15
I woke up late on Friday. Because I had the day off, I didn’t have to rush the party prep.
I had ended up inviting Amelia to the party, too; Gloria told me she didn’t have much of a social life, and my innate sense of Lutheran duty flared. Also, she signed my paychecks. There was that, too.
School was out today because of professional development, so I decided to take Poe for an outing and drove to my mom’s house. After only twenty minutes of cajoling, ordering, begging and bribing, I convinced my precious niece to finally shove her arms into a denim jacket and slump outside with me.
The road that led to our house continued a few hundred feet past it, into the state forest, marked by a sign that lectured on littering and swimming at your own risk. I went around the chain slung across the path, Poe a few paces behind me.
“Where are we even going?” Poe asked.
“It’s a place where your mom and I used to play,” I said.
“Yay,” she muttered.
We walked through the woods on a path springy with pine needles. The wind was gentle today, and the sky was achingly blue. Seagulls squawked overhead, and a crow fluttered from tree to tree, clicking occasionally, as if it wanted to be part of the conversation.
Poe almost walked into a tree, so busy looking at her phone. “There’s no cell service out here,” she said.
“Oh, well.”
“Stupid,” she muttered, shoving her phone back into her pocket.
“How have things been at school?” I asked.
“Fine.”
“Do you and Audrey ever hang out?”
“Not really.”
“Any other friends?”
“Is there a reason to make friends, when I’m going back to Seattle in a couple months?” she asked with exaggerated patience.
“You have a point,” I said. “But it might be nice to have a friend back here. For when you come to visit Gran.” I pushed a tree branch away from my face and held it for Poe. The smell of sea was stronger now. “By the way, I’d love if you came to visit me, too. Anytime. Maybe you’ll want to go to college out here. Boston has a lot of great schools, and so many great restaurants and things to do.” I sounded like a tourism brochure.
“Do you have an apartment?” she asked.
“Not at the moment. My boyfriend and I were living together. But before that, I had a really great place.” Best not to think about that. “Okay, we’re almost there.”
We came out of the woods onto the great golden slabs of rock that made up the shore. The tide was low, and the rocks were dark brown where the water had been just an hour before.
My feet hadn’t forgotten a thing. The cracks where I had to jump, the slanted rock that was perfect for pushing off, the little plateau with the best tide pool. Sure enough, two fiddler crabs were inside, skittering around each other in their own little world. I knew the way as if I’d never left the island.
There was the rock that looked like an old lady in profile, then the rock Lily called the Tooth, because it had little ridges and bumps, like a molar.
And here we were. I jumped down onto the rocky little beach. “Ta-da,” I said, waving my arm like Vanna White, pretending it didn’t hurt my heart, seeing this place again. “Come on in.”
To access the entrance to the cave, you had to go out a bit. Unless the tide was dead low, as it was now, your feet would get wet. At high tide, the cave was underwater. I led the way, my shoes crunching on the pebbles that made up the shallow beach.
Inside, it was damp and briny, and memories flooded in like a storm surge.
I could almost see Lily, her unexpected, booming laugh as she crouched next to me. Her sweet smile, the dimple in her left cheek, her shiny black hair.
Poe followed me inside. Even she couldn’t look disinterested in this. “Cool,” she said, her mouth opening a little.
“We used to pretend this was our house,” I said, more to myself than Poe. “We’d drape seaweed over the opening to make a door, so none of the fishermen could see us from the ocean.” I pointed to a spot in the back, where the cave narrowed and a piece of rock jutted from the shore, making a surface that was more or less flat. “That was our bed.” I’d hold my sister against me, since it wasn’t quite wide enough for two, her skinny little body snug against my side.
I swallowed. “We’d set up rocks here and pretend to have a fire. Sometimes Gran would make us peanut-butter-and-apple sandwiches, and we’d eat them here. The seagulls would follow us in to get a bite.”
And then later, when Dad was in charge of us, we’d do what he called the Cave Challenge—who could stay in the longest as the cave filled up with water? It was a survivalist skill, he said, and I remembered the terror as the water came up to our knees, our waists, our shoulders.
I was always the first one out, waiting anxiously on the Tooth for their heads to pop up in the water. Dad and Lily would stay in there till I was terrified they’d drowned, and just as I was about to go get help, there they’d be, laughing, gasping, triumphant.
I wouldn’t tell Poe about that.
The cave was big enough for us to stand, but not much else. Like so many things from childhood, it seemed to have shrunk. But it smelled the same—the wet, cold rocks, the salt water that slushed and slapped.
“Your mom and I thought we were the only ones who knew about this place,” I said. “Our Dad, too. But we made a pact never to show anyone else.”
“Did you ever?” Poe asked. “Bring someone here, I mean?”
“Not until today.”
“Did she?”
Maybe she had. Maybe she’d come here with the boys she’d slept with, or with Amy Beckman to smoke weed. The thought stabbed like a dull spear. If Lily had made fun of me here, if she’d mocked our little games, if this place wasn’t as sacred to her as it was to me...
“I don’t know,” I said, my voice husky.
It didn’t matter. She’d given me up a long time ago.
A little wave sloshed over my shoe. “We better go,” I said. “The tide has turned, and it fills up fast. It wouldn’t be hard to drown in here.”
“Yikes,” Poe said. “Nora...”
Funny, I couldn’t remember her saying my name before.
“Yes, honey?”
“Thanks for showing me.”
“You bet.” I smiled at her, and she almost smiled back.
When we got back to the house, my mother was home. I glanced at my watch; lunchtime. Mom often came back home to eat or, more often, brown-bagged it. Never bought something from town, never went out. That would be wasteful.
“Hello, you two,” she said.
“I’m going to my room,” Poe said. She gave me a look, then, shockingly, a shy hug, fleeting and all the sweeter because of it. My throat tightened.
“Are you coming over for dinner?” I asked.
“With all the old people? Uh, no. Thanks.” She rolled her eyes, but it wasn’t with the usual disgust, then went upstairs.
Mom was in the kitchen, glancing through the mail. I sat down at the table. Like everything in the house, it was sturdy and worn, just like my mother. Last weekend had been Mother’s Day. I’d given her a gift certificate to a spa in Portland—manicure, pedicure, facial, same as I did every year. But this year, I saw her tuck it in the spice rack, and when she was out of the room, I went to check. Sure enough, there were all the other gift certificates from all the other years. She never used them.
Then again, she always said what a nice gift it was. She was an enigma, my mother.
“How was your day, Mom?”
“Fine. Yours?”
“Lovely. I can’t wait for our little dinner party later on.”
“About that, Nora. I really don’t want to come.”
“But you will, and you might even have fun.”
She snorted, then opened the fridge to make herself a sandwich. Same sandwich she always ate—two slices of chicken, one slice of American cheese, mustard and butter, whole wheat bread. She saw me watching. “You want one?”
“No, thanks. Hey, American cheese is all fat, you know. It’s not really even cheese.”
“I like it.”
So did I. Who didn’t? “Just watching out for your cholesterol.”
She plated the sandwich, poured herself a glass of milk and sat down at the table. Took a bite of her sandwich and chewed placidly, like a cow.
It was as intimate a moment as we were going to have. “Mom, I have a question for you.”
“You always do.”
“Yes, well...it’s about Dad.”
The chewing didn’t stop. “What about him?”
“Did you ever hear from him? Ever?”
She swallowed, took a drink of milk. “Nora, we’ve been over this a thousand times.”
“No, we haven’t.”
A sigh. “I haven’t heard from your father in more than twenty years.”
“But did you ever hear from him? I mean, he must be somewhere.”
“I’m sure that’s true.”
“I just want to know what happened to him. If he’s alive, even. Do you know that?”
“You think I murdered him?”
“That did cross my mind, but no, I don’t.”
She took another bite of sandwich. “There were days I wanted to.”
“Yes, I’m sure. But come on, Mom. I’ve Googled him a thousand times. Maybe he had a friend I didn’t know about?”
“I don’t know, Nora. I don’t see what the point is after all these years.”
“He was a great father. It never made any sense.”
She didn’t say anything for a minute. “If he was a great father, he wouldn’t have left you girls.”
I nodded. “It’s hard to reconcile those things.”
“Well, you’ve had twenty years to do just that, dahlin’. Twenty-four, but who’s counting? I have to get back to work. I’ll see you tonight. What time?”
“Seven.”
“Guess I won’t be home for Wheel of Fortune.” Another sigh. She got up and started to wash her plate and glass.
“I’ll do that, Mom.”
“I got it,” she said, not looking at me. She was irritated, both by the dinner party and the conversation.
“Okay,” I said. “See you later.”
* * *
Xiaowen made good on her offer to come early, drink wine and shuck the oysters she’d brought, harvested from beds she’d planted herself. We slurped down a couple with a glass of wine, the fresh taste of ocean with a little bit of sweetness, thanks to the mouth of the riverbed where she’d planted them, she told me. Also, she’d put on her wet suit and dived for them herself.
It was so nice, having her here. “Did you hate high school as much as I did?” I asked, chopping the ends off the asparagus I was serving.
“Oh, God, yes,” she said. “Those mean girls were brutal to me. I always appreciated when you said hi to me in the halls.”
“Same here.” I paused. “I wish we’d been closer back then.”
“Yeah, me, too. I was shy back then, and you...you seemed so sad all the time.”
“I was.” I chopped some parsley, not looking at my friend. “My father left us when I was in fifth grade, and my sister and I weren’t really close after that.”
“I remember her as quite a bitch,” Xiaowen said. “She threw a used tampon at me in the bathroom one time.”
My head jerked up. “Are you kidding?”
“Nope.”
“I’m so sorry! God, that’s... That really is horrible.” I’d always suspected Lily was like that... I just didn’t want it to be true.
My phone buzzed—Gloria, with an apologetic text saying she couldn’t make it; her sister had a crisis and she’d taken the last ferry to Boston and would see me Monday. I texted back that I hoped all was well.
“Gloria can’t come, I’m afraid,” I said.
“Too bad,” Xiaowen said. “You guys close?”
“Not yet. But she’s a great nurse, and we get along really well at work. Hey, speaking of work, I’ve seen at least three girls this week with eating disorders. Two overeaters, one anorexic. Maybe you remember, I had a problem with food myself.”
“You Americans.” Xiaowen sighed.
“I know. But I was thinking of doing something to raise public awareness.” I thought of sweet Audrey. “Some kind of fun run. All shapes, all sizes, that kind of thing.”
“Want help? Since I’m not getting married this summer, I have plenty of time on my hands.”
“That would be great!” I handed her another oyster. “You want to talk about the fiancé?”
“If by talk about, you mean murder, the answer is yes.” She sucked down the oyster. “In all seriousness, no. The classic story of I saw what I wanted to see, and then got bitch-slapped by reality. He cheated on me.”
“I hate him.”
“Thank you.”
A knock came on the door, and there they all were, lined up on the dock like I was about to shoot them: Mom; Bob Dobbins; Henry Carver; Jake Ferriman, holding a twelve-pack of beer; Amelia with a bottle of her own; and just coming down the dock now, Sullivan. It was exactly seven o’clock.
“Sullivan Fletcher,” Xiaowen murmured appreciatively. “If my heart wasn’t encased in iron, I’d climb him like a tree.” She cut her eyes to me. “You could do worse.”
“His daughter’s been hanging out here,” I said. “And he did me a favor the other night.” But, hey, she had a point. I opened the door. “Hi, everyone! You’re so punctual! Come on in.”
“After you, Sharon,” Bob said. My mother gave him an irritated glance; I guess if Bob wasn’t paying for hugs, she had no use for him.
Then again, Bob was wearing a brilliant yellow, uh, blouse, complete with ruffles, and, if I wasn’t mistaken, had marinated himself in a barrel of Polo by Ralph Lauren. “Bob.” I wheezed as he kissed my cheek. “So glad you could come. Mr. Carver! How are you?”
“Call me Henry,” he said. “I brought you some wine.”
“Thank you!” I said, taking it. Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill. “We’ll have to open this for dessert.” Or regift it to a wino on the streets of Boston.
“What a charming place!” Amelia cooed. “Isn’t! This! Lovely! I’m Amelia Ames,” she said to Jake. “Wonderful to meet you.”
“We’ve met,” he said, clutching his twelve-pack a little closer.
“Have we? I don’t remember. Nora, darling, I brought you some vodka.” She set it on the counter with a thump. “Be a good girl and pour me some, won’t you?”
“Not her first, I’m guessing,” Xiaowen murmured. “Come on, people! Move along, you’re crowding the kitchen.”
Sullivan was last in. “Hi,” I said.
“Hi.” He handed me a pie.
A pie.
It was still warm. “Strawberry rhubarb,” he said.
“Did you make this?” Because of the chatter from the living room, I made sure to look right at him so he could hear me.
“Ayuh.”
“Do you mind if I go in the bedroom and eat it right now?”
He smiled, just a little. My girl parts also smiled. I cleared my throat. “Would you like a drink?”
“Sure.”
I poured my guests wine (vodka for Amelia) and offered Jake a glass, which he refused, already downing his second can of beer, his eyes on Xiaowen’s chest.
“When’s supper?” Mom asked.
“Soon,” I said. “We have cheese and crackers and shrimp, and Xiaowen brought us some beautiful oysters.”
“What’s your name again?” Bob asked.
“Xiaowen,” she said.
“Sh—what? That’s quite a mouthful,” he said. “Do you have a nickname that’s easier to say?”
“I do have a nickname! It’s fuck off. Can you say that?” She slurped an oyster down and raised her middle finger. Bob blinked, then looked at his shoes.
I smothered a laugh. “She-ao-wen, Bob,” I said. “Just three little syllables. Mom, would you like a glass of wine?”
“Water, please.”
Of course. Far be it for her to loosen up with a drink. Her expression said she’d be happier on death row.
“Speaking of names, I was named for Amelia Earhart,” Amelia said, gazing up at the ceiling. “She was a great-aunt of mine.”
“Really?” Mr. Carver said. “I always admired her. My wife...” His voice thickened. “My wife went to a Halloween party dressed like her once.”
Jake popped another beer. “You like older men?” he asked Xiaowen.
“I like older men who bathe,” she said. “When was the last time you hit the showers?”
“Let me help you with things, Nora,” Mom said, getting up. “So we can get this show on the road.”
Sullivan, meanwhile, watched. I hoped he was catching the conversation. He saw me looking and gave me a little nod.
“Why are all these men here?” my mother hissed at me in the kitchen.
“Uh...I don’t know. I just ran into them,” I lied. “Xiaowen isn’t a man. I’m not a man. You’re not a man.”
“Are you matchmaking, Nora Louise?”
Ruh-roh. The middle name. “No! I ran into Mr. Carver at the bakery and remembered that he used to hire Dad for some work, and, of course, Bob from hug therapy knew Dad. I thought maybe they might know something.”
My mother sighed. “You’re obsessed with your father.”
I was lying, actually, but she wasn’t wrong.
“You like everyone here, though, right?” I asked. “I mean, you’re not on the outs with anyone?”
“No, Nora. Everyone here is fine,” she snapped, irritation thickening her accent. “It’s just an awd group for a thehty-five-year-old to have ovah for suppah.”
I tried to look innocent. Busied myself with dinner.
We were having lamb and scallops, mashed potatoes with bacon, asparagus, and crème brûlée for dessert. I thought I’d save Sully’s pie for just me. Maybe Poe and me. And Audrey. And Xiaowen, of course.
I checked the lamb, took the asparagus out of the fridge, herded my mother back into the living room and snagged some cheese. “How’s Audrey?” I asked Sullivan.
“Excuse me?”
I finished chewing. “How’s your daughter?” I said more clearly.
“Oh. She’s good.”
“She’s getting chubby,” my mother said.
I flinched. “Mom!”
“She is.” She shrugged. “You should put her on a diet. No fun bein’ fat.”
It was like a slap in the face, to me and to Sullivan.
Sullivan looked at my mother. “Thanks for your input,” he said.
“I’m so sorry,” I murmured. He didn’t hear me.
“Diet is so important to good health,” Amelia said. “And of course, Nora agrees with me! She’s a gastroenterologist, after all. Who wants another drink? Can I top anyone off?” She got up and went to the freezer, where she’d put her vodka.
“Livers are also important to good health,” Xiaowen said. “Jake, if you don’t stop looking at my boobs, I will stab you in the eyes.”
“So, Sharon,” Bob Dobbins began. “That hug therapy is really helping me. I was wondering if maybe I could book a private appointment.”
“Bawb, we’ve talked about this. The answer is no.”
“Are those ostrich-skin shoes you’re wearing?” Xiaowen asked him.
“They are!” he said, pleased.
“You have quite a sense of style.”
“I love a man who can wear jewelry!” Amelia said. “Those bracelets are copper, aren’t they?”
Bob held out his arms. “Yes,” he said. “They help with my arthritis. See these rings? Also copper.” He wore one on every finger except his thumbs. God help him around meth addicts looking to score a quick buck.
My mother glanced at her watch. “How about that suppah, Nora?”
“Ten more minutes, Mom. Hang in there. Have an oyster.”
“No, thank you. Does anyone mind if I turn on Wheel of Fortune?”
Damn it. No one said no. “Where’s your clickah?” Mom asked.
“On the bookcase next to the globe,” I muttered. She got the remote, pushed the button, and there were Vanna and Pat in high-definition splendor.
“I don’t know how they do it, all these years,” Mom said. “That Vanner is still a stunning woman.”
“My wife loved this show,” Mr. Carver said. This time, his eyes filled with tears. I sat down next to him and patted his shoulder.
“How long has it been?” I asked.
“The enchanted forest!” my mother barked. “Christly, how could she miss that?”
“Three years,” Mr. Carver said. “Seems like yesterday, though.”
He started to cry.
Oh, God. I handed him a cocktail napkin and psychically begged Xiaowen for help. Alas, as was so often the case, all eyes were now on the TV, including hers.
“Clear and present danger!” she said gleefully. “Got you, Mrs. Stuart.”
“Nawt bad,” Mom said.
“I was once a contestant on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire,” Amelia said.
“Are you a millionaire?” Jake asked, popping another beer. Another guest with a drinking problem. I wondered if Scupper had Uber.
“Yes,” said Amelia, “but not because of that show. My grandfather was a robber baron! Isn’t that fun?”
I patted Mr. Carver some more, then went into the kitchen and tossed the asparagus in the same frying pan I’d use to cook up the bacon.
“Need help?” Sullivan asked, joining me.
“Oh, no, I’m fine. Sully, I’m so sorry for what my mother said. Audrey is a lovely, wonderful girl.”
“I know,” he said. “And she’s overweight. Amy likes to...” He rubbed the back of his head. “She likes to buy Audrey junk food, and when I tell her not to, she gets mad at me. Says I’m trying to keep them from having fun.”
“That’s tough.” I nudged the asparagus spears, which were turning bright green.
“I just don’t want Audrey to have any troubles. Healthwise or at school. Kids can be such shits at that age.” Then he seemed to remember who he was talking to. “Uh, by the way...I’m sorry for the way my brother teased you.”
Teased wasn’t the word I’d have chosen. And not just his brother. His ex-wife, too, and most of his friends. “No. That wasn’t pleasant.” We looked at each other for a minute.
The weather had etched lines around his eyes, and he was already tan. Working at the boatyard meant a lot of time outside. There was nothing particularly special about his face—brown eyes, straight nose, normal everything else, but when you put them together, the porno music started playing distantly in my brain.
He was a man who said a lot with his eyes. They looked slightly amused with my ogling.
The porno music got louder.
“Right,” I said. “Here, want to take this to the table?” I handed him the bowl of steaming mashed potatoes.
“Adopting a puppy!” my mother shouted. Xiaowen gave her a high five.
“Dinnertime,” I said.
“Program’s over, anyway,” Mom said, clicking off the TV. “Speaking of dogs, where’s Boomer?”
“He’s with Bobby. Have a seat, everyone.”
“Who’s Bobby?” Amelia asked, weaving to the table and nearly missing her chair.
“Her boyfriend,” Mom said.
“My former boyfriend,” I corrected.
“Don’t sit next to me, Bob. I don’t trust you,” Xiaowen said. “Sully, sit between us, okay? Good man.” She steered him to where she wanted him. Not next to me.
I wondered what it would be like, not to hear everything, to perhaps be wondering why someone was moving you, to try to piece together the words you did hear.
I hoped he’d heard me say former boyfriend. His face was hard to read.
Bob slid past me, his cologne like a green fog. “This smells wonderful!” he said.
Maybe it did. My sinuses were clogged with Polo by Ralph Lauren.
“Where’s Jake?” I asked. Could’ve sworn he’d just been here.
He answered by opening the bathroom door. “Got any Febreze?” he asked.
“I told you this was a bad idea,” my mother said.
“Is this lamb?” Mr. Carver said. “My wife made the best lamb.” More tears. Jesus.
“Did I mention I’m vegan?” Amelia said merrily. “I told you that, didn’t I, Nora?”
“No, you did not,” I said.
“Is your vodka vegan?” Xiaowen asked.
“It is,” she said smugly. “Don’t worry, Nora, I’ll just have this beautiful asparagus.” Before I could stop her, she took a bite. “Oh! Delicious! You’ll have to tell me how you cooked it!”
In pig fat, I thought. Ah, well, what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
Jake sat down next to my mother. When the potatoes were passed to him, he took a bite from the serving spoon. “I’ll get another spoon,” I said, hopping up. I went to the kitchen, came back, replaced the tainted spoon, then sat down. “I’m so glad you could all come.”
“Uh-oh. I better hit the head again,” Jake said. “I musta eaten somethin’ for lunch that didn’t agree with me, if you know what I’m sayin’.” He bolted from the table, knocking over his chair, which Sully righted.
I hoped I had enough bleach.
“Sharon, you look very beautiful tonight,” Bob said, leaning forward and folding his copper-clad fingers together with a faint clinking sound.
“Knock it off, Bawb.”
He turned his attention to Xiaowen. “You know, I’ve developed an interest in the Korean War recently.”
“And why are you telling me this?” she asked.
“Because you’re Korean?”
“I’m Chinese.”
“Do you like Chinese food?” Bob asked. “I’m a big fan of General Tso’s chicken.”
Xiaowen sighed. At least she and my mother were getting along like a house on fire—I even heard my mother laugh, which was a rare occurrence. Jake returned from the bathroom, then went again five minutes later. Amelia drank her vodka. Mr. Carver got it together enough for me to ask him how he liked retirement, but he just kept talking about his wife. One wondered why he wanted the little blue miracle pill.
“What was her name?” Sullivan asked him.
“Beatrice,” he said, tearing up again. “She was a wonderful woman.” He began to sob.
“Nora,” my mother said, “why don’t you get on with it so we can all get home?” She fixed me with her turtle stare—implacable and steady.
“Uh...get on with what, Mom?”
“You asked us here to see if we knew what happened to your father.”
Oh, right! My lie, back to bite me in the ass. Well, half lie. I did want to know about my father, of course. “Yes. Well, as many of you know, my father left the island when I was eleven. That was twenty-four years ago. I hoped one of you might remember where he went.”
“Kind of late to be asking now, isn’t it?” Jake said, coming out of the bathroom. “You need more toilet paper, by the way.” He grabbed a roll of paper towels from the kitchen counter and went back to the head. I smothered a scream.
“I remember your father,” Bob Dobbins mused. “A good man.”
“Jake’s right,” I said. “It was a long time ago, but I was wondering if anyone had heard anything. I’ve Googled him a thousand times, but he has a common name, and...well. I never found anything.”
Sullivan was looking at me intently. He didn’t say anything, though.
“No one’s got anything, then?” Mom said, clarifying for me.
“So many people gone,” Mr. Carver mused. “Your father. My Beatrice. My dog, Licorice, isn’t getting any younger, either.”
“Well, if my father’s...uh, passed away, I’d like to know that, too,” I said.
No one said anything for a second.
“So there you go,” Mom said. “Welp, thanks for dinner, Nora.” She pushed back her seat. “Can I help you clear? We don’t want to overstay our welcome.”
“I, um...” I’d managed to get one bite of lamb so far, but looking around the table, I saw that, yes, everyone’s plate was clean.
“There’s no hurry,” I started to say, then stopped myself. Jake was violating my bathroom, Bob was not a candidate for stepfather, and Mr. Carver was currently weeping into his napkin.
“I drove Amelia and Jake here,” said Bob. “Can’t have any DUIs under my watch,” he added. “Since I’m the first selectman and all. Can’t have that! Sharon, would you also—”
“No,” she said.
Fine. Everyone could leave. Maybe Xiaowen and Sullivan would stay.
Where was Amelia, by the way? I was terrified of going into the bathroom after Jake had been there. I knocked on the door. “Gimme a minute!” Jake called from inside. There were sounds that every gastroenterologist recognized. I flinched, then suppressed the urge to cry. Maybe I would just burn the houseboat.
Amelia must’ve gone onto the deck. Alternatively, she’d fallen in the water and drowned, which wouldn’t be great.
Nope. As I passed my bedroom door, I spotted her. On my bed. Fast asleep. Drooling on my pillow, in fact.
“Hey, Amelia. Amelia? Time to go.” I shook her shoulder gently. She didn’t stir. I shook harder.
“I’m very tired,” she said. “I worked so much this week.” She sat up, lipstick still perfect. “I don’t feel so well.” She put her hand on her stomach.
“Let’s get you home,” I said. “Bob’s ready to go.”
“Can I help?” It was Sullivan.
“Would you give me a hand, darling?” Amelia said, extending an elegant arm in his direction.
“Sure thing.” He went over to her and put his arm around her, helping her up.
“You’re quite a charmer,” she said, then puked on him.
I mean right onto him. It hit him in the throat and slid right down his shirt. I felt my own gorge rise.
“Whoopsy,” she said. “I’m terribly sorry. But I feel much better now.” She puked again, just in case Sullivan missed the point. “Did I eat butter, perhaps? Was there butter in that asparagus? I’ve been a vegan for so long, any animal product upsets my stomach.”
“No butter,” I said. “Uh, Sully, my bathroom’s right there. Towels and stuff. I’ll be right back.”
He gave me a look and went in, and I ushered Amelia down the hall to the other bathroom—Poe’s, not the powder room Jake had been using, and handed her a washcloth.
“What a beautiful boat!” she said, cleaning up. “Do you know who the architect was?”
“I don’t. But thanks for coming, Amelia. Let’s get you home, okay? It’s getting late.” It wasn’t even eight-thirty. I steered her down the hall to the dock, where the others waited.
“Well, safe home, guys,” I said. “Where’s Mr. Carver? I didn’t get to say goodbye.”
“He left already,” my mom said, pointing to a set of taillights heading down the road. “Uh-oh.” She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Watch out for the deer, Henry!” she called. “Henry! The deer! Oh, for Christ’s sake!”
The rest of us watched in horror as Mr. Carver ran smack into one of the wild residents of Scupper Island.
Xiaowen made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
I ran down the dock. Mr. Carver’s car was only about fifteen yards from where he’d parked it, but apparently he’d been going fast enough.
The poor deer was panting, lying on its side. Oh, God, the poor thing! We’d have to call the police chief to shoot it, and God knew how long it would take him to get here.
Its eyes were wide. Should I pet it? Then again, that might scare the poor critter. Also, ticks. But if it was in the throes of dying, maybe I should comfort it? Her? It was a doe.
“Is it dead?” Mr. Carver sobbed. “Is it hurt?”
“Um...it’s not dead yet,” I said. I pulled out my phone and called 911. No signal, of course. Shit. I got on the hood of Mr. Carver’s car, held my phone up. Aha. Two bars. That was enough.
“Nine-one-one, please state your emergency.”
“Hi, this is Nora Stuart on Spruce Brook Road. A deer was just hit by a car.”
“Hi, Nora, it’s Mrs. Krazinski! How are you, honey?”
“Well...not that great. And you?”
“I’m fine. Your mother said you were having a dinner party tonight.”
“I am, and well, I’m afraid Henry Carver hit a deer, and—” I lowered my voice “—I think it needs to be put down.”
“Damn. And the chief’s away. His daughter, you remember her? Caroline? Well, she had a baby! A boy. Her third.”
“That’s great. But what about the dying deer?”
“Can’t your mom take care of it?”
“Probably, yeah.” Chances were high my mom could do one of those Jason Bourne neck twists and Bambi would be on the way to heaven.
The entire dinner party had made its way down the dock.
“With a little physical therapy, you never know,” Xiaowen said. “Could be eating hostas by next week.”
“I’ll put it outta its misery,” my mother said. “Nora, run home and get my butchering knives.”
“What?”
“It’s a fresh deer,” she said, as if I was the stupidest person on earth. “I’m not gonna let it go to waste.”
“Mind if I take a haunch?” Jake asked, popping another beer.
“Oh, God,” wailed Mr. Carver. “Beatrice... She loved animals.”
“When I was a child at our camp in the Adirondacks,” Amelia said, “a fawn walked into our house and lay down next to the dog. It was utterly adorable. Until our Irish setter killed it, that is. Whiskey, that was his name. A beautiful dog.”
“You don’t mind if I stay to watch, do you?” Xiaowen asked. “I’m kind of crushing on your mom.”
“You’re a horrible friend,” I said.
My mother came back down the dock, knife in hand.
He reached out and his hand closed on the biggest knife handle in the block.
Ice-cold fear slithered down my back, and for a second, the dark Maine sky and heavy half-moon were gone, and I was in my apartment, the door so close. Would I make it? Would he grab me again? The door handle, smooth and hard under my aching fingers, me out, running, screaming...
Nope, nope. Not gonna go there. That was my mother, the world’s most capable woman. Not a killer, not a rapist. And behind her, Sullivan Fletcher, shirtless in the waning light, his puked-on shirt in his hand. Focus on that. Focus on him. You’re safe. You’re safe. You made it.
My heart rate slowed. There was a calm about Sullivan Fletcher that tugged at me. Maybe because he was a father. Maybe because he was spared from some of the chatter and buzz of this world. Maybe because he’d been hurt, too, and recovered.
I guess I should’ve offered him a T-shirt. Then again, I’d had a spewing boss and a dying deer to contend with.
Also, shirtless Sully was a very nice view.
Suddenly, the deer gave a lunge. I jumped back as it scrambled to its feet and ran off crookedly into the woods.
No one said anything for a minute.
“Okay!” I said. “What a fun night! Take care! Mr. Carver, are you okay to drive?”
“It didn’t die,” he said, wiping his eyes. “Maybe it was Beatrice, working a little miracle.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” I lied. “Bye. Thank you for coming.”
They all got into their cars. Xiaowen hugged me, shaking with laughter. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” she managed before sliding into her silver Porsche. Then she was gone, and I was alone with Sully.
“Come on in, and I’ll get you a T-shirt,” I said, starting down the dock. He followed.
“I was kind of hoping to see your mother skin that deer,” he said, and suddenly, I was staggering with laughter. Sully’s smile flashed in the darkness, and he took my arm so I didn’t fall into the water.
I laughed all the way inside.
My place was a disaster—plates still on the table, the coffee table, the floor. A thousand glasses, it seemed. Food everywhere. I went into my room and got the biggest T-shirt I had—Blackbeards Bait & Tackle, a leftover from a long-ago trip to Cape Cod with Doctors Without Spouses, back when Bobby and I were just friends.
“Here you go,” I said, handing the shirt to Sullivan. He pulled it over his head in a quick movement, the muscles on his rib cage flowing, his shoulders rolling in a perfect example of male anatomy.
Xiaowen was right. I could do far worse than Sullivan Fletcher.
But a summer fling was not what I was looking for. In August, I’d be back in Boston. Sullivan would never leave this island. And he had a kid, besides. Also, there was the fact that I had no idea if Sullivan was looking for a fling himself. He had a daughter, an ex-wife, a business and a troubled brother to contend with.
“Let me help you clean up,” he said.
“No way,” I said. “You get on home.”
“I’m not leaving you with this mess.” Those eyes were caramel deliciousness, warm and tempting.
“Oh, but you are,” I said. “Being puked on by a dinner guest gets you a free pass.”
A faint frown settled between his eyebrows. “I’m more than happy to help.”
“I’m good, Bobby.” Ah, shit! Where did that come from? “I mean, jeesh, Sullivan. Anyway, I’m kind of anal about cleaning up, and I have to make a few calls, besides.”
Without moving a muscle, his face changed. “Got it. See you around, then. Thanks for a nice dinner.”
He started out the door, and I closed my eyes. A perfectly nice man, and I was kicking him out.
I went to the doorway. He was about halfway down the dock. “Sully? Sullivan? Thank you for the pie.”
He either didn’t hear me or didn’t want to answer.