Summer of '69(46)

Blair, that’s who.

The story she told Mom and Nonny is that she was lonely in Boston because Angus was always working and she was afraid she would go into labor while she was in the apartment by herself so she came to Nantucket.

She’s big, Tiger. She looks like she swallowed a Volkswagen bug.

The real story…



Here, Jessie stops. She promised Blair she wouldn’t tell anyone the real story, but Tiger is far away and she hasn’t heard from him in weeks, so who knew if he was even getting her letters. She might as well be sticking them in bottles and tossing them into the ocean.

…is that Angus is cheating on Blair with some woman named Trixie. Then, the day before yesterday, Joey Whalen came to visit. Blair told him about Angus’s affair and she started to cry. After that, Blair said, one thing led to another. You know how that can happen.



As though Jessie might indeed know.

And Angus walked into the apartment and caught Blair and Joey kissing! Then Angus threw Blair out!

I’m happy she’s here except that Mom gave Blair my room, which means I have to go over to Little Fair and sleep in the second bedroom upstairs. I can’t remember if I told you this but Mr. Crimmins’s grandson is staying in the other upstairs bedroom and Mr. Crimmins himself is staying downstairs. It will be weird, all of us together in that tiny house, but my other option was to stay in the second twin bed in Nonny’s room.

No, thank you.

On Thursday night, Mom is taking me to the Mad Hatter to celebrate my birthday. She picked Thursday night because, as you may recall, Nonny plays bridge on Thursday. Blair says she’s too big to go out in public, so it will be just me and Mom.

The only other person I would want to come is you. I wish you were here.

Please write soon. You can write to Mom or Kirby or Blair or even Nonny but please just write so we know



Jessie nearly writes you’re alive.

you’re okay.

Love, Messie





Mother’s Little Helper



Sunday night, Kate drives David down to Steamboat Wharf to catch the last ferry home, and when they get there, he leans over, kisses her cheek, and says, “You’re drinking too much.”

Kate opens her mouth to protest, but before she can say a word, David adds, “If you keep on like this, you’ll turn into your mother. And neither of us wants that.” He gets out of the car and joins the long line of people heading back to real life after a well-spent summer weekend. Kate waits to see if he’ll wave, but the car behind her honks and she has to move along.

David has made his point.

He’s right. She’s drinking too much.

The drinking started on Sunday, May 25, the day after Tiger finished up his basic training and was deployed overseas to the Central Highlands of Vietnam. They went to brunch with Exalta, and Kate got so drunk that David had to carry her out of the Union Club. When she got home, she passed out in her darkened bedroom even though it was only three in the afternoon. She woke up at midnight, realized it was noon in Vietnam, and started to wail. Mothers all across America were standing strong, fortified by their love of country and their hatred of Communism, but Kate couldn’t muster those emotions. Tiger possessed good instincts and had an abundance of street smarts; he was everything you could ask for in a soldier, and his father had been a career military man. Kate should have felt confidence and pride—but all she could think was that she might never see him again.

Alcohol is the only thing that helps, pathetic as that might sound.

At home in Brookline from then on, after David left for work and Jessie for school, Kate opened a bottle of Chablis, which she finished by lunchtime. She drank vodka and sodas all afternoon—unlike gin, vodka had no smell—and then, when David got home, she poured a scotch for each of them, which they drank while watching Walter Cronkite. Then they opened a bottle of wine with dinner and Kate finished her day with a nightcap of either cream sherry or blackberry brandy.

It wasn’t quite as bad as it sounded, Kate didn’t think. It was only nine or ten drinks per day, less than one an hour, although some nights she drank martinis through dinner, as she had at the Skipper on Saturday night. They’d started that dinner with champagne to celebrate David’s first weekend on the island, although, really, this was a farce. David hated Nantucket. He would argue that he loved Nantucket; what he hated was living under Exalta’s roof. The house, even with the inclusion of Little Fair, was too small for all of them, and it was a trial to live by Exalta’s rules. David also disliked the way their social lives revolved around the Field and Oar Club, a place he didn’t feel included, or even welcome.

At dinner at the Skipper, David had said, “We had a banner year at the firm and I’m due a good bonus. Let’s buy our own house here.” He went on to describe a listing he’d seen for a house out in Madaket, a summer cottage that had uninterrupted views of the Atlantic. “Six bedrooms,” he said. “Four and a half baths. And a yard big enough for a tennis court. Our own tennis court.” Here, he’d reached for Kate’s hand, but she lifted her champagne coupe and drained her glass. She understood David’s desire for their own house, and it was tempting to dream of telling Exalta that they were moving out. But…Madaket? Madaket was six miles to the west. It was the wilderness. How would Kate ever adjust to not being in town? Not being able to walk to Charlie’s Market or the club or the Skipper? And as for building their own tennis court, surely David was joking. That would be a gauche way for them to advertise the banner year David’s firm had enjoyed, even worse than putting in a swimming pool.