by Luanne Rice
“Maggie told you about that? Good,” Anne said.
“She did not tell me,” Gabrielle said, plump tears squeezing out the corners of her eyes, falling onto the tomatoes. “I overheard her, months ago, when she thought I was asleep, talking on the phone to Ned. I was standing in the hallway, listening to her tell this boy the most horrendous, terrifying story I have ever heard. I was afraid to make a sound. If she heard me, she would stop talking, and I would never know what had happened. All I could think was, she might have been killed!”
“I didn’t know what to do,” Anne said slowly. “She was in trouble, that was obvious. And she was afraid to have you find out.”
“Am I so mean? Am I such an ogre?” Gabrielle asked in a voice between a whisper and a wail.
“No, the opposite,” Anne said, reaching for her hand. “We never want to disappoint you.”
“Disappoint me!” Gabrielle said. “I feel so shut out right now… . You’ve confided in Maggie some dreadful thing about Matt, Maggie’s all concerned about making sure your love life with Thomas runs smoothly. I’m out of it entirely.”
“No, you’re not. I’m sorry if I’ve treated you that way,” Anne said, knowing that she had.
“I have to leave now,” Gabrielle said, her lower lip quivering. She scrubbed tears out of her eyes.
“Gabrielle,” Anne called, wanting to make peace. “I’m fixing a romantic picnic for tonight. Can you help me out? I need an idea.”
But Gabrielle just waved the air behind her, stumbled into her van. That’s when Anne realized just how hurt her sister felt. Never in her life could she remember her sister turning down the chance to help plan a meal.
GABRIELLE drove twice around the island, then took a walk on the deserted end of Salt Whistle Beach. She felt bleached with frustration and agony. Everyone thought she was a brick. Solid Gabrielle, the nurturing sister, mother, and wife. Take her for granted, appreciate her, it didn’t matter: she’d keep giving, no matter what.
It had been that way since she was a little girl. She had been a teenager when her parents had died; she had taken on the responsibilities of raising Anne without once looking back. She had sacrificed her senior prom, because she didn’t have a sitter. She had missed out on college, travel, all the things she had wanted for Anne.
Maybe that explained it: Anne and Maggie. They had both been raised by Gabrielle, and that gave them a sisterly bond. Well, Gabrielle had had enough of that. They weren’t sisters.
A westerly breeze blew square off the water, drying her tears. The sun had gone behind some pillowy clouds, lighting them orange and purple from behind. Gabrielle had a dinner party to cater that night, a clambake for eighteen. She had barely started preparations, but she didn’t feel inclined to leave the beach.
Standing at the low-tide line, her bare toes burrowing in the wet sand, she felt the cool waves lick her ankles. When had she last come to the beach without a bunch of people to feed? She was always making beach picnics, hotdog roasts, champagne suppers.
She’d been feeding strangers for years. And now, as if making a nest for her own family were not enough, she had opened her family home to travelers. What fueled this compulsion to feed every hungry mouth from the ferry dock to Salt Pond? And now she was luring them from off-island with mouthwatering ads in Sunday papers everywhere.
For now, nothing fueled Gabrielle. She took a deep breath, forced herself to walk back to her van. In less than two hours she was supposed to have a pit dug, the fire going, and seaweed steaming. Forget it—she’d do the short-form clambake tonight. On top of the stove, in big iron kettles. To hell with the customers, if they didn’t like it.
When she returned to Fitzgibbons’, Gabrielle found Brian Pearse, a young lawyer from Boston, waiting for her on the front porch. She had chatted with him and his wife last night. They had seemed pleasant, perhaps a little shy, asking her about beaches on the island. It didn’t take long for Gabrielle to figure that they were after Haley’s, the nude sunbathing beach. She gave them directions to find it, including the only place they could park their car and not get towed.
“Hello,” she called. “Did you find the path to the beach all right?”
He assured her that he had. He seemed hesitant, as if there was something he wasn’t quite sure he should mention.
“Is there something wrong?” Gabrielle asked, frowning.
“I hate to even say anything, but we’re missing a bottle from our room. My wife remembers packing it, a little bottle of Grand Marnier. Maybe one of the girls accidentally moved it while cleaning… .”
“I’ll check into it,” Gabrielle said, thin-lipped.
Marching into the laundry room, she found Maggie, Vanessa, and Céline folding sheets. She did a piercing survey of their eyes, the dilation of their pupils, and thought maybe she detected something funny about Vanessa’s. She closed the door behind her.
“I’ve had a complaint,” she said. “From one of the guests. A bottle is missing from his room.”
Both Vanessa and Céline were wide-eyed, innocent as lambs. Only Gabrielle’s very own Maggie showed signs of guilt. A deep blush crept up her neck, straight to the roots of her hair, and her gaze darted everywhere except Gabrielle’s face.
“I’d like to speak with you in private, Maggie,” Gabrielle said with what she considered admirable restraint.
Matt stood in the kitchen, helping himself to a glass of milk from the refrigerator. Gabrielle felt like snapping at him: You’re just like any other guest, keep out of my kitchen. Full of seething, unfocused anger, she walked straight past, ignoring his greeting.
“Creep,” Maggie said under her breath.
“Save it,” Gabrielle said.
She led Maggie out back, to the potting shed. The place hadn’t been used in years. Full of old flower flats, dusty potting soil, cobwebs, and garden tools, Gabrielle had planned to make it next year’s project: a honeymoon cottage, separate from the main house. But right now she saw only the dust and filth, and she felt mocked.
“How could you?” she asked, turning on Maggie.
“I didn’t take it!”
“Then look me straight in the eye and tell me who did. Was it Vanessa? Céline?”
Maggie gave a sullen shrug, and Gabrielle slapped her face. Maggie looked up, her mouth an O. Gabrielle had never, not once in her entire life, slapped her daughter. She felt shocked by what she had done, but she didn’t regret it.
“Shall we march right inside?” Gabrielle asked. “So you can point out the culprit to me?”
When Maggie didn’t answer, Gabrielle exhaled. “No, I didn’t think so. Do you have any idea of how hard I work? Do you know how unlikely it is for an inn like this to really succeed? It takes word of mouth, Maggie, and if guests head home and tell their friends that the chambermaids are thieves, do you think people will want to come? Do you? Answer me!”
“I didn’t take it,” Maggie whispered.
“Guess what? I don’t care whether you did or not. You wouldn’t tell me the truth if your life depended on it. I don’t even know what to believe anymore.”
“I would tell you. I swear, Mom. I didn’t—”
But Gabrielle was in a blind rage, too far gone to listen. Her fury was a ball of yarn, a tangle made from Maggie and Anne’s secrets, Matt sneaking into her guest book, the theft of the Pearses’ Grand Marnier, and a serious disappointment in herself. Here she was, more concerned with betrayal than the fact that she suspected her sixteen-year-old of stealing liquor.
“You’re grounded,” Gabrielle said as calmly as she could.
Still touching her red cheek, her eyes full of tears, Maggie stared at her mother. You could practically read Maggie’s thoughts, in beseeching little bubbles above her head. But she seemed to decide that speaking wasn’t worth the trouble. She left the potting shed without once looking back.
NED Devlin and Josh Hunter had just spent the afternoon climbing ladders at the fire station. With Marty Cole supervising them,
they took turns climbing the super-tall sky ladder on the back of Engine no. 3. At first Ned went slowly, one rung at a time. Lift the left foot, carefully bring the right foot beside it. Left foot again, let the right foot catch up. Both hands gripping the ladder. Don’t look down.
Marty and Josh taunted him from below, good-natured teasing that made him realize that they’d been in his position once. The way they were poking fun at his fears, he knew that they had once felt the same ones.
But Ned’s third time up the ladder, he caught the hang of it. He whipped up and down, a squirrel in a maple tree. Looking down was no problem, and he started to enjoy the view: you could see all around the island, blue water everywhere, as if you were in a plane coming in for a landing.
Marty wanted to clock them, to see who was faster. Ned was game, but Josh said he’d gotten fouled playing basketball the night before, and he still had a stiff ankle. “Yeah, sure,” Marty said. Anyway, it was just as well: Maggie would be getting off work soon. Ned’s father needed the pickup to take Anne out, so Ned had to rely on Josh for a ride.
“I can’t believe you’re scoring on Maggie Vincent,” Josh said, heading cross-island to Maggie’s family inn.
“Not exactly ‘scoring,’” Ned said, scowling. He didn’t want people thinking that was how he saw Maggie.
“Listen, buddy,” Josh said. “She may have a lot going for her, but one thing you have to realize: with Maggie you always score.”
“Knock it off,” Ned said. He flipped on the radio, but nothing much besides static was coming in. He turned on the scanner instead.
“Sorry, man,” Josh said, sounding sincere.
“Yeah,” Ned said, still pissed off. He knew he shouldn’t care about what Maggie had done before they started going out, but imagining Kurt or anyone else touching her the way he did … it nearly drove him out of his mind.
Sometimes, kissing her, caressing her silky skin with his hands, Ned’s mind would fill with images as sharp as if he were watching them on a movie screen. Once, picturing Maggie kissing Kurt, he bit his own tongue so hard he drew blood and swore out loud.
Pulling up in front of the inn, Josh let the Taurus idle. Spitting dark exhaust, the car shuddered in the street; both boys leaned forward, looking for a sign that Maggie was done with work.
“There’s Vanessa,” Josh said. “Looks like maybe she’s waiting for her ride. We could ask her about Maggie.”
“Maybe I should just go in,” Ned said doubtfully. He knew this inn was Mrs. Vincent’s pride and joy, and he didn’t know how she’d feel about him, all scruffy and ready to go sailing, making a grand entrance. Maybe the back way—but here came Vanessa.
“Hi Josh, hi Ned,” she said.
“Is Maggie finished with work?” Ned asked.
“Not quite,” Vanessa said, dimpling prettily. She’d been much nicer to Ned now that he was going out with Maggie. When he’d come on-island last April, she wouldn’t give him the time of day. None of the kids would. But being with Maggie seemed to open every door.
“Do you know how much longer she’ll be?” Josh asked, checking his watch. Ned knew he was thinking of the tide. They had to be on the water within thirty minutes, before the tide started rushing back in. Josh kept his boat, a JY-15, down by Panther Hole, where the flood washed through like Niagara Falls. You couldn’t get anywhere on an incoming tide: it was like sailing on a treadmill.
“You giving her the night off?” Vanessa asked Ned sweetly.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, we just want to steal her away for a few hours. You can join us later. But we’re all mad at Maggie, forgetting all her old friends just because she has you now.”
“That’s what she wants?” Ned asked, amazed.
“She’d think it was really big of you,” Vanessa said. “Sometimes you have to let go a little, in order to hold on. And Maggie doesn’t like possessiveness.”
Ned knew he had a tendency to hold too tight, and it scared him. He certainly didn’t want to scare Maggie away.
At the firemen’s picnic the other night, he had overheard some of the guys saying their wives were feeling hurt and pissed off because they’d been left at home. Everyone had an opinion on the subject, and the war stories were flying. About stag parties; excursion to the Playground, a strip club in New Bedford; how all the best women accepted a man’s need to have the occasional night out with the boys.
“No guy wants a clingy wife,” Marty Cole had said.
Listening to Marty and the others, Ned had faded into the background. He could relate more to the women, sad for being abandoned even for one night, than he could to the guys. Right now Vanessa was striking a nerve. He wanted to be with Maggie every free moment. He tried to act super nonchalant, as if what Vanessa was saying was no big deal. As if he didn’t care a bit about Maggie going out without him.
“So, you say there’s something happening later?” Josh asked.
“There’s always something happening later,” Vanessa said, but she was still watching Ned for his reaction. He had the feeling she was daring him to make a wrong move. Ned knew that Maggie had misgivings about her old friends, but he also knew she felt guilty for abandoning them. It was a genuine conflict, and Ned didn’t make it easier for her. Anytime she brought up Vanessa, Eugene, or especially Kurt, he would feel his muscles stiffen as if he were contemplating a high dive.
“Go sailing,” Vanessa urged. “Have a great time, then come back and meet us. We’ll probably head for the cave. You’ll find us.”
“Who’s that?” Josh asked, gesturing at a cute blond girl observing the car from the front porch.
“Céline Dutremble,” Vanessa said. “She’s eminently available. I’ll introduce you to her tonight.”
“Summer kid?” Josh asked, practically salivating.
Vanessa nodded. She held a backpack, and from it she slipped a bottle. “Want a hit?” she asked. “Go ahead. It’ll keep you warm on the water. And get you in the mood for later.”
“Where’s Maggie now?” Ned asked, peering toward the house. Josh uncorked the curvy brown bottle and took a sip. He passed it over to Ned, but Ned shook his head.
“Getting chewed out by Leona Helmsley,” Vanessa said. “Her mother is really taking this hotel idea a little too seriously. But don’t worry. I’ll tell her you’ll hook up with us later. Okay?”
“Sounds cool,” Josh said. He threw Ned a radiant smile. “Whaddya say, buddy? We’ll catch the tide, be back in time for the party?”
Still staring at the house, Ned nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”
“ HE wanted to go sailing,” Vanessa said. “He waited, but there was something about the tide. Don’t worry—he’s meeting us later.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” Maggie asked, glowering at Vanessa. She couldn’t believe Ned would just go sailing without her. They’d made plans. Now she was grounded, and she couldn’t even tell him.
“Chill out,” Vanessa said, giggling. Maggie could see she was tipsy.
“And thanks for letting me take the blame,” Maggie said. “What are you doing, stealing from the rooms?”
“What about it, Miss High-and-Mighty? You’re really letting that dork-ass rule your life. You never minded stealing before, as long as it was for you.”
“Oh, Vanessa,” Maggie said, depression settling in. Now she didn’t know what to think. Ned hadn’t even waited for her, and here was Vanessa making fun of him.
“You’ll see him later. He’s coming to the cave.”
“He said so?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m grounded,” Maggie said.
“So what? It’s summer, and you have a boyfriend. Break the rules,” Vanessa said, throwing her arms around Maggie. Maggie held on, because Vanessa was her oldest friend and because at that moment she didn’t have anyone else. She felt lost and deserted, and a sob was lodged in her throat.
A rattletrap VW beetle stuttered down the street, making bo
th girls look up. Burnished gold, lacy with rust, it was a typical island surfmobile. Maggie stared to see who was driving, and recognized Kurt.
“Come on,” Vanessa urged. “Come with us. You’ll see Ned in a couple of hours.”
“No,” Maggie said, watching Kurt. “Not with him.”
“He’s just one of us. We were a team, weren’t we? God, how would we have gotten through the last few years without each other? Come out with us, for old times, and you can be in Kurt’s face with Ned later.”
“I’m grounded,” Maggie said, but even as she spoke she saw her uncle Matt coming in her direction. He raised his finger to catch her eye. Shooting him a defiant glare, Maggie turned back to Vanessa. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 21
The big question was, who would sit where? Half the backseat, behind the driver, was taken up by a big cooler full of beer. Kurt was driving, Eugene was in the front passenger seat. Maggie wanted to sit in back, on Vanessa’s lap or vice versa. But before she could speak, Eugene had leaped out of the car, into the back, pulling Vanessa on top of him. Maggie had no choice but to sit in front. Next to Kurt.
“How’s everything?” Kurt asked with a sidelong glance at the exact moment that Eugene slid into the cooler and came up with four fresh Molsons.
“Fine,” Maggie said, her stomach all worried about what Ned was doing and what he was thinking. She accepted the opened beer and took a long drink.
Kurt’s progress down Salt Whistle Road was halting. He would accelerate, get the clutch and the brake mixed up, pull the car off the center line with just enough time to miss oncoming cars. To Maggie, it was obvious he had been drinking all day. Her eyes on the road, she reached behind her head for the seat belt. But there was none. This was not a new car. No seat belts, no headrests, only an AM radio.
“Where did you get the car?” she asked.
“Bought it,” Kurt said. Burping, he gave her a sinister sidelong glance.
For how much? Maggie wanted to ask. Fifty bucks?
“Hear you have someone new,” Kurt said.