And, of course, Martha and Al Clark.
The children—she still thought of Alicia and Cliff as “the children”—came down for the weekends and for the entire last week of August, and after Mortimer died, they all came to the island to spend Christmas with Eleanor. Sometimes Ari, Alicia, and Phillip would arrive early, loaded with bags of decorations and presents. Cliff would surprise them with extravagant gifts. He could afford to. He sold real estate in Boston and had no family of his own. Eleanor would throw caution to the winds and turn the thermostat up to a toasty seventy degrees, Cliff would help her bring in the logs, and they’d build a fire in the living and dining room fireplaces while Alicia and Ari twined laurel all around.
This past Christmas had not been quite so much fun, and Eleanor was worried about the summer. About her daughter, specifically.
Alicia had always been such a very girly girl, even though early on Eleanor and her husband tried to go with the wisdom of the times and occasionally dress her in overalls and give her train sets so she wouldn’t be limited by her gender. But by the time she was four, Alicia insisted on clothes with ruffles and frills. She would play only with dolls, and she had so many tantrums when she didn’t have the much-discussed Barbie doll that Eleanor and Mortimer surrendered and gave her a Barbie for Christmas. After that, there was no stopping her. She wanted her bedroom to be all pink, she wanted to wear sparkling bracelets and bows in her hair, and when she was older, she saved her allowance to buy People magazine.
Her daughter was a mystery to Eleanor. Alicia never seemed content. Alicia, fortunate (spoiled?), always wanted more. Eleanor talked it over with her husband and her friends, finally deciding that it was Cliff’s birth, seven years after Alicia was born, that tangled the family’s relationships. Also, twined into Alicia’s life—and gene pool—Eleanor’s own mother had been fluffy and feminine until the moment she passed away. Audrey had worn lace and pastels, sparkling earrings, and several “signature” scents. Alicia had gone to stay with her grandparents during the two difficult times when Eleanor suffered miscarriages. Alicia had been in heaven with her frilly grandmother and had returned home reeking of French perfume and carrying velvet boxes full of costume jewelry.
When Cliff was born, hale and hearty, Eleanor had wept with joy. Mortimer had made a fuss over having a son and for a while Alicia might have felt slighted. Alicia had never been charmed by her baby brother. She nicknamed him Stinky for the first two years of his life, shocked at what his diaper could contain. Cliff grew into a boisterous, mess-making, rowdy little boy, so it was probably true that Alicia had felt ignored or slighted while Eleanor was occupied with saving Cliff from danger or the house from Cliff. There was, Eleanor remembered, the summer when Eleanor had arranged a Cinderella-themed birthday party for Alicia, only to have to rush off to save Cliff from rappelling down the ’Sconset bluff using the ties of Eleanor’s robes and scarves.
Alicia had been an indifferent student (but so had Eleanor). Alicia had been terrible at sports in high school (but so had Eleanor). On the other hand, Cliff had excelled academically and on the basketball court, winning full scholarships to several Ivy League colleges. Alicia had begged to go to boarding school when she was fourteen. It was, she told Eleanor and Mortimer, the only thing she wanted in all the world. So they had coughed up the tuition fees and sent her to an all-girls school in Massachusetts, and Alicia had come home on holidays desiring even more. A trip to the Caribbean for Christmas, diamond ear studs, a canopy bed, a Tiffany signature gold bracelet—whatever the poshest girl in her school had.
Alicia was exasperating, but there were times when she sought Eleanor out and wept in her mother’s arms. Alicia was beautiful, but she didn’t believe that, and the boys she met at the yacht club in the summer flirted with her, but never the boy Alicia had a crush on. Alicia was thrilled when she got to invite a boarding school friend to stay for a week on Nantucket, but she was furious, in private, after the friend left, that Eleanor didn’t have a housekeeper and had expected the girls to help carry bowls and plates to and from the kitchen.
Where had she come from, this pretty, demanding, commanding girl? In her heart, Eleanor knew she favored Cliff, even when he broke a chair or was caught smoking at ten or broke a window or showed up with Alicia’s lipstick scribbled all over his face. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked Alicia to bring her a diaper or washcloth, or to sit alone watching Sesame Street while Eleanor cuddled and rocked Cliff when he was teething. Eleanor could understand how her glee and pride when Cliff started walking might have made Alicia jealous. After all, she could walk, talk, sing, and do cartwheels. Eleanor tried to give Alicia special attention and praise but Alicia often gave her mother a dead-eye stare, as if she knew Eleanor’s praise was forced. Cliff was big and strong, knockout handsome like his father, and naturally sweet. If he wanted something, he worked for it, experiencing no wounded pride when he mowed the lawn or raked the leaves or even stacked dishes in the dishwasher, a chore Eleanor seldom asked him to do because he was so clumsy and clashed the glasses together. Alicia always balked at doing chores, sulking if she had to put a load of her brother’s laundry in the dryer or carry in the groceries.
Alicia attended Northeastern University, and for a while Eleanor thought her daughter might develop an interest in teaching or business. Alicia did work for the first time in her life, as a salesgirl at Shreve, Crump and Low, which sold silver ice buckets and other necessities of life. Alicia worked there, she told her mother, because she hoped to meet the right man, and, miraculously, she did. Phillip Paget was a resident at Harvard Medical School. He wasn’t handsome, but he was kind. He wasn’t wealthy, but he was brilliant. Phillip thought Alicia was the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. Their wedding was a stupendously complicated and expensive event that caused Mortimer to retire to his bedroom with a cold cloth on his forehead.
For the first few years, Eleanor was relieved. Both Alicia and Phillip were happy. Phillip became a surgeon who focused fiercely when he worked but couldn’t find his car keys when he was at home. Alicia blossomed as a wife, decorating their house, holding cocktail and dinner parties (with temporary help), and after two years of marriage gave birth to their daughter, Ari. Ari’s difficult birth had ended in a C-section and a hysterectomy. Alicia was glad she was relieved of the burden of pregnancy. It had not been a state she’d enjoyed. But she was a good wife and mother, happy in her life, even blissful when the family came to the island most summer weekends to relax. Alicia met old friends, played tennis, sailed, and was thrilled to have Eleanor in charge of Ari.
Ari.
Eleanor adored Ari. Ari adored Eleanor. For years, everyone was happy. Now Ari was graduating from college, and Alicia was forty-six, worrying about her age. Alicia was obsessed with money and the status she thought it could buy.
This Christmas, here at the Nantucket house, Eleanor had given Alicia a check for a thousand dollars. Alicia had spotted the amount and her face fell with disappointment.