by Susan Wiggs
“Just some business correspondence.” Alex grabbed a roll of packing tape to reinforce the bottom of the box. He saw that he was too late; his father was already reading some of the notes.
“This is about the Access Fund,” he said, then read aloud from one of the letters: “‘Thank you for this opportunity...’” And from another in the tremulous writing of an elderly person. “‘You’ve given me a future I never thought I’d have.’” Some of the notes included photographs of clients’ homes, their children or grandchildren, young people holding college diplomas.
Alex watched his father’s face as he sorted through the notes. Surprise gave way to a perplexed frown.
Alex was chagrined. This was something he needed but didn’t flaunt. His Access Fund clients earned the firm next to nothing, but he considered them his most important investors. He braced himself, expecting sarcasm from his father, who had always been critical of the unproductive fund.
Yet unexpected sentiment showed on his face as he put the papers back in the box. “And all I get from my clients is a bottle of Glenfiddich at Christmas,” he muttered, carefully sealing the box for transport.
Then, as quickly as it had come, the moment passed. “Are you acquainted with a Sean Costello?” asked Alex’s father. “South County Sheriff?”
Alex’s gut churned. “Not personally. Why do you ask?”
“I’ve had a message to call him. Wonder what he wants.”
“It could be something to do with the storm damage on the property.” Alex turned away and busied himself with the last of the packing. He had no opinion of Costello. At one time he’d wanted to believe the guy was a good match for Rosa. Alex had gone straight to the airport that day, driving too fast, the image of Rosa and Costello burned into his mind. He’d tried to be happy for them. She was young and beautiful and all alone in the world except for her scoundrel father. No way should Alex have expected her to wait around for him.
As he wrapped a framed photo of his mother, he was touched by a twinge of pain. Had that sadness always haunted her eyes, or did he notice it now because of what had happened? Before, he’d seen only coldness in her face and felt only anger at the lengths she’d gone to in order to keep him and Rosa apart.
He shoved the picture into a box. “Did you and Mother ever...?” He wasn’t sure what he was asking. “Were you happy together?”
“We were married for thirty-six years.”
“That doesn’t answer the question,” Alex pointed out.
“Of course it does.”
thirty-two
On the day Rosa got up enough nerve to talk to her father about the things Alex had told her, he wasn’t home. She let herself in and blinked the lights, but he didn’t call out. There was no sign of him in the back. She noticed, though, that the side door of the garage was ajar.
“Hello,” she called, stepping into the dim workshop adjacent to the garage. “Joey, are you in here?”
He started, dropping something on the floor. “Hey, Aunt Rosa.”
“Hey, yourself.” She eyed the objects laid out on the workbench. “What are you up to?”
“Fixing something on this telescope,” he said. “Alex found the original booklet that goes with it.” He held up a slim pamphlet of yellowed paper.
“You went to Alex’s?”
He rolled his eyes. “Not the junior high stuff again. Jeez.”
“He gave you those, too?” She jerked her head toward two large banker’s boxes, each labeled Montgomery Financial Group.
Joey’s gaze flicked away. “It’s just some stuff he was throwing out. He’s fixing his house, and he has a whole Dumpster full of trash.”
There was something furtive in Joey’s manner. “Is everything all right?” she asked him. “You’re not in any trouble, are you?”
He snorted. “Not hardly. There’s nobody to get in trouble with.”
She studied him for a moment. The Mohawk was gone; he’d probably tired of the daily ordeal with stiff gel. The pink color had faded somewhat, and the only piercing she could see was a stud in his right earlobe. He really was a good-looking kid, she reflected, when he wasn’t trying so hard to look bad. “Haven’t you met any kids at work?”
“Sure, but what am I going to do, take off my apron and go hang out with them?”
“I don’t know. How about that cute girl who keeps coming in for Jamoca Almond Fudge?” Rosa asked, remembering a tidbit someone at the restaurant had passed on to her. “The one who looks like Keira Knightley. I doubt Jamoca Almond Fudge is her only reason for stopping by.” She saw a flush rising in his cheeks. “Hazard of living in a small town,” she said. “Everyone knows your business. Now, where’s your grandfather?”
“He went to do someone’s yard. The...Chiltons. Does that ring a bell?”
“Yep. I’ll try to catch him there. Stay out of trouble, kiddo.”
“Of course.”
She drove a little too fast, eager to get this over with. Her father’s truck was parked at the side of a New England saltbox–style house facing the sound. She found him in the back, raking clippings into a pile, and waved to get his attention.
He turned and waved back, then removed his gloves.
“Hiya, Pop.” She kissed his cheek. “You got a minute?”
“Of course. I have an hour, if that’s what you need.”
She took a deep breath. What she was about to say would change their relationship. It might do irreparable damage. But she had to know.
“Are the Chiltons at home?” she asked.
“They come on weekends only. Rosa, what’s the matter?”
She took another breath and stood in front of him, signing as she spoke. She didn’t want him to miss anything. “Pop, after your accident, Mrs. Montgomery paid your hospital bills. Did you know that?”
His face registered a succession of reactions—shock, disbelief, suspicion and, finally, wonder. But no guilt. Nothing to indicate he’d known.
“It’s true,” she said. “She never wanted anyone to know, but Alex told me. He also told me the reason she did it.”
“And why would this be?”
“You were with Emily Montgomery the night of the accident. In her bedroom.”
Now she saw it—the guilt. The expression on his face confirmed her worst fears.
“It’s awful, Pop. I mean, I know you must have been lonely, but a married woman?”
His face darkened a shade. “Alexander Montgomery told you that? Told you I seduced his mother?”
“He didn’t say seduced.”
He took a bandanna from his back pocket and wiped the sweat from his face. “How can you think I would do such a thing? That boy dishonors the memory of his mother.”
“Does he? Are you denying this a hundred percent?”
“He sends you here with this terrible accusation. What kind of person is he, eh?”
“He’s confused. If you can set the record straight for him, then I think you should.”
He made a slashing motion with his hand. “No more, Rosina. Do not start up with him again. He is as bad for you now as he was as a boy, and this is proof.”
She could tell he was trying to turn the subject away from him, but she could be stubborn, too. “Tell me about that night, Pop. I need to know.”
“There was no love affair with Mrs. Montgomery.” His gaze was unwavering as he spoke. “That is all you need to know.”
“If it wasn’t an affair, then what was it?”
He shoulders sloped downward. “A misunderstanding.”
She refused to soften. “Tell me.”
He nodded, steadying himself with his rake as he sat down on a rock wall. “When I came home that night, she called me. She was very upset about her son.”
“Beca
use of me.”
He nodded. “She was...not well, Rosa. I went to see her because I was worried.”
Not well. “She’d been drinking?”
Another nod. “She was all alone and quite ill. I took her to her room, tried to calm her down so she would go to sleep. She wouldn’t listen, though. She carried on...for hours, it seemed. Whatever Alex thinks he heard...I was trying to help a hysterical woman. It was nearly midnight when I left her. And that, my Rosina, is what happened. I am sorry I said I didn’t remember, but that was the only lie I told.”
She wished she felt more satisfied with his assertion, more vindicated. But she didn’t. “Maybe things would have turned out differently for us if you and Mrs. Montgomery had left us both alone. You wanted us apart as much as she did.”
“You missed out on nothing but heartache. Alexander was a boy, not a man. He would have been careless with your heart, not because he’s a bad person but because he wasn’t ready. I don’t think he will ever be ready.”
“You took away any chance we might have had to find out.”
“No, Rosina. Your chances were over when he walked away.”
* * *
Rosa was at the restaurant at closing time, supervising the nightly wrap-up when her cell phone chirped with her father’s ring. It was close to midnight; Pop was always asleep by ten. She was already worrying when she retrieved the text message: Joey missing.
Just that, and nothing more.
Her hands shook as she sent a message back. “I’m out of here,” she called to Vince. “I need to go check on my father.”
Vince straightened up from wheeling a canvas-sided laundry cart between tables. “Is he all right?”
“I think so.” She tugged her purse strap up her shoulder, then dug inside for her keys. “Don’t forget to clean the tap lines in the bar. And padlock the Dumpster, don’t just latch it. The raccoons are bad this—”
“Hello? It’s me, Vince,” he reminded her, making a shooing motion with his hands. “I’ve got this, all right? Just go.”
She bit her lip, nodded once and dashed for the door. As she drove through the summer night with the top down, she scarcely noticed the canopy of stars or the coolness of the air. She was speeding and thinking about Joey. Where in the world had he gone?
Kids tended to hang out at the drive-in theater on White Rock Road, which hadn’t actually played a movie since 1989. The abandoned parking lot became the scene of impromptu parties, and the enormous screen a target for hurled stones, beer bottles, the occasional can of paint. It was not the most wholesome place for Joey, but he was unlikely to come to any harm there. Then there was the video store, the state park and other kids’ houses. She racked her brain trying to decide where to begin, but she could think of nothing. She didn’t know the kid, she thought with a pang of guilt. She needed to spend more time with him, but she was always busy at the restaurant.
She pulled into her father’s driveway and parked. He was waiting for her by the front door, looking lost and quite possibly ten years older.
“I got up in the middle of the night,” he said. “For the bathroom. I decided to check on Joey, you know, like I did when you and your brothers were small.”
She nodded, remembering the secure feeling she used to get when Pop would open the door to her room, make a satisfied sound in his throat and shuffle off to bed.
“You looked everywhere?”
“All over the house. His jacket’s gone. And the bike. I’m gonna call the sheriff.”
“In a minute.” She rushed upstairs to Joey’s room. There was something absolutely chilling about the sight of a child’s empty bed, the covers thrown back, in the middle of the night. Pop had obviously already gone through it, and she cursed her nephew under her breath.
“He didn’t run away for good,” she told her father, who had followed her upstairs. She gestured at the laptop computer, which sat open on the dresser, a Starship Enterprise screensaver drifting across the screen. “He’d never go anywhere without his—” She stopped as an idea hit her. “Is that old telescope he was working on still in the shop?”
Pop hurried for the stairs, hope shining in his eyes. “I checked the garage for the bike but I didn’t think about the telescope.” He led the way through the one-car garage that had always been too cluttered to actually house a car, flipped on a light and headed into the workshop. It smelled of ancient motor oil, lawn fertilizer and disuse, and held the detritus of years. There were old motor parts lying about, spools of fishing line, plant food and snail bait, bicycle chains hanging from nails on the walls.
“It’s gone,” said Pop. “The little parte di merda went out to look at the stars. Why would he sneak? Why wouldn’t he tell me?”
Rosa tapped her foot. “Beats me. So what do you want to do? Wait for him to come home, or should I go out looking?”
“I don’t feel like waiting up all night, worrying my heart out.”
Rosa didn’t blame Pop. He wouldn’t rest until he knew Joey was safe. “So where do you suppose he went with that thing?” She drummed her fingers on the work bench. Somewhere within biking distance, she thought. Somewhere high and dark. She could think of a dozen places like that. It was going to be a long night. She and her father returned to the house.
“Wait here,” she said, gesturing for emphasis. “If he gets home first, make him call me before you kill him.”
“Yeah, okay. And you send me a text message if you find him first.”
“I will. He’s fine, I’m sure. But he won’t be after I beat the snot out of him.”
She went to her car and got in. Now what? Point Judith? The Singing Bluffs? It would take a genius to figure out the best place to see the stars.
She snatched her phone from her purse and punched in the number. “It’s me,” she said when he answered. “I hope I didn’t wake you...”
thirty-three
“You have to understand,” Joey said to the girl beside him, “it’s my first time.”
“Mine, too,” whispered Whitney Brooks, even though they were completely alone at the top of Watch Hill and there was no need to whisper. “Just do the best you can.”
“Yeah, all right.” He smiled in the darkness. She was unlike any girl he’d ever known. Maybe she did look a bit like Keira Knightley. And there was a wildness about her. She liked extreme rock climbing and kiteboarding. She knew how to make kamikazes with Rosa’s lime juice and vodka, and she had a fake ID, which she’d used to get a real tattoo of a phoenix at the small of her back. She was hot, but that wasn’t even the best thing about her. She was also incredibly smart, and she wanted the same thing he wanted.
He couldn’t see her face as he said, “Here goes nothing,” and bent his head. Work, please work, he thought. Then the most incredible sensation came over him—blinding bright elation, a sense of triumph so powerful he thought he might burst. “Wow,” he said in a raspy whisper.
She moved against him, her compact, sinewy body brushing his. “Here, let me—” she reached out for him “—it’s my turn, after all.”
“Be careful,” he said, then cringed. What a dweeb, talking like a baby.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I know what I’m doing.”
“I thought you said this was your first time.”
“Shows how much you know.” She bent forward and emitted a long, slow sound of pleasure. “This is incredible, Joey. It’s perfect. Just perfect.”
Joey caught his breath and felt a soaring delight, sharing her pleasure.
Watching her look through the telescope, he beamed with pride. The transit of Mercury was so rare that, after tonight, the celestial event would not be seen for years. The telescopes of professionals and amateurs alike were trained on it tonight, but not here. He and Whitney were all alone. They took turns looking at the color
ful, pulsing beauty of the planet transiting the moon.
“You’re quiet. What are you thinking?” she asked him without looking up from the eyepiece.
“That I’m glad I met you.” It was easy to be totally honest in the dark.
“I’m glad we met, too. If it hadn’t been for my insatiable appetite for Jamoca Almond Fudge, we might still be strangers.”
He grinned. “That’s true.” The minute she’d appeared in the ice-cream shop, he’d felt something special in the air. Maybe she had, too, because she’d lingered through two helpings of Jamoca Almond Fudge and three free glasses of water. After that, she came in every day, and by the end of the first week, he learned her name. By the third week, he learned that she went to a school called Marymount in New York and that her family had a summer house on Ocean Road. It was probably like Alex Montgomery’s place, huge and fancy. She and Joey didn’t seem to have much in common, but when he mentioned the telescope, she became his new best friend.
Before long, they were trading instant messages and email, and even though they didn’t call tonight their first date, they both knew it was. And nature had cooperated by providing a rare celestial event and a crystal clear night.
She, too, loved the stars and the planets. Joey dreamed of being an astronaut while she had always been fascinated by astronomy. Between them, they had a virtual encyclopedia of knowledge.
“This is the best night ever,” she said.
Maybe he was only imagining it, but she seemed to be leaning closer to him. He could smell the shampoo she’d used on her hair, could feel her warmth as she brushed up against him. Maybe if he leaned a little closer, it might seem almost like an accident when he put his arm around her. Joey wasn’t usually shy around girls, but Whitney was different. Other girls he’d gone out with—all two of them—giggled at nothing and talked about their favorite boy bands. Whitney was quiet and patient, and even though she didn’t say much, he knew there was plenty going on in her head.