past. No way.
Shelly suddenly groaned.
“I almost forgot,” she said.
“Ellen and Ted are coming tonight.”
“Who?” He was momentarily confused by her abrupt change of topic, although after twenty-two years of knowing Shelly, he was certainly used to it.
“Oh, your cousin Ellen,” he said.
“Yes. And I still don’t really like her. Father. I keep trying, but I just don’t.”
“You’re making a sincere effort, Shelly, and that’s what matters.” He looked at his watch.
“I’d better get back to this paperwork,” he said.
“And you to your dusting.”
“Right!” She jumped up from her seat and began working at the blinds once more.
Sean looked at the papers spread out in front of him, then shut his eyes. Rory Taylor.
His hands trembled as he put the top on the pen and rested it on the desk. He would never be able to concentrate on hearing confessions now.
Daria awakened hungry that Saturday morning. The sun light poured into her bedroom, where everything was white and blue and clean and bright, and she felt the blissful realization that she did not have to go to work or teach a class or do anything other than goof off all day. Perhaps she would go to the gym. Perhaps Rory would go at the same time. Then, suddenly, she remembered that Ellen and Ted were in the cottage, and her mood plummeted.
They had arrived the night before, and Daria had instantly felt her spirits sink when their car pulled into the driveway. She hadn’t had to deal with her cousin since the summer before, and only now did she realize how heavenly the year had been without Ellen’s opinions and interference Daria had greeted the two visitors, then pleaded exhaustion and went to bed, feeling a little guilty leaving Chloe and Shelly to provide hospitality.
Ellen, along with Aunt Josie, had spent all of her summers at the Sea Shanty until the year she married Ted. Since then, she and Ted and their two daughters came down on occasional summer weekends. They never waited for an invitation. Ellen would simply call and say they were coming, and after all these years, Daria felt unable to tell her no. Anyway, Chloe would never let Daria turn their cousin away. Chloe was able to view Ellen from an entirely different perspective.
“We have to understand why Ellen is the way she is,” she would say.
“Her father died when she was little. Aunt Josie wasn’t exactly the warmest, most maternal human being on earth. We need to have sympathy for Ellen. We need to show her love and compassion.” But it was hard to show someone love and compassion when all you received was sarcasm and insensitivity in return.
Trying to recapture her good feelings, Daria got out of bed and pulled on shorts and a T-shirt. She glanced out her window at Poll-Rory, wondering if Rory was up yet. Then she walked down the stairs to face her guests.
She found Ellen on the porch, pouring orange juice into glasses on the picnic table. A platter of waffles and sausages rested in the center of the table, and Daria knew that Shelly had busied herself cooking that morning, probably to escape from Ellen.
“Well,” Ellen said, looking up from her task, and Daria noticed that her cousin’s hair was strewn with silver now. The color was actually pretty, especially in the sunlight pouring through the porch screens, but it looked as though a five-year-old had cut her hair with dull scissors.
“You look a little more with it this morning.”
Already, Daria felt her skin prickle.
“I’m sorry I crashed so early last night,” she said, sitting down in one of the rockers.
“It had been a long day at work.” “Well, no one held a gun to your head when you picked such a physical career,” Ellen said. She set the pitcher down on the table and arranged the glasses by the individual place settings.
“Guess I’m just a masochist,” Daria said, unwilling to get into a fight. Better than being a sadist, she thought, remembering the mammogram she’d had the year before. A small cyst had appeared in her breast and her doctor had ordered the test to rule out anything serious. The mammogram had been simple, quick and painless, but she imagined the experience would be entirely different if a technician like Ellen were responsible for tightening that cold plastic vise.
Chloe walked onto the porch and glanced at the table.
“How come there are only four place settings?” she asked.
“Guess,” Ellen said.
“Ted’s going fishing.”
As if on cue, Ted walked onto the porch, fishing pole in one hand, bucket in the other.
“What’s been biting lately?” he asked Daria.
Daria tried to remember the latest fishing report. It was impossible to live in the Outer Banks and not be aware of what was biting.
“Croaker, I think,” she said.
“Spot. Bring us home some dinner, okay?”
She didn’t dislike Ted. He was overweight, with a belly that protruded farther over his waistband every year. He had kind brown eyes and a receding thatch of gray hair. He was bland, reticent and a doormat to his wife, but there was little offensive in his own demeanor. For as long as Daria had known him, Ted would take off for the fishing pier first chance he got, and she didn’t blame him for wanting that escape.
