Page 48 of Endless Summer: Stories
“I haven’t the foggiest, but from her tone of voice, I could tell it was something I wanted to avoid. It’s like she’s the parent now and I’m the child. She’s so…judgy. And not cute like Judge Wapner.”
“Heiscute,” Bitsy agrees. “I wonder if he’s single.”
Kate leans back in the seat, her whole body relaxing now that they’ve made a clean getaway. She fears that Jessie wants to “talk” about Kate’s lifestyle—namely, her drinking and gallivanting about with Bitsy. Jessie may suggest, encourage, or demand that Kate “tone it down.” Kate is, after all, a widow.
But that’s just the thing.
Kate’s second husband, David Levin, died in January, and before he passed, he made it eminently clear that he wanted Kate to keep on living. “We had thirty-five beautiful years together,” he said. “How lucky are we? If you cry, let the tears be ones of gratitude. And then go out and enjoy your freedom.”
Kate had shushed him; what he was saying was absurd. She was losing her husband, her best friend and beloved. People didn’t just bounce back from that.
But Kate discovered that David was right. After a few months of wallowing around in sorrow and misery and loneliness and the pragmatic reality of being in charge of everything (property taxes, insurance policies, oil changes in their cars), Kate woke up one day and felt… lighter. She had been a wife since she was twenty-two years old—first the wife of Wilder Foley and then, a scant year after Wilder killed himself, the wife of David Levin. Kate realized there was a flip side to loneliness—liberation. Kate didn’t have to worry about anyone but herself; her whims and wants were the only ones she needed to consider.
She bought pretty flowered sheets for her bed. She stocked the fridge with Ballpark franks and the cabinets with bags of Fritos. She watchedThirtysomethingevery Tuesday night on the new TV she’d had installed in her bedroom, often with a bowl of rocky road ice cream on her lap, and she left the dirty dish on her nightstand until morning. She went days without applying lipstick; she stopped coloring her hair but then felt that being gray made her look too much like her mother, so she went platinum blond.
When Kate arrived on Nantucket, she reconnected with her lifelong friend Bitsy Dunscombe. Kate and Bitsy’s relationship had been something of a roller-coaster ride; there was a summer, twenty years earlier, when they’d had a screaming match in the middle of the Opera House restaurant. But beneath the petty jealousies and the score-keeping lay genuine affection. Kate and Bitsy were both older now—a stone’s throw away from seventy!—and Bitsy found herself single as well. She and Arturo had amicably parted ways after nineteen years of marriage, and Bitsy, who was on the hunt for husband number three, was only too happy to serve as Kate’s partner in crime. The two ladies were as inseparable this summer as they had been as teenagers—and they were having even more fun. They used to spend every waking moment at the Field and Oar Club but Bitsy had soured on the place.It’s so uptight! There are so many antiquated rules!There was a whole social scene that they had previously largely ignored waiting for them outside the club.
They went for brunch at the White Elephant and for drinks at the Atlantic Café. They had Italian food at DeMarco’s and a delicious cocktail called the Elbow Bender at the Lobster Trap. They lounged by the Summer House pool and even ventured once to the Muse to hear live music. They went to plays at Bennett Hall and to lectures at the Atheneum. Every Friday night, they strolled the galleries of Old South Wharf, holding little plastic cups of bad white wine, then headed over to the Rope Walk for lobsters. On sunny days, they would drive Kate’s Scout out to Smith’s Point and sit in upright chairs doing their needlepoint. Kate was making a belt for Tiger, and Bitsy was working on a pillow that read:Lord, lead me not into temptation. I can find it well enough on my own.
Kate couldn’t remember ever having so much fun. The last thing she wanted to hear was that Jessie didn’t approve.
Of course, it was also possible that Jessie wanted to talk to Kate about Genevieve—and Kate relished this idea even less. It’s true that Genevieve is having a difficult time. At first, Kate was not only appalled butfrightenedby her only granddaughter’s appearance. She wore black from head to toe, even black lipstick. She was pierced like a human pincushion and she’d gotten atattooon herforearm,where everyone couldseeit. She had shaved off her lovely blond hair and dyed the resulting crew cut flamingo pink. She wore a leather jacket that smelled like a rotting animal, apparently a gift from the oh so inappropriate punk-rocker boyfriend who lived somewhere in Rhode Island.
What had happened to the sweet, smart girl Genevieve used to be? Kate wondered back in June when Genevieve set foot in the house on Red Barn Road with an army-green rucksack at her feet. (Where was the cute quilted duffel from Pierre Deux on Newbury Street that Kate had given her for Christmas?) Was thisInvasion of the Body Snatchers?
Kate realized she had two choices: Freak out, as the kids liked to say, or pretend everything was fine. She chose the latter. She told Genevieve that she’d spoken to Erica Wilson at the needlepoint shop and to Reggie at the watercolor gallery about hiring Genevieve for the summer. Genevieve had laughed and said, “Uh… no and no.” Kate was almost relieved; she couldn’t imagine someone who looked like Genevieve selling embroidery thread or landscapes of Nantucket harbor. Kate couldn’t even bring Genevieve to the Field and Oar Club; she didn’t begin to meet the dress code.
Somehow, Kate managed to keep her composure as she got Genevieve settled in the guesthouse and reminded her about using only the outdoor shower. “I bet you’ve missed the pool,” Kate said. “And the ocean!”
Genevieve shrugged. “I didn’t pack a bathing suit.”
Kate clapped a hand over her mouth. Her granddaughter had come to Nantucket for the summer without a bathing suit? This was no longer the little girl in the pink ruffled one-piece and plastic goggles that Kate had to bribe with a tin of Charlie’s Chips to get out of the water. This was a young woman who was wearing what looked like… combat boots.
Kate had let Genevieve “settle in,” then she hurried back to the house, where she called Bitsy and cried.
Bitsy had lots of experience with family drama. Just look at what had recently happened to Helen. “I’d advise you to meet Genevieve where she is,” Bitsy said. “She’s a kid, trying to find herself. You remember Kirby at that age.”
Oh, dear, yes,Kate thought. Kirby had been arrested twice for protesting the Vietnam War. And now she was out in Hollywood “producing,” whatever that meant, and they never saw her.
Although it was nearly physically painful, Kate let Genevieve be Genevieve. And, surprise, surprise, the two of them had gotten along quite well all summer. Genevieve woke up around noon, whereupon she drank a cup of black coffee and ate a bowl of Cap’n Crunch. She spent her afternoons watching talk shows on television, each one worse than the last—Maury Povich, Jerry Springer, Morton Downey Jr.—and Kate would occasionally join her on the sofa in the name of bonding. Wouldn’t you know, Kate always got sucked into the ridiculous or pathetic plights of the guests on the show, and together, Kate and Genevieve would heckle, hiss, boo, or howl with laughter.
In an attempt to lure Genevieve outdoors (she was as pale as a vampire), Kate served her lunch on the patio by the pool—Genevieve was partial to homemade English muffin pizzas—and one day, Kate asked Genevieve if she wanted to play cards. They started with crazy eights, then moved on to hearts, spades, and gin rummy.
Genevieve, Kate found, could be bargained with. Genevieve agreed to go to Murray’s to buy a bathing suit (black, of course) and accompany Kate to the beach, but in exchange, Genevieve asked Kate to listen to an entire Ramones album on Genevieve’s Walkman. Genevieve would drive Kate and Bitsy into town so they could drink as many Moscow mules as they wanted at the Brotherhood in exchange for permission to make long-distance calls from the house phone. (Who was she calling? Kate assumed it was the punk-rocker boyfriend. The first phone bill showed repeated calls to a number in Rhode Island, but none of the calls lasted longer than a minute.)
When Kate caught Genevieve smoking behind the guest cottage, she at first thought to punish her, but grounding wouldn’t work, as she never went anywhere, and making her eat the cigarette seemed cruel. So instead, she asked Genevieve for a cigarette and then a light. Kate hadn’t smoked in years—David didn’t tolerate it—but David was gone. It did feel a little unwholesome, smoking with her grandchild—what would Nancy Reagan think?—and so with her first, delicious exhale, Kate said, “This is a filthy habit.”
Genevieve leaned back against the shingles of the house and watched Kate smoke with a bemused expression on her face that morphed into something resembling an actual smile. “You’re cool, Grammy,” she said.
Kate winked at her pierced, tattooed, flamingo-haired granddaughter, trying not to let on how much this comment pleased her.
From that moment on, things had changed between Kate and Genevieve. There was a respect between them, an understanding, a kind of (dared Kate use the word?) friendship.
But Jessie’s arrival threatened to disrupt their delicate balance.
“Where shall we go?” Bitsy asks as they pull out onto Madaket Road.
“Is it too early to get a drink?” Kate says.
