by Anna Adams
“So tonight you don’t want to leave me?”
Her expression went blank. “I know you’re teasing, but we made a child together. You and I will always be part of each other’s lives. The last thing I want is to leave you.”
Without letting himself consider consequences, he put his arms around his wife. She stiffened, but she didn’t pull away. She had him so off-balance he couldn’t be sure he wasn’t forcing her.
“Listen to me. I want us to stay together.” He fought for the love she’d felt in the beginning. “I want us to be like one of those trees out on the cliff, our branches so bound and twisted, there’s no parting us.”
Lydia’s soft laugh comforted instead of hurting. “Underneath all that anger and bitterness you’re a poet.”
“I’m trying to work at our marriage, Lydia.” Hearing himself, he marveled. “Do you know what it costs me to say those words?”
Even as she smiled, her eyes glistened. “I cry too much these days.”
Inordinately happy, he let her go, and she took refuge in the bathroom. In a few seconds, she returned, holding her toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. “I really am grateful to you for helping Evelyn. She will be, too.”
He started turning down the bed. “Don’t get all hot about that. What do I know about a cookie store?”
“She wants you for the legal stuff. Negotiating the rent, filing all the correct forms.”
“Mom’s running a game. She admits it.”
Lydia squeezed out toothpaste and began to brush. “You’re a service-oriented guy. There’s nothing you love more than doing a good deed.”
“Thanks. Tonight’s diagnosis isn’t as impressive when you look all minty and rabid.”
She covered her mouth, her eyes smiling over her fingers. “All right—enough marriage and family talk for tonight.” She finished her teeth in the bathroom. “I wish you had a television.”
“Why?” She watched only old movies at home.
“I’m getting bored lying around. Maybe I’ll check out the bookshelves downstairs.”
“I’ll do it. You’ve had a hell of a day. Lie down and get a little more bored.”
“You don’t know what I like.”
“Anything with a murder.”
“That’s right.” She pulled a thin, pink band from her pocket and wound her hair into a knot. Tendrils collapsed immediately, but she didn’t care. “In fiction, but I like it for the puzzle, not the violence.”
“Same as Dad. He’ll have something you like.”
Downstairs, his parents were in the kitchen. Their voices, friendly and even, almost made him wonder if he’d imagined the brawls of his and Clara’s childhood.
In the living room, he took a selection of books off the shelves his grandfather had built to flank the fireplace. He included a P.G. Wodehouse collection of short stories in case Lydia decided murder wasn’t her first choice this week.
He was too late. She’d already fallen asleep with her head on the crook of her elbow—on his pillow.
He set the books on the nightstand and pulled the comforter higher the way she liked it. She tunneled deeper.
A rainy gust drew Josh to the windows. Weather rocked the small house as if it were trying to throw it off the cliff. As a child in this room, with a blanket tucked tight beneath his chin, he’d imagined a giant’s hand, scooping up the only home he’d known. His parents might have been scary at times, but they’d been more familiar than those unknown demons who’d grabbed at his house in the dark.
Then Clara had come along, and he’d had to look brave to keep her from being frightened. He glanced back at Lydia’s still body, grateful for what she’d done for him and his sister today. She was right—she’d given their child a memorial spot as well.
He stared at his own stunned face in the reflective glass. Clara’s place had been separate and sacrosanct. Was this what Lydia wanted? To supersede the past?
He drew the curtains to keep out the sun in the morning. Lydia turned, in her sleep moving off his pillow.
He looked over one of the books he’d brought up for her, then dropped it and went to brush his teeth. He changed into clean boxers and returned to his room, yawning after a hard day’s labor and an even longer evening, battling with his wife.
As he got into bed, Lydia slid farther toward her edge.
“Hey,” he said.
She didn’t answer. Her breathing was deep and regular. Even in her sleep she made it clear she didn’t want him to touch her.
He turned off the light, suddenly wide awake. He knew how to make things better. But why couldn’t she want a man who refused to lie to her?
THE NEXT MORNING, the clock rang—screeched—and then Lydia heard it clatter across the wooden floor. Swearing, Josh pushed himself out of bed and grabbed it. Opening one eye, she watched him fumbling to turn off the alarm.
“Sorry,” he said. “I shoved it off the table.”
“No problem. I’d have done the same if I could have reached it.” Stretching, she reached for him, but he was already gone.
He opened the hall door to let in a little light. “Too much?”
“No.” She rolled her head against the pillow, but then turned onto her side. He crossed the hall in a pair of the boxers he’d started using as pajamas since they’d come to Maine. A subtle sign of the distance that remained between them, those shorts irritated her.
He came back, dressed. She must have dozed again.
“I thought you’d be asleep.”
“Off and on. I’ll make an effort after you leave.” He sat on the bed to tie his sneakers. “These things smell like fish. I’ll have to buy new shoes when we get home.”
Lydia resisted an urge to remind him Hartford wasn’t going to be her home. At least he assumed they’d be somewhere together. “Don’t you wear boots on the boat?”
“Water seeps down the sides.” He stood, pushing his denim pant legs down. “See you tonight.”
“We’ll fill you in on the buildings we look at.”
He paused at the mirror to push his fingers through his hair. Distance or not, he was still her husband. He still melted her heart with unconscious gestures.
“How good do you have to look before the fish just jump in the boat?” she joked.
Her reflection smiled at her. “When Clara and I were kids, we always wanted to stop at Gordon’s for donuts.” Lydia froze. He never mentioned tender moments with his sister. “I think my dad’s trying to make up for all the times he and Mom were too drunk or too broke to take us. We went to Gordon’s yesterday and we’re going again today.”
“That’s nice, Josh.”
“It would be if I could forget that Clara won’t ever know how hard he’s trying.”
“Do you feel guilty because you survived?”
Josh turned on her as if with anger. Words didn’t come. After a moment, he relaxed and found a smile, both fond and serious at once. “No more analysis, Doctor.”
The more they talked, the more they’d resolve, but she had to leave room for Josh’s wishes, too. “Okay.” She rubbed her eyes. “So, this Gordon guy likes to see your hair tidy?”
“I don’t know how long ago the last Gordon worked in that shop. Mrs. Foster, who must be in her seventies, has run the counter since before I was born. She remembers how much I liked apple fritters.” He kissed Lydia’s forehead and then straightened. Her sense of losing him lifted her hands, but he’d already turned back to the mirror. “Gotta look my best for Mrs. Foster,” he said.
“Do you think your father’s giving his comb a workout, too?” She tucked the sheet beneath her arms. Josh turned, smiling. “Your mom and I had better make sure Gordon’s isn’t too near to that shop she wants,” Lydia said.
“Come back if you start feeling tired.”
She nodded.
He must have seen her. “See you tonight.”
“Okay.”
In a few minutes, the truck chugged away, but no other noise broke the
morning stillness. Evelyn must still be asleep. She’d cooked until almost noon yesterday. Lydia nestled into the warmth on Josh’s side of the bed. The man was a virtual heater.
She should get up and start coffee for Evelyn, sneak in a cup of tea for herself, maybe even prepare the fixings for their omelets. She tried to stir, but when had she last been so comfortable?
Next thing she knew, she knew nothing at all.
“DAD, YOU DON’T THINK Mom told Geraldine Dawson it was Lydia who saw those boys?”
They’d stopped for lunch. His father looked up from the most bountiful ham sandwich ever made. “Why?”
“It’s the Vivian Durance thing. What if Mrs. Dawson’s grandsons were the kids at the school? She might not admit it to Mom, but she might tell them someone had seen them. She might mention Lydia.”
Bart cut the engine. “Why don’t you call?”
He pulled out his cell phone, but the boat had already taken them out of range. “No service.”
His dad tossed the rest of his sandwich to the gulls and went up front to start the engine and take them back toward shore.
“What did Mom tell you last night?”
“She said Geraldine didn’t know anything about any trouble at the school. I can’t believe your mother would have mentioned Lydia.”
“Probably not.”
His dad went back to the throttle. “Do you want to go home?”
“No.” Before, he would have brushed off any thought of harm coming to Lydia. He couldn’t do that now. “I think she’ll be all right. Even if it was the Dawson kids, they’re just boys.”
“With baseball bats.” His father started the engine. “But Lydia doesn’t like you interfering in her plans.”
Josh stared. “What are you talking about?”
“You two live your own lives.”
Before Clara’s death, no one could have accused his father or mother of being observant. “Because of our work.”
“Even when your mother and I were drunks, we shared our sins.”
“Just the drinking, right?” Darkness, unaddressed, loomed over his head. He didn’t actually want to know more about Bart and Evelyn Quincy.
“This is New England. The variety of sinning I or your mother would dare to do was limited. We had small opportunities. Besides, if I’d ever stepped outside propriety with any other woman, your mother would have used me for lobster bait.”
“You were never old-fashioned before, Dad.” And Bart’s portrayal of Josh’s mother wasn’t wholly familiar.
“I never let you know me, before. The business was bad. I drank all my fears away.” He shook his head. “Which is no excuse. But look, Josh, a taste of old-fashioned marriage wouldn’t hurt you or Lydia. You try to manage your ambitions in two powerful jobs. Who’s going to give in?”
“How do you know all this?”
“You think we’re fools? You’re my son, and Lydia is no stranger.” He sipped his soda. Ruddy color darkened his rough skin. “And we hear you arguing when you’re upstairs. You seem to think the house is soundproofed.” He set the can in a holder next to the steering wheel. “Was it when your mother and I quarreled?”
Josh shook his head, fourteen again instead of thirty-two. He’d made up silly games to distract Clara from their loud voices and ugly words. “I’ll talk to Lydia. We’ll have to keep it down.”
“You’ve said nothing that surprised us. If you don’t stop hating us, you’ll forget how to love anyone, and I don’t say that just for our benefit. I love you, and I want you to have happiness we never gave you.” His father cut the motor and lowered his voice and managed to seem less like Dr. Phil. “Try the phone now.”
His warning echoed in Josh’s ears, along with the dead engine’s roar. He couldn’t help remembering the millions of promises his parents had made—
“That was the last time I’ll take a sip.”
“I won’t buy another bottle.”
“You won’t have to pretend we’re sick for your sister again.”
All in the same tone as “I want you to have happiness we never gave you.”
Turning from his father’s perfectly sincere face, he dialed home. The phone rang and rang. As did Lydia’s cell phone. She hardly ever parted herself from it.
“She’s okay, Dad.” A massive lump of dread settled in the center of his chest.
“THE STRUCTURE IS SOUND, Evelyn.”
“I love this building. I don’t even need to look at the others.” Evelyn ran her hand fondly across one of the three huge plate glass windows that opened onto the harbor. Even in fall, sailboats whipped across the water, hopping over white foam.
“Wouldn’t you love to be out there?” Lydia asked. “Not a care in the world. Just the wind to talk to.”
“Maybe for an afternoon.” Evelyn stroked the counter, oak, topped by a hundred years’ polish and lacquer. “Trust me—no matter how hard you run, your problems wait for you.”
“I know.” But if she drowned them, it would be out there in the Atlantic.
Geraldine Dawson came up the stairs from the cellar. She’d said nothing about her grandsons. “All dry down there. This close to the water, it’s always a worry, but not here. We’d be able to tell if they’d ever had flooding.”
Evelyn slapped at a cobweb in the corner of the kitchen doorway. “What is Marcy willing to do about updating these ovens, Geraldine?”
“Not much. She feels you’re getting a good enough price that you can replace them.”
“I might disagree.” Evelyn opened the first one and then let it slam shut, slapping her hands clean. “We definitely need to discuss that.”
“How’s parking in summer?” Lydia asked.
“Crowded,” Geraldine said. “But that’s true for all the harbor businesses. Evelyn gets that little paved patch out back. There’s room for about five cars, and then three more along the meters in front.”
“I’ll have to shoo the dive shop customers away.” Evelyn checked out the fridge and the cold storage. “I like the freezers. Not that I’ll need all that room at first.”
“Do you have keys for the other buildings, Geraldine?” Lydia tried to remind her mother-in-law they shouldn’t decide without seeing what else was on offer. Josh wouldn’t react well to finding out his mother had thrown her bank account at the first property they’d visited.
“I really don’t see—” Evelyn said, but Lydia cut her off.
“We need to view them all.”
“Certainly.” Geraldine fished the keys from the pocket of her rust-colored suit. “I’m yours for the day. Lydia, are you all right to go on with us? I’ve heard you were ill.”
Lydia smiled at Evelyn, grateful she’d kept the facts in their family. People meant well, but she couldn’t face the kindness of even strangers until she’d developed a tougher skin. “I’m fine, thanks.”
“Are you sure?” Evelyn held the front door while Geraldine checked that they’d locked up out back. “You’ve slept most of the past few days.”
“I’ll sit if I’m tired, but you have to promise not to buy something while my back’s turned.” She nodded toward the storage areas. “What did you tell Geraldine about the boys?”
“Nothing.” Evelyn leaned closer. “I asked if she’d heard about trouble at the school. She said no. I couldn’t think of a way to ask about the twins without involving you so I dropped it.”
Lydia nodded and opened the door as Geraldine came back. They all trooped out in a row.
Evelyn found major problems with all three of the other listings Geraldine showed them. Lydia disagreed with Evelyn’s view that the customer area was too small in the newer place over by the fishermen’s docks. And the second building did have better parking. She had to admit an electrical fire in a former beauty salon had left water damage and an unattractive odor, but she fell in love with the little cottage that had been an annex to the local Montessori school.
“They didn’t have enough students to warrant keeping it
open as their administration office,” Geraldine said. “Our population is changing and the young people either move the moment they’re able, or they’ve come up here from the cities and then wait to have children.”
“Your grandsons live with you, don’t they?” Lydia asked. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, not really eager to know if the kind Realtor’s grandsons, who were clearly running her ragged, were the boys who’d tried to destroy the school door.
“They’re both in high school, both looking to get out of here the second they snatch their diplomas out of Principal Thorne’s hand.”
“I thought they were still youngsters, Geraldine,” said Evelyn.
“The twins are eighteen.” The older woman hesitated, her reluctance reminding Lydia she was an outsider. “My daughter and her husband split up. Shouldn’t we discuss the Barker café?”
“I like this place, Evelyn.” Lydia’d already learned too much. She hoped the boys weren’t the ones she’d seen, but who wanted to put two teenagers in jail? “You’d have a guaranteed customer base right next door in the school. One whiff of your cookies and even the parents will pile in for a two-thirty snack. I can see the office walls knocked down. You can put in a new counter like the one at Barker’s.”
“Or I can use the one at Barker’s after I buy the café.” Evelyn crossed her arms. “We’ll ask Josh and Bart to take the tour, too.” She looked over her shoulder. “Although, they’re only inspecting here and Barker’s. The other places are definitely out.” She marched through the cottage’s back door.
A talented saleswoman, Geraldine had filled all silences before now, but having confided her family problems, she seemed ill at ease.
“The trees are bare already,” Lydia said.
“Our last tourists visit in the fall to see the foliage. Leaf peeping, we call it. The population doubles in size for a few weeks.”
Evelyn returned. “You know what I think, Lydia?”
“That this place is a better bargain?”