A Month at the Shore (67 page)

Jane
'
s eyes, on the other hand, were puffy from weeping, her nose bright pink from blowing. She
'
d forgotten to open her umbrella at one point, and now her long auburn hair was plastered to her face in dark wet ringlets. Yesterday it hadn
'
t sunk in, but sometime during the night she realized it: Aunt Sylvia
—
funny, eccentric, shrewd Aunt Sylvia
—
was gone.

The minister finished with a short prayer and offered his condolences. The service was over; the small gathering began breaking up. Gwendolyn Drew took her daughter aside with a look of loving horror.

"
Darling, you look positively awful,
"
she said, peeling a wet strand of hair from Jane
'
s forehead.
"
Would you rather skip lunch and go to bed, and I
'
ll be on my way?
"

"
No,
"
Jane said quickly. She flapped open her big wet hanky and blew one more time.
"
I
'
ll be all right. I don
'
t know what
's come over me ..
. I knew Aunt Sylvia was ready to
...
but I never knew she cared enough about me
....
Oh,
mother ...
she left
me
Lilac Cottage
!
"

Gwendolyn
'
s eyes opened wide.
"
She
did
?
That
is
a surprise. I assumed the house would go to an animal shelter or some such. Well!
"
she said, lowering her voice in deference to the one other mourner who remained.
"
That really is a surprise.
"

The mourner, whose back was to them both, was a solidly built man with shaggy hair. In one hand he held a big black umbrella; the other was jammed into the pocket of his canvas jacket. As they watched, he took something from his pocket and tossed it into the open, still-empty grave. His profile was grim as he turned and left without acknowledging them.

There was a finality in the man
'
s gesture that made Jane say,
"
I guess we should go.
"

She touched her fingers to her lips and blew a kiss gently in the direction of her aunt, then fell in alongside her mother. But at the grave
'
s opening she stopped, attracted by a small red spot of color in the dirt at the bottom. It was a rose, tiny and exquisite and impossibly out of place in February, in a grave.

The two women moved on.

****

They had lunch in town at the Crowninshield Saloon, a casual bar and restaurant with a scrubbed wood floor that was popular with the locals and one of the few that remained open all year long. At her mother
'
s insistence that she eat something, Jane forced down a bowl of hot kale soup, a Portuguese specialty that took away some of the chill that had plagued her since the night before.

Her mother had a chicken salad and a glass of Perrier. Her mother
always
had a chicken salad and a glass of Perrier whenever she was in what she called
"
a place like this.
"

"
Nantucket
. What a desolate place to live,
"
Gwendolyn said, staring out at the rain pounding the bare windows.
"
Fog
...  rain ...
penetrating cold
...."

"
Mother, you live in
San Francisco
,
"
Jane said, recovering her sense of irony.
"
You
have fog and rain and penetrating cold.
"

Gwendolyn Drew gave her daughter a good-natured grimace.
"
Yes, but we
'
re open all year. We also have compensations: opera and ballet, museums and theaters, not to mention charity balls for all of them. But here
! What does one do on this ...
this rock?
"

"
One sits by the fire, just as we
'
re doing now, and warms one
'
s buns.
"

"
One gets rock fever.
"

"
I
wouldn
'
t.
"

"
Jane. If you
'
re thinking what I think you
'
re thinking
— don
'
t. You couldn
'
t possibly afford to keep Lilac Cottage as a weekend retreat. You have no job. The property taxes alone
—
"

"
I didn
'
t say I was keeping it,
"
Jane answered defensively. She hated when her mother acted like her father.

"
I should hope not. This inheritance is an absolute godsend. You
'
ve been living on your savings for six months now; how long could you have gone on? The mortgage on your condo alone
—
and what about your father?
"
she said suddenly.
"
When he learns about the inheritance, of
course
he
'
ll want you to sell.
"
She brightened.
"
You can go back to school and retrain; law school maybe
—
"

"
Mother, I
'
m not going to become a lawyer just because Dad
'
s one. And I
like
being a graphic designer. This downturn can
'
t last forever. I
'
ll get another job. Eventually.
"
She spread a hard pat of butter so viciously onto her slice of bread that it fell apart in her hand.

Her mother circled her daughter
'
s wrist and said soothingly,
"
Don
'
t blame me, darling. Blame the economy. Blame the advertising sector. Or better yet
—
blame your father,
"
she said with a smile.
"
He
'
s not here; he
'
ll never know.
"

"
Oh no, Mother, I blame
you,
"
Jane said, only half kidding.
"
You stopped having kids one boy short. Think how much easier my life would be if Dad didn
'
t look to me to carry on his tradition of workaholism. If you
'
d had a Neal Drew, Jr.,
he
could
'
ve been the lawyer.
"

Her mother shrugged and said,
"
Well, it
'
s too late now. Anyway, we
'
ve been all through this. If you don
'
t want to be pressured by your father, you should find yourself a nice rich man and settle down with a family. Like your sister.
"

"
Those are my choices? Law school or marriage? This is practically medieval,
"
Jane said, throwing her hands up and rolling her eyes. It was an overly dramatic gesture, she knew; but she wanted to irritate her mother, and being melodramatic in a public place was a quick and easy way to do it.

Her mother gave her
a sit-up-properly-and-eat-your-
food look. Jane went back to her Earl Grey tea.

"
I feel really guilty about the house. What will Lisa say?
"
Jane murmured, wrapping her hands around the tea mug to warm them.

"
Your sister is married and financially secure. She won
'
t begrudge you your cottage. Besides,
she
didn
'
t spend a summer with Sylvia.
"

"
I only spent a month.
"

"
And
she
didn
'
t visit her in the nursing home for the last two years.
"

"
It wasn
'
t that often,
"
Jane said sadly.
"
Not often enough. I wish I
'
d known before then that Aunt Sylvia was willing to see me.
"

"
Well, what do you want to do? Give it back?
"
her mother said, exasperated.

"
I
'
m beginning to think so!
"
It seemed an incredible act of betrayal, having to sell the cottage her aunt had loved so dearly.

"
Sweetheart.
"
Her mother
'
s smile was meltingly tender, the kind of smile a mother has for a daughter who
'
s tried to tie her shoelaces for the first time.
"
Before this windfall there was no way you would have survived without your father
'
s help, sooner or later. We know what a fiercely proud brat you are; wouldn
'
t you rather have the help from Aunt Sylvia than from your stubborn, domineering father? Who, incidentally, loves you more than life itself?
"

"
Well. Once you put it that way
...."
Jane made a little sound of frustration and gazed out the window, chewing on the inside of her lip.

"
It
'
s stopped raining,
"
her mother said, glancing at her watch.
"
I just have time to make a quick run out with you to see the place
—
"

"
Look!
"
Jane
said
, pointing out the window.
"
There
'
s the guy who threw the flower in the grave!
"

He was sitting in the driver
'
s seat of a rusty, dark green Ford pickup with
J & J LANDSCAPING
AND
NURSERY
painted on the door panel. His expression was as grim as ever, which cast a malevolent shadow over the craggy, weathered features of his fortyish face. He looked like a man capable of anything.

"
It
'
s hard to imagine him carrying a tiny rose in his pocket,
"
Jane murmured, frowning. She was absolutely put off by the man.

"
No mystery about that; Aunt Sylvia must have been a client,
"
her mother said as she dropped her Visa card on top of the tab.
"
She had to have needed help keeping up the property at the end.
"

She signaled for a waiter to square up the bill.
"
Rain or not, I
'
m looking forward to seeing your Lilac Cottage. As I recall from an old photo, it
'
s an adorable place with lots of shrubs and flowers. We
'
ll have to be very clever marketing it, especially in this economy
...."

"
Hmmm.
"
But Jane wasn
'
t listening. Her attention was fixed squarely on the driver of the pickup, who
'
d rolled down his window and was yelling across to someone she couldn
'
t see.

"
I want the burner, you moron!
"
he shouted.
"
Bring it over!
"
He threw the truck into
gear and tore off down
South Water Street
.

"
Charming,
"
Jane
'
s mother remarked, slipping her credit card into her wallet.

"
People never shout in
San Francisco
?
"
Jane asked dryly.