by Luanne Rice
How does it feel to be graduating? I know you said graduation was in early June, so you only have about a month. Will you be sad leaving Deerfield? It sounds like a really pretty place. Sometimes the Ye Olde New England stuff can make you feel carsick, but it sounds like Deerfield knew to let well enough alone. At least, that’s how you made it sound that night.
Let’s see … Deerfield, Dartmouth. Both places begin with a “D.” That must mean something!
I wish I were graduating. I can’t believe I have another entire year on this island. I know you love coming out here for vacations, but I think it’s going to drive me crazy. Literally. I’ll wind up in a loony bin, and with my luck it’ll be right here, on the island. Help!
Anyway, good luck with your finals. Did I tell you that I made honors last quarter? I know, big deal. Good luck with graduation, also, and have fun. I guess I’ll see you when you get out here in June. Until then—
Maggie Vincent
P.S. Thanks again for walking me home. I’ve been thinking, and I was wrong about Vanessa. She’d only think she’s a pomegranate. Actually, she’s lettuce.
Maggie addressed the envelope with the post office box Ned had given her that night. She took a stamp from the rolltop desk that had come off the Grace Line ship her father’s father had captained. Licking the stamp, she glanced at her father. She had heard a hundred romantic tales of her grandfather, Captain Twigg Vincent, all from the lips of her mother. She wondered why she had never heard any from her father.
“Did you like your father?” she heard herself asking.
“Sure, I did. Everyone likes their father.”
Dream on, Maggie thought, but instead of feeling sarcastic, she felt sad.
“What was he like?” she asked.
“Very stern. Never saw him without a coat and tie. Not once that I can remember. He loved my mother.”
“And you, right? He loved you, too.”
Her father slugged some beer, newly absorbed with the baseball game.
“Two outs, Princess,” he said, intent on the screen. “Bottom of the third. Let me root for my team, okay?”
Maggie had left the room before her father had even noticed that she hadn’t answered.
NED Devlin kept having dreams of children on trapezes. Flying high above the ground, laughing and soaring, knowing for sure that they would be caught if they fell. In the dreams he’d see his face, Josh’s, Mike’s, and Maggie’s. But when he woke up, sometimes with a smile on his face, he’d be thinking of Karen.
Maggie had talked about her a lot on their long walk home.
He had never known Karen Davis. It was possible that he had met her; the island was small, the summer season short, and during her lifetime he had worked at the carousel, the Ben & Jerry’s shop, and the ferry snack bar. He’d seen a thousand little kids. He wondered about it now, the likelihood that their paths had crossed.
Final exams were upon him. It was strange, taking the last tests of his high-school career. Accustomed to studying hard, to trying his best, he balked this time. He had already been accepted to Dartmouth. What could happen? If he got straight F’s, if he blew every essay question, would Dartmouth renege on their word?
The truth was, he didn’t want to find out. He studied his ass off for finals as if they were the sole factors to determine his future. Even Mike, his roommate extraordinaire, the man who during all four years had never once gone to bed before finishing every single assignment, even if it took until three A.M., had slacked off for senior finals.
Not Ned. He didn’t want to curse his dream. One afternoon he took time out to address invitations for his graduation. To the Wades; to distant relatives; to Maggie (what the hell—she’d never want to come); and to his father.
He had considered including a note along with his father’s invitation, asking to please invite Anne. But in the end, Ned did not. He didn’t want Anne there.
As nice as she seemed, as much as his father obviously liked her, he didn’t want her to come to his high-school graduation. That was a place for his mother. His mom would have been so proud of him. She would have stood in the crowd, the light of her love for Ned shining in her eyes. God, he knew that was true.
He wanted his father to be happy. Ned, who had never been attached enough to a woman to rely on her, had imagined how hard it was for his father. His father had loved his mother so much. He had lived with her, made her pregnant with Ned, been present with her in the delivery room when Ned was born. Ned had heard the marriage vows, and when it came to his parents, he believed the promises: to love, honor, and cherish.
His mother wasn’t going to put in a surprise appearance at his graduation. Ned knew that. He didn’t believe in the supernatural. When he sent his father the invitation, he knew that he should write: Please ask Anne to join us.
He couldn’t do it.
Anne had made an impression on him. She had looked at him as if she could read his mind. She had told him, without speaking out loud, that she loved his father. That she was ready to love him, too.
“Shit,” Ned said out loud. He’d gotten himself so churned up thinking about everything, he couldn’t concentrate on his physics final.
Balmy May air rustled the papers on his desk, tempting him outside. You could hear voices drifting over from the playing fields. Grabbing his lacrosse stick, Ned loped down the dorm stairs. He didn’t see another soul; his dorm was deserted, as if a plague of spring fever had wiped everyone out.
The school grounds were all trimmed and blooming, in shape for graduation. Running along the brick walk, Ned passed two junior girls with their boyfriends. They were sprawled on the grass, sort of entwined with each other. Ned wondered how it was that guys even younger than he could seem so relaxed with girls.
That got him to thinking about Maggie Vincent, and he quickened his pace right up to a sprint. Walking her across the island that night had been really fun. At first he’d felt nervous, afraid that she’d think he was too much of a nerd. But she was so nice. Really sweet and funny, a little shy about telling him her ideas at first; very playful, getting right into the game of determining the vegetable counterparts to people they knew.
At one point, when they’d scrambled up the bluff, she had stumbled. Wanting to steady her, Ned had held her hips, and electricity had flashed all through his body. It knocked his knees out from under him, and he actually wobbled. He’d been afraid, for just one second, that he was the one who needed help. But then he planted his feet and knew he’d be okay.
The shock came back, again and again, when he remembered the feeling of her soft hips beneath his hands. It radiated almost stronger in memory, until he thought it would drive him crazy. Even now, running at top speed, he had to clench his fists a few times to convince himself that he wasn’t touching her.
Maybe she actually would come to his graduation. Stranger things had happened. He smiled, imagining the look on Mike’s face if she showed up. The smart thing for Ned to do, if he really wanted Maggie to come, was to tell his father it would be okay to invite Anne. But Ned had just wasted an hour of study time deciding he didn’t want that, and he wasn’t one to compromise his principles just for the sake of romance.
Romance, what a joke! Maggie had probably forgotten all about him by now anyway. Ned ran along, past clusters of kids he’d spent the last four years with, and not one of them realized that his hands and the part of his brain that dared to call it romance were on fire.
FITZGIBBONS ‘ was really shaping up. Starting a bed-and-breakfast wasn’t much more complicated than setting up your own home. Except for two rooms’ worth of stuff upstairs, they had lost very little to the fire. Gabrielle’s first order of business had been to wash, and wash again, every piece of fabric in the house. She went through a gallon of bleach. Steve and his crew had given the rooms fresh coats of whitewash, and they smelled brand-new.
The house had been in the family for forty years, and it was already furnished in the comfortable New England summ
er style that was very much in vogue. Her guests didn’t have to know that the house’s character had evolved from the fact that her family had had no money.
The stuff she had once considered dowdy was now being written up in all the house magazines. People actually paid extra for sun-faded chintz love seats, for well-washed white chenille bedspreads, for paper-thin white curtains with ball fringe, for comfy white wicker.
The dining room had corner cupboards with painted pale pink interiors, like the inside of conch shells. Stacked on the shelves were countless pieces of Blue Willow china. At the time her mother bought it, it was all the family could afford. But now Gabrielle saw pieces of Blue Willow at antique stores for twelve dollars a plate.
She bought new sheets for all the beds, gave them a good washing in fabric softener, and hung them in the sun to dry. The entire time she was working in the house, she had big pots of fruit simmering on the stove: wild island strawberries, wineberries, and blackberries for the preserves she would serve at breakfast.
The window boxes were given a fresh coat of sea-blue paint, then filled with red geraniums, white petunias, and cascades of English ivy.
As Memorial Day drew near, when the first guests would arrive, Gabrielle asked Maggie to stop by after school every day. Naturally Maggie had put up a fuss, but in the long run she did as she was asked. She’d have the bus drop her off at Salt Whistle Road instead of her usual bus stop, eat her snack, and get to work.
Today Gabrielle had plans to resurrect the herb garden that she and Anne had started as young girls. Overgrown and choked with weeds for many years, it now showed signs of promise. Gabrielle had been hacking away at it all week. Just yesterday she had uncovered the flagstones her father had laid so his daughters wouldn’t have to get their feet muddy weeding it.
Anne was coming out to see the house, and to help with the herb garden. The whale business was in full swing, and she worked both days on the weekend. Her only time off was Monday afternoon and all day Tuesday, when she would hole up with her collages, but Gabrielle had staked a claim on her time after lunch on Tuesday. Crouched by the circular stone wall that marked the garden, planting a ring of lemon-drop marigolds because they supposedly discouraged slugs, Gabrielle heard Anne arrive.
She must be touring the house, Gabrielle thought, when Anne didn’t appear right away. It was Anne’s first time seeing the house since Steve had finished his work, and Gabrielle thought it was best that Anne did it alone.
“I’d pay to stay here,” Anne said, coming out the back door in cutoff jeans and a yellow T-shirt.
“Didn’t he do a great job?” Gabrielle asked, relieved by Anne’s reaction.
“You wouldn’t even know there’d been a fire. I was really expecting to see some changes, but he kept everything exactly the way it was.”
“Steve doesn’t mess with family history,” Gabrielle said.
“God, look at this old place,” Anne said, turning her attention to the garden. “The last time we got our hands dirty here, we were probably younger than Maggie.”
“I should have consulted you on the plants, but here’s what I got: rosemary, mint, oregano, woolly thyme, sage, dill for the middle because it grows tall, basil, and parsley.”
“And look at the flowers! We never had flowers here before,” Anne said.
“I thought the borders could use some color. I was thinking silvery leaves—”
“Artemisia,” Anne said, nodding her approval, fingering the plant.
“And white, deep blue, and yellow flowers. So, rock-cress, lobelia, and marigolds. They’re supposed to torment various bugs and other varmints, I forget exactly which plant does what. Your friend Thomas told me.”
“Thomas?” Anne said, her gaze rising.
“Yes, I saw him at the garden center. Apparently, he’s quite a gardener. He helped me pick all this out. I must say, he didn’t seem too enthusiastic when I personally invited him to come to dinner with you.”
“We’re taking a break from each other,” Anne said.
“He didn’t look very happy,” Gabrielle said. “That must be why.”
Anne was working the soil with a trowel, not even bothering to slip on the bright orange, green-thumbed garden gloves Gabrielle had found in the basement. Gabrielle herself wore white ones with a dainty blue flower print, but right now her attention was on Anne.
“Do you wish I’d just shut up and blow away?” Gabrielle asked.
“No, but you do seem determined to monitor my love life,” Anne said. “First you want me back with Matt, now you tell me Thomas looks unhappy. I’m not ready for any of it,” she said.
Gabrielle had drawn a diagram of where she thought each plant should go, but Anne was just plunking herbs into holes she had dug.
“Thomas told me you don’t plant basil too near the wall, because it likes sun,” Gabrielle said, feeling slighted by Anne.
Without speaking, Anne dug up the plant and stuck it right beside a blue-gray flagstone.
“In case you’d like to know,” Gabrielle said huffily, “I have a map for this garden.”
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“That’s the purpose of communication,” Gabrielle said. “You talk, I listen. I talk, you listen. That’s the way things get done. You should try it sometime.”
Handing Anne the diagram to study, Gabrielle dug a hole with all the dignity she could muster. Just see if she’d let Anne know how hurt she felt by Anne’s propensity to keep every damned thing to herself. Gabrielle took the old metal watering can, sprinkled a little water in the hole. Then a little plant food. Finally she patted the rosemary plant into the soil.
Now Anne was reaching for the watering can. Gabrielle refused even to glance over. Let Anne follow the garden map or not—Gabrielle wasn’t going to police her. She heard some water trickle out. Then, just as Gabrielle was reaching for the flat of artemisia, she felt something hit her back.
She turned, in time to see Anne forming a second mudpie and lob it into Gabrielle’s lap.
“You brat!” Gabrielle said. “Stop that!”
Without changing expression, Anne scooped up another handful of mud. Bemused, she stared at her older sister, taking her time as she patted the mud into a fat ball.
“Don’t you dare, Anne. I’m warning you—”
Anne tossed it. Gabrielle caught it on her left breast. Hardly thinking, she grabbed the hose. She let Anne have it full force. Squealing, Anne ran behind a hedge, ducking for cover. But Gabrielle kept charging, pulling the hose through a break in the privet and catching Anne from behind.
Laughing hysterically, Anne lowered her right shoulder and ran straight at Gabrielle. The tackle didn’t hurt as much as Gabrielle had feared it would; it was as if she and Anne were dancing, and Anne had suddenly decided to dip her, and good. Anne’s arms were around her, and they were both cracking up too hard to speak as Anne lowered her to the ground.
The grass was soaking wet from all the water Gabrielle had sprayed, and the sisters fought to keep each other from getting up and running away.
“What is going on here?” came the irate sound of Maggie’s voice.
“She started it,” Gabrielle said.
“I did not,” Anne said, giving Gabrielle’s dripping hair a serious pull. “She deserved it for being nosy.”
“You can’t have it both ways,” Gabrielle said. “Either you didn’t start it, or I didn’t deserve it. That’s like a double negative.”
“You two are mental,” Maggie said solemnly.
“She called us mental,” Anne said to Gabrielle.
“I heard her.”
Grabbing the still-live hose, Anne stuck her thumb over the nozzle to increase the pressure, and gave Maggie a severe dousing.
At first, Maggie just stood there, stunned, while Anne lay on the wet grass spraying her with water with the intensity of a warrior. Then, very calmly, she walked to the spigot on the side of the house and turned off the water.
“She’s
good,” Anne said, to Gabrielle, raising an eyebrow.
“She learned from the best.”
Maggie walked over in her baggy plaid shorts and red T-shirt, sopping wet from head to toe, and sat cross-legged beside her mother and Anne.
“Maybe this would be a good time to ask if I can go to a friend’s graduation,” she said.
“Like whose?” Gabrielle asked, raising herself up on one elbow. Something cajoling in Maggie’s tone had Gabrielle’s maternal antenna twitching full power.
“Ned Devlin’s.”
“I didn’t realize you were such good friends,” Anne said.
“Neither did I,” Gabrielle said.
“Well, we sort of are. We bumped into each other while he was home for vacation, and we started talking, and I don’t really know, but he sent me an invitation to his graduation from Deerfield.”
“Oh, honey, I don’t know,” Gabrielle said. “That’s awfully far away.”
“Please?”
“Let me think about it,” Gabrielle said.
“Okay,” Maggie said, surprisingly ready to let the matter drop without exacting an immediate promise. Every day Gabrielle saw more signs of her daughter growing up; she felt proud, yet nostalgic for the past, when Maggie was just a little girl.
“Did you tell Anne?” Maggie asked shyly.
“Tell her … ?” Gabrielle asked, then realized that Maggie was talking about the garden. For a moment Gabrielle wished Maggie hadn’t said anything. It had been so much fun, laughing with Anne this last fifteen minutes, as if they hadn’t had a care in the world beyond throwing mudpies. But Gabrielle wouldn’t disappoint Maggie by changing the subject.
“Go ahead,” Gabrielle said. “You tell her.”
“We want the garden to be in memory of Karen,” Maggie said in a rush, as if she feared being rebuffed.
Anne just sat there, in obvious shock. Her mouth was slightly open as she looked from Maggie to Gabrielle.