The Summer Cottage Read Online Free Page B

for?”
    “Nothing,” said Helen. “It just feels good to be back, doesn’t it?”
    “Very good,” said Claire, taking the bait. “I love it here.”
    “We all do.”
    When the phone rang, fracturing the easy silence that had fallen between them, Helen started, spilling tea in her lap. “Rats!” she said, setting the mug down on the cork coaster on the table next to her before walking to the corner of the living room, where the white Princess phone that hung on the wall continued to ring loudly.
    It was her husband, Charles, calling from the campground pay phone in the Adirondacks. He and their sons, Todd and Ned, were having a successful fishing trip, and he wanted to know if they could stay another couple days. And, even though he had been hesitant when the boys suggested he leave his cell phone in the locked glove compartment of the car, Charles had not missed the stream of phone calls from his insurance agency. He told his seven employees before he left that this was a real vacation, and that if they had an emergency, they could call his wife who would be able to find him. He had never done that before, and didn’t know if he would ever do it again. But he was grateful for the quiet, for the uninterrupted time with his boys. “The boys are getting along so well.”
    “They always do.”
    “You know that’s not true, and you know what I mean,” said Charles. “Maybe there really is something to your fresh-air theory.” Helen laughed. “How is everything going there?”
    “Fine,” said Helen, wishing as she had since her teenage years that there was another phone in the house, one she could talk on without everyone within earshot listening in. It was Claire who insisted that the phone be installed in a central location. It’s easier to get to, she had said, also noting that no one in their family needed to keep secrets. They had not had a phone in the house at all until 1970, when John finally convinced his wife, after a fire in the Heights destroyed three cottages, that emergencies really did happen.
    “Have you heard from Thomas?”
    “No.”
    “He’ll come, Helen. He’s almost as competitive as your mother. There’s no way he’ll leave the house and the rest of her estate to the three of you—even if he doesn’t need the money.”
    “I agree.”
    “Is Pammy still coming tomorrow, and Charlotte on Thursday? How about the boys and I show up on Friday, so you girls can have some fun together before our arrival?”
    Helen smiled at the phone. “Okay. But you will owe me.”
    “That I can handle,” said Charles. “Add it to my tab.”
    “Bring us some fish.”
    “You can count on it,” he said. “And Helen? You’re a good egg.”
    “Yeah,” she said. “So I’ve heard. Give the boys my love.”
    “They send theirs, honey.”
    “We’ll see you Friday then?”
    “Yes. And I’m serious about that fish.”
    “You better be.”
    “Love you,” he said.
    “I know you do,” said Helen, uncomfortable still to confess her love for Charles in front of her mother.
    “Say it,” he said, kidding her.
    “It,” said Helen, hanging up the phone.
    “Delayed?” her mother asked, unable to keep up with the gist of the conversation.
    “By choice.” Helen returned to her seat and picked up her mug. “The fish are biting, and they can’t bear to leave.”
    “That’s too bad,” said Claire, the corners of her droopy mouth sinking lower.
    “I think it’s great. Now we can have a slumber party. No boys allowed.”

C HAPTER 4
    1973
     
    A nother session of prolific crabbing behind her, Helen returned her bucket and line to the dirt-floor garage and ran into the cottage to change into her suit. “Hi, parents!” she called on her way up the stairs, as Thomas did when he walked into the house at dinnertime. Claire and John were sitting on the porch, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper, her mother The New York Times and her father The Wall Street Journal . They both lifted their