Chapter 7 #2
I think of the young, promising athlete. Those old Adidas posters of the twenty-year-old prodigy on the road to Wimbledon. A road that got cratered a decade ago, only a few years into his career.
“Hey, by the way, I’m here if you want to talk.” Matt’s voice is low. “About what happened with Babe. She was so young, and the way she went was—”
“Here you go.” Sammie sets down a perfect Americano. Dense brown with the thick, tan crema on top.
“Thanks.” Then to Matt, “I’m okay, really. Thank you, though.”
Sammie sits down at the other end of the table and squints out at the water.
Matt clears his throat. “So what do you think you want to do about the house? Any first impressions?”
“Oh, we can’t possibly get rid of it,” Sammie insists. “It’s home.”
“I think we sell it, split whatever it makes, and then it’s over.”
Sammie shakes her head and leans back in her chair. “I don’t want that.”
It’s not surprising at all that we’re at an immediate stalemate.
“What happens if we can’t agree?” I ask.
“Not sure. There’s more paperwork to be delivered on Sunday, after we’ve met the requirements of staying the weekend.
I’m sure we’ll get more information, but in the meantime, we should really try to be unanimous.
Which … really only means the two of you need to agree.
I’m with Austin, we’ll do whatever you want. ”
Sammie fidgets and then gets up. “I’m going to go swim.” Then to me, she snarks, “Is that okay with you?”
“It was the middle of the night, Sammie. That’s the only reason I—”
“Mom would have let me do it.”
“No one should be letting you do anything, you’re an adult!” We both see that I accidentally backed myself into her point, not my own. She grins, and I sigh. “Whatever, it’s not the same thing! What time is it, by the way?”
“No idea. There’s not a single clock in this house.” Matt sits back in his chair.
“Wait, really?”
“Nope. Even the oven is too old school to have a clock on it. Trust me, I checked.”
“What about the TV?” I get a chill thinking of the TV and its proximity to Babe’s body.
“No cable at all, not even basic channels.”
“I kinda like it.” Sammie then takes off down the loud wooden steps and makes her way across the sand to the water, her hair swept up in the breeze.
Then, speaking gently, Matt asks, “You and Sam … when was the last time you two talked? Like, really talked?”
I don’t answer, but he correctly reads my facial expression.
“Not since…?”
“Yeah. Not really.”
“What?”
“Ow, Daddy.” Nora presses her ear to her shoulder.
“Sorry, honey.” Then to me, “Not even about everything with your mom?”
I hesitate. I don’t want to tell him that Sammie tried. Or, more rightly, I don’t want to tell him I ignored her calls.
“Do you remember how you two used to be?” asks Matt after a moment. When I’m silent, he says, “Because I do.”
Of course I do remember. I remember how we all used to be.
“I remember,” I concede.
There’s a knock on the front door, and Birdie appears from somewhere in the house to bark.
“I got it.” I stand and Birdie stops her barking, wagging her tail.
I open the front door to find a woman with a shock of short, white hair and enormous, thick, bug-eye glasses on, holding a large, overfull basket of goodies. I recognize her, I think, but can’t place her.
“Morning!” she says, brightly, as she then marches right into the house.
I follow the woman into the kitchen, catching her clean scent of soap and lemons.
“I’m sorry, I’m having trouble placing you—”
“Yes, of course, hon, don’t you remember me? Gladys from just up the road. I was afraid you wouldn’t recognize me without the red hair.”
I stare at her for a second, and then it comes back to me like a slap of salt water to the face. I smile. “Oh my god, Gladys! Duh, of course, I’m sorry!”
She chuckles and pinches me on the cheek. “It’s so good to see you back here, again.” She flattens soft fingers against my face. With raised eyebrows that immediately make me feel a little shamed, she says, “Been a long time, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am.” My polite, Southern roots back at the very sight of a respected elder.
She smiles back, and then gives me a light slap on the cheek before spotting Matt.
“And you’ve come back, please tell me that little girl is with you.” She looks past him and waves at Nora as she gives him a hug.
“You’re as gorgeous as ever,” he kisses her on the cheek.
“Oh, you.”
It’s unbelievable that I didn’t recognize Gladys, who has always been iconic.
Her hair used to be maraschino cherry red, her glasses thinner in frame, her face less lined.
She’s a widow who moved to the island in the early nineties, buying a little beach house with the money from her husband’s life insurance policy.
She was an English teacher, and it shows.
This woman can make a grown man put himself in time-out with the lift of an eyebrow.
“All right.” Gladys rolls up the sleeves further on her crisp, flawless white button-down. “We’ve got a few things in here that require explanation.”
She goes through the basket she came in with, telling us about the fudge from Willy’s, the salt water taffy and sour belts from Candyland, the popcorn from Colonel Kernel’s (butter, cheese, and kettle), a bottle of sauvignon blanc from Glinda’s Good Wine, and a selection of Fromager d’Affinois, Gruyère, pecorino (and more), plus crackers and a baguette from Holey Cheese.
She warns us that the taffy will pull out any and all fillings and that the cheese must be room temperature, she was sent with strict instructions.
“This is so nice, you didn’t have to do this.”
“I didn’t. Babe did. Arranged for it before she died. Though of course, not a single business would let her pay. If you make it into town, I bet you’ll have a hard time paying for a drink.”
For some reason, this, of all things, makes me want to cry.
“Gladys?” A small voice comes from the porch, and we all turn to see damp, sandy-footed Sammie.
Gladys always had a soft spot for her, and she opens her arms and says, “Samantha Marie, come here this instant.”
She doesn’t think twice about soaking Gladys with the ocean water carried on her skin and in her bikini. I imagine countless former students would sooner die than even witness such a thing, but Gladys just laughs and pats her on the back.
I find myself wanting to implore her for support. Gladys, will you please tell Sammie it’s not okay to swim in the ocean alone at night?
I am certain she’d agree with me. But I manage to control myself.
“I’ll let you get back to your Saturday,” says Gladys. Her eyes catch on the open door to the den. “Good lord, is that your mother in there?”
We all turn toward the casket.
“Yes,” I say. I want to explain more, but can’t quite find the words.
Your mother has been dead, but I loved her!
Giulia’s sort-of words ring in my head.
“I thought she was going to be cremated.” Gladys glances between us all.
Sammie puts both hands up, like thank you.
“Guess not.” I give a helpless shrug.
Gladys tuts. “She loved a bit of attention, didn’t she?” She then turns her gaze back on each of us once. “I hope you make the most of your time here. Your generation is in such a hurry. We thought we were stressed in the sixties.”
I want her to stay and make me lunch and tell me everything’s going to be okay. To stay, and be the adult so that I don’t have to.
Yes, I do know my problem. Mommy issues, surprise, surprise. I just can’t fix it.
“Drop by if you need anything,” she says. “I’m just a quick walk through the dunes.”
The door shuts behind her and I stare at the casket in the den.
What the hell was your plan, Babe?