Read Online The Three Weissmanns of Westport by Cathleen Schine - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cathleen Schine
Tags: Fiction, Literary, General, Fiction - General, Family Life, Domestic Fiction, Love Stories, Modern & contemporary fiction (post c 1945), Contemporary Women, Single Women, General & Literary Fiction, Sisters, Mothers and daughters, Westport (Conn.), Westport (N.Y.)
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those dunes, your bare feet numb in the cold sand, the wind blowing, the crash of the waves . . . It's incredibly romantic."
"I hope you won't be too disappointed if I tell you that what I like about going up there, especially in the winter, is the quiet. It's so"--he thought for a moment--"so unencumbered."
Annie turned that unexpected word over in her mind. Unencumbered.
"Well, that's not romantic at all," Miranda said, and her voice was equal parts shocked and authoritative, as if Frederick had suddenly lifted his shirt and showed her a bad case of ringworm, for which she just happened to have the right tube of cream in her purse. "We'll have to do something about that."
Unencumbered. Why did that sound so ominous to Annie, so bleak?
"Frederick is done with romance," Felicity said.
"You think I'm too old?" Frederick asked.
"Oh no, age has nothing to do with it. It's temperament, Frederick. And will." And she smiled a private smile, her lips pulled together in a cupid bow.
Miranda was saying that she had once gone paragliding on the beach in Wellfleet and suggested Frederick might treat his lack of romance by viewing the dunes from so many feet up; then she drifted off to a cluster of people she seemed to know.
"Why don't you just stay tonight?" Gwen said to Frederick. "With one of us ," she added, glancing at Annie.
"I'm just a homebody, Gwennie. And I've got some kid house sitter I don't altogether trust this week--I have to get back."
"In that case, you better leave now," Gwen said. She gave Annie a challenging look. "Don't you think?"
Frederick also looked at Annie. "Maybe you'll come up sometime and see the place."
Evan said, "You could get three brownstones in Red Hook for that joint."
"Hardly that," Frederick said. "And you'll just have to buy your own brownstones in Red Hook or wait until I'm dead, because I have no intention of selling the house."
Evan shrugged. "I was just making an observation."
"Dad," Gwen said. She looked at her watch.
And, suddenly, Annie was alone.
She piled up the six or seven unsold books and thought wistfully of her own children. When would her boys start ordering her around, instead of the other way around?
She saw Frederick trotting back through the door toward her. He took both her hands, then kissed her on the cheek. Their noses bumped as he unexpectedly kissed her a second time on her other cheek.
"I had to thank you," he said. "I couldn't leave without thanking you."
"No, no, thank you for bringing in such a crowd."
"And don't worry about my driving back tonight," he added as he walked off. "I could do that drive in my sleep."
"That's not too reassuring," she said. "The sleep part."
"I'll call you," Frederick said, and he was gone.
Betty watched her daughter from the other side of the room. How serious she looked. Attractive, in a severe sort of way. Betty remembered giving Annie a sweater with sequins, just a few sequins, very tasteful, very chic. The look on Annie's face--it was so pure, such pure dislike. Betty smiled. It was like the time Annie had wanted a cowboy outfit and they gave her a pink cowgirl skirt. It had offended her, even at five. If she had known the word "garish" at that tender age, she would surely have used it. How Betty and Joseph had laughed that night in bed, embarrassed that they had so misread their daughter, amused by her sickened expression. And touched, too, for just as she had quickly hidden her dislike of the sequins years later, she had even as a tiny child tried to cover her disappointment as quickly as possible. Annie had such a good heart. It must be a burden to be so critical and so considerate at the same time, Betty thought. She was glad Annie seemed so taken with this Frederick Barrow person. He had a twinkle in his eye. Annie could use a twinkle. Poor Annie. She had always been such a grown-up little girl. It had been touching when she was a child, that worried little face watching her heedless, happy sister roar and
"I hope you won't be too disappointed if I tell you that what I like about going up there, especially in the winter, is the quiet. It's so"--he thought for a moment--"so unencumbered."
Annie turned that unexpected word over in her mind. Unencumbered.
"Well, that's not romantic at all," Miranda said, and her voice was equal parts shocked and authoritative, as if Frederick had suddenly lifted his shirt and showed her a bad case of ringworm, for which she just happened to have the right tube of cream in her purse. "We'll have to do something about that."
Unencumbered. Why did that sound so ominous to Annie, so bleak?
"Frederick is done with romance," Felicity said.
"You think I'm too old?" Frederick asked.
"Oh no, age has nothing to do with it. It's temperament, Frederick. And will." And she smiled a private smile, her lips pulled together in a cupid bow.
Miranda was saying that she had once gone paragliding on the beach in Wellfleet and suggested Frederick might treat his lack of romance by viewing the dunes from so many feet up; then she drifted off to a cluster of people she seemed to know.
"Why don't you just stay tonight?" Gwen said to Frederick. "With one of us ," she added, glancing at Annie.
"I'm just a homebody, Gwennie. And I've got some kid house sitter I don't altogether trust this week--I have to get back."
"In that case, you better leave now," Gwen said. She gave Annie a challenging look. "Don't you think?"
Frederick also looked at Annie. "Maybe you'll come up sometime and see the place."
Evan said, "You could get three brownstones in Red Hook for that joint."
"Hardly that," Frederick said. "And you'll just have to buy your own brownstones in Red Hook or wait until I'm dead, because I have no intention of selling the house."
Evan shrugged. "I was just making an observation."
"Dad," Gwen said. She looked at her watch.
And, suddenly, Annie was alone.
She piled up the six or seven unsold books and thought wistfully of her own children. When would her boys start ordering her around, instead of the other way around?
She saw Frederick trotting back through the door toward her. He took both her hands, then kissed her on the cheek. Their noses bumped as he unexpectedly kissed her a second time on her other cheek.
"I had to thank you," he said. "I couldn't leave without thanking you."
"No, no, thank you for bringing in such a crowd."
"And don't worry about my driving back tonight," he added as he walked off. "I could do that drive in my sleep."
"That's not too reassuring," she said. "The sleep part."
"I'll call you," Frederick said, and he was gone.
Betty watched her daughter from the other side of the room. How serious she looked. Attractive, in a severe sort of way. Betty remembered giving Annie a sweater with sequins, just a few sequins, very tasteful, very chic. The look on Annie's face--it was so pure, such pure dislike. Betty smiled. It was like the time Annie had wanted a cowboy outfit and they gave her a pink cowgirl skirt. It had offended her, even at five. If she had known the word "garish" at that tender age, she would surely have used it. How Betty and Joseph had laughed that night in bed, embarrassed that they had so misread their daughter, amused by her sickened expression. And touched, too, for just as she had quickly hidden her dislike of the sequins years later, she had even as a tiny child tried to cover her disappointment as quickly as possible. Annie had such a good heart. It must be a burden to be so critical and so considerate at the same time, Betty thought. She was glad Annie seemed so taken with this Frederick Barrow person. He had a twinkle in his eye. Annie could use a twinkle. Poor Annie. She had always been such a grown-up little girl. It had been touching when she was a child, that worried little face watching her heedless, happy sister roar and
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