Page 69 of The Summer Club

“Well, I don’t know…”

“Shut up.” Andi leaned across the seat and kissed him. “You were right. There’s no reason we should be hiding this.”

Whatever it was they were doing, it was at that fresh new stage of sweet perfection where all she wanted to do was sleep, eat, breathe it in… with no overanalyzing. This is a summer romance, she told herself. A superb first foray into dating, with a guy she knew and trusted, who just happened to be—well, let’s face it—pretty fantastic. As Hugh had said, “Let yourself have some fun.”

Andi knew women her age who got swept up in remaking themselves when they found themselves starting over. Brunettes who went bleached blonde overnight. Attractive, middle-aged women who felt pressed to drop three dress sizes and shove themselves into their teenage daughter’s skinny jeans. One of the teachers she worked with, and had always liked, divorced the year before Andi had. “The first thing I did after I sold the house was get my boobs done,” she confided in the teachers’ lounge.

Andi had been so surprised she almost dropped her coffee mug. “Oh. Was that something you had always wanted to do?” she’d asked, trying not to stare at her friend’s chest.

Her friend laughed. “We’re not twenty anymore. At our age, if you want a second chance, you’ve got to look your best.”

Andi had been shocked that this attractive, intelligent colleague felt it necessary to undergo all that to make herself desirable to some imaginary pool of available men. She couldn’t help but wonder how hard these men were trying, and if they felt half the pressure.

And now here she was, sitting in Nate’s car. A guy who seemed to appreciate everything about her, just as it was, all these years later. And who felt like she was hiding him.

“Come back to my place,” she said, tugging his hand. “Everyone would love to see you.”

At the foot of the porch stairs, Andi halted. “Can I ask you something?” She was doing that thing Hugh hated; asking a question about asking a question.

“Shoot.”

“What exactly are we telling them about us? If they ask.” She was fooling herself, she knew. Her family would never ask, at least not in front of Nate. Even Hugh would behave. The question was for her.

Nate looked bemused. “I don’t know—maybe we let them know that we’re hanging out.”

“Hanging out.” She swallowed. What had she expected him to say? “Okay.” She started up the steps, then stopped again. It was not okay. “Is that what we’re doing?”

“Hey.” Nate touched her chin. “To be clear, I didn’t mean we’re hanging out, like it doesn’t mean anything. Maybe we should talk more about this.” He nodded toward the door. “After dinner.”

It was the nicest thing he could have said. Yes, she would take him up on that. After dinner. And after a glass of wine, which she suddenly craved.

“Deal.” She trotted up the porch steps and opened the door. Hugh was right. She was going to be herself and enjoy it. “Hey, everyone,” she called out. “I’ve brought company.”

She knew her family would be happy to see Nate. Everyone always was. But when the door swung open, nobody looked happy.

There at the kitchen island stood Hugh, holding a glass of wine. The rest were in the living room: her parents seated on one couch. Sydney and Martin on the other. And in the wingback chair between them, in a crisp white pantsuit adorned with a ruby silk neckerchief, sat Tish. The only member of the family without a strained look on her face.

Tish looked directly at Andi. “Good, she’s here. Now let’s get started.”

Tish

It’s the second time she’s been back at Riptide since Morty left this world. It’s taken her the better part of fifty-plus years. She never could let the cottage go, but neither could she bring herself to stay in it. The memories were just too painful.

She can’t believe it’s been almost ten days since her first visit when, as Charley claims, she “divided the family” with her wedding gift to Sydney. That part has bothered her and she is uncertain about how she will find them today. But when she returns this time, what she sees is a family intact. (Perhaps united against her? The visit will tell.) In a house that Morty provided all of them; a haven for not just summer vacations, or a July wedding, but also for the hard stuff. A haven from the disappointments and hurts that come with living. Tish knows this, at her age, and even if they don’t realize it now, someday they will. Keeping Riptide in the family is important. She will try to explain this.

Charley asked her to come back. As such, she is now a guest in a house that is no longer hers and she will try to behave, as Charley has implored her to do. But there are things that need to be said.

When Hugh lets her in, she finds herself without words. She has always thought him a clever, funny young man, even if he was Cora’s. The look in his brown eyes—even if they are not Darling blue—is one she recognizes. Hurt.

“Hello, Tish.” Hugh holds the door open for her and as soon as she’s inside, she surprises herself as much as she surprises him: she gives him a hug. Tish does not like excessive or public displays of emotion and she’s pretty sure this qualifies as both. But she is as old as dirt, she knows, and her heart is no longer keeping up with her head, as she feels more and more each day. So when the urge strikes, she looks up at Hugh and opens her arms.

Hugh is a gracious man. Despite his surprise, he bows, because he is much taller, and he not only lets her throw her arms around his neck, but he hugs her back. It’s not terrible.

When they separate, Tish looks deeply at him. No, his is not the face of a Darling. Nor an O’Malley. But it is an earnest face and, as Charley has reminded her, he is family—if not blood. Tish is working on that concept. These modern families; all disjointed and messy. But they are a sign of the times—times that are passing her by—and so she will try. She will start now. “Hugh, you are a good boy. I have always thought so. This situation, it’s not personal. I hope someday you can come to understand that.”

Once more, she can tell she has surprised him. Tish has always maintained a formality with the family. It’s best that way. Feelings are one’s own, not to be aired out and strung up on the clothesline for all to see. But now she wonders if she should’ve made more exceptions. Today, at least, she owes him this much.

“Thank you for saying that, Tish,” he says. “I won’t lie; it felt personal. But it’s nice to hear you say otherwise.”