Page 16 of Summer Longing
Amelia’s kitchen—with its pale wood floors, bone-colored cabinets, farmhouse sink, and whisks and ladles hanging from copper piping running along one wall—was warm and quirky, just like Amelia.
“Elise! This is a surprise. What brings you here?” Amelia said, whisking eggs. Her eyes, already focused on the baby, seemed to sharpen.
Elise didn’t know where or how to start. Her eyes filled with tears. Amelia did not press. “I happen to have some of that Strawberry Meadows tea of yours. How about I brew some right now for us?”
Elise nodded. And just as Amelia’s yellow porcelain teakettle began to whistle, the story came pouring out.
Amelia listened without saying a word. When Elise finished, she said, “You were right to come to me.” She brought two steaming mugs to the table.
Relief coursed through Elise like a shot of adrenaline. “What should I do?”
“You can’t take this baby to the police. As much as I like Gerry and Brian and the whole crew over there, they won’t have jurisdiction over this child. It will go to the state. And this is a Provincetown baby. We take care of our own.”
Elise nodded. “That’s what I said to Fern. But she said no one in town had had a baby. It had to be a summer person’s.”
“This place has a long history of people showing up under difficult circumstances to start over or to right a wrong. You and Fern might be washashores, but you’ve been here long enough to honor the Provincetown way of life.” Elise knew Amelia was paying her a compliment. People born in Provincetown were townies; people who moved there were washashores. And no matter how long someone had lived there and no matter how esteemed he or she was, a washashore could never become a townie—not technically. But some of them could in spirit. “We look out for one another, and as a community, we will look out for this baby.”
Elise felt weak with relief. “I don’t know what to say to Fern. She’s going to be furious.”
Amelia reached over and patted her hand. “Fern loves you. That’s all you need to know.”
Elise hoped she was right.
“Now,” Amelia said. “On to the practical matters. Come upstairs; I have all the baby gear from when my great-grandson was born. You can latch that car seat onto a stroller bottom, and I have the most adorable bassinet.”
She smiled and Elise smiled back. She would allow herself to enjoy this moment—however fleeting it might be.
Chapter Eight
Ruth awoke to the sound of a baby crying.
She reached for the water glass on her bedside table, her head throbbing. Lunch at Napi’s had turned into drinks at the A-House, and that had turned into midnight.
Oh, what a mistake! And yet the night had been undeniably fun. It was so easy to sit back and let Clifford do most of the talking. Having lived in Provincetown for thirty years, he was an endless font of colorful stories about the past and juicy gossip about the present.
“Transgression,” he’d said, “is a grand Provincetown tradition.”
He quoted something that Henry David Thoreau had written about the shores of the Cape: “A man may stand there and put all America behind him.” Ruth, in her inebriated state, had confessed, “I’ve come here to put everything behind me too.”
Clifford had reached across the table and patted her hand. “Haven’t we all, doll.”
Again, the loud squawk of an infant. Ruth sat up and peeked out the window, squinting against the sunlight. Where was that coming from? And then yesterday’s encounter with Elise Douglas came rushing back to her.
Was it possible that Elise and the baby were still here? No. That would be beyond the pale. Absolutely crossing a line.
Ruth pulled on a robe, stepped into her Ugg slippers, and opened her bedroom door. Yes, the noise was undeniably coming from inside the house. She padded down the stairs to the kitchen.
Elise sat at the kitchen table with the crying infant on her lap.
“What are youdoinghere?” Ruth said, incredulous.
“I’m sorry. I don’t have anywhere else to take her.”
Ruth felt her pulse begin to race. “Elise, I understand that there is some degree of unconventionality in this town. And I respect that, I do. But this is going too far. I paid good money for this house for the summer. You can’t just walk in here whenever you feel like it. Frankly, I don’t want you even ringing the doorbell to visit. For the next three months, you need to pretend this house doesn’t exist. Okay?”
Elise shook her head. “I’m sorry, Ruth. I really am. But this is bigger than the house. It’s bigger than whatever money we’d make giving up Shell Haven for the summer.”
The woman was clearly losing it. “Elise, I’m not sure what’s going on here, but I’m calling Fern.”
