Summer Darlings Read online

  “Welcome to paradise.” Jean-Rose smiled. She strode off behind Ted to the front porch.

  “Or hell, depending on your perspective,” a young woman about Heddy’s age wearing a chambray collared dress and white apron whispered, reaching into the trunk. Heddy checked to make sure her new bosses hadn’t overheard what the housekeeper had said, which made the woman grin. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be so crass. I’m Ruth.”

  “I’m going to tell my mom you said a bad word.” Teddy wrinkled his nose.

  “Then I’ll tell your mom about the chocolate you snuck into bed last night.” Ruth tugged at Heddy’s suitcase.

  Teddy stared at his feet, then took off with Anna, a mischievous look on her face.

  “Gosh, let me help you, Ruth. I’ve got books in there.” The two of them pulled at the handle with all their strength, not getting it out until they lifted the corners of the boxy Louis Vuitton suitcase up in their arms. They dropped it to the ground, both jumping back to save their feet.

  “Where’s Mr. Helpful when you need him?” Ruth said quietly. Then she smiled sweetly at Ted, who was walking toward them with golf clubs slung over his shoulder, neat and angled, like his side part.

  “I would have gotten that out.” He winked at Heddy, still standing by the car, as he tossed his golf clubs where her luggage had been. “Make yourself comfortable, sweetheart. I’m off to the links.”

  The children emerged on to the porch, watching their father, and Anna, barefoot and hair loose around her shoulders, yelled to him, “I love you, Daddy.”

  Ted glanced at Heddy, a stupid grin on his face. “That child has me whipped. She’s more charming than her mother, and I didn’t think that was possible.” Heddy felt her breath catch as he returned to the porch, planting a kiss on Anna’s rosy cheek. Then he hoisted Teddy up, throwing him over his shoulder and spinning the boy, who erupted into giggles, making Anna jump up and down begging for a chance, too. Heddy loved seeing fathers play with their kids rather than treat them like flies that needed swatting, but she could be undone by dads who tipped the chins of their pouting girls with a single finger or dads who made an effort to listen to what his teenage daughter rattled on about. Those men made her weepy. At least when she’d seen them on television shows.

  Moments later, Ted was back in his car, pulling on his driving gloves and peeling out of the driveway, kicking dust into their faces.

  Ruth glanced at her watch. “Seven hours till dinner. If he’s home by then, she won’t ask any questions.” Heddy followed Ruth to the porch, lugging her suitcase behind her. She would have carried that suitcase anywhere if it meant getting out of her and her mother’s tiny Brooklyn apartment for the summer.

  “Children, will you show Heddy her room?” Jean-Rose clicked down the columned veranda in heels, her head scarf untied and fluttering in the breeze.

  “The ladies are coming over in an hour for bridge, and I want to serve the canapés out here. Did you make the lobster salad?”

  Ruth was at Jean-Rose’s side. “Two pinches of salt, four scoops of mayo.”

  Jean-Rose ran her hand along the surface of the outdoor table, a diamond eternity bracelet dangling from her delicate wrist. “Smells like Lysol. What would I do without you, Ruth?” She flitted off. “I’m going to change. I’ll be down in five, and we’ll set the table.”

  With her gone, Ruth formed a pistol with her finger, holding her hand to her alabaster temple and pretending to shoot.

  Heddy didn’t know how to respond, so she opened the home’s French doors and stepped into a formal living room with high wingback chairs and a tufted sofa. Beryl—who happened to be the heir to the Bethlehem Oil fortune and happened to ride horses with Jean-Rose’s cousin and happened to insist on getting Heddy this job—had stuck her neck out for her. She wouldn’t embarrass her by getting caught up in some childish antics on her first day.

  “Come on, babysitter.” Teddy swung around the intricately carved newel post. At six, he was slight enough to be mistaken for younger. “Follow me.”

  “Her name is Heddy.” Ruth’s eyes pinned him.

  With Anna’s soft hand in hers, Heddy followed the boy. “Nice meeting you.”

  “Don’t let these two gang up on you,” said Ruth, balancing an armful of dishes. “They’re brutal when they’re in cahoots.”

  Once in her sunny square bedroom on the third floor, the kids pulling out the dresser drawers and trying to unzip her suitcase, she sat on the edge of the bed and took the rumpled letter out of her purse. She flattened it and placed it in her top drawer, while Teddy, a doll tucked under his arm, showed her the musty corner closet and Anna sat at the small writing desk with a paper and pencil.

  “And this is where you’ll pinch a brown loaf,” Teddy said, pointing at the toilet in a small adjoining bathroom; he rubbed the doll’s yellow hair against his lips. Above the bathtub was a stained-glass window, two lovebirds chirping at each other.

  “I’ll wash your mouth out with soap if you speak like that again.” Heddy snapped at him from her perch on the bed’s patchwork quilt, the sinking feeling in her stomach having nothing to do with the boy, and he was taken aback, she could tell, but still he stuck out his tongue. Anna hugged her brother protectively, and he pushed her off hard enough that she burst into tears. Heddy scooped the child in her arms mainly because she needed a hug herself.

  All she’d wanted was a chance at being the kind of woman her mother sold scarves to, rather than the woman stuck behind the Tiffany’s counter. A hunger had always been in her—to live a plum life, yes, but also a genuine belief that something better lay just around the corner.

  Then she’d met that boy, the son of a custodian at Harvard, who was attending the college on scholarship. He was just as much the outsider at school, and after meeting him at the bar with Beryl, Heddy had gone home with him, skipping her ten o’clock curfew in the dorm; Beryl had secretly signed Heddy back in, while distracting their den mother with tears about a pretend heartbreak. Heddy and the boy had stayed awake on his frayed corduroy sofa talking about how lonely it was to live with the pressure of their hardworking parents, how it colored every experience they had at college. She’d drunk a few beers, which wasn’t like her, and even with her final the next day, she stayed, even though it was 2:00 a.m. by then, because she’d never realized anyone else felt as weighted with the future as she did, let alone a man. She was ready for her final, she’d told herself. She’d ace it. And then she’d snuggled in bed next to him, under a blanket he said his nana knit—they’d made out, and he’d put his hand up her shirt, but they were both too tired for much more and had fallen asleep, a sense of satisfaction in their shared experience. Then she’d overslept for her final, and he’d looked at her like her sandy brown hair was on fire when she started to scream: “Shit. Shit. Shit.” She’d pulled on her fuchsia-colored pants, slipped on her flats, and run out to catch a cab, crying the entire way home. He’d called later, but she was too upset to talk. And that was the end of that courtship. The end of everything, really.

  Well, not quite everything. Not yet, anyway. No one had to know. Besides, she was already here, they were paying her well, and the money she made this summer would at least allow her to open a savings. And prepare. For what, she wasn’t sure.

  She arranged her books in a neat stack on her nightstand: Jane Eyre, The Golden Notebook, On the Road, Franny and Zooey. She arranged everything she had in the two top drawers and hung her three dresses in the closet. Pleased, she crossed her arms over her chest and stood by the children, who were fighting over who got to sit on the desk chair. Heddy wasn’t going back to Wellesley—that was clear—but it didn’t mean she couldn’t have a good summer. There were plenty of people to meet on this island, plenty of men to make the acquaintance of. Perhaps, she thought, she could win the bet that she and Beryl had made on their last day of school, and just the possibility gave her a lift.

  She cupped Teddy’s head with the back of her hand. “Who wants to show me th
eir room?”

  TWO

  Heddy was downstairs and dressed in a simple mustard-yellow dress with knee-high matching socks by seven the next morning. She considered the pairing her most fashionable outfit, and the chilly morning temperature had cooperated, allowing her to pull the socks onto warm her legs. Uncertain where she should wait for the family to wake up, she chose a sunny window seat in the formal living room where she could see the stairwell.

  She crossed and uncrossed her legs, bit at her nails, and adjusted her ponytail while taking in the room’s oriental carpets, the polished mahogany furniture and ornate floor lamps, the gleaming brass bookends holding together neat rows of colorful spines. Just sitting there made her feel regal. The house even smelled of money. And Chanel Nº5, which Jean-Rose used like deodorizer, leaving a bottle of it in every room and spraying it as she traveled through the house.

  Heddy heard the children coming down the steps and stood. “Come, I’ll make you breakfast,” Heddy said cheerfully, her heart warming at their tousled hair and bright eyes.

  “But you’re not supposed to give us breakfast.” The girl adjusted the top of her darling baby doll pajamas.

  “Of course I do.” Breakfast was one of her specialties, and the thought of busying herself frying eggs gave her familiarity in this house of foreign smells and unsettling nighttime creaks.

  Teddy curled up in a floral wingback chair, his pudgy toes dangling off one brocade arm. “Ruth gets us breakfast, dummy. You just follow us around.”

  Heddy plastered a smile. She glanced at the grandfather clock: 7:12 a.m. She wouldn’t let them sock the energy from her that quickly.

  The back door latched shut, and they heard footsteps, the coat closet opening and closing. Ruth stuck her head into the living room. “You’re up already?” she said, taking in Heddy’s outfit. “What’s with the socks?”

  Heddy swallowed. “Everyone wears them on campus.” She tried not to sound defensive, or worse, snobbish.

  Ruth shrugged. “I’ll put out the cereal. The coffee, too. I’m sure you’re going to need a cup.”

  Heddy put her hand on the small of Anna’s back, leading the child into the kitchen. She felt strange living in a house with a servant, and she wouldn’t let herself be waited on. She didn’t want Ruth to confuse her with the family but didn’t want to get too comfortable living in a home with a housekeeper, either. If her mother instilled anything in her, it was how to be self-sufficient. Heddy took in the row of white mugs hanging from hooks along the faux-brick-veneer walls, the spices stacked on a rack, the singed potholder. Curious, living in someone else’s house—it was like parachuting into another person’s life, landing smack in the middle of a home with its own culture and mores. She’d have to study the family closely, finding a way to fit right in so her sudden appearance at their kitchen table was seamless.

  “You don’t have to serve me,” she told Ruth, who was pouring her coffee, “and I insist on making my own bed and cleaning my bathroom.”

  “I don’t mind the work, actually,” Ruth said. “My mom used to work here, and she told me if I keep sand off the floor and dishes out of the sink, I’d be okay, and it has been.” Ruth moved about the kitchen a moment. “Thank you, though. That’s lovely.”

  Ted came down for breakfast soon after, inserting himself at the small kitchen table and lifting Anna onto his lap. He was unshaven, his short hair unkempt, and the sight of him gave Heddy a chuckle, she’d never seen a man before his shower and pomade. It was adorable really, even if he smelled of sleep. Ruth tipped the percolator, pouring him jet-black coffee.

  “Maxwell House… ‘it tastes as good as it smells.’ ” Ted yawned.

  “Perk, perk, perk,” said Teddy, feigning the deep authoritative voice of the announcer in the ubiquitous commercial. “Listen to it perk. Look at the coffee as it gets darker and stronger. But will this cup of coffee taste as good as it smells?”

  “I don’t think I’ve seen a commercial as often as that one,” said Heddy.

  Ted picked up his newspaper, which Ruth had set before him. “But I’ll give it to Maxwell House: the coffee does taste good.”

  Heddy, sensing an opening with Ted, like maybe this was her chance to make an impression, said, “Oh wait, who knows this one? ‘Plop plop fizz fizz. Oh, what a relief it is.’ ” She’d actually sang it in the quiet of the kitchen.

  “Alka-Seltzer,” Ruth called out, the kids beginning to sing the popular refrain, while Ted opened the business section of the paper. She’d wanted him to guess, felt disappointed he’d ignored her.

  “Now we’re going to be singing it all day.” Heddy grinned at the children, who continued to sing the jingle on repeat.

  Jean-Rose padded into the kitchen, her hair set perfectly in waves, her makeup expertly applied, and Ted leaned over to kiss her good morning lightly on the lips without looking up from his paper. Later, when recounting her first impressions, Heddy would write in her journal that Ted kissed Jean-Rose like it was on his to-do list, and she wondered if a morning kiss from one’s husband was different from an evening kiss, which may be less perfunctory.

  Jean-Rose said that Heddy and the children would go to the beach that morning, so Heddy returned to her room to peel off her socks—she’d wanted to from the moment Ruth made the comment—and change into her bathing suit. It was an easy walk from the house to the family’s private beach, the winding path twisting through a grassy clearing lined with lush and flowering beach roses. Once there, few houses dotted the beach and she rarely saw anyone else. After swimming for an hour, Heddy’s calves stiff from the cold water, the children barely registering its cool temperatures, they emerged onto the sand.

  Heddy toweled off Anna, who was by this point pruned and shivering, while Teddy draped his towel across his shoulders like a superhero cape. The air smelled salty and fresh, nothing like back home. “Who wants to go for a walk?” Heddy asked.

  “Walks are stupid.” Teddy kicked at the sand with his foot.

  “Think of it as an adventure.” Heddy held out a thermos of water, but he pretended not to see. Next week, the kids would start camp, and Heddy would need to plan only their afternoons—rather than their entire days. “We’re exploring, like the astronauts.”

  “C’mon, Teddy,” pleaded Anna, her pointer finger in her mouth. She was four, much too old in Heddy’s mind to be sucking on her fingers.

  Heddy and Anna ambled on, collecting slipper shells. When Teddy sprinted by, Anna dropped the bucket and took off, too.

  “Teddy, wait—” Anna, her pigtails wet and curling, was gleeful.

  “Don’t go far,” Heddy hollered to their bobbing heads. The sea stretched before her, a giant expanse of deep blue, with twiggy-legged piping plovers running the shoreline. The beach was a wonder. At Coney Island, people sat so close you could smell the hot dog breath of the guy next to you, and the crowded boardwalk was as busy as a city avenue. Growing up, the beach was where she learned that men had hair in their armpits and that women’s legs sometimes grew dimples.

  Heddy placed a piece of driftwood into the pail and laid down to feel the sun wash over her, listening for the children’s reassuring chatter. Tired from rising so early and lulled by the peace, she closed her eyes for a minute. Maybe they could collect more driftwood and use it to make stick puppets. She envisioned various animals, lost in thought, when she noticed the children’s voices fading. Heddy bolted up, looking far down the curving beach, then scanning the water, but there was no sign of the children. She hadn’t fallen asleep—she would never. It had been seconds. Maybe thirty.

  “Boo!” She jumped behind a large boulder, where she thought they might be hiding, but saw nothing but a rotted horseshoe crab.

  Heddy’s heart lurched. She wondered if they’d doubled back and she hadn’t noticed, but she knew that was impossible. Her bare feet took off against the rocky sand, and she was thankful now she’d been practical in her swimsuit choice. When her Wellesley friends purchased bright-color
ed fast-drying bikinis at the Jordan Marsh department store in Boston, she pretended nothing suited her. Later, she’d slipped off to the drugstore near campus to buy a navy wool crepe halter suit on clearance. With its straight hem across her upper thigh and stiff fabric, it was more old-fashioned than she liked, but it had been only $1.25, and sensibility was needed as a nanny.

  “Anna! Teddy!” she called. She imagined Anna crying and lost in the hot sun. A flash of Jean-Rose’s face, scowling. “Anna!” Heddy yelled.

  Losing them hadn’t even entered her mind: it was a private beach, no one was around, and who took children? They weren’t the Lindberghs, for goodness’ sake. Maybe they’d run back to the house?

  “Children! This isn’t funny.”

  She froze. Voices: a little girl’s and a man’s. Heddy surged forward, spying a weathered cottage just above a thin line of dunes; the fishing cabin she could see from her attic bedroom. Anna and Teddy were eating strawberries at a picnic table, their fingers stained red. They were with a stranger, a man maybe a year or two older than Heddy.

  “I was looking everywhere for you!”

  Anna’s terry-cloth beach dress was soaked from her bathing suit. “This is mama’s friend Ash.”

  Teddy ran onto a flipped surfboard, balancing with his arms out. When he locked eyes with Heddy, the boy shrugged.

  “Take a deep breath,” the man said. Heddy had barely noticed she was panting. “Looks like they gave you a scare.”

  She ignored him. “Children, you cannot run away from me. What if you couldn’t find your way home?” Embarrassingly, her voice didn’t sound as firm as she’d intended.

  Teddy rolled his eyes. “We live here.”

  “And Mama lets us come whenever we want.”

  Firmer now. “Well, I’m in charge of you, and it’s my job to get you home safely or I’ll…”

  “Or what?” Teddy sassed, meeting her gaze. The children she’d minded back home didn’t talk back; they would have been dragged to their room by the ear. She couldn’t possibly tell two little rich kids they couldn’t have ice cream ever again. And she didn’t want to start her first week on the wrong foot. She looked away, and the boy began to sing “Lollipop.”