Page 15 of The Summer We Started Over

“He’s calling it WGrant400,” Barrett said.

“Why the ‘400’?” Eddie asked.

“He said it was a tribute to the French filmThe 400 Blowsabout a teenage boy.”

“Oh, dear.” Eddie took a moment to let thoughts of their brother rest in the atmosphere.

Barrett lifted the mood. With a big smile, she said, “Thanks for tonight, Eddie. Dad was so happy.” She came into the room, bent over the bed, and hugged Eddie tight. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Eddie replied.

Barrett left the room, singing quietly, an old habit of hers. Eddie turned off the bedside light, pulled up the covers, and closed her eyes.Immediately, she wondered when she’d see Jeff again. Her forbidden pleasure.

—

Barrett didn’t even wait to eat breakfast. She rose early, dressed, and left the house before someone could ask for coffee or toast. She jumped into her red Jeep, which was dented and scratched on the outside but had four-wheel drive—necessary for the beach—and a large hatch area so she could pick up and deliver packages. She parked in her secret spot near Commercial Wharf by the town pier and walked the few short blocks to her store.

She couldn’t stop thinking about Eddie, how great it was to have her back home, how quickly she’d gotten their father to connect with the world, and how it seemed all of Eddie’s clothes were black, which might be fine for New York, but not for summer on Nantucket. She decided to stop in at Murray’s Toggery on her way home and buy Eddie a present. A T-shirt? No. Sweatshirt? Way no. She’d find a silk navy blue button-down.

She had just gotten settled in her shop when Eddie called.

“I can’t find available cleaning people,” Eddie said.

“Good morning to you, too, Eddie. I know you can’t. It’s summer. No one is available. Trust me. No one.”

Eddie was quiet for second. Then she said, “Well, I am.”

—

Eddie stood in the middle of the kitchen with her phone in her hand. How had Barrett kept the house this tidy all by herself? Not that it was actually neat and dust-free, but the kitchen and downstairs bath were bright and shining, thank heavens for that. It was the other rooms that had been neglected. Eddie wandered through them, understanding why they were so dusty and chaotic. Every room had stacks of books rising from the floor, teetering as if on the brink of falling. Books werepiled on the lovely old chintz sofa, on the matching armchair, on the coffee table, and even in the fireplace which hadn’t been used in years. The dining room table was clear of books at the end closest to the kitchen, but piled with towers of books at the other end. The old mahogany buffet had stacks of books on the top and the handsome family silver trays had been pushed under the buffet, as if in hiding. She didn’t need to go into her father’s study. She’d seen it yesterday and it was a sight she couldn’t forget. Besides, her father was in there, working.

She climbed the stairs. Her room was crowded but most of the books needed to go. Barrett’s room was a dream of sanity with its two beds, desk, dresser, and slipper chair all book-free. The bathroom was clean and had only a small pile of books in the corner, on a small table near the toilet. The guest bedroom, where no guest ever slept because they’d never invited one, had, not surprisingly, bookshelves against all four walls, floor to ceiling, spilling over with piles of books rising from the floor like colorful stalagmites.

Finally, she opened the door to her father’s bedroom.

Oh, dear.

His room was like a giant maze of books, with a clear but narrow path to his bed, his dresser, his closet, and his bathroom.

Eddie stood in her father’s room and was very, very, sad.

She took a deep breath and left the room She went down the stairs and into her father’s study.

“Daddy. What’s going on?”

William peered over his reading glasses. “Good morning, darling.”

Eddie removed a pile of books from a chair and set them on top of another pile of books.

“Dad, I think you really have become a bit of a hoarder.”

William nodded. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” With his forefinger, he moved his reading glasses back in place and bent to his book.

Eddie lifted a book from one of the piles.

“The Doors of Perceptionby Aldous Huxley. You don’t need this book. Let me take it to the Seconds Shop.”

William actually smiled. “Eddie, that book is absolutely necessary for my research. You know that Coleridge and others used laudanum and morphine. Huxley’s book is—”

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