The Last September: A Novel

AT THEIR SUMMER HOUSE, Ladd’s mother—Rebecca—stood in the doorway, holding the screen door open.

“Darlings,” she scolded, as if Ladd hadn’t called. “We expected you hours ago.”

His mother frowned at Ladd as she kissed him but then smiled at me and kissed me on both cheeks, not air kisses, but sincere and motherly ones. I smoothed my hair off my forehead as I walked past her to Ladd’s father, Paul, who gave me a hug. He didn’t hug or kiss Ladd but shook his hand warmly, then thumped him on the back. Even though Ladd’s parents seemed genuinely fond of me, the bulk of my contribution to the evening had already taken place—showering, putting on a dress, combing my hair, and saying hello. Before long I would be basking in their good wishes and excitement. My own one-parent household was much lighter on enthusiasm than Ladd’s. I always enjoyed the congeniality of his family but never quite knew how to respond in kind.

The next morning when I came downstairs wearing my engagement ring, Ladd sat with his mother at the wide oak table in the kitchen. They both looked toward me with the sort of startled, blank faces that told me I’d interrupted a private conversation. I knelt down to pet their little dog. His mother—better at rearranging her face than Ladd—pushed back her chair and smiled. I thought that she looked a lot more like Sylvia than I ever would. She was tall and fair and raw-boned, like she’d stepped out of an Andrew Wyeth painting. I imagined Ladd’s mother, going out to play tennis, or to a party, while Sylvia watched Eli and Charlie. And then later, the brief period they’d had as sisters-in-law. Part of me wanted to ask her what Sylvia was like.

“Good morning, Brett,” his mother said with genuine warmth. If she ever wondered why her only son wasn’t marrying a woman who freckled after a long day of wind surfing, she never did a thing to show it. “Can I pour you some coffee?”

“I can do it,” I said, giving the dog one last pat and standing up. I moved apologetically toward the coffeepot and poured the steaming liquid into the mug that sat there waiting for me. I stood against the counter for a few minutes, waiting to see what conversation they would invent, to continue.

Ladd tapped the spot next to him at the table, and I sat down. He said, “We can’t go to Uncle Daniel’s beach today. They’re getting ready for the party tonight.”

“It looks like rain anyway,” his mother said, and as if on her command gentle drops began pattering against the window. We all looked in that direction as they increased their speed.

“You two should go into Chatham,” Rebecca said. “Shop. Walk around. Have lunch.” The rain picked up. We could hear it on the roof, three stories above our heads. Ladd’s mother clucked her tongue. “I hope it clears up in time for Daniel’s party.”