She sits on one of the boxes
she just packed and tries to relax. The beach house creaks with the chill
gusts of a November ocean wind. Every year, the closing of the house comes
a few days later. Besides packing, she knows there’s not much else she
can do, since all the stores and most of the neighborhood bars are closed. The
house was so cold for the last few mornings that she had problems decamping
from bed.
A voice from downstairs
startles her- “Anyone home?” She gets up too fast and realized she was losing
her balance and fell across a box. The noise prompts her neighbor, Patsy, to
run upstairs to her aid. “Are you alright, Cathy?” Patsy says. “Yes, just got
startled,” says Cathy. She sighs. “I wish I wasn’t leaving. I love the
shoreline this time of year. The grey of the sky and the water are so
beautiful. But this house has no heat or insulation.”
“Well,” says Patsy, “You have
a nice townhouse in the City to go to, and your family will be happy to see
you. They worry about you becoming a recluse out here all alone, you know.
They both trudged downstairs, each carrying a box. The stairs complained with each step and the myriad of framed photos that adorned the descent, jostled in rhythm. Cathy made them both a cup of coffee and they made their way to the kitchen table to say goodbye.
Patsy, 10 years senior to Cathy's 43, lived in a large house several dunes over that was built for all seasons. She stayed throughout the winter with her husband and dog. Cathy's cottage started as a fishing shack that eventually became a summer home in the 1950's and morphed into a summer rental in the 1990's. She bought it from the aging owner over a decade ago.
They sit in amiable silence, both reflecting on their summer and fall.
"Oh!" exclaims Cathy. "I came across this picture when I was packing up. Who do you think they are? I only recognize my mother as a young woman in the picture." She picks up the picture from the kitchen counter and hands it to Patsy. There is a group of men and women, all in bathing gear, on the shore in front of Patsy's house. Cathy's mother is in the center of the group and a dark haired man has his arm possessively across her shoulders.
Patsy examines the picture and gives it back to Cathy. "I don't know who they are," she lied.
She changed the subject quickly. "Think you can fit all this?", she said, pointing to the array of boxes strewn throughout the downstairs. "We'll find out", Cathy exclaimed cheerfully and they began to load Cathy's old but trusty Subaru station wagon. It was not really a problem. Throughout the years she had created a system of what went back to the brownstone, what stayed, what got thrown out and what got donated to a local shelter.
They finished packing and locking up but it was a little too cold to linger over a long goodbye. Patsy also seemed a little distracted and left quickly. Cathy settled in, took one last breath of sea air, put in a mo-town CD and aimed her car at the city.
The roads were clear, and had little traffic heading back to the City. Cathy had time to think. Her family was close-knit yet certain things went unsaid. Such as, what their mother or father had done before they met. She put the car in auto and settled into her seat with the smartphone. She'd never done a google search on her parents, maybe it was overdue? She put in her father's name first. No surprises, just an ordinary business major who became a CEO of a small company that made good in one of the bubbles of the 'oughts.
Her childhood memories were one of comfort, both material and familial. An absent but loving father. A quiet, middle class neighborhood with lots of play friends. Doting grandparents. Her mother was more of a puzzle. Affectionate and loving with her children, but with a wild side that spoke of a life that she could have lived. Cathy and her two brothers went on many holidays with their mother, quote often without their father.
Approaching the city traffic grew more dense and Cathy switched the Subaru back to manual, sped up and made a mental checklist of what she needed to do. Unpack, restock the townhouses ample kitchen, alerts friends and neighbors of her arrival.
It was twilight when she arrived home. She was getting tired from the day but made a point of unpacking everything right away. The quiet house greeted her with its usual warmth and comfort. She grabbed her canvas "Harbor Days" shopping bags and headed off towards the corner bodega. The old lady behind the checkout counter greeted her with familiarity but made no mention of not having seen her in several months. Either she didn't notice or was too polite to ask.
Cathy headed back to the house, her two bags filled with cream, butter, bread, lettuce and salad fixings. Enough to get her going until dinner tomorrow night. She ran into several neighbors and exchanged pleasantries.
Dinner was a simple salad and a glass of red wine. She was in bed by 9:30. Her dreams were vivid and slightly disturbing. She was on a trolley, but instead of the familiar clanging, a funeral dirge was playing. The other occupants were sneaking glances at her when they thought she wasn't looking. She got off the trolley at the top of a hill. She was not sure why.
Looking downhill towards the receding trolley she saw fog swirling around buildings and roiling thunderheads not very high overhead. The buildings were drab and grey, but the lights emanating from within were garish and over-saturated. Looking back where she came from, she witnessed a quiet city evening. She was deciding which way to go continue when she woke up.
It was 4 am. She padded to the kitchen and drank a glass of water. Not able to fall back asleep she sat down at the computer and started typing emails to alert friends that she was safely back in the city.
They both trudged downstairs, each carrying a box. The stairs complained with each step and the myriad of framed photos that adorned the descent, jostled in rhythm. Cathy made them both a cup of coffee and they made their way to the kitchen table to say goodbye.
Patsy, 10 years senior to Cathy's 43, lived in a large house several dunes over that was built for all seasons. She stayed throughout the winter with her husband and dog. Cathy's cottage started as a fishing shack that eventually became a summer home in the 1950's and morphed into a summer rental in the 1990's. She bought it from the aging owner over a decade ago.
They sit in amiable silence, both reflecting on their summer and fall.
"Oh!" exclaims Cathy. "I came across this picture when I was packing up. Who do you think they are? I only recognize my mother as a young woman in the picture." She picks up the picture from the kitchen counter and hands it to Patsy. There is a group of men and women, all in bathing gear, on the shore in front of Patsy's house. Cathy's mother is in the center of the group and a dark haired man has his arm possessively across her shoulders.
Patsy examines the picture and gives it back to Cathy. "I don't know who they are," she lied.
She changed the subject quickly. "Think you can fit all this?", she said, pointing to the array of boxes strewn throughout the downstairs. "We'll find out", Cathy exclaimed cheerfully and they began to load Cathy's old but trusty Subaru station wagon. It was not really a problem. Throughout the years she had created a system of what went back to the brownstone, what stayed, what got thrown out and what got donated to a local shelter.
They finished packing and locking up but it was a little too cold to linger over a long goodbye. Patsy also seemed a little distracted and left quickly. Cathy settled in, took one last breath of sea air, put in a mo-town CD and aimed her car at the city.
The roads were clear, and had little traffic heading back to the City. Cathy had time to think. Her family was close-knit yet certain things went unsaid. Such as, what their mother or father had done before they met. She put the car in auto and settled into her seat with the smartphone. She'd never done a google search on her parents, maybe it was overdue? She put in her father's name first. No surprises, just an ordinary business major who became a CEO of a small company that made good in one of the bubbles of the 'oughts.
Her childhood memories were one of comfort, both material and familial. An absent but loving father. A quiet, middle class neighborhood with lots of play friends. Doting grandparents. Her mother was more of a puzzle. Affectionate and loving with her children, but with a wild side that spoke of a life that she could have lived. Cathy and her two brothers went on many holidays with their mother, quote often without their father.
Approaching the city traffic grew more dense and Cathy switched the Subaru back to manual, sped up and made a mental checklist of what she needed to do. Unpack, restock the townhouses ample kitchen, alerts friends and neighbors of her arrival.
It was twilight when she arrived home. She was getting tired from the day but made a point of unpacking everything right away. The quiet house greeted her with its usual warmth and comfort. She grabbed her canvas "Harbor Days" shopping bags and headed off towards the corner bodega. The old lady behind the checkout counter greeted her with familiarity but made no mention of not having seen her in several months. Either she didn't notice or was too polite to ask.
Cathy headed back to the house, her two bags filled with cream, butter, bread, lettuce and salad fixings. Enough to get her going until dinner tomorrow night. She ran into several neighbors and exchanged pleasantries.
Dinner was a simple salad and a glass of red wine. She was in bed by 9:30. Her dreams were vivid and slightly disturbing. She was on a trolley, but instead of the familiar clanging, a funeral dirge was playing. The other occupants were sneaking glances at her when they thought she wasn't looking. She got off the trolley at the top of a hill. She was not sure why.
Looking downhill towards the receding trolley she saw fog swirling around buildings and roiling thunderheads not very high overhead. The buildings were drab and grey, but the lights emanating from within were garish and over-saturated. Looking back where she came from, she witnessed a quiet city evening. She was deciding which way to go continue when she woke up.
It was 4 am. She padded to the kitchen and drank a glass of water. Not able to fall back asleep she sat down at the computer and started typing emails to alert friends that she was safely back in the city.
