The Summer of Good Intentions Page 9

  “Come on in.” Maggie led everyone into the kitchen, where Mac welcomed his mother-in-law and Gio. Gloria set the party bags down on the table. “Can I get you something to drink?” Maggie asked. “Maybe a glass of lemonade?” She held up an ice-filled pitcher and began filling glass tumblers before anyone could answer.

  “That would be lovely,” said Gio.

  “Well, aren’t you going to open your presents?” Gloria demanded.

  “Yes!” yelled Lexie, snatching her gift from the table. Everyone knew that Gloria never visited her grandchildren empty-handed. Virgie’s snarky side couldn’t help but think, Typical Gloria, co-opting her grandchildren’s love with gifts. It was small of her, but it had an element of truth to it, she thought. Ever since her mother left Arthur, Virgie had come to see Gloria as selfish, an insecure woman hungry for approval and affection. Virgie had always been closer to Arthur, but with each passing day, she felt as if Gloria pulled farther away from the family. As if she were a distant aunt coming to visit rather than Virgie’s own mother, who had kissed her scraped knees and rubbed her back when she was little.

  Gloria pulled a chair up to the table, and Virgie studied her more closely. Maggie was right: their mother looked radiant, even young. Instead of wearing her signature Talbots top and shorts, she was dressed in a pink Indian print shirt and a long teal skirt. Her usual mauve lipstick was missing, and her hair was held back by a twisted, bright pink head scarf. Remarkably, she’d said nothing about the sand the kids had tracked in on the kitchen floor in their rush to see her. Was it possible, Virgie wondered, that her mom had mellowed since she’d last seen her? Maybe had a personality change?

  But when Gloria regarded Maggie and said, “Honey, you look bloated. Have you put on some weight?” Virgie realized her mother was the same as ever.

  Maggie blushed beneath her pink cheeks, while Mac coughed into his hand. “Thanks, Mom. Not that I know of.”

  Gloria waved her hand as if she must have been mistaken. “But you, missy”—she turned to Jess—“look positively skinny. Are you eating enough?” It was part criticism, part concern—her mother’s particular brand of caring, a hug delivered with an upper right hook.

  “I’m fine, Mom,” Jess said before disappearing into the other room.

  “Well, I guess someone’s in a happy mood.” Gloria clicked her tongue.

  Virgie and Maggie exchanged glances. A guest in her own home, Gloria could still fell them like giant oaks with a quick swipe of words. It always flabbergasted Virgie when her mother seemed surprised by other people’s reactions to her. Was it possible she was truly unaware? The rest of the family had been here for nearly a week, falling into its own rhythms, with tomorrow unspooling pretty much the same way as yesterday. Virgie prayed that Gloria, around whom the world seemed to orbit without ceasing, wouldn’t throw everything off-kilter.

  “She’s fine, Mom,” Maggie said now and passed her a glass of lemonade.

  Thus far, Maggie had admirably played the role of cruise director, righting the ship anytime it got rocky. In fact, Virgie thought the whole gang had done a commendable job of establishing their personal boundaries. She knew, for instance, she couldn’t mention anything about microwave dinners (a staple in Virgie’s diet) to Jess or she’d fly off the handle, citing the evils of preservatives. And if she asked Maggie one more time why Gloria, Gio, and Arthur couldn’t all crash in the summer house together, there’d be no turning back. Mac and Tim were easier—there wasn’t much that upset them unless she started talking trash about the Red Sox. But with Gloria’s arrival, it was as if they’d hit a snag in the smooth fabric of summer.

  “A Lego guy!” Luke shouted as he ripped open his present, piercing the momentary awkwardness.

  Gloria glowed. “I knew you’d love it.” Gracie and Teddy let go similar squeals over their gifts. Virgie watched while Lexie and Sophie worked to rearrange their faces into something like delight as they pulled off the wrapping paper from theirs—elaborate cosmetic cases with multiple tiny drawers and trays. They were ridiculous presents for two girls who couldn’t be more sports-oriented, but her nieces did an excellent job of pretending they loved them. “Thanks, Grandma,” said Lexie.

  “Yeah, thanks,” repeated Sophie. “It’s awesome.”

  “You’re so very welcome, my kittens,” Gloria cooed. “I thought you girls might be at the age where you were getting interested in boys and wanted to look pretty.”

  Hug, hug, jab, thought Virgie.

  “Where’s my other son-in-law?” Gloria asked now, searching the room.

  “I think he went for a run,” said Jess, who had rejoined them. Virgie hadn’t even noticed Tim was missing. “I’m sure . . .” Jess continued but then stopped. Virgie followed her eyes to the doorway.

  There stood Arthur in the kitchen archway. He’d arrived promptly at ten this morning, and the family had already shared a breakfast of omelets and bacon. The room fell quiet while he cast about the kitchen, as if trying to get his bearings. He reminded Virgie of a bird with a broken wing in search of a place to land, and she nearly held out her arm for him. Here, she thought. Land here and I’ll protect you. His thinning hair, combed carefully to the side, revealed the pink scalp underneath.

  “Hello, Gloria,” he said softly and stepped forward. Her mother got up and went to embrace him.

  “Arthur, how are you? So good to see you.”

  “Fine, just fine, thanks.” He took her elbow and leaned in awkwardly to receive his ex-wife’s kisses. Gio approached as well. The king of debonair just moments ago, he appeared flustered to have his flame’s ex-husband in the same kitchen.

  “Gio?” her dad asked now, offering his hand, while Gloria stepped back.

  “Nice to meet you, Arthur.”

  Maggie shot Virgie a glance as if to say, Could this be any more awkward? But Virgie shrugged. So long as Arthur didn’t get hurt, somehow they’d have to all learn how to get along this week. The old kindergarten assessment plays nicely with others darted through her mind. Who would pass? Who wouldn’t?

  “Well,” tried Maggie, “shall we all go out on the deck?”

  “Great idea.” Mac slid open the deck door and they followed him outside, where a slight breeze fought to cut the humidity.

  “Ah, ocean. How I’ve missed you!” their mother exclaimed and plunked down in a chair. Arthur, then Gio, performed an awkward little dance before Gio settled into the chair next to their mother. Arthur sat down across from them. The noonday sun was already scorching. Virgie couldn’t wait to get in the water and wondered how long she’d have to sit here and pretend to make small talk.

  She could feel a bead of sweat begin to work its way down her chest. If Jackson were here, she would have whispered in his ear that she was hot, needed cooling off, and he would have jumped at her cue. Jackson. She let herself fantasize for a moment that he was here. Earlier this morning they’d traded texts: I miss you, he wrote. I miss you more, she texted back. She felt as if she was in high school all over again. What would he think of this crazy family of hers? Would he laugh with her later, tell her all families were bizarre in their own way? Maybe he had a deranged aunt or an uncle who smoked Cuban cigars. She realized she had no idea what his family was like. She’d met no one in it.

  When she got back to Seattle, she’d make a point of finding out. She knew his parents lived an hour outside of Seattle. Why hadn’t he introduced her yet? Was it a bad sign? She stopped herself, sipped her lemonade. Of course not. They’d been dating only a few weeks. She couldn’t expect Jackson to have considered formal introductions yet. After all, they were still feeling out whether they liked each other.

  The thing was, Virgie knew she liked him. He was funny, smart, and kind in a way that her previous boyfriends never were. The fact that he was a male nurse probably had something to do with it. And while the whole male nurse thing was a bit of a mystery to her (she typically dated men who were slick, quick with the pickup lines, in general, bad for her), she r
eminded herself that if Jackson hadn’t been a nurse, she would have never met him.

  She’d sprained her thumb and was worried it was broken. It was such a stupid thing, but she’d driven herself to the ER in the middle of the afternoon to get it checked out. She had been walking, yes walking, on her way to the sandwich shop for lunch when she managed to stumble. For a brief second, the world had tilted, not taking Virgie with it, and she lost her balance. Any normal person would have twisted her ankle, but not Virgie. She fell as ungracefully as she could, catching herself on the sidewalk, her hand scraped and bloodied, her thumb swelling by the minute. A nice woman helped her up and asked if she should call 911, but Virgie declined. It wasn’t necessary. She was fine. It was only a few scrapes and bruises.

  But by the time she got back to the office and washed the blood off her hand, her thumb was throbbing. It didn’t look broken, or dislocated, but what did she know? She told Larry she was going to get it checked out. “Damned high heels!” she said, trying to make light of the fact that the pain was so bad now she wanted to cry. She drove herself to the ER, where she waited what felt like hours to see someone. It was Jackson who’d come to her rescue. By then, she probably would have fallen for anyone willing to help. He ushered her into a room, offered to get her a drink of water, and gazed at her with those understanding eyes while he ticked through his checklist of questions.

  When the X-ray revealed no broken bones, the doctor came in to wrap the sprain. It was still painful as hell. But Jackson returned as she was leaving, handing her a prescription.

  “These should help with the pain,” he said, pressing the small paper into her palm. “I wrote instructions for when to take them on the back.”

  She hadn’t connected the dots, but eventually, while she waited in line at the pharmacy to hand over the prescription, she flipped the small white paper over. On the back, Jackson had written: I think you’re beautiful. Call me? 206-555-0882.

  Virgie hadn’t considered that such things happened in real life. She assumed things like guys leaving personal notes on the backs of painkiller prescriptions happened only in the movies. Plenty of men hit on her when she went out to the bars with her girlfriends. But a telephone number on the back of a prescription? That was a first. She was intrigued. She called. “How’s the thumb?” Jackson asked, as if they talked every day.

  “Much better. Thanks.” A few days had passed, and it was feeling better. The painkillers, though, were making her a bit loopy. She blamed it on the medicine that she had the guts to call in the first place. “You were very kind,” she said.

  “It’s what I do.” An awkward pause followed.

  “So, will you have dinner with me?” he asked. She thought of his dark, wavy hair, his blue eyes, his gentle touch on her hand.

  “Um, yes?”

  “Right answer,” he said and laughed. “Tomorrow night? I’ll pick you up at seven?”

  And from there, she handed over her address to a perfect stranger, though he didn’t feel like a stranger. That night she tossed and turned, wondering what she’d just done. What if he was a stalker who watched her on the news and now she’d given him her home address? What was she thinking? She should have asked him to meet her at the office.

  But when the night actually arrived, Jackson showed up at her door with a dozen pink roses.

  “For your thumb,” he said. And Virgie knew he was all right.

  “Earth to Virgie?” someone was saying. Virgie pulled her eyes away from the ocean. Maggie was looking at her strangely.

  “I was just telling Mom and Gio how amazing your last segment on homeless kids was.” Virgie had sent her sisters and Arthur the clip. She was proud of the piece, which spotlighted a group of Seattle children who often went without breakfast before school. How can we expect these kids to focus on their schoolwork when their stomachs are growling and they’ve had next to no sleep? Could you do your job? she asked the camera.

  The show had garnered a shower of praise, and as a result, the station had raised nearly ten thousand dollars for the local shelter. It was those types of stories, Virgie thought now, that made her job worthwhile. It seemed almost silly, sitting on the deck with a glass of lemonade, how important the Liz Crandle case had been back in Seattle. Here on the Cape, Virgie couldn’t care less that Liz had told her story to Thomas. It wasn’t going to be a life changer, any way she sliced it. The firm would most likely settle, and Liz would go her merry way with a boatload of money. Where was the inspiration in that?

  “It sounds amazing, honey,” Gloria said and patted her hand. “I can’t wait to see it.” Virgie braced herself for her mother’s follow-up punch. Something along the lines of Well, isn’t it wonderful that you’re finally doing some real reporting? But she’d already moved on.

  “How’s the book coming, Arthur?”

  Virgie realized with a start that none of them had thought to ask her dad that very question. They’d all been so focused on getting the house presentable for Gloria, taking marching orders from Maggie after breakfast—that they’d completely forgotten to inquire about Arthur’s writing. She felt a pinch of guilt.

  “Good,” said her dad. “It’s coming along. Due in a few months.”

  “That’s wonderful! Arthur is an author,” her mother explained to Gio. “He writes mysteries.”

  “You must be a very smart man,” Gio said. Virgie could feel Maggie and her dad exchange glances, as if to say, How cute. He thinks you’re smart. But no one said anything, only nodded their heads. It was, Virgie thought, a bit of a conversation killer.

  “So, Gio, do you like to fish?” Mac asked, breaking the quiet.

  He laughed. “If only I knew how.”

  “We’ll have to get you out on the pier with a fishing pole,” said Mac. “Fishing is one of the easiest things in the world.” And the way he said it, Virgie almost believed him. “We’ve got some great bass around here.”

  “I look forward to your lessons,” Gio said just as the kids appeared at Virgie’s side.

  “Aunt Virgie, want to go swimming?” Teddy asked.

  “I wondered where you all disappeared to. Absolutely,” she said now and got up from her chair to grab a towel off the deck railing. “Mom, Gio, we’ll see you later?”

  “You bet, honey.” Her mother winked. “We’ll be around all week. Besides”—she drained the rest of her lemonade—“we were just leaving. We need to check in before they give our room away to someone else.”

  “That’s smart.” Mac stood as well. “You never know, this time of year. Those New Englanders can be sharks.” Gloria laughed and patted Mac’s arm.

  “We’ll see you kids tomorrow, then?”

  “You bet,” Jess said.

  “Can’t wait,” said Maggie, as she got up to follow her mom and Gio to the door. Virgie had to hand it to her sister as she headed down to the beach. Maggie actually managed to sound sincere.

  Jess

  “So that was weird,” Jess said when she walked into the bedroom. She was referring to the introductions between Arthur, Gloria, and Gio. “Mom and Dad with another guy in the mix?”

  Tim, freshly showered after his run, appeared to consider it for a moment. “I don’t know. Your parents have been divorced for what? A year and a half now? It doesn’t seem so strange that your mom is moving on.”

  He tossed his sweaty socks in the laundry basket and slid his flip-flops from underneath the bed. Neither of them had talked about last night, when Tim had kissed her eyelids, run his hands along her body before falling asleep. Jess wondered if he even remembered. Perhaps he’d been too drunk.

  She slipped out of her shorts and top and pulled her swimsuit off the drying rack. Tim paused to look at her. “What?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Nothing. I just haven’t seen that in a while.”

  “That?”

  “Yeah. You. Almost naked.”

  “Oh,” she said. “That.” She felt strangely awkward, like a teenage girl being checked
out.

  “It’s nice.” He offered a small smile and pushed up from the bed. He walked over to her as she pulled up her suit, her breasts still revealed, white discs against her newly browned skin. His fingers grazed her nipples and he gently began to kiss her neck.

  “Tim,” she whispered. “The kids.”

  “So what?” he mumbled. “They’re all outside with Virgie. Can’t we have a little fun?”

  It was one-thirty in the afternoon. Jess couldn’t remember the last time she’d fooled around with her husband in the middle of the day. Maybe the day that Teddy was conceived? It was quite possible it had been that long ago.

  She held his head in her hands as his lips made his way down to her breasts, circling her nipples. Jess waited. She waited for something to spark in her. It seemed she’d been waiting for months for her husband to realize she was in the same room. But there was nothing.

  “Honey, come on.” She shrugged him off and tugged at her bathing suit straps. “What’s gotten into you?”

  He gave her a hangdog look. “Never mind,” he said brusquely.

  “Hey, don’t be pissed.”

  “I’m not pissed. Just because my own wife doesn’t want to fool around with me.” He grabbed his sunglasses off the bedside table without looking at her. “I’m going to take the kids for a bike ride.”

  “Tim, come on. It’s not the best time, you have to admit.”

  He opened the bedroom door, his hand resting on the handle. “Yeah? Well, when is the best time, Jess? You act like you don’t even want to be in the same room with me anymore. Am I really that bad?” His voice trembled with anger, and she watched his free hand clench into a tight little ball.

  “Tim, not here. Not now,” she tried, looking past him down the hallway, worried someone might hear.

  “When then, Jess?” He unfurled his knotted fist. “You’re the one who’s all about ‘open’ communication.” She watched him hook little sarcastic apostrophes in the air. She sighed. He was right. But she didn’t feel like airing their dirty laundry for the whole house to overhear. He gestured around him. “Don’t worry. There’s no one around.” His voice was laced with judgment, as though that was all that mattered to her. The appearance of normal.