by Jane Green
* * *
The story doesn’t come out until later. Their neighbor, who was away, has a scooter, and the movie was boring, and someone came up with the brilliant idea of “borrowing” the scooter and going for a ride around the island. Of course there was alcohol involved. I didn’t know that then, that both girls had blood drawn when they got to the hospital, that the police had the results, that there might be further action.
The keys were right there. Of course they were. This is Nantucket, not London. Trudy said she knew how to drive, and Annie climbed on behind her.
The car came out of nowhere. Sailed out of India Street and knocked the bike flying, Trudy diving face-first into a car, Annie on the cobblestones.
My little girl. My little girl buried in books, quiet, nerdy, painfully shy, now stealing scooters and getting into car accidents.
I think about my instincts that morning, how I knew it wasn’t a good idea, and I wonder, at what point will I start to listen? At what point will I trust my own voice?
* * *
Trudy has a bandage over half her face, is fast asleep. Oddly, she isn’t nearly as bloody as Annie, but her wound is more serious. We think we’ve saved the eye. Please God, let them have saved the eye, let this night, tonight, be nothing more than a bump in the road, something from which they will learn, something that will change them, but only for the better.
I pull a chair up to the side of her bed, astonished at how young she is when asleep. This little girl, who could have been Annie. I take her hand in mine and lean over to kiss her cheek, the one that is bandagefree. I stroke her hand and I stay there a while, knowing that if this were Annie, I would want someone, a mother, to sit with her, to stroke her hand, to kiss her cheek and whisper that she is going to be okay. I have no idea if she will ever know, but it is what I would want for my own child.
I go out to the waiting room and call Julia. Where is Julia? Did the hospital just not know to call Julia? There is no response; her phone rings and rings before going to voicemail. I leave a message. “Julia, this is Cat. It’s very important that you call me. Please. As soon as you get this. It’s about the girls.”
I try texting.
No response.
I have to try to reach Ellie. However furious she may be at having to speak to me, she has to know. I call Abigail, who says she will get hold of Ellie’s cell for me, and rings me back two minutes later with her number.
I phone, my blood running cold as the phone switches to the machine and I listen to Ellie’s voice. I don’t leave a message, knowing she will never call back, knowing she probably wouldn’t even listen if she knew it was me.
I try again ten minutes later, and again ten minutes after that. And on my fourth time, Ellie picks up, and I know, before she even says hello, that she is out somewhere drinking, and I suddenly realize that however perfect her image, however much she relays a cool, imperious, impervious persona, there are cracks, and weaknesses, and vulnerabilities, and maybe going to a bar and having a few drinks is her way to ease her pain.
God knows if that is the case, I understand it.
I am not judging. I feel compassion. As terrifying as I have found her, this is a woman who has discovered her husband is not who she thought, who has lost the life that was so important to her, who was humiliated in public. Drinking isn’t going to solve anything, but I understand why she might think it will.
But of all the nights to choose to leave the island, to be in the bar, to possibly be drinking, could it not have been any night other than this?
“Ellie, it’s Cat. I’m really sorry to be phoning you, but Trudy has been in an accident. I’m with her at the hospital. She’s going to be okay, but you need to get back as soon as you can.”
“What? I can’t hear you. Who is this?” I can hear the slurring in her voice. Perfect Ellie, not so perfect after all, and instead of feeling smug, I just feel sad.
“Ellie!” Now I am shouting. “Take the phone outside.”
“Okay, okay. Hang on.” I hear her shout to people, then the quiet as she walks out the door. “Who’s this?”
“This is Cat.”
“What the fuck do you want?” The hostility in her voice, in her real feelings coming out when drunk, is almost enough to send me reeling, but I keep going, willing myself to ignore it.
“The girls were in an accident. They borrowed a scooter and got hit by a car. They’re going to be okay, but you need to get back on the island as soon as possible. I’m at the hospital with them.”
There is a silence, and I know she is trying to digest it, know what a shock this is.
“What girls?” she says eventually, slurring.
“Our daughters. They were together. At Julia’s house. Trudy. Trudy has had an operation on her eye.”
And now she starts to shriek. “What? What? Oh my fucking God! My baby!” She starts to wail, and there is absolutely no point in continuing talking to her because I can hear the alcohol in her voice. Her wailing is getting louder, so I click off the phone, praying not only that she gets here, but that she is sober by the time that she does.
I go back in to see Trudy, and as I stroke her good cheek, she opens her eyes and stares at me, not quite registering who I am.
“It’s Annie’s mother,” I say. “You’re okay. You’re in the hospital. They did some surgery on your eye, but you’re going to be fine.”
“Where’s my mom?” she croaks, her one unbandaged eye darting round the room.
“She’s making her way back,” I say. “Remember she was off island tonight? I just spoke to her, and she’s coming back. Don’t worry about anything. I’ll look after you until she gets here.” Trudy nods and closes her eyes, and I stay until she falls asleep again, when I go back to see Annie.
Sam goes home to get me a toothbrush. The hospital sets up a cot in the room for me, and I go out to the corridor, still feeling dazed, grateful the girls are basically okay when it could have been so much worse, but furious with myself for letting Annie go.
Jason.
I have to tell Jason. It is now almost 4 a.m. in England. The last thing I want to do is disturb him in the middle of the night. Surely it can wait a few more hours, until morning.
And yet, if Annie was with Jason and something happened to her, even if she was going to be fine, as she is going to be fine, I would want to know. I would be furious if Jason didn’t tell me until the next day. I might never forgive him.
I go out to the car park and dial Jason’s home, praying the poison dwarf won’t pick up, taking a deep breath when I hear Jason’s familiar, sleepy voice.
“Jason? I’m so sorry I’m calling in the middle of the night. Annie was in a scooter accident today. She’s okay,” I say quickly, knowing adrenaline will be flooding through his body at the mention of the word “accident.” “I’m in the hospital with her now. She has a broken arm and possible concussion, but she’s going to be fine.”
“Oh my God. Scooter accident? What the hell was she doing on a scooter? She’s thirteen.”
“I know. I didn’t know.” Now is not the time to tell him she was also drinking, and the scooter was stolen. Keep It Simple. That’s what I learned in the rooms.
“Where are you exactly?”
“Nantucket Cottage Hospital.”
“I’m coming. I’ll start looking into flights now.”
“Jason, that’s silly. It’s really not serious enough to warrant you coming over here. She’ll be fine.”
“This is my daughter,” he says. “There’s absolutely no way I’m not going to be there.”
After I finish telling him the different methods of getting here, after I put the phone down knowing he is fully awake and will spend the next few hours organizing flights, organizing his life so he can leave it behind and come out to join us, I have to admit, I am glad he is coming.
Sam is an amazing friend, but no one loves Annie like I do other than Jason. No one understands how awful it is to see your child in pain, in
a hospital bed, other than Jason. And even though she’ll probably be out of hospital by the time he gets here, even though she will be absolutely fine, there’s a part of me that simply wants him here by my side.
Thirty-one
Annie is discharged the next morning, with a list of all the concussion symptoms to look out for, things that would mean an immediate trip back to the hospital. I know we need to have a talk, but not yet; my daughter needs to heal before she deals with my upset.
I see Ellie just as we are leaving, her hair and clothes disheveled, looking more like Julia than Ellie. It is the first time I actually see a family resemblance. I think of walking over to her to say something, but there is nothing to say. I can’t make it better, and seeing me here will doubtless make it worse.
I am walking through the car park when I hear my name and I stop in my tracks, unwilling to be shouted at yet again, unwilling to turn and listen to whatever it is she has to say.
But I do turn. I walk slowly over to where she is standing.
“Cat, thank you.” Her voice is rasping and rough, but authentic. “Thank you for being here.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, and then she just looks at me, as if she is going to say something else, but she doesn’t, and I give her a rueful smile and leave.
I don’t know what Ellie’s story is. I don’t know if she drinks in the way we tend to drink in our family. I don’t know if she was drunk last night, or if she just needed to let off steam. I do know it is not my place to judge her. I do know that as I walk into the streams of sunlight hitting the car park, I am filled with gratitude that I am no longer the kind of mother that can’t be there for her child; I am no longer the kind of mother who goes AWOL, who finds herself in bars with strangers, is more interested in being in bars with strangers than raising her daughter. I thank God that I am not showing up in the morning drunk, smelling of booze and cigarettes, because my family was never my priority.
How easily this could have been me. This was me. For years. Jason protected me from the full horror of how bad a parent I was. But what if I hadn’t had him? I doubt I would have been able to be present last night in the way that I was. My daughter would have been “fast,” “advanced,” because how else do you survive when you do not have a mother? How else do you survive when your mother is too busy planning her next drink, or binge, to know or care what you are doing, until of course the terrible thing happens, when you wail down the phone and fortify yourself with booze on the ferry over, to get you through whatever pain awaits you when you arrive?
* * *
Annie is home, being looked after by Sam the nurse. Eddie dropped in with an “Eddie” bear that I thought Annie would discard, announcing she is much too old for stuffed toys, but the Eddie bear is squeezed next to her in bed as Sam runs up and down the stairs tending to her every need.
Here I am, at the ferry, to collect Jason. I have parked a little ways up the street and walk down to watch the boat come in, the hordes of people that swarm off. I never understand where all these people disappear to. It is such a small island, but never feels crowded, although every day I see more people arrive. I’m never here to see the same crowds leave.
I’m in a reverie about where people disappear to when I see Jason, and my heart starts to smile, for he looks so very English in his slim-cut jeans and trendy sneakers, his V-neck T-shirt and cool metal aviators. He looks English, and handsome, and I wish to God, oh how I wish to God, my heart didn’t do an involuntary flip. But it does, and I take a deep breath, compose my features into something that does not give away the fact that I still think this man is the most perfect man I have ever seen, and I wave.
“Hey, you,” he says, and he puts his bag down and gives me a hug.
* * *
I could stay here forever. I give myself the luxury of closing my eyes so I can fully appreciate the loveliness of being in his arms again, if only because he is trying to comfort me, comfort himself perhaps, and when we pull away I try to be very matter-of-fact to hide the fact that even though we are divorced, even though he is now very much with the poison dwarf, he still has the ability to make me come completely undone.
“How is she?”
“Happy to be out of the hospital. Worried about Trudy, her cousin, actually, who is still in the hospital, and very much enjoying having Sam and Eddie run up and down stairs and bring her treats.”
“Eddie?”
“Sam’s new friend. I know, we’ve only been here five minutes, but he seems to have lucked out. He brought Annie a huge teddy bear this morning that she engulfed.”
He runs his fingers through his hair as he shakes his head. “I can’t actually believe our daughter was in an accident. You always think these things happen to other people, never to you. Jesus.” He pauses. “How grateful am I that she’s okay.”
“Speaking of grateful, there are incredible meetings here.”
“You’re going?”
“Almost every day.”
“Cat, I’m so happy that you’re really doing it this time,” he says, as we reach the car. “You really are so different.”
“Thanks,” I say lightly, swallowing the lump in my throat, because if I’m so different, if I’m really doing it, how come you still don’t want me?
* * *
“Daddy!” If Annie hadn’t been covered in bandages and stitched up everywhere, if she could have leaped out of bed to jump into her father’s arms, she would have done.
“Bobannie!” It has always been his nickname for her after a childhood song: Annie Bannie Bo Bannie, Banana Fana Fo Fannie, Me My Mo Mannie, Annie! She would make him sing it over and over, giggling hilariously each time, and Bo Bannie, over time, became Bobannie, which became Bob-any, emphasis on the Bob.
“Daddy!” She nestles into his arms, joy exploding out of every pore. I didn’t tell her he was coming, wanted this to be a surprise, and I step back to wipe the tears from my eyes, then go downstairs to make some lemonade.
“Where’s Eddie?”
“Gone to fight fires.”
“Actually?” I turn to Sam, impressed.
“No. He’s gone to get some fish.”
“Does that mean to the fish market or out on a boat with a rod?”
Sam raises a withering eyebrow. “You look at him and tell me what you think. Is he mincing round the aisles with a red plastic basket hanging prettily from his very strong, sexy forearm, or is he ruggedly on a large boat, gritting his teeth, his muscles bulging as he hauls in a giant swordfish?”
“Fishing, then?”
Sam nods, then puts down the magazine he was reading, a freebie we picked up on Water Street with a list of houses for sale on Nantucket.
“I was thinking I might buy somewhere here,” says Sam, examining the cover, “until I saw what the prices are. It’s insane, Cat. I don’t think I could even afford a shed here, let alone a sweet little two-bedroomed cottage.”
“Are things already that serious between you and Eddie?” I’m impressed. “You’re actually thinking about buying a house here?”
“No, sweetie.” He sighs. “It’s just what I do. Thank God the only porn I indulge in on a regular basis is real estate porn. You have to look, indulge in the fantasy of what if. What if Eddie and I fell madly in love and decided to live out the rest of our days on Fantasy Island?”
“You do realize he might have to tell his mother he’s gay if that were to happen.”
“Oh, we’ve already had that discussion. Many times. I keep telling him life’s too damn short.”
“Anyway, he’s a builder. You don’t have to buy a house. If we’re going to indulge in fantasy, you could probably buy an adorable piece of land somewhere for next to nothing and have Eddie build you a palace.”
“There are no pieces of land on Nantucket for next to nothing. There’s nothing under a million. Not even land. Also, I don’t want a palace. I want a grey-shingled house with window boxes filled with geraniums and lobelia, and banks of blue hyd
rangeas, and a white crushed-oyster driveway, and French doors from the bedroom that open onto a gorgeous little balcony with tons of old terra-cotta pots and a couple of chairs for Eddie and me to sit in when we have our morning coffee or our evening glass of wine.”
“Will the balcony overlook the sunset?”
“Well, of course it will!” says Sam. “And the sunrise.”
“Oooh. Same balcony? Tricky!”
“Maybe the balcony will be on the roof. What do they call that thing? A widow’s walk! So we can just turn the chairs around.”
“Or have a backless bench so you can sort of face each other and simply turn your heads one way to watch the sunset, and another way to watch the sunrise.”
“I like it!” He gives a slow grin. “I hadn’t thought of that. You’re good.”
“I’m available for decorating services anytime you need.”
“Sweetie, the one thing I don’t need is decorating services.” He gestures around at the new-look house, for even though he swore he would stop at the living room that first day when we went shopping, every time he goes out he comes back with a little something to make the house even better. The kitchen table now has a burlap runner going down the middle of it, and assorted sizes of glass lanterns, and I’m pretty sure those white ceramic bowls on the sideboard weren’t here yesterday.
“So.” He peers at me. “How is having hunky ex-husband over here?”
“Nice,” I say, getting up and making myself busy at the kitchen sink because Sam has a horrible habit of getting the truth out of me, and I’m not sure I’m ready for him to see how much I still care.
“Nice in a you still want to sleep with him way, or nice because you feel supported and it makes Annie happy?”
“Those days of wanting to sleep with Jason again are long gone,” I lie, as someone clears his throat in the doorway, and I turn, horrified that Jason is standing there, mortified that he heard, my cheeks turning a swift, startling red.
“Well, that told him,” says Sam happily, who loves nothing more than being witness to a horrifyingly embarrassing situation.
“I’m just going to use the bathroom.” I dash past Jason, my head down, and up stairs, where I throw myself onto the bed with a huge groan. I can’t face him again. I just can’t. I grab a hat, tiptoe down the stairs and out the front door, managing to avoid everyone. When I’m safely out of sight of the house I text Sam that I’m going for a walk along the beach and I’ll see them later.