It was ridiculous, but Ronnie knew better than to say so. Sarah was sensitive to criticism; quick to unfold her tales of woe, about how abandoned she’d felt as a little girl when Veronica was working. “You were always fobbing us off on the mother’s helpers,” Sarah would say. “You were always busy.” That did not comport with Veronica’s memories of the kind of parent she’d been. Yes, there had been mother’s helpers, but she’d stopped publishing when the kids were young. She’d been a full-time academic, which meant she had plenty of work in the summer months, but at least it was work that was portable, work that let her stay with them on the Cape. She remembered spending every summer day with the twins, the mornings of swimming lessons at Gull Pond, the afternoons on the beaches, Corn Hill or Longnook or Head of the Meadow.
True, Veronica had needed a few hours a day to grade papers or talk to the graduate students she advised, to plan her lessons and read for pleasure. True, there’d always been a mother’s helper, an extra set of hands to help with the showers and the meals and the bedtime routines, but she remembered being an attentive, hands-on, present mother who’d taught her kids to swim and ride their bikes and then gave them the gift of empty hours to fill, with books or swims or walks or Frisbee games with friends. And was telling a kid to amuse herself in a beautiful house right on the ocean really so awful? Poor you, Veronica would think, but never say, when Sarah got going on her lonely childhood and her neglectful mom.
Of all the kids, it was Ruby, her bonus grandchild, with whom Ronnie had gotten to spend the kind of summers she’d dreamed about. Eli had recognized the Cape, and Ronnie and Lee, as a refuge for his prickly little girl. “Between you and me, she’s giving Sarah a hard time,” he’d confided to Ronnie late one night. This was before he and Sarah had gotten married, when the three of them had come to the Cape for a long weekend. Ronnie saw her opportunity. She’d begged and pleaded and finally convinced Eli to let Ruby stay.
“Are you sure you’ve got time for this?” he’d asked. “We’ll enroll her in camp, so you don’t have to entertain her all day…”
“I would be happy to entertain her all day,” Ronnie had said. The next morning, she and Ruby had waved goodbye to Eli and Sarah from the half-moon-shaped deck off the kitchen, where Ronnie grew sage and mint and basil and rosemary. Ruby plucked a leaf of mint. She’d sniffed it, and then she’d peered up at Veronica, her face solemn, the breeze ruffling her curls. “What are we going to do?”
“We could go for a walk and look for box turtles and horseshoe crabs,” Ronnie proposed. “Or we could kayak through the marsh.”
Ruby chose the walk. They kayaked the next day. The day after that, they rode the bike path to get an ice-cream cone in Eastham, and on the rainy day that followed, they went to Wellfleet for a matinee and completed a five-hundred-piece puzzle at the kitchen table. Ronnie taught Ruby how to play gin. Ruby taught Ronnie how to play Bananagrams. When it was dinnertime, they’d grill hot dogs and hamburgers. Some nights they’d just eat freshly buttered corn and sliced tomatoes from the farm stand up the road, and when Lee arrived on Friday nights they’d make challah for a special Shabbat/welcome-home dinner. Ruby was good company. A little solemn, and almost frighteningly competitive （“You aren’t letting me win, are you?” she’d asked, eyes narrowed, after Ronnie had praised her lavishly for playing a z on a triple-word-score space, and Lee had to assure Ruby that his wife never let anyone win at Scrabble）。 Ruby was focused, and determined, but also funny, and usually cheerful, and willing to try new things. Best of all, she loved the water the way Ronnie did. The first time she and Ruby had swum across the pond together, Lee told her that he’d never seen Ruby looking as delighted as she had when they’d emerged from the water and gone running to him, saying, “I made it the whole way across without stopping!” That night, in bed, he’d brought up the idea of getting a place in New York City. “A pied-à-terre!” he’d said, rolling the words with a flourish. “Why not? You’ll be able to see Ruby all year round, and Sarah’s going to want you close if she has babies.” Regretfully, Ronnie had told him no. She’d reminded Lee that he had no plans to retire in the near future, and that his firm was in Boston, that a place in Manhattan wasn’t practical. She didn’t mention her own reasons for avoiding New York.
Two weeks had sped by. When they were over, Ruby hadn’t wanted to go. “Why can’t I stay longer? Can I come back next summer? Can I stay longer next time?”