Page 9 of Seven Summer Weekends

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Addison and Margot sat on the sand under an enormous umbrella. At first their chairs were side by side, but soon, after Margot began opening up about Addison’s estranged aunt, Addison found herself more focused on Margot than on the picturesque ocean. She adjusted her chair accordingly and devoured each word and every expression.

Addison had learned early on that asking questions about her aunt Gicky was not welcome. Her father’s eyes would tear up at the mention of her name, and her mother’s would harden and recoil. Margot’s eyes filled with delight as she spoke of her oldest friend.

She went on to explain how her nickname—Gicky—was supplied by Addison’s father. For most of his childhood, Morton Irwin had depended on Gicky as more of a mommy than a sister. For little Morty,Gloriaplusmommycame out asGicky—and the nickname stuck. Addison’s grandmother, whom her father rarely spoke of, was in an institution for most of their childhoods. Margot described her as a sweet, kind soul who never recovered from the circumstances that had brought her to America from her small Russian town. It did not surprise Addison that she’d never heard this story. Mental health issues of any kind were not discussed in the Irwin family.

“I can only imagine what she went through, though my gut says it was unimaginable,” Margot bemoaned.

Addison teared up for the grandmother she never knew. It surprised her. Margot noticed Addison’s reaction and softened things.

“I don’t want you to think it was all bad. It was anything but—especially for your dad. Gicky adored him. She taught him everything she knew—how to retrieve pink Spalding high balls from the sewer and sell them back to the kids playing stickball for a quarter, which Morty would hold on to till he heard the ice cream man. She taught him how to play all the sidewalk games, ring-a-levio and kick the can, and how to read—even though the teachers at school insisted that Morty had learning issues. Which, mind you, was not how they described it in the sixties. By the end of sixth grade, Morty was at the top of his class.”

“I can’t believe my father never told me any of this!” Addison interrupted, breaking Margot’s stride.

“Your father, I hate to say it, was quick to put all that behind him and never speak of it again. I never understood it, and neither did your aunt. I can tell you that your dad was overly concerned with blending in, while Gicky was always more interested in standing out. And yes, it was tough growing up with an absentee mother and a father who was always working, but there was still a lot of love in the house. In the end, if you are fed and clothed, which your grandfather made sure of, feeling unconditionally loved goes a long way toward a happy childhood. I don’t want to bad-mouth your mom, but I think the rift had a lot to do with her. The Grand Concourse was a long way from the tony Chicago suburb where she grew up, and your mother rarely let anyone forget it.”

Addison knew what Margot was saying was the truth. Her mother was a snob and quite controlling. It was one of the main reasons Addison hotfooted it out of Chicago as soon as she became an employable adult.

“I think when Gicky got away from it all, when Morty left home and she no longer had to care for him, she desperately craved freedom,” Margot said. “There was only enough money for one child to go to college, and it was common back then for the boy to get the education. Plus, when it would have been time for her to go to art school, which is what she wanted, Gicky was at home taking care of your dad. She was so excited when you went to art school. She kept tabs on you through some cousins, and she occasionally checked out your social media. Gicky lived to travel, to paint and sculpt. She was always in motion. But she would come back here every summer. This island—it was her anchor.”

“I’m not an artist like Gicky,” Addison admitted. “I’m more of a sellout. I do graphic design for an ad agency. Well, I did. I’m between jobs.”

Addison paused, thinking about the Big Terrible Thing.

“Did she resent my dad for it all?”

“No. She jumped for joy when he got into the University of Chicago. She couldn’t have been prouder.”

“Do you know what the Big Terrible Thing was?”

“You mean the final nail in the coffin? That’s how Gicky referred to it.”

Addison braced herself for the reveal.

“I do not. She didn’t want to talk about it in specifics. We lost touch during that time, but I know she felt that losing your dadwas the greatest failure of her life. And while she didn’t care for your mother, she was quick to say that your dad was responsible for his own actions, no matter how tight Beverly’s leash was.”

Addison knew it to be true, but she was also familiar with the freedom of getting far away from family and relishing in that anonymity, as her dad had obviously done by staying in Chicago. She knew it pained her father to be estranged from his sister. She also knew how important it was to him to keep the peace at home. There comes a time, as an adult, when you take off the rose-colored glasses—or the crap-covered ones—and see your parents for who they are. People. With flaws. Like all other people. Addison was in that phase, though she felt embarrassed that her dad didn’t appreciate the sister who had given up so much for him. But the truth was, she could cite many an example of times when she herself hadn’t stood up to her mother. Beverly was a force better not to be reckoned with.

They talked and talked until the twelve o’clock siren—one alarmingly long bell that seemed to echo from every firehouse on the island to test the emergency system.

“What’s that?” Addison asked.

“Gicky used to call it the chuckwagon bell. It goes off every day at noon. Time to ride to the market for lunch!”

Addison began packing up, but Margot stopped her.

“No one will take this stuff except the high tide, and that’s not expected for hours. Leave it. We can come back after lunch.” Addison leaned in and took her lead.

Margot was very familiar with Bay Harbor. Apparently, Bay Harbor was very familiar with Margot too.

“Margot Ginsberg!” an older man called out to them fromthe top of the beach stairs as they approached. Margot’s face lit up in recognition.

“Shep! As I live and breathe!”

“Surprised to see me still living and breathing?” he retorted.

The two hugged like old friends before Margot introduced Addison.

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