The Village by the Sea by Paula Fox

plastic bottles that washed up on the beach were absolutely useless.

8
    A Dog, a Deer
    For several evenings, Emma had not bothered to mark time on the calendar she had made. When, one night, she remembered, she saw there were only six days left of her stay on Peconic Bay.
    As she sat down to supper the next evening, Aunt Bea leaned over her plate, her head bowed, her arms clasped, and said, “I don’t think she should spend so much time in the water, Crispin. She’s losing weight.”
    â€œDo you stay in the water a long time?” Uncle Crispin asked Emma. “Though I hardly think she’ll shrink from bathing, Bea,” he added.
    â€œJust now and then to cool off,” Emma replied. She hoped there would be no more questions. She felt apprehensive about mentioning the village.
    Aunt Bea rocked back and forth a moment, staring into her plate. “What is this, Crispin? Some sort of Mulligan stew? A tribute to the Irish?”
    â€œThis stew has nothing to do with the Irish,” Uncle Crispin said, smiling as though his wife had said something clever.
    â€œEverything English has to do with the Irish,” said Aunt Bea.
    Uncle Crispin’s smile vanished. “What I made is a tribute to the good quality of the vegetables and meat that survived my unskilled hands,” he said in an exasperated voice.
    Aunt Bea looked at Emma. “We’re having an argument,” she said with a touch of gaiety.
    â€œAn argument,” Uncle Crispin repeated. “Good. Then we can arrive at a peaceful settlement.”
    â€œAn argument is a fight,” Aunt Bea said. “It doesn’t lead to peace.”
    â€œOf course not. Unless one wants peace,” Uncle Crispin retorted.
    In the silence which followed, Emma ate a carrot. It was not quite cooked, and it crunched loudly.
    â€œWell?” Aunt Bea questioned her. “What about it? If you don’t swim, what are you two girls up to?”
    â€œWe’re building a—” she hesitated for a long moment—“a little village.”
    Aunt Bea burst into hectic laughter. “The poor beach … no one lets it be!” she cried. “They build houses on it, rake it, cover it with radios and cheap ugly towels … the poor—”
    The telephone rang.
    â€œDo answer it, Emma,” Uncle Crispin said. “I’m sure it’s for you.”
    â€œWhat a disciplined mother,” Aunt Bea said softly.
    Oh, why does Aunt Bea have to comment on everything, Emma thought as she went to the phone. There was nearly always a sharpness in her voice, like a razor blade hidden in cotton.
    â€œHello,” she said, more loudly than she’d meant to.
    â€œEmma?” inquired a familiar voice.
    â€œDaddy!”
    â€œThis is my first phone call,” he said. “I’m sitting up wearing the sweater your mother made me.”
    â€œThe one with the one sleeve longer than the other?”
    He laughed and said, “Yes.”
    Her throat seemed to close, and for a moment, she was unable to speak.
    â€œEmma, dear. I know how glad you are. Do you know how glad I am? Today, I walked nearly half a mile along the hospital corridor. They really ought to plant a few trees. First hospitals scare the daylights out of you. Then they bore the daylights out of you.”
    Her heart thumping, Emma thought: Scare you to death.…
    â€œI’m coming home in two days,” he said. “And Mom’s coming to get you Monday.”
    â€œIs it all right?” she said breathlessly. “Is your heart all right now?”
    â€œIt’s pretty good,” he replied. “Emma, I can draw a deep breath. It’s wonderful. It’s like drawing up a pail of fresh, cold water from a well.”
    She drew a deep breath herself. “Just like that,” he said. “Tell me—how has it been? I’ve thought of you whenever they weren’t fiddling around with me here. How is