Page 47 of Our Last Vineyard Summer

“Yes, Charlie.” Her upper lip quivered as she filled a mason jar with water.

“It just didn’t seem relevant. I’m always off to a dozen places.”

“Well, that is what I told the reporter.” She didn’t like his answer. It was too vague. She gently set down the mason jar on the counter, afraid it might shatter. Perhaps she’d always felt it, a deep-seated fear that she didn’t know her husband as much as she wanted to. That there were parts of him that were sealed off, even to her, like a honeycomb with empty tunnels. “If I hear from him again, I’ll let you know.”

Next week, she would hold the first meeting of the Edgartown Ladies of Social Concern, the “Tea” that she organized in Charlie’s honor. She told him as much, but she didn’t tell him that his name would be nowhere in the room. Only the suggestion of it. After a few more quick exchanges, he said, “I’m sorry, love, but the budget meeting is in five minutes and it’s on the other side of the Capitol.” He soundedso far away, and a part of her wished she could tell him about the stunning revelation she’d had about Aggie.

“Before I go, tell me something about the girls. Quick.”

“This morning Betsy sang ‘God Bless America’ at the breakfast table.” She smiled into the quiet as her husband laughed. “I love you,” she said.

“I love you too,” he said.

There were flowers in every room when Aggie came home that evening just before dinner. Her daughter didn’t say a word when she dropped her canvas backpack on the table, and Virgie didn’t either. The pesto was ready, and the spaghetti was boiling, but they’d waited for Aggie. She’d raced upstairs to take a shower, Betsy and James doing cartwheels on the lawn.

Virgie called through the screen. “James, I tried to invite your mother to come eat with us, but she’s not picking up.”

“I can go ask her, but can Betsy come with me?”

“Sure, I’ll come.” Betsy grinned. The two of them raced down to his small rowboat. Wiley had given him a small outboard motor, and James could get them across the harbor in half the time now. As he pulled the choke, Virgie yelled through the window, “If she can’t come, ask if it’s okay for you to eat with us.”

Louisa was reading a romance that Virgie knew she should censor, but she was too overwhelmed with everything to try. Her daughter had spent a half an hour defending her decision to protect her sister’s choice to play in the impromptu tournament until Virgie had scolded her, “Enough already! You did the right thing. Is that what you want to hear?”

She’d nodded. “In fact, yes.”

The shower turned off, and minutes later, the stairs creaked from the other room. Virgie stiffened while tossing the salad. Aggie padded into the kitchen in a gingham sundress, walking straight to Virgie’s back like an arrow finding a target. Wrapping her arms around hermother’s narrow waist, Virgie felt her daughter’s apology. Her whole body vibrated against her, and her daughter’s tears wet her shirt.

“I’m so sorry, Mommy. I’m sorry for going to the courts and not telling you, and I’m sorry for yelling and not getting in the car.”

Virgie exhaled and turned to face her daughter—Agatha was her easiest daughter because she was an open book; Louisa and Betsy held their emotions inside, and she had to spend hours interrogating them before they believed it safe to show their feelings. Aggie’s mouth gaped, a mouse fearful of a lion. Neither one said a word until the timer for the garlic bread dinged. Virgie pressed a lock of her daughter’s hair into a neat side part.

“It was wrong of you to lie to me,” she said.

“I know.” Aggie put her head in her hands. “I feel so dumb. I’m just so dumb.” The phone began to ring, and something in Virgie told her it was Charlie. That he’d found out about the basketball game, that someone got a photograph with Aggie on a court filled with colored kids.

“You’re not dumb, honey.” She hugged her one last time, then said, “I’ll tell you one thing: you knocked my socks off back there.” She let her serious tone turn light. “You play some seriously good basketball.”

When a child smiles, a mother can lose her bearings, changing from solid to liquid. Syrupy.

“You really think so?” Aggie said.

“Girls really can play ball. That’s what I think. I shouldn’t have stopped you—I was just so caught up in my own fears until I saw that they were unfounded.” Virgie kissed the smooth side of her daughter’s temple, the smell of Pert shampoo in her still-wet hair. The phone trilled again.

Sliding on an oven mitt, Aggie went to work, like she always did in the kitchen, helping her mother pull out the bread. Virgie raised the earpiece: “The Whiting residence.”

It was Betsy’s voice on the other end. Small, distant, panicked. “She’s not moving, Mommy. I’m not sure if she’s breathing, and James just keeps shaking her.”

“Betsy? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, but she’s not. James’s mom is not breathing.”

“Call 911,” Virgie instructed, as calmly as she could manage. “Call 911 right now, and I’ll get on the ferry.”

Louisa and Aggie jumped into the car alongside their mother, all three women holding their breath as the car raced down the narrow streets.

CHAPTER EIGHTEENBetsy

Edgartown

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