Firefly Summer (6 page)

C
HAPTER
11

R
emy opened her mom's
Good Housekeeping
cookbook, turned to the earmarked “Pie and Pastry” section, and began to jot down the ingredients for rhubarb pie. She had plenty of rhubarb—the big, leafy plants had loved all the rain they'd had that spring—but she still needed to pick up an orange; she always forgot the recipe called for orange zest. She set her pen down and opened the cabinet to see if she had any quick-cook tapioca but when she heard a plaintive meow she stopped her search to open the back door and Edison sauntered in, expecting breakfast.

“I'm going out,” she said as she scooped kibble into his dish. He settled in front of it. “I won't be long,” she added, opening the back door again and stepping out, but a moment later, she was back. “I forgot my list,” she said as she pulled her shopping list off the top of her notepad. “See you in a bit.” She closed the door again and made it all the way out to Ol' Bess—her ancient Subaru Outback—before remembering she forgot her phone. She stood in the driveway, debating. Did she need it? No one ever called. Then again, if something happened and she needed help, she wouldn't have it. She went back inside and unplugged it. “I'm
really
leaving this time,” she assured the cat as she opened the door again. This time, Edison—who'd grown accustomed to her habit of repeatedly leaving—took advantage of the opportunity to scoot back outside. “Stay away from the road,” she called as he sauntered away. “I'm sure
he
didn't forget anything,” she murmured. “It's all the trappings we humans can't live without.”

Ten minutes later, she found a parking spot right in front of the Wellfleet Marketplace. She gathered her things, made sure she had everything—list, glasses, and wallet—and then surprised herself by remembering her canvas bags, too. “I remembered and I haven't even had my tea yet!” she murmured proudly, fully believing that tea made her mind sharper. She went into the store, grabbed a basket, and made her way through the produce section, carefully consulting her list. Since she hadn't taken the time to make breakfast—
or
have her tea—she stopped at the bakery and bought a blueberry muffin, which came with a free tea. From there she headed to the deli and ordered a small container of the market's famous Cape Cobb salad. Then, as she stood in the checkout line, she compared her list with the contents of her basket and realized she'd forgotten the orange. With a sigh, she left her place in line and went back to the produce.

Twenty minutes later, she pulled into the sandy driveway of the house she and Jim had had built on Great Island when they were first married. The house was a rambling bow-roof Cape with cedar shake siding on the ends and back, and weathered cedar shingles on the roof. In keeping with Cape Cod tradition, the front of the house was painted. When they'd first built it, Jim had painted it a dark rustic red, but after he died, she'd asked Sam to paint it tan; and most recently, despite the protest of her sisters, she'd had it painted white. Sailor had been especially critical. “White is so boring,” she'd moaned. “It's so ... vanilla!”

“That's me,” Remy had countered with a resigned smile. “Boring vanilla,” and that was really how she thought of herself. She wore the same clothes, year in and year out, took the same walk around the island, day in and day out, ate the same breakfast every morning—Bob's Red Mill steel-cut oatmeal, and went to bed at the same time every night. If that wasn't
vanilla
she didn't know what was. Even her favorite flavor of ice cream was vanilla.

Remy carried the groceries into the house, set her tea and muffin on the counter, and as she began putting everything away, noticed that the cabinet door was open. She frowned, trying to remember why she'd been in there. She glanced at the cookbook and then it hit her—she'd been looking for tapioca! Her heart sank as she scanned the shelves—she had everything from cornstarch to corn syrup and baking soda to baking powder, but she couldn't find the little red and white box of tapioca beads. “Sugar!” she exclaimed. “Now I have to go back out!”

With a growl of frustration, she warmed up her muffin in the microwave, spread a little butter on it, and ate it while sipping her lukewarm tea. Then she washed the dishes, set them in the dish drainer, wiped the crumbs off the counter, and headed back to her car, returning only once this time, for her keys.

She pulled up in front of the store and looked around. The prime parking spot she'd had before was long gone, and because there wasn't a parking spot anywhere, she was sure the checkout lines would be long, too. “So much for an early start!” she muttered.

When she finally got back to her car, she tossed the plastic bag with the one box in it onto the passenger seat—she'd forgotten to bring a canvas bag, and although she'd told the bagger she didn't need a bag, he'd still given her one.

She started the car, put on her seat belt, and pulled out into a long line of traffic. “It's not even Memorial Day!” she moaned. She dreaded the long lines summertime brought and tried to avoid venturing out at all on the weekends. She pushed back her damp hair, and because her air conditioner didn't work, rolled down her window.

Saturday was travel day on the Cape. It was when all the rentals changed hands and all the vacationers flooded the supermarkets, stocking up for the week. One time, Remy had forgotten it was Saturday and made the mistake of going to Stop&Shop to pick up some deli meat. The line at the deli counter had been at least forty deep!

She pulled back up the driveway, brought the tapioca inside, stuffed the plastic bag in the recycling, put on her apron, and reached for a sharp knife. The sun felt hot on her shoulders as she broke off several long stalks of rhubarb and sliced off their gigantic leaves with a quick swipe of her knife. She left the leaves wilting in the sun and carried the stalks inside. She rinsed them under cold water, dried them quickly with a paper towel, and chopped them into inch-long pieces, quickly filling her biggest measuring cup. Then she looked at all the rhubarb she still had left—not to mention the abundance still in the garden—and decided to make two pies. She'd find someone to give the second one to, and if not, she'd eat it herself—she loved rhubarb pie!

She masterfully rolled out the dough, laid and pressed two perfect circles of dough into pie plates, and then rolled out two more, which she'd cut into strips and weave across the filling into fancy lattice tops. Finally, setting her rolling pin aside, she grated enough orange zest for two pies and reached for her ceramic sugar canister, but when she picked it up, it felt light. Her heart sank again. She didn't even need to look, but did anyway—there was barely half a cup. “Sugar!” she exclaimed.

C
HAPTER
12

S
ailor lay in bed, watching the sunlight and shadows dance on the walls and listening to a pair of cardinals calling back and forth. She smiled—even though she'd just spent the night on a hardwood floor, she'd slept better than she had in months. She sat up and looked around the room, reveling in the lovely realization that this bright, airy space situated on a patch of sand on a curving peninsula of land on the edge of a great thundering ocean in a great big crazy world was
her
refuge, and no one could take it from her.

When she was young, she and her sisters had all dreamed of living on the Cape, full-time, and even though their friends were skeptical—“I bet it gets pretty desolate in the winter,” they'd said, or “I've heard all the restaurants and shops close and it becomes a ghost town”—their words of warning only made the sisters feel more drawn to the idea. Solitude was good for the soul, they believed, and they knew they'd never be alone; they would
always
have each other. Besides, there was something sacred about Cape Cod.

Piper had been first to move. It had been easy for her because all she'd had to do was move back home when she finished college. Remy was next—in 1989 she and Jim moved from Vermont to the bow-roof Cape they'd had built in Wellfleet. Birdie, on the other hand, took a while. She wasn't able to convince David until 2004. She'd been asking for years, but it wasn't until they turned fifty-five and she warned him that if they didn't move soon they might never get the chance. He finally relented and they sold their home in Ithaca, bid their colleagues good-bye, and moved to a rambling old saltbox in Orleans. Finally, it was Sailor's turn. She hadn't wanted to leave Boston. That is, until she very much
did
want to leave Boston!

She climbed out of her sleeping bag, stopped at the bathroom without bothering to close the door, and then shuffled to the kitchen to make coffee. She filled her red teakettle with water and put it on the back burner, and while it heated, rifled through a box labeled
KITCHEN
and found her can of Cafe Du Monde coffee. She measured a scoop into her coffee press, poured steaming water on top of it, and let it sit—she liked her coffee strong.

Five minutes later, carrying her favorite Black Dog Tavern coffee mug, she headed back to the bathroom, and leaving the door open again, turned on the shower. She'd just climbed in and started to suds up her hair when she heard a familiar voice calling, “Hellooo!”

She peeked around the shower curtain. “I knew I should've locked the door!”

“That wouldn't have kept me out,” Piper said with a grin.

“I'll just be a minute,” she said, ducking back behind the curtain.

“Okay, I'll help myself to some coffee,” Piper replied, reaching for another mug. “Do you have any cream?” she called, opening the refrigerator.

“No, sorry, no pollutants here.”

Piper walked through the rooms, sipping her coffee and smiling at her sister's simple furnishings—an Adirondack chair and two floor lamps in the living room, a crumpled sleeping bag and a pile of clothes in the bedroom, and a bookcase and drawing table in the studio. She stepped closer to look at the photographs that were spread out across the table—she'd never seen them side by side before. She looked at each one, and then her eyes were drawn to one in the middle. Without looking, she knew the photo had been taken in 1992. She knew because that was the summer she'd been pregnant with Elias, and in the photo, taken on July fourth, she was
very
pregnant—Elias had made his grand entrance on August first. Piper picked up the photo and smiled. She was wearing one of Nat's old oxford shirts over a very tight tank top and her sisters each had a hand on her belly. She'd always loved that photo—it was probably her favorite.

Sailor came into the room, drying her hair with a towel, and looked over her shoulder. “I remember that day,” she said with a smile. “You were having Braxton Hicks and you insisted your baby was coming.”

Piper laughed. “That was before I found out what a real contraction feels like.”

“You mean like having your insides ripped out?”

“Or being stabbed with a white-hot poker.”

They laughed and gave each other a long hug. “So, how're
you
doing?” Piper asked, searching her sister's eyes.

“Okay,” Sailor replied. “Pretty good, actually. I'm totally in love with this place.”

“I know,” Piper agreed, looking around. “It's perfect. I love your furnishings,” she teased.

Sailor laughed, knowing her sister meant her
sparse
furnishings. “I'm trying to simplify,” she said defensively. “Life with Frank was way too complicated—we had too many
things
. Now I'm feeling much freer
and
happier.”

Piper smiled. “You
look
happier.”

“Thanks,” she said with a nod. “Now, what are you doing here so early? I thought you were coming tonight.”

“I am but I had to be at the sanctuary this morning to help Nat look for a turtle, and then it got foggy . . . but now it's beautiful.”

Sailor laughed. “Yeah, I know what happens when you and Nat go looking for turtles,” she teased.

Piper laughed. Her sisters had always inferred that “Looking for turtles with Nat” was code for something much more intimate, and over the years, whenever she said it, they raised their eyebrows and nodded knowingly.

Piper rolled her eyes. “So, anyway, I knew you'd have fresh coffee, and since I didn't get a chance to have any this morning, I thought I'd stop by and check out your new digs.” She looked around at all the boxes. “Do you need help unpacking?”

“No, thanks,” Sailor said, following her gaze. “It looks worse than it is.”

“That reminds me,” Piper began. “I was in the attic yesterday. . .”

“How is it up there?” Sailor said with a grin.

“A disaster!” Piper said. “We really need to get through that stuff.”

“Well, maybe now that I'm living out here, too, we can light a fire under Birdie and Remy and spend some time up there.”

“That would be great.”

“Why were you up there anyway?”

“I was looking for Mom's old cookbook.”

“Did you find it?”

Piper shook her head. “Do you have any idea where it might be?”

Sailor frowned. “I don't know. I haven't seen it in years. Why are you looking for it?”

“Nat had a craving for rice pudding.”

“Ahh,” Sailor teased. “One of Nat's famous cravings . . .”

Piper laughed—her sisters knew all about Nat's cravings, too . . . well, maybe not
all
.

“Why don't you just look online for a recipe?”

“Because I want Mom's recipe.”

“Well, if anyone has the cookbook, it's probably Remy.”

Piper sipped her coffee and nodded. “Remind me to ask her.”

Sailor went back to the bathroom to hang up her towel and retrieve her coffee. “C'mon,” she said. “You have to see the gardens.” Piper followed her outside and they walked out through the overgrown yard, trying to determine what flowers were coming up. “I think those are peonies,” Piper said, pointing, “and look at all the hydrangeas! You need to get in there and prune out the dead stalks.”

Sailor nodded. “Sometimes the stalks still have life in them. I know they look dead but they might still shoot out some leaves. I think I'll wait.”

They heard a car pull into the driveway. “Who's that?” Piper asked, frowning.

“I don't know,” Sailor said, eyeing the black SUV.

The door opened and a man wearing sunglasses stepped out. He was wearing a light blue oxford shirt and stone colored khakis. He was tan and his dark hair was streaked with silver. He smiled and Sailor suddenly recognized him. “Oh! It's Josiah Gray—my real estate agent.”

“Really!?” Piper whispered conspiratorially and then felt a sharp elbow in her ribs. “Ouch!”

“Hey, Josiah, what brings you out here?” Sailor said pleasantly, walking toward him.

“Hey,” he said, glancing at his watch. “I hope I'm not too early. I was in the area and I thought I'd stop by to see how you're doing and if you're getting settled and”—he reached into his car and produced a bouquet of sunflowers and a box of Dunkin' Donuts Munchkins—“to thank you for your business.”

“I
love
sunflowers!” Sailor said. “Thank you!”

Josiah smiled. “I thought you looked like a sunflower girl.”

“I am. I'm a Munchkin girl, too,” she said, taking the box of bite-size doughnut holes.

Piper watched their exchange with surprised amusement.
A Munchkin girl?!

Sailor suddenly remembered her manners. “Josiah, this is my sister Piper,” she said, motioning to Piper.

Josiah nodded. “It's nice to meet you.”

“It's nice to meet you, too,” Piper said, stepping forward and shaking his hand.

Josiah looked back at Sailor. “So, how
is
it going? Are you unpacked?”

Sailor laughed. “Well, not quite, but I'm getting there.” She paused. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Oh, no,” Josiah said, putting up his hand. “I have to get to work. I just wanted to stop by and, like I said, thank you for your business.”

“Okay, well, you're welcome . . . and thank
you
for the flowers and treat.”

“You're welcome.” He opened his car door and started to get in. “I may take you up on that coffee another time, though. . . .”

Sailor looked surprised. “Okay. Anytime.”

Josiah nodded, and as he drove away, waved.

“Wow, Sail, he's cute!”

“He
is
cute,” Sailor said, handing her the flowers. She opened the box of Munchkins and held them out.

Piper picked out a chocolate glazed doughnut hole, took a bite, and with sugary lips, teased, “I never knew you were a Munchkin girl!”