Family Reunion by Nancy Thayer (ereader android .TXT) 📗

her arm wobbles. She decided to wear sandals. At the back of her closet her pumps lingered. They had been tolerable enough at the ball. They seemed appropriate for church but not much else. Besides, her sandals were comfortable.

When Maxine was alive, the Stovers had lived in Monomoy, in a quite large house with a water view. Since then, Silas had moved to a smaller house on Fair Street. A gray-shingled Greek Revival, it had a shell drive where Eleanor parked her car, and a polished brass whale as a door knocker.

“Come in, come in,” Silas said, greeting her.

“Hello, Silas,” Eleanor said, almost shyly, handing him the bottle of wine.

“Thank you, my dear. Come on back to the kitchen.”

Silas wore Nantucket red trousers and a navy blue rugby shirt. His feet were in sneakers. When Eleanor spotted those, she relaxed. Thank heavens she hadn’t come in something silk with a gold necklace.

“Would you like a drink? Should I concoct a cocktail? My usual tipple is two fingers of Scotch, but you ladies don’t drink that, I don’t think. I’ll open the wine with dinner—I’ve already made it, it’s keeping warm on the stove—but I could open the wine now…”

He was babbling. Silas was babbling. He was nervous, or excited, or both, to have her here.

Eleanor laughed. “I’d love a glass of wine, and you must have your Scotch. What a nice house you’ve got.”

Silas set about with the bottle of wine and a corkscrew.

“Thank you. It is a nice house. I bought it almost a year to the day after Maxine died. My children helped me choose the furniture, some new, some from the old house, such as my old desk I can’t live without. But you know, although it’s so much smaller than our old house, this house still seems too big to me. Four bedrooms? What do I need with four bedrooms? Well, I use one for a study, and one for me, and the children insisted I need two other bedrooms for when they come for summer or Christmas.” He yanked the cork out, poured Eleanor a glass of wine, and handed it to her. “Here you are. How do like living in your great old barn?”

They sat in the living room, in club chairs with a coffee table between them.

“Oh, Silas, I love it. It’s been part of my life all my life. I remember sleeping in a trundle bed in my parents’ room when I was little. The wallpaper had a design with flowers, and I’d lie counting them until I fell asleep. Pink, violet, blue, orange—I never did like the orange.” She laughed and sipped her wine.

“Tell me more. How was it when you were there with Mortimer and your own children?”

“My parents were still alive when we had Alicia. They had the second-floor room with the wide windows overlooking the ocean. Mortimer and I had to share the downstairs bedroom with Alicia when she was a baby. She slept in a wicker cradle.” Eleanor cocked her head. “You know, it was a beautiful antique, that cradle, with a soft but firm cushion, and the cradle hung on hooks attached to the wicker legs so that we could rock it. It was the most soothing ivory color. Later, we found out that old paint had lead in it and that could cause lead poisoning in children. I felt sick with guilt.”

“But your children are fine,” Silas reminded her.

“Yes. Thankfully. When Cliff was born seven years later, my parents were living in Florida, so we had the whole house. Those were crazy days, especially when Cliff was older and had friends down for a week, and Alicia had her friends down, too, and the girls thought the little boys were animals.” Eleanor smiled. “And they kind of were.”

“Are you lonely living there now?”

“Oh, no. I’ve got the best bedroom so I wake up looking at the ocean. And I’m used to sleeping alone. In the latter part of our marriage, Mortimer took to sleeping in another room. He said it was because he thought his snoring bothered me. I secretly believed it was because my snoring bothered him.”

They both laughed.

“Mortimer never cared much for our Nantucket home. Maybe because in fact it was my Nantucket home. He came down from Boston on most summer weekends, and for Thanksgiving and Christmas. He never enjoyed sailing or swimming or even walking on the beach. He loved cities.”

“And you love the ocean.”

“I do. The entire drama of the ocean, a new one every day.”

“So the ocean is your companion.”

Eleanor tilted her head, contemplating his words. “I’ve never thought of it that way, but I suppose it is.” After a moment, she admitted, “But the winter winds have caused a lot of damage, and much of the plumbing needs to be replaced.”

Silas laughed. “As we grow older, many of us have problems with our plumbing.”

Eleanor smiled. She found herself liking Silas better and better as the conversation went on. They had another drink. When they went to the dining room, she saw that Silas had put out placemats and cloth napkins and what Eleanor thought of as Maxine’s good china. Silas had made a beef stew with vegetables in a rich gravy laced with red wine. He set Nantucket Bake Shop rolls, warm from the oven, on a plate. He provided her own small block of butter in a porcelain ramekin like Eleanor used to hold crème brûlée, although how many years had it been since she had made a crème brûlée?

“I’m very sorry not to serve you a salad,” Silas said, “but the truth is, I dislike salads. Especially that frisée stuff that gets stuck in my teeth. But lettuce in general is a mystery to me. My children tell me I must eat it, but I eat broccoli instead. There are carrots and green beans in the stew.”

“But no lettuce in the stew,” Eleanor said somberly.

“No. No lettuce.” Silas shuddered.

The stew was excellent. The meat was tender,