The Summer That Made Us

After about a week of thinking things through, she went back to the party spot across the lake. She asked several waiters where Mack was. “Gone.”

“That fast?”

“Didn’t hang around to talk it over.” One of the girls she knew said, “You should’ve told him you were only sixteen, Charley. Turns out you scared the shit out of him. He hit the trail.”

“Who said I was sixteen?” she asked.

“Your cousin Hope.”

The worst thing, even though Charley had made up most of the biography she’d given Mack, was it never once occurred to her that he might make up some of his. She heard he was not twenty-two but nineteen. He was not a graduate or even a college student and law school was not in his future. At least not anytime soon. His daddy was not a rich lawyer but a humble farmer and he didn’t have any way of escaping his fate if he had sex with the underage granddaughter of a superior court judge.

“You should’ve told Mack ol’ Grandpa was a judge,” said one of the waiters Charley had known for two summers. “You shoulda seen his face. I didn’t know a person could get that color!”

“I didn’t know anyone knew that!” Charley said.

“Hope told me. Hope told anyone who would listen about her rich, powerful grandpa.”

Well, that’s just great! Charley thought.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

Charley’s heart didn’t break because Mack had run off and left her lonely, nor was she in a panic about him getting in trouble because she wasn’t going to accuse him of anything. Nor did she hurt because he was a liar who had used her. The lesson that hit her in the chest with the weight of a hundred-pound boulder was that she’d fallen for it. That was something that would stay with her forever—she could take almost anything but looking stupid. That was the worst pain she could imagine.

When it was just the six cousins and their mothers, no daddies or grandparents or unwelcome guests present, the four oldest girls slept in sleeping bags on the screened porch, their mothers slept in the big bedroom together—when they were speaking, that is—and the little girls, Bunny and Bev, got to sleep in the upstairs loft, which had two bedrooms. Of course they wanted to be outside on the porch with the big girls, but they were exiled as “babies.” So, Charley tucked into her sleeping bag night after night, sometimes weeping soft, silent tears as she wondered how she could have been so easily duped by such a well-known male trick. She rarely fell asleep before dawn. She had dark circles under her eyes. She wasn’t hungry. But only Hope noticed. Only Hope tried to console her. And as far as Charley was concerned, Hope had caused the trouble by bragging about the judge.

Even though Charley and Hope were best friends, they were nothing alike. They were as different as Jo and Lou. Charley wanted to be Barbara Walters or at least Jane Pauley, and Hope wanted a nice, rich husband. “Rich as Grandpa Berkey and ten times as handsome,” she would say. So, to help Charley with her tears Hope would say, “Ohhh, don’t cry, Charlene, you’ll find another guy—a better one!”

It was only a couple of weeks after Charley lost her virginity that Bunny drowned. And suddenly the summer was over. The summers at the lake to come never would.

* * *

The lake house transformed under the fierce and yet gentle hand of Melissa Stewart. Charley often thought if she’d had an assistant like Melissa during her talk show days, her life would have been almost carefree. During the month of April Charley returned to the house on the lake three times and every time she saw such growth and improvement she was completely impressed.

“I’ve paid some of the best designers available in a big city and never saw results like this,” Charley said. “You’ve done amazing things, under budget, sourcing everything in small towns.”

“Maybe that’s the trick—small towns,” Melissa said. “I’ve lived here all my life. I know everyone. When I put the word out that I need a new dinette set that will seat ten, I get calls. When I email subs I’ve worked with that I’m considering a kitchen cabinet redo, I hear from cabinetmakers to renovators to antique dealers who are artists at restoration. Not just antique restoration but I know a guy who can make 1950s cabinetry look like it was built yesterday. You’re going to be ready in plenty of time.”

With the help of Melissa at Lake Waseka and John able to spend extra time looking after Megan, Charley thought it was time she go back to Palo Alto to spend time with Michael and Eric. Playing it safe, she called Michael and asked him if he felt like seeing her. “Of course,” he said.

“Can we do this without fighting?” she asked.

“I could have my lips sutured shut,” he said. “But then you might let something slip out and I’d have to defend myself.”

“Oh, I’m not going to let anything slip out,” she said. “I want to enjoy my family for a few days.”

“And I want you,” he said.

Because it had been so long since she’d seen them, both Michael and Eric went out of their way to clear their schedules as best they could to spend time with her. They had a lovely day in Carmel, went into the city for a great dinner at the wharf and Eric actually spent a night at the house rather than on campus with his friends. They watched a couple of movies, played Scrabble, sat out on the deck at night to enjoy the spring in the Bay Area.

One thing she did not do—she did not visit with old colleagues from the station or the network. There were still friends among them and several who kept in touch by email, but she admitted, only to herself, that it had hurt to be unceremoniously dumped by her station. There had even been talk of a farewell event, but she made excuses—she wasn’t planning to stay in the area for the immediate future. To a couple she had said, “My sister needs me. She’s been ill.” Michael, who knew her better than anyone, said, “You had twelve years of extraordinary success on that dying of beasts, the daytime talk show. That counts for a lot. Maybe you could take the high road. Attend a special luncheon or something. Thank the suits for all their support.”

“I could,” she said. “Except that would make me want to shoot myself.”

Seriously? she thought. Thank the people who fired her? Maybe someday. Right now she couldn’t do it.

Michael’s plans to spend six months in England studying Britain’s electoral system would begin in September. He stuck to his word and didn’t badger her about going along but he threw out some bait, just the same. Eric had expressed an interest in a year of study at Cambridge. Michael thought he could get a little help in facilitating that.

“Not see either one of you?” Charley asked, stricken.

“Don’t be silly,” Michael said. “Even if you never warm to the idea of joining me there, won’t you visit? Provided Meg can do without you for a while?”

“But both of you?”

Michael chuckled and lifted her chin. “I know it gives you a sense of security to think we’re both waiting for you here in Palo Alto but it isn’t like that anymore. Eric has things to do, people to see, a life to live. We get together for dinner every couple of weeks and that’s it. I guarantee you, if he gets to go to Cambridge, he won’t be hanging out with his dad! And if he stays here while I’m away, you’re not going to get much of his time, either. He’s grown, Charley. He’s busy building a life.”

“All these changes,” she said. “All at once...”

“I’ll make sure to visit you this summer at the lake,” Michael said. “I’ll make sure Eric comes. When did you last take Eric to Minnesota?”

“I think he was six. He hated it. After that I went alone. My obligation visits.”

“He’s more mature now,” Michael said. “In most ways.”

Nights in Michael’s arms brought back such memories it only left her confused, wondering what was wrong with her. She couldn’t imagine a woman on the planet who wouldn’t rush to hold him in some marital knot. He was so perfect. They’d been together so long, and yet when he touched her, she still came alive with desire. Better yet, she had only to whisper to him and he was ready for her. Familiarity was such a blissful aphrodisiac—practiced love meant they had a beautiful routine together. He knew where to touch, she knew how to move, he knew what to say, she knew what sounds turned him on. When he rolled her onto her back and pushed her shoulders into the mattress, she lifted her knees and spread them for him. That always made him chuckle a little. “In a hurry, honey?” he would ask. “No, take your time,” she would always say. And he would. He would tease and tempt and make her beg him to hurry, to finish. Michael would always make sure she had two orgasms and he would take one. He could work her body as though he’d programmed it.

But she could do the same to him. She knew exactly where to touch, kiss and caress to drive him mad. Making him a little crazy was not only her favorite thing. It was his. “Why do you do that to me?” he would ask. “Because you want me to,” she would say.

About nineteen years ago, when they’d been together about three years, after one of their wonderful lovemaking sessions while he was still above her, she touched his cheek. “Michael, I’m pregnant.”

He had merely lifted his eyebrows. No gasp, no grimace. “How’d that happen?”

“I think I might’ve missed pills or something.”

“What do you want to do?” he asked.

“Do?” she asked.

“Do,” he repeated. “We’re good together. Please say you want to have it.”

Her heart soared, but she kept a poker face. “I want to, but it will be difficult. Inconvenient. I have a job. A good job.”

“You’d have to take some family leave, at least a couple of months, but my schedule is pretty flexible. I’d be involved. I swear.”

“Right,” she said. “I’m holding you to that, Michael. We have to do this together or not at all.”

“I agree.”

And they had.