Maine: A Novel Part 12

She had attempted to work on it in therapy, read every book on co-dependence, but nothing ever seemed to change her feelings about men. Her behavior was who she was, who she had been. How could anyone ever alter that? Sometimes her shrink made her feel that self-improvement was untenable: her family, and by a.s.sociation she herself, were drunks, sour grudge-holders, emotional cripples who needed so desperately to change. Other times she thought self-improvement made sense only for the immortal. Improving yourself for what exactly?

They had lunch at a rest stop in Ma.s.sachusetts. Maggie was almost positive she had been there with her family dozens of times, though all Ma.s.sachusetts rest stops looked identical when you didnat drive, so who knew? These places always had the same antiseptic smell, the same bored-looking employees, the same manicured parking lot and service station. They were ugly landmarks that seemed incongruous compared to New York City behind and Cape Nedd.i.c.k ahead.

They ate gigantic slices of pizza and watched the people streaming in and out. Maggie thought of the baby inside her, though it was hard to imagine as an actual person. She had visited a website that pregnant mothers were gaga about, on which, each week, you got to see what kind of fruit or vegetable your child most closely resembled: Your baby is a chickpea, she had read two weeks earlier, and then just a few days ago, Your baby is a walnut.

They finished eating, and Maggie promptly threw up for the fourth time in two days. She wondered why they called it morning sickness if it could hit you at any hour.

Back in the car, Rhiannon asked, aWill it just be you and your grandmother in the house in Maine?a aYes,a Maggie said. aActually, each of us in a separate house, but on the same property.a aThat sounds cozy.a Maggie grinned. aI know, right? We have a big Irish Catholic family, so I guess in theory we need a lot of room.a aI like that you call yourselves Irish. Why do Americans always want so badly to be from somewhere else?a Rhiannon asked.

Maybe she had a point. Maggieas grandparents and Aunt Ann Marie and Uncle Pat were particularly obsessed, but the whole Kelleher family was crazy about Ireland, including Maggie herself. The music, the history, the dancing, the sad stories from the past. Her mother had once been this way, too, but now she made fun of the rest of them for it.

They all wore claddagh rings instead of wedding bands. Ann Marie and Pat slept in a bed with a headboard that had the words HIMSELF and HERSELF carved in the soft wood above where they lay their respective heads, and a shamrock in between.

Her cousins Patty and Fiona had been forced to take step dancing lessons as kids. They competed at the Stonehill Irish Festival every summer. Patty wore her gillies around the cottage in Maine, laced halfway up her calves, an absurd bathing suit accompaniment that nonetheless made Maggie burn with jealousy.

Since she had grown up in the suburbs of Boston, Maggieas friends from childhood were all Irish, too, so that it wasnat until her first March in Ohio that she realized not everyone wore head-to-toe green and ate corned beef and cabbage on St. Patrickas Day.

Pat and Ann Marie and their kids made regular trips to Irelanda"Patty always mailed Maggie Aero bars and other local candies, which had melted completely by the time they arrived in Ma.s.sachusetts. On those visits, Uncle Pat had unearthed various distant cousins who lived in County Kerry. He gleefully showed them around Boston, letting them stay over in the guest room, sending them home with Red Sox jerseys and several pounds of Dunkina Donuts coffee, which apparently they were crazy for.

She told Rhiannon this, and Rhiannon laughed.

aAre there eighty-seven cousins on each side?a aMy mom has something like forty cousins. There are a lot fewer in this generation. On my dadas side, we have ten,a Maggie said. aBut we were never all that close to them growing up. Wead see one another at christenings and on Easter, stuff like that. But my momas side of the family was always the closest. Totally messed up, but close.a aAnd how many cousins on that side?a Rhiannon asked.

aOnly four,a Maggie said. aIt always seemed like more, like a bigger family.a She still pictured them as their childhood selves. Ann Marie and Patrickas kids: Patty, Fiona, and Little Daniel (her mother often joked that these names had doomed them to sound like a trio of Irish peasants from birth). Clare and Joeas only child was named Ryan, after someone, though Maggie couldnat remember who.

Little Daniel, handsome even as a kid, was a charmer who always struck her as unnecessarily arrogant. He was cruel to his younger boy cousins when none of the adults were watching; later he became a young hotshot and now he was in finance or real estate, or some similarly incomprehensible line of work. At Thanksgiving he had given her his business card, which did nothing to shed light on the matter. Maggie really only understood jobs that could be described in a single word: writer or doctor or teacher made sense. Vice president of debt capital markets and global currencies did not.

Little Danielas sister Fiona was boyish and quiet and unadorned, involved with all kinds of social causes, even in high school. Maggie wondered sometimes whether Fiona was actually happy, still off in the Peace Corps at age thirty. Kathleen thought Fiona might be gay and that she lived halfway around the world partly as a means of keeping that to herself, of never having to come out to the family or deal with their reaction. If that was true, Maggie wished she could write Fiona a letter and say, Youare my cousin and I love you! Youare allowed to be a lesbian. No oneas going to judge you.

But Fionaas parents wouldnat want to know. For G.o.das sake, they probably still thought Kathleen was going to h.e.l.l for getting a divorce.

Their sister Patty was older than Maggie by four months. The two of them were so similar that as kids they declared that they were the true sisters. (Poor Fiona, Maggie thought now, too late.) Patty and Maggie looked alike, with the same brown hair and freckles. They both played basketball and loved writing and chasing boys. As children they each wore one half of a heart-shaped best friends necklace and spent countless hours together after school, listening to music and eating cookie dough straight from the package when Ann Marie wasnat looking.

They hardly ever spoke anymore. Patty had this big grown-up life: a husband, three kids, a house in the suburbs. The two of them had always been compared to each other, and now Maggie compared them herself.

Last, there was her cousin Ryana"a teenage musical theater prodigy who was coming to stay with her for his NYU audition when she got back to town. (Maggie was crazy about that kid. Once, when he was only four or five, she had taken him to the movies. As soon as the opening credits rolled, he said he had to go to the bathroom. Maggie was nervous to let him go into the menas room alone, but he said he did it all the time, and it was the type that was designed for one person, so it wasnat like some pervert could get him. Still, she stood close by the door, waiting. After only thirty seconds or so, he began to sing, softly at first, but then at the top of his lungs: Off weare gonna shuffle, shuffle off to Buffalo! Maggie rapped on the door. People pa.s.sing by giggled and stared. She tried the handle, but Ryan had locked it. A crowd gathered. Sixteen minutes later, the child emerged. aThereas a full-length mirror in there!a he said, beaming.) Compared to the other boys in the family, Maggieas brother, Chris, seemed like a disaster. Head never gotten a decent job after college. He was now working as a amarketing field rep,a which meant that he stood outside the student union at BU, handing out fliers about new burger joints and sample sales to co-eds. He sometimes had a scary temper. Whenever he acted up, Kathleen would inevitably blame the uncles, Joe and Pat. Why hadnat they come around more and given the kid some male bonding time? Maggie would point out that they had sons of their own, and it wasnat like Chris was fatherless. But maybe her mother had a point.

Maggie thought of this now, imagined an old photograph of all six grandkids on the beach that sat on the piano in her grandparentsa house in Canton. What would anyone think of how it had all turned out? She had told Rhiannon they were close, because in her head, that was the truth. But so much had changed.

When she saw the familiar WELCOME TO MAINE sign, she felt like she had arrived home. They stopped at Shop an Save on Route 1 for groceries. It had changed into a Hannaford sometime in the mid-nineties, but the Kellehers still called it by its original name. Walking the familiar aisles made her feel simultaneously safe and lonesome.

On the drive to the cottage, she pointed out familiar spotsa"the lobster pound and the old-fas.h.i.+oned pharmacy and the Front Porch, where tourists went late at night to watch male Judy Garland impersonators singing their hearts out.

They pa.s.sed Rubyas Market and Maggie thought of how much she had loved bringing Gabe there last summer. The two of them had eaves-dropped on the couple who owned the place, as they railed on about their ungrateful grandchildren, who had dared to move away to the big city. (And by big city they meant Portland, thirty miles north.) Soon enough, they reached the fork in the road, where the initials A.H. were carved into the trunk of a tree, along with an imperfect shamrock. Maggie told Rhiannon to go left.

aHere?a Rhiannon asked skeptically, as newcomers always did, for the opening looked like just a footpath into the woods. They turned onto Briarwood Road and the tires blew sand up off the ground, which gave the impression of a fine mist floating between the pine trees.

aItas so beautiful,a Rhiannon said.

A few moments later they had arrived, and Maggieas stomach fluttered, as it always did when she caught sight of the cottageas weathered wooden s.h.i.+ngles, the beach chairs stacked up beside the front door, and the ocean in the distance.

Aliceas car wasnat there when they pulled in, but as they unloaded the groceries, Maggie heard someone barreling down the road.

aI think I know who that is,a she said. aBrace yourself.a Alice turned in without signaling, and pulled up a few inches behind Rhiannonas Subaru, even though there was enough room in the gra.s.s for seven cars. When she got out, she bore a puzzled look.

aMaggie?a Alice said, staring at Rhiannon as if, without Gabe there, she couldnat be sure it was really her granddaughter standing before her.

aGrandma, this is my friend Rhiannon,a she said. aRhiannon, my grandmother Alice.a Rhiannon extended a hand.

Alice shook her head quickly back and forth, and Maggie realized that she probably should have prepared her for this. With all the insanity of the last two days, she hadnat even thought.

aI donat understand,a Alice fumbled. aWhereas Gabe?a She looked past them into the car, as if perhaps they had tied him up in the backseat.

aHeas not coming,a Maggie said. Her eyes met Aliceas and she saw that her grandmother was crushed. aWe had a big fight. We sort of broke up. I tried to tell you when I called, buta"a aNo, you didnat tell me,a Alice said. aI would have remembered that. And I wouldnat have paid full price for the corn m.u.f.fins he said he liked if Iad known. I donat want those in my house. What am I going to do with them?a aIam sorry,a Maggie said, her face turning pink with embarra.s.sment. aI can pay you back.a What the h.e.l.l must Rhiannon be thinking? A granddaughter reimbursing her own grandmother for five dollarsa worth of store-brand m.u.f.fins?

Something in Alice seemed to change then, as if she was reasoning with herself. aOh, donat be silly. Youall still come to dinner, I hope? I havenat made an entire meatloaf for nothing. Your friend can sleep in the guest room in the cottage; there are sheets on the beds.a aOh, sheas actually turning back tonight. She just came along for the ride,a Maggie said.

aBack to New York? Tonight?a Alice said. aThatas ludicrous. Youall at least stay for dinner, wonat you, Diana?a aItas Rhiannon,a Maggie said.

aIad love to,a Rhiannon said. aIs there anything we can bring?a aNot at all,a Alice said sweetly, and Maggie wondered if her discomfort was apparent to Rhiannon, or if she was finding Alice altogether charming, as strangers often did.

Maggie started to speak, but Alice had already turned away and was walking toward the big house.

They made their way into the cottage.

aYour grandmother is gorgeous,a Rhiannon said in the kitchen, starting to unpack the food.

aThanks,a Maggie said, like she always did when people commented on Aliceas beauty. It was a strange, knee-jerk response. Thank you for being surprised that a relative of mine is particularly good-looking, and by extension giving away what you think of my appearance.

At Kenyon she had dated Christian Taylor, the son of two Cambridge intellectuals, for over a year. His parents had nothing much to say to her mother when they met, but at graduation, after they were introduced to Alice, Christianas mother pulled Maggie aside and said, aYour grandmother is stunning, very exotic looking. Does she have Egyptian blood?a The Kellehers on Maggieas motheras side and the Doyles on her fatheras had migrated from County Kerry, Ireland, to Dorchester, Ma.s.sachusetts, three generations earlier, and most offshoots of the clan had since made it no further than the suburbs of Boston.

aNo Egyptian blood that we know of,a Maggie had said.

Before they went next door, Maggie asked whether Rhiannon had a good heavy sweater for walking on the beach later. She wanted to show off the perfect stars, perhaps as a means of deflecting attention from whatever horror show Alice might pull at dinner.

Rhiannon said she hadnat brought anything bulky.

aThatas okay,a Maggie said. aThe dresser in my grandparentsa old bedroom is full of stuff. Take your pick. Just not the green old-man sweater in the bottom drawer. I get dibs on that one.a aDeal,a Rhiannon said, walking toward the bedroom. A moment later she called out, aOh, but the drawers are empty!a Maggie walked toward her. Grains of sand clung to the soles of her feet. When she saw the drawers pulled out with only the familiar seash.e.l.l-printed liner paper in the bottom, her stomach jolted with alarm. She walked to the closet, expecting to see the oversize pink bathrobe that Ann Marie had left there years earlier, and the stack of white knitted blankets made by her great-grandmother. But the closet stood bare.

Maggie thought of her grandfatheras green sweater, which he had given her on an early-morning walk to Rubyas Market when she was in middle school. She remembered being mortified wearing it all the way up Briarwood Road, and she shoved it in a drawer in the cottage as soon as they arrived home. But it had become her tradition to pull it out on arrival each summer, and wear it every morning while she drank her coffee. Ridiculously, the thought of someone elsea"one of her cousins, or worse, a friend of theirsa"taking it made her want to cry.

aWe were looking for a sweater in the bedroom in the cottage, and the drawers were all empty,a she said to Alice shortly after theyad arrived for dinner.

The three of them stood awkwardly in the kitchen while the meatloaf cooled on the counter. The potato salad was covered in foil and sitting in a sweaty bowl. Maggie hoped it hadnat been decomposing in the freezer since the previous summer. With Alice you never knew.

aI can lend you a cardigan, but it might be snug,a Alice said.

aThanks, but no, I just meanta"well, where did everything go?a aI got rid of some stuff in the cottage,a Alice said. aIt was getting too cluttered over there.a aDo you remember if there was a green sweater of Grandpaas?a Maggie asked.

aI donat remember what I had for breakfast, darling,a Alice said, her voice a false saccharine sound. aHonestly, I only cleared out a few things from the cottage and my house too.a aOkay,a Maggie said. aWell, if you see that green sweatera"a aLetas eat,a Alice said. aOut on the porch, maybe?a She had already set the table there, and so they carried the serving dishes out past the screen door and sat down. Besides the meatloaf and potato salad, there was a dish of bright red tomato slices from Aliceas garden, sprinkled with salt and freshly ground pepper. She had also cut up a banana and placed the slices in a teacup along with ten or fifteen blueberries, showing her old-lady colors in a way that, to Maggieas surprise, made her feel a bit sad.

Rhiannon placed her napkin in her lap and sat up extra straight. So Alice had intimidated her after all.

aEat! Eat!a Alice said. aCome on, serve yourselves, weare all friends here.a Rhiannon took a spoonful of the potatoes, a few blueberries and tomato slices, and a big hunk of meatloafa"at least a quarter of what Alice had prepared. It was a normal-size portion by normal-person standards, but Maggie knew Alice was probably appalled. In solidarity, she cut herself an equally big piece of meat and took a bite, avoiding her grandmotheras gaze.

Alice sipped her wine, then put the gla.s.s down and cut herself a sliver of meatloaf.

aI thought we might get a second meal out of this later in the week, but caest la vie,a she said. aHavenat you girls been eating?a aWeave done nothing but eat since we got on the road this morning,a Rhiannon said.

Alice nodded vigorously.

aGosh, Shannon, you must have a hollow leg.a aItas Rhiannon,a Maggie said. Alice ignored her.

aHow on earth did you two meet anyway?a she asked, with the same fake smile shead had out by the car earlier.

aWe live next door to each other,a Rhiannon said.

aOh, I see. Where are you from, dear? You have the prettiest accent. Almost Irish sounding, isnat it?a aIam from Scotland,a Rhiannon said.

aMarvelous! My husband was there on business oncea"he brought me back a scarf. Itchy as h.e.l.l, but it was gorgeous. Now, sweetheartaa"She looked at Maggie and paused for dramatic effecta"aIam dying to knowa"what happened with Gabe?a (Apparently, thatas all there was to say, as far as Scotland was concerned. Thousands of years of history and culture boiled down to one itchy scarf.) No matter what else existed between them, there would always be that generational divide that stopped her from telling the full truth: you werenat going to tell your grandmother that your boyfriend was a possible c.o.kehead, that youad skipped your pill and gotten pregnant, and so you spoke in a kind of shorthand. Perhaps Alice did the same, for reasons of her own.

aI caught him in a pretty major lie,a Maggie said.

aThat doesnat sound like Gabe,a Alice said.

aActually it does,a Maggie said.

aOh,a Alice said, smiling. aHe always seemed so charming. I guess itas the charming ones you have to look out for, though. Well, thatasa"Maggie, Iam sorry. Have you spoken to your mother lately?a aYes, we talked yesterday,a Maggie said. aWhy?a aI just wondered if she knew about you and Gabe. She hadnat told me.a Suddenly Alice switched gears. aI told Patrick that I want to get the gutters on the cottage all cleared out sometime this week,a she said. aThe one Mexican in all of Maine is coming to take care of it. Mort recommended him, and heas cheap, of course, soa"a aGrandma, donat talk that way,a Maggie said.

aWhat? Heas illegal. Heas happy for the work,a Alice said. aAll they eat is rice and beans anyhow; how much money do they need?a Maggie clenched with embarra.s.sment, though Rhiannon chuckled.

aOkay,a Maggie said. aWhatever, thatas fine.a aThis place is incredible,a Rhiannon said. aSuch a beautiful spot.a The house was gorgeous, but it never seemed to fit Maggieas grandparents. It looked like something youad see in a design magazine: sprawling open rooms, each on a different level, with staircases connecting them all. The kitchen was all stainless steel, and the bathroom fixtures were ridiculously modern. If you came upon it by mistake, youad expect to find a pair of Swedish supermodels living inside, hosting lavish parties attended by rap moguls and starlets.

aThank you,a Alice said. She lowered her voice as if she were about to tell the juiciest of secrets. aRhiannon, your skin is absolutely gorgeous.a aThanks. My ex-husband used to saya"a Alice sputtered. aYour ex-husband? You had a husband?a Maggie couldnat tell if this was some reaction to divorce in general, or to Rhiannon in particular. Possibly her age.

aYes. If you can believe it,a Rhiannon said with a laugh.

aWell, donat worry. A girl as pretty as you. Youall have the boys banging down your door again soon, no doubt.a Maggie took note of the fact that her grandmother had offered her no such a.s.surance.

aDid Maggie tell you her mother is divorced also?a Alice said, as if Rhiannon and Kathleen had some rare and jolly hobby in commona"a pair of rowboat enthusiasts, champions.h.i.+p jugglers. aNow, thereas a girl who was not suited to it, looks-wise. She put on weight after all that, didnat she, Maggie?a Maggie felt like any answer she could give would be a betrayal of her mother, so she just took a bite of potatoes in response. She was desperate to change the subject.

Alice reached for the wine bottle and poured herself a second gla.s.s.

aAnyone else?a she asked. aMaggie, you havenat touched yours. Donat you like it? Would you prefer a white? I have one open.a aNo, Iam fine,a she said.

Alice frowned. aAre you on the wagon?a aNo. Iam a bit hungover, actually,a Maggie lied, since this was the only acceptable reason for not drinking among the drinking members of the Kelleher family.

Alice filled Rhiannonas gla.s.s and her own, emptying the bottle.

aI will be too tomorrow, if Iam not careful. Donat tell your mom,a she said, aor sheall drag me off to rehab with that whoosie whatas-her-name actress.a aThe meatloaf is delicious, Grandma,a Maggie said. Neutral ground.

aIt is, so moist,a Rhiannon said.

aItas just one part ketchup and one part Worcesters.h.i.+re that does it,a Alice said with a pleased grin. Then she slapped her palms against the table.

aDrat, I forgot the rolls!a she said, getting up and rus.h.i.+ng toward the kitchen.

Maggie looked at Rhiannon.

aWhat did I tell you?a she whispered.

aWhat a character,a Rhiannon said.

Alice returned with a basket of rolls in one hand and a fresh bottle of red wine in the other.

aTheyare only burned a smidge on the bottom,a she said. aStill perfectly good.a Rhiannon and Alice drained the second bottle of wine while Maggie led them in conversation about the most benign topics she could think ofa"the scaffolding she had noticed outside the church her grandmother attended each morning, movies they had all seen or wanted to see, the weather forecast for the week.

Alice opened a third bottle after they had cleared their plates. Maggie pushed her gla.s.s away, still full. Rhiannonas gla.s.s was full too. Alice filled only her own and took a long sip.

aMaggie mentioned youare a fellow book lover,a Rhiannon was saying. aAre you reading anything good?a Alice smacked her lips together. aYes! The most marvelous biography of Vincent van Gogh. Fascinating, absolutely fascinating.a aHow interesting,a Rhiannon said. aThereas an amazing collection of his work in Amsterdam. A whole museum dedicated to him.a Alice nodded, as if she was well aware of this fact. aYou know, thereas an art museum a mile from here, by Perkins Cove,a she said.

Maggie had been there once or twice as a kid. The Van Gogh Museum it was not. But she felt protective of Alice just then, and so she said, aItas really lovely. It overlooks the ocean.a aThere used to be an artistsa colony there,a Alice said.

aReally?a Maggie had never heard that before.

aYes,a Alice said. aThey were at their height when we built this place.a aDid you like the artists, or did you find them annoying?a Rhiannon asked.

Alice scoffed. aAnnoying? No. We knew them well. I used to be a painter myself.a aYou did?a Maggie asked.

aYes, you knew that.a aNo, I didnat.a aYou did, Maggie.a Maggie was sure she had never heard this before. She made a mental note to ask her mother about it.

aWhy did you stop?a Rhiannon asked.

Alice threw up her hands. aWho has the time? Between this and that.a Between what and what? Maggie thought. c.o.c.ktail hour and Masterpiece Theatre?

aYou should get back into it,a Maggie said. aIam sure there are some great cla.s.ses in Boston. It could be a fun thing to try this winter.a aPlease, Iam too old for that,a Alice said.

aYouare not too old for anything,a Maggie said.

She wished Daniel were there, and said so out loud. aIam sure Grandpa would love to see you painting again.a aOh, hush,a Alice said sternly.

aDid he not like the fact that you painted?a Rhiannon asked. She had obviously thought it was a harmless question, but Maggie braced herself.

aMy husband never said a harsh word to anyone, least of all me,a Alice said. aIf I wanted to paint, he thought painting was just fine.a aOh, I didnat meana"a aI donat want to talk about him,a Alice said. aEnough.a aBut why?a Maggie asked. aDonat you think it could be good for us to talk about him? We both loved him so much.a aI was his wife,a Alice said sharply. aYou donat get to say that you loved him like I did.a aI didnat mean that,a Maggie said, trying to ignore the sting of it, and too embarra.s.sed to look toward Rhiannon. aIam sure no one loved him as much as you. But thatas the thing: you never talk about him.a aWhat exactly do you want to know?a aAnything! How did he propose? Where did you go on your first date? I donat even know how you met!a aHow we met?a Alice said, aghast, as though Maggie had asked about their favorite s.e.xual positions.

aYes, how did you meet Grandpa? Iave never heard the story.a aThatas because there is no story,a Alice said.

aThere has to be a story.a aThereas no story,a Alice said firmly. aMy brother Timmy introduced us, and thatas all.a aAnd what did you think of him? Was it love at first sight?a aMaybe itas a bit too hard right now, Maggie,a Rhiannon said.