18
When I was a junior and Lily was a sophomore, we both went to the prom.
I went with another girl—Emily Case, who, like me, was on the fringe of high school, another invisible girl with bluish-white skin and hair the color of dirty dishwater. We weren’t friends; we were simply united in the knowledge that no one would ask us, we wanted to go, and there was safety in numbers, even if that number was two.
I honestly don’t remember where I got the guts to go through with it. I remember that I simultaneously didn’t want to go and couldn’t not go. I had no delusions of a Carrie-like turn of events where, even if for a little while, the freaky girl got to be popular. So what if she was drenched with a bucket of pig’s blood? Small price to pay.
No, I knew how it would be. Emily and I would barely exist at the prom unless someone took it upon herself (because it would be a girl) to mock us. But even at the age of seventeen, I knew that on prom night, the Cheetos would be too obsessed with themselves to notice people like Emily and me.
Without telling anyone, I took the ferry to Portland, went to the Goodwill store and bought the first dress that didn’t pinch too much, an utterly unremarkable royal blue halter-top dress with sequins along the neckline. There was a tear along the zipper, but I could fix that.
On the Saturday of the prom, my sister announced that she’d be going to Darby’s house to get ready.
“I’d like to see you all dressed up,” Mom said.
“Then come to Darby’s,” Lily said. “If you have to.” The disgust in her voice was so thick you could cut it with a dull knife.
“Are you goin’ to Darby’s, too?” Mom asked me.
Lily’s head nearly spun off her shoulders. “You’re going to prom?”
“Yes,” I said, feigning calm. “Emily and I thought it would be fun.” Things that were also on par with prom fun would be performing a limb amputation on oneself or eating a live rat. Still. Had to do it.
“Emily who?” Lily asked.
“Case.”
“Who’s that?”
I sighed. “She’s someone in my class, Lily.”
“Why do you even want to go?”
Excellent question. I started to answer, but Lily cut me off. “Just try not to talk to me.” Even after all this time, her cruelty slashed like a razor.
“Lily, apologize,” our mother said, her voice harsh.
“Sorry,” she sang.
“Who’s your date?” I asked. I knew, of course. Everyone knew.
“Luke Fletcher.” She looked at me and smiled evilly, her pure blue eyes narrowing like a cat’s.
That’s why I was going, of course. To see them together. To see what it would be like to be as effortlessly beautiful and confident as my sixteen-year-old sister, to have the attention of the best-looking, most popular boy on the island. To torture myself with unrequited love for both of them.
I didn’t go to Darby’s, of course. I stayed home and tried to flat-iron my hair, which was having none of it. I ended up putting it in a puritanical bun. Emily’s father picked me up, Em sitting in front, me in the back of their minivan, which smelled like dog. There was a bag of pretzels on the floor, reminding me that I was hungry.
Back then, Scupper Island couldn’t afford a big prom at a banquet facility or hotel, so it was held at the gym each year, the decorations comprised of tired crepe ribbons in yellow and black—our school colors—with clusters of black and yellow balloons tied to a weight for centerpieces.
Aware of our status as Invisibles, Emily and I clung to the edges of the gym and took a seat at the table farthest from the entrance. I tried to talk to her (maybe we’d become real friends!) and asked all the questions I could think of—What bands do you like? Have you seen any good movies? Do you like math? I was treated to monosyllabic answers and gave up. Emily chugged Hawaiian Punch and manically nibbled Chex Mix, one piece after another, like a starving mouse. I occasionally offered a comment, no matter how banal, just for the sake of making it look as if we were talking. Not that anyone was checking.
“Check out Mr. Severy’s tie!” I said, laughing, though his tie was perfectly normal. Emily didn’t respond.
Chances were, we both looked unstable. Neither of us cared.
The Cheetos hadn’t arrived yet. Prom had already been going on for more than an hour, and they’d probably spent that time getting drunk or high. Until then, everyone (except the freaks like Em and me) had been having a pretty good time, dancing, talking, the girls a little nervous in their finery, the boys awkward and sweaty.
Then the doors opened, and in they came—Amy, Darby, Carmella, all so hatefully beautiful, so fake-tanned, their teeth bleached too white. I’d have sold my soul to look like any of them. They were like beautiful, exotic birds in their bright dresses and sparkling sequins. Sullivan, Brett, Lars and Luke trailed in after them, aware that prom was really for girls.
And then I saw Lily—oh, Lily, she was the most beautiful girl in the world. She was Snow White—pure and lovely and perfect, and I couldn’t help the surge of pride and love that flooded through me at the sight of her.
My sister, though she belonged to the group, was not technically a Cheeto—her skin was ivory, her hair black and shiny, its natural color, cropped short and chic when all the other girls in our school, including me, kept theirs long. Her dress was a one-shouldered black gown, full skirt with some kind of silky, sheer fabric over the skirt, so it looked as if she were floating. I didn’t know when or where she got the dress; she well may have stolen it, but no matter the case, it was ethereal, making my royal blue dress seem as cheap and common as it was.
For once, Lily’s makeup wasn’t overdone, making the Cheetos look like RuPaul on performance night. No, my sister was simply stunning. She was Audrey Hepburn. She was Anne Hathaway. She was Lily Stuart, the most beautiful girl in Maine. In the world.
And she was with Luke, who already looked sloppy, his tie askew, his gait crooked.
“That’s your sister,” Emily said flatly.
“Yes.”
“You don’t look anything alike.”
I didn’t dignify that with a response. The truth was, I couldn’t take my eyes off Lily. Everything about her was flawless. She seemed both to absorb the light and reflect it, and I felt such a rush of tenderness for her, the same as when we were little and she’d fall asleep, and I’d just stare at her and stroke her hair until Mom told me to stop.
Then Lily bumped into a chair and burst into wild laughter, and the spell was broken.
My sister was high. That probably wasn’t new, but it was the first time I’d seen it so blatantly. I stood up, the metal chair screeching behind me. Lily was lost in the crowd of Cheetos and their dates. Sullivan and Amy were dancing, I noted, their foreheads touching. He could do better, I’d always thought.
I made my way to the dance floor, alone, moving like a silent hippo through the crowd, who parted reluctantly for me, a few castigating looks from girls at my dress, my hair, which was coming out of its bun, my ordinary sandals. I didn’t care. I wanted to get my sister home.
Her pupils were dilated, her voice shrill. “Shut up, Brett!” she said, giggling wildly. “I did not. Not yet, anyway.”
This caused a roar of laughter and some jostling among the boys. Whatever Lily hadn’t done yet was sexual. I wasn’t stupid.
“That’s not what Conrad says,” someone said.
“So what? It’s no big deal,” said Darby, trying to steal the attention from Lily. “I already did it.”
“So did I,” said Carmella.
“Yeah, no kidding,” Brett said. “Come on, Lil. Have some more.” He offered her a flask.
“Lily,” I said. “Hey.”
Silence fell over the little group. “Hey, Nora,” Luke said. After all, this was junior year, before he realized I might threaten his future.
“What are you doing here?” Lily asked. “Oh, right! You came with that girl! Are you a lesbian, Nora?”
Another roar of laughter. “Lily, come with me a second, okay?” I said. I took her arm and started dragging her to the bathroom. She struggled for a second, but, hey, I outweighed her by at least seventy pounds.
“Everything okay?” Luke asked, trailing after us, blinking too much. Stoned, I guessed.
In my instant fantasy, he’d be sober. I would tell him someone gave Lily drugs, and he would be furious. It would be Brett, and Luke would whirl around and punch Brett in the face and take Lily and me to Stony Point Lookout (I had no idea why). Lily would fall asleep in the back seat, and Luke and I would talk and talk, remembering good times at the Math Olympics and Robotics Club in seventh grade. He’d say something like “Nora, you’re so funny.”
And that would be enough. That would be the world to me.
But in reality, I knew better. “We’re fine,” I said.
I got Lily into the bathroom. “What did you take?” I asked, future doctor that I was.
“Don’t worry about me,” she said. “I’m great. Where the hell did you get that dress, by the way?”
“Lily. Do you know what you took? What it looked like?”
“Nora. Do you know how you look in that dress? Like a fifty-year-old housewife crashing the prom, that’s how.”
Anger and hate and love wadded in a ball in my throat. “You are such a bitch, Lily,” I hissed.
It was the first mean thing I’d said to her...ever. She looked at me for a second with those clear blue eyes, shocked.
Then she heaved forward into a stall and started puking.
Oh, God. And yet, good. She’d get it out of her system, whatever it was. Ecstasy or a roofie or painkillers.
I crouched next to her and put my hand on the back of her neck, the way Mom used to when we had a stomach virus.
“Nora,” she said, glancing up at me. Her eyes were streaming, and I was undone.
“It’s okay, baby,” I said. “Get it all out.”
She vomited again, and then again, and then there was nothing but dry heaves. I stroked her cropped hair until she stilled, her sleek little otter-like head resting on that skinny arm.
“Come home with me, honey,” I whispered. “Let’s go home and watch TV, okay?”
She turned her head and looked at me. “You don’t understand, Nora,” she said, closing her eyes, and her voice was so weary and old my eyes filled with tears. “You just don’t get it.”
“No, and I don’t want to. Not if it means being with them. They’re so hateful, Lily. They’ll use you up.”
“I don’t have any other choices, do I?”
“You do. You can come home with me.”
She almost laughed. Didn’t open her eyes. “Yeah, right. If I’m not with them, then what am I? How do you think I’d survive if I wasn’t popular?”
The same way I do, but we could be together again. “Let me take you home and take care of you. Please, Blueberry.” My old name for her.
“I miss Daddy.”
The words punched me in the heart. “I know,” I whispered, petting her head again, savoring the sleek curve of her skull. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s go.”
Lily opened her eyes and looked at me for a second, and I saw how tired she was, how empty, and all I wanted was to save her.
But then the bathroom door squeaked, and in came Amy. “Um...are you two okay?” she asked.
For one second, I thought Lily might choose me. For one second, her eyes said something other than disgust.
Then she looked at Amy. “I had the pukes,” she said brightly, struggling to stand up. “I feel better now. Do you have any gum?”
“Yeah. You sure you’re all right?”
“Totally. Just not used to that, you know?” She rinsed her mouth out and spit into the sink, somehow making it not look gross.
Amy glanced at me, then back at my sister. “Lily...um, watch out for Luke, okay? He gets around.”
“I know.”
Amy looked at me again.
“Why don’t you come home with me?” I said. “Lily? I think it’s best if we go home.”
She glanced at me in the mirror. “I’m staying, Nora,” she said, her voice full of contempt. Whatever moment we’d had was dead.
The tears gathered in my throat. “Okay,” I whispered. I kept my eyes on the floor, the ugly beige-tiled floor, and stood there as Amy gave my sister the gum and they chattered and laughed and then, finally, left.
You wonder how much abuse you can take and still love someone. You wonder how long they can treat you like nothing but still want them back. You wonder how many years it will take to forget how things used to be, how long you’ll burn yourself with that tiny ember of hope before the deluge of their neglect drowns it.
A long time, in my case. A long, lonely time.
* * *
On Thursday about an hour after I got home from work, Sullivan Fletcher called and asked if he could take me out to dinner. “To thank you for everything you’ve done for Audrey,” he said.
“Um...sure!” I said. I’d been sitting on my couch in a tank top and pajama bottoms, watching the news (always a bad idea), eating sunflower seeds and fantasizing about cheese.
“How about Stone Cellar?” he suggested, naming the chic restaurant I hadn’t yet graced with my presence. “Pick you up in an hour?”
“Sure!” I chirped again. “See you then!”
I hung up, then ran to my room. It wasn’t a date, per se. I shouldn’t treat it like a date. It was a parent who wanted to thank me for being (cough) a brilliant doctor, because yes, Audrey’s diagnosis had been confirmed in Boston. Sullivan probably wanted to ask me a bunch of questions about treatment and such.
Which didn’t mean I couldn’t dress up a little.
I’d given up on my hair here in Maine. My flatiron was no match for life on a windy island where it rained a lot. I pulled it back into a ponytail, though, and put on a pair of cropped jeans, a cute pink peasant blouse and a suede jacket. Sandals with a stacked heel, a little blush, a little mascara, and voilà. I was date ready, even if it wasn’t a date.
“How do I look?” I asked the Dog of Dogs.
“Beautiful,” he said. Well, his eyes said it. I fondled his silky ears and gazed into his loving eyes. Dogs. The best work God had ever done.
Sullivan arrived five minutes early. He looked like he’d come right from the boatyard—faded jeans and a T-shirt, making me glad I hadn’t tried too hard (pause for laughter). Despite it being June, a chilly wind gusted. It would be in the forties tonight, for crying out loud.
“Hey,” he said. “You ready?”
It was Maine. Conversation wasn’t really our thing. “You bet.” I turned on the porch light, and off we went.
“So this is unexpected,” I said as we bounced down Spruce Brook Road in his pickup.
Sully didn’t answer. Right. He was deaf in that ear, and unless he turned his head, he wouldn’t be able to hear me. He glanced at me, didn’t smile and glanced back at the road.
It was a little odd. Something I’d have to get used to, no car chatting. Or no, I wouldn’t have to get used to it. I was only here for the summer. Riding with Sullivan Fletcher wasn’t going to be a regular thing.
Fifteen silent minutes later, we were seated at a table in the restaurant, a newer place, a perfect mix of comfortable and posh. “Your server will be right with you,” said the maître d’, handing us the menus.
“Thank you,” Sully said, looking at his.
The restaurant was fairly full with the pleasant rattle and hum of food preparation. “Thank you for asking me out,” I said.
No answer.
Right. I touched his hand. He looked up. “Hey. This is nice. Thank you.”
He looked at me a long minute. “This is really nice,” I repeated.
“Well. The least I could do.”
“Audrey stopped by yesterday. She’s pretty excited.”
“Yeah. Weird for a kid to be psyched about surgery.” But he smiled, and if he was nervous the way I was, it cracked for a minute.
“Hi, I’m Amy, and I’ll be your—oh.”
We looked up. There was his ex-wife, pad in hand. Her face was frozen. Sullivan stood up. “When did you start working here?” he asked.
“Yesterday.”
“You should’ve told me.”
“What I do is none of your business.”
“Of course, it is. We’ve had this conversation, Amy.”
“Well, you’re not exactly falling over yourself to fill me in on things, are you?” she said, gesturing with her elbow at me. “If you have a girlfriend, don’t you think I should know?”
No, this wasn’t awkward at all.
“Hey,” I said. “How are you, Amy? I’m not his girlfriend.”
“Right,” she said. “So. Listen. Thank you for Audrey. We went to Boston on Monday, and she’s good to go for surgery. Me and Sully, we owe you big-time.”
They were still both standing. “Why don’t you sit down for a second?” I asked. “Pull up a chair. Sully asked me out so he could pump me for information. Do you have any questions about the procedure or recovery or anything?”
Sullivan sat back down. I was fairly sure he’d missed everything I just said.
Amy hesitated. “I gotta work.”
“Here.” I fished a pen and gas receipt out of my purse and wrote down my cell number. “Call me for anything. Audrey’s a sweet kid, and I really like her. You’ve done a great job raising her.”
Amy’s face softened. “Thanks,” she said quietly. “Okay. Drinks, you two? Sully, you want a Sam’s Summer?”
“Sure,” he said. “Thank you.”
“I’ll have a mojito,” I said. “Supposedly, it’s summertime, no matter what the weather says.”
“Be right back.” She snapped her pad shut and walked away.
Sullivan and I looked at each other. “My ex-wife is our server tonight,” he said, and we both laughed.
“It’s okay. She’s still very...” Think of something nice to say, Nora. I glanced at the menu. Succulent? No. “So pretty.”
“Excuse me?”
I looked right at him. “She’s still so pretty.”
“Ah. Ayuh.”
Amy came back a minute later with our drinks. “On me,” she said, setting down my drink.
“Thank you so much,” I said.
She smiled—Amy Beckman, smiling at me! squealed my inner dorky adolescent—and put down Sully’s beer. “What would you like for dinner? Want to hear the specials?”
Sully would have to work that much harder to hear over the crowd, looking up at Amy.
“No, that’s fine,” I said. “I mean, unless you do, Sullivan.”
“No, I’m good. Go ahead.”
I ordered the lobster roll (I would go for a run tomorrow, I swore it) and a salad to counteract the butter (ha). Sully ordered scallops.
When Amy had taken our order, I leaned forward. This kind of intense conversing was a little unnerving. “Do you have any questions about Audrey?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “The doctor you recommended—Patel?” I nodded. “He covered everything. She goes in next week.”
“It’s a great hospital, and Raj is the best. I’m sure everything will go smoothly.”
“Amy and I, we...we really can’t ever thank you enough.”
I shrugged, a little embarrassed (and secretly thrilled). “Just doing my job. You know, like a firefighter, running into a burning building and saving lives and stuff.”
“I’m sorry. I missed everything you just said.”
Just as well, since I was babbling.
“Hey, you two.” Amy again. “I got you another table where it’s quieter. He’s deaf as a stump, you know,” she said to me.
“I heard that,” he said.
And so we moved to a back room where there were only three tables, all empty. “Thanks, Ame,” he said.
“Yeah, whatever,” she said. “Brian will be your waiter back here. Give a shout if you need anything.” She started to leave, then turned back. “How’s your sister?” she asked.
“She’s...she’s doing okay,” I said.
“Tell her I said hi.”
“I will. Thanks.”
She left, and the relative quiet settled around us.
“How is your sister?” Sullivan asked.
“I don’t know,” I answered. “She doesn’t speak to me.”
“Why is that?” His brown eyes were steady on mine, and there was something about the intent way he looked at me, the gentle calmness of his face. All of a sudden, there was a lump in my throat. I shrugged.
“You and me, we both have problem siblings,” he said.
“How’s your brother?”
Sully glanced out the window, a rueful look on his face. “Well, he stole about a thousand dollars from the boatyard last week.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, whatcha gonna do?”
“Call the police?”
“Not an option.”
“Why not?”
He sighed. “Well, you should know. He’s lost a lot in life.”
“Are we still talking about that fucking scholarship?”
Sully laughed out loud. “Listen to you! Dr. Stuart dropping the f-bomb.” I felt my cheeks warm and took a sip of my drink. “No,” he continued. “Not the scholarship. Not just the scholarship, I should say. He lost the chance to do something with his life.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, well, he’s not quite dead, is he? There are a lot of choices he could make that would serve him better than being a druggie and a drunk. And as for loss, I have to ask you—what about you? I mean, you’re the one who got hurt in that accident, Sullivan. Because of your brother being coked up that night. And you’re the one who was in the hospital and a nursing home for six months. You’re the one who’s losing his hearing because of it. If anyone’s lost something, I’d say it’s you.”
He looked at me for a long minute. “Some people can handle things better than others.”
“So it’s your job to look out for him?”
“Ayuh. Don’t you look out for your sister?”
“No. She’s in jail, currently refusing to answer any letters I send her.”
“But you’re looking out for her daughter.”
He had me there. “Yes.”
“And I’m guessing that you’ve had some losses, too. But you’ve handled them better, that’s all.”
I mulled that over. “Is that a compliment or a chastisement?” I asked.
“Both?” He grinned, and his face went from ordinary to wicked in a flash.
Sullivan Fletcher was...yeah. He was. My knees tingled with all that he was.
“You got a boyfriend?” he asked. Not terribly subtle, but again, we were in Maine.
“Not really,” I said.
“You sure?”
“We broke up just before I came back here.”
Our waiter chose that moment to place our food down. “Hi, I’m Brian!” he said, as if he’d just been named and couldn’t get over the wonder of it. “We have the delicious lobster roll for the beautiful lady, excellent choice, I might add, sweet potato fries, a personal favorite, and coleslaw that our chef makes with just a little bit of radish to really bring out the flavor. And for the gentleman, the scallops, which I totally adore, by the way, the mashed potatoes with scallions and a little bit of sour cream, hey, we all have to live life, am I right, and the brussels sprouts, my favorite veggie, let me tell you. All our produce is locally sourced and organic, of course. Can I get you anything else? Fresh ground pepper, grated cheese, extra bread, ketchup, more butter, sea salt, pink salt, Himalayan salt, a foot massage?”
That last one may have been merely implied. “I think we’re all set,” I said.
“Fantastic! Enjoy!” Brian cooed. “I’ll check on you in a few! Mangia!”
“Sometimes being hard of hearing is a blessing,” Sully said.
“I stopped listening ten seconds in,” I said, and he grinned.
For a few minutes, Sullivan and I just ate. I was starving, I realized. And lobster that was swimming at the bottom of the icy Atlantic a few hours ago, now drenched in butter and served on a soft Portuguese roll...yes, yes, I would run tomorrow. But today, I’d just eat lobster. Eat and ask prying questions, that was.
“How are things going with your sign language and all?” I asked, licking butter off my fingers in that classy way.
“It’s okay. Kind of hard to learn on your own, so it’s good of Audrey to help me. She picks up on it faster than I do.”
I smiled. “She seems really smart.”
“She is.”
I took a sip of my drink and watched him a second. When he looked up from his plate, he said, “Sorry, did I miss something?”
I shook my head. “But on the subject of what you can’t hear...are you okay with that? Are you sad or angry or...depressed?”
He smiled a little. “Not really. I mean, I’ve known this was happening for a long time now.” His smile faded. “I try to listen to things more, try to store them up. The birds in the morning. Favorite music. Audrey’s laugh. Trying to fill up my head with the best sounds. Been watching a lot of home movies lately.” He gave a half shrug and looked back at his plate.
Le sigh. I hoped I wasn’t visibly swooning, but I couldn’t be sure.
“What’s your favorite music?” I asked.
“Bach’s cello suites,” he said. “Well, that and ‘Purple Rain.’”
“God, I love that song! And I used to listen to Bach’s cello suites when I was pulling an all-nighter in med school,” I said, smiling. “It was supposed to help with studying.”
“I guess it worked,” he said.
When he smiled, I could see that his incisors were just a little more pointed than average, giving him a vampiric look. I pictured those teeth on my neck and my girl parts gave a mighty throb.
“So why did you come back here, Nora Stuart? You, who haven’t been back in all this time?”
It was his voice. His soft, deep voice, and I hoped he could hear it, because it was so delicious, that voice, the timbre and hint of roughness in it, like the stones on the shore tumbling over each other after a hard ocean wave.
I cleared my throat. “What was the question again?”
Another wicked smile. A dastardly, bad-boy smile on this ultimate dad. “Why’d you come back to Scupper?”
“Oh. Yeah. I was hit by a pest control van. Beantown Bug Killers. My life flashed before my eyes.”
“Did it?”
“No, actually. But I...I wanted to spend some time with my mom. And my niece.”
“Scared you good, did it?”
I nodded.
“And that thing...that not-good thing that happened to you. The thing you mentioned the night you almost shot me. Was that being hit by pest control?”
I picked up a sweet potato fry and broke it in half. “No.”
He waited.
“A man broke into my house and beat me up and tried to rape me, and then when that didn’t work out, he, uh, he tried to kill me. With a knife. But I got away, and they never caught him, and that was last year, and please don’t tell my mother.”
I sucked in a breath and grabbed my mojito and drained it. Didn’t quite mean to dump the worst night of my life in his lap, but there it was.
“How is everything?” Brian asked, appearing with a huge smile. “Gotta love that lobster, am I right? We buy it right off the—”
“Not now,” Sullivan said.
“Got it!” Brian said. “Call when you need me!”
He left, and the quiet floated down around us again.
Sullivan didn’t say anything.
“Freaky story, huh?” I said. I wished I’d ordered another drink.
“How’d you get away?”
I sighed. “I just...went. I was lucky. I ran. I didn’t... I didn’t even know what he was planning.”
“Yes, you did. You knew.”
He was right. I had known. Lizard Brain hadn’t said the word knife or killed, but it had said the word now.
“You were more than lucky. Jesus.” He took a deep breath. “Good for you, Nora. Good for you.”
I looked down at the table. “Thank you.”
Sully reached across and tilted my chin up so he could see my face.
“Thank you,” I repeated.
This time, his smile was gentle. “You’re an impressive person,” he said, and I laughed. “You want dessert? Seems like you earned it.”
I suddenly wanted to be naked and in bed with the man in front of me.
“How we doing, kids?” Brian sang.
Not that man. Sullivan.
“We’ll take the check,” I said.
“You got it,” Brian said. “Back in a flash, you two!”
“I hate that guy,” Sullivan said, and I laughed so long and hard tears ran down my face.
Sully just sat back, watching me and smiling.
* * *
Unfortunately, by the time we got back to the houseboat, I was all nerves and idiocy.
Why? Because it was Sullivan Fletcher, a boy I’d known my entire life. A man now, a man whose daughter looked up to me, a man who’d been married to one of the girls who’d left scars on my adolescent soul, a man whose brother and mother hated me, etc.
Also, there was Bobby. Not Bobby, not really, but...he’d confused me again, this time by sending a very romantic email, this time detailing all the stuff we used to do before the Big Bad Event. My old life, my Perez self.
I wasn’t staying on Scupper Island forever. I wasn’t sure I should start something with Sully, no matter how many pheromones were clogging the air, and yeah, it was childish and dopey, but I wasn’t sure I could be my Perez self when Sully had known my island self. I realized that was stupid and dopey and childish, but I also knew Sully deserved me to mull that over before anything happened between us.
He was far, far too good to be someone’s summer fling.
He turned off the engine. “I’ll walk you in,” he said.
Shit. How would I tell him no? He was too delicious, too nice, that voice, those eyes, that sense of calm and granite reliability, and also, remember that hug after Audrey’s diagnosis? That. Yes.
Boomer barked sharply. “It’s me, buddy,” I said. He barked again, not happy about Sullivan (or not happy that he wasn’t being allowed to leg-hump Sullivan, more likely).
Sully and I stood outside the door, moths fluttering around the light.
I would have to reject him now. Damn. That would not feel good.
“Thank you for dinner,” I said. “I had a really nice time.”
“Me, too,” he said. “Thanks for coming out on such short notice.”
Maybe I’d let him kiss me. That would be okay, wouldn’t it? And then, once he kissed me, I was pretty sure sexy time would be inevitable.
“Good night,” he said at the same second I said, “Want to come in?”
“Excuse me?” he said, and yeah, yeah, I was glad he was hearing impaired. Sue me.
“Nothing,” I said. “Good night. Yeah. Have a safe trip home. Back to your house, I mean. Where do you live, anyway?”
“Oak Street.”
“Bon voyage, then.” Jesus, Nora. Shut up.
He looked at me another minute. Maybe the kissing idea wasn’t dead yet.
Nope, it was. He gave me the Yankee nod and walked back down the dock.
Date over.
Then again, I guess it hadn’t been a date.
Except it had felt so stinkin’ romantic.
“Sure, Nora, it was,” I said as I got the key out. “Who doesn’t want to hear about jail and home invasions? Totally romantic.”
“What was?” came a voice, and I nearly wet myself.
Luke Fletcher stood on the deck of the houseboat. My heart leaped into my throat.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” I asked. Boomer barked from inside. Shit. My one-hundred-pound dog was inside. My hands started to shake.
“Just thought I’d stop by for a drink. You know. Because we’re neighbors.”
“Your brother just left.”
“So I saw.” His voice was friendly. That scared me more, for some reason. Oh, right. Because the other guy’s voice had been friendly, too, sometimes. When he wasn’t beating the shit out of me.
I swallowed. “Well, I’m tired, Luke. Maybe another time.”
“Don’t fuck with my brother.”
“I wouldn’t. Don’t worry.”
“I wouldn’t. Don’t worry,” he mocked in a falsetto. Boomer barked again.
Then Luke jumped off the boat onto the dock next to me, and I flinched. I hated myself for it, but I did. Inside, Boomer went crazy.
But Luke just brushed past me, close enough that I had to move. He followed his brother’s path down the dock, heading left down Spruce Brook Road toward the boatyard.
My legs were shaking. I opened the door and let Boomer go out. My dog ran after Luke, barking. Good. Let my dog maul him and eat him.
“Boomer!” I called after a minute (not really the dog-mauling type), and my good dog turned back. Besides, what if Boomer just licked Luke? Best keep up the pretense that I had a ferocious watchdog before he could prove me wrong.
As I locked up a few minutes later, I wondered if Sully had come in, after all, would Luke have stayed up on the deck.
Stayed and watched.