Page 15 of Our Last Vineyard Summer

She and her sisters had to have talked about this final conversation once before, at the funeral maybe, but she wasn’t sure now. “He also mentioned that he was looking forward to coming to the Vineyard house and winding down with Mommy.”

Louisa seemed surprised. “That’s a first. I always got the feeling he thought the Vineyard slowed him down.”

“Yes, me too,” Betsy said, nodding. “But maybe he realized how happy Mommy was here—and he liked this carefree version of her best.”

“Well, it took him long enough,” Louisa said, like it was a thought worth analyzing. “So he preferred Mommy when she was at the beach laying like a vegetable in the sun versus Mommy when she was leading a march in Washington? Sounds about right.”

Betsy smirked. “It’s not quite like that. She was writing cover stories here, Lou.”

The baby howled in the upstairs bedroom, and Aggie slammed the newspaper on the table.

“This child, he’s going to kill me.” The baby still woke up once or twice a night, waking the entire house with him. “Let me get him.”

“How about we go out onSenatorial?” Betsy neatened their finished stacks of plates, deciding she’d go to the supermarket to get boxes after work. “I need to talk to you both about something, and I don’t want Mom to hear.”

“Right now?” Louisa yawned. “I’m ready for bed.”

Betsy switched off the dining room light. “Yes, now.” She pulled three blankets out of the closet to bring onSenatorialin case it got chilly.

The sisters used a flashlight to see in the dark as they made their way down the grass and the wood slats of the dock. The boat creaked as they stepped on board, and they arranged themselves into an L pattern in the bow on the leather benches, the seams torn in spots from years of use. Betsy held the flashlight up under her chin, impersonating Jack Nicholson inThe Shining, as Aggie tried not to laugh as she adjusted Mikey in her arms.

“If you’re going to drag me out here, you better have something good to say.” The baby always needed to be touching Aggie, either pressed against her chest or cradled in her lap, to settle. Sometimes Betsy imagined him at eight years old, a child demanding his mother spoon him in his bed.

Louisa grabbed the flashlight and stuck it under her own chin. “Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary.” Her prim features morphed goblin-like, and Betsy couldn’t help but crack up.

“I think you should do that when you argue a case before the justices,” Betsy teased.

Louisa turned off the flashlight, the sisters settling into the dark. “They barely show any emotion when you approach them on the bench. It’s like they were born with a furrow in their brow.” Betsy asked what they were really like, and Louisa declared Justice Marshall the most intimidating. “You can see his brain clicking into place as the argument unfolds.” Louisa held herself like a serious intellectual, impersonating his gravelly voice. “I’m praying that there’s a woman justice in my lifetime.”

“Mom says it’s going to happen when Justice Stewart retires. They’re already floating names.” Aggie rarely paid attention to politics, but she loved stories of women who persevered. Betsy always thought it was because she’d worked so hard to prove she could play basketball, how she’d been determined to prove that her menstruating body was tough enough to withstand athletics to their doubting father.

Sitting cross-legged, Betsy leaned her elbows against her folded knees. “Okay, so I wanted to talk to you both about, you know, stopping Mom from selling the house.”

Aggie glanced over at Louisa to gauge her reaction, but Louisa was in listening mode, her gaze fixed on the ticking stripes of the blanket. “It’s a lost cause, Betts,” Aggie said. “I don’t think there is another option.”

Louisa chewed her cuticle. “Do you have some brilliant plan to pay off the debts or something?”

Betsy didn’t have a plan; she had a pipe dream. “I don’t have an idea specifically, no, but surely there’s something we could do? Mom must have some money coming in.”

“Do we even know how much is in her bank account?” Aggie asked.

Louisa shrugged. “It can’t be much. She’s not a staff writer.”

Betsy tried again. “Louisa, I know you make a lot of money, and I have some savings from the diner and I’m going to get a job this week. Aggie, maybe you and Henry can help too.”

Louisa crossed her legs. “I don’t make as much as you might think. I take home half of what my male colleagues are paid.”

“That’s disgusting.” Aggie scooched down on the white canvas cushion, stretching her legs across the wooden flooring of the sailboat. Mikey laid his head flat on her chest.

“Sometimes it’s even less than half. I saw a study during my research.” Betsy cringed, thinking that Andy probably would have paid her less than her male counterparts if she’d worked as his research assistant.

The sailboat rocked gently with the breeze, the American flag flapping off the back.

“Well, it’s unconfirmed, of course.” Louisa lowered her hand to her lap. “But my salary couldn’t buy the houses my male colleagues are purchasing. Anyway, Betsy, you have a point. Maybe we shouldn’t just roll over and play dead here.”

Betsy felt the corners of her mouth turn up.For once, she had a point.

“Oh, goodness. It’s only a house,” Aggie said. Mikey began to fuss, and her sister asked Betsy if she could hold him a minute. As she rubbed noses with the baby, Betsy had the strangest sensation: a heaviness in her breasts, a glowing in her chest that felt something like heartbreak. No, longing. She wanted a baby someday.

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