Page 35 of Bad Summer People
Susan was now on her way to the Bay Picnic, lugging a bag filled with artisanal cheeses, where she always sat with her crew of old-timers. There were the Ponds and the Trimbles and the Todds. The Todds’ daughter, Erica, and her husband, Theo, sat with them, as well. So did their two kids, the Todds’ grandchildren.
Susan was the only one in the group without a spouse. Garry had died suddenly three years ago, a heart attack. They’d been eating dinner at Paola’s on the Upper East Side, one of their favorite restaurants, when he’d clutched his chest and keeled over. The ambulance had come just a few minutes later, but by that point he was gone, Susan could tell. They’d taken him to Mount Sinai anyway, and Susan had cried the entire ride to Ninety-sixth Street. They’d been married for forty-one years, and they’d never had children. She’d been teaching at Columbia, and Garry had beenso busy with his law career. By the time they’d started trying, when Susan was in her late thirties, it just didn’t happen. And it wasn’t like nowadays, with IVF and surrogacy and whatever else these kids do to have babies. Back then, if it didn’t work, it didn’t work. Susan always regretted not thinking about it earlier. Now here she was at seventy-three, dragging a bag of fontina from Murray’s to the Salcombe picnic alone.
She and Garry had bought their home on Lighthouse and Neptune in 1985, always with the idea that eventually they’d fill it with babies. Instead, they’d both become very involved in the town, Susan running the tennis program at the club, and Garry part of the local government. He’d been mayor of Salcombe from 1994 to 2002, a fact he was so proud of he’d had T-shirts made for him and Susan that saidTHE MAYORandTHE MAYOR’S WIFE. Susan missed him. He used to make her laugh.
She knew it was her job to keep the tennis program humming, but she was worried she was becoming a grumpy old lady with all her surveillance. Why did she care if Robert, the cute young tennis pro, was sleeping with Lauren Parker, who was clearly unhappy in her marriage to that pill Jason? Susan had always been wary of Jason, whom she’d known since he was a boy, coming out to visit Sam. He was dark and glum and didn’t say hi to her when he rode by on his bike.
The truth was, Susan wasn’t nearly as scary or mean as everyone made her out to be. She was funny—she thought she was, at least—and she cared about people’s welfare. Yes, she could be stern, and she didn’t like when anyone broke the rules. That was the professor in her. She felt like the world was her classroom, and her role was to make sure things were in order. Since Garry had died, she’d become shriller, she knew that, and it was something she wanted to work on. A friend had suggested she see a therapist to talk about grief, and Susan had politely nodded at the advice with the intention of ignoring it. She didn’t need a therapist. She just needed someone to help her carry all this cheese.
The picnic was in full swing by the time Susan arrived. Her group was set up toward the front, closer to the houses than the bay. There were two wagons filled with food, surrounded by her friends Bonnie and Richie Trimble, Marie and Steve Pond, and Betsy and Mike Todd. Susan greetedeveryone hello and arranged her goods on a platter. Their gang always went with an artisanal cheese board theme, including aged prosciuttos, olives and pickles, crusty breads and crackers, fig spreads, grapes, the works. Susan loved how casually upscale the whole night was, barefoot on the sand while sipping a delightful French brut.
The Bay Picnic had been Garry’s idea; the first one was in 1994, the summer Garry became mayor. One night while they were walking home from drinks at Marie and Steve’s, the sun setting over the water, he’d had the inspiration for this evening of fun. It was now a solidified annual tradition, one that Susan treasured even more so for that reason.
“Susan! Have a champagne, have some food. Let’s mingle,” said Bonnie Trimble. She was about seven years older than Susan, nearing eighty, a real yenta, always up for a chat and a drink. She was wearing a flowing red caftan with large gold earrings, and she’d matched her lipstick to her dress. Bonnie had been trying to set Susan up on dates in the city with her widower friends, but Susan had resisted. What did she need a boyfriend for?
They clinked glasses with Marie and Steve Pond, both in their seventies. Marie was a workout queen; at seventy, she looked as good as the fifty-year-olds on the beach, with her flat stomach and toned arms. She led a yoga class in the town gazebo on Sunday mornings, which, to be supportive, Susan attended occasionally, even though she couldn’t hold any of the poses. Steve was a smooth operator, a longtime retired finance guy who’d made it big in the 1990s. He was the current commodore of the yacht club, a position he both relished and lorded over people. They had three children scattered around the country and six grandchildren to show for it.
“Susan, you’re doing a great job this year with the tennis program,” said Marie. She was in a formfitting black-and-white dress, her hair slicked back into an elegant salt-and-pepper bun.
“Thanks,” said Susan, self-conscious suddenly in her green chinos and white button-down. She was most comfortable in tennis clothes; the women out here dressed better than she knew how to. Garry used to tell her he preferred her in a tracksuit, and she’d taken that to heart.
“That pro, Robert, is such a doll,” Marie continued. “He’s really helped my doubles strategy—he’s even gotten me to come up to the net after all these years,” she said.
“Yes, he’s a hit,” said Susan.
“I saw him over there, hanging with the Parkers and Lisa and Brian Metzner,” said Bonnie. “That’s nice that they’ve all taken such a shine to him.”
Susan looked over to see Robert sitting on a beach chair, Lauren Parker swanning about in a sexy dress. She wondered if Rachel had spoken to Lauren yet about it. Probably not.
Just then, there was a commotion over by the Beatles band (also a Garry idea, Susan thought proudly). Susan saw Sam Weinstein, still in his beach clothes, stumbling toward his friends. Everyone stopped talking and gawked as Sam passed by. He was not in a good way. He looked drunk and angry, and Susan was worried something bad was about to happen. Where was Jen? Wives shouldn’t let their husbands get in this state.
Robert got up and gave Sam his chair, and for a moment, Susan thought all would be okay, that the picnic might not be disturbed. But Salcombe always had a trick up its sleeve. She and the others heard Sam raising his voice, yelling about Jen having an affair and something about possibly losing his job. Susan watched in horror as Sam ran toward the bay and launched himself into the water.
“Sam Weinstein jumped into the bay!” Susan heard someone shout, and then she was swept up in a moving crowd, rushing to get a glimpse of the fallen hero. She still had her champagne in hand as she lined the bulkhead with the rest of the spectators, feeling a little sick as she did.
Jason Parker jumped in after his friend, thank goodness. Sam was doing a back float, his eyes closed, as Jason paddled up to him. She wished Garry were here to see this. They’d discuss it afterward over a glass of good red wine, recounting all the little details—Jen Weinstein showing up in a bathing suit, frantic, Rachel Woolf acting like her house was on fire, Brian and Lisa Metzner slipping away, mortified.
After a few minutes of talking about who knows what, Sam and Jason swam to the ladder and climbed out of the water. Susan was relieved forthe incident to be over. She and her friends retreated to their artisanal spread, Bonnie making eyes at her as they went.
“Whatwasthat?” Bonnie asked in a low voice. She picked up a piece of prosciutto, rolled it into a small log, and took a bite.
“Looked like a man scorned,” said Steve Pond, his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal a Rolex and very tan, hairy forearms. Mike Todd nodded. Susan wondered if he and Betsy had been disappointed that Erica had married a Black man. They’d always made a big deal of saying how happy they were to have such a diverse family, but Susan wasn’t sure she bought it. They were so preppy—it must have been a surprise.
“I always knew there was something off about that Jen,” said Marie. “She’s too perfect to be real. Sam is such a sweetheart. He deserves better.”
“Yes, poor Sam,” said Bonnie. “He’s the nicest man. I hope he’s okay.”
“I’m not necessarily the best one to weigh in on this, as I don’t really know the guy,” said Theo Burch, dressed to perfection in golf clothes, as always. “But why are we all feeling bad for Sam, when he’s the one who caused a scene? Maybe Jen isn’t to blame. Didn’t Sam say he’d lost his job for harassing someone?”
“Oh, sure, but that can’t be true. He wouldn’t do that,” said Marie. “I’ve known him since he was a boy.”
“That doesn’t really mean anything,” said Theo. “There was a guy at our company who seemed great, but it turned out he’d been taking pictures of women in the ladies’ restroom without them knowing.”
There was a moment of awkward silence.
Susan took the opportunity to walk away. She spotted Rachel standing alone and went over to say hello. Sam and Jen had left together, as had Jason. Rachel was out of it. She was clutching a red plastic cup filled with some sort of tequila drink.
“Rachel, what happened there?” Susan asked. It came out more forcefully than she’d intended.
