glad she had, she could see just from looking at Pip, and even her mother, that it had been a good decision. Ophélie looked healthier than she had in nearly a year. And for once, her hair was combed, or close enough anyway. In spite of herself, she looked suntanned and pretty.
“What are you going to do when you come back to town? You can't lock yourself in the house again all winter.”
“Yes, I can,” Ophélie laughed without embarrassment. “I can do anything I damn well want to now.” And they both knew that was true. Ted had left her an enormous fortune, not that she was showy about it. It was an ironic contrast to the dire straits they had been in, in their early years. At one point, they had lived in a two-room apartment in a dismal neighborhood. The kids had shared the bedroom, and Ted and Ophélie had slept on a pull-out couch in the living room. Ted had turned the garage into his laboratory. And oddly enough, despite the hardships and money worries they had, those had been their happiest years. Things got far more complicated once Ted had made it to the top of his field. Success had been far more stressful for him.
“I'm going to bug the hell out of you if you pull that recluse shit again when you come home,” Andrea threatened. “I'll make you come to the park with William and me. Maybe we should go to New York for the opening of the Met.” They both loved opera and had gone there before several times. “I'm going to drag you out by the hair if I have to,” she said menacingly, as the baby stirred and then settled again, making the soft fluttering sounds that babies do. Both women smiled as they looked at him, and his mother let him sleep at her breast, where he was happiest, and so was she.
“I'm sure you will,” Ophélie said in answer to her threat, and a few minutes later, Pip walked in with Mousse. She had a collection of rocks and seashells in her hands that she carefully deposited on the coffee table, with what looked like a gallon of sand. But Ophélie didn't say anything, as Pip pointed proudly at them.
“They're for you, Andrea. You can take them home with you.”
“I'd love to. Can I take the sand too?” she teased. “What have you been up to? Have you met kids out here?” Andrea was concerned about Pip too.
Pip shrugged noncommittally. She hadn't really met anyone. She seldom saw other people on the beach, and her mother was so reclusive, she hadn't met any families either.
“I'm going to have to come out here more often and shake things up. There must be some kids staying around here somewhere. We'll have to find them for you.”
“I'm fine,” Pip said, as she always did. She never complained. There was no point. She knew it wouldn't have changed anything. Her mother wasn't capable of more than she was doing at the moment. It was just the way things were for now. Maybe it would get better again one day, but obviously not yet. And Pip accepted that. She was wise way beyond her years. And the past nine months had forced her into adult shoes.
Andrea stayed until late in the afternoon, and left just before dinnertime. She wanted to get home before the fog rolled in. But by the time she left, they had laughed and talked, and Pip had played with the baby, and tickled him. They sat on the deck, soaking up the sun, and all in all, it had been a lovely, friendly afternoon. But the minute Andrea and the baby left, the house seemed instantly sad and empty again. She was such a powerful presence that the absence of her actually made things seem worse than they had been before she came. Pip loved the life-force of her. It was always exciting to be around her. And for Ophélie too. She couldn't get her own momentum going anymore, but Andrea had enough for all of them.
“Do you want me to rent a movie?” Ophélie suggested helpfully. She hadn't even thought about things like that in months, but Andrea's visit had energized her too.
“That's okay, Mom. I'll just watch TV,” Pip said quietly.
“Are you sure?” She nodded, and they went through the usual dilemma about what to eat, but tonight Ophélie offered to make hamburgers and a salad. The hamburgers