by Unknown
If it had been high summer, motorboats would be buzzing back and forth on the water, punctuated by occasional leisurely sailboats. There would be other people on the dock, guests with their hosts who had arrived by boat to pick them up for their visit, families cluttering the dock with boxes and bags filled with supplies. There would be enthusiastic little boys lying flat on their bellies with their heads dangling over the edge, grabbing at schools of passing minnows and talking about sharks.
Now, the hollow sound of her feet on the boardwalk which usually made her smile, the telltale sound of fellow islanders approaching for a visit, sounded more like an echo. The string of houses across the lead were shuttered for the winter and the boats that waited and bobbed in the water at the end of each dock were gone. The docks and small beaches that were the hubs of every home in the summer - children diving, screeching, and playing in the water, adults setting up to sail or motor somewhere or just sitting with their feet dangling in the water and cocktails in their hands - were silent and empty, the beaches clear of the usual summer debris of colorful pails, beach chairs, and shiny plastic toys.
Intellectually, she had known it would be different, but she hadn’t been prepared for how it would feel. Like abandonment. Silly. She shook her head again. It was a summertime place, she knew that. Yet she hadn’t known how much she would miss that hubbub, that noisy jolly way the island greeted you every the summer, American flags snapping from every front porch or dock, anchored sailboat halyards ringing, seagulls screaming and swooping overhead. Everyone knew everyone. Captain’s Island was like an old-fashioned small town; you were known there, sometimes too well. There was a warmth and familiarity among the islanders that Hannah had never experienced elsewhere – even in her small hometown in Fairfield, Connecticut.
She looked for her mother’s house, the new bigger one Ben had bought her. Tall and red with white trim and engulfed in trees that made it seem hidden, it was the most social house on the island, her mother throwing parties almost nightly. Three doors to the right was Amy’s house, bright yellow with a big orange sun painted near where the roof came to a peak. The yellow and the sun was all Amy – when her parents had lived in the house it had been a somber gray-blue. Hannah craned her head to see Zooey’s house to the far right, but it was hidden around where the island curved away. Looking the opposite direction, she thought she could see a little of Pam’s brown-shingled house, but it was too far to tell.
The Barefooter house, of course, was impossible to see from the island’s dock; isolated out at the very tip of the marsh, the boardwalk didn’t even go that far until the last twenty years after the Barefooters officially took it over. Even when they installed the boardwalk extension, a gate was also installed along with a sign that announced that the public walkway ended there. That gate had kept out Hannah for the last twelve years. Now she was not only allowed in, she had been given a key. Every time Hannah looked at or even thought about the key, her enormous relief and fledgling hope made her feel faint.
“Excuse me!”
Hannah jerked and looked around.
A small wooden rowboat steered by an older man with thinning steel gray hair was coming toward her from the marshes to the right of the dock. He was wearing clothes that seemed designed to blend into the scenery: khaki pants and a dark forest-green shirt. He pulled again on his oars, and then looked over his shoulder at her with thick dark brows furrowed, caterpillar-like.
“Excuse me, but this is a private island. It’s not a public park,” he said with a northern Long Island accent, where the r in park faded into nothingness, not a hard flat sound like a Bostonian would make, but similar.
She couldn’t place him, but he did look vaguely familiar. He certainly wasn’t from her family’s wide circle of friends and that made him an oddity, especially on Captain’s. She thought of the car in the lot; was that his? Which house was his? On what end of the island? Whoever he was, he thought she was trespassing.
“Oh, no, I’m sorry, but we live here. In the summer, I mean. The O’Briens? Well, the Cohen’s now. I’m Hannah?” Why did she feel like she had done something wrong? It was his eyes – hard and dark and sharp, cutting into her.
His boat was sliding up alongside of the dock now. His expression had only darkened. She had expected him to brighten up, say, “Of course! Hannah O’Brien! You’re Keeley’s girl, aren’t you?” That was what everyone always said. Instead, his mouth, already thin-lipped, had shrunk and hardened even more.
“O’Brien? You mean Keeley O’Brien?” he said, his mouth pursing as if he had eaten a lemon.
She was shocked, and a little frightened. Who was this man? Why did he look at her like that?
She pulled herself up to her full height and smiled, as if this man wasn’t being rude and un-Captain’s-Island-like. “Yes, that’s my mom! I’m sure you know her; she’s always been on the island. And you? I’m sorry, I can’t remember your name? I don’t come out to the island that much anymore, just a week here and there. Where do you live?”
Where do you live - it was a common islander question; one meant to pigeonhole you. The Barefooter house, and the houses of all the Barefooters except Aunt Zo’s, were “down-island” on the southern half where the houses were smaller, more widely spaced, and the inhabitants were distinctly more sociable, throwing parties constantly and dropping by each other’s houses all day long. It was a laid-back crowd and the Barefooters, especially Keeley, were the stars.
“Up-island” was where the houses were larger and more impressive, often three stories high with widow’s walks at the top. The houses were closer together and there was much less vegetation and the privacy it afforded. Although all of these houses were perfect for parties with their deep wrap-around porches, sizeable high-ceilinged rooms, and long docks fitted out with ladders and diving boards, most of this neighborhood kept to themselves. Mostly they sat quietly chatting on their porches, occasionally sailing from their docks, rarely shouting “Hey” to passing neighbors like they did down-island and never throwing loud boisterous parties like the Barefooters did.
Hannah looked at the man. If this man was a regular islander, he probably lived up-island. He had that stiffness and distance.
“McGrath,” the man said and tilted his head up-island. “We live up next door to the Captain’s old house.” He narrowed his eyes at her, looked past her towards the parking lot. “Just stopping by?” He attempted a friendly smile that looked painful. “Well, didn’t know you were an islander. Sorry to interrogate you, just didn’t know – you know how it is these days. Gotta be careful. This island’s a magnet for all kinds of criminal-types.” He glanced at her and then away, as if implying something.
She didn’t like that glance. “Yes, well, I understand what you mean. Heard sometimes there’s break-ins over the winter, squatters. Never been here in the winter, or this time of year, so I wouldn’t know.”
“Oh, yes,” Mr. McGrath nodded enthusiastically and looked at her with the first sign of real friendliness. “Bums and delinquents almost every year. Especially if the lead freezes over and they can walk. Burned a hole in the DiPietro’s porch floor last year having some kind of party. Beer bottles and whatnot everywhere. What a mess.”
“Are you living on the island right now?” Hannah said, never having heard of anyone staying this late except for the hippies in the 70’s. Was he here by himself?
He answered her unasked question. “The wife and I stay on every year until the end of October. It’s quiet. We like it.” He glanced at her and amended, “Boring, though! Nothing going on. You’d hate it, go crazy. Us old geezers, though, we don’t mind being bored.” He tried to laugh a little, looking at her and then away. He reached for his oars. “Well,” he said, sounding actually happy, his voice deepening and broadening in relaxation. “Sorry to bother you. Sure we’ll see you next summer.”
“Um, ah, actually…,” Hannah said, suddenly feeling embarrassed by his assumption and the fact she hadn’t corrected it
earlier. She hated how happy he was to see her go. This was her island as much as it was his!
He looked up, his expression still mild and at ease – worlds different from the sour tight face he had presented upon meeting her. “Sorry? Did you say something?”
Suddenly she knew. He didn’t want her here, not in the summer, and definitely not now. He clearly didn’t like her mother and he was only being nice to her because she was “just stopping by” and not a threat to his precious peace and quiet. She thought for a minute of not telling him, and then realized he would find out eventually, and then she would have lied.
“Uh, well,” she said, feeling the words sticking in her throat. She forced herself to look at him. “Actually, I’m going to be on the island, too. I’m staying at the Barefooter House for a little while.”
Probably the whole month of October, not a little while. Why did she minimize it?
Chapter 7
Phil looked up at Hannah from the gently rocking boat. Rose was going to have a shit-fit. This troublemaking teenybopper was going to be on the island? During their precious vacation – an annual extended absence from daily life that meant diminished income and lost opportunities, their joint real estate appraisal business shuttered for over a month. And of all people, Keeley O’Brien’s daughter. Prancing around and throwing loud parties and probably setting houses on fire by accident, that’s what she was going to do. Oh, and drive Rose over the edge she had been teetering on.
“On the island? What house did you say?” he choked out.
“The Barefooter house? My mother’s? Actually, it belongs to my mother and her friends. Oh, and at my Aunt Pam’s house, Pam McGregor? At the other end of the island from you,” she said. She crossed her arms over her chest.
He couldn’t believe it. She was going to ruin one of the only times that Rose looked forward to: when their island was truly theirs alone. In October, Rose was that girl again, confident, proud, happy. She was the girl Phil had loved so much he’d made a fool out of himself chasing after her in spite of her lack of interest. And he had won her, finally. Eventually, after the smoke cleared and she could see that he was still waiting for her.
This girl, Hannah, couldn’t really be coming to the island now. Why? She didn’t know what she was up against. Rose would not tolerate her. It would be a battle. It could get ugly, especially now that Rose…things were falling apart with her.
That was why he had been looking forward to this time. Maybe on Captain’s, her favorite place, she would snap out of it. He was sure that underneath all of this new Rose, the old always-together Rose lurked.
He would talk the girl out of it. Really, did she want to be living out on this island when it was cold like this? Probably not, she just didn’t know what she was getting herself into. He said, “Oh, no, you really don’t want to stay here now. The place is deserted. You’d hate it. You know…you know what you’d love? The Hamptons! Parties, bars, oh...and shopping, lots of stores, lots. They got the works over there, even now it’s still pretty crowded, if you can believe it.”
The girl blinked, looking confused. Then she stood up taller. “No, I do want to be on the island right now, actually. I need to be alone and think. It’s perfect. I won’t be bothering you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Actually, yes. “No, no, that’s not what I’m saying. You’re just not going to like it. It’s deserted except for us two old codgers. And it’s freezing cold, too. No heat, no hot water. Some mornings we can’t get any water at all, it’s frozen in the cistern. “
“Oh, I know all about that. Aunt Pam has a generator, though, so I can have heat if I want.”
Shit. “Well, that’s nice. Still, it’s not the same in the fall. Dull as death. And a young girl like you should be off having fun, enjoying yourself. Unless you plan on throwing big parties, shipping people out here? I have to say that if that’s the case, it would be a problem. We were really looking forward to the quiet this time of year.” There, he said it.
Hannah looked like she was going to cry. The girl was the spitting image of her father, the full lips, the height, and the dark hair. And the vulnerability – the “I care” he used to always be spreading around. In contrast, her mother Keeley was closed off, tough. Oh, and wild, a party-animal if there ever was one. Pure trouble. If Hannah was like Keeley in that way, they were in for it. They’d have to pack up and leave. Except Rose wouldn’t just leave. No, not a chance of that.
Hannah said, shaking her head, “I’m sorry, but don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not planning on having any parties.”
I’ll believe that when I see it. Give her a little push in the right direction, though. “Yeah, you did say you want to be alone, didn’t you? Well, you can count on us to keep out of your way. We look forward to October every year, only out here in the summer for repairs, open up the house. It’s October that we love, nice and peaceful. Good for thinking if that’s what you want to do. Actually, you couldn’t pick a better place to be a hermit, guess that’s why old Captain Hughes set up house on this little sandbar,” Phil said, reaching for his oars again.
He’d better go if he didn’t want Rose to see him talking to this girl. If he took too long away from their house, she usually went looking for him. If all went well, Rose might never know the girl was on the island.
He would find a way to make sure of it.
“Well, better get going. Lunch awaits. Good luck to you,” he said, giving her his best impression of an untroubled smile, and raising his chin to her in a nod.
He turned the boat around and rowed away, careful not to look back and encourage her in any way. Maybe she’d change her mind and go party it up in the Hamptons instead.
Chapter 8
Hannah watched him pulling at the oars, the pink bald top of his head exposed and reminding her of a dyed Easter egg. If Easter eggs had brown hair around their edges and neat little tucked-in ears with still more hair growing out of them.
What a welcome committee! If she didn’t know he was living at the opposite end of the island, she’d seriously consider turning around and going back home. What a jerk! He’d practically told her not to stay on the island.
But of course, even if he was right next door, she’d still have the key to the kingdom – the off-limits Barefooter house was all hers. All hers and as much time as she needed to figure her mother out, to find a way to truly know her. There had to be something in that house that would finally gain her access to her mother, the woman who had always been a mystery to her.
Hannah was also sure that if she spent enough time in that house, that she’d figure out what the Barefooter’s secret was. The secret to their undying devotion to each other. The secret to how they lived like they did, always living life full throttle, always laughing together, so hard they sometimes peed their pants. Even now, as adults. She needed that secret, how to be more like the Barefooters, needed to find the carefree child she was convinced was buried somewhere inside of her. She couldn’t go on being so serious all the time. It made people shy away from her. Well, except for Daniel, but that was different. She wanted girlfriends, a whole gang of them just like the Barefooters.
Watching Mr. McGrath grow smaller as he crossed the lead, she decided he wasn’t a problem. She simply would stay on her end of the island. Parties! A burst of derisive laughter escaped her. Her, having parties! “Ha!” she barked.
She looked toward the small beach where the islander’s boats were locked up. She dreaded trying to figure out the outboard motor. Her mother had always taken care of that – had always been at ease in any type of boat, as if she had been born trimming a sail, sitting comfortably at the helm.
Other than being a passenger on a boat and lending a hand when instructed, Hannah was only used to taking orders from her mother or Daniel or whoever was the captain of that particular vessel. Now she would have to not only start the engine, she would have to drag the boat across the muddy beach to the water and, once suc
cessfully started, steer the boat to the dock without crashing into it.
She turned and headed back up the dock toward the parking lot. Unload first, that’s what she would do. After Mr. McGrath’s less than warm welcome, she needed to calm down. Doing something mindless and repetitive would do the trick.
Chapter 9
The worst was the beach, after all.
Loose and swampy from all the recent rain, her clean white boat shoes sank deeply into the oozing black muck. She should have taken them off before trying to cross the beach to where their boat was locked up. She remembered, then, that her mother always took off her shoes first. But of course, she always took off her shoes as soon as they arrived at Captain’s, wouldn’t exit the car until they were flung into the back seat, where they would remain until they went back to Fairfield. Hannah, always complacently waiting on the dock for her mother to pull the boat around, wouldn’t have known about the practical aspect of this.
Once pushed off the beach and out on the water, ruined shoes off and in a corner of the boat, switching on the engine turned out to be fairly easy and straightforward – 1-2-3. But when she steered the boat toward the dock, she kept overshooting it, flying by again and again, moving too fast to throw her loop of rope over a piling.
On the fourth approach, she slowed down so much she barely puttered up to the dock, and was finally able to tie up and load half of her stuff into the boat. She had jugs of drinking water and boxes of easily prepared foods like cans of ravioli and soup and tuna fish plus bread, peanut butter, and jelly. There were her clothes and all the layers she would need to stay warm. There were notepads and books and a favorite photo of Daniel in a wooden frame. She had brought her laptop that was bound to die after the first day, and which might be rechargeable if she could get Aunt Pam’s generator started.
Starting the generator, would she be able to do it? She had been bluffing back there with Mr. McGrath, acting as if living on the island with no heat, no electricity, and no running water in the colder months wasn’t a big deal. And if her mother was here, it wouldn’t be. It was Keeley’s island more than it was Hannah’s. Hannah was a guest; Keeley was a native. Why Hannah had never really fit in, never became a native herself despite a lifetime of summers on the island perplexed her. She put on an act for everyone, tried to act casual, cool. But she couldn’t lie to herself.