Eleanor laughed. “Good for you!”
“Yes, but poor Mom is miserable. No wedding, no parties, no new clothes. I’ve been phoning the hotel and the caterers and so on, canceling our arrangements. But I’ve stayed in my bedroom, because Mom gets so gloomy at the sight of me.”
“She’ll cheer up. It’s spring, the sun is warm, the island is waking. Also, I’ve decided that for this birthday I’m going to give presents. I know there’s some ancient silver up there that your mother would love to have, or sell.”
“Cool,” Ari said. “Gram…I was wondering…Could I live with you for the summer? I need to work and I could make good money on the island. Plus, I could do grocery shopping and chores for you, and meet guys—it would be a whole new world!”
Eleanor was so happy she thought she was going to have a heart attack. Really, why hadn’t anyone told her how emotional old age made you? Maybe what her instincts had been telling her was that something wonderful was in her future.
“Gram, are you still there? I mean, I’d understand of course if you didn’t want me—”
“Ari, I would love to have you live here with me in the summer. You can have the downstairs bedroom so you can sneak out or sneak someone in when I’m upstairs sleeping.”
“Gram! What a scandalous thought!”
“Don’t tell your mother I said that.”
Ari laughed. “I’m so excited! This is awesome. I wish I could come tomorrow but I’ll come with everyone else for your birthday in a few days. Gram, you are the best!”
They said their goodbyes. Eleanor sat with her phone, looking out at the water. The sun had ascended while she’d been talking, and now it lit up the whole world.
—
Eleanor sighed deeply and went into the kitchen to make coffee and a bowl of cereal with blueberries. Blueberries were supposed to help keep your mind sharp and your heart healthy. She ate them at the kitchen table, scrolling through the news on her iPhone. It was useful, this instrument. She could flip past whatever bored her, unlike watching the news on television where the newscasters chatted and laughed as if they were at a party instead of discussing important events. Still, Eleanor thought, those newscasters probably understood that part of their job was to present cheerful faces to the audience sitting at home with their hair standing on end as they learned of another day in the world news.
She rinsed out her cup and bowl, tucked her phone in her pocket, and went upstairs to dress. She would shower later. She planned to work in the attic today, so she would need a shower later. She had a pair of ancient corduroy jeans that no longer fit around her waist, but who would see her today? She looped one of her husband’s old ties around to use as a belt—the zipper was broken. She buttoned an overlarge blue shirt over it. Put on her socks and sneakers. Took a last gulp of coffee and went up the stairs.
Eleanor had always enjoyed the attic. It was a high-ceilinged, open barn of a space, with two windows at each end, looking out at the houses on either side, with no glimpse of the water. She liked that it didn’t have a view of the ocean. It made the attic feel like its own private world.
Large furniture loomed everywhere, perfect for hide-and-seek. Her grandparents’ steamer trunks, empty now but still with buckled leather straps and funny old labels: CUNARD WHITE STAR, EIFFEL TOWER, ROMA. Three hope chests sat around with their lids up, mostly emptied by someone needing blankets or sheets or dress-up clothes. One chest held a pile of gorgeous, delicate linen tablecloths trimmed with lace and embroidery. No one wanted those anymore, just as no one wanted silver, china, or crystal. Too much work. But the world moved in cycles. Someone would want these someday.
A matching sofa and chair, both covered in hideous, scratchy gray wool, sat near the window, heaped with chintz material. For curtains? Clothes and hats for the local theater company? A dress Eleanor had worn in a party in sixth grade curled over the back of the chair. It was made of white polished cotton covered with pink roses. It had a pink satin sash that tied in a big bow in the back. Her mother had made her a matching headband with a bow at the side of her head. Black patent shoes, white socks. Oh, Eleanor had thought she was beautiful, the most beautiful girl on earth. These days, no one would wear the dress; no one would even use the fabric for curtains.
Turning away, she found the antique dresser with two brass handles missing. She opened the drawers and discovered the quilts her grandmother had made. She lifted them out in her arms, hugging the plump, colorful bedding to her chest. She thought she remembered a time when quilts were out of favor. People used electric blankets, which Eleanor had abhorred; you could feel the wires running the length of your body. Then, duvets, also not Eleanor’s favorites, with the duvet covers that after washing had to be stuffed with the duvet, which never went in agreeably but bunched up down at the bottom. You had to struggle with it for hours to get it in properly. When her husband was alive, he was always cold in the house when they came down for Christmas or Easter, so they slept together beneath a down comforter, which made Eleanor so overheated she had to sleep nude, with both bare feet sticking out.
Mortimer. Eleanor had been married to him for forty-six years. He was five years older than Eleanor. She’d met him when she was twenty-one, a student at Wellesley, spending the summer on the island with her family. Eleanor had been troubled about her future. Her one love, what her parents called her hobby, had been sewing. The New
