by Lynda Curnyn
“Sage, you gotta meet this guy. This guy, he’s like my brother,” he said, pulling Vince in to his other side so that he was holding on to both of us.
I looked Vince in the eye. “I believe we’ve met.”
He nodded his head, the slightest of smiles coming to that perfect mouth of his, but whether he remembered me or not I couldn’t say.
“My brother, I tell you,” Tom slurred on, putting his other arm around Vince’s shoulders. “Do you know how long I’ve known this guy?”
“No, how long?” I said, still holding Vince’s gaze.
“Seventeen goddamned years!”
Vince broke eye contact with me, smiling up at his friend. “Goddamned years, is it?” he said.
Tom ignored him. “We started our first business together. Hell, we had our first marriages together.”
Alarm shot through me, and I glanced down at Vince’s left hand, feeling relief when I saw it was bare.
Tom yanked me closer. “And Sage, Sage here is my right arm. My right arm, I tell you!”
“I believe she’s your left at the moment,” Vince said.
When I looked up again, Vince was smiling in full, a flash of white teeth against dark skin.
Mmm-hmm, this was some man. “I think we might be his whole support system at the moment.” But the minute I said the words, Tom lifted away from both of us, lured off by someone shouting his name from the deck.
I smiled after him, watching as he weaved unsteadily through the crowd. Once he was through the sliding glass door, I turned to Vince. “So. I didn’t know you were a Fire Island junkie, too.”
His eyebrows drew together. “I wouldn’t say junkie.‘ I have a place over on Seabay, but I don’t get out as much as I should. And then there was all that time in China. And Italy…”
“Ah, Italy,” I said with a sigh.
He treated me to another one of those smiles, and my insides started to warm in a way that I couldn’t attribute to tequila.
“But now you’re back,” I said, studying his dark eyes as he gazed out through the sliding glass doors.
“Yes,” he said distractedly, “now I’m back. And just in time, I see,” he continued, his gaze narrowing on Tom as Tom leaned drunkenly against the sliding glass doors, talking to a petite blonde.
I followed his gaze. “He’s lonely,” I said, realizing for the first time that it was true, despite Tom’s somewhat desperate attempt to carry on as normal.
“Yes,” Vince said, his gaze still on Tom. “Tom needs someone to take care of him. He always did. He was lucky to have Maggie. And now…”
He looked at me, and I realized that he was, in fact, the first person to see through Tom’s facade of cheer.
Another point for Vince. He was sensitive. And that was something you didn’t often encounter in a man. Or at least the men I had known up until now. Maybe that came with age, I thought, studying the flecks of gray through his otherwise dark hair and wondering just how old he was.
Instead, I asked, “So you and Tom started a business together? I’m assuming it was garment industry, too—what line?”
Vince looked at me. “What line?” he said, his eyes widening. Then he chuckled. “I started up Luxe with him.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Really? And all this time I thought Luxe was Tom’s baby.”
He frowned. “Well, it is now. But I was there at the begin-
ning. Helping him set up. He was new to New York and I had the contacts, so…“ He shrugged. ”I’ve been in this industry since I could crawl. Even longer than Tom in some ways, since I started out running truck shipments as soon as I knew how to drive.“
And now he was the VP of manufacturing. A self-made man. I liked that, too.
But just when I was going to ask him more, I saw his eyes narrow on someone outside. “Would you excuse me?” he said. And with a brief nod, he disappeared into the crowd. I spotted him once again talking to one of the vendors we worked with at Edge.
Clearly, Vince hadn’t come here for pleasure, I thought, realizing that he hadn’t so much as flirted with me, though he was talking quite animatedly with the vendor over there. Maybe that was another thing that came with age in a man. Vince might be more motivated by the head between his shoulders than the one between his legs.
And as I watched him work his charms, I realized that I might prefer that kind of man for a change.
I went in search of Zoe, who had been MIA since her emotional outburst on the deck. Though once I found her, I kind of wished she’d stayed hidden away.
“What are you doing?” I asked when I spotted her, coasting through the living room, video camera in hand.
“What does it look like?” she said, panning the room.
“The question is, why are you doing it?” I asked.
She shrugged, still not lowering the camera, only pausing as she came upon Tom and the cluster of women he stood among. “Figured Tom might want some footage of his annual bash.”
“Zoe—”
“What?” she said, finally lowering the camera.“At last I’m getting into this whole Fourth of July thing and you’re still complaining?”
I glared at her. “I wouldn’t be complaining if the festivities were really your focus. I know what you’re up to, Zoe. The only time you have that camera in hand is when you’re gathering evidence.”
“Well put. I never thought of it that way.” Then she frowned. “Now that you mention it, I did capture some pretty good footage on the back deck earlier.” Then she gestured to the back deck. “Who is that guy, by the way?”
I turned to look and saw it was Donnie Havens, who had at least stopped his sobbing and was now leaning up against the railing, not a hair on his toupee out of place despite his recent blubbering, and smoking a cigar.
“Donnie Havens. He’s the head of shipping for Edge. Works out of the Bohemia office. He has a house three doors down.”
Zoe nodded, her eyes speculative. “Is that right? He seemed pretty broken up about Maggie’s death a little while ago. I thought maybe he was a relative or something.”
I smiled. “He’s probably sad that Maggie won’t be sharing any more hot tubs with him this summer. He’s a bit of a lech, that one.”
“Hot tubs?”
I narrowed my eyes at her. As much as I didn’t like Donnie, I knew he was harmless. Of course, these days everyone was suspect in Zoe’s mind. “Don’t get any ideas. He has hot tub parties all the time. Tom goes, too.”
“Well, just so you know, I’m not the only one with ideas.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It seems I’m not the only one who thinks Maggie’s drowning was a bit unusual. Apparently, some of the guests thought it very convenient that Maggie died. You see that woman over there?” she asked, gesturing with her chin. “Dolores Vecchio. She’s the broker who worked with Tom and Maggie on the house. According to her, Tom was a smart cookie for taking out the mortgage insurance on Maggie’s Dream. Do you know that the entire mortgage on this place gets paid off when one of the mortgage holders dies?”
“She told you that?”
“Well, not me. I was just checking out the view. But if you don’t believe me, I probably have it here on tape. You’d be amazed what this mic picks up from a distance.”
I shook my head in disbelief. Then, lowering my voice, I said, “Zoe, I know Tom. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Really? Would you swear to that in a court of law?” she asked, picking up the camera once more and pointing it directly at me.
“Zoe—”
“Hey, guys,” Nick interrupted. “Someone’s shooting off fireworks on the beach. Come down and check it out!” Then, without even waiting for us, he followed the flood of partygoers out the sliding glass door.
A smile tugged at Zoe’s lips—the first one I’d seen all day.“Good thing I have my camera,” she said, heading for the door.“Come on.”
Of course I followed. And within moments, we had staked out
a spot a short distance from the crowd, and I found myself seated on the beach between my two best friends, gazing up at a sky scattered with more stars than I’d seen in a long time.
“Look at that sky,” I said, thinking wistfully of Vince, who I knew was standing somewhere in that crowd to the right of us and who I wished was right here beside me.
Apparently, Zoe was on a totally other wavelength. “You know that guy Tom’s talking to?”
I bit back a sigh, following her gaze. Or rather, her camera, which she had pointed right at Tom and a tall, portly-looking fellow who was yucking it up with my boss. “I have no idea.”
Zoe put the camera down. “That’s the chief of security at Saltaire. Tom’s alibi for the night of Maggie’s death. Apparently Tom went over there for drinks that night. Or so he says.”
“Alibi? Zoe—”
Nick laughed uneasily. “Zoe, c’mon man. I gotta sleep in the same room with the guy.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t listen to her, Nick.”
She must have heard the sheer exhaustion in my voice. Either that or she knew better than to try my patience. Because Zoe did quiet down, turning her attention—and her camera, for that matter—to the fireworks that had begun to crackle across the sky.
“Ooohhh,” Nick said, mimicking the crowd as a roman candle opened up in a burst of light above us.“Ahhhhhh,” he mimicked again, as it showered down on the beach before us.
I looked at him, a smile pulling at my lips.
“What?” he said. “You gotta make the right noises. It’s a tradition!”
“Ooohhh,” Zoe said, peering at the next spiral of color through her camera.
“Ahhh,” I chimed in, leaning playfully into Nick as I did.
I laughed, realizing that, for the first time since the party began, I was really enjoying myself. In fact, I could have ooohed and ahhhed all night—because it seemed like the fireworks were going to go on that long. Except I was startled out of my sky-gazmg by a sound that wasn’t so pleasant. Shouting, I realized, turning my head to discover it was Tom who was the cause of all the ruckus. He was on his back on the beach, waving away the small crowd that had begun to gather around him. I jumped up, Zoe and Nick following in my wake as I beelined for Tom, who was attempting to get up.
“I’m fine!” he insisted. But his face was mottled and his eyes fuzzy, I noticed once I got close.
“Ah, Sage,”he said when he saw me.“Could you tell these people I’m all right?”
“He passed out cold,” a short, squat blonde said.
“Daddy, let us help you,” Francesca said, though she didn’t move any closer, as if she was afraid of being puked on or something.
Janis Joplin started to howl, yanking on the post where her leash had been tied.
“Damn dog,” Tom said, twisting in an attempt to see where Janis was.
“Let me help you up, Tom,” I said, reaching out a hand.
He took it, pulling heavily on it as he eased to his feet.
“Here let me help.”
I looked up to find Vince beside me, angling his shoulder under one of Tom’s arms to support him. I smiled at him, then slid under Tom’s other arm. Good thing, too, as Tom must have been walking on rubber legs, judging by the way he was leaning on me.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you guys,” Tom said. I felt Vince attempting to turn him toward the house and I moved in tandem, but Tom stopped, his glassy eyes gazing out on the ocean. “Oh God, oh God,” he muttered.
Janis Joplin began to howl again.
The sound seemed to sober Tom up. Or I thought it did anyway. “Damn dog. I told Maggie to keep her at the house.”
Vince and I both stopped stock-still and looked at each other.
“She never listened, that one. Not once. Ten years and she never heard a word I said.” He fixed his gaze on the ocean once more, apparently mesmerized by the sight of the waves crashing. Then his eyes narrowed, his mouth firmed. “Maybe she’s better off dead.” Then he laughed, the sound sharp and high-pitched against the sudden silence.
“Yeah,” he said, pulling suddenly, furiously, against the hold Vince and I had him in and breaking free. “Everyone thinks I got off easy. Well, she’s the one. She’s the one who got off easy!”
* * *
Chapter Thirteen
Maggie
The daughter I never would have
The beach house was the only place I ever found any peace. Fire Island has that effect on most everyone. Probably because there are no cars, no hassles and no worries except how to best spend the day. There weren’t even that many people, mostly because the only way to gain access to most of the island is by ferry. Keeps out the riffraff. The day-trippers. Even kept out my family, in some ways. My mother never understood why Tom and I bought a home off the mainland. But then, my mother never really did understand anything beyond her own suburban existence. Which was probably why I rarely saw her or anyone in my family after I married Tom.
Even Tom loosened up at the beach, kicking back with his fishing rod, catching up with friends and cooking with me when we entertained there, which was often. It was as if the house brought us back to ourselves, who we were outside of our upscale Manhattan existence.
Sometimes I even imagined that house could save our marriage.
I remember the first time we brought Francesca there. She was fourteen at the time, and in the few years I had been married to Tom, I hadn’t really had a chance to bond with her. I thought it was because she lived down in Florida with her mother, but when she came to the house during our first summer there, I learned otherwise.
The truth was, Francesca hated me, probably from the first time she met me, just months before I married Tom. I can only guess that she saw me as some kind of rival for her father’s affections. To Francesca, I was the reason Tom’s trips to Florida were so infrequent, though I was sure his lack of attentiveness happened way before I came along.
The irony of it all was that I understood Francesca’s sorrow every time Tom withheld his affections. Understood why his financial generosity and benign indifference were not enough.
Still, I tried that weekend she came, not knowing it would be both the first and last time I shared our oceanfront home with her. I even painted one of the bedrooms purple, knowing it was her favorite color, stocked the house with her favorite foods and the CD player with her favorite music. We shared that in common, too—a love of music. And though our tastes were different, I knew her love of Madonna’s rebelliousness was right in tune with my own rock and roll youth.
Of course, Francesca refused to see that she and I shared common ground, spending the weekend roaming the beach with the friend she had brought along, searching for adventures that didn’t include me and Tom. I couldn’t blame her. Hadn’t I been the same way when I was her age? I guess part of me was surprised to find myself in the role of shunned parent. And a lot of me was hurt by the hatred I saw in her eyes.
Not that Tom noticed any of it. He kept to his routine of fishing, cooking and relaxing. Even taking off on an all-day offshore fishing boat tour right smack dab in the middle of the weekend his daughter was there.
She never came back again.
By the time we put her on a plane back home, I was relieved to see her go. But my relief was only momentary. When Tom and I came home that night to our New York apartment, I realized that I had been hoping to gain in Francesca and Tom the family I had alienated myself from.
And reminded me that I was more alone than ever.
That winter, I dreamed of having a child of my own. Of course, that wasn’t going to happen. I had agreed to Tom’s no-more-children rule when I agreed to be his wife. I had thought I was sure at the time. Tom was so certain he’d even had a vasectomy a few years after Francesca was born. After spending that miserable weekend at the beach with her, I couldn’t blame him.
Still, that didn’t stop the longing in me.
Of course, Tom could have had his surgery reve
rsed. But, as he reminded me whenever I brought the subject up, I had known what I was getting into.
I suppose I had, but everyone changes.
Not Tom. Tom had already figured out his life, what he wanted, who he was. I had left my own behind—my job, my family. I couldn’t blame Tom for the fact that I had quit my dead-end career in radio. Or that I rarely went to see my family. Those were my choices, but when I made them, I was still figuring out what might make me happy.
In hindsight, I’m not sure a child would have made me happy. Maybe it was a passing fancy. I’ll never really know. But I knew I needed something to soothe the ache of loneliness that filled my days.
Something more than what I had with Tom.
* * *
Chapter Fourteen
Zoe
You should see the other guy.
The minute my foot strikes the dusty trail toward Fair Harbor, I feel reborn. Running does that for me. Though this morning, I think I might have to run to the end of the island and back to shake the unease that’s dogged me ever since Tom’s drunken display the night before.
Maybe she’s better off dead.
Somehow, with the sun shining down on my shoulders, the fresh breeze pumping through my lungs, I’m having a hard time believing that.
As I fly over the sandy path, I wonder if Maggie ever took this route. She was a runner, too. At least that’s what she told me that first beach weekend, as I did my pre-run stretches on the deck. She’d even recommended a running path, a scenic six miles to the Jones Beach tower. I’m sure it would have been a lovely run.
But today I had more than running on my mind.
I blew out through my mouth, nodding briskly, as is the custom, at the jogger who passed me, trying to imagine what it might have been like to hurry down this trail on a moonless night.
In search of…coriander.
Okay, so maybe I don’t understand this woman exactly. Yeah, I like to run, but I don’t like to run for groceries.