Off Season

by Jean Stone

  Had it been because of her that Grandpa’s grumbling had stopped? And the children’s laughter, too?

  She tried not to think about it, but the memories came back, Kodak moments floating in her brain, of tying straw brooms and pegboarding floors and being in charge of making sure the kids swept up when they were done, being in charge because Ben said he needed her because she was so smart and because he could trust her more than the others, even the boys.

  She was too far away to be able to read the sign on the door. But Mindy knew it must read “Closed Until Further Notice.”

  Was there a line underneath that said, “If you want to know why, ask Mindy Ashenbach”?

  “Melinda,” her mother said from outside now, where she’d walked around to the passenger door, “you have to come outside.”

  She stared past her mother, who did not seem unhappy to be on center stage, as Grandpa would have called it.

  And then Mindy saw Ben, who stood with his head down like he was examining the ants on the ground. Next to him was his beautiful wife who wore a beautiful blue shawl. Did Ben have a lump in his stomach, as she did? Did his beautiful wife have one, too?

  Did they too notice that nobody was talking?

  Then Fern spoke up.

  “She won’t get out of the goddamn truck,” her mother told everyone.

  Mindy felt that too-familiar tremble begin in her belly. She sucked it in; she held it back.

  Her mother yanked open the passenger door. Mindy stared at her and wished her mother were dead. Or at least on some other island.

  “Mindy?” It was the judge’s voice. The judge was crossing the lawn, headed for the truck.

  Mindy closed her eyes and wished that instead of her mother, it was she who was dead. Or that she’d never been born in the first place.

  For Ben, it was chilling to stand on top of the hill overlooking the bay, on the lawn of the place where he had once had a dream, back when he believed in dreams.

  They had moved up to the back porch. The onlookers—the family—were relegated to the driveway.

  He handed the bailiff the key to the door, which had not been opened in months.

  And then Mindy was in his line of sight, and he could not look away. Fern had dressed her in a dress, for God’s sake, a pink dress that made her look like she was going to a kids’ birthday party, kids who were much younger than ten. Or eleven, if that’s how old Mindy was now.

  To Fern, maybe this was a party.

  “I went into the office, behind the big room where the kids learned to make pegboarded floors.”

  The sound of Mindy’s small voice startled him. He tried hard to swallow, but he could not.

  They went inside.

  His lungs filled with dust—carpenters’ dust, dust-in-the-air dust. He tried to clear his throat.

  They moved into the office behind the big room. He looked up to the transom where it had all happened, where Mindy had jumped down on him in her childish game. He closed his eyes. He wanted to cry.

  “What happened once you were in here?” the judge asked her now.

  “Well,” she said, “well.”

  Why was she stuttering?

  He opened his eyes. When he blinked, she was looking right at him.

  She folded her arms around her waist. She lowered her eyes to the floor.

  “Mindy?” the judge asked. “Do you remember what you said on your video deposition?”

  He wanted Herb to leap forward and shout “Leading the witness!” But they weren’t in the courtroom, so maybe it was different.

  Then Mindy began to cry. Her body quivered in that slow-motion motion that Ben knew so well. She bit her lip, but the quivering did not stop. Then the tears flowed down her young cheeks, onto her dress, onto the dust on the floor.

  She ran from the room, out the front door, and raced down the hill.

  Ben found her at the Gay Head cliffs. She’d fled to her house, grabbed her bike, and must have pedaled like hell to get out of sight.

  But there she sat, her pink dress all dirty, her knees pulled up, her hands clasped around them. She was looking out to the sea. And despite the sun, she was shivering.

  He watched her a moment. He thought of Noepe and prayed that his old friend would help him out once again, that he would give him a few words of wisdom to help this child in pain. Then he crossed the cliff and sat down next to her.

  “I see one that looks like a canoe,” he said, following her gaze past the clay cliffs and up to the puffy white clouds in the sky over Cuttyhunk. “Birchbark, I think.”

  She sniffed a little. She hugged herself tighter. “It’s probably worthless,” her small voice replied with a crack. “But maybe we should buy it, then set up a souvenir shop and sell it with other junk to the tourists.” She lowered her head. Her tears fell again.

  “I miss my grandpa,” she said quietly. “It’s because of him, you know. Well, it wasn’t his fault, really. It just sort of happened.”

  And then she told Ben the story of how it all happened, how she was angry, how she made a mistake and told her grandfather what she thought he wanted to hear, how she never meant it to go this far but that once it had started she did not know how to stop it, especially when Grandpa died and her mother showed up and told her not to rock the boat to their future.

  When she was finished Mindy said, “I’m sorry.”

  He had not interrupted her because he was too choked up to speak. But now, as he looked at the frail child, clothed in a dress that didn’t at all suit her, Ben felt nothing but compassion. “Child molestation is a terrible thing. Do you understand that, Mindy?”

  She nodded.

  “And it happens too often. And it makes people scared.”

  She nodded again. “I guess I’m lucky,” she said, “that it didn’t happen to me.”

  Ben put his arm around her. She hesitated at first, then moved closer beside him.

  Epilogue

  Charlie opened the tavern, and they had a damn party.

  Amy was there, organizing everyone, Hazel included, who claimed she was most upset that she’d not been told of the arrest or the charges or the trial, but what the hell, a party was a party. Amy announced that she was home for good, that she absolutely intended—someday—to buy the tavern from Charlie, and that, by the way, Mick would be sticking around. Jeff moaned that he’d have to find another roommate and that Mick would hate living on an island. Then Mick reminded him that he’d done that all his life.

  Carol Ann and John came as well, and they brought the kids, who had no idea why they were there except they wanted to see the two red-headed babies who, it was promised, would show up.

  Addie Becker was there, along with that bigwig, Maurice Fischer. Christopher, thank God, was nowhere to be seen.

  Hugh Talbot came with some egg on his face, but it faded when he was reassured that if he’d never called Christopher, who’d called Jill, who’d called Addie, who’d called Herb Bartlett, well, maybe they never would have gotten to the bottom of what really had happened.

  Bartlett, of course, made an appearance, as did Rick Fitzpatrick, who didn’t seem to mind that the hotshot lawyer had saved the day, as long as the truth had come out, as long as Ben was free.

  Fern was not there. After Ben brought Mindy back to Menemsha House, Mindy had told the judge it had all been one big mistake that she’d never meant to happen. Fern became exasperated and announced she was leaving the Vineyard and said Rita and Charlie could take care of the kid if they wanted, they’d done such a good job. She’d even tried to straighten the ruffle on Mindy’s dress.

  “I guess I’m not much of a mother,” she said.

  Mindy had kissed her on the cheek and said Fern was like a scallop and that Mindy was the beautiful shell that the scallop had to leave behind.

  Fern didn’t look like she’d understood, but she seemed grateful Mindy had said it.

  After the trial and before the party, Fern called Rita and asked her to forward the mon
ey from the sale of the house to her in Caracas. That’s when Rita told her there had been no sale, but that when there was, Dave Ashenbach’s will had left everything in trust to Mindy, so she wouldn’t see a dime. In charge of the trust was Bruce Mallotti, one of Ashenbach’s own.

  There were others at the party, too: Hattie Phillips and Jesse Parker; Dick Bradley and his wife, Ginny, from Vineyard Haven; and all of the fishermen who’d worked with Dave Ashenbach. They’d known all along about the pending trial, they’d heard gossip last fall, but they’d had the Yankee decorum to not stand in judgment, though Hattie admitted they’d “known damn well Ben wouldn’t do that.”

  Ben was on his second beer that was sliding down nicely. He was thinking of Louise, his once-beloved, who would have been proud he’d stood his ground, and proud that his new wife had had the guts to defend him at all costs. He figured she’d also be pleased that he’d decided to buy Ashenbach’s house to use for his add-ons to Menemsha. Until Sea Grove was a reality, he’d have to rent the property. Bruce Mallotti agreed with those conditions and agreed that the money would be placed in Mindy’s trust fund.

  He smiled and set the bottle down, as Jill approached him. Addie and Maurice trailed close behind.

  “Honey,” she said, kissing his cheek, “I’ve got good news for a change.”

  He looked from Jill to Addie to Fischer, then back to his wife. “Oh, no,” he said. “I have the feeling I’m going to lose you again.”

  Jill laughed. “Two days a week? Do you think you can stand it?”

  He listened and waited because he’d gotten so good at it.

  “Maurice has offered me what’s called a franchise. A twice-a-week segment on the evening news.”

  “Network?” Ben asked, because that was the one word he’d learned from Jill that had any clout.

  “Yes, of course.”

  He took another drink of beer. “Tell me more.”

  Maurice stepped forward. “Apparently your wife does not like ‘fluff’ pieces, as she calls them. So she’ll get news. A regular segment about heroes. Something our country needs more of every day.”

  “I said I’d only do it if the heroes were kids,” Jill said, her eyes dancing. “And of course, if you agree.”

  “What about Edwards?”

  “He’ll be doing a sports show. Different days, different times.”

  He took her hand. “Then I think this is wonderful.”

  “That I’ll be away from you two nights a week?”

  “Hey,” he said with a shrug, “it’ll keep the fires burning, don’t you think?” He had long since given up on the idea that she’d want to be there every night, with a pot of clam chowder on the stove and a fire in the grate.

  “It would be fun if you came,” Rita said to Mindy as she bundled the twins and set them in the carriage. “Ben would like it, I’m sure.”

  Mindy shrugged.

  “His grandkids will be there.”

  “They’re little.”

  “Hey!” Rita said with a laugh. “You were little once, too.” She adjusted the blanket under little Olivia’s chin, then made sure that Oliver, beside her, was tucked in as well.

  “Is Dr. Reynolds going to be there?” Mindy asked.

  “I don’t think so. But she’s agreed to stay on the island for a while, so you’ll still get to see her. If you want.”

  “Yeah,” Mindy nodded, “I like her okay.”

  Rita smiled. “That reminds me,” she said, “I bought something for you.”

  Mindy looked surprised. “It isn’t my birthday.”

  Rita shrugged and walked to the closet in the living room. “Don’t need a birthday to get a present around here,” she said, and pulled out a box that was wrapped in paper with big red and yellow and purple flowers. A pouf of curly purple ribbon was perched on the top. She handed the box to Mindy.

  “For me?” Mindy repeated.

  “Yeah, special for you. Now hurry up. We don’t want to be late. It’s not every day Charlie Rollins throws a party.”

  Mindy stopped before opening it and looked square at Rita. “You ought to marry him, you know. He’s really nice.”

  “Yeah, well, one thing at a time. But if you can keep a secret, I’ve decided I’m going to marry him this summer. And you can be a bridesmaid.”

  The little girl’s smile grew wide. Then she took off the ribbon and tore off the paper. Inside, looking up at her, was a beautiful red-headed Raggedy Ann.

  Rita folded her arms and felt a rush of warmth. She figured it was Kyle, saying she’d done good.

  About the Author

  A native New Englander, Jean Stone loves doing the research for her novels set on Cape Cod and the Islands. While working on Off Season, she was marooned on Martha’s Vineyard by a hurricane; a later trip to Nantucket had her stranded by a coastal snowstorm. Undaunted, her next book also took place on the Vineyard. She lives in western Massachusetts.