Ladder of Years by Anne Tyler

“Here, Vernon! Nice Vernon.” His only response was that disheartening, numb silence cats seem to radiate when they’re determined to keep to themselves. “Oh,” Marie-Claire wailed, “what’ll we do? He’s going to starve to death!”
    “Good riddance,” Sam told her. “It’s only live pets that we’re not allowed.”
    Sam had been out of sorts all day, it seemed to Delia.
    So that first evening, when they should have been taking a stroll on the beach or walking into town for ice cream, the grown-ups sat in the kerosene-smelling, poorly lighted living room, reading tattered magazines left behind by earlier tenants and listening to the pecking of the rain against the windows. The twins were still in the kitchen, badgering Vernon. Susie and the boys had borrowed the Plymouth and driven to Ocean City, which made Delia anxious because she always pictured Ocean City as a gigantic arena of bumper cars manned by drunken college students. But she tried to keep her mind on American Deck and Patio.
    “If tomorrow isn’t sunny,” Linda said, “maybe we could take a little day trip out past Salisbury. I want the twins to get some sense of their heritage.”
    “Oh, Linda, not that damn cemetery again,” Eliza said.
    “Well, fine, then. Just lend me a car and I’ll take them myself. That’s what happened last year, as I recall.”
    “Yes, and last year both twins came back bored to tears and cranky. What do they care for a bunch of dead Carrolls and Webers?”
    “They had a wonderful time! And I’d like to find Great-Uncle Roscoe’s place too, if I can.”
    “Well, good hunting, is all I can say. I’m sure it’s a parking lot by now, and anyhow, Mother never got along with Uncle Roscoe.”
    “Eliza, why do you have to run me down at every turn?” Lindademanded. “Why is it that every little thing I propose you have to mock and denigrate?”
    “Now, ladies,” Sam said absently, leafing through Offshore Angler.
    Linda turned on him. She said, “Don’t you ’Now, ladies’ me , Sam Grinstead.”
    “Sorry,” Sam murmured.
    “Mr. Voice of Reason, here!”
    “My mistake.”
    She rose in a huff and went off to check the twins. Eliza closed her Yachting World and stared bleakly at the cover.
    Linda and Eliza were in their Day Two Mode, was how Delia always thought of it—that edgy, prickly stage after the first flush of Linda’s arrival had faded. Once, Delia had asked Eliza why she and Linda weren’t closer, and Eliza had said, “Oh, people who’ve shared an unhappy childhood rarely are close, I’ve found.” Delia was surprised. Their childhood had been unhappy? Hers had been idyllic. But she refrained from saying so.
    Linda returned with the twins, who were still fretting over Vernon, and Sam set aside his magazine and suggested a game of rummy. “Did you bring the cards?” he asked Delia.
    She had not. She realized it the instant he asked, but made a show of rooting through the shopping bag on the coffee table. Jigsaw puzzles, Monopoly, and a Parcheesi board emerged, but no cards. “Um …,” she said.
    “Oh, well,” Sam said, “we’ll play Parcheesi, then.” His tone was weightily patient, which seemed worse than shouting.
    At the bottom of the bag, Delia came across her current library book. Captive of Clarion Castle , it was called. She had started it last week and found it slow, but anything was preferable to deck plans. When Sam asked, “Are you playing too, Delia?” she said, “I think I’ll go read in bed.”
    “Now? It’s not even nine o’clock.”
    “Well, I’m tired,” she told him. She said good night to the others and walked out with the front of her book concealed, although no one made any attempt to see the title.
    Upstairs, a new ribbon of water meandered from the sodden bath mat alongside the chimney. She ignored it and proceeded to the room she was sharing with Sam. It was small and musty-smelling, with one, uncurtainedwindow. For privacy’s sake she changed