Page 26 of Summer Longing
“Because you made it.”
So there she stood, in Ruth’s Kitchen, agonizing over the phone call from Ruth.
“What, exactly, did she say?” her father asked.
“She asked me to come visit for the weekend, I said I couldn’t deal with the Jersey Turnpike traffic over a holiday weekend, and she said she wasn’t in Philly, she was in Provincetown.”
“Provincetown?” he said. “Are you sure?”
Olivia nodded. “And get this: She’s not there for the weekend. She’s moved there.”
Her father leaned forward, started to say something, then stopped himself.
“What?” Olivia said.
“Do you want me to call her?”
“No! I feel bad enough involving you as it is.” Were her parents in touch? she wondered. “I just don’t get it, do you? Why Provincetown? I mean, how did she make that decision? Blindfolded and throwing darts at a map?”
Her father turned away and busied himself straightening up the counter. Olivia felt a pang of guilt for involving him in this. It wasn’t his job to deal with the vagaries of his ex-wife.
“Did you ask her?” he said.
“Of course. I said, ‘What are you doing there?’ And she said, ‘I’m getting my affairs in order.’ Just like that: ‘I’m getting my affairs in order.’ What do you think that means?”
Her father faced her again, his brow furrowed. “I don’t know. But it doesn’t sound good.”
Olivia knew they were both thinking the same thing. A few years ago, Ruth’s older sister, Cece, had battled breast cancer. Her treatment was successful, but it was scary. And yet her mother had somehow found a way to spin even that into gold. By the time Cece finished her last round of chemo, Ruth had launched a new nail-polish line called Liv Free: no formaldehyde, toluene, or dibutyl phthalate. With the rising call for nontoxic products, Liv Free took her mother’s company into the stratosphere. That’s when Revlon and Estée Lauder and the other big cosmetic conglomerates had come calling. Her mother had held out until just a year ago, then quietly sold the company for what Olivia could only assume was a fortune. Her mother never discussed the sale, not before or after. Olivia had read about it in theWall Street Journal.
“Do you really think Mom is sick?” Olivia said.
“I just don’t know. But you have to find out.”
“You think I should go to Provincetown?”
“Olivia, she’s your mother.”
Chapter Twelve
I’ve got nothing for you, doll,” Clifford Henry said from across his small, meticulously arranged desk in the realty office. “I told you at dinner, this town is booked, booked, booked.”
Ruth had been waiting for him on the front stoop of Clifford Henry and Associates since nine in the morning. He showed up at eleven with a large cup of coffee from the Wired Puppy, wearing sunglasses and with a newspaper tucked under his arm.
She’d tried to be patient as she’d waited for him to get settled. He booted up his laptop, plugged in his phone, and muttered something about his assistant being late. She wondered why he needed an assistant since, apparently, there was no property available to rent or buy.
“I’m already showing people places for next summer,” he said.
Well, that answered that. “Really?” she said.
“God, I’m so hung over.”
Ruth too had indulged the night before. Elise and Fern, baby in tow, showed up at the house after dinner and invaded it like a small native army. Elise had been emotional and apologetic while Fern was all business. She’d handed Ruth a check reimbursing her for the month.
“We’ll be out by July first,” she said.
Ruth, wordless and furious, took the check and retreated to the master bedroom, where she’d remained for the rest of the night, barricaded behind the door with a new book and a bottle of wine.
“But what’s the problem?” Clifford said now, removing his sunglasses and looking at her with sudden interest. “Shell Haven is perfection.”
