Maine - J. Courtney Sullivan [179]
Finally, she walked toward the house and said, “The funniest thing happened when the UPS man delivered this.”
They paused before Pat said, “Oh? What?”
Drat, nothing all that interesting had happened with the UPS man.
“He couldn’t fit it through the door,” she improvised. “So he had to hoist it up onto the deck and then bring it through the slider.”
“How could he—,” Pat began, but Steve interrupted, “Is that the one for that big competition you won?”
She nodded, pleased that he remembered.
“It’s a beauty,” he said.
“It is,” his wife agreed.
“Thank you. I always wanted one in brick. They’re very unusual.”
“Is that right?” Linda asked. “Oh, I love the little doghouse in the yard.”
Ann Marie had painted it gray the night before, and she had made a white bone out of clay, which you could see only if you peered inside.
“I have a lot left to do on it,” she said. “The curtains and rugs were my main projects this week. And the lawn.”
“Sounds like you’ve been busy,” Steve said. “Hopefully now you’ll have time to relax.”
Then he raised his glass and said, “To an unforgettable week!”
They all got to their feet and stood by the dollhouse. They clinked their glasses together, and Ann Marie felt grateful to be here with people who appreciated her. For a moment, it was as if the last few days had never passed.
The next morning, Pat and Steve went to play eighteen holes. Ann Marie and Linda slept in, and then decided to go down to the beach. For the first time since she could remember, Ann Marie didn’t bother inviting Alice to come along. Not that she would have said yes—Alice hardly ever set foot on the beach, and she seemed to be avoiding them, staying hidden away in the house next door when she wasn’t at church. She hadn’t even stopped in to say hello to the Brewers yet. This was fine by Ann Marie, since she wanted to scream each time she saw her mother-in-law’s face. But even so, the decision not to include Alice felt momentous somehow.
They placed their chairs on the dry sand up by the dunes, so they wouldn’t have to move them when the tide came in. Between them was a tote bag full of sunblock and water and magazines, and a bottle of white wine with two plastic cups slung over the top.
“How marvelous to have this all to yourselves,” Linda said, gazing up and down the shore as she untied her sarong. She looked better than she had last summer—her legs seemed more toned, her arms a bit less saggy. Ann Marie sucked in her gut and decided not to take her shorts off. “It must be so great to be able to just dash inside the house and get a snack or change out of your bathing suit if you want to.”
Ann Marie nodded. “It’s nice, especially with the grandkids. You can put them down for a nap up in the cottage and bring the baby monitor down here to the beach.”
“How civilized!”
“I know.”
They smothered themselves in sunblock, rubbing the white cream into their legs and arms until it disappeared, leaving a clear sheen behind.
“Gotta love the Irish skin,” Linda said with a laugh.
“Tell me about it,” Ann Marie said. “So, what have I missed in the neighborhood since I’ve been gone?”
“Not much,” Linda said. She reached for the bottle of wine. “May I?”
“Please,” Ann Marie said. It was only eleven o’clock, but what the heck? They were on vacation.
Linda poured the wine and said, “I hear through the grapevine that Josephine’s husband might be leaving her.”
“Ted? No!”
“Yes. And I’m not even sure I can tell you for who.”
“Oh God.”
“The babysitter. She’s a sophomore at Tufts.”
“Poor Josie!”
“I know. I told Steve if he ever humiliated me like that, they’d never find his body.”
They giggled, though Ann Marie wondered for a split second if Linda was onto her and Steve. Was this her way of saying back off? For some reason, the thought of it gave Ann Marie a rush.
They chatted