Summer People by Brian Groh Page A

longer. They spoke briefly about phone numbers to call in theevent of an emergency, then Glen said, “I don’t know if my mother is nearby, but do you think you could get her on the phone?”
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    A fter Ellen picked up the phone downstairs, Nathan lay back on his bed and imagined Eldwin, Leah, and other stylishly dressed men and women drinking and laughing on the veranda of a palatial home while he languished in his room. He loathed the idea of telling Ellen they weren’t going and he wondered what he would say. Ellen, your son and I have decided that it’s not in your best interest to attend Bill McAlister’s party. Those words would never come out of his mouth. He supposed he could lie and tell her he was suddenly feeling too sick to go. But the thought of missing an opportunity to talk with Leah compelled him to fling one of his pillows across the room. Even given Ellen’s uncertain mental condition, what right did Glen have to try to influence who his mother could and couldn’t see? Nathan returned to the shadowed corner of the bedroom, where he checked himself in the mirror, running his palm down the front of his jacket, before exiting into the hallway. At the top of the stairs, he peered down through the banister to where Ellen was still talking with Glen on the phone.
    â€œOh, I know that, Glen,” she was saying. She was seated on her recliner, staring up at the ceiling. “No, I won’t,” she said. “Oh it is good to know that you are thinking of me.”
    She brought her thumb and forefinger to the bridge of her nose as she tilted her head down and closed her eyes. She listened and nodded and then listened some more. “Oh, that would be wonderful,” she said suddenly, her eyes opening as her face brightened. “Oh, Glen, I will so be looking forward to it.”
    When she finally said good-bye and hung up, Nathan didn’t go downstairs immediately for fear she’d think he’d been listening in on her conversation. He walked stealthily back into his bedroom and dropped into the wicker chair beside the window. Watching the seagulls glide serenely above the water, Nathan considered the fragments of conversation he’d heard and whether Ellen had perhaps agreed to follow her son’s suggestion. Nathan chewed his thumbnail and muttered profanities. Yes, he was being paid totake care of Ellen, but was it too much to ask that Ellen and her son give some consideration to Nathan’s needs while he was there? He was not a monk, for Christ’s sake. He was a virile young man. And if his ex-girlfriend no longer wanted to hear his voice or read his letters, well, then, he was going to need to get out of this large, drafty house every once in a while and talk to somebody his own age. He trudged down the stairs to find Ellen watching TV.
    Taking a seat across from her in the recliner, he asked, “How’s your son?”
    â€œOh, he’s fine. He’s doing very well.”
    â€œThat’s great.” On television a mile-wide tornado whirled and thrashed across an open prairie toward an old man in a pickup who was speeding down an endless stretch of open road.
    Ellen said, “You look handsome.”
    Nathan turned to find her staring at him. “Oh. Thanks.” He glanced down at himself. “I found this sport coat in the closet upstairs.”
    â€œIn the closet?”
    â€œYeah, it was the only thing in there, so I’m guessing maybe it was Ralph’s? It was kind of dusty but it fits pretty well.”
    â€œI suppose it must have been one of Harold’s.”
    â€œWhoa, I’m sorry. I’ll take it off.”
    â€œOh no, no. I like it on you,” Ellen said, leaning over to pick up her cane from beside the chair. She took a minute to rest her head against the back of the recliner, eyes closed, as if to gather her energy. Then she leaned forward and asked, “Would you turn off the TV so