Twenty-Seven
July 12, 1952
Did I ever tell you about the first time I saw the house?
Some people will say I wasn’t old enough to remember arriving. But I do. I remember other scenes, too, scenes too sad to relate, and this was the first good memory in a long time.
The social worker held my hand. She must have been well-intentioned to have taken her job, but mostly I remember her as having a brash accent, square jaw, and little patience. She’d scolded me nonstop since we’d left the city, and had for some unknown reason become convinced I meant to foil her care by diving off the ferry.
“Usually, the family is at the New York house,” she’d told me. But not during the summer. They’d offered to have the nanny and chauffeur pick me up at the wharf, but the social worker wasn’t giving up her chance to see Golden Doors, so we loaded ourselves into a car and wound our way up the island. Past those trees wizened by salt and sea, past the Portuguese hydrangeas. I’d already been in so many worlds—New York City and Paris and home—and here was another one.
The house came into view. You know how it does, unveiled like the brass sounding their horns in Holst’s “Jupiter.” I’d never seen something so stately yet so undeniably American. These were the people who planned to take me in? What could I possibly have in common with them?
A woman opened the door. She crouched down, eyes at my level. “Hello,” she said, speaking in German, though her accent was poor and I could have understood hello, at least, in English. But she’d learned these phrases for me, to make me feel more comfortable. “You must be Ruth. I’m Eva. Welcome home.”
Mom showed up on the next ferry.
“You didn’t have to come,” I said as she descended onto the docks, but then I hugged her tightly and didn’t let go. She smelled like Pert shampoo and Tom’s soap, like home and safety.
“Of course I did.” She cupped my cheek in one hand while trying to smooth out a line in my brow with the other.
“But you don’t take boats.” She’dnevertaken boats, not once in my entire memory. Shehatedboats.
“I’m an adult, you know. I can take boats.”
“But youdon’t.” My voice wobbled embarrassingly.
“Oh, sweetie.” She pulled me close again, and the tears shook out of me as I clung to her. “You poor thing.”
“I really liked him,” I whispered into her chest.
“I know you did.”
Mom’s presence salved the deep, constant hurt pulsing through me. She was better than chocolate, better than books. We went to the inn where she was staying and ordered pizza and watched13 Going on 30on TV.
She’d be staying for three nights, before we both went home. I wanted to show her Nantucket—showoffNantucket. In the morning, I led her from shop to café to beach. “I can’t believe you spent all summer here,” she said as we walked barefoot along Jetties Beach, the water lapping at our feet. She walked higher on the wet sand thanI did, only occasionally getting licked by the tides, while I sloshed through the water.
“Isn’t it gorgeous?” It was a stunning late August day, with enough of a hint of chill in the air to be reminded fall would soon arrive. “Wasn’t it a good idea for me to come here?”
She scoffed and bumped me gently.
“Itwas,” I pressed. “But you were so against me coming. How come?”
“Oh, honey.” She stopped walking and stroked my hair. “You were so upset earlier this summer. I didn’t want you to be upset far away from me, where I couldn’t hug you when you got sad. You’re leaving so soon, anyway, for college—I don’t want you to leave me. I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want to not be able to protect you.”
“Oh.” I felt small and ashamed. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Of course I do. I’m your mother. I’m always going to worry about you.”
I hugged her, quick and impulsive. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
In the afternoon, I took her to the Prose Garden, and introduced her to Maggie and Liz. Then Jane met us for ice cream, and we told Mom a curated list of the best summer moments. Sans Noah, of course.
Mom let my boy-exclusions pass until dinner. The two of us ate at one of the bougie restaurants I’d eyed all summer, with tables on a deck overlooking the ocean. Umbrellas provided shade and flowers twined up against the railing.
“Why did you two break up?” she asked. “You seemed so happy.”
