Eyes alert, Julia scrutinized the fog. She had no idea what she would do if she actually saw another boat headed their way, had no idea how she personally would be able to avert a collision. But she didn’t take her eyes from the cottony denseness, moved them slowly to the right, then ahead, then to the left. She saw shadows, but they went nowhere. She saw the occasional flash of color, likely a channel marker, and all the while her thoughts were tugging her back to the boat ride the week before. Her heart was hammering by the time they reached the area where she calculated the accident had been.
She heard a noise, but it was only the ferry clearing its throat. She saw—or imagined she saw—a Coast Guard boat with divers. It was a ghostlike presence, perhaps conjured up by her imagination, since she knew that divers would still be at work trying to recover whatever was still recoverable on the ocean floor, before it was all swept away and scattered by the tide or by scavenging creatures of the deep.
“Mom?” Molly asked, her voice distant. “Are you okay?”
Julia brought herself back, forced herself to breathe, and took Molly’s hand. “I’ll be fine.”
And she was. Another five minutes, and the fog began to thin. Another five, and Rockland emerged crystal clear beyond what little was left of the mist. Lit by the sun, the harbor glittered, a gift to Julia if ever there was one. The ferry docked stern first, dropped her gates, and extended her ramp to let off the two cars. Passengers followed.
Joyful to be alive, Julia was in high spirits. Molly was every bit as lighthearted, though Julia didn’t know whether her daughter’s mood was from life, Julia’s presence, or the prospect of shopping. Molly loved to shop, so shop they did. They explored every store in Rockland, then fetched the car from the pier and drove north to Camden for more.
Molly was in her glory, picking one article of clothing after another from shelves and racks, and all for Julia, who couldn’t help but be amused. For the very first time, the tables were turned. Just as Julia had taken Molly on innumerable shopping trips for school clothes, camp clothes, college clothes, so now outfitting Julia was Molly’s mission.
“You need these, Mom,” she said, holding up a pair of embroidered jeans, “or—wait, wait—what do you think of these?”
“I think they’re perfect for you at your age,” Julia replied with a smile, much as Molly had often done in reverse, “but a little too cute for me. I want plain, ordinary jeans. Does this store have plain, ordinary jeans?”
It certainly did, and Julia indulged. She bought plain, ordinary jeans. She bought plain, ordinary T-shirts. At another shop, she bought shorts and slacks, shirts, and a quilted blazer not unlike the one she had lost. At yet another, she bought a fleece robe, and two doors down splurged on a nightgown and nice underthings, because she liked nice underthings, and because she was so impressed to find a store carrying them that she wanted to support it, and because Molly insisted.
“You deserve it, Mom,” she said, holding out her hand for the credit card so that she could give it to the salesclerk, playing the mommy in this, too. “After what you’ve been through? Dad owes you.”
Julia focused on the after-what-she’d-been-through part. She kept that in mind at the next store, when she bought not only sneakers and sandals with a gently wedged heel, but Birkenstocks, which she had never owned in her life. The ones she chose were of mocha nubuck, with three straps crossing her foot. She stood before the mirror, turning every which way, playing Molly here, too, wanting to be convinced.
“People on the island wear them all the time,” she reasoned aloud. “Zoe has half a dozen pairs.”
“Get them,” Molly said. “I think you should get two pairs. See those other ones, the ones with the single wide strap across the top of the foot? Get them in red.” Catching her breath, she pointed at yet another pair. “No, get those in red, the ones with the flowers. With rolled-up jeans, they’d be totally cool. Actually, I want a pair, too—but you first. I think you should get three—the mocha ones, the ones with red flowers, and the ones with the wide strap in white.”
“I don’t need three, Molly.”
“Forget need, think want,” Molly said, just as Julia had said little more than four weeks before, when Molly learned she had made dean’s list for the spring semester, and they had splurged with a spa weekend. There had been absolutely no practical merit to some of the treatments they’d had, any one of which was more expensive than the Birks, but each treatment was pleasurable. So now, Molly said, “These are fun. After the accident, you deserve fun. Dad owes you. And I love the red ones. You have to get those.”
The drugstore was a whole other adventure. Julia bought nail polish remover, cold cream, and moisturizer. She bought shampoo, conditioner, and a hairbrush. She bought foundation, blusher, and eye shadow. The brands weren’t the ones she knew in New York, and, as far as the makeup went, she chose those with the least amount of coverage. Heavy makeup didn’t fit with Big Sawyer. She guessed that much of the time she wouldn’t wear any makeup at all. But old habits died hard. She had felt naked at the funerals, then again going out to dinner last night at the Grill. It didn’t matter that most other women on the island wore no makeup at all. She wasn’t most other women. She was Julia.
So she added several bars of creamy soap to use in place of the no-nonsense soap Zoe kept at the house. She added a bottle of coral nail polish. She added covered elastic bands for her hair, and several tortoiseshell clasps. She added a pair of sunglasses, then, when Molly said that the rectangular ones were fine but that the oval ones were totally adorable, added those, too.
By the time she reached the cash register, her basket was overflowing, and she was embarrassed. “Look at this stuff,” she said in dismay. “I don’t know how long I’ll be here. Do I really need all this?”
“Every bit,” Molly said, adding three last-minute bottles. “Bath gel, body lotion, and cologne. The scent is Lily of the Valley. It fits you.” Grinning at the girl waiting to ring up the sale, she said, “We’re all set,” and began unloading the basket. To Julia, she whispered, “You’re replacing what you had in your bags. Didn’t you say insurance was covering this? So if Dad’s getting the money anyway, why shouldn’t you spend it? He’ll spend it, if you don’t. I’d rather you get the benefit than someone else.”
Julia’s heart tripped, old suspicions turning over inside. “What does that mean?”
Molly scowled. Seeming frustrated, she finally said, “He’ll spend it on ties. I mean, he has the largest collection of ties. My high school friends used to joke about those ties. Like, the girls wanted to wear them as belts with jeans. Each one probably costs more than any belt I’ve ever owned.”
Turning away to afford them privacy, she scolded gently, “Your father works hard. He doesn’t smoke, doesn’t drink, doesn’t gamble. If ties are his only indulgence, who are we to begrudge him that?”
“All I’m saying,” Molly argued, but quietly as well, “is that you have a right to buy things too.”
“Have I ever denied myself?”
“Yes. You’re careful. I watch. You splurge more on me than you ever do on yourself.” She slid an arm around Julia’s waist, gave her a hug, and grinned. “That’s why this is such fun. We’re splurging on you for a change.”
Julia smiled at the clerk and handed over her credit card.
“Besides,” Molly added, “whatever of this stuff you don’t use, Aunt Zoe will.”
“Lily of the Valley toilet spray?” Julia asked doubtfully. “It’ll attract bugs.”
“It’ll attract men. I’ve never understood why she isn’t with someone. She’s adorable. Men should be crawling all over her.”
Julia felt a twinge. Apparently one man had done just that years before. George, the romantic hero—the philanderer—the unfaithful husband. Trying to reconcile that with the vision she had always held, Julia was shaken. She had assumed her parents’ marriage to be inviolate. Learning that it wasn’t would take some getting used to.
She was spared replying to Molly by the presentation of the sales slip for signing, followed by the transfer of two large bags filled with her purchases. After depositing them in the car, they hit a little bookstore, where Julia replaced the books and magazines that had been lost to the sea. Famished by then, they went to a quaint restaurant overlooking the harbor. An assortment of trees, some flowering pink, some white, all with a lush canopy of green leaves, shaded the wrought-iron tables and chairs. They ordered lobster rolls, which were served on croissants with barbecue chips on the side. After consuming everything before them, they ordered a single serving of strawberry shortcake. It was a huge thing, delivered with two long spoons.
“Totally decadent,” Molly remarked.
“It’s strawberry season,” Julia countered. “The waiter said these were grown nearby. How can we say no to local fruit?”
“Said Adam to Eve. But this is real shortcake. Real shortcake, real strawberries, real whipped cream.” She put a large spoonful in her mouth and talked around it. “So what’s left?”
“Left?”
“Clotheswise,” she said more clearly, speaking after a swallow. “You need sweaters. It was cool here last night.”
“Not sweaters. Zoe would never forgive me if I wore anything but something she knitted herself. I could use a sweatshirt, though.”
“A hoodie,” Molly decided. “Something touristy.”
“Excuse me? You hate touristy things. Tacky, is what you usually say.”
“Okay, but I’m not talking tacky tacky. I’m talking classy tacky.”
Classy tacky proved to be hooded sweatshirts with CAMDEN written in large block letters across the chest. Molly got a navy one with red lettering to match Julia’s gray one with navy lettering.
“And these,” the girl said, adding to the pile a yellow rain jacket and another sweatshirt, this one solid green. She grinned, said, “When in doubt, think of Dad’s ties,” and went off to the register to pay.
Julia acquiesced, in part because the prices were so reasonable and in part because the shopping was such fun. She opted for practicality at a luggage store, purchasing a large canvas bag to hold her new things, but she balked at the camera store, when Molly dragged her inside, straight to display cases holding the same equipment Julia had lost to the sea.
“I don’t think so, Molly.”
“Didn’t Dad tell you to replace what you lost?”
“I’m not sure I want to.”
“Why not? He owes it to you.”
Julia felt a twinge. “Why do you keep saying that, Molly? Your father doesn’t owe me anything.”
“Yes, he does. You make his life possible. He thinks about work, while you think about everything else. You’ve given your life to him.”
“And it’s not been a bad life,” Julia pointed out. “I have a beautiful daughter and a beautiful home. I eat at the best restaurants and shop at the best stores. I’ve been to Europe, to Australia, to the Near East. I’ve been multiple times to the Caribbean, during that time of year when New York is dirty and cold. And I’ve had all of this without financial worry. Most women would give anything to live the way I do. Most women would give anything to have a husband who treats her like your father treats me.”
Molly made a dismissive sound.
“Molly,” Julia whispered, uneasy now, “what is this about?”
Molly held up a slender hand. “I’m just annoyed with Dad. Okay?” She looked away. “Maybe I’m just down on men.”
Julia wanted to think it was that, rather than something Monte had done—and it did follow, she supposed, after Molly’s fiasco in Paris. “They aren’t all bad,” she mused. “I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for one last week. He didn’t have to go tugging a seat cushion through the ocean to help me, but he did.”
“Ah,” Molly said and seemed to revive. “The alpha male.” She dismissed Noah in the next breath. “I still think you should get a camera.
You used your point-and-shoot to death. Aren’t there things you want to photograph on the island?”
There were, though whether Julia could capture the tranquillity of the barn at dawn or the hush of the meadow at dusk, she didn’t know, and those were the things she would want to remember once she was back in New York.
But the temptation was great. Having done her homework when she had first asked for a digital camera, she moved down the display case. “I’d like to see this, please,” she said to the salesman.
Molly laced her fingers in delight. “Oh, good. But wait, wait. Show her this one.”
Julia put a hand on her daughter’s arm. “That’s not the one I want.”
“But it’s a better model.”
“It has features I don’t want, and it’s much more expensive. I don’t care who’s paying for it. I don’t want a camera that will overwhelm me with buttons and dials for advanced features that I’ll never use in a million years.”
“You may,” Molly said meekly.
Julia smiled. “Well, then, if and when that happens, I’ll just hit your father up for the newer model. Right now, this is the camera I want.” When Molly opened her mouth to argue, she held up a hand. “Are we buying this for you or for me?”
“You,” Molly conceded. “But at least get a tripod. And a case. And whatever other little extras you’ll need.”
“I will,” Julia assured her. She knew about all those little extras, had kept lists of what she wanted when she had done that original research. She didn’t have the list with her now, but what items she forgot, the salesman eagerly supplied.
An hour later, they walked out of the store with everything she would need to take, print, and email pictures. The camera itself hung from her shoulder, its battery charged and its first pictures already recorded, thanks to the salesman’s able instructions and a charming deck behind the store. Those first pictures were of Molly in every degree of close-up, every angle of light, every type of flash—and Julia was delighted. She loved snapping away, knowing she could later decide what was worth printing and what to delete. She loved seeing the picture in the monitor, and being able to zoom in on any part of it she wanted. She loved holding this camera, which was so much smaller and more comfortable in her hand than the one she had lost. She felt an immediate intimacy with it.
“This is exactly what I wanted,” she announced as they returned to the car.
Molly beamed. “I’m proud of you, Mom.”
Julia smiled back. “I’m proud of me, too.”
Julia clung to that thought when she drove onto the ferry an hour later. Her first instinct was to stay in the car for the short ride to the island. The car was familiar. It was safe. She could sit inside and pretend she was on dry land.
But Molly wanted to go to the upper deck, where the air was sunny and warm. And with no fog in sight, a part of Julia wanted this to be the crossing she had been robbed of, herself, the week before.
So she left the car and went up on top, and she felt perfectly safe. Yes, she kept an eye on the water and monitored the boats that were nearby. Yes, she was mildly uneasy when the ferry’s motor made the same intermittent noise it had that morning. But this time there was lots to see. Weekend boaters were taking advantage of the weather; all, though, respected the ferry’s space and kept their distance. Rockland’s pier, its landings and cottages faded gradually, while before them, the islands took shape and grew. To the north were the granite bluffs of West Rock and Hull, to the east, the meadows of Little Sawyer. Beyond that were the forested crests of Big Sawyer, gaining prominence the closer they came. If the island hadn’t stood out from the others for its lushness, it would have by dint of sheer size.
Julia was biased, of course. Big Sawyer was the only island of which she had childhood memories. As the ferry docked, she felt a sense of homecoming. Moments later, though, driving the car onto Big Sawyer soil, she felt something else. She was trying to identify the emotion when Molly said, “Stop here,” and directed her to a parking space. “I have to
run into the Grill for a minute.”
Julia didn’t blame her. The bathrooms in the restaurant were far preferable to the ones on the ferry. Nor did she mind waiting. Lord knew, she was practiced at it. Hadn’t she spent a good part of Molly’s first eighteen years waiting, if not at school, then at a dentist’s office, a dance lesson, or some such activity? Usually, she had a book with her. Or a pad of paper to make a grocery list. Even stationery to write thankyou notes to friends who had hosted them for a weekend in the country.
She had none of those things now. So she rolled down the driver’s window and settled back in her seat to enjoy the first quiet moments she’d had in hours, and the emotion came to her then. Actually, more than one. She felt blessed. She felt strong. She felt… liberated. Yes. Liberated. She had tussled with fate and survived. That opened doors.
And as quickly as that, it was back—the restlessness, the little niggling in the pit of her stomach, the sense of something pending. She might have blamed it on the confines of the island, if she hadn’t known better. This was big-picture-of-life stuff.
Opening the door, she swung her legs out. Seconds later, she put one back in and reached for her phone. Whom to call, though?
She had talked with Monte just last night. There was no reason to call him again. He wouldn’t know what to make of her restlessness, would only feel threatened and grow defensive, and she would end up feeling worse.
Both legs out of the car again, she put her elbows on her knees and thought about calling her parents. But her mother wouldn’t speak, and her father would be cryptic with her mother nearby, and, anyway, what would she say to him, knowing now what she did?
She straightened. She put her hands on her knees. She glanced at the Grill, her watch, the pier.
Then, snatching up her new camera, she climbed out of the car.
Chapter 8
Atrio of men talked beside a pickup. One had his arms folded over his chest; another had a booted foot on the running board; the third stood free, his stance wide. All were local. All glanced at Julia as she passed. They didn’t stare. Just glanced. They didn’t acknowledge her, though they knew who she was. She could see it in their eyes as she walked on.
The Summer I Dared: A Novel Page 13