ELEVEN

 

Aunt Monica and I faced each other over the glass-topped table on the covered deck. Linen napkins, creamy china, a vase of fresh flowers on each table, and a stunning view of Moore Mountain Lake completed the picture of posh luxury my aunt and uncle enjoyed at their country club.

“Carole Norton and her daughter will join us shortly,” Monica said. “The Nortons live in Northern Virginia, but they summer here at the lake. Tiffany Norton is a bit younger than you, Ashby, but I think you will find her compatible.” My aunt looked absolutely at home in this regal setting.

Taking in the vista of golf greens and lake, I could easily imagine the swishy “summer home,” my aunt’s club friend might live in. No sense being negative, but what could Tiffany Norton and I have in common? Uh oh. That’s exactly the same attitude Luke had held about me.

“I told Hunter we simply had to get you away for a little R and R. After such a dreadful morning. That animal, drowning like it did.” My aunt shivered. “Hunter was more than happy to spend the day with Jefferson while you and I took a breather. They can be such good pals.”

My aunt’s tone was wistful. “Hunter is a good father. And Jefferson adores him, but…” She trailed off, fiddling with her napkin. Taking a sip of her iced tea, she gazed over my head. “But, Hunter is frequently so intense, so controlling. I worry that he might curb some of that wonderful spirit I so love in our son.” She stopped as though finished, then added, “You know, I think Jefferson actually is afraid of his own father, sometimes. Because of that intensity.”

Wow. This was way too much information. I kept quiet.

As if she’d forgotten me, Monica continued her monologue. “Oh, I know I drill Jefferson on his manners. Sometimes, I think that is all I am good for. It is the way I was raised. By my nanny, of course. My parents were far too busy, socially and otherwise, to pay me much mind. Consequently, Nanny and I were quite close. Such a warm and loving person Nanny was. My mother insisted Nanny work on my etiquette. It was politeness and manners, at all times.”

Suddenly my aunt teared up. “Oh, I never intended to tell anyone this, Ashby. I cannot imagine why I even began… Something to do with that creature attacking you and then t-turning up so--so horribly d-d-dead. It is s-so upsetting.”

“Aunt Monica,” I found my voice at last. “It’s all right. I’m all right. Really.”

She waved my words away as she dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. “You do not understand, dear. The scare with the wolf—it was a catalyst. Whenever I become upset, really upset, I…m-my flaw—m-m-my glaring flaw returns. They, my parents, they dismissed Nanny, sent her packing when she could not erase it. They sent me to that horrid b-boarding school to be…to be fixed.”

“What do you mean, fixed?”

“C-cured of my c-condition.” She wiped her eyes again. “You see, I stuttered. It is caused by a neurological glitch between the brain and the vocal cords and lips, the ability to produce speech. This I learned much later, but only after I suffered years of embarrassment. I cannot think of those years without reliving the humiliation of not being able to answer questions in class or the paralyzing fear that I would be called on to read aloud. Even now, n-now that I only stutter when I am under s-stress, I still feel the pain of that rejection.”

So that explained Monica’s curious enunciation. Still, I was shocked at her unloading on me like that. I mean, all of our conversations around the dining room table at Overhome had been so formal, trivial and dry.

She took few deep breaths and shook her head several times, then reached across the table for my hands. “Please forgive me. What I really want you to know is how happy I am with the way you relate to our son. I wanted you to be a companion for him, yes, but not just anyone would do. I knew you would be perfect, another only-child of the Overton family, just like Jefferson, but having a solid family upbringing, and a mother and father who adore you, without pampering, in your growing-up years. Parents who would never banish you to a boarding school. I feel I know you from Helen’s letters, know you to be well-rounded, happy, energetic, self-sufficient, all the attributes I never had the opportunity, or the wherewithal, to develop for myself, or to impart to my child.”

She pressed my hands. “You are making my dreams come true. I have seen so much evidence already—how you are bringing out all the good qualities in Jefferson—the independence, the spirit, the love. You are such a positive family role model…I cannot thank you enough.”

I murmured something incoherent. I was relieved Aunt Monica had ceased to stutter.

“Neither Hunter nor I had much experience with motherly love. I often feel guilty spending time at the club, leaving Jefferson at home, just as my mother did to me. And Hunter. He was so, so deeply affected by his mother’s death. Perhaps, too deeply. Your uncle has a dark side. A side most people never see. He…”

We were interrupted by the arrival of Carole and Tiffany Norton, a bright mother-daughter couple who looked more like sisters—petite, blonde, and bouncy as cheerleaders. I noticed that Monica patted her hair and sat up straighter, holding her head at a regal angle.

“What fun!” Carole chirped as she gave me a little hug. “The more young people who come to the lake, the happier we all are. After lunch, you can go waterskiing with Tiff and some of her friends, if you like.”

Tiffany cocked her head and gave me a look that said, Only if you want to. I liked her immediately for that.

“Sure! I’ve been dying to learn to ski, if somebody is willing to teach me.” I cut my eyes toward Tiffany. “Uhhh…understand, I’m a complete rooky. I hope I won’t be too much of a drag on your party.”

“Me and my friends love to get people up on skis for the first time,” Tiffany assured me. “We take pride in every conquest.” She gave her mother a cheerful smile. “Let’s order lunch. I told everybody we’d meet them at the dock at two o’clock. Drew’s got his family’s ski boat for the whole day.”

“Sweet!” I heard myself say. But my mind was only partly focused on the long-awaited opportunity to learn a cool, new sport. The other half kept mulling over the odd puzzle pieces of information I had already learned today, about Luke, my Grandmother Lenore, my aunt and uncle. And about Rosabelle, of course.

 

 

Dear Diary, Where to start? First, I must say I was shocked to find that Tiffany Norton and her friends remind me of my buds back home when we were a couple years younger. Tiffany and Drew and Jordon, and the others are my newest country-clubbing amigos. Okay, so they’re as used to the high-life as us peons are to breakfast, all enrolled in or planning to attend Ivy League colleges, but they must’ve left any snobbery back home. And…they know how to teach a total klutz to ski in one easy lesson. Well, make that a whole day of lessons. Drew himself, who skis on the Lake Team, admits the sport is not a one-shot deal. But by day’s end I was getting up with every pull and staying up until my legs felt like linguini. That’s on a pair, of course. (See, I’ve even picked up on the ski-lingo). Everyone agrees a gymnastics background helps with the old balance, though, and they’re sure I’ll be hanging out on a slalom ski before long. We parted with plans to ski again soon.

Aunt Monica is one needy chick, as I discovered from a long tete-a-tete (Thank you, Mary Stewart for that lovely term) with her today. Just getting out of the gloomy, old rooms at Overhome freed her up and loosened her lips, is the way I figure the deluge of tears and confessions. Okay, so I’m getting some insight into the psycho-dynamics of this dysfunctional family, but, for the life of me, I see no evidence of my influence on Jeff. Monica is all gushy about me making a positive change in Jeff’s attitude—yada, yada, yada—but he’s still playing his mom and dad against each other for all he’s worth. Have I missed something here? Maybe instead of studying writing in college, I’ll go for a psych degree. If anything, Jeff has made me change for the better. I feel like a big sister who’s all grown up and learning to take responsibility for somebody other than Ashby Overton. I mean, the whole time I thought about my visit to Overhome, it was all about me—my roots, my adventure, a background for my writing, and, hey! They’re still high on the list. But that little freckle-faced kid has added a whole new dimension to life. And I never saw it coming until it hit me in the face.

More good news: When I draggled in after hours of skiing and boating in the punishing Virginia sun (Yes, Mom, I slathered on the SPF 30 and I reapplied), Miss Emma came knocking on my door. She promised she’d usher me into the attic first thing in the morning. At last! A chance to glimpse a real slice of my mother and father’s life, their short, happy, life, as they say in literature.

Oh, I almost forgot. Talk about short and happy. For a brief moment Luke and I were on the same wave length, but the illusion was shattered, oddly enough, by rose petals.