Maine - J. Courtney Sullivan [38]
“Plus, Ryan has that sweet girlfriend,” Ann Marie said. “He’s been with Daphne since freshman year. I wouldn’t worry, Mom.”
Little Daniel jokingly referred to Ryan as a “fairy boy.” But he was just kidding around. It was because Ryan had worn green tights in a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
“I know it,” Alice said. “That wasn’t even what I meant. But since then, I’ve called Clare twice and she hasn’t called me back. I realize it’s her busy season, with all the First Communions and confirmations. But still, is it too much to ask that my own daughter return my calls?”
She was getting riled up now. It made Ann Marie nervous when Alice acted that way. Best to change the subject.
“How are things up in Maine?” she asked.
“Chilly, but nice,” Alice said. “There are four bunnies living under the cottage porch, I think. A mother, a father, and two babies.”
“Oh, sweet.”
“Sweet my foot. They’re eating my tomato plants, and the green beans,” she said. “I’m trying everything I can think of to get rid of them. My garden is gorgeous this year. I don’t want them wrecking it.”
“Better than last year?”
“Yes! I finally tried that fertilizer poop spray of Kathleen’s. God help me, I think it actually works. Though why can’t they come up with a snazzier name for it?”
Ann Marie laughed. For years, Kathleen had been sending Alice her fertilizer products and Alice had been hiding them in a box in her basement rather than use them, because she didn’t understand how worm feces could be a step up from Miracle-Gro.
“Good question,” Ann Marie said. “When do Maggie and Gabe get there?”
Ann Marie wasn’t fond of her niece’s boyfriend; he seemed a bit too slick for her. And she had heard from Alice, who heard from Kathleen, that he might be mixed up in drugs. She had always been glad her own children had the good sense to date decent people. Patty had married a sweetheart, Josh. And Little Daniel had found Regina, a real doll.
Her youngest, Fiona, was almost thirty and still off in the Peace Corps in Africa. She was a passionate girl, serious in her convictions, which had always made Ann Marie proud, though in recent years she had begun to think it was high time for Fiona to come home and settle down.
Having a child is one way to save the world, she had written in a letter to her daughter last year. She told Pat this after she mailed it, and he said affably, “White wine and letter writing might be a bad mix for you.”
Then, this past winter at Christmastime, Fiona had asked Ann Marie and Pat if she could take them to dinner, just the three of them. Ann Marie was delighted. It seemed a very grown-up thing for Fiona to do, and she could be terribly childish at times. Ann Marie wore her sweater with the poinsettias embroidered across the front. She imagined Fiona was going to tell them she was coming home at last, but instead she uttered those unforgettable words: “As you probably know, I’m gay.”
She had thought over the events of that night so many times since—had she been naïve not to know what was coming? At the table after Fiona’s announcement, Pat had said he had suspected as much, and that he was happy for her. Just like that. Ann Marie had cried. She felt awful about it now, even all these months later. Back at home, Pat cried too. But at least he had the good sense not to let Fiona see.
“I don’t know when Maggie will be here,” Alice had continued. “Kathleen basically told me to mind my own beeswax when I asked her that simple question. Should be any day, I suppose.”
Then she casually mentioned that Maggie was coming up to Maine for only the first two weeks of June. After that, Alice would be by herself until Ann Marie and Pat arrived in early July.
Ann Marie was peeved. She had been told early in the spring that Maggie was going to be there for the entirety of June. (Who had said so? She couldn’t recall.) A huge part of the reason Pat had created a schedule for the cottage was so that Alice would never have to be alone up there for long. It wasn