Family Reunion Nancy Thayer (summer reads .txt) 📖

to Alicia. Alicia had been the sweetest, daintiest, prettiest little girl, the only person in the family who could make Mortimer smile. Alicia would run to her father when he returned from work, as if he were a warrior returning unscathed from battle.

“Daddy!” Alicia would fling herself at him, hugging his knees and begging for him to pick her up. Alicia always preferred pastel, full-skirted, twirly dresses and ribbons or headbands in her hair. The wisdom at that time was to give girls trucks and boys dolls. Eleanor had given Alicia overalls, an engineer’s cap, and an electric train, but Alicia hated the overalls and never played with the train. Alicia’s passions focused on being pretty and being loved. Eleanor knew that somehow some of that was her own fault. Had she not loved Alicia enough?

Fortunately, Ari had a passion of her own aside from love. Ari wanted to teach preschool. Eleanor envied her. Eleanor had been raised to play a good game of tennis and make frivolous conversation, saying nothing controversial that would embarrass her husband, because back then the husband was the center of a woman’s world.

“Eleanor!”

She glanced up to see who had called her name. It was Silas Stover, who’d been a friend of Mortimer’s. Eleanor had never been close to Silas’s wife, Maxine, because Maxine was a keen golfer. The couples met at cocktail parties, shared the news of growing families and grandchildren, but when Maxine passed away two years ago, Eleanor and Silas had lost touch.

“Silas, how nice to see you,” Eleanor said.

Silas was tall and solid, with thick gray hair and an old sailing injury that set his nose to one side. He wasn’t handsome. He never had been. But he was clever and kind and it lifted Eleanor’s mood to see him ambling toward her.

Silas lowered himself onto the bench next to her. “How are you, Eleanor?”

“I’m good, Silas. And you?”

Silas rubbed his left knee. “Oh, well, I’ve got a knee replacement scheduled for the fall, and I can’t even count the twinges in my hinges, but as they say, if you don’t wake up in the morning without something aching, you’re dead.”

Eleanor laughed along with him. She remembered what she’d always liked about Silas—he was a great conversationalist. As Mortimer and Eleanor grew older, Mortimer had become less talkative, as if he were saving his words up in some part of his brain. She told him that someday she’d slap him on the head and all sorts of words would come tumbling out. Mortimer hadn’t thought that was funny. It seemed his sense of humor had atrophied, too.

Silas was still talking. “You live out here in ’Sconset, don’t you, Eleanor? I seem to remember a cocktail party at your house, oh, it must have been eight years ago. When Mortimer was alive, anyway. Great house, great view. You still living there?”

“I am,” Eleanor told him. “You know, it was built by my grandparents, and I lived there with my parents until they passed away, and now I’ve got a granddaughter to pass it along to.”

“Grandchildren, aren’t they a wonder? It makes having children worthwhile. Not that I don’t love Belinda and Justin, but those adolescent years were holy hell. I say a prayer of gratitude every day that my kids turned out all right and when they visit with their kiddies, I’m like a dog rolling in—” Silas looked at Eleanor and laughed. “Let’s call it moose droppings.”

Eleanor laughed along with Silas, silently picturing the big man rolling on the ground. “I only have one grandchild,” she said. “Ari. I adore her. She’s going to live with me this summer and work.”

“Good for you,” Silas said. “Good for you. You have a big house and if you adore her, you won’t mind having her around. Me, I’ve gotten used to living alone. I think I like it. I love when my grandchildren come but I enjoy it when they leave, too. The oldest one is eighteen, the youngest, thirteen. I find adolescents a mystery, but at my age, almost everything’s a mystery.”

“I know.” Eleanor was busy eating a spoonful of ice cream.

“That looks good,” Silas said. “That’s why I drove out here. To have some ice cream. Sure, I could get it in town, but when Maxine was alive, we’d drive out here once a week to get ice cream and walk around the town, looking at the roses on the old fishermen’s houses.”

“You must miss her.”

“I do. But she was wise, Eleanor. She told me not to become an old man in a cardigan shuffling around with the drapes drawn. She made me promise to enjoy myself.”

Eleanor smiled. “That’s lovely, Silas.” She thought a moment, then said, “Mortimer had a heart attack and never gave me any advice about how to go on without him, but I’m sure he’d have said, ‘Don’t forget to change your status on the IRS forms.’ ”

Silas snorted with laughter. “Mortimer was always practical.”

Eleanor wondered if she should feel guilty for making fun of Mortimer. She allowed herself another minute or two to sit on the bench with the sun on her shoulders and a companion to talk with as she scooped up the final dollop of ice cream.

“You know,” Silas said, “Maxine and I had arguments all the time. She liked the bedroom cold, I like it warm. She thought I ate too much red meat. She was probably right about that. And back when the children were teenagers, well, for a few years it seemed if I said yes, she said no. I couldn’t even seem to put on the right pair of socks. It was hard. But for a time after the children left, as we got older, we mellowed. Even when she served me that damned tofu for dinner, I didn’t get so mad. We didn’t get so mad. Now Maxine’s gone aloft and my children are bossing me around.”

“How are your children?” Eleanor asked.

“Oh, they’re not in jail, and I’m always glad