Page 60 of Summer Longing
“I’m making an oatmeal soap,” Ruth said. “From scratch.”
“That seems like a lot of work,” Olivia said, stepping around her to reach the counter. “Where’s the coffee machine?”
“I put it away. Do you mind going to the Wired Puppy or someplace just for this morning? I need this space clear.”
“Seriously?” Olivia said, obviously minding very much. She picked up the jar of bentonite clay, read the label.
“Just for today. Sorry.”
“Why are you making soap?”
“Elise needs something gentle for Mira. You know half the stuff they sell as natural or organic is full of parabens and all sorts of things.”
“Can’t she just order something online?”
“Olivia, the internet is not the answer to everything, despite your beliefs to the contrary.”
“Jeez. I’m just asking. It seems like an obvious question.”
“Well, the answer is that I’m happy to be doing this. Don’t you remember when I used to make batches of products in our kitchen when you were little?”
“No.”
“Really? Well, how about the time I took you to see how lipstick was made?”
Olivia shook her head.
How could she not remember? “Olivia, come on. The underground tank?”
“Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“We had an underground tank and we would have fifteen hundred gallons of castor oil in it at a time. You can’t take dry pigment and add it to a base, so you take your dry pigment, which is highly concentrated powder, and soak it for hours in castor oil. Then you put it through this three-roller mill that blends it into a highly concentrated paint.” She could see Olivia’s eyes glazing over. “Well, anyway, I showed you all this when you were little. I can’t believe you don’t remember. Your father loved that roller mill—he found it fascinating. I can remember him lifting you up so you could look at it more closely.”
Olivia put down the jar of clay. “Um, speaking of Dad, I need to ask you something. Can he stay here for a few days?”
Ruth stepped away from the stove. “Your dad is coming to Provincetown?”
“I think so. And he could drive me back to New York.”
As ornery as Olivia could be, Ruth didn’t want her to leave. Even just this simple conversation about the soap and the old lipstick mill was a start. It was something. Maybe Olivia didn’t remember the trip to the factory that day, and maybe she’d forgotten how her mother had mixed batches of moisturizer in the kitchen in big metal bowls with Olivia sitting at the small breakfast table making things out of Play-Doh while she worked. But Ruth had to believe that one of these conversations would offer a point of connection. One morning, Olivia would have her own memory of a shared moment together. But if not, if for some reason Olivia could remember only the difficult times, then at least now she could try to create new memories.
But having Ben stay in the house? That didn’t seem like a good idea. It didn’t even seem like something Ben would do. “Your father wants to stay here?”
“Well, no. But he said everyplace is booked this week and next. And we have that room upstairs that I’m not using. We’ll stay out of your way, I promise. I won’t even try to make coffee here.” She smiled.
We’ll stay out of your way. There it was—the two of them a united front with Ruth as the outsider. It was time for that to change. Ruth was done being the bad guy.
“Okay,” she said. “He can stay here.”
Somehow, her new life was starting to look an awful lot like one she had left long ago.
The first thing Olivia noticed was the smell.
Stepping outside to call her father in private, she was surprised by a salty, sulfuric odor that was more beach than backyard. The source of this was even more surprising.
Two clotheslines had been strung across the yard, but instead of shirts and socks hanging to dry, the first line was half covered with yellowish-brown plant fronds reaching nearly to the ground. Even more bizarre, the person at the helm of this operation was Marco Barros.
Olivia was thankful she’d taken the time to change out of her pajamas into jean shorts and a tank top. “Hey—what’s all this?” Olivia said, standing in front of the stone bench and putting her phone in her back pocket. The call to her father would have to wait a few minutes.
