by Unknown
“Hey! Shut up, you guys!”
Zooey, who had tightened up so much her shoulders were around her ears, jerked in surprise. She looked around for the source of the voice. A girl’s voice. From below. In the water.
“Shut up!” Keeley said, treading water and furrowing her brow at the kids who were laughing. “Stop being jerks! Be quiet!”
The laughter died, mostly due to shock. Keeley had just defended Zork.
Zooey was frozen. She couldn’t believe it.
“Well, c’mon!” Mr. McAllister shouted from his lawn chair. “We don’t have all day! Move it along!”
Zooey, feeling numb with wonder, stepped onto the gritty diving board. She still couldn’t dive, even if a miracle had just happened, if she tried she knew she’d fail. But, no, she would try. For Keeley.
Zooey walked out to the end of the board and tried to remember all the patient lessons with her gentle and grandfather-like father. His soft scratchy voice repeating the same instructions again and again as he stood beside her on their dock. Arms overhead, curl toes over edge, bend at the waist, push off with your toes.
Zooey curled her toes over the edge of the diving board, and closed her eyes. She raised her hands over her head and put her hands together as if in prayer. Bend and push!
Her legs slapped down on the surface entering the water, but it wasn’t a belly flop for once. Not a perfect dive, but not a belly flop! She had done a real dive!
Zooey swam back up to the surface and wiped the hair off her face. The kids were distracted, talking to each other, not looking at her. Mr. McAllister’s voice boomed, “Nice try, kid! Okay, next?”
Zooey swam toward the ladder and climbed out, feeling high, as if she had won. At the top of the ladder Keeley and Pam were talking. When Zooey reached the dock, Keeley looked over at her. “Good dive!” she said, and smiled at her. Zooey felt a surge of something like love and smiled back at her. Keeley and Pam turned and walked away together, toward the edge of the dock where the other kids who had already dived were sitting and standing and watching the rest of the divers. Zooey followed them.
Mr. McAllister was shouting out the winners for the five, six, and seven year olds. Keeley had, of course, won for their age group. Keeley grinned, and tucked her chin under modestly as the other kids started clapping again for her. Pam planted a big dramatic kiss on Keeley’s forehead. Zooey stood as near to them as she dared, feeling higher and happier than she had ever felt on Captain’s.
The eight year olds went and then it was the nine year olds that were up. Most of the nine year olds on the island were boys, with only one skinny anemic-looking blond girl named Frances and another girl named Rose. Rose was the kind of girl that permanently had her nose up in the air. She, like Zooey, was from up-island and lived in one of the largest most opulent old homes. Also, like Zooey, she was an only child, but that was where the similarity ended.
When it was her turn, Rose tossed her hair back and walked, slim and straight in a navy-blue designer bathing suit that must have cost a fortune, to the end of the diving board. She stood there and bounced a little, flexing her muscles. Her dark hair was perfectly coiffed in a neat flip, as if a hair stylist had been brought in to prepare her for her big moment. In fact, it was possible. She looked around to make sure everyone was paying attention to her, staring hard at those kids who were having private conversations until they stopped and looked at her.
Once she had all eyes on her, she walked back up the diving board and turned to make a running dive. Gracefully, like a ballerina, she lifted her arms above her head and then took off running.
It would have been a perfect dive. Zooey had seen Rose dive over and over from their dock three doors down and had marveled at the older girl’s dedication. The problem now was that the end of the board was wet from all the divers who had stood on it before, their feet wet from practice. Rose slipped in the little puddle there.
For a moment, it was like everything was in slow motion: Rose losing her footing at the end of the board, sliding and then flying off the board, arms wheeling. Then hoity-toity all-knowing better-than-everyone Rose flopped into the water, a huge splash.
There was a moment of silent awe. Then Rose’s head popped up, and her face screwed up in an ugly way. “That board!” she shook, sputtered and then screamed. “It’s that board’s fault! Redo! I demand a second chance!”
The disparity between the usual cool snooty Rose and this red faced shaking Rose was too much.
“Huh, huh, huh,” Pam started laughing in her low raspy voice.
“Ha!” Keeley convulsed, her face screwed up from an effort not to laugh. “Ha!”
Rose’s head whipped around in the water and her eyes narrowed. She was looking right at them!
The other kids started laughing, too, also trying to control themselves. Rose wasn’t just a snotty bitch, she was really mean. Hearing the other kids’ laughter made Keeley and Pam convulse even more, helpless. “Ha! Ha! Oh, no!”
Rose started swimming toward the ladder. The laughter swelled even more, the kind of uncontrollable laughter that happened when you knew you weren’t supposed to laugh, church laughter or piano recital laughter. Even Zooey started laughing. Rose had looked so surprised when she slipped! How her eyes had popped out! The way her leg went out like that and her arms flew around all crazy!
Rose, having practically vaulted up the ladder, was stalking down the dock toward them and her eyes were hard and sharp and looking right at Keeley. Zooey felt a zinging feeling going up her spine and the laughter died in her throat. Pam and Keeley were bent over, hanging on each other, gasping with laughter. They didn’t see Rose’s approach.
Rose walked right up to Keeley, grabbed her by the arm and yanked Keeley toward her. Keeley made a tiny peeping yelp that probably would have been loud if there had been more air in her lungs.
Keeley turned up her face to look at Rose, face streaming with tears and lips quivering still with hilarity. Rose released Keeley’s arm, raised her hand in the air and brought it down on Keeley’s face. The smack was so loud it practically echoed. There were gasps and squeals from all the kids on the dock.
All humor drained out of Keeley’s face and her normally rosy face turned white with the exception of the red skin on the cheek where she’d been hit. Then Zooey saw something even more shocking: fear in Keeley’s eyes. Actual fear on that beautiful always-brave face.
Zooey couldn’t stand it. Without thinking, she grabbed at Rose’s arm. Rose spun around and looked at Zooey. Seeing who it was, she sneered and said, “What Zork? What do you want?”
Zooey would wipe that sneer off her face. She raised her arm and brought her hand down on Rose’s face, hard. Being exactly the same height despite their age difference, Zooey was able to give her a solid slap, making Rose’s head snap back in a satisfying way.
Another gasp went up in the crowd, this one even louder.
A little sweet-looking curly-headed blonde girl standing on the other side of Pam said, “Yay! Slap that bitch!” Zooey glanced over at the little girl and then back at Rose, preparing for the worst. Who was that girl? Oh, it was Amy, the tiniest seven year old she’d ever seen. She looked about four or five. Had she really just said ‘slap that bitch’?
Rose’s hand went to her quickly reddening cheek and she looked at Zooey with surprise. Pam, who had finally recovered from her laughter and had been standing still in shock all this time, walked over to Zooey and wrapped her arms around her in a big hug. “I love you, Zooey. I should have been the one to do that. You are the best.” Pam looked defiantly at Rose over her shoulder as she hugged Zooey.
Keeley joined the group hug, embracing Zooey from the other side. “Yeah!” she said, pressing her burning face against Zooey’s skinny bare arm and staring down Rose.
Rose looked at the three of them hugging and wrinkled her nose up like she smelled something bad. “Ew! Gross! Keep your lezzie loving to yourselves!”
Pam smiled and said, “You ju
st wish you were part of this little pile up, don’t you, Miss Priss?”
Rose’s mouth turned down, her lovely face contorting into a sneering mask. “You’re just a bunch of low life scummy nobodies. That’s all you’ll ever be. Nothing. No one.” She spat out the last words. She looked around at the crowd as if noticing everyone for the first time. “God,” she said softly, and then turned and walked away, pushing at kids who got in her way and knocking over a little red-headed boy who landed on his butt, looked up in surprise, and started crying.
Excited chatter rose up all around them. Mr. McAllister could be heard yelling, “Who was that little girl again? What was her name?” Adults, who were suddenly aware of the drama, rushed the dock seeking out their children. A fat blonde woman in an unfortunate pink bikini that squeezed her body into deeper rolls scooped up the crying little boy and shushed him while cuddling and rocking him, looking around for the source of his distress.
The girls separated and looked at each other. Amy walked over to them and slapped Zooey on the lower back, the highest she could reach. “That was so cool!” Amy said. “Thank you for smacking her. She has pinched me, like, three hundred million times, I swear. And she always gets away with it, ‘cause she’s Rose, you know? My mother actually tells me to be more like her! Like her!”
Zooey nodded, “Trust me, I know. We only live three houses away from her. My mother’s always like, 'You should try to be friends with Rose Griffin. She’s such a lovely girl.'” Zooey imitated her mother’s fluttering and misguided adoration of Rose, her hands pressed together as if in prayer, her eyes heavenward as if that was where girls like Rose came from.
“Wow, really?” Pam said. “I’m so glad my mother never said that. Well, I don’t think she even knows any of the kids. She never leaves our house here. Just sits on the porch and reads. Dad does everything.”
Keeley put her hand on Zooey’s arm. “Thank you so much, Zooey. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t hit her. She freaked me out.”
Zooey remembered the naked fear in Keeley’s eyes, how horrible it was to see. And yet it had been the moment when she had actually felt a connection with another kid on Captain’s. They were all so brave and confident, so capable and at ease. Fear leveled the playing field. “Of course, what are friends for?” she said, shrugging a little.
Keeley blinked, and then looked at Zooey anew. “Yeah,” she said, nodding. She glanced over at Pam and then said, “Hey, you guys. We’ve got some firecrackers! Want to come shoot them off with us at the Lion’s Den?”
Zooey was suddenly very still. Next there would be laughter. You believed us? The Lion’s Den, a clearing in a small wooded area in the very center of the island, was the cool kids’ hangout. Zooey had heard there was a tire swing, a pilfered rotting armchair and a little tree house that consisted of a floor of six nailed-together wooden boards stuck in a tree.
“Hey!” A voice at her elbow. “What about me?”
Keeley smiled down at Amy. “Sure, come on! Let’s go!” Keeley and Pam and Amy started running up the dock toward the boardwalk, weaving among the kids and adults that were still standing and talking about Rose.
Keeley stopped, turned and scooped the air at Zooey, a come-here wave. “Zooey? Come on!” she shouted.
Zooey, feeling like her legs weren’t working properly, started after them feeling a blooming of delight in her heart, a feeling as bright and warm and reassuring as she had ever felt.
Chapter 15
Hannah asked, “What happened to Rose after that?”
Aunt Zo laughed a little and said, “Hoo boy! Well, that’s a whole other story. I’d tell you, but I’ve got to go. I’ve got appointments up the wazoo today. Doctors and specialists – don’t rush to get older, Hannah. It’s a bitch. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
Hannah said goodbye and hung up the phone feeling better than she had in months, alive and energetic. She made herself a big breakfast of pancakes and bacon and a whole grapefruit and took a long barefoot walk down the boardwalk, grateful for another warm day. She headed up-island first, stopping at the halfway point where the little red firehouse was. Looking down the boardwalk at the line of taller stately homes that took over the island to the north, she thought of Mr. McGrath. Did he and his wife really like being completely alone? Wouldn’t a visitor be a welcome thing? She wondered about the old man and his wife, that expression on his face when her mother’s name was mentioned. Perhaps Hannah had misunderstood it. If he knew her mother, as he clearly did, he had to like her. Everyone did.
Her mother: both her closest friend in the world and a complete enigma. Hannah had seen many pictures of her mother as a little girl, framed and in photo albums, and in all of them Keeley looked like a little blond angel, dear and sweet with big velvety-blue eyes, a perfect dimpled smile. Now she knew that her mother had actually been a hellion, a fire-starting bra-stealing troublemaker. Had that been why Grandmother rejected her own daughter, for being a “bad” girl? Questions filled Hannah’s head, buzzing and insistent as flies.
Hannah turned around and headed south to the Barefooter house. As she reached it she realized it was the only house you could actually hear on the island, its wind chimes clanging and pinging in the breeze. Taking the key out of her pocket, she kissed it and then unlocked the front door, which swung open on their little living room. Compared with the loud décor on the exterior of the house, the room was a study in Zen-like simplicity. Everything was how it had been when Hannah was little: clean and spare and white with cool touches of gray and blue.
She stepped onto the gray-painted floor and looked around at the white painted walls, the couch and chairs draped in machine-washable white slipcovers, Aunt Zo’s painting still hanging over the couch that depicted three sandpipers running on a beach, foaming water on the retreat that had left a scattering of bubbles on the sand. Whenever Hannah saw that painting and the others at her aunt’s house, she was always shocked that Zo wasn’t famous, her artwork hanging in museums around the world. She had said as much to Zo, who only laughed and flopped her hand at Hannah, saying, “Honey, you have to die first.”
The only cluttered area of the room was the overstuffed bookshelves, bulging with photo album after photo album, each filled with photographs documenting over thirty years of friendship between the four women. This was their treasure trove, their collective memory-bank. Hannah was amazed that they still kept it all here, risked floods and storms and water rats in order to keep their memories in their only shared space. The Barefooter House, their sacred place, let no man put asunder.
Although Hannah’s grandfather had bought the house for Keeley when the four girls were in their early twenties, later, when they were older and had jobs, they went in together to own it jointly. Each of the Barefooters had contributed exactly one quarter of the original cost, giving it to Keeley, who – struggling financially at the time – gladly took the funds. Once Hannah had asked about it, wondering why it wasn’t enough for Keeley to own it and share it. Her mother had said, “Because it’s our house, always was. Dad just got it for me so it wouldn’t completely fall down. It was a wreck back then. But it’s all of ours, and that’s the only way it will ever be.”
The house smelled musty, so Hannah left the front door standing open and went around the tiny two-room cottage opening windows. In the kitchen, Hannah was surprised to find it had changed dramatically. It had been plain and simple when Hannah was here last with a white painted wooden table against one wall, the gray-painted sink with its water pump against the other, and the little white stove and oven in the corner, the undressed windows letting in clean white squares of light. Now it was a cheery yellow with white lace handkerchief curtains on the windows and much more clutter than ever before, including a cute egg timer in the shape of chicken, an earthenware pitcher filled with wooden spoons and a whisk, and a colorful rag-rug on the floor.
Although she loved how it looked, it was too different. She was so glad the living room h
adn’t changed. She quickly opened the windows, went back into the living room, and stood in the middle of the room looking around.
Ah, this was better. She could practically hear their voices, their laughter, their songs. The wind chimes tinkled and clanged outside and small waves thumped and swished against the pilings the house rested on. These were the sounds of Hannah’s childhood. The smells were the mustiness of all of the houses on the island that came from age and being locked up half the year, the pungent smell of sea wrack, the sweet scent of freshly squeezed limes for the Barefooters’ Mean Greens, the mouthwatering smell of frying soft-shell crabs in the morning.
Every August of her childhood, Hannah had four mothers. It had been heaven.
Aunt Zo practically took over, carrying Hannah around everywhere with her, waiting on her like a little princess, telling her stories and making up magical games to play. Pam became the disciplinarian, administering the rare punishment when needed, as well as the nurturer who cooked all the meals for the gang and kept their world spotlessly clean. Amy was the protector and the champion, chasing off little boys who picked on Hannah, pulling splinters out of Hannah’s feet with tweezers and tender care, remembering to bring blankets and sweaters along when they went on a trip to keep Hannah warm if it grew cold.
Her mother, relieved of sole responsibility, relaxed and suddenly embraced being a parent. Always affectionate, her mother became mushy, hugging and kissing Hannah constantly. She became indulgent, too. Usually strict about her rules, they were always bent in August. Of course Hannah could stay up past her bedtime. Of course she could have that ice cream cone. Whatever her baby-darling wanted.
God, how Hannah missed those long-ago Augusts. She sighed and walked over to the bookshelves. A bright red leather photo album shouted out to her. Dog Days! She pulled it out, clutched it to her chest, and then walked over to the couch and sat down with it. The album was fat and overstuffed with photos. There were more photos than the album allowed, so some were just piled in the front, loose. She opened the album with a smile and the colorful photos jumped out at her.