Long Summer Nights. Kathleen O'Reilly
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“You’ll be happier at the Wildrose. It’s really nice. They have these great down comforters, and in the afternoon,
Sven will do massages. His name isn’t really Sven, it’s actually Mario, but still, he has great hands.”
Her apple cheeks blushed a dark scarlet, and Jennifer suspected the woman knew Mario’s hands in the most intimate sort of way.
Sentimentality and guilt warred with her need to do this feature right, and Jenn glanced at the kid who was now milking this one for all it was worth, her grape-stained chin wobbling, her wide eyes brimming with tears.
It was like watching a little Meryl Streep, and Jenn had always been a sucker for Meryl Streep and her ability to convey heart-wrenching melancholy with only a quiet look. This kid had those same Oscar-winning genes in spades and knew it.
Unfortunately it wasn’t completely an act.
Oh, hell.
Mind made up, Jennifer nodded. “I like this place. Sometimes I think it’s important to get away from the distractions of the everyday world. A place where I can turn off the television.”
“No television.”
“And chuck the cell phone in the lake when the ringing gets too loud.”
The woman laughed, a relieved laugh, and Jenn smiled to herself.
“Not a problem. No cell reception for miles.”
Miles? Miles? Longingly Jenn stroked the new iPhone in her jean pocket, knowing she could never chuck it into the lake. All the hiking and nature apps that she’d loaded especially for this assignment? Pointless.
Techno-gadget lust versus the good of human kindness.
Her sigh was long and slightly overdramatized, but at least now the manager looked calmer, and the kid looked more than a bit self-satisfied.
Yes. She was a sap, and for the next two weeks, she’d be a rustic, outdoorsy sap, and hopefully they didn’t have poison ivy.
“Welcome to Harmony Springs. I’m Carolyn, and this is Emily.”
Now that Jenn had made peace with her decision to abandon all the comforts of a postindustrialized society, she set her suitcase on the floor. “What do people do for bathrooms? “
Carolyn started to laugh. “We’re not that rustic. There’s a men’s bath and ladies’ bath right down the path. You won’t be able to miss it, but it gets dark at night, so keep a flashlight handy. You brought your linens and soap, right?”
Sneaky Emily was watching her, daring her to back out of the deal now, not that Jenn was considering it—much. “Oh, yeah. I’m all set.”
“Perfect. We’ll get out of your hair. There’s a movie every night in the main lodge, and a horseshoe tournament at dusk.”
“Wow. I think I’m going to love this place,” gushed Jennifer, and Carolyn smiled gratefully.
“You’re a nice person.”
“Sometimes. But I had an ex who dragged me on survivalist training for two weeks. I ended up with a sunburn and a bad case of poison ivy, and the pièce de résistance? He dumped me because I wasn’t tough enough to hack it. I think I can make it fine.” With or without three-ply toilet paper.
Really? Asked the snide little voice in her head.
“One last thing—we keep the grounds really quiet here. We only have two guests now, but Cabin Three really appreciates his privacy.”
“He doesn’t like children,” muttered Emily, and Jenn kept her smile to herself. Obviously Cabin Three did not take kindly to having his emotions manipulated for capitalistic purposes.
“We don’t know that, Emily,” scolded her mother.
“Yes, we do. He tells me that all the time.”
“I’ll make sure to stay out of his way,” Jenn assured them both, liking Cabin Three more and more.
Now that Emily’s sales job was complete, the little girl threw open the wooden door, and dashed out of the cabin. She ran in unlaced sneakers, jumping down stairs and over rocks. Watching her unbridled freedom, Jenn envied that ability to run, laces whipping out wildly, uncaring of the consequences that might doom her to a bruised knee or, for example, losing the job of her dreams.
Before Carolyn could trail after her daughter, Jenn had one more thing she wanted to know. “Can I ask you something?” she asked.
Carolyn halted on the wooden porch and nodded, her eyes watching her child. It was always the loving mother who looked over the world with guarded eyes, wanting the best for their kids, wanting them to avoid the bumps and bruises of life. In that respect, Jenn’s mother was exactly the same.
“Why don’t you leave here if you’re not happy?” she asked, not wanting to think about her overcautious parents at the moment.
Carolyn sucked in her lip, the way people do when they have an answer ready, but they know it’s the wrong answer, so they chew on their mouth and their words, hoping to find a more socially acceptable way to spit it out. Almost all of the Dade family were notorious lip-suckers—except Jenn.
“I thought about leaving, about starting over, but not yet. One day, I’m going to wake up and know that I’m ready, but right now, I wake up, and I go to work. Doing the cleaning and the laundry, running the movie, keeping Emily somewhat well-adjusted. That’s enough for now. It makes me happy. It makes Emily happy, and if Emily is happy, then I’m happy.”
“But don’t you want more? Don’t you feel like you’re settling?” Jenn had an irrational fear of settling, of living her life on the terms as defined by Great American Societal Credo #32, A Woman Must be Successful and Recognized on Her Financial Merits, a well-trod treatise on the postfeminist era female.
“Why are you so interested?” Carolyn asked, obviously noting the not-so-well-disguised panic in Jenn’s voice, which came as much from her own insecurities as it did from professional curiosity.
Jenn decided to come clean, because on a good day, she wasn’t this edgy, but this wasn’t a good day. It probably wouldn’t be a good two weeks either, and although she didn’t like to read the writing on the wall, sometimes it needed to be read.
“I’m a journalist. I’m here to write about this town, this place, the Summer Nights Festival, and I’m fighting for my job against a femme fatale who is sleeping with the boss. I don’t have a chance in hell of keeping my job, but if I do, then my parents aren’t right, and I’m twenty-seven years old, which is too old for my parents to be right, and so I have to come up with something here. Something fascinating. Something illuminating. Something mesmerizing. Something that will titillate my editor far more than the sight of Miss Nolita’s naked garbanzos.”
Carolyn knew desperation when she saw it. “You’re sure you don’t want to check out now? The Wildrose has this great chef. Four stars. In fact …”
Jenn held up a courageous hand.
“Let’s forget about the chef for a minute. What would you do if you weren’t here?”
“I don’t let myself think that far ahead.”
“Why not?”
“Because usually it’s not good, and I like being happy. If I don’t think too much about tomorrow, then I’m happy.”
Most other female New Yorkers aspired to be dancers, or media captains, or heart-free mistresses to high-powered men. All Carolyn wanted was to be happy. Jenn made a mental note to investigate this self-satisfaction concept more fully. Women choosing happiness over the rigid expectations of the world? Story at eleven.
AARON BARKSDALE DRUMMED his fingers on the mahogany tabletop, glancing at his watch for the hundredth time, not wanting to look