Indian Summer (4 page)

She finds her dad in front of the garage with Drew, raising the seat on Drew’s bicycle. The light of the overhead floodlights makes crazy shadows on the driveway. Five shadows of Dad going from dark to light all move in unison as he loosens the bolts on the bike. “Hi, Dad.” She stops in front of him. “I’m sorry about dinner.”

“Oh, honey, that’s okay.” He puts down his tools and stands up to give her a hug. “You were just having a bad moment. If you can’t get upset with your family, who can
you get upset with? I’m glad you’re feeling better.” He starts to tickle her.

“Hey, Dad—stop it! I’m not a baby anymore, you know,” she says, half laughing, half annoyed.

“You will always be my baby.” He puts his hands on her shoulders. “It’s hard to remember that you’re already twelve years old. Almost a teenager. It seems like just yesterday you had training wheels on your bike.”

“Look, Marcie,” says Drew, “Dad is making my bike bigger because I’m getting bigger!”

“You sure are,” says Marcie. Her dad gets back to work on the bike and they sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Then Drew says suddenly, “Dad, are we poor?”

Their dad looks up at Drew with a puzzled and amused expression on his face. “Poor? No, we’re not poor.”

“Are we rich?”

“No, we’re not rich, either. We’re just right. Why do you ask?”

“Joey says we must be poor since you drive a junky old car instead of a new car like his dad.”

“I see.” He pauses. “Well, I drive this junky old car,” he says with a grin, gesturing toward his car parked behind them in the garage, “because I choose to drive it, not because we can’t afford to buy a new one. It runs just fine and it’s not important to me to have a new car. Part of the reason that we do have money in the bank is because we
don’t spend money on things we don’t really need. Does that make sense?”

“I guess so. Kind of like when I spend my allowance on candy and then I don’t have any money to buy the game I’ve been wanting?”

“Yes, that’s it exactly.” He and Marcie exchange a look over Drew’s head. It’s a family joke that Drew has a hard time saving any of his allowance. As soon as he gets any money accumulated, he’s asking one of them to take him to the store so he can buy something. She has to admit though, that it is a bit embarrassing to ride in Dad’s car. Especially if he’s giving one of her friends a ride.

“Alright, buddy. It’s time for you to get in bed. We’re leaving after lunch tomorrow for Mamaw and Poppy’s.”

“Yippee!” says Drew and he starts skipping toward the house. Marcie and her dad follow more slowly behind him and Marcie slips her hand through her dad’s arm.

T
HE DRIVE TO
the cottage only takes about two hours. Just the perfect amount of time to read or take a nap, but not get totally bored. They leave right after lunch and get there with plenty of the day still to enjoy. As soon as the van stops they all pile out and stretch and there is Mamaw at the back door to greet them, her tall, angular frame filling the doorway. The sweet, vanilla smell of baking wafts past her from the kitchen.

“Hello, Lilly,” says Dad giving her a kiss on the cheek. “What is that wonderful smell?”

“Mamaw!” calls Drew, running over to her.

“I bought some strawberries at the farmers’ market this morning, so I thought I’d make shortcake for dessert. Poppy is going to do a fish fry for dinner. He’s down at the pier now catching a few more fish–-we hope! He could probably use some help,” she says to the kids.

A fish fry and Mamaw’s strawberry shortcake from scratch–-she always makes real whipped cream—Marcie’s mouth starts to water. “Hello Drew!” Mamaw bends over
to give Drew a hug. Her short salt and pepper hair contrasts with his sandy blond hair. “We’re so glad you’re all here. You kids know where you’re sleeping. I cleaned out drawers for your stuff, but you can unpack later.” She hugs the rest of them and adds, “Aunt Lucy and Uncle Mark will be over later this afternoon when the little ones get up from their naps. Come see the garden, Jill.” She and Marcie’s mom start to walk away.

“I’d love that, Mom,” says Mrs. Horton.

“Hang on! Before you all rush off and leave me,” Dad holds up his hands, “everyone grab your bags and bring them to your room, and then you can go do your thing.”

Eric grabs his stuff and bounds into the house with Drew close behind. Marcie follows more slowly. It feels good to be at the cottage. Like having a beautiful and familiar quilt wrap around you. Why didn’t she want to come? It all seems so unimportant now. Going in through the back door to the mud room, Marcie turns to her right and up the stairs to the kids’ sleeping loft. The house doesn’t really have a front and back door. What you would think of as the back of the house with the kitchen actually faces the street and the part of the house facing the lake is a big sunroom with windows all around to take advantage of the water views. At the top of the stairs, she pauses. Directly in front of her is the big arched window facing the lake with its window seat covered in faded cushions.
The window seat is Marcie’s favorite place to read or be alone. She catches a glimpse of the water beyond and happiness floods through her. She’s at the cottage! George, the big black-and-white calico cat, is lying on the seat in the sun. He is easily twice as big as Speck and very lazy. He’s also fifteen years old. The boys drop off their suitcases by their usual beds and swing round the newel post at the top of the stairs on their way back downstairs. “We’re going fishing with Poppy. Want to come?” says Eric. He’s been nicer to her today after calling her a whiner at dinner last night.

“Not right now,” she replies. She wants to unpack her things and settle in a bit before going downstairs.

“Okay—later!”

Once they’re gone, Marcie opens the drawers under her bunk and puts her things away. She always sleeps on the bottom bed of the single bunk along one side of the room. It’s “her” bed. The boys like the top beds of the other two bunks across the room, but Marcie thinks the bottom is more cozy. It feels like a cave. Her quilt is a multi-colored plaid this time, faded from frequent washing, and smelling of fresh air and sunshine from drying on the clothesline. She puts her books on the shelves beside her bed, stows her suitcase in the closet, and sits next to George on the window seat. A deep, rumbling emanates from his chest and he stretches luxuriously.

The windows are open and the fan suspended from the vaulted ceiling is turned on so there is a nice breeze. She can smell the water—clean, fresh, alive. Marcie always thinks of the color green when she smells the lake. It’s how she imagines green would smell. The sun glinting on the surface of the water seems to be calling to her. She decides to go for a swim. She changes into her suit and grabs a towel from under the sink. Can’t forget the sunscreen—she grabs that, too. Her mom’s an absolute fanatic about using sunscreen—fair skin and freckles do tend to burn.

On her way to the pier, she passes her dad already napping in the hammock slung between two oak trees in the garden and hears a familiar bark behind her. She smiles to herself and turns to see their elderly neighbor, Al, and his dog Pansy ambling toward her. “Hi, Al!” she says. Pansy is so happy to see Marcie that her whole body is wagging, but she sits and waits for Marcie to come over and pet her. “Hello, good girl, how are you?” Marcie ruffles her ears and is rewarded with a big, wet kiss. Pansy’s fur is brown tipped with black and the light brown markings on her face are in the shape of a pansy, like two big petals around her eyes. Her mouth curls up in the back so she always looks like she’s grinning at you.

“I heard the commotion and thought I would find you Hortons down here,” says Al. “Actually, it was Pansy who
couldn’t wait. I was having a nap, but she insisted I get up and bring her out to say Hello.” He pats her head fondly. Al is the unofficial mayor of the neighborhood, and Marcie could have predicted that he’d be over right away to welcome them to the lake. He knows everything going on around the cove and checks in with everyone regularly. He’s been a friend of the family for as long as she can remember. When she and Eric were little they would toddle over to his house to sit with him on his porch swing or to play darts or checkers. Actually, they still go over to visit with him. The fact that he has a tin full of candy at the ready for visiting children isn’t the only reason they want to go. He is always happy to see them and spend time visiting.

The boys see Al and wave. “Catch anything?” he calls to them.

“Drew caught two, but I haven’t had a bite!” replies Eric. Marcie and Al have almost reached the pier.

“Would you three like to go to James Bay with me to fish tomorrow?” asks Al.

“Yes! You bet! Oh, Yeah!” they shout at the same time.

“Maybe we can go in the morning and pack a picnic lunch. How does that sound?”

“Great!” they all answer. James Bay is their special place. It’s quiet by the shore and the marshy waters are filled with birds, turtles, and otters. It’s a great fishing spot.

“Have a seat, Al.” says Poppy indicating a lawn chair.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Al ambles to the chair, easing himself onto the seat, and Pansy sits beside him. Turning to Marcie, Poppy says, “Hey, you! I wondered when you’d be down.” He sees her towel and bathing suit. “Going swimming? The water’s perfect—nice and warm.” He nods toward the green-blue water with his ever present baseball cap, which covers his almost completely bald scalp.

Marcie gets a big inner tube from the shed and slides into it from the dock. Floating out in the channel she feels the water relaxing her body. It is so great not having to be anywhere or do anything in particular, she thinks. No homework, no after school activities, nothing. Eventually, Drew and Eric join her and they spend the afternoon zipping down the slide, doing silly jumps off the diving board, and floating on the water. When Aunt Lucy and Uncle Mark arrive with three-year-old Michael and baby Janey, Michael wants to swim with the big kids. He idolizes Eric and Drew, the “big boys,” and wants to play with them every chance he gets.

“Be sure to keep an eye on him, will you?” Lucy says. “I’ll put his life jacket on him, but you still have to be careful.”

“No problem,” calls Eric, floating on his back on an inflatable raft. “Send him down the slide and I’ll catch him!”

“I can do it myself, Mom.” Michael shimmies up the stairs and lets out a squeal of delight on his way down the slide before he lands with a splash in the lake.

A
FTER THE DINNER
dishes are cleaned up and the guys have settled in to watch a ball game, Mamaw suggests taking an evening stroll. On the walk back home, as they turn the corner onto their street, Marcie looks up to see a shiny, dark blue convertible pulling into the driveway of the cottage.
Who could that be
? she wonders. The driver is a man, a woman is in the passenger seat, and a girl sits in the back seat. Getting closer, she sees that it’s Kaitlyn Swyndall in the back, and it looks like Mrs. Swyndall in the front seat, so Mr. Swyndall must be behind the steering wheel.

Her dad has come out of the house and is shaking hands with Mr. Swyndall as the four of them return from the walk and come up the drive. “Hallo there, Hortons!” booms out Mr. Swyndall. “Out for an evening walk? We thought we’d take a little drive ourselves. I wanted to take my new toy out for a spin.” He pats the hood of the car.

“It’s a beauty,” says her dad, with an admiring tone, although Marcie knows he isn’t much interested in cars.

After glancing at Mamaw as though in silent confirmation, Marcie’s mom says, “Hello, Abby, Don and you too,
Kaitlyn. You have perfect timing! We were just going to enjoy some strawberry shortcake. It’s my mom’s homemade recipe. Why don’t you come in and join us?”

“Are you sure it’s no trouble?” asks Abby Swyndall.

“Not at all,” says Mamaw. “I always make extra. Come on in.”

The adults get out of the car through the doors and Kaitlyn hops nimbly over the side onto the drive.

“Hey,” says Marcie to Kaitlyn. She hadn’t expected to see her so soon after arriving at the cottage. She feels a little unsure about how to act around her.

“Hi,” replies Kaitlyn. They stand uncertainly, facing each other. Marcie realizes that Kaitlyn feels uncomfortable, too, but she’s not sure what to do. Seeing their discomfort, her mom says, “Marcie, why don’t you and Kaitlyn help serve the shortcake?” She holds open the screen door for them and adds. “You can make the whipped cream.”

“Okay,” says Marcie, relieved. She shoots her mom a grateful look as the girls pass her going into the kitchen. “Here Kaitlyn,” opening a cabinet door she gestures to the dishes inside. “Plates are in there and silverware is in the drawer below. I’ll get the strawberries and whipping cream. The shortcakes are on the counter.” She pulls open the refrigerator and scoops up the bowl of sliced strawberries and carton of whipping cream. The adults have gathered
in the sunroom on the chairs and couches surrounding the low wooden farm table. She can hear Mamaw asking if anyone would like coffee.

“You can cook? I don’t know how to make whipped cream. Or anything else for that matter,” says Kaitlyn with a laugh. “How many plates?”

“There are eleven of us, not including the baby, so the three of you will make fourteen.” Marcie plugs in the portable mixer and pours the cream into a mixing bowl. “I help my mom and Mamaw in the kitchen sometimes, but I don’t do a lot of cooking on my own. Whipped cream is easy. It’s just whipping cream and sugar.”

“My mom doesn’t really cook much. We mostly just fend for ourselves. Prepackaged stuff. I’m great with the microwave!” says Kaitlyn as she counts plates and silverware. Marcie measures the sugar and pours it into the bowl with the cream. The whir of the electric mixer momentarily discourages more conversation.

When everyone is served, the girls go sit on the deck outside the sunroom to enjoy their dessert. Eric, Drew, and little Michael are already there. “This is really good!” exclaims Kaitlyn.

“Yeah, homemade is the best,” says Marcie through a mouthful of strawberries, cream, and shortcake. Inside, the adults are having a similar conversation. Mrs. Swyndall says, “This is really delicious, but I can really only have a
bite. Always watching my weight!” she pats her waist. “I don’t do much cooking, what with all of my volunteering and fundraising activities. Luckily, the new gourmet market in town has a good bakery.” Kaitlyn rolls her eyes at Marcie and says, “What’d I tell you?” under her breath.