by Lisa Dale
TWO
The first few months after Jonathan had moved from New Jersey to Newport had been filled with one wonder after another. And Thea herself was one of them. She knew every back alley, every unofficial path leading to the beach, every person in town. She became indispensable—their secret weapon in neighborhood water gun fights and games of manhunt. She showed them sand dollars, touristy key chains with dirty jokes, anarchist graffiti on the underside of the pier, a grave with a pirate flag, and so, so much more.
She was the perfect combination of him and Garret. She was as smart as—if not smarter than—Jonathan, and he saw himself in her and admired what he saw. She could talk for hours about Newport history—about the 300-year-old architecture, about the Vanderbilts and Morgans who built their American castles at the water’s edge, about how to tell a tourist from a local just by sight. She was an honors student and a first chair trumpet player. She liked to argue, and she was good at it too. Occasionally, Thea was able to sneak into the Dancing Goat and steal a little cupful of espresso. Then the three of them would hide in the alleyway behind Crook’s Pub, where they would pass the cup around like a joint to sip bitter coffee that none of them were allowed to have.
Jonathan was in awe of her, half in love the first day they met. He wanted to think they were kindred spirits, that they shared their way of looking at the world. But for all that she was like Jonathan, she was like Garret too—distracted, restless, always wanting more.
Sometimes she took them to the warehouse that hosted the fish and lobster market at the farthest edge of Price’s Pier, where brownish green “chickens” scuttled over one another in enormous, shallow blue tanks. Jonathan hated trips to the lobster market. The first time Thea had brought him there he’d had to fight back tears. Living lobsters were nothing like the crustaceans they ate for dinner—their shells so plastic and red they could have been toys.
But Thea was fascinated by the lobsters, grotesque and awful as they were: the culls that had only one claw to wave about uselessly, the pistols that scuttled armless over the bottom of the tank, the sleepers that were too listless to move, the soft shells that rattled around in their own peeling bodies.
While Jonathan dragged his feet, Garret and Thea bent by the hips over the open tanks and competed to spot King—the biggest lobster in the bunch, the lobstrosity. Jonathan had tried to tell Thea and Garret that there was no King, that every week someone came and bought the biggest lobster (“to eat it!”), and that King was a different animal each time they saw him. But Thea and Garret didn’t care. They goaded each other mercilessly: I dare you to put your hand in. I dare you to touch his claw.
Jonathan and his brother had always been quick to fight, but that first summer with Thea, things between them settled down. Garret was the one who was most likely to steer them into trouble. Jonathan was the one most likely to bail them out. And somewhere between was Thea, who commanded the whole enterprise of their friendship even when none of them knew it. The balance was perfect. At least, it had been for a while.
For the first time in longer than she could remember, Thea faced down a Friday night that included neither her husband nor her little girl. She had no idea what to do with herself, but the world had given her plenty of options:
From her mother: You know what you should do? Tell your husband to come over so you can cook him dinner. That’s all you need. One dinner, he gets a little tired, a little homesick, and now he might as well just spend the night. Call him. Tell him you’re cooking right now.
From Irina: I know! You can go to a bar. Wouldn’t that be cool, Mom? You never go to bars. Kristi’s mom does it all the time. You could go with her!
From her friend Dani: You know what you should do? You should go shopping. Seriously. Buy new underwear. That always helps me.
For most of her life, Thea had been good at taking advice. She’d taken her mother’s advice that she marry one of the Sorensen boys—though not the one everybody expected. She’d taken Jonathan’s advice that she buy a minivan instead of a Subaru Impreza. She’d taken Irina’s advice that LOL was better than ha-ha.
But none of the advice she’d received about what to do with her first Friday night alone seemed right. She’d cleaned the house, she’d caught up on bills, she’d called a few friends—but all were busy cooking dinner for their children or going out with their husbands (if they picked up the phone at all).
Loneliness squeezed her heart, and so before Thea gave in to sitting on the couch, eating Oreos, and watching reruns of decadeold sitcoms, she left. She headed back to the coffee shop, walking the five blocks from her house to the pier with her hair pulled up in a baseball cap and her work sneakers on. At seven p.m., the pier was in full swing—music playing through the open windows of bars, pedestrians crowding shoulder to shoulder in the thoroughfares. But because the Dancing Goat was tucked away at the end of a narrow alleyway, it was often a somewhat more peaceful refuge away from the panic and frenzy of the main pier. The head barista, Jules, was surprised—if not a little dismayed—to see Thea when she came through the door.
“Thea!” Jules put his cell phone in his pocket but not so quickly that Thea hadn’t been able to see that he was texting when he should have been working. A few customers were sitting together at the tables, talking easily and sipping their drinks. The apprentice baristas—Rochelle and Claudine—gave her a quick wave before going back to their conversation with the couple at table eight.
“Hi, guys!”
“I wasn’t expecting to see you!” Jules said.
Thea walked behind the counter, feeling better already. “I figured you’d need some help with the refrigerator project.”
“We just finished,” Jules said.
Thea opened the display fridge and peered in. It was sparkling clean. “Oh.” She stood up, put her hands on her hips, and scanned the shop to see what needed to be done. “Slow night?”
“Eh. Pretty slow,” Jules said. “For a Friday. But it’s a little early yet.”
Thea heard a faint buzzing and saw Jules’s eyes go wide with surprise. His hand jerked toward his pants pocket to stifle the sound, and inwardly, Thea smiled.
Jules was twenty-one years old, a junior in college whom she’d hired every summer since he was sixteen. He was an art major—long-haired and frail-boned—and he frequently came to work with paint splotches on his jeans and under his nails. Though he worked hard, he partied hard too. His phone book was a who’s who of the Newport club scene. Sometimes, it boggled Thea’s mind that he was just one year younger than she was when she’d had Irina. At twenty-two—while he was partying and literally painting the town—she’d been learning to breast-feed.
“Listen,” she said. “I’m not doing anything tonight. If you want me to take over for you, I’m happy to do it.”
Jules eyed her suspiciously. “Really?”
“It’s no big deal,” Thea said, and she walked to the tall white locker that held their aprons. “Go out. Have a good time.”
Jules took a step toward her, put a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t mind staying,” he said. “I mean, if you want to, like, go out. You know? Go get into some trouble?”
“Please,” she said, laughing. “Women with ten-year-old daughters don’t cause trouble.”
Jules stepped back, crossed his thin arms over his black T-shirt. “How old are you? Thirty? Thirty-one?”
“Thirty-two,” Thea said.
Jules’s smile tipped up at one corner, and he gave her an exaggerated once-over. “You could definitely cause trouble, Thea. Believe me.”
She chuckled and turned away. “Get out of here. I’m ordering you. I’m the boss.”
“All right, but …”
“Nope. Out.” She finished putting on her apron as he took his off, and she watched him out of the corner of her eye as he dug his car keys out of his pocket.
“So, I’ll see you later?” he said.
“Yup! Later!” She picked up a rag and began to wipe down
the counter. Then he was walking out the door, and another customer was walking in, smiling, and a few minutes later the first rush of a Friday night was pushing through the door, and the world was beginning to slip back into place.
By three a.m., Garret had had enough. He’d already gone to the gym, gone for a walk, and gone for a beer, and now there was nowhere left to go but crazy. Irina had hit her head on his bookshelf just when Jonathan had been about to put her to bed, and now she simply would not stop crying. She’d told Jonathan that she didn’t want to stay over—that she wanted her and her father to go sleep in their house. And for a while, it had seemed his explanation held. But once she’d hit her head and the tears had started, there was no end.
Jonathan came into the living room where Garret was pretending to watch a late night horror movie—though he’d hardly been able to focus on it over Irina’s bloodcurdling screams. She was still weeping in Garret’s bedroom, but she was beginning to sound tired now, the sobs less forceful, the tears probably dried.
Jonathan dropped down on the sofa beside him. He was wearing dark navy pajamas, a matching top and bottom that had doubtlessly been purchased by Thea. His skin was pale and dull, and his brown eyes were glassed-over. “I don’t know what else to do.”
“Thea’s going to think we tortured her.”
“Irina’s always had a flair for drama.” Jonathan rubbed his face. “I think she’s just … uncomfortable. It’s her first night in a strange place.”
“She wants it to feel normal, but it just isn’t.”
“And I can’t help,” Jonathan said.
Garret shrugged and decided to take a different approach. “Don’t worry so much. She’s a kid. She’ll fall asleep. She just has to get tired enough.”
“I don’t think so,” Jonathan said. “She’s stubborn. You of all people can appreciate that.”
Garret reached for his bottled water, took a long pull.
He’d thought of Irina over the years, thought of her often. For every one time he saw her, he’d dropped three birthday cards for her in the mail. He hadn’t meant to neglect his niece, but Irina was Thea’s daughter—and Garret had sworn to himself that where Thea went he would not go. Holidays had been notoriously uncomfortable—and lonely. Knowing that his family was at his parents’ house on Christmas, opening presents and eating candied walnuts, nearly killed him every year.
Now, Thea and Jonathan’s daughter was whimpering and talking to herself unintelligibly in Garret’s bedroom. Her parents’ separation was hitting her hard. Garret had last seen her two years ago, and she was getting to look like Thea more and more every day. She had Jonathan’s face—his narrow, high cheekbones, his pointed chin—but she had Thea’s hazel, almond eyes. Garret had been looking forward to Irina’s visit; he missed her. She was, after all, his brother’s daughter. He wanted to be a part of her life.
In the other room, Irina’s crying regained momentum, part sob and part protest. But Garret knew that no matter how hard she cried or pretended to cry, she wouldn’t be able to bring her parents back together. Wearily, Jonathan got to his feet. “I’m really sorry about this.”
Garret shrugged. “Eh. What’re you gonna do?”
Jonathan put his hand on his hips, his chest sinking visibly as he sighed. “Maybe I should take her home.”
“Really? Now?”
“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe I just should have kept her for the day.”
Garret sank deeper into his leather couch and focused on the TV. “Let’s give it five more minutes,” he said. “Then Uncle Garret and Irina will have a little talk.”
The first year Garret spent in Newport, Thea had not been a girl to him. Girls were smiley and lively. They wore little skirts that showed off the long backsides of their legs, and they smelled like candy or flowers. Girls liked to shout at him when he was walking down the hallway or they strutted next to him when the school day ended and the mass of his classmates pushed their way outside. Girls pulled him behind the bleachers at lunchtime to kiss him and put his hands on their breasts. When he didn’t pay attention to them, girls cried.
And so by these standards, Thea was not a girl. She wore unremarkable jeans, too-white sneakers, and her glasses were purple plastic. The only thing about Thea that intrigued Garret was her hair—her beautiful, dark hair that fell so effortlessly into inky, rolling waves. When they wrestled or fought, as they often did when Garret wanted to play video games and Thea wanted to go outside, Garret would sometimes get a fistful of that beautiful hair and tug—not to hurt but just to feel the strength of it and the sound of her voice as she squealed.
At some point during the summer before his freshman year, Garret had found himself beginning to use Thea as the butt of his jokes—especially when he wanted to embarrass his older brother. He’d discovered Jonathan had a fear of anything remotely sexual, and Garret wasn’t afraid to use his big brother’s discomfort with the same practicality that he might use a lever or a wedge.
“You want to make out with Thea, don’t you?”
“Eww. Shut up.”
“You pervert. You want to put your tongue right down Thea’s throat.”
“I said, shut up!”
There was no faster way to get on Jonathan’s nerves than to accuse him of wanting to mess around with Thea, who—in all ways but one—was just one of the guys. If Jonathan wouldn’t leave Garret alone while he was watching television, Garret would threaten to tell their parents that Jonathan and Thea were having sex. If Jonathan wouldn’t agree to go to the movies instead of to mini golf, Garret would say, “That’s because you want to do Thea behind the waterfall.” Sometimes Jonathan would fight him, viciously. Black eyes and bruised ribs and mangled egos would end with them both being grounded for days.
But Garret’s taunting had an unexpected consequence as well.
His mother pulled him aside one day, leaving Garret to watch as Jonathan and Thea went tripping out the door, as fast as their legs would carry them toward their bicycles. Garret twisted out of his mother’s grip.
“You’ve got to be careful with her, Garret.”
“With who?”
“You know who,” his mother said, her voice dark with warning. “And you know exactly what I mean.”
Garret’s skin had prickled. How had his mother known?
That evening as the three of them sat on the big rocks along the water’s edge, Garret had been relentless, unmerciful in his teasing. Jonathan deserved to be embarrassed—for ratting him out. For being a coward. For making it look like Thea was the one who was uncomfortable when, as far as Garret could tell, she didn’t care.
With the waves crashing against the jagged rocks and a buoy bobbing in the rough surf, Garret pulled out all the stops: he thought of every nasty thing he’d ever heard of people doing. He used every dirty word in his vocabulary. Jonathan pelted him in the head with a stone and broke the skin above his eyebrow, but still, Garret couldn’t stop being angry. Wildly, powerfully angry. The taunts just kept coming, each worse than the one before. He hardly noticed Thea at all—not until she stood up from the rock where she sat, marched up to him, and said, “That’s enough.”
She stood before him, the last summer she was an inch taller, in her boxy gray T-shirt, her wind-mussed ponytail, her dorky white tennis shoes. He’d seen her walk up to the meanest teacher in school and insist he’d graded her test unfairly. He’d seen her split open her knee on the pavement and refuse to cry. But that night, her eyes had gone red, filled up with tears, and her lips pulled into a frown.
“Thea …”
She turned away and ran as quickly as she could toward the road, where their bikes were kicked over on their sides in the dust. He saw her hair, caught in a long black ponytail, wagging at him as she ran away.
“Nice job, dilhole,” Jonathan said. And he punched him hard in the chest, almost knocking the wind out of him.
Garret rubbed the spot absentmindedly, his own eyes beginning to water. Shame a
nd guilt warred. “It’s not my fault you’re a couple of prudes. I was just joking around …”
“Real funny,” Jonathan said. “Don’t follow us. We don’t want to see you.”
And Garret realized that Thea was at the top of the hill, a silhouette in the fading light, waiting, but not for him.
Thea stumbled through the darkness of the kitchen to the door, and when she opened it, Garret was there. Behind him, the street was quiet and still, holding its breath. The streetlight cast his shadow in blurry orange on the ground. Irina was settled against his chest, her arms around his neck, her back folded gently forward.
“Garret.”
He held a finger up to his lips. “Shhh.”
He turned sideways as he slid through the doorway, past her, and Thea saw her daughter’s face—splotchy from crying but peaceful too, as if sleep had been hard-won. An hour ago, Garret had texted Thea to tell her he was bringing Irina home. He didn’t say why.
“Where’s her bedroom?” Garret mouthed.
Instead of answering, Thea led him through the house with its very tiny square rooms, low ceilings, and narrow doorways. Nestled in the heart of Newport, not far from Price’s Pier, the downstairs level of the house had been built before the Revolutionary War, and Thea had done what she could to keep its colonial feel: folk art, antiques, original flooring, few embellishments. She wondered: Did her house look like what Garret expected? Had he expected anything at all?
She was too conscious of him as he trailed her on the stairs in the dark—to have him following, so close, gave her a strange sense of vulnerability and made her want to turn around and walk backward. His hair was glossy, neat, and as blond as when he was a kid, and his skin was so perfect that she wondered if he’d started tanning. He was taller than she remembered. Bigger across the shoulders. All traces of the heart-on-his-sleeve boy she’d fallen so desperately in love with had been usurped by this harder, more unreadable man.
She, on the other hand, hadn’t seen the inside of a gym in years. What did she look like to him? Childbirth had changed her body, had taken her young woman’s angles and swollen them into more sloping, softened curves. Her skin was older too, she knew. In bad light, there were traces of lines around her mouth and eyes. She’d found her first gray hair this past spring—a shock of white like a lightning bolt against a black sky—and now it seemed they were coming on like armies. She hated that he made her so very conscious of herself, and it wasn’t until they got to the top of the stairs that she realized she’d been holding her breath.