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things don’t matter . . .” he begins, but the words seem to get stuck in his throat. He tries again, and eventually they loosen.
“They don’t matter, because the buyer will most likely be building from scratch.”
“Building from scratch?” asks Natalie. “What does that mean?”
Jordan puts her phone down, raises her sunglasses, and regards her sisters. “Come on, Natalie. You’re smart enough to know
what he’s saying. Whoever buys this house is going to demolish and rebuild. Right, Dad? Isn’t that what you’re saying?”
Calvin nods. “I’m saying that’s the most likely scenario.”
“What?” screeches Mae.
Natalie turns to Jordan. “Why do you know that and we don’t?”
“I didn’t know,” say Jordan. “I just figured. Because it makes sense, from a practical point of view.”
“Practical,” spits Natalie, like she’s saying rat poison.
“Dad?” says Mae in a quavery voice. “I don’t get it. What’s going on?”
“What’s going on,” says Calvin, “is basically our old friend climate change. FEMA has adjusted the flood maps of areas like
this, so when a home changes ownership, and the new owner plans significant renovation, they must bring the home up to code.
For a house this old—it’s almost as old as I am—it makes much more sense to demolish and rebuild than to try to get up to
code.”
“You’re going to tear down Mom’s house?” cries Natalie.
“I’m not going to—”
“Wait!” says Mae. “If that happens only when a house changes hands, why aren’t we keeping it for as long as we can? And using it, just as it is?”
“I bet it’s not that simple,” says Jordan, and Natalie and Mae turn on her so fast that it feels like they’re each flicking
a forked serpent’s tongue at her.
“Oh, yeah?” spits Natalie. “Why don’t you explain why it’s not that simple?”
“The money, for one thing,” says Jordan. “As discussed. Duh.”
“I’ll explain,” says Calvin. “Jordan’s right. If we were to do that, never mind all of the reasons we’ve already discussed
about not being able to use it, and yes, needing the money, chances are that sooner rather than later we’d sustain damage
from a major storm, and without flood insurance, which we can no longer get, we’d be left with nothing. This way, we get the
value of the house and the land, and whoever buys and rebuilds can rebuild to current code, raising it above the tide line
to withstand inevitable tidal issues.”
“See?” says Jordan. “Practical.”
“I’m sorry, girls. I should have explained this when I first told you about the house. But I figured, all in good time. I
thought we’d get to it.”
“We got to it, alright,” says Natalie. “I can’t believe this.”
Kara walks up the stairs from the beach right then, a pair of binoculars swinging. “Hey, everyone! What’s going on out here?
Should I grab a bottle of rosé and some glasses?”
“Can we call Daddy?” Scarlett asks Natalie, when they go upstairs to get Caspian from his nap.
“Sure,” says Natalie, ungently. She’s already feeling combative, but the kids want to talk to their father. “Of course we
can call Daddy.” She looks at her watch. “Maybe we’ll catch him in the house before the evening milking.”
“I want to call Daddy too,” says Evangeline, popping out of Mae’s room, closing the door quietly, presumably so Leo doesn’t
wake from his own nap. Natalie bends down to pick up a tuft of Cinnamon’s fur, then, remembering that Mae said Kara is allergic,
decides to leave it. It’s a childish gesture, and it’s also satisfying.
She dials their home number and hands the phone to Scarlett while she changes Caspian’s diaper. Scarlett tells Austin about
a starfish with a missing arm she found, about the smoothie she’d had from Sandpiper, about her sandcastle with two turrets.
Evangeline takes the phone next, puts it on speaker, and goes into a long story about how to teach a dog to spin.
“To spin, like, a web?”
Evangeline giggles. “No, Daddy, to spin around in circles.” Caspian, freshly changed, holds out two hands for the phone and
Evangeline gives it to him. He licks it.
Finally it’s Natalie’s turn. She asks Evangeline and Scarlett to help Caspian down the stairs, sits on the bed, and says, “You didn’t answer my last text about the article. Did you read it?”
“Hello to you too, babe,” he says.
“Sorry, I mean hi, but did you read the article?” On Austin’s end she hears water running in the sink, the tick of one of
the burners on her baby-blue stove coming on.
“I saw it! The photos came out great.”
Is he really so oblivious?
“But did you read it? Did you see the ‘barefoot and pregnant’ thing?”
“Sure, yeah. Nat—I don’t think it’s a big deal.”
“Bethany thinks it’s a big deal! She’s been tracking the responses online. People are backlashing hard. My follower number
has dropped every day this week. The comments are awful.”
“Who’s Bethany?”
“The publicist I hired six months ago!” She definitely told Austin when she hired Bethany. “She says that one quote ruined
the whole article. You must see that?”
“I’ve been busy here, Natalie. I haven’t really thought about it that much. One of the Ladies has a prolapsed uterus—”
She can’t reach him. It’s like they’re on opposite sides of a giant lake, whispering at each other. “But have you thought
at all? Have you thought about what you said? Or why?”
Something metal clatters into her farmhouse sink (nothing, she hopes, that will scratch it). “I mean, when that reporter was
here, I opened my mouth and that’s what came out.” She can picture him shrugging his infuriatingly strong shoulders. “It was
a joke. I didn’t think it would be anything.”
“Well, it is something! It’s the whole story!” Her voice is raised now, and they might be able to hear her on the patio, but she can’t stop. “People think I’m some kind
of—childbearing machine. And seriously, Austin, barefoot? What the hell? Our brand is about traditional families, and raising our children with care and consideration, and not, like, randomly spitting
out babies!” She’s so angry she could scream. Everything she’s cultivated, all of the care she’s taken, and he can’t see how it’s ruined.
How he’s ruined it!
But then there is a pause, and in that pause a great uncertainty blooms. “Our brand?” says Austin. His voice sounds different now, not breezy, not carefree.
Natalie swallows hard. “Yes.”
“I thought we were a family, not a brand.”
“You know what I mean. Of course we’re a family.”
Austin sighs, and it’s a sigh that contains a little bit of everything: hurt and confusion and disappointment and maybe a
little bit of fatigue. “Nat, I have to get ready for the 5 p.m. milking. Tell the girls it was great to talk to them. I love
hearing their voices.”
“Wait!” she says. Her heart is in her throat. “Wait, Austin!”
But he’s gone.
Later that evening, after they’ve eaten the burgers Calvin grilled, after Natalie has not said out loud that two burgers in two days might be a lot for someone her dad’s age, after they’ve cleaned up, Natalie puts
Mae in charge of Caspian and walks the girls down to the water to look for shells. She feels terrible about so many different
things that she’s not even sure which one is taking the lead. She turns and sees her father standing next to her, his arms
crossed, his chin lifted, his eyes closed. It’s the posture of a sun worshipper, but behind them the sun is going down, and
the sky over the water is beginning to change color.
He’s appeared like a ghost, and maybe he is a ghost: the ghost of summers past.
“Dad?” She almost expects to see Theresa standing next to him in the navy-blue one-piece she had for at least ten years, and over it a long-sleeved gauzy white shirt, the sleeves rolled up.
The girls are a little way down the beach; she can see the curve of their pale necks as they search the sand.
They know when they get to the yellow house they must turn around, and she sees Evangeline look up to make sure they haven’t gone too far.
Calvin starts, as though surprised to find her there, to find himself there.
“Oh, hello. Listen, Natalie, I was thinking—”
“Dad, I can’t do this now.” It’s killing her to think that her daughters won’t be doing this walk into their teen years and
beyond. It’s double killing her to think of the house itself not existing as they know it, replaced by some hulk of a thing
that will strain against the property lines and have no character, no memory of the Shipman family, no association with the
Beach Club or Theresa’s parents or any part of the past.
“No. No, it’s not about the house. I was just talking to Kara, and we were wondering if the three of you might want to go
out on the town tonight.”
“The three of us . . . ?” This is so unexpected for a few immediate reasons—she’s angry with Jordan, she can’t imagine her
father watching her kids without Theresa, and also, she is no longer a person who “goes out on the town,” unless you count
her weekly dinner dates with Austin—that she finds herself needing to make a joke instead of answering seriously. “Scarlett
and Evangeline and me? I mean, I could ask, but I don’t think they brought their fake IDs.”
Calvin blinks at her, then, after a beat, he chuckles: when you dad-joke a dad, sometimes it’s confusing. “You and your sisters.
Kara and I would be delighted to watch the kids.”
“All of them? Even Caspian?”
“Yes, of course even Caspian. Especially Caspian. He gives me a much-needed dose of male energy.”
She snorts. “If that’s what you want to call it. But his diapers are something else. Are you sure you’re up for it? Should we check with Kara?”
“Kara sent me out here to ask you.”
This stymies Natalie. “She did? Does Kara know about the diapers?” Even as she says this she realizes that’s not the smartest thing she’s ever said. “Right,”
she says. “Kara’s a nurse. I don’t think bodily functions are a thing of horror to her.”
“Exactly. And, it would make me happy to see you girls have some time together. If nothing else, do it for me.”