Page 73 of Summer of '69
Kate stands at the top of the stairs looking down. She hadn’t expected to like the house this much; she had not expected to like it at all. She came to see it with dual purposes, neither of them noble—to escape Exalta and to appease David. But what she has found is a place that the entire family can call home. It’s not fancy—there’s no crown molding, no priceless murals, nowhere to hang proper drapes. There are no brick floors, and there’s no kitchen fireplace or quaint buttery. It has no pedigree, really—if Kate had to guess, she would say the house was built with stock-market money in the prosperous twenties as a summer resort by people who loved nature and their privacy.
The house feels like home. It feels like the place where she and David might happily spend the 1970s, the 1980s, and, if they’re lucky, the 1990s. Maybe they’ll even watch the sun rise on the new millennium here.
The year 2000; it’s only thirty-one years away, and yet it feels like science fiction.
The thought sustains her. She will usher in the next thousand years here, on Red Barn Road.
Kate can’t risk calling Laundry Real Estate from the house, nor can she go to the office in person, as someone she knows might see her and report back to Exalta. She decides to call from the bank of pay phones at the Nantucket Electric Company building. It’s midday and another scorcher. The town is deserted, which is a good thing. There’s always a chance someone might notice her using the pay phone and wonder if Kate is having an affair. Bitsy Dunscombe would most definitely suspect that.
Kate needs to be quick.
There’s only one other person at the bank of phones, a blond teenager with his back to Kate. He’s yelling into the receiver, “Whereisshe? Have you heard from her? No? Notanything?” When he slams down the phone, Kate gasps.
“Pick?” Kate says. It’s the first time she has used his name. Bill Crimmins tactfully skipped a proper introduction, though naturally Kate and Pick have seen each other in passing. He’s always on his bike, either heading to the beach or to work or returning from the beach or from work. If he looks over and sees her, he waves and she waves back.
Pick seems upset by the call and embarrassed to be recognized. He draws his forearm across his eyes. Was the boycrying?Kate replays his words and suddenly she understands: he must have been looking for his mother.
“Hey, Mrs. Levin,” he says. He gestures toward the phone with a theatrical flourish. “All yours.” He turns to go; she sees his bike resting against the telephone pole. She would normally be grateful for an easy exit—she has sensitive business to discuss that she doesn’t want him to overhear, plus she feels very uncomfortable around him. She can’t bring herself to look at him too closely. But he’s in such obvious distress, she can’t let it go unremarked.
“Pick, are you okay? Is everything all right? Are you trying to find Lorraine?”
He nods while looking at the pavement, then he meets Kate’s eyes. “You knew her, right? My mom?”
“Oh,” Kate says. It serves her right for opening her mouth. “I knew her a long time ago. But yes, she worked for our family for years.” Kate swallows. “She used to keep an eye on the children, my older children, when they were very young.”
“I don’t know where she is,” Pick says. “I don’t know where she went or when she’s coming back. There’s stuff I want to tell her. This whole summer…I mean, I got a job and got promoted to the hot line—”
Kate smiles. “Congratulations.”
“And I have a new girlfriend. Her name is Sabrina. She’s the prettiest waitress at the restaurant and she’s funny, too, and smart. There are these two old ladies who come to eat at the restaurant all the time and Sabrina calls them Arsenic and Old Lace.” Pick’s eyes, she notices, are Lorraine’s eyes, the frosted blue of sea glass. “I’m sorry.”
Kate places a hand on his arm. He’s as brown as a berry, as the saying goes. “Don’t apologize. If anyone understands missing someone, it’s me. My son is overseas.”
“Jessie told me,” Pick says. “You must be proud.”
“I am,” Kate says. “But it’s difficult, of course.” They stand together another few seconds without anything to say, then Kate turns to the phone. “Well, I’d better make my call.”
Pick climbs on his bike. “See you at home.”
Home,she thinks. He’s lived there four weeks with people he barely knows, and he considers it home. That’s either wonderful or the saddest thing Kate has ever heard; she can’t decide which.
She drops a dime in the slot and dials the number.
“Laundry Real Estate,” the receptionist says.
“Yes,” Kate says. “I’d like to make an offer on a house.”
Fly Me to the Moon (Reprise)
Almost by magic, Blair wakes up one morning and feels fine. She feels better than fine; she feels energized. She climbs out of bed and puts on her dress. The orange corduroy dress Kate bought her is just too hot to wear in mid-July but having it has given Blair the chance to wash, iron, and mend her trusty yellow dress, which she has nicknamed “Old Yeller.” She gets downstairs to breakfast before Exalta and Jessie leave for Jessie’s tennis lesson. Jessie stares morosely into her bowl of cereal. Two days earlier, Jessie had tapped on Blair’s door to tell her she had gotten her period.
“What do I do?” Jessie asked.
Blair had nearly said,Go find Mom,but these days talking to Kate was as effective as talking to someone on television; Kate might have spoken to Jessie, but she wouldn’t really have heard what she said. Kate couldn’t be relied on or confided in these days. That was okay; Blair would use this opportunity to hone her maternal skills. She hauled herself up off the sofa.
“I’ll go to Congdon’s Pharmacy,” Blair said. “Run up and fetch my purse.”
Later, after she showed Jessie how to best manage her monthly, she said, “We should go out and get you a bra.”
