27.
Louisa
“There’s an errand I need you to do for me please, Louisa.” It’s early, and Louisa is drinking coffee on the porch. Annie is uncharacteristically not yet dressed for the day; she’s wearing her rose-colored robe printed very faintly with peonies. Her hair is as smooth and perfect as ever, but without makeup, without jewelry, she looks older, and tired, and not quite like herself. Louisa thinks of their conversation over the fruit and softens.
“Sure,” says Louisa. “What is it?”
“I want you to find Kristie and give this to her.” From the pocket of the peony robe Annie produces a plain white envelope, with Kristie’s first and last name written on it in Annie’s tidy script.
Louisa takes the envelope. “What’s in here? A cease-and-desist?”
Annie turns and leans on the porch railing. Louisa rises to join her. The sky is a soft pink, bordered along the edges with violet. The Vinalhaven ferry hasn’t started running yet, nor have thetours from Camden to Rockland. Louisa can hear the approach of a lobster boat, though, one of the few that drop their traps in this water, and when the motor cuts they can hear the voices of the captain and the sternman, every third word snatched by the wind.
Annie takes a long time to answer. Louisa waits and watches the lobstermen pull a trap. This is her favorite time of day out here, the pinking of the ocean, the gentle slap of the water against the rocks. Then again she also loves twilight. She loves to watch the sun setting over Rockland, when the sky catches fire. And midday, when the kids swim in the bright heat and the bay is busy with boat traffic and there are kayaks and ferries and sailboats. She loves waking in the night too, especially when it’s foggy and the foghorn lulls her back to sleep. Each time of day is her favorite time of day here. The thought that this may be her last summer with all of these moments is unfathomable.
“It’s a check,” says Annie finally.
“A check for what?” Louisa’s heart goes pitter-patter and she whispers, “A check forhow much?”
“Never you mind how much,” says Annie. “No more questions, please, Louisa, just bring it to her. Sooner than later.”
Telling Louisa “no more questions” is like putting a plate of Godiva truffles in front of Abigail and saying, “No more chocolates.”
“But for what?” Louisa asks. “Did she ask you for money?”
“No.” Annie bites her lip and turns her head toward Louisa, and Louisa sees tears spring into her eyes. “I’d rather not go into it right now, Louisa, if you don’t mind.”
The motor on the lobster boat starts again, and off it goes.
“But Idowant to go into it,” says Louisa. “I want to know.”
Annie pulls the belt of her robe tighter around her slim waist. Are her hands shaking slightly? Louisa isn’t sure. “Sooner than later,” she repeats. “In fact today would be wonderful. Thank you.”
Annie walks—no, sheglides!—to the screen door, and then she glides through, closing it quietly behind her.
Louisa stomps her foot once, then because it feels right, again. She’s a full-fledged adult. She’s almost forty! She has brought up three children almost halfway. She’s been married so long her marriage has even had time to launch itself occasionally onto the rocks. And yet sometimes even then when you are home and your mother refuses to tell you something that you really reallyreallywant to know you might still feel like a child, chastised and excluded.
Besides. Louisa has a vested interest in the answer to this question! How much moneydidAnnie give Sheila and Kristie over the years? How much is she giving her now? If there had never been a need for those quarterly checks—seventy-two of them!—would Ships View now be in jeopardy?
Louisa holds the envelope to the light. It’s impenetrable. Annie of course would have folded a sheet of plain paper around the check, a relic from pre-Venmo, pre-online-banking days.
Later, Louisa gathers her sunglasses, her car keys, the envelope containing Annie’s check, and a bottle of water. She heads out the front door. The day is hot, with very little breeze coming off the water. Each summer they have spent at Owls Head has been marked by some particular event. There was the summer Matty, age six, got sick at the all-you-can-eat pancake breakfast at the Lobster Festival. There was the summer Steven took the double kayak to Treasure Island with Abigail and had to wait four hours for the wind to shift before returning. She supposes that this summer will come to be known as the summer she confronts her father’s daughter.
“Wait!” Claire is behind her. “Wait, Mommy, where are you going? I want to come.”
Louisa turns. “I just have to do a little errand. Where are the others?”
“Abigail is reading. I don’t know where Matty is. I can’t find him.”
“Well—make Abigail stop reading and play with you.” (Whatkind of a mother tells a child to make another childstop reading? Louisa is officially beginning to lose it.)
“She won’t. I tried.” Claire’s lower lip juts out and begins a slow tremble. “Are you going to town? Will you take me to Wasses? Pleeease. Please. We haven’t been all summer. And I am starving.” She flings herself dramatically on top of the large flat rock in the center of the lawn. Danny, weeding one of the side gardens, smiles at her.
“You’re not starving—” begins Louisa.
Claire cuts her off. “I know, I know. Only people without food are starving. But I’m really hungry. Please please please take me to Wasses.”
Louisa considers her youngest daughter, crossing the fingers on both of her hands, waiting for Louisa to decide. How powerless children are, dependent on adults for the fulfillment of every wish! Wassesisa favorite summertime tradition. And Louisadidbring Abigail to the Farnswoth already. And shehadfelt bad, after the fact, about leaving Abigail behind when she went walking with Detective Mark Harding earlier in the month.
