Summer by the Sea

by Susan Wiggs

  That. It seemed like an eternity had passed since Portia had told her about the pregnancy. Rosa whipped a glance at Vince. The big mouth. But it was too late now; Gina obviously knew something. Rosa folded her hands and waited.

  “Whatever happens with Alex,” said Gina, “I don’t want you believing what Portia told you.”

  Rosa flicked another glance at Vince. “You shouldn’t have—”

  “Yes, he should. Because Portia lied. I’m not supposed to know anything about this, but... What can I say? I’m his closest friend.” She looked around the waiting area, which was deserted except for the three of them. “Portia was never pregnant. She lied and said she was so Alex would marry her.”

  Rosa took a moment to catch her breath. “That’s the oldest trick in the book.”

  “It’s old because it works,” said Gina. “Especially on an honorable man who wants to believe the best of people. When they were dating, Alex didn’t have the first thought about marrying her, but the minute she said she was carrying his child, he offered.”

  “It’s diabolical, really,” Vince said. “Once she gets a ring on her finger, there’s a miscarriage, but she’s still got her rich husband. I saw that once on Dynasty.”

  “When Alex figured out what Portia was up to,” said Gina, “he ended the engagement. He let her act like she broke it off, you know, to save face.”

  “How did he figure out she was lying?”

  “I figured it out. You could ask me how,” Gina said, “but there’s a gentleman present.”

  “I guess we saw the same episode of Dynasty,” said Vince.

  “Gina, why are you telling me this?” asked Rosa.

  “Because he’s the best man I know. I don’t ever want his integrity questioned. If something happens to him...if he doesn’t—” Gina’s voice broke and she stared at the floor, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I just think he’d want you to know the truth about that situation, but he’s too much of a gentleman to tell you himself.”

  * * *

  Hours later, most people had left. That was when Rosa noticed Mr. Montgomery across the hall in the gift shop, staring unseeingly at the last remaining copy of Investors Business Daily. She squared her shoulders and went over to him.

  “Mr. Montgomery?” She was surprised by the hesitation in her own voice.

  He replaced the newspaper in the rack and turned to her stiffly. “Yes?”

  “I’m Rosa—”

  “I know who you are,” he said.

  She took a deep breath. In all the years she’d known Alex, she had never actually had a conversation with Mr. Montgomery. Now she knew why. He was formidable. “Sir, I want you to know how grateful my family is to Alex for what he did.”

  “I’m sure they’re extremely grateful.”

  “And I’ve been waiting all day to find out how he is. I know I’m not his family, but I...” She took another breath, this one deeper than before. “I’m not leaving.”

  He studied her as though she was a lab specimen with an unusual growth. She could see Alex in his face, in the sharp cut of his jawbone, the blue eyes, the abundant sandy-colored hair, the broad shoulders. Yet the expression on his face was that of a stranger, a disapproving stranger. She found herself wishing she wasn’t wearing the tight red pants, the polka dot halter top, the red high-heeled sandals.

  Without taking his eyes off her, he reached down for his briefcase and stalked toward the main exit. “Come with me,” he said.

  He led the way outside, taking out a cigar in a yellow-and-red tube. She followed him past a sand-filled ashtray where a few people stood around, smoking cigarettes with a slightly shamefaced air. Mr. Montgomery was unapologetic as he lit his cigar.

  “He had a severe asthma attack, probably induced by smoke inhalation. That caused him to lose consciousness while on the roof, and at that point, he fell and went into cardiac arrest. There are some broken ribs. What the doctors are most worried about is the intracranial hemorrhage. If he doesn’t regain consciousness...”

  The briefcase dropped from his fingers as though he’d suddenly gone weak. It popped open and manila file folders fanned across the walkway, but he didn’t seem to notice. She squatted down to put all the spilled files back.

  “I’ll get that,” he said quickly, and with the speed of a man half his age, he scooped up the strewn papers and photographs.

  In those few seconds, Rosa had seen...something. A notice on letterhead from the South County Sheriff’s Office. Some grainy eight-by-ten color photographs, close-ups. She burned with curiosity but there was no way to ask him anything without seeming hopelessly nosy.

  He shut the case with a decisive snap. “They advised me to contact the rest of the family. That can’t mean anything good.”

  He sank down on the heavy cedar bench and dropped his head into his hands. The cigar seemed forgotten between his fingers.

  “What can I do?” Rosa asked, trying not to feel panicked by his despair. “Is Gina still here?”

  “No. I told her I’d be in touch.”

  “Can I call your daughter for you?”

  “She’s overseas and her cell phone is useless. I left her a message and sent her email.”

  Rosa had a strange urge to reach out to him, maybe pat him on the shoulder. She didn’t dare. Here was a man who was all alone, his wife gone, his daughter away, his son on life support, his friends weirdly absent.

  She sat down on the bench, took the barely smoked cigar from him and stuck it in the sand ashtray. Then she drummed up her courage and put her hand on his arm. “I’m not leaving you. I’m going to stay here until Alex gets better.”

  “I certainly can’t stop you.”

  Rosa gritted her teeth. “Listen, I don’t need for you to like me, just to understand that I love him every bit as much as you do.”

  Mr. Montgomery hung his head. “I never should have let him come here after his mother—” His voice broke and he cleared his throat.

  “He’s a grown man,” she reminded him. “It wasn’t a question of you letting him do anything. It was his choice.”

  “I’ve never understood the appeal this place has for him, why it keeps drawing him back, again and again, even though he could go anywhere in the world.”

  “Don’t you have a place like that?”

  He lowered his hands and looked at her as though she’d spoken in a foreign tongue. “I’m not a sentimental man, Miss Capoletti.”

  “This is not about being sentimental,” she said. “It’s about finding your home, the place where you belong.”

  “Alexander is a Montgomery. He doesn’t belong in some backwater resort town. If he had stayed where he belongs, none of this would have happened.” He gestured angrily at the looming facade of the hospital building.

  Rosa sniffed. “If you stay in bed every morning and never get up, nothing will ever happen to you. But that’s no way to live.”

  He glared at her. She braced herself, thinking he would lash out again. He didn’t. His expression remained fierce as he said, “I can see why my son likes you.”

  She didn’t know what to say to that; it sounded more like an accusation than a compliment.

  forty

  Pretty much everything Grandpop owned was in the back of the old pickup truck, lumbering toward the other side of town, where Aunt Rosa lived. Joey adjusted the passenger side mirror and looked at the depressingly small load, mainly from the garage, which had survived the fire and subsequent dousing with water and foam. Jake perched on the seat between them, checking out each car as it passed.

  Joey had lost everything, too, but fortunately that didn’t amount to much, though he’d miss his clothes and laptop computer. The telescope, which Alex had returned to him after the night at Watch Hill, had been in the garage. Still, it was
the creepiest feeling in the world to come home for lunch and find the street blocked by emergency vehicles, the upper story of the house stark against the sky, like a black skeleton.

  His cell phone rang and he looked at the display. He leaned forward so Grandpop, who was driving, could see him. “It’s my folks,” he said. “Again.” Then he took the call. “Hello?”

  “Is everything all right?” his dad asked.

  “Same as it was five minutes ago when you called,” said Joey. Since the fire, he’d talked to his parents at least five times.

  “I won’t apologize, sport,” said his dad. “This is serious stuff. How does Grandpop seem to you?”

  “He’s still all right. I swear it, Dad. He’s got his dog and his pipe to smoke, and we’re taking some stuff over to Aunt Rosa’s place. We’re going to stop at the hospital to see how Alex is doing, and then we’re having dinner at Celesta’s.” Sheesh, thought Joey. How many times did he have to go through this?

  “I requested leave,” said Dad. “Tell Grandpop I’ll be there this weekend. And I just got through to Uncle Sal. He’s going to be there too.”

  “Great. Have you seen Aunt Rosa’s apartment?” Joey said. “It’s got, like, four rooms, total.”

  “We’ll work things out when we get there.”

  “Fine. I have to go, Dad. We just pulled into the hospital.”

  “Okay, sport. Listen, you tell Alex I said thank you a million times.”

  “Got it, Dad. You bet.”

  Grandpop parked and put Jake on his leash.

  “If they let you in to see him,” Joey said, “you should tell him thank you.”

  “He knows he has my gratitude.”

  Joey glared at him. Alex was a good guy, but Grandpop never wanted to see that. The old man’s scowl deepened. Joey didn’t flinch. Then Grandpop said, “You have la vecchia anima, Giuseppe. You are wise beyond your years.”

  “Well, somebody in this family has to be.”

  They found Aunt Rosa on the covered walkway in front of the hospital, talking to some tall guy in a business suit. She got all nervous when she saw them, and introduced the guy as Alexander Montgomery, Alex’s father.

  “I hope your son is well,” Grandpop said.

  “He’s in intensive care,” said Mr. Montgomery, who looked like a cold fish. “We’re waiting to hear.”

  Like most people, Mr. Montgomery wasn’t used to talking to a deaf guy, and Joey could tell Grandpop hadn’t caught what he said. He nudged Grandpop and mouthed “waiting to hear.”

  “Well,” Mr. Montgomery said in a clipped, sort of distracted way. He glanced down at the briefcase in his hand. “Well, I certainly don’t know what to say at this point, but there is something else you should—”

  “Mr. Montgomery?” A woman in pink scrubs hurried toward him.

  “Yes?” He had the look of a man facing a firing squad.

  “Could you come with me, please? You’re needed in the ICU right away.”

  forty-one

  Sirens and glaring lights. The hiss and roar of water rushing through hoses, the crackle of flames, blazing heat... Alex lay helpless under the bombardment. He felt strangely immobile, his limbs encased in concrete, his throat rigid.

  “...hear me, Alexander? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”

  Why would I do that? He spoke but no sound came out. His whole throat was intensely sore. He tried to claw at it, but someone held both his hands.

  “Open your eyes.” The stranger’s voice sounded painfully loud.

  He tried to drag his eyes open, but when he did, a piercing glint of fiery white light drilled straight into his head, and he ducked for cover.

  “Alexander, do you know where you are?”

  Enough, already. With a supreme effort of will, he opened his eyes and glared at his tormentor. Actually, there were four of them, maybe more.

  What the hell...

  “You’re at the hospital, Alexander,” said the woman with the grating voice. “There’s a tube in your throat to help you breathe. Now that you’re awake, we want you to breathe on your own.” She spread a plastic sheet like a dropcloth over him and placed an enameled basin on his chest. Someone’s hands clamped around either side of his head. “When I say three, we’ll get that tube out. One, two, three...”

  Alex gagged, feeling something in his throat that shouldn’t be there. The something moved, slowly and sickeningly at first, then was ripped from his throat with startling violence.

  He gagged some more and then puked. The nurse seemed unperturbed as she took away the basin. She swabbed his face and removed the plastic sheeting. He lay back, gasping, and lifted his hand in supplication. There were strips of white Velcro on his fingers and a clear tube going into the top of his hand. I feel like shit, he wanted to say, but no words came out.

  He took a deep breath and felt himself cracking in two. A moan of pain escaped him.

  “I’m Dr. Turabian,” said the woman. “We’re glad you decided to join the party. You’ve got some cracked ribs. That’s the pain you’re feeling. You went into cardiac arrest and you’ve got a head injury, but you were pretty darned lucky. You won’t be able to talk for a day or two.”

  I don’t feel lucky. She was right; he had no voice at all.

  She handed him a white marker board with a marker on a string and a cloth. “Now, there might be some short-term memory loss. After we get you cleaned up, we’ll be asking you some questions.”

  She did something with a monitor while the nurse swabbed salve on his lips. “The EMTs said you were quite a hero. You were the only one hurt in the fire. The older gentleman and his dog are fine.”

  Thank God, thought Alex. Thank God. Pete was all right. The dog made it. Sweet relief poured through him.

  The nurse finished cleaning up and they both left, leaving the door slightly ajar. Time passed. Alex didn’t know how much. He studied the monitors, but for all their buzzing and humming, he couldn’t find a clock on any of them. He wondered what day it was. The same day he had made love to Rosa?

  “Alexander?” His father’s bulk filled the doorway of the cramped white room. He approached the bed and loomed over Alex, obliterating the glare of the high-powered overhead lights. “Son, thank God you’re all right.”

  Alex took a moment to assimilate everything. It felt surreal to have his father here, holding his hand, no less. Maybe Alex was on drugs. Hallucinogens.

  Just in case it wasn’t a weird vision, Alex scribbled “Thx 4 coming.”

  Then something even weirder happened. At first Alex thought his father was choking or gagging. Then he was stunned to realize he was crying. To Alex’s knowledge, his father had never cried. Not even when they laid his wife to rest.

  Are you... Alex grimaced in frustration at his inability to talk. He wrote “U OK?” and tapped the white board.

  “Yes.” His father took the ornamental silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and scrubbed his face with it. “You gave me a scare, son. I didn’t think I’d lose it like that. This kind of took me back, you know, maybe that’s it.”

  Alex sent him a questioning look.

  “To when you were little. We were in and out of the emergency room so many times.”

  “Felt routine to me,” Alex wrote.

  “Not to your mother and me. Each time, we were terrified they wouldn’t get you breathing again. And each time, it killed me a little. Just now, it all came back. The incredible fear of losing you.”

  Stunned, Alex thought he’d heard wrong. His dry lips cracked and stung with the effort to offer a reassuring smile. “Not going anywhere.”

  They sat together for a while. Alex could not remember such a comfortable silence between himself and his father. It was a strange finish to a strange day. Contrary to the doctor’
s warning, he had no trouble remembering every detail. Things had started out pretty damned great, he recalled, thinking of Rosa. After making love to her, he knew the day couldn’t possibly get better. But it got worse in a hurry.

  His father handed him a plastic water bottle with a straw. “Dr. Turabian says you’re moving to a regular room in the morning if all your vitals check out. You can have visitors once you’re moved. There are some people waiting to see you.”

  Alex frowned.

  “Rosa Capoletti, for one. She’s charming. I expect you’ve always known that. And there’s a young man with pink hair and Gina’s here, as well. And Pete Capoletti, of course. But they can’t visit you in the ICU. Once you’re moved to a private room, you can have visitors if you feel up to it.”

  “Of course I feel up 2 seeing Rosa,” he scrawled.

  “I hope you look better in the morning,” his father said bluntly. “And you smell like an incinerator.”

  Now, that’s the dad I know and love, Alex thought, his lips cracking as he smiled.

  “I could bring you some things. Clean clothes, a razor and toothbrush.”

  Alex took a sip of water and nodded as much as he was able. Then he wrote, “Rosa?”

  “I spoke to her at length. Delightful girl. I always thought so.”

  “BS,” Alex wrote.

  “I did.” He seemed agitated and restless in the small room. “It was your mother who objected to her. And speaking of your mother, we have several things to discuss.”

  “M...? She has nothing to do with today.”

  “On the contrary, she has everything to do with it.” Alex’s father stopped and stared down at his hands, turning them palms up in his lap, looking bewildered.

  Alex tapped on the word “Mother” again.

  His expression grim, his father took a thick file folder from his attaché case.

  forty-two

  “Whoa, wait a minute, slow down,” said Rosa, alone with Alex in his flower-filled private room. Sunshine flooded through the slats of the venetian blinds. No one but his father had been allowed to visit him the previous night; ICU visiting rules were strictly enforced. “You lost me after the storm damage.”