Page 70 of Surfside Sisters

Her mother stubbornly faced forward, chin lifted defiantly.

Keely thought desperately and came up with the perfect solution. Islanders called their dump the Madaket Mall because so many summer people dropped off their cast-offs at the Take It or Leave It shed. A few minutes’ search on the bookshelves and tables could provide new hardback mysteries from England, available a year before the American publication. The wealthy summer women had their help drop off clothes with the tags still on them—if they hadn’t worn them that summer, they didn’t want them; they wouldn’t wear anything a year old. Antique chairs, slightly scratched, Italian majolica dinner sets that didn’t work out for the summer house, wicker armchairs with one strand of wicker missing—the dump was like a mad hatter store. Many islanders stopped by there at least once a week, partly to cruise the shed, partly to visit with friends, because so many islanders were there. One of the great things was that when you met up with friends at the mall, you could be wearing old saggy clothes, crazy hair, and no lipstick and it didn’t matter—everyone looked that way at the Madaket Mall.

“Listen, Mom. I’ll stay a few days and help you sort all this stuff. We’ll do it together. Then we’ll take it to the dump and we can air out the house and I’ll take you somewhere nice for dinner. Okay? Sound fun?”

“Okay. Just let me get my cheaters.” Eloise brightened. “Isn’t that a cute name? It’s really readers, short for reading glasses.”

“Very cute. But don’t get them now. I want to help you take a nice long shower and wash your hair and get dressed. Then we can go for a drive around town and you can tell me about all the things that have changed.”

“Oh, we don’t have to go out. We can curl up and have a nice long catch-up.”

Keely was silent. How was she going to handle this? Eloise was her mother, the one Keely turned to for advice. Eloise was only sixty-five. Had she become mentally incapable? Did she have Alzheimer’s?

“No, Mom, I want to get out and see with my own eyes. I’m going to take you out to dinner, too.”

Eloise shifted her gaze from Keely’s. “Oh, I don’t know about eating out…”

“So you have plenty of fresh food in the kitchen?”

Her mother’s shoulders sagged, then she brightened. “Brenda brought us a casserole and a pie!”

“Do we have something for breakfast? Eggs? Bread? Coffee?”

“Um…I’m not sure…”

Keely stepped forward and took her mother gently by the shoulders. “Mom, are you okay? I mean, really?”

Eloise stared at the floor. “I suppose I’ve let things go,” she whispered.

“Have you gone to the grocery store recently?”

Like a small child not wanting to admit guilt, Eloise shrugged her shoulders away from Keely. “It doesn’t take a lot of food to keep one old useless person alive.”

“Oh, Mom. You’re not old and you’re certainly not useless.”

“You don’t understand. Everyone else has someone. I’m all alone.”

Keely was speechless. This attitude was a one-eighty from her mother’s normal optimism. The question was, how could Keely help?

“If I had a grandchild, like Donna Maxwell has a grandchild, I could be useful then, plus I’d have”—she choked on the words—“someone to hold.”

A flurry of emotions hit Keely. Pity. Irritation. Guilt. And—here it came—she thought she’d erased it from her life—envy.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Keely said sternly. “What are we doing, standing here crying! Some people would give their back molars to be where we are in life. Now come on. Get in the bathroom and shower and wash your hair or I’ll have to do it for you.”

“I’m not sure—”

“I am. Let’s compromise. You get cleaned up and we’ll stay in tonight and eat Brenda’s casserole, okay? Now go.”

Her mother nodded and shuffled off to the bathroom. Keely leaned against the wall, listening carefully. When she heard the rush of water from the shower, she headed into the kitchen to see just how much of a disaster it had become.

—

Keely’s second day back on the island dawned warm and sunny. She rose before her mother. She made coffee, opened the back door, and stepped out into the fresh day.

Ah. Now she was really home. And it was the first day of April. Spring.

Years ago, her father had built a small slate patio for his outdoor grill and her mother’s wrought iron picnic table and chairs. Every spring, her mother bought new covers for the chair cushions and chose a small plant like a primrose or pansy to set in a porcelain pot in the middle of the table. Most summer evenings, the family ate outdoors.

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