The Inn at Lake Devine Part 27

"First of all, what is the big deal? Second of all, she's engaged to be married."

"But-" Kris tried.

"So was I until very recently."

"We know-" I began.

"I'd appreciate it if you two could accept that we're just friends. It'll make things a lot easier for everyone concerned if you drop it."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"How'd you get from here to the swimming pool?" asked Kris.

Having temporarily forgotten that spectacle, Nelson groaned anew. "We were hungry, and they have some kind of reception after the services, so we went up for some brownies."

"Then the fat lady slipped," said Kris.

"And the rest is Halseeyon history," I said. "How Nelson Berry became the savior of the Jews."

"Without even trying," said Nelson.

"Without even converting," I said.

Although Hal Feldman had gone directly to sleep after shul, he heard from Minna Gitlow personally about the nice young man who helped her out of the pool and went back in for her purse. She had forgotten his name but would like to buy him a box of handkerchiefs or some almond bark.

"You leave that to me," said Mr. Feldman.

After sundown on Sat.u.r.day, before the semiformal camp dance, there was a ceremony in the main dining room. The cantor-husband of the near casualty sang "G.o.d Bless America." Mr. Feldman introduced "my daughter, the real boss, who needs no introduction," garnering applause for Linette, in a long skirt that looked patched together from faded quilts, and a cowgirl blouse. "The man we're honoring tonight is going to say it was nothing," she began. "He's going to insist Mrs. Gitlow wasn't in serious danger, but that isn't the point. He acted without regard to his dignity, his clothes, his shoes, or his watch. And while he will probably never forgive me, we couldn't let his act go unrecognized.

"I've known Nelson Berry since the first day of cla.s.ses, nineteen sixty-six, at Cornell University," she told the a.s.sembly, winning applause for that alone. "I know that the simple act of jumping fully clothed into cold water is true to his character. He is an unselfish young man, who left the world of business to become a teacher, and I am very proud to call him friend."

Nelson came forward, head down, wearing a borrowed corduroy jacket and managing to appear both pleased and mortified.

From a black leatherette box, Linette took a silver whistle hanging on a blue grosgrain ribbon. "As soon as the jeweler opens on Monday, he will engrave 'For Nelson Berry with grat.i.tude, from the Feldman Family, March 21, 1975. The Halseeyon,' " she said. They faced each other, smiled fondly. She slipped the ribbon over his head and, in un-Olympic tradition, kissed Nelson firmly on the lips. I nudged Kris, who nudged me back. I looked at Mr. Feldman, who had no reaction other than an emcee's delight. Linette gestured toward the microphone: a few words, please, to your adoring public.

Like a pro, Nelson let the ovation subside. "I teach math, so even though I have to stand up in front of an audience every day, I never have to come up with anything witty or profound," he began, to audible cooing. "I was only acting on autopilot, and let's face it: I ignored the first rule of waterfront safety, the thing that's drummed into you from the first day, which is: Reach, Throw, Row, Go. So if you're going to thank anyone, thank the Red Cross, who certified me in junior and senior lifesaving. Or thank my parents, who employed me as a lifeguard for a dozen summers." He paused, checked with Linette, then added winningly, "I might as well plug my family's establishment, the Inn at Lake Devine, in Gilbert, Vermont, with apologies to Mr. Feldman. I mean, it's not in the same league with the Halseeyon, but please take a ride up to see us during foliage season, and tell them that Nelson sent you."

Linette started the applause. Waiters rocketed out of the kitchen doors with pitchers of coffee as pastry chefs marched to the buffet table, each a trustee of one cake, one pie, one torte.

"They're gorgeous," I whispered. "How do you make baked alaska without ice cream?"

"Let's find out," said Kris.

The maitre d' was chanting as he directed traffic: "Exactly the same at both tables, ladies and gentlemen. Two tables, no waiting." Kris yelled for Nelson to join us in line. He shook a few hands on his way over, and sagged when he got there, as if to say, Not much longer now.

"Nice job," I said, handing him a plate.

"Strudel?" asked the first server.

Ahead of Nelson, a woman in a blue lace dress, with hair the smoky gray of cat fur, turned to speak. "What's the name of your hotel again?" she asked.

"The Inn at Lake Devine."

"Is that near Rutland?"

"Very close. Do you know Rutland?"

"I have cousins there," she said. She held her plate out to the chef overseeing the Linzertorte. "Is it a white hotel with a big porch and a lawn that goes down to the water?"

"That's us," said Nelson.

She paused before asking, "And how long has your family owned it?"

"All my life," Nelson said, with the polish of a spelling bee finalist. "And my grandparents before that."

"My cousins told me about you," said the woman, minus the smile of a satisfied customer.

"Baklava?" barked a chef, meaning, Move along, lady.

"Hope you'll drop by next time you're visiting your cousins," Nelson tried.

"German apple schmarren?" asked the next server.

"I think not," said the woman.

The Justices Brandeis and Frankfurter Conference Room had been transformed, in senior-prom fas.h.i.+on, into Camp Applegate's moonlit paddock. An abridged Sonny Cirrell's Orchestra, wearing tuxedos and cowboy hats, played teen love songs with a summer theme-The Beach Boys, The Carpenters, The Serendipity Singers, Jan and Dean, Paul and Paula, Chad and Jeremy-alternating sets with a fiddler. Kris and I sat out the square dancing, but were coaxed off our bale of hay for the mandatory shoe dance. A blue-eyed, bearded man whose name tag said BOBBY ROTHBERG, '59'67 picked my purple suede pump from the pile and claimed me for a dance, which lasted only until Kris cut in smoothly and unapologetically. Nelson, I noticed, pounced on Linette's red snakeskin boot, pretending to be surprised at who was wearing its mate.

As the band played "See You in September," I watched them carefully. Linette's arms circled Nelson's neck; his fingers locked behind her waist. I saw Linette smiling at Nelson and Nelson smiling back. I saw Nelson mouthing the words to the song. I saw that his hands rested one centimeter below the boundary of pure friends.h.i.+p; and when the music ended, they didn't let go.

TWENTY-THREE.

My mother screeched her relief into the phone. I said, "I refuse to believe you were seriously worried about me."

"I wasn't," she said, taking gulps of air, "but your father was frantic."

"I'm fine," I told her. "Now we're going up to the Inn for a night or two."

There was a knotty silence on her end.

"Mom?"

"You're getting to be quite the Gypsy."

"Some people's children travel to different continents, let alone different states. They take jobs on the Alaska pipeline. And their parents don't consider it a betrayal. They encourage it."

"What states have you been to?" she asked.

"Just New York. The Catskills."

"Oh." She sounded relieved.

I told her I'd be back.

"Your phone is in," she said. "Do you want the number?"

I said, "You have it memorized?"

"Excuse me. I jotted it down, if that's allowed."

"I won't be calling there," I said.

She paused. "You might want to give it to people. Your friends."

I said, "Okay, shoot."

"Are you in love with this boy?"

I said, not quite truthfully, "I don't know."

As a mutinous daughter myself, I would have agreed to be Linette's beard, to hear her admissions and protect her confidences, but she wasn't asking that of me. I stood obediently at her side, improvising, as she fas.h.i.+oned a story for her skeptical father and unwell mother in the kitchen of the Feldman homestead, where the doilied, antimaca.s.sared look of Tilly's regime coexisted with the chromes and turquoises of the moment.

"Don't you work?" Mr. Feldman asked me.

I said, "I'm an executive chef. Currently-"

"Monday's her day off," Linette supplied.

"Aren't you the new bride? Married to the brother of the ... what's his name?" He pantomimed something vague-part ruined sport jacket, part dog paddle.

"Not her, Pop," said Linette easily. "That was someone else. This is Natalie, from the reunion."

"What are you going to do in Boston?" asked Dolly Feldman in a thin, bedridden voice. She was eating breakfast in brown silk Chinese pajamas, a clear tube running from p.r.o.ngs in her nostrils to a flesh-colored, humming tank.

"See some other friends from camp," her daughter said.

"And college," I added.

"Did you go to Cornell too?"

"Not as an undergrad," I said.

"Maybe you'll look for a dress," said her mother.

"She's too busy running around to plan a wedding," Mr. Feldman grunted.

Linette said, "I plan plenty of weddings. Too many."

"When was the last time you took a few days off?" I asked, Best Supporting Actress.

Linette was standing behind her mother. She put her hands-ringless, I noticed-on Dolly's bony shoulders and proclaimed, "This is a resort, Natalie. People who are lucky enough to live at a resort never have to leave. Our lives are an endless holiday."

"I want your number in case we need to reach you," said Dolly, holding her mandarin collar against an imagined draft.

"I'll be back tomorrow, Ma. Tuesday at the latest."

"Where in Boston?" asked Dolly.

"Newton."

"Do you live at home?"

"Of course," Linette answered for me.

"Take something. Everybody likes coffee cake."

"Already thought of that," said Linette.

"Nice meeting you both," I said.

"Likewise," said Dolly wanly.

"Come back when you can use the outdoor pools," said Mr. Feldman.

For appearance's sake-and just for a short first leg-we divided up, boys in one car, girls in the other.

I said, "I guess you couldn't just tell your parents that you were going to Vermont."

"They're vague," she said, "but not completely out of it. The hotel part registered during Nelson's remarks last night."

"And that wouldn't be kosher-visiting the hotel of your old friend?"

"I'm engaged," she said simply.

I turned down the music to ask, "Where's your ring?"

"I don't wear it all the time."

The guys pa.s.sed us in the VW bus, honking and grinning. We waved and signaled, Yes, we know; pa.s.senger swap coming up.

"When don't you wear it?" I asked.