Summer Friends Page 15

  But at that moment, Maggie was largely alone, with just the distant, glittering ocean for company. It would have been nice to be walking with Delphine. Maggie remembered the summer her family had gone to Europe instead of coming to Ogunquit. Ancient stone castles with spooky dungeons, glorious old cathedrals with glowing stained-glass windows, magnificent museums filled with works by the people whose names Maggie had started to learn about in art class, charming cafés serving delicious pastries, crumbling ruins on which a kid could climb to her heart’s content—it had all meant little or nothing without Delphine by her side, someone with whom she could giggle and take note and dream. Peter had been no company. He’d spent the entire time grumbling about not being able to play baseball and missing his favorite TV show.

  A dragonfly darted by, close to her face, and then another. Maggie had been frightened of dragonflies when she was little. Once, she and Delphine had come across a dead dragonfly. It might even have been Maggie’s first summer in Ogunquit. Somehow she had gotten up the nerve to kneel down next to it and see what it looked like up close. She had been amazed to find that it was beautiful. She hadn’t been afraid of dragonflies since then. It was a sad way to learn a lesson, she thought now. To learn to appreciate something—someone—only after it had died.

  Maggie sat on one of the benches along the path, placed there in memory of a person who had loved this spot on earth more than any other. She wondered how many people had chosen to have their ashes scattered from the cliffs. She had no deep attachment to this place, not like Delphine seemed to, anyway. She had wonderful memories of her summers in Ogunquit, this “beautiful place by the sea,” but she would never consider living here year-round. She wasn’t a victim of wanderlust, but neither was she a person who was passionate about place. Maybe that had something to do with her family having moved so often when she was growing up. Maybe that had something to do with her mother’s passion for change and redecoration.

  A massive seagull landed a few feet from her and cocked his head. “Sorry,” she told him. “I don’t have any food.” The bird regarded her closely for another moment and then stalked away to find a person of value.

  Maggie sighed. She was annoyed with herself. She was throwing herself at a person who clearly didn’t want anything to do with her. She wondered what had happened to her self-respect. She wondered what Gregory would think of her chasing after Delphine. She had been too embarrassed to tell him the important reason she had come back to Ogunquit—to make a real and vital connection with someone. And that was sad, not to be able to trust your spouse with your uncertainties, your hopes, your fears, your loneliness. It was sad, but maybe it was also common. Maggie didn’t know. She didn’t have any close friends with whom she could talk about her marriage. She certainly couldn’t talk to her mother about it. And Delphine . . .

  How stupid she had been, keeping that aquamarine necklace all these years and then thinking that this summer, reunited with Delphine, would provide the perfect moment to finally present it to her. How stupid, how adolescent, how naïve she had been to believe that the two of them would come together as easily and as immediately as they had the summer before fourth grade.

  That was something else Gregory didn’t know about, the necklace or the hurt feelings that had prompted Maggie to withhold it from Delphine all those years ago. She had told him about the fact of the friendship, where it had started and how it had grown, and then how it had suddenly died. But she had never talked about the depth of pain Delphine’s defection had caused her. Maybe she should have. Maybe she still could. Maybe it was too late. Maybe it just didn’t matter what she felt.

  Because it was true what Delphine had said. She hadn’t asked Maggie to come back to Ogunquit, to return to the origins of their friendship. That had been all Maggie’s idea, a misguided notion, a silly hope for the revival of what had once been an essential relationship, the central relationship of so many years of her youth.

  Well, maybe she was partially to blame for Delphine’s resistance to her friendship. Maggie suspected that since she had arrived in Ogunquit she had been making assumptions about Delphine’s life, regarding it as inadequate, judging it against standards that simply didn’t apply to a Crandall. Her offer of help for Dave Jr., her unthinking comment about waitressing that morning with Jemima at Delphine’s house—none of that had been helpful, had it?

  For all those summers they had spent together, and then, through four years of college, it had never really occurred to Maggie that she and Delphine were from such very different worlds. She had never really acknowledged the radical separateness of their lives. And it had certainly never occurred to her that those differences could one day become a problem. Children, young people, didn’t look for division; at least she hadn’t. Love, even the love of a friendship, had truly conquered all.

  No, a sense of division and separateness came with time and experience. Discernment became, in many cases, prejudicial or judgmental thinking. Maybe that was inevitable. If so, that was sad.

  Suddenly, Maggie felt very, very tired. She got up from the bench and began the long walk back to her hotel. In Perkins Cove a monstrous tour bus was discharging a group of elderly people, mostly women, dressed in the unflattering clothes some nasty person in some snobby design studio thought elderly women should be resigned to wearing. A few of the women linked arms for support as they began to walk toward the water for a better view. Maggie felt her throat tighten, a prelude to tears.

  Once she was on Shore Road, she fought a tide of mothers and fathers loaded down with beach gear, their children in brightly colored bathing suits and Crocs, jumping along beside them. Couples—women with women, men with men, women with men—some, the middle-aged couples, wearing matching T-shirts, others flashing new wedding bands and honeymoon nails, others visibly pregnant, still others merely teens. She felt she was the only person in the entire town of Ogunquit who was on her own.

  It was with relief that Maggie shut the door to her hotel room behind her. She took off her shoes and lay down on the neatly made bed. Again, she thought that maybe she should cut short her visit to Ogunquit—her doomed visit to the past—and just go back home to Lexington. She could sell the aquamarine necklace there. There was a reputable family-owned jewelry store right in town that would probably buy it. The stone was a good one and the price of gold was still high. She couldn’t imagine giving the necklace to someone else, one of her daughters perhaps. And she certainly couldn’t imagine wearing it herself, not with all of the emotional resonance it held.

  Maggie didn’t make it a habit to nap. But now, she allowed her eyes to close and to stay closed. Before long, she was in a deep and dreamless sleep.

  25

  Delphine sighed and wiped her brow with the back of her hand. The afternoon was hot, not one on which she would ordinarily choose to mow a lawn, but she had made a promise to Jemima. Jim was away for a week on a job for his company up in the Greenville area, and Jemima’s arthritis was acting up something fierce. While she could probably get the mowing accomplished, she would be the worse for it for days. Delphine was strong. Besides, it was what neighbors and friends did for each other, helped out in small but meaningful ways. It was just that it was really, really hot....

  When she had finished the job, Delphine, her bandana soaked with sweat and her arms aching, joined Jemima in her kitchen for a tall glass of iced tea.

  “So,” Jemima asked, handing a glass to Delphine, “is your rich friend still in town?”

  “If you mean Maggie,” Delphine said after taking a gulp, “then yes, she is.” Then she wondered. For all she knew, Maggie might have gone back to Massachusetts. The thought disturbed her, but only slightly.

  “I don’t know how you can be friends with someone like that,” Jemima said, transferring a large lump of dough from a stainless-steel bowl onto a flowered wood board.

  Delphine drained her glass before asking, “What do you mean, ‘someone like that’? Someone like what?”


  Jemima hesitated, seemingly at a loss for the right words. Then, she said, “Someone who takes a vacation without her husband. Who ever heard of a husband and wife taking separate vacations?”

  “It doesn’t seem so odd to me,” Delphine argued. “Come to think of it, I seem to remember Maggie telling me that her mother went off on her own sometimes.”

  “And that car!” Jemima punched the dough with more force than necessary. “Who spends all that money on a car? If it gets you from point A to point B it should suffice.”

  “I bet in her business an expensive car is sort of a job requirement. You can’t show up for a meeting with corporate presidents or important clients in a beater. Or in a truck like mine, for that matter.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with your truck,” Jemima said. “People put too much stock in appearances.”

  “Well, be that as it may . . .”

  “And she wouldn’t even eat a whole corn muffin! One little muffin!”

  Now Delphine laughed. “Not everyone likes corn muffins, Jemima. Come on. And she did say she was watching her carbs.”

  “Watching her carbs! Ridiculous. She strikes me as one of those women obsessed with their looks, always on some fad diet. There are more important things in life, you know, than being skinny and shooting your face full of rat poison or whatever ridiculous thing it is those women do to look younger.”

  “Of course I know,” Delphine said patiently. “And Maggie’s not really like that. She’s not shallow; she’s just always been careful of her appearance. She’s a very loyal person. She’s very intelligent. You’re just seeing one part of her.”

  The part you want to see, Delphine thought. The part you need to see. Maybe she, too, had been judging Maggie harshly, too quick to find habits and opinions she could condemn as different and so less valuable than her own. She thought about what had happened with Dave Jr. What had Maggie really offered but access to professional help? There was nothing objectionable in that, unless you chose to be offended for your own muddled reasons, like a distorted sense of pride. Even the large tip Maggie had left at the diner. While going through the day’s receipts, Delphine had discovered that Maggie’s was missing. She asked Sue, the waitress who had served Maggie, about the receipt. Sue told her that Mr. Crandall hadn’t charged Maggie for her lunch and that Maggie had left a twenty-dollar tip. Delphine had immediately seen the money as offensive, as an insult. Now, she thought that it was more likely to have been an offering of thanks and appreciation.

  “More iced tea?” Jemima asked, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel and rousing Delphine from her brief reverie.

  “Oh, no,” she replied, “thanks. I should get going. I promised I’d help Jackie with some harvesting.” She put her empty glass in the sink, said good-bye to Jemima, and let herself out the front door. Maybe, she thought as she walked to her truck, I’ve been selling Maggie a bit short. Maybe.

  26

  It was about five o’clock on Friday afternoon and Maggie was standing with ten or so other sweaty visitors to Ogunquit, waiting for a trolley to take her back to Gorges Grant. She had woken earlier from her mid-morning nap feeling disoriented and restless. She called Gregory and had an aborted conversation, as he was running off to a meeting. She sent a text to Kim and one to Caitlin. Neither girl responded. She left a voice mail for a woman back in Lexington, someone she had met on the tennis court, suggesting they get together for a game when she got back. She didn’t really like Angela all that much, but you couldn’t play a good game of tennis alone and Angela’s skill level was on par with her own. Her company was, for lack of a better word, convenient.

  And then, she had washed her face, reapplied sunscreen and makeup, changed into a lighter outfit, and headed into town. Ogunquit was a vacation destination. There was plenty to do, plenty to occupy the long, empty hours that stretched ahead.

  First, she went to the Barn Gallery. There was an exhibit of local artists, and though many of the paintings and photographs and mixed media pieces were interesting and some even beautiful, Maggie was hardly moved. She considered seeing a movie at the Leavitt Theatre, a place she had fond memories of, but decided she wouldn’t be able to focus on a story line. She walked on to Perkins Cove. In a store called Swamp John’s she bought a gold charm in the shape of a starfish. Kim liked starfish. She would give her the charm for her next birthday. She walked over to Barnacle Billy’s for lunch in the shady garden. She ordered a lobster salad and a glass of wine, forgoing the infamous rum punch she had heard about back at her hotel. The food was fine, but Maggie ate without enthusiasm. The view of the boats docked in the cove was charming, but Maggie barely noticed.

  When her meal was cleared away, she ordered a second glass of wine. Again, she considered cutting this visit to Ogunquit short and going back home to Lexington. But for what would she be returning home? And for whom? There was always her job. She could bury herself in work; there was a comfortable couch in her office, so she needn’t bother to go home to an empty house at the end of the day. She could shower at her gym. Stash a change of clothes in her locker.

  Maggie frowned. It was ridiculous, to be thinking about hiding from an empty house. It was her home. She had a right to be there and to feel welcomed, even if she was the only inhabitant. For God’s sake, she owned the house. Suddenly, she’d had enough of feeling sorry for herself. What would her father say if he could hear her whining, self-pitying thoughts? And what would her her mother say? Maggie could almost see her frown of disapproval and disappointment.

  She would not run home. She had come back to Ogunquit for a reason. She had lost Delphine once—maybe she hadn’t fought hard enough for her—but she would not lose her again, especially not over something as ridiculous as a juvenile delinquent and a lost tooth. And she didn’t really believe, not deep down, that Delphine wanted nothing to do with her. She couldn’t afford to believe that, not yet, not until she found another home in which to place her trust and friendship, not until she found another source of emotional intimacy and strength. Maggie made her decision. She would approach Delphine one more time, and maybe one more time after that. The result would be up to Delphine and her willingness—her ability—to receive Maggie’s friendship. But at least she would have tried.

  After having finished the second glass of wine Maggie paid the bill and walked to the nearest trolley stop. Now, finally, a trolley was in sight. Once back at her hotel she would take a shower, put on clean clothes, and go someplace air-conditioned to get a drink. She had a very strong feeling that getting a little drunk was in order.

  27

  1982

  Maggie sat at her desk in the dorm room she shared with Delphine. It was a Saturday night. She had no particular plans, other than flipping through the fashion magazine in front of her. Delphine would, of course, be seeing that graduate student, Robert Evans.

  She had been dating him for almost a month. They were near to inseparable. If not for the demands of their professors—and both were on scholarships, so those demands were taken seriously—Maggie thought they would spend all of their time together, holding hands and staring into each other’s eyes. It was enough to make Maggie sick. The fact that she felt bad about feeling so . . . jealous only made her feel sicker.

  It wasn’t right to be jealous of your friend’s good fortune, even if that good fortune meant you got to spend less time with her and the time you did get to spend with her was largely taken up with talking about the good fortune. In this case, the good fortune was Robert Evans. You were supposed to be happy for your friend’s happiness and she was, really. It was just that . . . It was just that she felt a little bit—just a little bit—abandoned. Left out. Ignored. Left behind.

  Delphine came back from the bathroom down the hall. She was dressed in a pair of Levi 501 button fly jeans, black cowboy boots (they weren’t real leather, so they had been affordable), and a white blouse, tucked in, and the sleeves rolled up almost to her elbows. Maggie noticed that she had actually managed to
tame her hair into a ponytail. Delphine didn’t like the big teased and lacquered hair so many of her classmates wore. Generally, Maggie thought Delphine looked like a throwback to the sixties, her hair long and messy and parted in the middle.

  “Do you want to wear my leather jacket?” Maggie offered. “It’s really warm. I heard on the news that this has been the coldest November in Boston since some time in the 1950s. I forget the exact year.”

  “Sure,” Delphine said. “Thanks. I promise to keep it clean.” And then, her tone suddenly anxious, she said, “You are happy for me, aren’t you?”

  “Of course I am,” Maggie said firmly. “Now go, have a great time. I promise not to wait up for you.”

  “I’ll tell you everything tomorrow, I swear.”

  “Okay. Wait,” Maggie called, as Delphine was at the door. “You’re going to a club out in Winchester, right?”

  “Yeah. Some place called Space Bar.”

  “Is Robert driving?”

  “I think so,” Delphine said. “Why?”

  “Don’t get in the car if he drinks, okay? I know you really like this guy, but don’t do anything stupid for him. Promise me.”

  Delphine put out her arms. Maggie got up from her chair and the girls hugged. “I would never do anything to risk our friendship, Maggie,” she said. “Believe me.”

  “Best friends always.”

  “Pinky swear?”

  Maggie laughed. “You are so silly. Okay, pinky swear.”

  When Delphine had gone—she had practically run from their room in her eagerness to be with Robert—Maggie lay down on her bed and stared up at the patched ceiling. It would be a long night if she stayed in. She could catch a movie. The Blues Brothers was playing in a revival theatre somewhere. People in her French class had been talking about it. She had never seen it and it was already a kind of cult classic. Or she could see Gandhi. That would keep her occupied for a few hours. And some girls she knew from her advanced statistics class were planning to hang out at Timmy O’Shea’s, an authentic Irish pub on Boylston Street. The girls were okay. She could join them, even for one beer, maybe order some boxty wedges. She loved boxty wedges, even though her mother repeatedly warned her about the caloric dangers of anything made from potatoes.