Louisa
Dear Daddy,says the letter Louisa finds the next morning.
Thank you for the picture of Gavin. He looks happy.
Last week I went to the Farnsworth with Granny and Mommy and also out to lunch at Atlantic Baking Company.
They were out of sourdough.
During lunch I asked Mommy when you are coming to Maine and she used her clipped voice and said STOP ASKING ME THAT ABIGAIL I DON’T HAVE AN ANSWER FOR EVERYTHING. I said she didn’t need to have an answer for everything just the one thing I asked and she said YOU DON’T ALWAYS NEED TO BE SO LITERAL ABIGAIL. I had to check the dictionary even though I was pretty sure I knew what she meant.
LITERAL means TENDING TO CONSTRUE WORDS IN A VERY STRICT WAY.
Do you think being literal is a bad thing? I DEFINITELY DO NOT.
Are you and Mommy going to get a divorce? When Shelby’s parents got a divorce Shelby got an Apple Watch and an iPhone for Christmas because her parents were NO LONGER COMMUNICATING and they were trying to BUY HER FAVOR. But even if I got an Apple Watch and an iPhone that wouldn’t be worth it to me. I would like everything to stay the way it is with no divorce. Don’t forget the lobster festival is in the first week of August.
Love,
Abigail
Every summer Annie purchases two mugs at the Damariscotta Pottery—one for Louisa to bring home for her own personal collection, and one to add to the open shelves in the kitchen in the Owls Head home. They have to make their Damariscotta trip on the early side of the season, because the stock sells out fast; by August there’ll be nothing left.
“Something on your mind, Louisa?” Annie asks as they drive out of Owls Head and onto Buttermilk Lane toward Route 1. When she was a child Buttermilk Lane always made Louisa crave pancakes. Come to think of it, she could go for a pancake right now.
Yes,thinks Louisa.Phoebe Richardson is on my mind. My book is on my mind. My career is on my mind.“Not a thing,” she says. She’ll write her pages (seven per day are now required) when she gets home. They’ll be back by early afternoon, and Pauline has agreed to keep an eye on everyone in their absence. (Feeling rebellious, Louisa has raised Matty’s wages to eleven dollars for the morning; Claire’s and Abigail’s have remained stagnant, and she hopes they don’t decide to unionize.)
The coast of Maine is littered with potteries of all shapes and sizes: some are tiny mom-and-pops, some are just moms, some are tourist traps. Damariscotta, with its giant splashes of color, itsintricate floral designs, is truly one of a kind. Louisa can tolerate a certain amount of chaos in her life—she learned long ago that life with three children meant thinking of most of their possessions as disposable—but her Damariscotta mugs are sacred. She treats them as though they are made of spun glass and eggshells. The children are not allowed to drink from them. Not until they are at least thirty years old, is what she tells them. What will happen if one of them breaks? they ask. I’ll never recover, she says. I’ll never, ever recover. She’s joking, but only sort of.
Pottery first, then the bookstore, then lunch at King Eider’s. This is always the way they do Damariscotta. Louisa leaves Phoebe in the car as she searches for her new mug. It has to fit her hand exactly and be capable of holding the perfect amount of coffee. The design has to be something not too similar to what she already has, but similar enough to fit in with its friends.
In the bookstore they browse the new release table, all of the books with their bright summer covers. Women in sun hats looking out at oceans. Women on beach chairs. Women poolside, telling secrets. (Did only women celebrate summer? Did only women tell secrets? You had to wonder.)
There’s a short wait at King Eider’s; they squeeze near the hostess stand, and Louisa studies her mother. Annie is wearing light pink lipstick and a sundress that goes to her knees. Flat sandals, a bracelet, earrings she bought from the Sissy Yates trunk show at the Knox Museum last summer. Louisa knows the earrings’ origin because her mother bought her a pair that day too—although today, like many days, she has forgotten to put in any earrings at all. Annie’s hair is perfect, while Louisa’s is in her summer bun, which means she hasn’t washed it for a few days. Next to her mother Louisa feels frumpy and unkempt, full of turmoil inside and out.
They sit; the server appears; they order. The blackened haddock sandwich for Louisa and the Pub Club for Annie. No mayo, obviously. Two iced teas. Annie is rummaging in her pocketbook,looking for her phone to check for messages from Barbara, when a piece of paper falls out and pinwheels itself to the ground.
“Never mind that, Louisa,” she says, though Louisa is bending already. “Just leave it.” Her voice, suddenly sharp, startles Louisa, and she picks the paper up anyway. On the front of the pamphlet, she reads these words:Green Pastures: Memory Care for the Ones You Love. Under the words, a silver-haired woman in a cardigan is staring off into space with a pleasant, vacant expression on her face. Behind her stands a man with a tidy haircut—former military, maybe—and his hand on the woman’s shoulder. The woman’s hand is covering the man’s hand; they look very cozy, like the pot roast is in the oven and they have just enough time for a cocktail before it comes out.
Louisa studies the pamphlet, her heartbeat picking up. She glances at Annie, who has her eyes narrowed and a strange expression on her face, part recalcitrance, part terror.
“Mom,” Louisa says. “What’s this?”
Just then their food arrives. They make themselves busy with accepting it and Annie spends some time centering her plate on her place mat. Finally she rearranges her face into something grave and says, “I put down a deposit.”
Louisa’s stomach plummets. She turns the pamphlet over. “Where is it?”
“Portland. The doctors think by this time next year your father will be—more comfortable with round-the-clock residential care. And there’s a place I can live there too, a separate residential area, so I can be with him.”
“Nextyear?” Louisa feels like someone has snatched her breath. “That soon?”
“Yes. It’s not all that soon, when you think about it. One of the issues for patients like your father is getting him in before hereallyneeds the care but not so soon that he’s unwilling to accept the change in circumstances.”
A long pause ensues. Louisa picks at her sandwich, not wanting to meet her mother’s eyes.
“Louisa.”
Louisa looks up.
