Free Summer House by Nancy Thayer

again.”
    Helen laughed. “I don’t blame you. How’s Charlotte been treating you?”
    Nona lay back against her pillows with an affectionate smile. “I see very little of her these days. It’s her busiest time in the garden. She’s up at four-thirty every day. I know, because I’m awake then, too, but I’m too lazy to get out of bed. I just lie there, watching the sky lighten and listening to the birds singing. I can hear her coming down the stairs, tiptoeing like a little children’s-book cherub so she won’t wake me. I hear the door to the mudroom open and close; I always mean to have someone oil those hinges, and I forget it as soon as I remember it. I love lying there, imagining her out in her garden, smelling the fresh morning air, gathering up all her tools, hearing the world wake up.”
    What a gift it was, what sheer delight, to hear her mother-in-law speak with such fondness about her daughter! A rush of love and gratitude swept through Helen, and she said, impulsively, “That reminds me, Nona! I made a present for you. I’ll get it now.”
    Nona held out a hand to forestall her. “But my birthday’s not until tomorrow.”
    “I know, but if I give it to you now, you can use it first thing in the morning.”
    Nona quirked an eyebrow. “Now you’ve got my curiosity aroused.”
    “I’ll be right back.” Helen hurried out into the hall. Her bulging duffel was there on the floor, and from the dining room came Worth’s voice as he paced around, still on his cell phone. Helen unzipped the duffel, lifted out the package, and carried it in to Nona. Smug as a child, she presented it to her. “Happy birthday.”
    Nona said, “Thank you, dear.” She untied the ribbon and carefully unfastened the tape; Nona always saved wrapping paper. She lifted out a mound of lavender mohair, as soft as a cloud. “A shawl?”
    Helen shook her head. “A bed jacket.” Eagerly, she reached out and unfolded the garment, holding it up for Nona’s inspection. “I know how you enjoy reading in bed. Sometimes I’ve seen you with a blanket tossed over your shoulders for warmth, and I thought this might be lighter and warmer.”
    “It’s lovely, Helen. Did you actually make it yourself?”
    “I did. I chose the yarn and I knitted it.” She swallowed her innate shyness. “I love you, Nona, and I wanted to give you a birthday present especially and only from me.”
    Nona took the bed jacket and held it against her. “It’s as light as feathers.”
    “But it will be warm,” Helen said.
    “Yes. It will be perfect. And the color is dreamy. You are so thoughtful, Helen; I’m touched. I’ll put it near me so I can slip into it tomorrow morning. It will be my first present, starting off my ninetieth birthday just right.” Nona reached out a wrinkled hand and patted Helen’s.
    Worth came in, Helen’s duffel over his shoulder. “I’m going up, Helen. Do you want to come choose a room?”
    “Look what Helen gave me, Worth.” Nona held up the bed jacket.
    “Nice.” Worth shifted impatiently from one foot to the other.
    “I’d better go up,” Helen said.

    Nona’s summer house had plenty of bedrooms and bathrooms, but anyone who had stayed there once or twice knew from experience that some of the baths had showers and not bathtubs and some had old claw-footed bathtubs but no showers, and these were lovely for long soaks but impossible for washing one’s hair. Some of the bedrooms had high four-poster twin beds, and some had old lumpy double beds, and some had queen beds, and no one claimed any room as theirs because personal sleeping arrangements changed almost every year. For example, Mee had been married for three years to Phillip and they’d insisted they couldn’t have a room with twin beds; they wanted to sleep together. But now here Mee was, divorced, so she would take, she had announced like a good brave martyr, any little room with a futon or something, someplace for one person alone.
    Because Helen