Maine - J. Courtney Sullivan [85]
But when she brought Gabe to Maine the previous summer, her grandmother suddenly brightened. The fun they had reminded Maggie of the old days. Alice played the piano in the cottage after dinner one night, and Gabe sang along, belting out show tunes, unbearably off-key. Maggie was shocked and touched that he knew the words. He asked Alice about her favorite books, her funniest memories of Maggie as a kid.
“You’re amazing,” he told her over and over, to Maggie’s slight agitation, for she had told Gabe of Alice’s unkindness toward her mother, and she almost wished his affections would be harder for Alice to win.
In a night, he somehow pulled from Alice what Maggie was always aiming for—real conversation, tales of the past that would die with her unless she told them now. Alice was in the middle of some story about babysitting for Maggie and Chris when they were kids, and how they had hidden from her at the zoo as a prank, throwing Chris’s baseball cap into the monkey cage. Gabe laughed, and Maggie did, too, though she was positive the story was made up.
She asked then, “So, Grandma, what was your childhood like? Tell us about that.”
Alice’s eyes changed quickly. “I was talking about something else,” she said. “You interrupted me. Anyway, I should be getting on with my evening. I’ll see you kids tomorrow.”
That night in bed, Maggie said, “What did I tell you? The woman hates my guts.”
“You know, she really does seem to,” Gabe said with a smile. Then he wrapped her up in his arms and said, “But I love your guts. I think you have the sexiest guts on the planet.”
“Honestly, though,” Maggie said. “I wish she liked me half as much as she likes you.”
“You two are family, it’s different,” he said. “I don’t understand why you need her approval so badly. You’re nothing alike.”
Now she tried to imagine what she and Alice would say to each other if they were forced to spend two weeks together. She couldn’t quite picture it, but she wanted to. She thought of Alice, alone up at the beach house. She was slipping a bit mentally, maybe; she seemed confused sometimes. Kathleen always said Alice was as healthy as a horse, but how many good summers did she have left?
Maggie thought of the cottage itself, and how much she loved the place. Dr. Rosen was right—how hard was it to take a bus? The ocean would restore her. And if she was having a miserable time, she could always turn around and come home.
She would go alone.
But she’d give it a day, in case Gabe changed his mind and decided to come too.
Around noon, Maggie dialed the number of her grandparents’ house in Maine. Alice answered after four rings, sounding sort of tipsy. Maggie had never seen her grandmother drink until after her grandfather died. But since then, it was rare to see Alice without a glass in her hand, even at this time of day.
“Grandma, it’s Maggie,” she said.
“Hold on, let me stick a thingamajig into my book to save the page,” Alice said. She came back onto the line a moment later. “How are you, darling?”
“Good. You?”
“Marvelous. I called you earlier.”
“I know, that’s why I’m calling.”
“How on earth do you know? I didn’t leave a message.” Her words were soaked in suspicion, as if Maggie were either lying or working for the CIA.
“What’s going on there?” Maggie asked.
“I just put a chicken into the oven for dinner later, and now I’m sitting here on the porch with my feet up. They have been absolutely killing me. Circulation, I guess. Have you seen the new adaptation of David Copperfield on PBS? I think you’d really like it. They’re airing it in five parts this week. I watched the second part last night. A woman from church told me about it, and there’s that actress with the enormous eyes, oh, what’s her name, what’s her name? Ann Marie would know it, I’ll have to ask her. She was in Bleak House also. Anyway, when are you coming?”
The way Alice rambled made Maggie wonder how long it had been since she had spoken to anyone.