The Family Beach House by Holly Chamberlin

Author:Holly Chamberlin
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2010-03-25T16:00:00+00:00

22

The cocktail party at the Ogunquit Museum of American Art was an invitation-only event. Founded in 1953 by Henry Strater, a painter and philanthropist, the museum’s permanent collection now included almost sixteen hundred pieces of art. A long, low building with huge windows overlooking the water, it was designed by architect Charles S. Worley Jr. It was a dramatic building in a dramatic setting. Many believed the museum to be the most beautiful small museum in the United States. The grounds included the Victory Garden out back, and on the front lawn, a reed-rimmed pond and several large wooden sculptures of animals by Bernard Langlais. When they were kids, Jon and Jane liked to climb and clamber all over the sculptures, in spite of Tilda’s admonitions not to touch.

Tilda and Dennis arrived about half an hour into the cocktail party. It was inevitable that she would know or at least recognize the majority of the attendees, as year-round locals or as longtime summer residents. She was prepared for questions about her father and her aunt, for mentions of Frank, for questions about her own state of well-being. At least, she hoped that she was prepared.

She wore a blue and white, vertical-striped blazer, navy linen slacks, a white T-shirt, and navy canvas espadrilles. The gold hoop earrings had been a birthday present from Frank. So had the slice of green Maine tourmaline she wore on a slim gold chain around her neck. Of course, she was wearing her wedding ring.

Dennis went off to get Tilda a glass of wine. She warned him, with a smile, that the drinks line would be long. A lot of wine was consumed at these museum events. One evening Frank had counted one old geezer’s total as ten glasses in two hours. The man had left the museum on foot and unaided, a real professional.

“Tilda McQueen O’Connell! It’s so good to see you!”

Tilda turned to see a peculiarly short man in a blue and white seersucker suit fast approaching.

“Alan Horutz! Hello!”

Alan Horutz was one of Ogunquit’s more pleasant characters. His age was indeterminate; Tilda thought he could be anywhere from fifty to seventy years old. The strange thing was, he had always looked exactly the same as he did now. He lived in a little house on Agamenticus Road and owned a successful little shop that sold all sorts of quirky objects, from funky kitchen utensils to contemporary handcrafted jewelry to antique dolls. He had never been married or been known to have a partner. When the weather was right his pet parrot, a monstrously large bird named Hugo, would stroll the town with Alan, perched on his shoulder. Come rain or shine, in winter and summer, Alan Horutz always wore an immaculate blue and white seersucker suit.

“How have you been?” he asked with genuine interest and sympathy. “I haven’t seen you since, well, I think it was last summer.”

“I’m doing okay, thanks. It’s been a rough couple of years but…”

“Yes, I imagine. You know, just the other day I was thinking about Frank.

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