Page 43 of Summer After Summer

“Well, he’s never had a job, so that makes it easy.”

Charlotte’s mouth turns down. She’s never had a job either, though she likes to pretend otherwise. There have been charity boards and fundraisers and a gig volunteering at an art gallery, but that was years ago.

“You’re a teacher?” Ann asks.

“That’s right.”

“Do you love it?”

“Some days. It’s nice being around motivated kids, and they are, for the most part.”

“Charlotte said you were a tennis player?”

“I was.”

“Why not coach?”

“I was burnt out when I stopped playing. Coaching is a seven-days-a-week gig. It didn’t appeal.”

“I’m surprised you needed a job,” Ann says. “Don’t tour players make lots of money?”

This isn’t the first time I’ve been asked this question. “If your last name is Williams. But I was never in their league. I tooled around in the low two hundreds for most of my career, which was enough to cover my expenses, but didn’t leave much of a nest egg.”

“That’s surprising.”

“Is every lawyer rich?”

“Nope.”

“It’s the same in tennis.” I take a sip of my drink, hoping to change the subject. “Did Fred say what he wanted to do with the place?”

“He swore it wasn’t to cut it up for development if that’s what you’re worried about. But you know he’s being swarmed with offers right now.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” Charlotte says.

“I thought you said you didn’t care if they took this place down to the ground?”

Charlotte’s eyes go wide. “Shh, not so loud. Father might hear you.”

I laugh. “Don’t worry, Ann. I’ve heard her say that very thing to him directly.”

She’d said it when we’d sat William down five years ago to convince him to sell. The debts were mounting, and the bank was making threatening noises. Most of the capital was gone, sunk into paying taxes and upkeep. Aunt Tracy pushed gently, trying to get him to see reason. He didn’t like it, and in the end he’d tried to make it about preserving the house for our memories of our mother. That’s when Charlotte announced that she didn’t care if the house burned to the ground. She didn’t want to be ruined.

He’d agreed to a compromise—letting most of the staff go, selling off a smaller piece of land next door—and it had been enough to keep the wolves at bay for a few years. We all knew it was postponing the inevitable, but we’d taken our victory and gone on with our lives.

“How did he take that?” Ann asks.

“He didn’t like it one bit,” Charlotte says. “But it did get him to see reason, for a while.”

“I’ll never understand this very male attachment to land. It must be buried deep in their DNA. ‘I own this. Mine.’” Ann grunts deeply, and we laugh.

“Well, now Fred can lord over all of it,” I say. “I hope he gets what he was looking for.”

“I don’t think that’s what he wants to do,” Ann says.

“No offense, but you don’t know him.” I take a ragged breath. “Nice meeting you.”

“You too.”

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