The High Season(37)

    Suddenly he swerved, cutting across the traffic, and made a sharp turn toward a housing development under construction, a string of McMansions. He pulled up sharp in the dirt, jerking Doe forward. Relieved, she held her hand out for the keys.

But he just opened his door and disappeared. Doe got out. Lucas lifted one box at a time out of the back and shook out the contents. Items flew in the light rain, the quickening breeze, slender books, a lace tablecloth, a small embroidered pillow, a set of silver spoons tied with a ribbon. The nightgown was tossed by the wind, pirouetted, and landed in mud. Lucas turned the boxes over, shaking out every last thing. He was right. It was mostly crap. Just household stuff, nice stuff, but stuff.

“Fuck you, Mom!” he screamed to the gulls.

He was crying. Really crying, with heaving sobs. What to do. He didn’t want her comfort. He didn’t want her here at all.

Turning and angling her body, Doe checked her texts.

    From: Shari Callender

To: Doe Callender

I know u said u were working stuff out but im bad off here can you call?

if u can it wld be yahoo

if u cant it would be no sadder than today

u r breaking every heart in my body



Lark twinkled in.

    i miss you wanna sleep over



Lucas’s back was to her, his shoulders heaving. How long did she have to wait until she told him she had to go?





20


HELEN BROUGHT COOKIES to the meeting in Ruthie’s office. Gloria came with her own thermal mug of iced coffee. Mindy arrived late. All three women were dressed in variants of red, white, and blue, an All-American firing line that would shortly be aiming their muskets right at her.

“You brought us where we needed to go,” Helen said. She tucked her gray hair behind her ears and leaned forward. “There is no question of that. We’re all so fond of you, Ruthie. But when things change, we have to change or die. Even old ladies like me. There’s a new world out there—I don’t understand it, but Mindy is talking about rebranding and the cyber media. Tapping the new people who are coming to the North Fork.”

Mindy, her eyes on Helen, nodded through this speech, keeping time like a proud parent at a piano recital.

“We’re all agreed,” Gloria said. She looked as happy as Ruthie had ever seen her. Maybe it was delight at being part of a cabal. Ruthie felt a tiny spurt of compassion. She’d known Gloria for so many years of meetings and lunches and dinner parties. Gloria always showed up, her shoes shined and her jewels in her ears, and there had never been a person in the room who greeted her with joy. That must curdle a person.

    Gloria was speaking, and she’d missed the beginning. “…was lovely, but the old North Fork is over. I’m not sure that this No Helipad movement is right. I mean, the journey here from Manhattan is ridiculous, and it gets worse every year.”

“The Belfry has built a reputation that we can capitalize on if we think outside the box,” Mindy said. “What do you think is outside the box, Ruthie?”

“Well, it’s summer,” Ruthie said. “Hot air?”

“Rebranding in a thoughtful, active way that will maximize our impact,” Mindy supplied.

“Our membership grows every year.”

“Oh, Ruthie,” Gloria said, “you tried.”

“No, I succeeded,” Ruthie said. “Since I took over, membership has grown by fifty percent.”

“But who comprises that membership?” Mindy asked, placing her hands on a closed Moleskine. “It’s wonderful how you connected to the community here. To the local people, and children, and schools, and the retirees. But in the end, what did it get us?”

“A well-loved institution with award-winning programming that connects with the community?”

“Well. Now we have different needs. Financial needs if we’re going to grow.”

“There is something to be said for how perfectly we do what we do,” Ruthie said.

The women exchanged a glance.

“This is the problem,” Gloria said. “Vision.”

“I have a vision,” Ruthie said. “It’s just not yours.”

“Exactly!” Mindy glowed. “You need to share my—our vision! We need to professionalize our best practices to be impactful in a transformational way.”

“Well said,” Gloria said.

“But I am a professional,” Ruthie said.

Mindy flushed deeply, grew florid. She snapped the band of her Moleskine and opened it. She fished out a piece of paper and pushed it across the desk. “You’ll receive a three-month evaluation in September.”

    Ruthie’s head buzzed as she read. “What do you mean by ‘find and develop new revenue streams’?”

“Revenue streams are income, but in this case, novel, new ways—”

“I know what they are, I’m just asking specifically considering the realities of a small nonprofit.”

“Well, admittedly you’ve raised money, but it’s not a continuing source of revenue.”

“Revenue streams for museums mean a café, or an online store, or annuities…”

“We were thinking of a café,” Gloria said. “Light fare. Salads.”