Summer People by Brian Groh Page B

we can go?”
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    O n the way to the party, Ellen mentioned that her son would be visiting later that summer.
    â€œOh? When?”
    â€œPretty soon, I think.”
    â€œDid he give any dates?”
    â€œOh, I’m sure he did.” Ellen’s brow furrowed thoughtfully until her attention was drawn to the passing scenery. As they turned off Birch HillBoulevard, they passed the club, where only two men were playing tennis, then drove on beneath the vaulted boughs of Admirals Way. After turning around in the cul-de-sac, Nathan parked behind a row of cars and escorted Ellen up the long driveway. In the lengthening shadows of old oak trees, warm evening air carried voices and laughter from the expansive coastal home. Made of white brick, with a shale-colored slate roof, the east and west wings extended out like stunted arms welcoming visitors onto the grounds. At the front door, a female caterer in a red bow tie guided them down a softly lit hallway to the large, sunken living room where the partygoers had gathered. A massive gilt-framed mirror above the fireplace reflected the antique furniture and dozens of senior citizens who had separated into clusters in the fading summer light. Nathan inhaled the musty sweetness of old women’s perfume.
    Later he would wonder why he had been so unprepared for the reception they encountered that evening. Why had he assumed that only Glen would know his mother and Mr. McAlister had “gotten to know each other pretty well” while Mr. McAlister was still married? These partygoers were older, conservative men and women who valued dignity and discretion, and, Nathan was learning, also gossiped like fiends. Heads turned, voices quieted, and standing on the edge of that long, gangplanklike hallway, Nathan felt for an instant that he and Ellen had arrived at their doom. He nervously escorted her down the steps, and helped her to avoid tripping over the living room’s large, Persian rug, but it was several moments before the murmuring returned to full-fledged chatter.
    As a few of the partygoers turned with broad smiles and gushing “Hellooooo’s,” Franny and Carl Buchanan were among a circle of couples who attempted to engage Ellen in conversation. Franny raved about how lovely it had been to watch last year’s Fourth of July fireworks from Ellen’s porch, and, adopting a more somber tone, expressed how wonderful it was that Ellen had been able to return to “the Cove.” Carl’s pale cheeks looked flushed with embarrassment or liquor or both, and his lips had the wet gleam of freshly melted wax. He shook hands with Ellen and Nathan, but said almost nothing, gazing over their heads as he absently surveyed theroom. When Franny suggested that perhaps Nathan would like to escort Ellen someplace to sit down, Nathan was grateful to move away from them.
    At the bar—bottles of wines and liquor arrayed on a white tablecloth—Nathan ordered a sherry and a rum and Coke. He guided Ellen to the upholstered couch at the far corner of the room, where he sipped his drink and tried to make it appear that he and Ellen were actively engaged in conversation. He commented on the baby grand behind them, asking her if she had ever played an instrument (the flute, briefly, as a child), then talked at some length about his own teenage efforts to play the guitar. When this monologue evolved into another—about how well sound traveled across the harbor, and then about the differences in weather between Cleveland and Brightonfield Cove—Nathan sighed heavily and took the final gulp of his rum and Coke. Finding Ellen’s drink mostly unsipped, he stood to refill his glass.
    The bartender refreshed his drink, and Nathan lifted a stuffed portobello mushroom from a silver tray. Many of the faces surrounding him were familiar from the Alnombak club or St. Michael’s. But he saw no sign of Leah. Eldwin was talking with a group of people near