The Seacrest

by Aaron Lazar

  “And she returned them unopened?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s harsh.” He leaned back against the headboard. “But you can’t give in. Keep trying. She really is a keeper.”

  “I just don’t know why she thinks…”

  “Remember, you can’t trust everyone,” he said mysteriously.

  “Okay.” I said, warily. “But right now I have to get her to listen to me. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to have done, except it’s gotta be horrible the way she’s acting.”

  “You’ll straighten it out, boy. Eventually.”

  “You think so?”

  He smiled and patted my arm. “I’m sure of it. I think you two were meant to be together.”

  Miserable, I sighed. “Me, too, Gramps. Me, too.”

  After the guests had gone, I grabbed my bike and went for a ride. It was still light out at four o’clock, and the weather wasn’t too bad for November on the Cape, with clear skies in the fifties.

  I headed for The Seacrest, whether intentionally or not, I never knew, but my hands and feet knew the way too well and I didn’t fight it. Approaching the main gate, I pulled up and stared at the mansion.

  Stately and grand, it stared back, mocking me.

  You’ll never be good enough for one of ours, it said.

  I sighed, drawing my coat closer as the air cooled, and was about to leave when a big black Lincoln pulled around from the back of the house and approached the gate.

  I should have been embarrassed to be caught there, gawking at the place, but instead I just stared at the car, wondering who was inside.

  In a flash, I saw her.

  Libby.

  Dark hair, now worn with bangs. Pretty eyes, staring at me with fiery hatred. Lips pursed in a bitter line. She waved her hands, as if to shoo me away.

  I stared. My eyes widened. My feet began to pedal again and I followed the car, yelling after it. “Libby! Wait!”

  Furiously now, I pedaled alongside, watching her watch me back with horror and concern. She mouthed the words, go away.

  The Lincoln began to draw away from me, and to my horror, tears spilled down my cheeks. I rode as fast as I could, but it soon became obvious I’d never keep up. When they turned the corner, I stopped the bike, surprised at the harsh sounds coming from my throat.

  “Libby!” I threw the bike down on the side of the road and ran a few more steps in her direction. “Libby, wait!”

  The sun slowly disappeared behind the dunes and the horizon smoldered to burnt orange with touches of pink glimmering between ocean and sky, where the big red sun sank into the water. I stood, fists clenched, sobbing like a baby, staring at the bend in the road around which she’d vanished.

  “Libby. I need to talk to you,” I whispered fiercely. “Why won’t you listen?”

  With a heavy heart, I retraced my steps back to my bike and picked it up. I’d dented one of the spokes, but it seemed okay when I got on and pedaled toward home.

  I brushed the tears from my face and tried to erase all signs of my embarrassing behavior. If Jax found out, I’d never hear the end of it.

  Chapter 37

  July 20th, 2013

  3:30 P.M.

  Shrieks rolled over the grassy lawn and down to the sea, coming from Fritzi who waved her arms in our direction at the top of the hill. “Libby! Finn! Help!”

  We’d made it about halfway to The Seacrest when she practically fell into Libby’s arms, sobbing hysterically. “It’s the Mister. He fell down. He won’t wake up.”

  “Did you call 911?” I asked.

  “Ja, naturlich!” Reverting to her native language, she wept fiercely now, her face streaming with tears.

  “I’m on it,” I shouted, pelting up the hill toward the house. “Meet me up there as soon as you can, Lib.”

  With stricken eyes, she nodded, still trying to help Fritzi stay upright. “We’ll follow right behind you, Finn. Help him!”

  I burst into the kitchen, through the back hall, across the dining room, and found him at the bottom of the stairs, looking bluish and unconscious.

  “Rudy?” I knelt beside him and listened for breathing. I heard it, shallow, but regular. “Rudy? Can you hear me?”

  He stirred and moaned, reaching one hand toward his chest. “Hurts. Hurts like hell.”

  His heart? Was this a repeat of the incident he had years ago, when I’d climbed her bedroom window by the trellis the night he was hospitalized?

  I grabbed a pillow from a nearby chair and put it under his head. “Help is on the way, just try to relax.”

  He groaned and tried to roll sideways. “I’ll be fine.”

  “I hope so, but don’t try to get up. Fritzi called an ambulance.”

  Just as I was about to search for an aspirin to give him—I wasn’t sure if it would help but had heard about it on the news—the medics pounded through the front door and arrived at his side. There was no question about quick service in the Brewster community where Mr. Rudy Vanderhorn was involved.

  Libby followed on their heels, her face a mask of uncertain dread.

  I filled them in, then went to her, holding her in my arms. “He’s talking,” I said. “He’s conscious.”

  She relaxed a little and tried to get as close to him as possible, but the professionals urged her back. “Ma’am. Please. We need room to work.”

  “Sorry,” she said, her voice hitching. “He’s my father.”

  “I understand. We’ve stabilized him for the moment. But we’ve gotta get him to the cardiac unit. You can meet us there. Or you can come in the rig with us.”

  “I’m coming with him,” she said, her voice whispery and panicked.

  “I’ll follow in the Jeep,” I said, squeezing her arm. “I’ll meet you there.”

  She tossed me a worried look and hurried after the stretcher. “Thank you.”

  * * * *

  The next afternoon we sat by Rudy’s side, making small talk and getting him drinks, extra pillows, or reading material from the gift shop. He’d been through the Cath Lab in the early morning, and had two stents inserted through an artery that started in his right wrist and snaked up through his arm to his heart.

  I could hardly believe the man had had a heart attack the day before. Apparently there were two arteries nearly one hundred percent plugged. A compression bracelet clamped his wrist to minimize leakage from the incision, and an IV still dripped fluids and meds into his veins. Other than that, he sat back and talked as if we were in his living room. He seemed weak, but he was alert and claimed to be in no pain. All that was missing was a glass of Scotch and his usual strong-timbered voice. I didn’t want to be the one to tell him, but the Scotch might be an indulgence he’d have to either stop or slow down on.

  Libby had been attentive and sweet, and it was a real refresher to see her in her natural element, in the I-don’t-hate-you-anymore mode. I was so used to the narrowed eyes and hard set to her mouth that she seemed like a different woman today. Softer. Her eyes looked almost sleepy and loving. From time to time she’d catch herself holding my hand and would pull back suddenly, all apologies with flushed cheeks and avoiding eyes.

  She sat on the opposite side of her father’s bed now, smoothing his sheets. “The doctor says you can come home tomorrow if everything continues to look good. You just need that class in the morning that teaches you how to eat better, and exercise, and all that stuff.”

  Rudy frowned. “I hate exercise. You know that.”

  I chuckled. “Me, too. But you might find something you’d like to do. Cycling? Kayaking?”

  He pondered the options. “Nope. I’m too old to fall off bikes. And there’s too damned much traffic on the Cape now. And kayaking is out on the open water. I’m afraid of sharks, ever since Jaws.”

  I laughed. “Well, maybe you could get back to riding. What about polo?”

  He brightened. “Hmm. I used to play the game. Loved my polo pony. Miss that horse. That could be fun. Long as I get a
good mount.”

  We talked for a while about selecting good horses, what breeds worked for the sport, how tall they should be to optimize hitting the ball, and more. Libby came alive for this, and I sat back and enjoyed the way her eyes sparkled and her hands flew.

  When the conversation died down, he opened his magazine.

  Before he could get too involved, I leaned forward and touched his arm. “Rudy?”

  He shifted his eyes from the glossy pages to me. “Yes?”

  “Listen. I’ve been meaning to thank you…”

  “For what?”

  “For taking care of the funerals. The flowers. The service.”

  He dismissed my words as if he’d just picked up a newspaper for me instead of forking over twenty grand for caskets and funeral fees. “Forget about it. It was nothing.”

  I waited until he returned my gaze. “No. It was huge.” I squeezed his hand. “I’ll always be grateful for your kindness in a really tough time.”

  “It was no big deal, Finn. Anyone would have done that. You were blown away by what happened. Two people. In one day. It was too much for anyone to deal with.”

  “Well, I can’t forget about it, and I want to reimburse you. I’ve got…means now. I inherited quite a bit from my brother.”

  He looked at me with sympathy. “Must be tough. Under the circumstances.”

  Surprised he understood, I nodded. “Yeah. Having someone die isn’t exactly the way I hoped to make my fortune. That’s for sure.”

  Libby averted her eyes. She knew there was more, the whole bit about Cora and Jax being together in the car.

  Rudy looked tired, but he sat up and gave me his attention. “Finn? Are you going to leave The Seacrest? Libby said you might be thinking about moving back to your parents’ farm.”

  Libby shrugged an apology in my direction, looking sheepish for having talked out of school. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay, Lib. No biggie.” I stood and walked to the window, facing the well-tended hospital grounds. “I love my job at The Seacrest, but I guess it would make sense to move over to the farm now. I’d like to try to reclaim the blueberries. They’re still healthy, even if they’re all overgrown.”

  Libby nodded. “You should live there, it’s your family home, Finn. And you can paint again.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. I’m not sure if I still have what it takes, Lib.”

  “We’ll hire an assistant for you for a little while. When you’re sure he’s got the knack of things in the barn and gardens, we’ll let him take over for you.”

  “Good idea,” I said with a slight smile. “I wouldn’t want some young kid messing up my flowerbeds. Or spooking poor Dippy.”

  Libby sat up and pouted. “Her name is Serendipity. She’s not dippy at all.”

  Ruby and I both laughed. I came back to the bed and sat again. “Really? That horse jumps at her own shadow. I call that dippy.”

  She loosed a reluctant smile. “Well. I guess you’re right.”

  Rudy yawned, and his eyes began to close. “Kids. I’m ready for a nap. Why don’t you head back to The Seacrest and take care of the animals now. It’s almost time for evening stables.”

  We both stood at the same time, almost knocking into each other.

  She backed up, flushing. “Okay, Daddy. We’ll be back in the morning to bring you home.”

  Rudy glanced at me. “Don’t make me drive in that old jalopy of yours, boy. Bring the Caddy this time.”

  I winked at him, remembering how much he hated my old junker and thinking about Jax’s cars that were now mine. “Deal,” I said, backing out of the room with Libby.

  We headed out to the Jeep with tension slicing the air between us, a barrier of uncomfortable feelings and a shadowy past that seemed to enshroud Libby. She seemed nervous, apologetic, sad.

  I felt just the opposite. To know she hadn’t dumped me because of something I’d actually done that upset her…to know she still cared for me…to know maybe I still had a chance…

  “Come on,” I said. “We’ve got a little time before we have to feed the animals. I’d like to stop at the graves, if that’s okay with you.”

  She nodded and climbed sedately into the Jeep, folding her hands on her lap. “Okay.”

  I shifted the old car into first and headed for the cemetery.

  Chapter 38

  Christmas Eve 1997

  7:30 P.M.

  My little sister Eva was born in the middle of a blizzard. It was a real nor’easter, one that blew in from the ocean and turned our world upside down.

  My father and I had just finished doing the dishes after a sugared ham dinner my mother insisted on making for us. She’d prepared the whole meal—in spite of being huge and pregnant and ready to deliver any day now. I’d scarfed down the collard greens, sweet potatoes, gravy, homemade applesauce sauce, and salad.

  Mom finally agreed to relax, and now she sat in the living room, her feet propped up on the hearth, a sweet smile on her face. The fire crackled. Jax played on his video game in the corner. Christmas carols crooned softly from the radio in the corner.

  Dad and I had just entered the room when she turned to us. “Oh. I just love Christmas, don’t you? And look how nice the lights on the tree sparkle—OH! Oh, dear.” She looked down at the puddle of liquid that dripped onto the wooden floorboards, then raised her eyes to my father with a faltering smile. “It’s time.”

  My father went into action. In less than a minute, he’d locked the back door, closed up the glass doors on the fireplace, checked Mr. Jingles’ food and water, and dressed my mother in her winter coat, scarf, and gloves.

  “Boys,” he said calmly. “You’re coming with us. There’s a storm out there that might take down the power lines again. I want us together.”

  Jax nodded, pocketed his game, and gave us surprisingly little grief.

  I ran for my coat and boots and grabbed my mother’s suitcase, which had been sitting by the front door for a week now. “Ready, Dad.”

  We battled the snow and wind all the way to the car, with my father and me on either side of my mother. Jax opened the door for her—which surprised me—and she made it inside, already covered in snow and breathing hard.

  Her face clinched and she let out a low groan. “Ohhhhhh……” Holding her belly, she began to breathe with short little breaths, the way they taught her in the birthing classes.

  My father hurried us into the back seat, waited for the contraction to pass before buckling my mother into the front, and started the engine. “Ready, Mary?”

  She waved wildly at him, now leaning sideways with eyes closed, her hands rubbing small circles on her stomach. “Go! Just get me there, Anthony.”

  Nerves hitched in my stomach. She sounded strange, less sweet and understanding, more forceful. It was unsettling.

  My father nodded as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and began to navigate the snowy roads, meeting drifts head on every few miles that caused us to slow and often slide sideways.

  I gripped the armrest, watching the snow sheet across the windows.

  In spite of the drama of the moment, my mind drifted to Libby.

  Was it snowing in Switzerland?

  I pictured her in that fancy, prestigious boarding school, walking in her dark maroon uniform from class to class at the base of the Eiger Mountain. I imagined the mountain towering over her, Libby laughing with girlfriends. I’d researched her school name and had seen pictures. They had horses there, of course, and I imagined her riding on an elegant bay mare with her long legs perfectly positioned in the stirrups. They probably had an indoor arena, and I figured Libby would practice her dressage skills inside on wintry days like this.

  I wondered if she’d return my letter again this week, just like all the others.

  I’d written to her every week since she dumped me on Labor Day. Every time the envelope came back, with a “return to sender” scrawled in her flowery handwriting across the top.

  Each e
nvelope that I added to the pile hidden beneath the loose floorboard in the closet was yet another blow to my tender heart.

  I ached for her at night. Craved her supple body and ready smile. Imagined running my fingers through her smooth dark hair, touching her in all the special places. I called her name in my sleep, drew pictures of her in art class. I longed for her so badly; I even walked an extra mile in the cold on weekends to stare at The Seacrest, to gaze longingly at the barn. We’d had such special times there, the absolute best times of my life.

  Certain I couldn’t live without her, I wondered what I’d do when prom came around in the spring. My parents would probably force me to invite some girl who didn’t have a clue, some girl who wasn’t Libby.

  I unzipped my parka. The car was getting warm.

  Apparently, my mother agreed.

  “Anthony. Turn down the darned heat. You’re roasting me up here.”

  Jax and I exchanged a surprised glance. Was that really my mother talking? Or some stranger?

  My father didn’t react. With barely a nod, he reached forward and adjusted the temperature. I noticed he’d been timing the contractions on his wristwatch. “No problem, dear. Stay calm, we’ll be there in five minutes.”

  She cried out again, closing her eyes and holding her middle. “Don’t tell me to stay calm! It’s not your body that’s trying to force a—” With another wail, she suffered through the next contraction and then went quiet.

  “Dad?” I leaned forward. “Is everything okay?”

  He shot me a warning glance in the rear view mirror, which I took to mean sit back and be quiet. “Everything’s okay, boys. We’re almost there.”

  I leaned back and my mother draped a hand over her seat, reaching for me. “Sorry, boys. I’m not quite myself tonight.”

  I offered a wavering smile. “It’s okay, Mom. Just let us know what you need.”

  I thought the contractions were supposed to be far apart in the beginning, from what I’d heard my mother discussing with my father over the years. The story of Jax’s birth had been a popular one. She’d talked about it a lot, and this whole scenario seemed much more accelerated than I’d expected.