Page 5 of Seven Summer Weekends

“It wasn’t.” The will was very specific. Everything aside from her artwork was left to Addison. The artwork was to be featured in a retrospective in the fall, curated by her longtime gallerist,CC Ng, with the profits going to a children’s art charity in Harlem where Gicky had often volunteered.

“Well, I’m warning you. Your neighbor has been champing at the bit for this place. He’s been a bit off since his wife passed away a couple of years ago. I heard he stood in front of a bulldozer that was set to dig up the old cement sidewalk to replace it with pavers. Something about destroying sacred land where his wife’s footsteps had walked.”

“That’s so sad.”

“You say sad, I say crazy. Just don’t let him or his even nuttier best friend bulldoze or sweet-talk you. Everyone around here pulls the sentimental card when it comes to real estate—you should remain immune to that. If you want to sell this place, I can get you two or three times what your neighbor will offer you.”

“Got it! I will not be sweet-talked!”

“Great. Your aunt arranged things mostly on her own this summer, so don’t be surprised if random people show up the next few weekends.”

“Oh, lovely.” Addison smiled sarcastically. The agent enjoyed it.

“I believe there are three open weekends. Let me know if you want to keep them available for renters or not.”

“I was hoping to have my friends one weekend, and I’m sure my parents will want to visit.” As the words left her lips, she knew the latter was most likely false. For her parents, missing a summer weekend at the lake was like breaking one of the Ten Commandments. The only thing that would get her mother to Fire Island would be a resolution to the Big Terrible Thing that had come between them and her aunt Gicky.

“How much does it go for?”

“Gicky charged three fifty a night, focusing on weekends, so her weeks were free to paint and sculpt.”

Addison did the math in her head.

“That’s lucrative, but I still think it may be best for me to sell.”

“As I said, houses with this size property rarely become available. If you still want to sell in September, it will be easy.” She looked around at the cluttered house and added, “There’s a white elephant sale at the end of August. Weed through all of this stuff before then so we can stage it properly.”

“Noted. Thank you.”

“I will let you get settled. Here’s my card. Text me with any questions.”

She said “text” in a way that screamed,Don’t call me unless the house is on fire—and even then, don’t call me.

And she was gone.

Addison sat down on the afghan-laden couch and carefully opened the letter. The lingering smell of clay still had her under its spell, rendering her more nostalgic than usual.

Dear Addison,

I don’t expect you to remember all the time we spent together when you were a little girl, but in your eyes, I saw a light, a curiosity that reminded me of myself. A twinkle that I had only ever seen in my own. And while I chose not to have children, as I aged, I sometimes regretted it. Regretted not having someone to leave my beloved home on my beloved island to. Regretted being here and gonewithout creating more sentiment than “that Gicky made a mean lime rickey,” or “Gicky was a poet” (previous case in point). It may just seem like a house on a beach, but if you let yourself, you will soon find that it is so much more. It is, in fact, a road map for a happy life. A circle of the seasons that always leads you back home, to peace and tranquility, to the ocean. To the familiar, especially in this increasingly unfamiliar world. To your loved ones—your chosen family.

It would be my preference that you don’t sell. I have spent the last few years of my life living full-time on this little island. Our street is one of the only ones left that looks as it did when I first fell in love with it. My wish is that it both stays the same and stays in my family—and you are my family. I see that you don’t yet have one of your own. If you ever choose to become a mother, there is no better place to raise children.

While I hope that the young girl with the twinkle in her eyes is still there, there are no actual conditions for this inheritance. I have lived my adult life doing what’s best for me and would never stipulate you do anything but. My freedom meant the world to me, and I respect yours as well. So, please consider spending the summer here and then, in September, do what you want with the place.

With love,

Aunt Gicky

The finality of Gicky’s death sank in. Addison’s stomach ached, whether from melancholy or hunger, she wasn’t sure. She went with the easiest to fix.

Popping open her luggage, she pulled out a pair of cutoffs, a vintage Bruce Springsteen shirt from the River Tour, which she usually slept in, and her flip-flops. She looked in the mirror and admired her transformation before heading to the store—she looked like a local.

The Bay Harbor Market reminded Addison of the market back home on the lake in Michigan. It sported the same painted wooden shelves and narrow aisles. The kids behind the register—whoever was of the age that summer—were ringers for the kids doing the same back home. Addison herself had worked at the Lake House Market over many a summer before and after sleepaway camp.

Too hungry to do a big shop, she headed for the deli counter and waited in line for a sandwich.

The tall man from the boat approached, flashing his dimple.

---