Pip dragged herself downstairs in her bathrobe and slippers, bleary-eyed and yawning, and plopped herself into a chair at the kitchen table.
“Thank you, Maggie,” she said to the cook, who poured a cup of steaming black coffee for her.
Her father lowered the paper enough to frown in her direction. “You were out late again last night.”
Far from trying to hide it, Pip stretched and yawned again. “I was. Early graduation celebration with my friends.”
Patrick smiled indulgently and shook the paper upright. “Just don’t make a habit of it.”
“I won’t.” She propped her chin on her hand while Maggie slid two fried eggs and some bacon onto her plate. “Thanks, Mags.”
Sipping some coffee, Pip’s eyes gradually focused on the headlines facing her. “John Kennedy won California’s primary?”
Patrick lowered the paper again, his eyes gleaming. “An Irish Catholic President. Think of it, Pip.”
“From your mouth to God’s ears,” Maggie said with a thick Irish accent. She wagged her spatula at them. “Mark my words, that young man will take us places.”
“Where’s Garrett?” Pip asked, crunching on a piece of bacon.
“Already eaten and down at the mill. Which,” Patrick folded the paper precisely along its creases and tucked it under his arm, “is where I’m heading now.”
He gave Pip a kiss on the cheek and rushed out the kitchen door to the garage. A moment later, his Chrysler backed down the drive. Through the screen door, a cool breeze wafted into the kitchen, carrying the scent of roses and the busy sound of morning birdsong.
Perked up by the coffee and food, Pip was finishing a second cup when Marie came in, trailed by a wailing Josie, wearing her plaid skirt and starched white shirt.
“But we’re not doing anything in school. Teacher says our work is done for the year. All’s we’re doing is just nothing.”
Josie threw herself into a chair, her arms crossed, lower lip jutting out.
“But you ’ave to finish ze year, Josette,” Marie insisted. “Zey still count ze days toward your attendance.”
As always, when Marie was harassed or impatient, her Québécois accent became more pronounced.
“Wish I was graduating,” Josie pouted. “I hate school. The nuns are mean.”
Pip gave her arm a comforting rub. “You’ll be graduating soon enough, squirt. And the nuns in your new grade next year might be swell.”
Maggie set heaping plates in front of Marie and Josie. “You eat all of that, Miss Josie. Give you energy to run from those nuns.”
She cackled to herself, evidently remembering her own childhood encounters with nuns.
Felicia bustled into the kitchen with a ribbon and a hairbrush. “Miss Josie, you rushed off before I was done with your hair.”
Josie scowled but let Felicia brush her hair back into a ponytail, tied with the blue ribbon. Pip remembered those ponytails, pulled so tightly, she thought she might not be able to blink her eyes.
“And what are you going to do today, uh?” Marie turned her attention to Pip. “I ’ave a meeting of my garden club. Would you like to come?”
“Gosh, Mom.” Pip pushed back from the table. “Sounds like fun, but I… uh, have plans.”
Marie narrowed her eyes around Maggie, who was warming up her coffee. “You cannot waste your summer. And I do not know why your father insists you go to college. What can you learn that you will need once you are married?”
“Oh, let’s see.” Pip stood and pushed her chair back in. “Maybe something that will give me a real career, let me earn my own money.”
Behind Marie, Maggie gave Pip a wink and a nod. Pip hid a smile and sidled toward the door.
“Gotta go.”
“You need an ’usband!”
Marie’s voice followed as Pip ran up the stairs to her room. Despite what she’d said to her mother, she really didn’t know what she was going to do this summer. But it wasn’t going to be hanging out with the garden club.
By the time she’d showered and dressed, Josie and her mother had both left the house.
“You are not going out in those!” Felicia said in a scandalized tone when Pip bounced into the kitchen wearing clamdiggers, a sleeveless cotton shirt, and sandals.
“I certainly am.”
“You waited till your mother was out of the house before you showed yourself.”
“I certainly did.” Pip grinned at her. “Be back for supper, Mags.”
She waved good-bye to Maggie and Felicia and hurried out to her car—a ’57 Ford Fairlane—a graduation present from her parents. It might be three years old, but it looked brand new. And it’s all mine, she thought as she caressed the steering wheel.
The gears shifted smoothly as she drove a few blocks. She parked in front of a brick Colonial and skipped up the walk to knock on the front door.
“Hi, Mrs. Montgomery. Is Celeste up?”
“Good morning, Pip.” Mrs. Montgomery stepped back to invite Pip inside. “I think so. Go on up and see.”
“Thanks.”
Pip ran up the stairs to her friend’s room. With a quick knock, she opened the door and stood there, shaking her head at the lumpy form under the covers. She sat on the side of the bed, bouncing a little on the mattress.
“Wake up! It’s a beautiful day. We need to go shopping.”
Slowly a hand emerged and dragged the sheet down. Celeste’s tousled hair stuck up every which way as she sat and rubbed her eyes.
“Time is it?”
“Nearly ten.” Pip ripped the rest of the covers back. “Get dressed. Can’t waste our summer.”
She waited impatiently, pulling a Nancy Drew novel off of Celeste’s bookshelf. It was still more than a half-hour later before Celeste was done fixing her hair and choosing her clothes.
“Don’t know how you look so good so early with no makeup,” she said sullenly as she brushed mascara onto her eyelashes.
“Too much bother,” Pip said, closing Nancy Drew and sliding her back into the empty slot on the shelf.
“Only because you have all that luscious thick hair and eyelashes to match.” Celeste gave her hair a last spritz with hairspray. “Good enough for now.”
Pip grabbed her by the hand before she could change her mind about her dress. “Come on.”
“Celeste,” Mrs. Montgomery called from the kitchen before they could escape, “remember, you have to help weed the flowerbed today.”
“I’ll do it later, Mom.” Celeste dragged Pip down the porch steps. “Hurry. Before she thinks of more chores for me to do.”
They sprinted to the car and drove away, windows down.
“She’s giving you chores?” Pip asked when they were safe.
Celeste rolled her eyes. “She thinks a summer without structure will be bad for my moral development.” She gave Pip a wicked grin. “Didn’t have the heart to tell her it’s too late.”
She stuck her arm out the window. “Wish we had a cook and a housekeeper like you. Must be so nice.”
“It is. Felicia and Maggie are part of the family.” Pip squeezed the wheel a little more tightly. “But that doesn’t stop my mom. She thinks I need ‘an ’usband’ as soon as I graduate. If she had her way, I’d trade graduation gown for wedding gown. No life for me.”
She found a parking spot downtown. “Let’s go to Woolworth’s.”
As soon as they entered, Celeste glanced toward the lunch counter. “I never had breakfast. Let’s eat.”
Pip wasn’t hungry but followed. As soon as they sat on a couple of stools at the counter, she saw Larry Bellamy waiting on another customer and knew why Celeste was suddenly hungry. When he saw them, he immediately reached up to adjust his white cap to a more rakish angle on his dark hair, slicked back with Brylcreem.
“Hi, girls.”
“Hi, Larry,” Celeste said breathlessly.
“It’s Lawrence,” he corrected. “Now that I’m a college man, I think Larry is too juvenile.”
He leaned his elbows on the counter, and Pip coughed at the overwhelming smell of Old Spice that wafted off him.
“What’ll it be?” he asked.
Celeste ordered a burger and shake, while Pip just asked for a Coke.
“He’s so handsome,” Celeste whispered while Larry slapped a burger on the grill.
“Mmmm hmmm.” Pip slid off her stool. “Be back in a minute.”
She picked up a new magazine and some candy for Josie. By the time she returned to the lunch counter, Celeste was halfway done with her burger. She gulped down her Coke and dragged Celeste away before she could order more food.
“Come on,” she said. “I want to go to Sibley’s.”
They walked to the huge department store that occupied nearly the entire block. Once inside, Pip said, “I need to go the perfume department. My mom’s birthday is next week.”
“Okay. I’ll be in the shoe department.”
Pip started to call after Celeste that she didn’t need more shoes, but decided to let her go. Her nose guided her to the perfumes and colognes. She knew what she wanted. She bent over, peering through the glass display case, shuffling sideways as she searched the decorative bottles. Suddenly, she bumped into someone.
“I’m so sorry—” She stopped short as she stared into a bearded face. “Mr. Wasserman. I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”
He frowned at her for a few seconds before his hand drifted to the knot of his tie. “Miss Horrigan. Nice to see you again.”
The saleswoman hurried over, her heels clicking. “Here’s the one I was telling you about, Mr. Wasserman.” She set a bottle on the counter and gave Pip an impatient glance.
He took a sculpted bottle from the woman and sniffed with a puzzled frown. “What do you think?” he asked, passing the perfume to Pip.
“You can’t really tell that way,” she said. She sprayed a little on her own wrist and inhaled.
She held her wrist out for him, and he leaned down to sniff before making a face. “Don’t like it. Too sweet.”
“Who is this for?” Pip asked.
“My granddaughter.” He brushed his fingers through his beard. “She’d be about your age. What do you like?”
“Well,” she moved along the counter and pointed, looking at the saleswoman. “Can you get the Nina Ricci for us, please?”
The saleswoman did as Pip asked, handing her the bottle.
“This is my mother’s favorite. L’Air du Temps.” She dabbed some on her other wrist and lifted it to him. “What do you think?”
“I know that scent,” he said after sniffing. “I’ve always liked it, but never knew what it was.” To the saleswoman, he said, “Two bottles, please.”
“Two? Of course, Mr. Wasserman.” The saleswoman perked up, retrieving two decorative boxes from underneath the display case.
“Bag them separately and put them on my account, please.”
“Yes, sir.” The saleswoman placed the two bags on the counter and quickly wrote up a charge slip for Mr. Wasserman’s signature.
“Here you are, young lady,” he said, passing one of the bags to Pip.
“For me? Oh, but—”
“You helped me out. Keep that one for yourself. Or give it to your mother.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wasserman.”
He walked out of the perfume department with her. “Have you graduated?”
“This weekend.”
“And still no husband on the hook?”
She laughed. “No husband. No boyfriend. Just me.”
“What are your plans now? Going to work for your father?”
“Probably college first. I’ve been accepted at the University of Rochester, but I don’t know what I want to study.”
They stepped through the store’s front doors and out to the sidewalk beyond. Mr. Wasserman eyed her.
“College is fine, I suppose, but if you know what you want to do, why waste time?”
She shrugged. “But I told you, I don’t know what I want to do.”
He reached inside his jacket for a cigar. Lighting it, he frowned at her, his bushy eyebrows bristling. “Thought you had ideas for your father’s mill. Something about a bakery, wasn’t it?”
“Oh.” Pip laughed self-consciously. “I don’t think my father was too keen on that idea.”
“Why not?” He puffed indignantly. “I thought it made a lot of sense. Like you said, control everything. That’s what I did with my hotels. I bought a laundry to do all our linens. It was our biggest expense outside of staff. No sense paying more for someone else to do what we can do in-house.”
He slipped a thumb into the watch pocket of his vest and pulled out a business card. “Tell you what. You bring your father to my office. Tomorrow at ten o’clock. I think we have a business idea to propose to him.”
“We do?” Pip accepted the card.
“We do.” He gave her a wink. “See you tomorrow, young lady.”
Pip stood staring after him, her mouth hanging open.
“There you are.” Celeste rushed up to her, a shoe bag swinging from her hand. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Who was that?”
“Mr. Wasserman.”
Celeste goggled. “Of the Wassermans?”
“Yeah. I met him at their Christmas party.”
“Oh.” Celeste’s face darkened. “I forgot you were invited to that. What did he want?”
Pip quickly considered. “He just needed help picking out a perfume for his granddaughter.” She hooked her arm through Celeste’s. “Let’s do some more shopping.”
When Garrett slammed his bedroom door, the noise reverberated through the entire house, rattling the stained glass window on the stairwell landing. Maggie scurried to the foyer from the kitchen, one hand clutching a spatula. From the other side of the foyer, Marie peered out from her study.
“What in God’s name was that?” Maggie asked as Patrick and Pip entered the house and let the screen door gently close behind them.
“It’s my fault,” said Pip, staring up toward the second floor.
“It’s not your fault,” Patrick corrected. “He just needs some time.”
“What is this?” Marie asked.
Patrick glanced pointedly in Maggie’s direction.
“I’m going, I’m going,” she grumbled. “But I’ll find out soon enough. There are no secrets in this house.”
Pip, despite feeling miserable, couldn’t help grinning. Maggie was right. She’d know everything before dinnertime. Pip followed her father into Marie’s study and slid the pocket doors closed.
They all sat down, and Patrick loosened the knot of his tie, all the while giving Pip a shrewd stare.
“It seems your daughter has a head for business,” he finally said.
Marie sat a little straighter. “What kind of business?”
“Our kind.” Patrick sat back on the divan, stretching his legs out, crossed at the ankles. “We are going into partnership with Theodore Wasserman.”
Marie’s dark eyes—the eyes Pip had inherited—narrowed at this announcement. “What does that mean?”
“Tell her,” Patrick said.
“Well,” Pip said, more nervous now, facing her mother, than she had been in Mr. Wasserman’s office. “When I went to the Christmas ball, I met Mr. Wasserman. We talked.”
“About what?” Marie asked sharply.
“He wanted to know about Great-Granddad and the mill and…” She swallowed. “I told him…”
“Go on,” Patrick said when she hesitated.
“I told him I thought we shouldn’t just own the mill and then sell the flour. I thought we should buy a bakery and make our own bread and rolls.” Before her mother could interrupt, Pip rushed on. “We know our flour is the finest, the best. Why not use it ourselves? Control the whole thing. Mill to bakery to store.”
Marie’s mouth opened and then closed, her mind clearly working furiously to understand the implications of this. “So what does this have to do with Mr. Wasserman?”
“Well, I ran into him yesterday at Sibley’s. When Celeste and I were there shopping. And he and I got to talking, and he asked me to bring Dad to his office. And we went. And… we’re going into business together.”
At this bombshell, Marie slumped against her chair. “You’re selling ze mill?”
“No,” Pip said quickly, leaning forward. “Mr. Wasserman is going to let us use an empty warehouse he owns near our mill. He was thinking of maybe tearing it down to build another hotel, but he’ll lend us the money to refurbish it as a bakery.”
“And what does ’e get out of this?” Marie asked in a suspicious tone.
“Nothing for the first three years,” Patrick replied. “We’ll sell him all the bread and rolls he needs for his hotel restaurants at cost. After three years, he’ll get ten percent of the gross.”
“But that will give us time to build our brand,” Pip said, sounding excited now. “We’ll have an automatic customer base with his kitchens, and word of mouth will help us build our reputation. We can start locally, the western half of New York, and spread out from there.”
“And guess who he wants to manage the bakery?” Patrick broke into laughter. “She’s got the old man wrapped around her finger!”
“Dad,” Pip protested, feeling the heat in her cheeks, “that’s not how it is.”
“Well, he said he’d only do the deal if you were part of it.”
Marie’s gaze drifted up. “So that’s why Garrett is upset.”
“Yes.” Pip’s excitement evaporated. “I’d better go talk to him.”
She left her parents in the study, dragging herself up the stairs. She went to her room to change out of her dress into shorts and a linen blouse before padding barefoot down the hall to Garrett’s room.
She knocked softly. “Garr? Can I come in?”
She thought she heard a muffled response. Twisting the doorknob, she eased the door open and peeked into the room. Her brother was sprawled across his bed, tossing a basketball toward the ceiling and then catching it before it hit him in the face. The mattress sagged a little when she sat on the edge.
For a few minutes, neither said anything. At last, Garrett said, “Coach Weaver arranged for a college scout to come and watch me play. My senior year. Did you know that?”
“No.”
“No one did.” Garrett’s voice was brittle. “I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t tell anyone the scout offered me a full scholarship to Syracuse. A full ride. To play basketball. But I’d just gotten my draft card. He said to do my two years and call him when I got out. But I turned him down.”
He caught the ball again and squeezed it, his fingertips white.
Startled, Pip sat there. “Garrett, I—”
“I turned him down because I knew. I knew when I was finished marching around with all the other toy soldiers that my place was with Dad. At the mill. Not because it’s what I wanted.”
He sat up suddenly. “No one has ever asked me what I wanted. Granddad and Dad never went to college, so in their minds, there was no need for me to go. ‘Just fall in line and do as you’re told, boy.’ And I did.”
Angry tears glittered in his eyes. “I’ve done my best the past two years. But then you come along with new ideas. Ideas I never thought of. Because you want to be there.”
“Oh, Garrett. I’m so sorry.”
He dropped back to the mattress again. “Don’t you see what a waste it was, Pip.”
She laid a hand on his knee. “It’s not too late. It’s only been a few years. Could you maybe—”
He sat up again, his face hard. “Could I what? Get myself back into playing condition? Go to college when all my friends have graduated?”
His face crumpled. “And for what? Four years of playing basketball—if I could do it—and then to come back to the same place I’m at now.”
He lay down, turning his back to her. “Go away, Pip.”
Silently, she rose from the mattress and went to the door. She tried to think of something to say, but there wasn’t anything she could think of to make this better. Closing the door behind her, she went back to her own room and punched her pillow, wondering how this got so messed up.