The Summer I Dared: A Novel

by Barbara Delinsky

  Kim’s eyes grew accusatory, and Julia read them well.

  “No one sent me here,” she assured her. “No one even knows I’m here, other than your mother and grandmother. I stopped at the house, hoping to find you there.”

  Though the accusation eased, distrust remained.

  “One of the reasons I like talking to Noah,” Julia went on, “is that he doesn’t know me or my friends, so if I say something awful or just plain stupid, it doesn’t go any further than him. I assume he feels the same about me, like I’m not about to turn around and tell any of his fishing buddies if he confesses to feeling weak or vulnerable or even guilty.”

  The word hung in the wind, suspended between one explosive burst of water on rock and the next. If Kim had been with Artie Jones on The Beast, it gave credence to rumors that there was something between them, which, totally aside from who had survived and who had died, would be cause enough for Kim to feel guilt.

  Julia smiled sadly. “I guess what I’m saying is that maybe I can help. You’re not talking to anyone, but I’m a stranger and an off-islander. If you ever want to talk with someone about the accident, I’m as safe a bet as any.” She pushed herself to her feet. Kim’s eyes followed her as she stood. “I’m staying at Zoe’s. You know where she lives, don’t you?” She took silence as an affirmation.

  In that last moment, she fought an urge to physically drag Kim farther back from the edge of the cliff. But she didn’t delude herself. If Kim wanted to die, she would do it whether Julia tried to hold her or not. Leaving her alone was another matter. Part of Julia felt she was abdicating her responsibility as a sensible adult by returning to the car.

  So she gave it a final shot. “Are you hungry? Want to go somewhere for lunch?”

  Kim returned to the sea.

  “How about Zoe’s barn?” Julia tried. “Working with her rabbits is peaceful. Want to help me there?” Kim said nothing. “I’d even go out on a boat with you. We’d have total privacy. You could say whatever you wanted and no one but me would hear. Of course, I don’t have a boat or even know how to drive one. You’d have to be in charge of that.”

  Kim didn’t crack even the smallest of smiles.

  Not knowing what to do other than momentarily cede defeat, Julia turned quietly and left.

  Julia turned quietly and left.

  Driving back down from the bluff, she grew annoyed with herself. Julia turned quietly and left. It was the refrain of her life. Julia didn’t make noise. She didn’t say things people didn’t want to hear. She didn’t rock the boat.

  Wondering if she was simply an inveterate coward, she actually slowed the car and considered going back. Prudently, she did not. Kimmie Colella needed the help of a professional, and Julia was far from that. The last thing she wanted to do was make things worse for the girl.

  That said, Julia knew she would go back for another visit. She shared something with Kim. The affinity grew murky when it came to the girl carrying on with Artie Jones, and grew even murkier with regard to who was or was not in the stern of the Amelia Celeste.

  Still, there was a bond. Of a dozen people, only three survived. Kim was the youngest of the three, and the most vulnerable, and Julia was a born caretaker. It was only natural that she would want to help the girl.

  Not knowing how best to do that, she returned to Zoe’s and began to bake. She made Congo Bars this time, following a recipe she could make in her sleep, she had used it so often over the years. A favorite, inherited from the mother of a childhood friend, it called for brown-sugar batter layered with chocolate and butterscotch bits, coconut flakes, marshmallows, and pecans. Her own mother had always balked at the name—Why in the world are they called Congo Bars? she asked whenever Julia baked them, and Julia made up any number of answers, though none really mattered. Janet didn’t want to know the meaning of the name, so much as simply to place the bars in a too-bizarre-for-myown-effort category. She was too busy to bake. But she did eat her share of the bars.

  This day, Julia made them for the Walsh children. As soon as they had cooled enough to be cut into child-size bites and layered in foil, she drove them over. The children were in the front yard of the weathered farmhouse, playing in a plastic pool filled with sand. Their aunt sat on the grass nearby in a rumpled T-shirt and shorts, her tawny hair uncombed, her freckles stark in a pale face. She looked exhausted.

  Julia knelt beside her. “I brought goodies for the kids. Are they allergic to anything?”

  Ellen regarded her bleakly. “There’s another thing I don’t know. Jeannie never mentioned it. She was always here when I visited, so there was no need for me to know. She didn’t plan on this.”

  “Is their pediatrician here on the island?”

  “The only name I ever heard was Jake. If there are medical records to be picked up, I assume he has them. I’ll stop by his office before we leave.”

  Julia imagined it was one more thing on an ever-growing list; all that, on top of the shock of losing her sister, brother-in-law, and niece. “How’s the packing going?”

  “Slow.” Ellen’s voice fell to a whisper. “I’m trying to do most of it when the girls are asleep and leave just enough out and around so the place doesn’t look so bare. They know they’re going back to Akron with me, but they think Jeannie, Evan, and the baby are meeting us there. I try to explain that they’re in heaven, but I’m not getting through.”

  “They’re so young. Heaven is only a word. They can’t grasp the meaning. It’ll take time.”

  Vanessa, the dark-haired three-year-old, climbed out of the sandbox and, smacking her hands free of sand, made a beeline for Julia. She pointed a small finger at the foil pack and, in a barely baby voice, asked, “What’s there?”

  “Little munchies.”

  “I’m hungry.”

  Julia unfolded the foil. Vanessa watched closely, leaning in with two little hands braced on her knees. “Oooo,” she said when the first of the bars came into sight. She looked up at Julia with pretty blue eyes. “Can I have one?”

  “You can.” Julia separated one small bar from the rest. Vanessa took it from her, bit off a corner, chewed for a minute with a thoughtful look on her little face, then gave Julia a gooey grin. Pushing the rest of the piece into her mouth, she settled in against Julia’s thigh.

  By this time, her sister, Annie, had joined them. “What’s Nessa eating?”

  “It’s a Congo Bar,” said Julia and handed the five-year-old a piece. Then she held the foil pack out to their aunt.

  With a tired smile, Ellen shook her head. “Not much appetite here.”

  “Want to take off for a little while? I can stay.”

  Ellen perked up at that. “Would you? There are errands I’d be better doing alone.”

  “Go,” Julia said.

  For the next two hours, Julia was focused enough on the girls not to worry about Kim, Monte, or Janet, and busy enough not to be restless. She took them for a walk through the meadow, read to them, helped them build sand castles, let them run under the sprinkler to clean up. They were precious children, curious, well behaved, and smart. The younger was more physical than her sister, wanting to hold Julia’s hand, sit on her lap, stand against her leg. The older asked questions.

  What’s this flower? Where’s the yellow from? Do you know my mommy? Where do you live? Why’s it called a buttercup? Can I pick one for Kristie?

  Each in her way, they were needy. They might not understand what had happened, but they knew something was up. My daddy made my face in clay, want to see?

  Julia’s heart broke for them. When Ellen had returned, and it was time to go, leaving the little one, in particular, was hard. Vanessa clung. “I’ll be back,” Julia assured her, holding her tightly for a minute, before whispering in her ear, “with chocolate chip cookies.”

  “I love those,” Vanessa whispered back, but solemnly.

  Driving away, Julia thought about love and loss. She hadn’t gone far when the thought of her mother loomed before he
r. The Walsh girls had lost their parents. Julia couldn’t help but think how lucky she was to have hers, and how tragic it was that she and Janet couldn’t talk.

  Pulling to the side of the road under the shade of a gnarled old oak, she put down the windows to let air in while she gave them a call. Her father answered.

  “Hi, Dad,” she said tentatively.

  “Julia. How’s it going?”

  “Pretty well, but I really need to talk to Mom. Is she there?”

  “She’s out on the patio.”

  “Would you take the cordless to her?”

  There was a pause, then a quiet, “She’s relaxing, Julia. Maybe we ought to let her be.”

  Julia feared that if she let the moment pass, she might lose her resolve. “Please give her the phone, Dad.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Dad.”

  “I’m on your side, Julia. I’m pushing her every chance I get, but she’s a stubborn woman.”

  “Right now, so am I,” Julia decided, and there must have been enough conviction in her voice to give him pause.

  After a murmured “Okay,” he put her on hold—which, of course, meant that Julia couldn’t hear whatever coaxing he had to do to get Janet to take the phone. Enough time passed that Julia began bracing herself for another flat-out refusal.

  Then Janet came on with a curt, “Yes, Julia.”

  Julia’s heart beat faster. “Can we talk?”

  “That depends. Is this an apology?”

  Julia swallowed. “If you want it to be. If I’ve offended you, I’m sorry.”

  Janet was silent.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I don’t know what you want me to say. You’re upset that I’m here. But it’s not like I’m forcing you to come. This is me, not you. My need to get away, not yours. I don’t understand why you’re so angry.”

  “Zoe betrayed me. End of story.”

  “Not end of story, because the two of you are still alive. It’ll only be end of story when one of you dies, and that’s what I’ve seen up here, Mom. I was just with two little girls who’ve lost their parents. That’s the end of a story.”

  Janet said nothing.

  “Mom?”

  “Are you trying to reconcile Zoe and me?”

  “No. It’s me needing to talk with you, me needing to know that you’re there and you care.”

  “We’ll talk when you’re back.”

  “I want to tell you about the accident. About what I’m feeling.”

  “It’ll hold until you’re home.”

  “But I won’t be home right away.”

  “So your father said. That’s not wise, Julia.”

  “I need this time.”

  “Have you told Monte that? What did he say?”

  “He’s fine with it.”

  “He’s your husband. You ought to be with him. Men behave badly when they feel they’ve been abandoned.”

  Exasperated, Julia cried, “Oh, he already behaves badly! Mom, I need to talk about who I am and where I’m going, and what you really think of me, because I haven’t done anything like what you’ve done, and sometimes I think I’m less of a person for it, and now, here I am with half a life ahead of me, and I’m feeling like there are things I need to do, only I can’t pin them down—and, yes, I want to talk about Monte, because I don’t, for the life of me, know what to do with my marriage, and you’ve had experience with this.” She hadn’t planned to say the last, would have taken the words back if she could. “Mom?” she said fearfully. There was no answer. “Are you there, Mom?”

  Janet had hung up. What Julia didn’t know was whether it had happened before those words, or after.

  Chapter 10

  Heart heavy, Julia sat in the car with her hands limp in her lap. Her hair was caught up by a gentle breeze as it came in one window and went out the other. She felt the breath of it on her skin, but it went no deeper.

  She could have used the soothing inside. Everything there was raw, everything in turmoil, flowers that had grown year after year suddenly tugged from the soil, roots and all.

  There were no sounds of the ocean on this road; they were blunted by waves of spruce, pine, and birch. She might have been on any country road in any little town in the heart of America—except that she wasn’t, and, suddenly, the pull to Big Sawyer that she had felt over the years was stronger than ever. It went beyond familiarity. Being here was right.

  Far down the road, a dark blue truck rounded the curve. It was a late model, bumpers gleaming even as its tires kicked back a cloud of dust. It slowed as it neared. Driver’s window to driver’s window, it stopped.

  “Hey,” said Noah Prine, straight-faced as ever. “You’ve led me a merry chase.”

  Julia felt a tiny lift, a little nudge against the ache in her heart. “Following me, were you?”

  His eyes were the darkest of blue and direct. “You look a little down. I’m doing chores. Want to come?”

  It was the invitation she needed. Leaving the car without a second thought, she rounded the front of the truck. By the time she reached the other side, he had the door open. She climbed in, closed the door, and looked around. The seats were leather, the steering wheel wood, the stereo system advanced.

  She ran a hand over the leather. “Very nice,” she said in admiration and sent him a bright smile. “I’m all set.”

  He wagged a finger at the seat belt, which she quickly fastened—but the fact that she had forgotten it got her thinking. “So here’s a question. Would it be possible for us to survive the crash the other night, only to die in a car crash today?”

  “Possible? Sure.” He shot her a glance. “Are you feeling immortal?”

  “No. But some people who’ve been through what we have do feel that way. They tempt fate. They take every risk possible.”

  “They don’t have kids,” he said with some weight.

  Julia studied his profile—serious forehead softened by spikes of dark hair, straight nose, firm chin—and it struck her that he wasn’t talking only about her. “I didn’t know you did.”

  After shifting gears for the cruise down Dobbs Hill, he put his right hand on the top of the wheel. His left elbow was on the windowsill, fingers just grazing the wheel. The pose was relaxed. Not so his voice. “I have a son. He’s seventeen. He’ll be coming up next week.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “Washington, D.C. My ex-wife is an educator.”

  Julia pictured the island school. It was housed in a small, square building of wood and served Big Sawyer children until they reached high school, when they were ferried to the mainland each day. “Was she originally from here?”

  “No. We met at college.”

  “Were you an education major, also?”

  “Economics. We spent the nine years of our marriage in New York.”

  Julia broke into a surprised smile—then yelped a split second later when something brown and wet appeared between the seats. It was a nose, and might have been followed by a freckled white muzzle and a pair of soft brown eyes had Lucas not been startled himself by her yelp and shrunk back. She pressed a hand to her chest and began to laugh.

  “I did not know he was there.” She turned as much as the seat belt would allow to see the dog, wedged now in a corner of the extended cab. She held out a hand. It was a minute before he sniffed it, another before he decided she was harmless, at which point he curled up and went back to sleep. Julia turned back to Noah. “What did you do in New York?”

  “I was an investment banker,” he said with the twitch of a diffident smile.

  “You were?” She never would have imagined it. Noah was light-years removed in appearance and behavior from the investment bankers she had met through Monte. “That’s very different from lobstering.”

  The road curved. He drove it one-handed, with ease. “Not as different as you’d think. There’s the same lone wolf mentality, the same competitiveness. I was working with MBAs who saw me as a lesser breed because I wasn�
�t one myself.”

  Julia knew how that worked. Monte was acutely aware of credentials. When he introduced people, it was so-and-so MBA, or so-and-so Ph.D. or so-and-so CEO or CFO or COO or EVP. He sought out colleagues with advanced degrees as a validation of his own. She—who had no college degree at all—had come to find the habit annoying.

  “That actually helped me out,” Noah went on. “If they keep you at arm’s length, you can be more independent. I wasn’t driven by their opinion. I often rowed against the tide, but my instincts were good. I did well.” He slid her a glance. “We’re goin’ for bait. You mind?”

  “Of course not. Where do you get it?”

  “There’s a bait house far side of the harbor. A supplier keeps it stocked. It’ll likely be herring. Pieces of,” he tacked on.

  “Will I need to hold it raw in my lap?” she asked and, when the corner of his mouth quirked in reply, moved on. “Were you always interested in business?”

  He raised his fingers from the wheel only enough to acknowledge the driver of a passing truck. “Only as it related to lobstering. I’d probably have stayed here those four years, if it hadn’t been for my parents. They wanted me to go to college. They wanted me to be one step ahead of the lobstermen who didn’t go and couldn’t see the larger picture.”

  “Larger picture?”

  “Supply and demand. The food chain.”

  “Human or animal?”

  “Both. I studied marine biology, ecosystems, business. The business courses interested me most. I worked back here the first summer, then worked in the city the next. The money was good. I was able to send back double enough for my father to pay a sternman in place of me.”

  “What about after graduation? Hadn’t you planned to return?”

  They reached the end of the road. Shifting gear again, Noah turned right. “Yup. Then came Sandi, who had her choice of teaching jobs in New York, and I got an offer myself that was too good to pass up. I told my folks it was a temporary thing. I figured I’d earn a bundle, invest it, and come back here with no money worries at all.” Absently, he acknowledged a pickup, then said in a drier voice, “That’s pretty much what I did.”