Page 27 of The Summer Club

“What were you guys talking about?” Andi asked as soon as Nate returned.

“I don’t remember him looking like that,” Sydney gushed. “Didn’t you guys used to describe him as kind of nerdy?”

“Nah, he was always a cool guy,” Hugh said. “Just a scrawny kid like the rest of us were. I can’t believe he’s back after all these years.”

They were clogging the sidewalk just as they had the street. Downtown was so busy, Andi thought irritably, as someone bumped against her and kept going. All these tourists. Though as a summer resident, she realized, the locals considered her to be no different.

“So he’s the one who renovated his parents’ house?” Martin asked as they began moving with the crowd.

“I remember he used to throw me in the waves,” Sydney said. “He was my favorite summer friend of Hugh and Andi’s because he didn’t ignore me like the rest of them did.”

“Yeah, Nate and I were pretty tight,” Hugh mused. “I can’t believe how many years it’s been.”

“Did you say something to him about tonight?” Andi asked again, trying to keep up and be heard over their chatter.

They were all walking ahead of her, still talking, not one of them replying to her question. Andi raised her voice. “What did you say to him?”

They were back at Hugh’s Jeep and they all turned.

“What?” She hadn’t meant to yell. “Nobody listens to me.”

Hugh was eyeing her. “Why are you so curious?”

Andi pushed past him and climbed into the back of his Jeep. “Oh, shut up.”

They were all looking at her now with smug expressions. It was a relief, at least, and a reprieve from all the shared tension. “If you must know,” Hugh said, hopping behind the wheel, “I invited Nate over for dinner tonight.”

“Tonight? Because last night’s family dinner went so great? You aren’t even talking to Mom and Dad.”

“It’ll be fine. And will force everyone to behave.” Hugh looked at her in the rearview mirror. “Better find something cute to put on.”

Andi glared back at him. “Oh, please. I’m a divorced single mother with enough on my plate.” The whole way home she mentally ticked through the clothes in her closet back at Riptide. Dammit. She had absolutely nothing cute to wear.

Tish

To her great surprise, she sleeps through the night. And then some. When she puts on her glasses, the small clock on the bedside table tells her it’s nine-thirty. Tish gasps.

She cannot remember the last time that happened, but it has been years. Part of getting older, she told herself. It was what all her friends said too. One of life’s cruel jokes. Once their kids moved out or they retired from jobs and could finally stay up late and sleep in the next day, none of them could.

But now she wonders if it’s because of Morty. She feels him here, on the Cape. He is all around her: in the salt air, in the ebbing sea, in the late daylight over the dunes. And she finds her mind wandering, chasing after his memory.

Gently, she pulls the covers back and swings her legs over the side of the bed. The room is bright with morning sun. She must have forgotten to close the curtains last night. She studies the heavy brocade pattern, the color of seashells. There is no escaping the ocean, even in this room.

After calling down for coffee, she opens the French doors. Her suite is on the shore side of one of the resort’s private cottages, situated on a grassy rise overlooking the harbor. As the French doors swing open a gust of salt air meets her. Morty, she thinks, closing her eyes. I’ve come back.

It is brighter and warmer than she expected. These days she is chilled all the time, even on a summer day. But not today. She glances left and right, to the neighboring suites, but sees no other hotel guests, so she steps outside in her pajamas onto her small patio. Just beyond the white picket fence the bay sparkles splendidly and for the first time in a while she finds herself entertaining an appetite. She will order breakfast too, she decides. One of those blueberry scones with whipped honey butter from a local farm. When she’d read it on the menu last night it held as much appeal as cardboard. Today, she wants to eat one. Maybe two. Her stomach growls. She will order the pancetta-wrapped cantaloupe too. And an egg.

While she waits for her breakfast, she calls Charley. She hopes he answers the phone, and not Cora. She has nothing to say to her. But Charley—oh. Her chest aches.

The phone rings several times before he answers. “Charley?” she says, suddenly breathless.

“Mother.” Charley’s voice is heavy. There is a long pause. “Why did you do it?”

It’s the question she’s expected since before she did what she did. She knew it was coming as she packed her bags back in New York. As she sat in the backseat of the town car all the way up the Mid-Cape Highway. And yet, despite all that time to prepare, she finds herself with nothing as an answer. “I’m sorry,” she says instead. Then, “Not that I did it, because I had to. But I am sorry for the hurt this has caused you.”

It is not the answer he sought. “It has caused all of us hurt, Mother. Do you understand that? The kids most of all.” He is angry, she realizes with a start. She should have known he would be, but still, it comes as a surprise. Charley is quiet-natured and soft-spoken, especially with her.

She steels herself. “Those kids had a right to know. Why you and Cora did not tell them is beyond me. The hurt they are feeling is not from me but from the truth. A truth Cora talked you into keeping a secret all those years ago…”