Summer House Read Free Page B

be bullied, no matter with what enormous charm. For that matter, she’d gladly write a few checks to Grace and Kellogg’s children. As for Charlotte’s brothers, Teddy might not even show up and Oliver was sweet and easy about everything. Oliver was quite happy in his life out there on the West Coast, and both he and his partner had work they loved, so they didn’t worry about money. Also, they were Dinks. Nona congratulated herself for knowing, at her age, the term Dinks, which meant Dual Income, No Kids. And she was pleased to remember that she had always treated Oliver and Owen with love, acceptance, and unconditional welcome.
    Some days she succeeded better than others. Some days the present rushed toward her like a storm, wild with gale-force winds, rogue lightning strikes, and thundering rain, and she found herself taking refuge in the past. Not all her memories were easy. No one’s were. Yet over the years time had spun her memories into a kind of nest, a comfortable silken cushion into which her mind fit as tidily as a ring into a jewel box. She felt snug there. She escaped the failures and frustrations of her aging body and was young again. Surely those memories of her youthful passions would help her be a good grandmother to her passionate descendants. She hoped that was the case.
1943
“ Please. Son. Are you marrying this girl because you have to?”
“For God’s sake, Mother!” Herb’s voice was low but angry .
Anne had just that moment paused at the head of the stairs with her hand on the banister as she bent to smooth her stockings, checking that the seam was exactly in the middle, because, from all Herb had told her, his mother would notice that sort of thing. Would care. Her footsteps had been muffled by Persian carpets when she walked from the guest bedroom at the far end of the back wing—Mrs. Wheelwright had sequestered her as far from Herb’s bedroom as possible—so she was standing in shadow at the top of the stairs when she heard their voices.
“We understand, son. We’re grown-ups here.” His father’s words were lightened by a boys-all-together tone. “With the war, and you shipping out so soon, this—this urgency —is only natural.”
“But marriage, surely, is not necessary.” Charity Wheelwright moderated her voice. Anne had to hold her breath and strain to hear.
“I don’t know how the two of you can speak this way!” Herb was angry and hurt. “I explained in my letter to you. I love Anne, and I want to spend my life with her.”
Anne’s heart knocked in her chest so fiercely she could scarcely breathe. It was a pitiful and demeaning act, eavesdropping in the shadows like this, but she could not move away; she was impaled by her own fascination like a butterfly pinned to a board.
Now Norman Wheelwright was offering his son a drink: Scotch, the excellent single malt he seldom brought out, but nothing was too good for his son. The family’s words seemed to blur as they moved toward the far end of the living room. Should she go down now? Anne wondered, She had to go down sometime. She couldn’t hide up here for the rest of her life. What could she do to warn them of her approach? Clear her throat loudly when she reached the bottom of the stairs? Something bristled inside her at the thought. Why should she protect them from embarrassment? Her future in-laws did not seem to have taken any measures to secure privacy for this conversation, to shelter Anne from their disdain. They’d left the door open from the living room to the hall. They hadn’t even waited until evening was over and Anne tucked away in bed to assail Herb with their fears. Anne had scarcely said more than hello. She doubted that Herb had even had a chance to unpack; his parents were rushing at him as if Anne had set him on fire and they had to smother the flames.
This was not completely unexpected. Herb had described his parents in all their haughty snobbery to Anne—he had made fun of them, really—at