Susan Wiggs - That Summer Place - Island Time / Old Things / Private Paradise

“Mo-ther!”

“What?” Catherine snapped and turned around. She wasn’t ready for a confrontation.

“What are those?” With her horrified expression, Dana stood pointing at the ground. Next to her Aly clutched the cat carrier to her chest the way one holds a child after a close call.

Catherine looked at the ground. “They’re slugs.”

“Ugh!” Both girls shivered and stepped back.

“Oh God! I stepped on one!” Dana dropped her backpack and jumped around, shrieking.

It was the most life she’d shown since Catherine told the girls about the trip and she’d given her best Mother-you are-going-to-ruin-my-life act.

“Get it off! Get it off!”

“Stop hopping all over the place. You’ll step on another one.”

Dana froze.

“Just wipe your shoe off on the grass.”

Dana moaned, then hobbled over to a patch of wet grass and made a big to-do about wiping off her shoe.

Aly had shifted her cat carrier and was scanning the ground. “Do they travel with a mate?”

“I have no idea. They’re just like the snails we have at home only without the shells.” Catherine quickly checked the ground for slugs, then set down her bags. She had for gotten about those huge slugs that slithered all over the place whenever it rained.

“This place is awful,” Dana muttered from behind her.

“It’s not awful. It’s rustic and quaint,” Catherine told her, trying to keep her voice light but not feeling light at all.

Dana snorted.

“Follow me.” She could hear the girls whispering behind her and Harold began to whine. She didn’t really blame them. She had a bad feeling about this. She opened the screen door and held it with her shoulder while she pulled the rental envelope with the key out of her pocket and unlocked the front door.

Please, she thought, please let the inside be better than the outside.

Better was a relative term.

The inside wasn’t the Four Seasons. Catherine looked around the room. It was clean and neat and furnished in an odd mishmash of styles. There was an eastlake style sofa upholstered in a brown and red western print with bronco-riding cowboys, red and black lariats, and a smattering of green horseshoes. There were throw pillows scattered across it—one was yellow gingham, one was needlepoint bulldogs, and the other was black and white and shaped like a soccer ball. A Blackwatch plaid stadium blanket with the Mariners emblem embroidered in the corner was thrown over the edge of a brown recliner. Next to it was a white French provincial chair that looked exactly like one her grandmother had in front of her bedroom dressing table.

The coffee table was a huge wooden piece with burned edges, something you see in a roadside stand next to the velvet paintings of Elvis. In the center of the table was a monkeypod bowl with a silver nut cracker and a chrome and black leather ashtray. The end tables weren’t end tables at all, but small dressers. One was painted aqua and the other canary yellow. The aqua dresser had a white milkglass lamp with a beige ruffled shade. The only other light in the room was a red and orange lava lamp.

“Who decorated this place?” Dana said with a disgusted voice.

“Dale Evans and Barbara Cartland,” Catherine said as she set down the bags.

“Who?”

“James Bond and the Monkees?”

“James Bond and the Monkees?” Aly repeated. “Was that a rock group in the olden days?”

“Hey, hey, we’re the mon-kees,” Catherine sang, bopping her head as she did the Pony across the linoleum in the kitchen.

Her daughters looked at each other and rolled their eyes. She sighed. Her children had their father’s sense of humor.

“Yes, the Monkees were a rock group and surely you know who James Bond is.”

“Oh yeah. I forgot. Pierce Brosnan, huh?”

“Sean Connery.”

“The old guy? Uh-uh,” Aly shook her head. “He was Indiana Jones’s dad.”

Catherine felt ancient.

Aly dropped the grocery bags on a rag rug and plopped down on the cowboy sofa. She switched on the lamp. “I love lava lamps.” She rested her chin in her hands and watched the lamp bubble.

Catherine watched her youngest daughter and was overcome with a sense of déjà vu. Aly was dressed in bell-bottomed jeans, a wide black belt, and a skinny turtleneck. She even had on a thick white headband and a flip hairdo like the Breck girl.

“Can we get one, Mom?”

“One what?”

“A lava lamp.”

Catherine hadn’t liked lava lamps back when they were new. To her they were in the same category as Chia pets and diet tablets that helped you lose ten pounds overnight.

Aly was staring at her through the liquid of the lamp.

“We’ll see.”

“Where’s the TV?” Dana looked at her and popped her gum.

Here it comes, Catherine thought. She opened the refrigerator and started putting things inside. When she had her head sufficiently hidden behind the door she said, “There is no TV.”

It took a few minutes before she could get a word in between their melodramatic protests. Aly was going to miss “Nick at Night” and Dana just plain hated the island and wanted to go home, where “it was normal.” And she wanted to go now.

“You need to give this place a chance. And even if I was willing to leave—which I’m not—there’s no boat until Thursday.”

Catherine crossed the room to the bookcase made of cinderblock and wood planks. “There’s a whole wall of books here.” She opened a huge cabinet. “Look in here. I see stacks of puzzles and games.”

Dana shifted her gaze to the cabinet. “Oh yea!” She clapped her hands like a baby. “Candyland and Chutes and Ladders.”

Catherine looked inside. “Don’t be smart. There are adult games in here, too. And puzzles are always fun. We used to do those at home.” She pulled out the top puzzle box. “Look at this one. It’s a thousand-piece puzzle of a pepperoni pizza. You both like pizza.”

Aly stood next to her and looked inside. She tilted her head sideways to read. “What’s this? Two thousand pieces.” She looked back at Catherine. “We’ve never done a puzzle with that many pieces. Have you?”

Catherine shook her head.

Aly read the puzzle label. “It says Classic Puzzle Series: Metal Rockers.”

Catherine pictured a photograph made up of sleek, chrome and black leather Brancusi rocking chairs cut up into thousands of tiny pieces all shaped like Mickey Mouse. She smiled. It would be the kind of puzzle that was almost impossible to do in less than three days. “Take it out, Aly, and let’s take a look.”

Aly held up the box and they stared down at the lid. A whole group of chalk-white faces framed with wild black hairdos stared back at them.

Catherine felt her smile fade.

“Cool!” Dana said, taking the box from her sister. “It’s Aerosmith and Kiss.” Both girls moved over to the sofa as if they were chasing concert tickets, sat down and dumped out a huge pile of tiny puzzle pieces on the coffee table.

Dana looked up impatiently. “Come on, Mom.”

“Let’s get comfortable first.” Catherine ran toward the downstairs bedroom. “Last one in their sweats has to make dinner!”

A few minutes later when she walked back into the room wearing old sweats, she found Dana already in her flannel pajamas and sprawled out on the sofa with Aly’s cat asleep on her stomach.

“No Aly?”

Dana shook her head. “She couldn’t find her boxers.”

Catherine grinned. “Good. I don’t have to cook.”

A minute later Aly came running down the stairs wearing a pair of white cotton boxers patterned with bright red lips and a cropped T-shirt that said Smile and Kiss Me. She looked at Dana, then at Catherine. “I’m last, huh?”