She’d first learned of it that winter when she overheard a conversation during their Christmas party. Olivier Garrison, a neighbor and head of the Planning and Zoning Commission, had commented on her parents’ gifts to the town a little too brashly over hissnifter of brandy. “One hundred thirty acres on Wakeman Hill! Donated in full. Can only imagine what a pretty penny that cost you.”
Her father’s modest expression didn’t waver in the firelight. “I can’t say I know much about that.” But one look at her mother’s averted gaze, and Julia realized Mr. Garrison knew exactly what he was talking about.
“Oh, come on. Friends don’t keep secrets,” Mr. Garrison went on, clapping her father on the back. “I bet it was a nice write-off…”
Mrs. Garrison had placed a tactful hand on her husband’s shirtsleeve and lifted her glass between them. “Well,whoevermade the donation, it was terribly generous. The whole town will benefit.”
Until then, Julia had simply thought of her parents as occasional volunteers, not much different from any of her friends’ parents. They attended benefits. They supported local organizations. A few times a month, her mother helped to deliver meals to elderly citizens who were housebound. But it was overhearing that conversation as she sat on the back staircase that winter night when she fully understood their quiet contributions to the town. “Whatever you believe in, Jules, you have to get behind it,” her father once told her. “Put your resources into it. I don’t mean money. I mean your energy, your time, your voice: whatever you have. Everyone has something to give.”
Since then, the more she paid attention to current events in Saybrook, the more Julia grew to be proud of her parents’ philanthropy. But not everyone shared her sentiments.
A growing number in town didn’t support some of the Lancasters’ efforts. They opposed the increase in town-owned open space and the proposal to change from two- to four-acre zoning, which would increase lot size requirements and decrease new construction. “Open space will increase taxes,” someone complained in a letter to the editor in theTown Tribune. “This town has always been trees and fields. What we need is more development.” Otherssaw her parents’ efforts as a garish display of their wealth: “Outsiders who come in and think they know better. We have plenty of land; what we need is less of them.” Worse, some accused them of elitism: “Four-acre zoning is for the privileged. Hardworking blue-collar families won’t be able to afford to live here. Are we shutting the gates to Saybrook now?”
Julia showed the letters to her mother. “Don’t pay it any mind,” she’d said reassuringly. “Your dad is doing good work. You can’t please everyone.”
Though her parents didn’t speak of the local pushback in her presence, Julia had overheard their low conversations in the kitchen after town meetings. When word got out that the anonymous donor who’d hired masons to repave the library parking lot and put in a sidewalk with a handicap ramp was her dad, Julia suffered a few pointed stares in town.
“A bit fancy for Saybrook,” one old-timer grumbled loudly enough for the two of them to hear as she and her father walked by. Julia wanted to turn around and ask him if he even knew where the library was, but her father put a firm hand on her shoulder and guided her to the car. “Everyone is entitled to voice their opinion,” he whispered. But Julia noticed no one said a word when her parents donated a generator to the town hall, which served as a warming center for citizens during winter storms and power outages. Couldn’t people see her family loved this town as much as they did?Maybe even more,she thought.
Then came the jokes at school. “Hey, Jules, maybe your dad could spring for a tent with some of those cooling fans?” one of her soccer teammates joked on a scorcher of a game day. “Nah, he can just buy us an ice cream truck,” another said. Then, when Julia shot her a look, “What? Everyone likes ice cream.”
It wasn’t fair. Her parents’ contributions were made quietly. There were no shiny plaques with their names emblazoned acrossthem. Not even a handprint in the concrete of the new library sidewalk. Unlike her classmate, Emmy Fletcher, whose family business was slapped across the largest sponsorship banners in town. Julia had once overheard another parent quip, “Fletcher’s sign cost more than the donation he made to the Little League.” Julia had swung her gaze toward the neon green banner hanging on the fence:“Lit up!” by Fletcher Electric.Now, that was tacky.
The success of tonight’s gala only confirmed her suspicions: her family’s work in town was important. Below her window, the jazz band was still going strong, and the round high-top tables dressed in white linen had been abandoned for the dance floor. There had been grilled tenderloin, cucumber dill salad, steamed clams. When her father stood to make a speech, Julia had sneaked a flute of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray. Just as she put the rim to her lips, her mother caught her eye from across the patio and raised an eyebrow.
But then she smiled and waved Julia over. “I guess you’re old enough to share a toast with your mother.” Julia raised her glass uncertainly, the golden flute swishing.
“To tonight,” her mother said, her eyes twinkling. “To you, and to Pippa and Daddy.”
“And you,” Julia added. They clinked glasses, and Julia took a large swallow. The fizzy rush surprised her, and she sputtered.
“Easy, tiger,” her mother warned. “Best to sip.”
The champagne was drier than she’d expected, but it left a delicious sweet aftertaste. As they sat side by side, taking in the event and sipping from their flutes, Julia felt an easy warmth spread within her. Around eleven thirty, as the evening began to wind down, her mother suggested she go up to bed. Pippa was long ago passed out in her own bed. So with some reluctance, Julia had said her good nights, found her father in the crowd to kiss his cheek, and come up to her room.
But the night was not over yet. On her way upstairs, her phone dinged. It was Sam. “You awake?”
Now she left her bedroom window open and slipped out into the hallway.
Before sneaking downstairs, she peeked in on Pippa. Her little sister always looked so much younger in sleep, her blond hair fanned out like a wild pixie’s across the pillow. Julia bent to kiss her forehead and tiptoed out.
Downstairs, she let herself out through the front door. With the party roaring out back, there was little chance anyone would notice her. There were two valets, both college-aged boys, sitting on the front stoop talking. The cuter of the two looked sideways at her and smiled as she slipped past. That sort of thing was happening more and more, she’d noticed. Julia shot him a smile back and headed for the side lawn. She’d have to go around the party to get to the trail, but she was careful to skirt the shadows, and soon she’d crossed the east lawn and stood at the edge of the woods.
As the band slipped into “Moonlight Serenade,” she stole a look back. It was her parents’ favorite song, one she’d heard a thousand times in her life. Even at that distance, she had a full view of the gala. Julia held her breath as she watched her father lead her mother to the middle of the dance floor. Others gathered around as the two spilled into each other’s arms like water. Their love was so obvious, almost embarrassing.
Overcome by the night, Julia tipped her head back and laughed aloud. Then she spun back toward the woods. Behind her, the party glittered in the distance. Ahead, somewhere in the darkness, Sam was waiting. It felt like the whole world was hers to step into. She tugged her shoes off and ran.
SevenRoberta
She’d fallen asleep reading on the couch. Something had startled her awake, and when she glanced at the grandfather clock, she was surprised to see it was one a.m.
Somewhere in the distance, the wail of a siren rang through the night. Roberta sat up. The siren rose outside her window, and she fettered the urge to stand up and go look. The firehouse was in the town center, a few miles away. There was nothing to see. But still, it filled Roberta with a sense of unease. It always did. Living in a small town meant it was likely someone she knew.
As the siren rose and fell, it was joined by another.Fire truck,she thought. Or maybe ambulance? It was too far off to be sure.
She rubbed her eyes and set her book on the coffee table. Maybe it was a false alarm. Or maybe someone had fallen in their home. As the sirens and trucks drew closer, she stood up and went to the window. She turned out the light. Sure enough, the stark glow of red lights filled the darkness up the road and spilled into her living room. She stood back as one, then another, fire truck roared by her little house. The walls shook with the reverberations. A moment later, an ambulance followed. Roberta stepped away from the window.
It had been fourteen years since she’d been to church, and ifanyone asked, Roberta would tell them herself that religion was no longer for her.
