Places by the Sea

by Jean Stone

  “Because I never thought anything would happen.”

  Carol Ann sighed. “Drink your juice, Dad. We’ve got to talk about something.”

  He drank his juice.

  “You’re coming home with me,” she said. “You can’t take care of yourself.”

  Her words sliced through him more than the pain. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Dad, you can’t. You can’t use your right arm. Never mind working, you won’t be able to dress yourself. You won’t be able to cook for yourself.”

  He smiled. “I’m sure Rachel Bowen will be glad to help.”

  “Dad, I’m serious.”

  With his left hand, Ben shoved the tray aside. “So am I. I’m not a cripple, Carol Ann. I can manage.”

  Tears swelled in her eyes. “Dad, someone tried to kill you. If they tried once, they’ll try again.”

  “No they won’t. I think it was an accident. I don’t think they thought anyone was there.”

  “I disagree. I think it was about Menemsha House. Dad, please give it up. Please. I lost Mother. I can’t bear the thought of losing you, too.”

  He wanted to come back with some flip remark like “we all have to go sometime.” He wanted to tell Carol Ann he had no intention of going anywhere. But the pain in his shoulder and the tears in her eyes told him that maybe she was right. Maybe he should give up.

  “Are you coming home with me?” she asked.

  He looked down at the cast. “Might as well. I can’t even drive my car. Leave it to me to have a stick shift. Leave it to me to break my right arm.”

  “Good,” she replied and rose from the chair. “I’ll check back with the doctor and see when you’ll be released. Tonight is Illumination Night. If you feel up to it later, we can take the kids over to the campgrounds.”

  Yes, maybe Carol Ann was right. Maybe it was time he started acting less like a rebel and more like a grandfather. The truth was, it would be fun to spend time with the kids tonight. And he’d always loved the tradition of Illumination Night—years ago, he and Louise decked their house as well, though it was a distance from the Tabernacle. In recent years, however, Ben had grown to dislike the commercial slant it had taken: the tourist attraction, complete with merchandising carts whose attendants hawked those eerie fluorescent light sticks that the kids waved in each other’s faces. Somehow, it had taken the charm off the old custom; but Illumination Night was an island tradition, and whether anyone believed it or not, Ben Niles was an islander, through and through.

  “Mother, this island is so queer,” Amy said as she sat in the passenger seat of the Range Rover, pouting.

  “Illumination Night is fun, Amy. You’ll see.”

  Amy grunted something unintelligible, turned her head from Jill, and stared out toward the sea.

  The truth was, Jill hadn’t been too crazy about the idea, either. But Rita had suggested they meet at the bandstand—the way they had done as teenagers—and Jill had decided to put aside her reservations for the sake of their friendship. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d done that. Like the time Rita got her hands on two fake IDs, and they tried to get served at a tourist café in Oak Bluffs; or when Rita convinced her they should ride their bikes out to Gay Head, sneak down to the water at the base of the cliffs, and make moaning sounds of Wampanoag ghosts into the wind to rattle the tour bus people above. That was a prank they’d done more than once.

  Jill smiled now, looking forward to the evening with Rita, relieved that the Lifestyles ordeal was behind her, even though Christopher had returned to Boston. “We’re meeting Rita there,” she said.

  Amy did not respond.

  “She’s coming with Kyle. You like Kyle, don’t you?”

  “He’s Carrie’s boyfriend, Mom.”

  “I didn’t mean like that. I meant, he’s a nice boy, isn’t he?”

  “He’s not a boy, Mother. He’s practically old enough to be my father.”

  Jill laughed and wondered what Kyle—or Rita—would think of Amy’s assessment of the twenty-five-year-old.

  “I’ll bet Carrie won’t be there,” Amy said.

  “Don’t be so sure You might think it’s queer, but most people on the island actually like Illumination Night.”

  “Only because there’s nothing else to do.”

  Jill fell silent and kept her eyes on the road. She couldn’t, after all, argue with that.

  They were late, something Rita always hated. But by the time she’d finished the paperwork for the new listing of the Fullam house that was in a terrible neighborhood, needed many repairs, and would take forever to sell, she’d called Jill and told her to go ahead without her, that she’d hitch a ride with Kyle and meet her there. What Rita hadn’t known was that Kyle was going to drive out to Gay Head first and pick up his girlfriend, Carrie, daughter of Sam Wilkins.

  Rita leaned against the window of the pickup now, pinned between the door handle and the girl of Kyle’s dreams. She tried not to notice the long, tanned legs that rested against her stubby, freckled ones. She tried not to notice the short shorts or the fact that the girl had on nothing under her white halter top. She tried not to think about what her son did with this girl when the lights were out.

  She’d thought about not coming tonight, but Charlie had assured her that business at the tavern would be slow, what with everyone headed for Oak Bluffs. She tuned out the foreplay chatter of the two young people now, rested her head against the vibrating glass, and remembered why she’d decided to come after all: maybe the night would bring up fond memories for Jill, put her in a good mood, and pave the emotional way for Rita to hit her up for a loan. Twenty thousand, to be exact.

  “Grandpa, will you buy me a stick?” John Jr. cried above the cacophony of music that rose from the crowd and the band and the laughter that engulfed the darkness in Trinity Park.

  Ben looked down into his grandson’s huge blue eyes, amazed that at four years old the boy was clever enough to know what he wanted and bold enough to ask. “If you really want one,” Ben answered, succumbing to modern society with only slightly less hesitation than an Amish grandfather whose grandson just announced he wanted to go away to college.

  John Jr. pulled his warm little hand from Ben’s grasp, leaving Ben with an odd sense of loss. “Yes, yes! I want a green one!”

  “A green one it is, then,” Ben said, using his left hand to grope for his wallet.

  “I’ll get it, Dad,” Carol Ann said as she pushed the stroller up to his side. Ben glanced down at the baby, Emily, and wondered how any kid could sleep through the racket.

  He started to say he had a broken arm, he was not helpless, then he looked at his wallet and wasn’t quite sure how he’d get at his money using only one hand. “Take it out of here,” he said, handing the wallet to his daughter. “And buy a balloon for Emily’s stroller.”

  Carol Ann took the wallet and went to the concession. Her husband moved next to Ben.

  “I think I’d go out of my mind if I broke my arm,” John said.

  Ben stared at him. “Yes, well, that’s an option I’m considering.”

  John laughed. “What are you going to do about your work? Is your helper going to be able to handle it?”

  “Some of it. I’ve been trying to think through the details. He’s going to earn his keep, that’s for sure.”

  Carol Ann returned with the kids, John Jr. waving his light stick, and the small family followed the crowd toward the Tabernacle. Ben was beginning to wish he hadn’t come; he was tired and he hurt, but he hadn’t wanted to disappoint Carol Ann; he hadn’t wanted to disappoint John Jr.

  They reached the Tabernacle just as the lantern was brought onstage and lit. Cheers roared from the crowd. Ben started to applaud, then realized he couldn’t. What is the sound of one hand clapping? he remembered hearing somewhere, sometime. Well, he thought now as he watched the revelry around him, apparently the sound is nil. He shifted on one foot and felt slightly foolish for not being able to join in. He wondered
how one man could be fifty one day, and two days later feel ninety-five.

  Suddenly the night air began to glow. He turned and saw the Japanese lanterns shimmering from the campground houses that encircled them. Reds and yellows and oranges and greens cast their festive colors around the park. John Jr. waved his stick and whooped.

  Just then an arm nudged Ben’s left side, his good side. “Fall off a ladder, Niles?”

  In the rainbow glow of the night, Dave Ashenbach stood beside him, laughing. He carried an orange light stick.

  “Something like that,” Ben responded.

  “You really ought to be more careful. I’m sure those grandkids of yours wouldn’t want to see you hurt worse.” With that, Ashenbach waved his light stick and ambled off through the crowd.

  Ben stared after him, wondering what the hell he had meant. He hadn’t seemed surprised to see Ben’s arm in a cast. Then again, he hadn’t seemed surprised to see Ben at all. If he’d been behind the assault, he might have expected Ben was dead.

  He felt a tug on his pocket. “Grandpa? Can we go look at the houses now?”

  Ben pulled his eyes from Ashenbach. “Sure, John Jr.,” he said, taking his grandson’s hand in his left, and beginning the route through the campground.

  At the fourth house, Ben spotted Jill. She was standing beside a woman with red curly hair, who looked a lot like Kyle’s mother, whom Ben had only seen once or twice.

  Jill must have felt his eyes on her, for suddenly she turned around. “Hello, Ben,” she said, then noticed the sling. “Good heavens! What happened to you?”

  He smiled. The expression on her face seemed genuine. “An unhappy customer.”

  “I doubt that,” Jill replied. “Is your arm broken?”

  “Just a small break.”

  She pointed to the thick bandage that must be showing through the neck of his crew shirt. “Your shoulder’s hurt, too.”

  “Yep. But I’ll be on the job tomorrow. What I can’t manage, Kyle will.”

  The redheaded woman turned around. “Did I hear my son’s … oh, my God, what the hell happened?”

  Ben laughed. “You’re Rita Blair, aren’t you? Well, Kyle doesn’t even know about this, but he’s in for a lot of bull work in the next few weeks.”

  Rita scanned the crowd. “He’s around here somewhere. Just look for that floosie girlfriend of his …”

  “And my daughter,” Jill added. “Amy is with them …”

  “Don’t tell me,” Ben said, “your son stayed home with his computer.”

  Jill smiled. “Actually, he’s with some friends he met playing volleyball. I think everyone on the island is here.”

  Ben thought about Dave Ashenbach. “Yep. Apparently there’s no way to keep anyone out.”

  His pocket tugged again. “Grandpa? Can we go now?”

  Ben looked down. “In a minute.” He glanced back at Jill. “This is my grandson, John Jr.”

  “He’s adorable.”

  “Thanks. How did your work go?”

  “My work? Oh. The photo shoot.” She nodded. “It was fine. Hot. Tiring.”

  “Good. Well, I guess we’d better get moving. I’ll be at the house tomorrow, and don’t worry about this arm, we’ll find a way to meet your deadline.”

  “Forget about my deadline, Ben. Just make sure you get yourself well.”

  Ben tipped his baseball cap and went on to the next group of houses with John Jr., thinking that Jill McPhearson was not at all like most of the celebrities he’d done business with, and that it was nice to have a woman like her be concerned about him.

  It was also a little unnerving.

  Chapter 17

  Jill wandered through the crowd, stopping when people recognized her, pausing when Rita saw someone she knew. In the glow of the lanterns, an odd familiar feeling had surfaced: a feeling that she was home. Her feet were tired, her head buzzed from the tide of voices that ebbed and swelled from the crowd: still, Jill realized she was smiling, and that there was, indeed, something to be said about the comfort of familiarity.

  Then she saw Amy cross between the pews of the Tabernacle and head toward her, her face radiant in the light. Amy had, however, removed her vest. Jill winced at the sight of her daughter’s young breasts, firm and revealing in the chill of the night.

  “Mom, can I go now? Please?” Amy asked as she reached her mother.

  “Put your vest on, honey. That tank top is too tight.”

  Amy sighed and slipped the vest over herself. “Yes, Mother. Anything you say, Mother. Now, can I go?”

  “I’m not ready to leave, honey.”

  “Kyle said he’d take me home. Please, Mom,” she continued with a roll of her eyes. “This is so boring.”

  “I thought you’d have a good time with Carrie.”

  “I was. We were. But she and Kyle had a fight. She left with somebody else.”

  Rita appeared at Jill’s side. “Let the kids go, Jill. I can catch a ride home with you.”

  “Well,” she hesitated, feeling that no one seemed to understand Amy was only fourteen, yet wanting very badly to let her daughter breathe.

  “My kid’s responsible,” Rita joked. “Honest.”

  Jill smiled. “Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll see you at home later.”

  The look on Amy’s face was one of genuine thanks.

  “Is it okay if we stop for ice cream?” Kyle asked.

  “Frozen yogurt,” Amy chided.

  “Okay, okay,” Kyle said with a laugh. “Frozen yogurt.”

  “Fat free.”

  Jill slipped her hands in the pockets of her linen pants and decided that the sparks she saw between them were nothing more than a mother’s overactive imagination. “Only if you get chocolate,” she answered.

  “Great. See ya, Mom.”

  “Amy?” Jill called after her.

  Amy turned around.

  “Didn’t you get a light stick?”

  Amy flipped back her hair, waved, and walked away. It could have been worse, Jill supposed. Amy could have ignored her completely.

  “She’ll be fine,” Rita said, taking Jill’s elbow and guiding her toward the Tabernacle. “Look,” she said, pointing toward the side of the building. “There’s Jesse Parker. Remember him? He works at the post office now.”

  Jill squinted and saw a group of several men. She couldn’t pick out Jesse Parker.

  “The guy in the blue T-shirt,” Rita said. “I want to go talk to him. His mother’s in a nursing home. I promised to bring her some fudge.”

  Jill studied the tall, thin man with the high-blood-pressure red face. He looked to be twenty years older than she and Rita; not as though they had grown up together, gone to school together. “You go ahead,” Jill said. “I’ll wait by the tree over there.” She walked to a large oak while Rita went to mingle with the boys.

  Settling on the ground at the base of the tree, Jill surveyed the people. Her mind drifted back to the Illumination Nights of years ago—how she and Rita had combed the crowds, how Rita’s mother had told them it was the perfect place to find boys, because women always look more beautiful in candlelight.

  But the only boys they had ever seen were the boys they saw all year in school, or the boys who belonged to the tourists and weren’t interested in the island girls. She smiled now as she thought of Amy’s remark earlier tonight. God, Mom, her daughter had said, this is so queer.

  It had not been queer to Jill and Rita when they were fourteen—it had been a very special island event, like the annual regatta or the beach plum festival at the church. It had been something to look forward to, something to do.

  Jill wondered if Amy would have felt the same way if she’d grown up on the island, if Illumination Night had been a part of her youth. She picked a brown oak leaf from the ground, and thought about those August nights when she was very young and the lanterns had looked like a thousand fireflies, glowing with magic, sparkling with excitement. She remembered holding her father’s hand, walking throug
h the crowds, whispering to him, as though real voices would break the spell.

  Once, her mother had come with them. Jill thought she must have been around seven or eight. Florence packed a picnic basket with cold chicken and deviled eggs, cole slaw and watermelon. Just before dusk they spread a blanket on the beach across from Ocean Park: Mother had not wanted to eat where the other families were clustered together sharing sandwiches and laughter and jugs filled with Kool-Aid. Still, Mother had come.

  Jill tried to pull up the memories of the rest of that night, tried to remember what her mother had been like, what her mother had said, what her mother had done.

  “Wipe your fingers,” Florence said when Jill finished eating her chicken. “Wrap the bones in a towel. Don’t throw them in the bag.”

  Jill dutifully obeyed.

  “Can we go to the park now?” she asked, carefully tucking in the ends of the paper towel, the way Mother instructed, so the bones wouldn’t fall out.

  “Not until the music starts,” was the answer.

  She remembered sitting very still on the blanket, pretending to watch the surf, yet straining to listen to her parents’ conversation, waiting for her mother to say they could go. She was afraid if they didn’t hurry, the fireflies would be gone before they got there.

  She did not remember the rest of that night, only that it hadn’t been as much fun as when she and Daddy had gone alone, as though the magic had vanished.

  “It’s only because you’re growing up,” Daddy said the next morning. “Things look different when you’re a grown-up.”

  Jill brushed a few dead leaves from the back of her legs now and wondered why she had been so quick to believe her father. Perhaps it was because she had feared they had not had a good time because of her, because of something she’d said, because of something she’d done. Somehow, she must not have tried hard enough, or surely, her mother would have been happy, their Illumination Night outing more fun.

  Jill watched the crowds begin to thin and stayed quietly in her place, as still as a firefly whose light had gone out. She thought about the last excerpt of her mother’s diary, about the knowledge she now had of her mother’s inner torment, her belief that she was not, did not know how to be, a good mother. It was, in fact, true. But Jill now knew it had not been her fault. Nor had it been her mother’s.