syllable, when he spotted her coming down the stairs.

“Sorry, honey. I'm going for a quick dip before I rest on the hammock. Ask your aunties or daddy to help.”

“Mommy, can I come?” His words trailed after her as she edged out the sliding door and onto the deck. She pretended not to hear.
There it was.
She could see her spot of tranquillity on the edge of the dock, beckoning in a slant of late-afternoon sun. The water was a steely blue, the waves lapping up on the beach leaving little eddies behind before rolling back out to sea. She tiptoed around the beach toys littering the sand. Behind her, she overheard Mac coaxing Luke back inside: “Let's give Mommy some alone time, okay?”

She crossed their small private beach and walked onto the dock, the steel planks hot beneath her feet. Now that the crisis with the twins was resolved, she could turn her attention to what was really bothering her. She knew what they had to do: they needed to arrange an intervention for her father. Virgie had sought her out in a panic earlier this afternoon. She'd had a weird conversation with Arthur, almost as if he were stuck in time, replaying the teakettle incident in his mind. It appeared that the fire had jostled his confusion even further. He was ailing, and Maggie had known it. But she'd put on blinders, trying not to see. The teapot incident had been her wake-up call, Virgie's secret conversation in her bedroom the final straw. They'd all been in denial. No one wanted to admit that Arthur was getting old, needed their help. And Maggie felt responsible. Even Mac had agreed with her last night, when they spoke privately in their bedroom: Arthur shouldn't be left alone with the kids, maybe shouldn't be left alone at all. The man was seventy-two, Mac gently reminded her. Maybe after the summer, Arthur would consider moving in with them in Windsor.

Maggie felt a small shudder at the idea. She'd felt sorry for her dad this vacation, resolving to do better by him and include him more in the family. But inviting him to live with them? She wasn't sure she could handle it. Her dad hadn't been the easiest person to live with growing up. What would make her think it would be different now? It could, quite possibly, be worse. And the clutter that seemed to follow him wherever he went these days was enough to give her pause. One day, when she'd gone to retrieve a ball behind the shed, she'd stumbled upon his car. Upon his arrival, Arthur had parked it there out of sight, but Maggie was stunned to see the backseat swimming in newspapers, tools, clothing, empty pizza boxes, all sorts of things that appeared to be, frankly, junk.

“Dad, how about we clean out your car after supper?” she asked one night at the dinner table. “We could help,” she offered.

Arthur set down his hamburger and swallowed. “I think,” he said, regarding all the adults at the table, “some people should mind their own business.” He helped himself to more corn. Mac telegraphed her a look, as if to say,
Best to let it lie
. But it irked her. Her dad could at least
try
to keep up appearances. She and her sisters all exchanged glances, while Gloria rolled her eyes. Maggie had meant to revisit it, but here they were, the house practically burnt down. She cast her eyes out over the water and dove in, the cold stroking her skin. Slowly, she surfaced and breathed, then began to put one arm in front of the other, cupping the water as she'd done thousands of times before, ladling up all the courage she could.

Maggie glanced down at the salad
she'd been tossing in her stupor. The green leaves appeared wilted from overdressing. She set down the tongs and carried the wooden bowl to the dining table. Someone had already laid out plastic plates and silverware. Mac had suggested they eat out for dinner tonight, but now she was glad she'd insisted on staying in. The rest of the kitchen was still functioning, after all, and she was reluctant to leave the house alone so soon, as if it were a child in need of watching. So, they'd compromised, ordering the family fish fry.

There was the crunch of gravel as the car pulled into the driveway. A door slammed, then another. The husbands carried big brown bags filled with their supper, the children following them like puppies. Everyone scrambled for a place at the table. The scent of fried fish mingling with the earthy smells of sweat and suntan lotion wafted up. It had been a difficult twenty-four hours, Maggie thought, but they'd made it.

Arthur came to the table, and she watched while he slowly lowered himself into a chair. He'd been quiet all day, as if he suddenly didn't belong here, even declining her offer of a freshly squeezed lemonade. Maggie had pulled him aside at one point to reassure him that it was all right, he needed to let the whole incident go. But he claimed he wasn't feeling well and retired to a room upstairs.

“So, I was thinking,” Virgie began, passing a plate of French fries, “that I might stay another week if that's all right with everyone. See that Boston doctor after all.” Maggie gave her a smile. She and Virgie had already discussed this plan. Virgie would keep her appointment in Boston next week, and Maggie would drive her up. In the meantime, they'd try to schedule an appointment for Arthur as well.

“That's great.” Mac was the first to jump in.

“Good for you,” Jess said. “Get a clean bill of health while you're here. Besides, you should take a little more time for yourself. You work way too hard.” There was a pause while everyone ate. A bitter-sweetness flavored the evening. Jess, Tim, and the kids were headed back tomorrow, as well as Gloria and Gio. The old gang was breaking up for another summer.

“I've been thinking, too,” Jess continued. “What if the kids and I stayed on a little longer?” She studied the rest of the table. “Tim and I were talking. He needs to get back to work, but there's no reason Grace, Teddy, and I couldn't stay a bit longer. Assuming that's okay with you, Maggie?” She fastened her gaze on Maggie.

“Yes!” shouted the kids. “Can we, Auntie Maggie?” Grace asked.

“Can they?” her daughters pleaded. As much as she wanted everyone to stay longer, Maggie felt slightly trapped. Why would Jess ask her in front of the kids? She knew it would be impossible to say no.

“Well,” she began, but Gloria interrupted her.

“Hey, don't forget about us old fogies,” she said. She reached across the table and patted Maggie's hand. “Gio and I might prolong our stay, too. Turns out our hotel has some openings next week. Guess it pays to stay at the middle-of-the-pack places.”

Tree Pose,
Maggie thought.
Calm breezes off the water. Breathe.
This was precisely what she'd been hoping for, wasn't it? Everyone vacationing on the Cape for the entire month of July. Then why was she feeling stressed, as if she was about to sign up for more heartache, more babysitting, more worry? She glanced at Mac, then her dad. A veiled silence hung over the table while everyone waited for her to speak.

“Of course,” she said finally. “It would be wonderful to have you all stay for as long as you like. Besides, you hardly have to ask. It's everyone's house. It's the
summer
house.”

Cheers went up from the kids, and Virgie clapped. Luke and Teddy exchanged high fives. Mac grinned, and Maggie smiled back, hoping like hell she hadn't just made the worst mistake of the entire vacation.