Tonight, though, she'd change into a skirt. Mother had worn pants al her life, but she didn't like to see them at dinner.
Pix donned a white wraparound skirt and, with a nod to Faith, paired it with a bold black-and white-striped Liz Claiborne shirt. She slipped on some red espadril es, washed her face and hands, combed her hair, and was ready. When Samantha came home, she eyed her mother approvingly. "You look nice, except you forgot your lipstick."
“No I didn't," Pix replied. "I'm on vacation."
“Oh, Mother." Samantha went off to get ready, a process that took considerably longer than her mother's titivations.
She emerged in what Pix knew was the latest fashion, but it stil looked like something she'd give to the thrift shop: a long flowered-print housedress with a crocheted vest on top. To complete the ensemble, Samantha was wearing a pair of heavy-soled black boots that managed to suggest the military and orthopedics at the same time. Sam's hair was at that in-between stage where everyone either comments, "Are you growing your hair?" or says, "You need a haircut." Pix chose the latter.
“Your hair is so cute when it's short, and think how easy it is for the summer." They’d had this conversation before.
Samantha explained patiently, "I want it to look good when I go back to school. Up here, it doesn't matter what I look like and please, Mom, for the last time, I don't want to look cute. That's not the idea."
“Wel , attractive, then" Pix knew she should shut up, but old habits die hard.
Her daughter nobly chose to ignore the remark. "Why don't we go to Granny's? You know how much she hates it if we're late"
“We're never late!" Pix protested.
“There's always a first time." Samantha smiled sweetly. "Why don't I drive?”
Pix sat in the passenger's side, wondering when the reins had slipped from her grip.
Ursula Rowe greeted her daughter and granddaughter.
"Don't you both look lovely"
“You're looking pretty spiffy yourself, Granny,"
Samantha said as she gave her a kiss.
Gathered in the hal way, the three generations bore a general resemblance to one another, most blurred oddly enough in Pix, not Samantha. They were al tal and had good posture. Ursula, in her ninth decade, carried herself as proudly as she had at Miss Porter's in her second.
Ursula's high cheekbones were softened in her daughter's face, only to emerge sharply again in Samantha's. Al three had the same thick hair. Pix and Samantha's was the dark chestnut color that Ursula's had been before it turned snowy white. Pix's was cropped close to her head. Her mother's was almost as short but curled slightly, whether by nature or art, she did not reveal. Samantha's eyes were a deeper brown than her mother's and grandmother's. Her father's genes had turned almond into chocolate.
“Shal we go in?" Ursula linked one arm through Samantha's, the other through Pix's. Pix felt a sudden rush of wel -being. It was going to be a good summer. She'd tend her garden, put up a lot of preserves, spend time with her mother and her daughter, and maybe clean out the attic at The Pines, a herculean task that had been put off for twenty years of summers. And she'd make Arnie take her over to Vinalhaven.
Over the creamed haddock Gert had left, they talked about the summer. Ursula had been on the island since Memorial Day. Unencumbered by school-age children, she spent May to October on Sanpere. Pix was dying to ask her the latest gossip, but their custom of not discussing such things in front of the children, even when said children weren't children anymore, was too strong, so they stuck to safe topics.
“When do you start working, Samantha? Have some more beans, Pix dear. They're the last of last year's."
“Monday. The campers arrive tomorrow, but Mr.
Atherton said he won't need me until then. I'l be there in the mornings to teach the younger children sailing, stay to help with lunch, then I'm through for the day. I promised the Fairchilds that I'd be able to take care of Ben and Amy when they come up in August, so that wil be in the afternoons."
“Phew, that's quite a schedule."
“Yes" Samantha laughed. "But think how rich I'l be!"
“Are you going to have any time for fun?" Her grandmother looked concerned.
“It's al fun! Besides, Arlene is working at the camp, too
—ful -time, so I wouldn't be seeing her, anyway. And I don't work weekends."
“It's nice that Jim Atherton keeps the camp going. It must have been the early thirties when his parents started it. He certainly doesn't need the money." Ursula exchanged a sharp glance with Pix hinting good gossip to come.
“A labor of love," Pix remarked. "I can't imagine Jim without the camp, and Valerie seems to enjoy it, too, although it's not real y her thing."
“What do you mean, Mom?" Samantha asked.
“Wel , Valerie Atherton is some kind of interior decorator. I think she likes having the camp around to keep Jim busy while she goes antiquing."
“It's funny. We're so close to the camp if you go by water, but we don't real y know them. I guess it's because none of us ever went there. I haven't even met Mrs.
Atherton. My interview was with him."
“I think you'l like her," Ursula said. "She's not as flashy as she looks.”
Samantha brightened. "This is going to be interesting."
“You know she has a son about your age from her first marriage."
“Yeah." Samantha made a face. "Arlene says he's a real dork."
“It couldn't have been easy for him, moving to the island, especial y after losing his father the way he did," her grandmother commented, correctly translating Samantha's opinion. "Now, why don't you clear the table. We can have our dessert on the porch. Gert left your favorite—lemon meringue pie!"
“What a sweetheart! Please thank her for me" Sam jumped up from her chair and began to clear the old, large, round dining room table with alacrity.
“I'l make some coffee," Pix offered, wondering how she could drop a gentle hint to Gert Prescott that Pix's own personal favorite was black walnut. Gert probably figured Pix made her own pies, but she figured wrong.
After consuming two pieces of pie, Samantha went down to the shore to poke around and watch the sunset.
Her mother and grandmother stayed on the porch in the fading light.
“More coffee, Mother?"
“No thank you. I want to sleep tonight.”
Ursula was a notoriously sound sleeper, and Pix laughed.
“You could drink the whole pot and not worry."
“So you say. Nobody knows how much I toss and turn.
Now, when is Samuel coming?"
“Not until the Fourth. Maybe the weekend before, if he can get away. He's preparing a big case and it goes to trial soon. It al depends how long the jury takes. We could get lucky." As Pix spoke, she realized how much she was going to miss her husband. It happened every summer. She didn't want to leave him, but she real y wanted to go—and it was wonderful for the kids.
“Now, tel me what's been going on since you've been here," she said to her mother.
“Not much. You know how quiet things are in June. It's heavenly. And the lupine was the most spectacular I've ever seen.”
Ursula said this every year. Pix had come for a long weekend one June especial y to see the fields of tal purple, blue, and pink spiked flowers. She had no doubt that every year would be better than the last, because no memory could equal the impact of that palette stretching out—in some parts of the island, as far as the eye could see.
“No scandals? Come on, Mother, you're slipping," Pix chided.
“Let me think. You heard that the manager of the IGA is keeping company with his ex-wife's sister? And thetwo sisters have, of course, stopped talking to each other and the ex-wife has to drive clear off island now every time she needs a quart of milk.
“And what else? Oh, I know. It wil probably be in the paper this week, but Gert told me about it this morning.