up. Behind her, her aunt bellowed, "Don't do that! They're being punished for unruly behavior." Melissa said, "I'm sorry," and backed away, staring at the dolls and trying to imagine what they could have done wrong.
Then it was dark and she was in her nightgown, cuddling up in bed with Aunt Alma the way she always did when she and her mom came to visit. Aunt Alma was sitting on top of the covers wearing a low-cut red evening gown, and when Melissa asked where she was going, her aunt said, "You'll have to look after the baby while I'm gone."
What baby? Melissa wondered, and her aunt reached down and lifted a basket onto the bed to show Melissa the baby. "But where're you going?" Melissa asked her. "And how come Mom can't look after the baby?"
"I want you to do this," her aunt told her. "I know I can trust you."
"But you can trust my mom."
"This is our secret, Melissa. I don't want your mother to know."
That made sense. Melissa lay down on her aunt's bed with one hand on the basket and closed her eyes. When she opened them again she was standing on top of the new high brick wall at the back of the house, shading her eyes from the sun as she looked out at the Sound. There was a ladder close by and she climbed down it to the sand. She walked to the water's edge, testing the temperature with her foot. It was warm, very clear, and almost turquoise in color. She waded in and slid beneath the surface, then came up and floated on her back, looking at the wall. The ladder was gone, which meant she couldn't get back inside. But she realized she didn't have to worry. She knew where the secret door was.
Eva was thinking about that afternoon when they'd returned to the plantation after the brief trip to Crescent Bay. In the car on their way back, Eva said, "I have to go into town. There are a few things I need."
Deborah had looked over her shoulder to say, "Ian will take you. I've got to get Derek home and into some dry clothes." Then she'd stared pointedly at Ian until his eyes met Eva's in the rearview mirror and he gave her one of his sneering smiles, saying, "Happy to oblige."
But before they could go, she had to wait for Ian to change clothes. Deborah had promised to look after the children.
She stood by the open front door, wondering why it took Ian so long to do everything. She'd never encountered anyone who was as chronically late as this man. He was never on time. Except today, when he'd been waiting for them on the beach. How had he known they'd be coming right back? She could only guess it was because he'd realized that once Deborah discovered the crew hadn't been paid and wouldn't work until they had been, she'd have no choice but to turn around and come back. But why would he do something that was bound to be found out so quickly? Could it have just been a misunderstanding? She'd probably never know. Once the five of them got into the car, Ian and Deborah fell grimly silent.
Shading her eyes from the sun, Eva looked around. The weather had cleared and everything glowed now in brilliant shades of green. Turning, she could see Mellie and Derek playing on the grassy enclosure, kicking a ball back and forth and running, whooping, in circles. Deborah was sitting on the side of the concrete walk with a cigarette, arms folded on her knees, eyes following Mellie and Derek.
Had Eva realized it was going to take Ian so long, she'd have leaped at the chance to sit out there with Deborah. Maybe, while the children were occupied playing, she'd have been able to talk to her old friend. It was too late now, and Eva was grieved by yet another lost opportunity to make contact.
Ian came sauntering from the bedroom and, without a word, went out the door to the car, expecting Eva to follow. She slid into the passenger seat and barely had time to close the door before he was reversing wildly out of the driveway. He started down the steep road at a speed that alarmed and sickened Eva, barely slowing down as he made the turn onto the main road at the base of the mountain. They'd gone perhaps a mile when she asked if he'd mind not driving quite so fast. "I'm sorry," she said, "but I get carsick."
He didn't say anything but he did reduce his speed somewhat. Feeling queasy, she put her face close to the open window and breathed deeply, concentrating on not being sick.
As they approached the outskirts of town, he said, "I've got to make a quick stop, if you don't mind."
She said she didn't mind and he pulled up in front of a row of shops. As she watched, he went into the travel agency and, thinking that was odd, she sat back to wait. As the minutes passed she looked around the car, noticing something sticking out from under the floor mat on the driver's side. Curious, she ducked down, lifted the mat, and saw two passports. Checking to make sure Ian wasn't coming, she opened the passports. One was lan's, the other was Derek's. She let the mat drop and sat up again, wondering what it meant. Passports and a travel agency. She was certain Deborah knew nothing about this; she hadn't said anything about their going anywhere.
At the chemist's shop, she bought tampons, aspirin, several rolls of toilet paper—she'd noticed there was none in the children's bathroom—a box of tissues, and a package of fruit-flavored hard candies for Derek and Melissa. Then they were back in the car and Ian was asking, "When is your book being published?"
"October," she answered, deciding she'd give it one more day, try one last time to talk to Deborah. If it didn't work out, she'd take Melissa and get off the island.
"Hmmn," Ian said. "Has it been sold outside America?"
"Actually, we've sold British, French, German, and Italian rights."
"Jolly good," he said, impressed. "Well done! One looks forward to reading it."
"I'll send you both a copy when it comes out."
"Hmmn, super."
Studying his Punch-like profile, trying but failing to suppress her dislike of this man, it came to her with sudden and unavoidable clarity that nothing she could say or do would have any effect on him or on Deborah. They'd embarked on a bizarre game with ugly rules and if her role was supposed to be as witness, she no longer cared to play. She'd call BWIA when they got back to the plantation and make reservations.
Upon her return, Mellie greeted her as if she'd been gone for days.
"Derek hit me!" she cried, seeking consolation. "He had to go to his room 'cause he was being bad."
"They rather got on each other's nerves," Deborah said. "Get everything you needed?"
"Stocked up on some toilet paper." Eva showed her, feeling foolish. Here she was, concerning herself with things like toilet paper in an effort to illustrate her caring. It was pathetic.
Deborah said, "Thank you, darling," and looked amused, as if she considered Eva's domesticity sweet but essentially stupid.
Eva debated whether or not to tell Deborah about the passports and Ian's trip to the travel agency. She felt like a tattletale child at the prospect. But Deborah deserved to know what was going on. Christ! What an impossible situation. "I'll just put my things away and get lunch for the children."
"That would be lovely," Deborah said vaguely. "What's he doing in the garage?" she wondered aloud, and went through to the kitchen. She was calling down the steps as Eva took Melissa with her to the bedroom.
"I wanna go home," Melissa said, sitting on the side of the bed while Eva put away her purchases. She'd save the candy for later.
"We'll be going in two days," Eva told her. "Come here and let me wash your hands and face."
Should she say something or not? It nagged at her as she fed the children. Friends again, Mellie and Derek ran to ride the tricycle and Eva sat out on the veranda and considered the possible repercussions of telling. It might be nothing at all in Deborah's eyes, like that business with the gun, and Deborah would be annoyed with her for making something of it. Or it might be very important, and she'd be grateful.
Deborah came out with a cup of tea and sat on the railing. "Another wasted bloody day," she said, gazing into the distance.
"Look," Eva said very quietly, "it probably doesn't mean anything, but I thought I'd mention …" Quickly she told Deborah about finding the passports and Ian's stop at the travel agency. Deborah listened close
ly, her eyes riveted to Eva's.
"That bastard," she said in an infuriated whisper. "Thank you, darling." Leaving her tea on the floor, she ran barefoot through the kitchen and down the stairs to the garage. She was gone for several minutes. When she returned, she lit a cigarette, retrieved her cup, and whispered, "I know what he's up to. He'll have to kill me first."
Eva could feel her body tense and knew she couldn't go any further with this. Anxiety made her innards twist. She got out of bed and stood in the dark sweating, the bones in her neck creaking as she reached for her robe.
In the kitchen she went to the refrigerator and poured a glass of orange juice, then stood leaning against the counter as she drank it, her eyes on the apartment door, which stood open an inch or two. She could smell cigarette smoke and knew Bobby was sitting down there in the dark. The glass cool in her hand, she tried to think how she could get Bobby to confide in her. She badly wanted to hear the details of Bobby's life as a battered wife.
Alma lay in the dark thinking about Eva and Charlie, feeling in her bones that the two of them were bound to get married. She only hoped Eva did-n't allow inconsequential considerations to get in the way of something that would be good for her. Eva had a tendency to get derailed by issues that had no real bearing on what was going on. Like getting annoyed at Melissa's bringing her laundry home, allowing a minor irritation to spoil her pleasure in seeing her daughter again. It would be an enormous mistake to let Charlie go. And she wondered once again if she herself hadn't made the greatest mistake of her life in turning down Howard Kramer's proposal of marriage. Simply thinking of him now made her smile to herself. Of all the men she'd known in the years after Randy Wheeler went on his way, Howard was the one she'd liked best.
They'd met when Howard brought his twin daughters to the school for the requisite interview prior to admission. It was immediately plain to her that the man had an extraordinarily close and loving relationship with his children. He'd sat back, allowing the girls to speak for themselves, quietly confident that they would be able to represent themselves. Alma had found him a refreshing contrast to the majority of parents who too often spoke for their children, as if fearful the girls would say the wrong things, thereby reducing their chances for acceptance.
Not Howard. A widower who with the help of a housekeeper had raised his girls since their mother's death when they were four-year-olds, he'd demonstrated rare tolerance and understanding. Alma had been very taken with the girls and had, in due course, accepted them into the ninth grade class. During their four years at the school Alma encountered Howard Kramer on parents' nights and sundry other functions. And each time she was impressed anew by his radiant pride and deep affection for his children. He harbored no unreasonable expectations for them, never resorted either to bribery or threats to force them to achieve higher grades, but professed that as long as they were doing their best he couldn't ask for more. He said he wanted his girls to be happy, and he meant it.
A week after the twins graduated, he telephoned Alma at the school and asked her out. Surprised and pleased, she accepted. Over dinner he admitted that he'd considered asking her out soon after their initial meeting but confessed with a self-deprecating laugh that he'd imagined she was bound by professional ethics not to socialize with the parents of her students. "I had the idea," he'd told her, "that it was tantamount to a doctor dating one of his patients."
He hadn't been entirely wrong, she'd told him. "But it's a personal ethic, not necessarily a professional one. I've always thought it wise not to mix business with pleasure."
"So I was right," he said, gratified. "And now that the girls are no longer at the school, I can finally get to know you."
She liked his integrity, his sense of humor, his looks, and his understated elegance. Howard was a wealthy man, having inherited a great deal of money in his early twenties along with a furniture company he'd built into an even bigger success than his father and grandfather before him. At the time of their first date he'd agreed to become chief executive officer and leave the day-to-day running of the company to a nephew he'd been grooming for the presidency.
"Now," he told Alma that evening. "I've got the time to do the things I want." He wanted to travel and play golf and tennis; he wanted to read all the classics and go to concerts at Lincoln Center; he wanted to take a cooking course and to learn Spanish; and he wanted someone in his life whose interests coincided with his.
"I don't think you'll have a problem finding someone," she'd said, imagining that women would line up to have a crack at this man.
"Well, now, you see," he'd said, "I do have a problem. And I have a hunch it's the same problem you have. I'm just not happy having another body handy. I want the body to have a brain, too."
She'd had to smile because he wasn't far wrong. She was forty-two at the time. Eva was away at college. And she, too, had been thinking about traveling.
She always thought that if he'd asked her sooner she might very well have said yes. But they were together for eight years before Howard raised the subject of marriage for the first time. And by then, although she was tempted, she couldn't help feeling it was too late. It would be best, she decided, to continue on as they were. Why change something that was close to perfect? She did give it a great deal of thought, but in the end she simply said, "I don't see the point."
Howard, astonishingly, was crushed. He took it as a personal rejection. She was flabbergasted by his reaction. Instead of being content to continue on, Howard framed his response in the form of an ultimatum. Either they married, or they called it a day. It was the first and only indication in eight years of that ludicrous emotional chasm she'd come to think of as male pride. Saddened, seeing the situation as nonsensical, she'd had to hold her ground. She really didn't see the point. Why, after so many years, did he suddenly feel the need to be married? And why was he willing to toss aside a relationship that was successful on every level? It made no sense to her, but he was inflexible. He got a look on his handsome face that she'd never seen him wear before. His chin outthrust, brows drawn slightly together, eyes dark with disappointment, he reiterated his position. She tried to jolly him out of it, pointing out all they'd both be losing. He found her attempts at conciliation somewhat insulting. Suddenly, after eight years of harmonious interchange, she couldn't get through to him. She'd said no. Therefore it was over. Howard refused even to contemplate the middle ground. They parted with her saying they'd talk further once they'd both had a chance to sleep on it. But when she called the next afternoon, he was chilly and distant. She'd rejected him. It was over. Had she been as inflexible as he? she asked herself now, reviewing that final absurd conversation. Perhaps. But in the long view, she'd probably been right. That damnable male pride would have revealed itself at some
stage, and she thought it far better to have met it head on when she did rather than a year or two into a marriage. There was no question that she'd have found its appearance later on every bit as ridiculous and unacceptable as she did then, and she'd have removed herself from the situation later rather than sooner. Still, it had been splendid while it lasted. And every now and then she did miss him. But it was a toss-up as to what she found more irritating: silly females or pride-bound males.
Penny announced she wanted to stay home with Melissa.
"But Dennis'll be disappointed," Bobby said, although the truth was she herself would feel safer with Penny along. She looked at Melissa to see how she was responding to all this.
"I've got reading to do for school, sweetie," Melissa said. "You go with your mom and Dennis. I'll still be here when you get back. I'm not leaving till tomorrow morning."
"Will you put me to bed again?" Penny asked her.
"Now, Pen," Bobby said, "don't go making a pest of yourself."
"Sure I will," Melissa said.
"You promise?"
"Promise."
"And a bath too," Penny reminded her.
Melissa laughed and said, "A bath too."
&n
bsp; "Okay," Penny said and, turning to her mother, announced, "I wanna wear my new clothes." "Okay, but we're going to have to hurry. Dennis'll be here in a few minutes." "I'll hurry," Penny said, and flew toward the apartment door. "Come on, Mom!" When Dennis arrived, Penny insisted he admire her new clothes, turning in a circle for him.
"Fabulous," he said. "You hungry, kiddo?"
"Yup."
"What about Mom?" he said to Bobby. "All set to try more new food?"
Busy getting Penny into her coat, Bobby smiled up at him.
As they were waiting to cross the street from the parking lot to the restaurant, Dennis said, "Hey! I forgot to say hello properly," and kissed Bobby on the cheek.
Embarrassed, she glanced at Penny, but Penny seemed to think nothing of it. On edge now, her uneasiness was compounded when he took her arm as they crossed the street. He let go once they reached the other side, and she forced herself not to look around. Joe was hundreds of miles away. No one else would care. She imagined that to the other people on the street they looked like a couple taking their little girl out for Mexican food. Joe had refused to take Penny out to a restaurant even when Bobby had said she'd pay. "I'm not having no kid making a fuss in public," he'd said. So Bobby had taken Penny out a few times when she'd known for sure Joe would be out for the evening. And Penny had loved it; she'd behaved perfectly.
Once they were seated with menus, Dennis said, "Try a margarita. They're terrific here."
"C'n I have one too?" Penny asked him.
"They're for grown-ups. But we'll get you a Shirley Temple. How's that?"
"Okay." Penny sat back and began reading the menu, sounding out the Spanish words under her breath. "Tor-ti-lah, en-chil-adah, taco, chicken mole." Her brow furrowing, she asked, "What kind of animal is a chicken mole?"
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