“Are you ill?” asks Natalie. “Are you dying of consumption?”
Caspian pats his sister on the leg and says, “Lett.”
“I don’t think so,” says Scarlett, but she sounds uncertain. “What’s consumption?”
“Doesn’t matter,” says Natalie. “I don’t think you have it. Move over a smidge.” She sits next to Scarlett.
“What are we doing today, Ma?” Scarlett asks, suddenly cured, sitting up expectantly. She has recently taken to calling Natalie Ma because Natalie has been reading theLittle Housebooks to the girls. Natalie doesn’t care for being called Ma, but she really loves the books. She believes she would have made a fantastic frontierswoman.
“Whatarewe doing?” repeats Natalie, stalling for time. She’s too tired to think. “We can do something fun in the morning,” she says, “but then Aunt Jordan and Aunt Mae and I need to finish sorting out the garage. The dumpster is coming tomorrow. Beach?”
“I’m tired of the beach.” Scarlett sighs.
“I think Evangeline and Caspian want to go to the beach.”
Agreeably, Caspian says, “Beach!” He clambers into Natalie’s lap and pushes his nose into her neck. It feels sort of nice. Damp, but nice.
“They always get to pick,” says Scarlett. “I never do. It’s not fair.” She sits up and stomps her unshod foot for effect.
Natalie considers her middle child. She gets where Scarlett is coming from, this unarticulated rage, this sense of injustice. Her sisters made fun of her for it, but it’s real.
“Thus it shall always be,” she tells her daughter.
Scarlett says, “Huh?” and knits her brows together.
“Nothing,” she says. “Never mind. I just mean, I get it. I get why it feels unfair. Look, I found a book for you.” She findsBunbunwhere she has set it on a shelf and brings it to Scarlett.
“That’s a baby book,” says Scarlett disdainfully.
“But it’s full of wisdom,” says Natalie.
Kara comes in then, holding a mug that saysMY HUSBAND IS HOTTER THAN MY COFFEE. Natalie winces. Did Kara not read the mug? Did Kara not read theroom? Then comes Jordan, who looks much better than someone who slept only half the night, and most of that in a lounge chair, deserves to look. Her mug saysBUT FIRST, COFFEE. Basic, but a classic.
Natalie begins readingBunbunto Scarlett anyway, and Scarlett pretends not to listen while actually listening. Soon enough they’re interrupted by Calvin and Mae, back with Mae’s car.
“I know!” says Natalie. “We can go to Strawbery Banke.” Strawbery Banke is a living history museum in Portsmouth made up of a bunch of buildings that preserve the Puddle Dock neighborhood through its many iterations over the past three hundred and fifty years, from the Abenaki people to the present day.
“I don’t want to go to the museum,” says Evangeline. “I want to go to the beach.”
Natalie is sure Caspian would also choose the beach over a museum, but she doesn’t want to disappoint Scarlett.
“Why don’t Kara and I take Caspian and Evangeline to the beach, and you and Scarlett go to the museum?” suggests Calvin.
“Really?” asks Natalie.
“Yesss!” says Scarlett. She’s picked up a miniature fist pump somewhere (Mae?) and she employs it now.
“Actually,” says Kara, “I’d love to go to the museum with Natalie and Scarlett.”
“Youwould?” says Natalie. She would?
“I would. I really would. I was reading up on the sights of Portsmouth. I want to see the role-players.” The role-players portray people who lived in different historical periods related to the buildings. You can engage them in conversation, but they can only answer in character. It’s fun to try to trip them up.
This conversation is presenting Natalie with a true conundrum. On one side is her natural instinct, which is to find a moderately polite way to sayabsolutely not, no wayto Kara. What right does Kara have to home in on Natalie’s special day with Scarlett? On the other side is the memory of her father just two days ago at the optometrist. What had he said?I would appreciate it if, when she arrives, you’d make her feel welcome.
“The role-players are pretty great,” says Natalie finally. Kara smiles, and Calvin is positively beaming.
“I’dlike to take them to the beach,” says Mae.
