Home Fires

by Luanne Rice

  “Before Karen … well, when she was a baby, I’d go crazy worrying about things that could happen to her. I’d worry that someone would snatch her away from me, and I’d never see her again.”

  “Anne—”

  “Those cartons of milk? With pictures of missing children on them? I’d have nightmares of them. I always bought plastic bottles of milk so I wouldn’t have to see. Once Matt brought home a carton with the picture of a little girl, nine years old, missing since the spring before, and I threw it away. I couldn’t even open it, have it in my house.”

  “Everything good in life comes with risks.”

  “It’s not worth it,” Anne said. Still looking out the window, she felt him hold her shoulders from behind.

  “Would you trade the time you had with her?” Thomas asked. “To never have known her at all?”

  “Yes,” Anne whispered. “I wish I’d never had her.”

  “Anne,” he said, rocking against her body.

  Tears splashed out of her eyes, onto his hands folded across her upper chest.

  “I know you don’t wish that,” he said.

  “I do. I don’t know how people do it. Before you have them, you have no idea. And then, you love them so much. You just want to protect them, and you know you’d die for them.”

  “Yes, you would.”

  “When something happens … when they die … it’s like having a part of your body ripped right out. It’s like you’re being eaten alive. And it never ends. It just goes on, until you finally do die.”

  “You’re going to heal,” Thomas said. “I’ve seen it happening, with my own two eyes. Yes, you have days like this. You probably will forever. But I’ve seen you happy.”

  Even as she shook her head she knew it was true. But when these raw feelings of missing Karen came upon her, it felt as if they’d never go away.

  “Come on,” Thomas said softly, guiding her away from the window. “Show me Paradise.”

  Anne went to her bag and removed the cardboard folder she had made to hold the drawing. Together she and Thomas sat on the sofa, staring at the picture. It amazed Anne that even now, the drawing could bring Karen back as nothing else could. Holding it in her hands, she could almost believe that Karen was playing in another room, under this very roof. She felt herself becoming calmer, moving away from the edge.

  “If there hadn’t been a Karen,” Thomas said in a gentle voice, sliding his arm around Anne, “you wouldn’t have Paradise.”

  “Those white boxes,” Anne said, almost hypnotized by the picture’s power. “I’ve tried and tried to think of what they could be. How could I now know?” She looked into Thomas’s eyes, as if somehow he had the answer.

  “Maybe they’re rocks,” he said. “Or maybe they’re just interesting shapes.”

  “Sandcastles,” Anne said, thinking of her latest collage in the Heaven series.

  “What happened tonight?” Thomas asked. “To get you feeling so terrible? Is it because Ned didn’t come? Did that hurt your feelings?”

  “No,” she said. “I can understand. I make him uncomfortable.”

  “He just has to get used to the idea of me with someone. I’ve been alone for so long, he probably feels a little rivalry with you.”

  Anne gave him a sweet, sad smile. She had quite a different idea, but she decided to hold it back.

  “He’ll come around,” Thomas said, almost mantralike, as if he was trying to convince himself. “So, if it wasn’t Ned, what made you so upset?”

  “Matt called,” Anne said. “He says he wants to get back together with me.”

  “Who wouldn’t?” Thomas asked, holding her closer.

  Anne tilted her face up to kiss him. Holding his cheeks between her hands, she tried to put all thoughts of Matt out of her mind.

  “We’re going to be late for the movie,” Thomas said after a moment.

  “No movie,” Anne said. “Make love to me, Thomas,” she said.

  AFTER about an hour of driving around the island, trying to decide whether they should go shoot pool at the Saloon or head for a party at Pirates’ Cave, Ned and Josh still couldn’t make up their minds. Bobby wouldn’t serve them beer without one of their fathers there, so strike one against the Saloon. There would be a keg at the cave, but lately the cops had been busting parties and booking everyone who was underage.

  In other words, everyone.

  “The island sucks,” Josh said. “There’s nowhere to go.”

  “I know. I couldn’t wait to get out here for vacation, and now I can’t wait to go back to school.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  “Hey, not you. I’m just agreeing with you—there’s nothing to do out here.”

  Josh was driving his family’s rusty old Ford Taurus, the front bumper held on by wire. Ned listened to the engine, to a sticky valve, and wondered why Josh hadn’t fixed it. Josh was a really good mechanic. When they were kids, Josh had always wanted his bike to be perfect. He was constantly giving it tune-ups. He’d even made a special stand so he could work on it in the garage. So now it didn’t make sense that he’d let the family car fall apart. People who stayed too long on the island went mushy, lost their motivation.

  “Anyway, next year it’ll be a whole different ball game,” Ned said. “You’ll come to Dartmouth on weekends, I’ll visit you at URI.”

  “I’ll come to Dartmouth,” Josh said. “But I’m not going to URI.”

  “What?”

  “My dad’s making me a partner. He’s signing half the boat over to me.”

  “You’re going to lobster?” Ned asked, stunned.

  “Yeah. Listen, he pulls in good money. I never realized how good until he started telling me about the partnership.”

  “College isn’t about money,” Ned said. “I thought you wanted to get off the island.”

  “It’ll just be for a few years.”

  “Right,” Ned said. Jesus, he couldn’t believe it. He and Josh were going to go out into the world, break off the island, find their dreams. Instead, Josh was finding quicksand. He was driving a rust bucket on land, and soon he’d be driving one at sea.

  It’s so bizarre, Ned thought. Certain people, like his father, came to the island looking for hope. They had lost their faith, or their heart’s desire, and they came out here in search of whatever it was. He thought of Anne, then pushed her from his mind.

  But for some people, the island was a trap. It sucked the souls out of people, drained them of the very hope the others had come here to seek. Ned couldn’t look at Josh. He was afraid he’d see nothing but a shadow.

  “Here’s Pirates’ Cave. What do you say?” Josh asked.

  “Fine,” Ned said.

  They parked in the sandy lot with ten or so cars. Following the bonfire’s reflections, they crossed the beach. The cave was an island oddity, carved into the face of a tall, craggy cliff. Formed of red clay and reinforced, so the story went, by granite hauled across from the mainland by pirates, it burrowed twenty feet into the hill.

  Waves crashed, spraying Ned’s face with foam. He licked salt from his lips, as the beat of Nirvana pounded from the speakers of someone’s 4¥4. Parked at the mouth of the cave, the Jeep guarded a keg wedged into the sand behind its left rear tire. Ned drew himself a beer.

  Josh seemed glad to see his friends. He headed right between the Jeep and the fire into the cave, into the midst of kids Ned hadn’t seen for a long time. Suddenly Ned felt out of place, and angry. He wished he hadn’t come to the island at all.

  He stood by the Jeep, staring into space. The bonfire threw dancing shadows on the water, skidding across the wave tops, turning the spray into fireworks.

  “Ned Devlin,” someone said, and Ned turned around.

  It was Maggie Vincent, pouring herself a beer.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “What are you doing out here?”

  “I came with Josh,” Ned said defensively. Was it that obvious that he didn’t fit in?

  �
�I meant on the island. Don’t you go to boarding school or something?”

  “Oh. Yeah—I’m on vacation.”

  “That’s lucky.” Maggie sipped some beer, licking off a foam mustache. She was as pretty as ever, if you didn’t count all her pierced earrings: hoops, studs, daggers, dice. Now that Ned had met her aunt, he could really see a resemblance. Great big eyes, a pretty mouth with a hidden smile.

  “You’re a junior now?” Ned asked.

  “Yep. One more year after this, and I’m out of here.”

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “College,” she said with a funny defiance, as if she expected to be challenged.

  “I meant which college?”

  “I haven’t decided. I take my SATs tomorrow.” She giggled. “I suppose the grades I get will help me make up my mind. How about you? Do you know where you’re going yet?”

  Ned was about to answer when Kurt stepped out of the cave. He glared at Ned, and Ned glared back. Evil stares at twenty paces, Ned thought. What a jerk.

  Maggie just about leaped away from Ned. But when she reached Kurt, he turned his back. She followed him into the cave.

  God, Ned hated guys like Kurt, who turned their girlfriends into puppies. Assholes who probably didn’t even care for the girl. He knew some at Deerfield. They’d go to a dance somewhere like Miss Porter’s, and meet a girl. They’d turn on the charm, act all sweet and sensitive, and exchange addresses with the girl. They’d write back and forth a few times. They’d get together at a dance, or a football game, or meet in New York or Boston on vacation. They’d sleep with her.

  With guys like that, sex always changed things. Suddenly it would be the girl doing all the letter writing. You’d see about a hundred messages from her at the bell desk. She’d send care packages. She’d try to befriend the guy’s friends, hoping for information to help her understand what was going on.

  God, it was really pathetic.

  Ned wandered into the cave, looking for Josh. The smell of pot was strong in the air. People had flashlights and candles, but you couldn’t really see too much. Ned kept bumping into people and getting dirty looks. He must have said “Excuse me” a hundred times, and he felt like a clumsy jerk who didn’t have one friend among these kids he’d grown up with.

  His throat closed up, from the smoke and a lonely feeling deep inside. No one, not even Josh, was talking to Ned. He’d expected his vacation to be fantastic. As a kid, he’d always been too shy, not popular, bigger than anyone else. Kids had called him “gawk.” But coming home this time, he’d felt so proud of his acceptance to Dartmouth, he had thought that somehow things would change. That all of a sudden people would start to see him for who he really was.

  He’d been feeling down ever since dinner with his father and Anne. He felt disappointed in himself for not being able to accept her. She’d seemed really nice; his father obviously loved her. His father had an almost embarrassing sparkle on the entire time he was around her. That was hard for Ned to take. His father’s demeanor, and the stuff about the fire.

  Moving through the cave, Ned suddenly caught sight of Maggie and Kurt. They were arguing. Kurt was stone-faced, giving Maggie a sneer of disdain while she clutched his arm, obviously trying to convince him of something. When Kurt shook her off, Maggie headed for the mouth of the cave. Ned followed.

  The sea air hit him in the face, and it felt great. Breathing deeply, he watched Maggie head straight for the keg.

  “You shouldn’t be drinking any more of that if you have SATs tomorrow,” Ned said.

  “What the hell?” Maggie said, tension making her voice thin. “I probably shouldn’t even bother taking them.”

  “Is that what Kurt says?”

  Maggie filled her glass, as if she hadn’t heard him.

  “As a matter of fact, it doesn’t bother him one way or the other,” Maggie said. She held the big plastic cup with both hands, not drinking from it.

  Don’t you wish it did? Ned wanted to ask. Don’t you wish he’d want you to do well? Ned had come to the island as an outsider, in second grade. His father had sent him away to Deerfield, to remove him from the tempting island mindset: don’t bother trying, because you’ll never get away anyway.

  “What time is the test?” Ned asked.

  “Nine.”

  Ned checked his watch: midnight.

  “If you go home now, you’ll still get a pretty good night’s sleep.”

  “I don’t have a car, and Kurt wants to stay.”

  Ned wished that he had driven his father’s truck, but his father had wanted to take Anne to the movies. For ten seconds he considered asking Josh if he could borrow the Taurus to drive Maggie home, but with his luck the heap would fall apart before they reached the main road.

  “I’ll walk you home,” Ned said.

  “It’s about three miles to my house,” Maggie said.

  “Three miles? That’s nothing. It’ll make you good and tired, and you’ll fall straight to sleep.”

  Maggie took one long look at the mouth of the cave, as if she was trying to make up her mind. Flashlight beams and candle flames flickered eerily. Porno for Pyros had replaced Nirvana, and kids were dancing.

  Maggie poured her full beer into the sand. Then, wordlessly, she and Ned headed down the beach, to the hard sand by the water’s edge. Making their way, they listened to the waves breaking. They’d walk a mile or so on the beach, then scramble up a dune and head cross-island by road. Maggie would be home within the hour.

  Chapter 14

  Relearning life, Anne discovered, was not without its setbacks. Ned’s resistance and Matt’s insistence had hit her hard, and she found herself holed up at her worktable, spending hours every day trying to capture Heaven.

  Her callused fingers ached from the scissors’ pressure. Her eyes stung from the close work. She was blocking out real life, inhabiting a twilight world of fantasy and collage. She’d cut the tiny bits of paper, move them around like parts of a puzzle. Presently they would form one aspect of Anne’s vision of heaven, and she would fix them to the paper with glue.

  The cherubs, womb, sandcastle, Karen’s profile, the ferry decorated for Christmas, a box of crayons.

  She left her new message machine on all the time. She and Thomas had gone too far too fast. Anne wasn’t ready for the closeness he had come to expect. Her last conversation with Matt had proved it: you don’t just walk out of marriage into someone else’s arms without a lot of thought.

  Just look at Thomas and Ned: Ned’s reaction showed that the ties of family counted a whole lot more than a winter’s worth of sweet feelings between two strangers. Anne found herself making a collage of Thomas’s cottage in the snow, but she set it aside. That picture didn’t fit with the rest of her series.

  “Please, pick up the phone,” Thomas’s voice would come off the answering machine. “You’re there, I know it. Please talk to me.”

  Then, later, he spoke more harshly. “Why are you doing this? Do you feel guilty because we were too happy?”

  Warily, hearing his message, she answered the phone, stopping the broadcast.

  “I’m working,” she said. “That’s all. I’m concentrating on my work.”

  “You’re acting so cold,” he said. “As if you’ve gone underground.”

  That sounded right, Anne thought: underground. She’d shut herself up with her stamps and scissors and her quest for heaven, and she wasn’t letting in much earthly air or light.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “But I have to do this for now.”

  “You’re not a coward, Anne,” he said sadly. “But you’re acting like one. You let a seventeen-year-old boy get under your skin and break us apart.”

  “It’s not Ned,” Anne said, wondering at his use of the word “us.” Because in spite of her ties to Matt, something vivid and true had been happening with Thomas. It might not be family, but they had made an “us.”

  “Just do me a favor,” Thomas said. “Don’t keep leaving me to
your machine. Talk to me once in a while.”

  “I will,” Anne said, hating and not understanding how guilty she felt.

  AND with the island’s high season approaching, Anne got a callback from one of the jobs she’d applied for back in March. She’d be secretary for one of the whale-watching operations, just down the street from her apartment. The owners were island newcomers, and they didn’t care anything about Anne as long as she could use a word processor, handle the phones, and keep track of reservations.

  Making collages was dream work, and Anne knew she needed to wake up. Pure survival instincts made her accept the job. She needed to get out of her apartment, out of her own head. Her collages were heavens of the past; the apartment had started feeling airless and murky, a trap.

  WHALES ARE WAITING! proclaimed the banner over the door to her new office. The background was white sailcloth stitched with royal-blue letters, and a chubby turquoise whale with a smile like the Pillsbury doughboy, spouting a geyser of gold dust. Subtle.

  She used her key to let herself in. First, she played back the messages on the answering machine. Memorial Day weekend was just about a month away, and reservations were pouring in from everywhere. Washington, DC; Hartford, CT; Winnetka, IL; Tucson, AZ; Kansas City, MO; Reno, NE; Iowa City, IA.

  Out of her lonely life, into the mainstream.

  Everyone wanted to see the whales, to feel the awesome surge you’d get from seeing a great humpback whale breach the ocean’s surface. The company was called WhaleRush, Ltd., and the owners made no bones about the fact that they were playing on sex.

  “Whales love each other,” Sam Crichton, the owner, told Anne. Sam and his wife, Lori, were oceanographers trained at Woods Hole and Scipps, and they’d found a way to parlay their expertise and love of whales into cash. “Whales have courtships, marriages, heartbreaks. They sing to each other. When they’re happy, they zoom into the air at sixty miles an hour just to tell the world they’re in love. We hang aquaphones over the side, and we pick up these songs, so beautiful and heartsick you’d swear it was Roy Orbison himself. People eat it right up.”

  They sure did. Anne took down reservation after reservation, from people who wanted to see the whales. Then she got the following message: