Beach Plum Island

by Holly Robinson

  “That’s stupid. Everybody has a phone.”

  “No,” Ava said. “Finley didn’t believe in phones. She was always afraid the government would listen in on her conversations or something.” She didn’t say the rest of what she was thinking, which was that if Finley had put in a phone all those years ago, her own mother might have gotten help in time and not died of her heart attack.

  “Then we should drive to Maine,” Gigi said. “Right now!”

  “I can’t,” Ava said. “The boys.”

  Gigi rolled her eyes. “They’re with their dad this weekend. And Maine isn’t that far, right?” She looked from Katy to her mother.

  “No,” Ava said, thinking, Only on the other side of the world.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Elaine was still arguing with Ava, ranting about how the two of them should drive to Maine without Gigi. “You know how much Finley hates visitors!” Elaine was saying. “We don’t want to overwhelm her.”

  How could Elaine keep acting like Gigi wasn’t even here, or fail to see that Ava wasn’t going to cave? Gigi could spot Ava jutting her chin out a mile away. Elaine should just shut up now and get in the car.

  Ava had somehow convinced Elaine to drive to Beach Plum Island, but by the time she roared into Ava’s driveway it was nearly three o’clock. Gigi knew they had to hit the road fast if they were going to make the four-hour drive before Great-aunt What’s-Her-Name went to bed. If she was old enough to be Suzanne’s aunt, she could be, like, ninety.

  “Look, I will say this exactly one more time.” Elaine put her hands on her hips and leaned forward, nearly nose to nose with Ava. “That. Kid. Is. Not. Coming. With. Us. What do you suppose Finley would do if some child of Dad’s shows up? Have you considered that? Finley hasn’t let anyone say Dad’s name in her house since the divorce!”

  “There’s no reason Finley has to know,” Ava said. “Gigi and I agreed to say she’s a friend of the family, that’s all.”

  Elaine snorted. “Like that will fly. Gigi looks just like Dad.” She cut her eyes over to Gigi, then glared at Ava again. “And you. She’s like a little clone.”

  “Finley won’t see that. She was already having problems with her eyes the last time I saw her, and that was years ago,” Ava said.

  Ava must be such a cool high school teacher, Gigi thought. She hadn’t freaked out at all, even when Elaine started getting all super tantrumy and ridiculous.

  Watching her sisters butt heads, Gigi also knew that Suzanne must have been smoking hot if Elaine looked like her, which was what Mom said. Elaine was tall and gorgeous and almost too thin, except she still had boobs and curvy hips, like one of those magazine models who look like another species. Her brown hair was straight and long, as shiny as a Thoroughbred’s. Today Elaine wore jeans that Gigi knew must have cost over a hundred bucks, since some of the girls at school had them and were always bitching about the price, like their parents didn’t buy them.

  Despite the broiling July heat, Elaine also wore high-heeled boots and a long-sleeved white blouse. She should have looked wrinkled and sweaty, but she looked like she’d just stepped out of an air-conditioned hotel. Ava was the one whose hair was flying around all crazy and gold, as if she had a lion’s mane instead of hair.

  Ava was acting calm but she was upset inside. Gigi knew this by the way Ava’s hands were bunched into fists. Seeing this made Gigi want to punch Elaine in her flat belly.

  “Hey!” Gigi yelled suddenly. “Leave Ava alone! I’m right here, you know. If you’ve got something to say about me, say it to my face.”

  Both women turned to stare at her, openmouthed as guppies. Gigi took advantage of their momentary paralysis to march up and insert herself between them. “You are not the boss here, Elaine. We could already be on our way to Maine right now. We didn’t even have to call you! But Ava thought you should come with us because Peter is your brother, too. Just like he’s mine.” She folded her arms. “So make up your mind. Are you coming or not?”

  “The question isn’t whether I’m coming,” Elaine spit back. “It’s whether you’re coming, you entitled little brat. He’s only your half brother, like we’re your half sisters.”

  Behind her, Gigi could feel Ava nearly fly up off the ground, she was so ticked off. “Elaine Barrett, you should be ashamed. Do not talk to your sister like that,” she said. “Not in front of me, and not ever!”

  Elaine actually fell back a step. “Why are you always taking her side?”

  “I’m not,” Ava said. “I’m just trying to get the three of us to work as a team, and frankly, I’m running out of energy.”

  Elaine was scared, Gigi decided, risking a glance at her pale, pinched face, but of what? Of her? Or of actually finding a brother?

  “Look, I’m sorry you hate me so much,” Gigi told Elaine, struggling to make her voice sound as calm as Ava’s. “You can just ignore me. I’ll ride in the backseat and listen to my iPod or whatever. Pretend I’m not even here. I mean, don’t you want to come with us? Aren’t you even a little bit curious?”

  Elaine opened her pretty pink lipsticked mouth wide, like she might start yelling again, then closed it and sighed. “I don’t know. I still think this whole thing is a hoax, frankly.”

  “How can it be a hoax?” Ava demanded. “Why would Dad try to trick us?”

  “Not Dad,” Elaine said, gesturing with her chin at Gigi.

  “Yeah, well, Dad told me about our brother, too,” Ava said. “There’s no way to know whether this is a hoax unless we visit Finley. Even if she didn’t take the baby, she’ll know what happened.” She glanced at her watch. “All right. I’m done here. I’m driving to Maine. Whoever wants to come better get in the car right now or I’m leaving without you.”

  Gigi started for Ava’s Honda, but Elaine laid a manicured hand on her arm, the nails like brittle pink petals. “Do not get in that car,” she said.

  Gigi shook her off furiously. “You can’t make me stay here,” she said. “Ava wants me to come!” She was so mad that she was afraid the tears pricking her eyelids might start running down her face. If only she were older and had her own car, she wouldn’t even need her sisters.

  Elaine rolled her eyes. “No, you idiot,” she said. “What I meant was, we’re not taking Ava’s rattletrap Honda all the way up to Back of Beyond, Maine. If we’re going on a treasure hunt, we’re riding in style.”

  Gigi grinned. She had always wanted to ride in that sweet red BMW.

  • • •

  Three hours into the trip, Elaine stopped to fill the car with gas while Ava and Gigi used the restroom. When they came back, she went into the station to pay and took her turn in the bathroom.

  Alone beneath the too-bright, buzzing fluorescent light, Elaine peed and washed her hands and tried not to scream. Though, judging from her appearance in the wavy piece of steel some joker had put up for a mirror, she wouldn’t even need to scream for people to know she was falling apart.

  Her brown eyes were bloodshot, she’d chewed off most of her lipstick, and the clean white blouse she’d ironed this morning was so stained and wrinkled, it looked like she’d been storing it in the bottom of a boat. Maine always had this effect on her. She already felt defeated and things could only get worse from here.

  She splashed her face with cold water, then tried to sponge off the worst of the stains. This had the unhappy effect of turning the stain darker and making it spread across the front of her blouse. Now it looked like a map of Italy.

  It was probably that brown mustard. Ava, always the den mother, had insisted on packing sandwiches for the ride. Ham sandwiches with butter and mustard! And chips! A bag of chips for each of them! And she’d eaten all of hers! Jesus. She’d have to work out an extra hour at the gym tomorrow just to lose half those calories.

  As she scrubbed pointlessly at the blouse, Elaine gave herself a stern lecture. No more meltdo
wns. So what if she was the only one Dad hadn’t told about some phantom handicapped brother? That didn’t prove anything, except maybe that their brother didn’t exist.

  She slammed the flat of her hand down on the sink, then for good measure pounded her own thigh to punish herself for letting her emotions loose in front of her sisters, who were absurdly tight, acting like they were the ones who grew up together and not her and Ava. Fine. Gigi could be the sister Ava had always wanted, barefoot and messy and artsy. The two of them probably even loved using that crap outdoor shower at Ava’s cottage. Not a civilized bone in their bodies.

  From now on, no matter what happened, Elaine would keep a grip on herself. She would do the right thing for Ava’s sake and drive the car to Finley’s, where they would find out either their brother had never existed or he was defective. Probably autistic, a Down’s baby, or a schizoid mutant. Maybe he had died young. These things happened. Especially in Maine.

  Elaine stroked on bright pink lipstick. Instead of perking her up, though, the bold color made her look like a weather girl on cable. She rubbed it off with a tissue and applied nude lip gloss instead.

  It was after six o’clock. Maybe Finley wouldn’t even answer the door. She would be what, eighty-five? She could be asleep by now. Or lying dead in her apartment, just like Mom.

  Not that Finley deserved that fate, but let’s be honest, Elaine thought. Finley had chosen to be a recluse, and that’s what happened to women who lived alone: nobody knew when they died.

  That’s what happened to women who lived alone and didn’t work, Elaine hastily amended, thinking of her own condo, high above street level and so thickly carpeted and well insulated that nobody would likely find her, either, if she keeled over in her kitchen.

  Women who died alone either got eaten by their pets or were eventually found by a neighbor who jimmied open the door, recoiling in horror at the sight of a body on the floor. It was a neighbor who’d found Mom. Finley couldn’t climb the stairs with her lung problems; she’d gone across the street for help when she realized she hadn’t heard a noise upstairs in over twenty-four hours.

  “Oh, goddamn it to hell,” Elaine swore under her breath. Here she was crying again, and she’d just reapplied her mascara. What a fucking mess she was, and for what? Tears couldn’t bring her mother back.

  The only thing crying did was make her look weak. Elaine shuddered, remembering that melodramatic scene with Gabe in her bedroom this morning. She’d sobbed on his shoulder until she finally pushed him out the door, telling him she was going to puke and he’d better just hoof it in his Habitat for Humanity T-shirt.

  Then, just as she was collecting her wits and trying to make herself go to the gym, Ava had called to tell her about Dad’s deathbed confession to Gigi—to Gigi, of all people!—and to ask if she’d drive with her to Maine. Elaine had said yes at once, wanting to make up for leaving Ava’s house last night in such a huff. Of course Ava had neglected to mention Gigi would be tagging along with them.

  Elaine rinsed her face again, carefully wiping away her mascara and smoothing concealer under her eyes. Ava and Gigi weren’t wearing makeup. In fact, no women in this part of Maine seemed to bother with makeup. So she’d join them and go about her business, bald-faced and brave, until she could finally get back to civilization. This day couldn’t last forever. All days were the same length, she reminded herself. At the end of it, she could have a drink.

  The final hour of the trip was an excruciating series of winding roads skinny as ribbons, through towns too small and broken to name. Coastal Maine was cluttered with well-heeled escapees from Boston or New York. They clogged the winding roads by driving too slowly in their giant comfy sedans, but breathed life and color into the historic homes and actually needed restaurants and shops to survive. Here, though, in western Maine, the old farmhouses were beyond weathered and on to desperate, the shingles flaking off them like dead skin. Between them squatted trailers surrounded by skinny dogs and fat kids and flapping laundry.

  In front of one trailer, Elaine glimpsed a motorcycle parked next to an empty space in the driveway with a sign that read, BITCH PARKING ONLY HERE. The only restaurants were diners sure to serve greasy food with gravy on the side. Probably even the fries came with gravy, this close to Canada.

  “It’s so beautiful here,” said Gigi, who had been plugged into her iPhone the whole time and had, impressively, kept her mouth shut until now, except for the one time she started singing and Elaine told her to shut it.

  “It really is,” Ava agreed. “I love the rolling hills and pine trees. And the wildflowers, wow. Look at that field.”

  “Don’t forget the rusted trucks, caved-in barns, and plastic on the windows,” Elaine couldn’t help adding. “Those definitely add to the picturesque effect.”

  “I love the cows,” Gigi said. “But why are they lying down?”

  “Means it’s going to rain,” Ava said.

  “No it doesn’t. That’s just an old wives’ tale,” Elaine said, but wouldn’t you know it, a handful of raindrops splattered against the windshield of the car just then, even Mother Nature pranking her now.

  She put on the wipers, silently daring Ava and Gigi to say a word. They didn’t.

  Great-aunt Finley’s house looked just as dismal as she remembered. It was a two-story, flat-roofed house painted barn red. Even the trim and porch floor were that same shade of tired rusty red, giving the house the look of a brick standing on end.

  The front porch was flanked by ancient hydrangea bushes laden with supernaturally huge blue blossoms. Elaine shut off the car and stared at the bushes, remembering the photograph of her mother by the hydrangeas at the cabin they’d rented closer to the lake. Afterward, Mom had picked some of the blooms and brought them inside, discovering too late that the flowers were covered with ants. She’d spotted a line of ants crossing the kitchen floor and become hysterical, convinced the ants were after her. Was that because of the alcohol, the pills, or her own poor fizzling brain?

  Why didn’t Dad or Finley know enough to have her hospitalized? Why hadn’t Elaine tried to get her more help? Why didn’t Ava ever come?

  Pinned in place by fury and remorse, Elaine wanted to sit in the car and howl, but Ava and Gigi were already headed up the brick path to the house. They paused on the porch, both of them turning to look at her at the same time. Elaine was struck again by how similar they were in build and profile, both like their father, slender and not too tall, yet strong and imperious-looking just the same.

  She slid out of the car, looping her purse over one shoulder and locking the BMW behind her with a comforting beep of the key. She’d soon be getting back in her car and returning to Boston, with this house fading in her rearview mirror.

  Elaine wouldn’t let herself glance up at the blank upstairs windows of the apartment where her mother had died. She could smell the cigarette smoke from here. They were five miles from Moosehead Lake, but the scent of lake water was a pungent grace note to the cigarettes.

  “Okay, troops. Who’s got the cue cards?” she asked, forcing herself to smile and trot briskly up the sagging porch steps.

  Ava smacked a hand to her forehead. “God, you’re right. We should have thought about what to say. We don’t want to give poor Finley a heart attack.” She glanced at Elaine. “Oops. Sorry. Poor choice of words.”

  Elaine shrugged. “Fine by me. She was your mother, too.”

  “We should just tell her what Dad said and ask what happened to Peter,” Gigi said impatiently. “How hard is that?”

  “Ha. You don’t know Finley,” Elaine said. “She’s not exactly Miss Hospitality. And, no offense, but your dad is pretty much at the top of her blacklist since he walked out on Mom.”

  “He was your dad, too.” Gigi pressed two fingers to her bottom lip. It was only then that Elaine noticed she’d removed the lip ring. You couldn’t even see the hole. She was at
least slightly less psychotic looking without the lip ring, maybe even cute, but that spiked hair still gave Gigi the appearance of a belligerent hedgehog.

  “Could you please call a truce, you two?” Ava was saying. “We’re in this together.” She knocked on the door.

  Elaine hadn’t been aware of the tinny sound of the television until the noise was suddenly muted. They heard shuffling footsteps; then the door opened a crack. The smell of smoke was so strong with the door open that Elaine imagined blue strands of it curling out of the house in the shape of a huge hand, like in a cartoon.

  “Hey, Aunt Finley,” she said. “It’s me. Elaine.”

  “And me, Ava.” Ava looped an arm around Gigi’s skinny shoulders. “This is our friend Gigi. We were passing through town and thought we’d stop by.”

  Lame, Elaine thought.

  A hay loader rattled past on the narrow road behind them as Finley grunted and fiddled to unlatch the door. Finally she managed it. The door swung open onto a foyer crammed with boots, a bag of cat litter, a bucket of salt, an ice scraper, and a snow shovel. It might be July in Maine, but Finley was clearly still prepared for the sky to fall.

  “Well, don’t just stand there and let the flies in,” Finley said. “Come in and shut the door.” She turned and made her hunched way back into the house. She wore a blue cotton bathrobe and tan mules, her cracked dry heels hanging over the backs of her slippers like a pair of corks.

  The apartment was as dark, smoky, and pine-paneled as a VFW bar. Finley had the woodstove going in the living room despite the sultry midsummer heat that had slithered its way even this far north. Elaine immediately broke into a sweat and again regretted her blouse, jeans, and boots. She shot an envious look at Ava and Gigi, who both wore shorts and T-shirts and sandals. There was something to be said for letting your standards slip at the height of summer.

  “Have a seat, girls,” Finley wheezed. She settled herself on a plaid recliner with cat-scratched fabric; the chair looked like it had been dragged in off the street. “I’d offer you a pop, except I haven’t been to the store.” She picked up the cigarette smoldering in the ashtray and took a long drag of it, smoke swirling out of her nostrils. Judging from the number of butts in that ashtray, it was no wonder the woman’s skin had the texture of a walnut shell.