Hannah rested her arm over Boop’s shoulder and guided her through the house to sit at the kitchen table. Then Hannah opened the correct cabinet for a vase, filled it with water, and arranged the blooms. She set it on the table and sat across from Boop, leaned on her elbows, and smiled.
How Boop loved this girl, all grown-up at twenty-six, yet with her whole life still ahead of her—a life that she was mapping out for herself as a high school English teacher, with a master’s degree, no less. Maybe she’d go on to get a PhD. Maybe she’d write a book. Or a screenplay. For her, limitations were nonexistent.
Her youngest granddaughter had always been Boop’s sidekick, content to watch the lake and count the colors in the sky at dusk, while her sister, Emma, wanted to be swimming in the lake and hadn’t the same notion of sunsets. Sometimes Boop wished Hannah were less like her. Less reflective. More carefree.
Hannah drummed her hands on the table. “Why haven’t you been answering your phone? Dad said his calls went to voicemail two nights in a row.”
“Oh, that. I was busy. Your other bubbes will be here soon.” Hannah and Emma had spent summers in South Haven with Georgia and Doris as their intermittent bonus Jewish grandmothers.
“I know, and I can’t wait to see them, but can we talk about you not answering the phone? That’s why you have a cell phone. So we can reach you. Make sure you’re okay. He worries about you. So do I.”
“Oh, Hannahleh, you’re sweet. Do you want a muffin or some chocolate? I was just setting out a snack.”
Hannah shook her head. “Boop, are you listening to me? You have to answer your phone.”
“Yes, yes. I was busy, that’s all.”
She didn’t want to worry Hannah, who called regularly and lived just fifty minutes away in Kalamazoo, close enough for a short visit and far enough to maintain her privacy—not that Boop was dropping in on her and her boyfriend, Clark, the “artist.”
Emma, two years older than Hannah, lived in Highland Park, Illinois, with her husband, Grant, and their three-year-old twins, Oliver and Holden. Emma didn’t call on a schedule, but she did call every week or so. Boop was proud and at peace with her presence in her granddaughters’ lives.
She and Hannah settled onto the ticking striped couch in the living room. Boop sat at one end with her feet on the floor, and Hannah rested at the other end, her legs stretched out across the cushions and her now-bare feet resting on Boop’s lap. The arrangement reminded Boop of when her granddaughters were little girls, when a tickle and a kiss cured all ills, when her own troubles were of no consequence to them. But Hannah was an adult now.
“Your dad thinks I should move to San Diego,” Boop said. “I wanted to tell you myself. That’s why the girls are finally coming. It’s our last chance to be here together.”
Hannah lurched forward, grabbing her shins. “You can’t move away.”
Boop patted Hannah’s legs, and she eased herself back upright. “We can still talk on the phone. And your visits to California will be twofers with me and your dad there.”
“I didn’t mean you can’t. I guess I mean—why would you? You always said you’d leave this house—”
“Feet first,” Boop said. “I know.”
“You grew up here. You married Pop here. We spent summers here with you two and Dad. What will I do if you’re not here? Don’t do it, Boop. Please stay! Some of my best memories are in this house, and I don’t want that to end.” Hannah’s voice quivered. The tears were next.
Boop’s heart thumped. This was out of character. Something was wrong. “I know, dear,” Boop whispered in a singsong manner, and rocked side to side. She hoped her tone and demeanor would ease Hannah’s worries, whatever they were. “I love that you love it here, I do. But it’s a big old house, and it’s only me most of the time. I’m not getting any younger. Don’t you dare tell Georgia I said that. And no matter where I go, South Haven will still be here; it’s not like you can’t come back.”
Hannah smiled, her lips together, so it wasn’t a real smile. It was an okay-whatever-you-say smile. “It wouldn’t be the same without you. To me and Emma, you are South Haven.”
Boop understood. The wonder of South Haven was more than the colors of the sunsets and the silkiness of the sand, the blueberry farms, or even the lighthouse—though Boop wouldn’t trade those away. When she had been a girl growing up in the shadow of her family’s business, Stern’s Summer Resort, or a young mother bringing Stuart here for summers, or a grandmother doting on Emma and Hannah, the people here had been her family. Her friends, the resort guests, the neighbors. They were part of her life, and she theirs. But times had changed. People her age had died or moved to assisted living. Homeowners rented out their houses now. Her neighbors weren’t her neighbors for more than a week. In the resort days, families stayed for two to four weeks and returned every summer.
Stern’s Summer Resort had been lavish in a welcoming way—hamish yet elegant. Offering guests a cozy and sophisticated escape had been Yetta and Ira Stern’s trademark—along with the abundance of food. The closest Boop had ever come to experiencing the same gourmet gluttony of her grandparents’ resort was on her and Marvin’s one Caribbean cruise vacation.
But this house had always been her true home, even though resort guests had believed that Betty and her grandparents lived in the main house of the resort, despite it having no bedrooms. With the resort’s grandiose dining and activity rooms, in addition to the massive kosher kitchen that housed two of everything—one for milk, one for meat—where would they have slept? Boop smiled at the magnificent innocence of that era, when even
