Page 65 of Seven Summer Weekends

“I’m considering my options, is all.”

“So, can you consider mine?”

“Sure. Lay it on me.”

“OK.” He looked down at the flowery caftan and tied it tightly around his waist. Addison laughed.

“Gicky offered me the house for half a mil. I have it in writing—on a clamshell.”

“On a clamshell?”

“Yes. And I don’t know if you know this, but Native Americans in this area used shells for money—wampum.”

“Oh, then it’s totally legit. Silly me!”

“I have a totally legit idea. I give you the half a million for half the house. You keep the main property and the studio. And I take the guesthouse and the property between us for a pool.”

He took in her blank expression and threw in, “That you canuse!” before standing up in his caftan and doing jazz hands. Addison laughed again.

“Let’s just take it one day at a time—starting with tomorrow. I haven’t even shown the place yet.”

The imminent visit from the agent put a fire under Addison to finish up. As soon as the rain let up, she sent Ben and Sally home. Sally used the front door, while Ben escaped out the back dressed like the ghost of Aunt Gicky.

She tackled one of the last two closets left—the towel closet. It was as much a trip through Gicky’s travels as her matchbook and toiletry collections were—though bulkier. She separated the plusher towels from the threadbare ones, tossing all of those but a bathmat from the Plaza and a pool towel from the Taj Mumbai. On the bottom shelf sat a big Frye boot box that looked older than Addison. One look inside and she knew she would be sitting on that spot for at least the next hour.

It was packed with old photographs, letters, and keepsakes. She pulled out a forest-green autograph book with the wordsSchool Dazeembossed in gold on top of an image of an old schoolhouse, like the one in the painting that Gicky had left for Margot. Addison admired her aunt’s perfect penmanship on the first page.

This book belongs to Gloria “Gicky” Irwin, Sixth Grade P.S. 449. Teacher: Ruth Glass

In Addison’s time, autograph books like this—or yearbooks, really—were filled with short sentiments likeStay Cool!or long diatribes from your bestie detailing every inside joke or tiff you ever had, but this was filled with adorable little ditties written in cursive. One was funnier than the next.

Your album is a garden plot

Where all kind friends sow seeds

I plant the sweet forget-me-not

Please keep it free from weeds.

Cows like clover

Pigs like squash

I like you, I do, by gosh!

And others that had stood the test of time, like:

2 good

2 B

4 gotten!

There was a cute one from her dad, just a hand-drawn heart and his name, Morty, with a backwardR.

And the one that made her think the most, from Gicky’s sixth-grade teacher.

To Gloria, a nice little homemaker. Love, Mrs.Glass

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