Pfeff is the last to follow, and as he goes, he reaches out to touch the beach roses. He leaps up to tap the branch of a tree that arches over the walk.
16.
MY MOTHER TURNS to Uncle Dean. “Hello.”
“You’re beautiful as ever, Tipper. Good to see you.” He smiles.
“What were you thinking?” Her manner is perky, like she’s a wife on an old black-and-white sitcom. She tilts her head to one side.
“What? They’re nice boys,” says Dean, lighting a cigarette. He is a big man, quite a bit taller than my father, and running slightly to pudge. “Yardley’s been going out with George five months. I’ve taken the guy out to dinner. We hit the golf course a couple times.”
“You didn’t ask me,” my mother says. “You didn’t even tell me they were coming.”
Dean looks out at the sea and shakes his head. “I don’t have to tell you, Tipper. And I certainly don’t have to ask you.”
He’s right, technically. He co-owns the island. But since Harris is the elder brother, and since Dean is divorced, and probably for a million other reasons, Dean sits number two. My mother is the hostess, and Dean lets her handle the staff who do his housework and the stocking of his refrigerator. His pantry is full of favorite cookies and bottles of expensive beer, thanks to her.
Tipper smiles. “What if I’d had people in Goose Cottage already?”
He shrugs. “It has four bedrooms. The guys could double up, or someone could sleep on the foldout.”
“Not every guest would appreciate sharing with three teenage boys.”
He gives her a look. “Do you have someone in Goose, Tipper? And if you did, would you have asked me first? Or even let me know?”
She looks away.
“Yardley’s eighteen,” says Dean. “She wants to be with her guy before she goes off to college and probably never sees him again. So he’s here for a bit, and he brought some buddies. It’s nothing.”
“Three unexpected boys,” says Tipper. “You think I have enough chicken for those appetites? For tonight?”
Dean turns conciliatory. “They’ll eat hot dogs. They won’t care.”
“I care. I don’t want to feed them hot dogs.”
“They’re Yardley’s friends,” I put in. “She said they’re from good families and all that.”
Tipper turns to me. “You have no idea what it is to run this property with unexpected guests.”
“You can’t send them home,” I tell her. “It would be rude if you don’t let them stay at least a week.”
She frowns. I know she hates to be rude.
“They’ll brighten up the place,” I add. I don’t have to mention Rosemary, but she knows that’s what I mean. Rosemary not being here, that’s what needs brightening. “It could be fun,” I continue. “You know, for me and Penny. We can take them out in the kayaks, and like Harris said, on the sailboat. We could do a tennis tournament or something.” I’m selling her on wholesome group activities.
My mother folds her arms.
“Please, Tipper?” I say, putting my head on her shoulder. “Best person, nicest mother in the world. Let me have some good distraction. I neeeeeeed it.”
She sighs, but I can tell I’ve won her over. “I really have a very full plate,” she snaps at Dean. “I’d be grateful if you wanted to man the grill. Tonight. And often. As soon as you’re settled.”
Dean grins. “Always glad to man the grill.”
When Dean is gone, my mother turns to me. “Make sure they have a good time, okay?”
“The boys?”
“Of course the boys. If they’re staying, I’m going to be a good hostess. You take them down to the beach, show them the kayaks. And make sure they understand how the VCR works, the washer, that stuff, so they’re comfortable. I can’t believe Dean’s nerve.” She shakes her head. “Three boys and no warning. I haven’t even got the beds made up in the cottage. You’ll do that for me?”
Major, George, and Pfeff. I can feel them from here, like a pulsing or a heart beating, over in the guesthouse. Testosterone, entitlement, cold beer, and laughter.
I tell her yes.
17.
WHEN I GET to Goose, it is all kinds of chaos. In the yard that opens off the wooden walkway, George and Major are playing Ping-Pong, having dragged an old table from the garden shed, where it has languished for years. They have their shirts off. George is muscled and evenly tan to match his beige hair; Major pale and lithe. Their boxer shorts peek out of their waistbands. George’s are Black Watch plaid, clashing wildly with his red plaid shorts. Major’s are a simple blue.