“You cannot shut decent people out of public events. To do so fosters hostility, which could have the precise effect you are trying to avoid, namely having people question what goes on here. They are not stupid, simply because they cannot predict winning lottery numbers or find lost people by staring into bowls of water. They’ll grow resentful. They’ll decide we need a mayor who doesn’t forget their names when they’ve lived here for twenty years, a village board that understands and obeys the sunshine laws, rather than governing the place from this very kitchen table. If you and the mayor and the police chief and Mrs. Ralston keeping ruling Paumanok Harbor like an exclusive country club—read exclusionary in that—there’ll be riots in the streets.”
Okay, maybe I went too far.
“Or good people will move away. People like Louisa and Dante Rivera, who have done so much for this town. Why should they stay and raise their children here when they’ll grow up with inferiority complexes? I finally heard what goes on at the women’s night. I heard it from Louisa herself, who heard all about it at the center, so it’s not some closely held secret. It’s not the witches’ sabbath I feared, either, though you might dance naked by moonlight after everyone leaves.”
Lou laughed, but Doc Lassiter looked interested. Grandma Eve kept putting stamps on envelopes and ignoring my diatribe.
I spoke louder and pounded the table for effect. Little Red barked, so I had to shout over his noise: “How dare you refuse to bless Louisa’s new baby? How could you deny her little girl the chance to launch a paper wish boat and watch until it sinks so she’ll know her wish will come true? Are those children any less important than Kelvin’s kid whose nose runs when he hears a lie? And while I’m at it, what kind of place permits only women on a public beach? That’s not constitutional. It’s not even good feminism. It’s segregation, that’s what. Professor Harmon offered up his very life to save this town. Don’t you think he’s entitled to take part in its festivities?”
My throat went dry before I could use Montauk’s huge St. Patrick’s Day parade as an example, where less than ten percent of the marchers, I’d guess, had any Irish in them, unless you counted Irish whiskey and green beer. Doc Lassiter handed me a cup of tea and touched my shoulder. At peace now that I’d said my piece, I sat down and added sugar.
Then I remembered where I was and drank it fast, burned my tongue, poured the dregs down the sink, and rinsed the cup before Grandma Eve could look at the tea leaves in the bottom. Carinne already told my future.
“So what do you think?”
Grandma Eve handed me a stack of stamped envelopes. “I think you can drop the top one at the arts center, the next one at the vet clinic, and give Jimmie his invitation when you go back to get him. The rest go to the post office tomorrow.”
I looked. The top one was addressed to the Rivera family.
“You already planned to invite them?”
“And everyone else who can be counted on to appreciate what we do, rather than criticize the traditions. Of course, the mayor will be on hand in case anything occurs that people should not recall. Naturally, we won’t permit cameras, cell phones, or recording devices.”
Naturally. I didn’t win the argument, but I didn’t lose either, which was a first with my grandmother, so I felt good. Or maybe that was Doc’s touch still talking. Either way, I leaned over and kissed her cheek. She tut-tutted and straightened the stack of envelopes.
Then she reverted to the witch I knew and loved: “So we are going to have many more people on the beach, Willow. Two circles at first, men and women separate, so everyone can speak freely, then coming together. Which means we need the sand back. Stop wasting my time and yours. You have less than two weeks.”
Maybe the Andanstans would take my grandmother as payment for their help. Nah, they’d just be doing us another favor.
* * *
Harris drove me back to my mother’s house to pick up the old Outback. He followed me to Matt’s, and went room to room before he let me go inside, even though Moses kept watch. I promised to lock the door behind him and call when I wanted to go to the beach. Especially if I had to go without Matt. The stalker might have been in the city this morning, but he could be on the way here now.
On that cheerful note, I tried calling my mother again. She answered, but said she’d call back when she stopped for gas. At least she wasn’t driving distracted, or demented like she’d be if I told her about Carinne.
Meanwhile, I called my father. “No, I haven’t told her. She’s driving north. Do you see any danger to her? Your Danny Boy person made threats. I need to know if the threats are real.”
“I can’t tell, but I know she’ll burst a blood vessel if you let her trip over Carinne on Main Street.”
So I had to tell him that Carinne wouldn’t be going into the village until we got her premonitions manageable, after what happened with her and the kid, Brock, this morning. “But the Royce people are working on it, which is hopeful.” I was more optimistic that Oey’d have advice, but I kept that to myself.
He’d been hoping for better, I knew, but Dad said he was glad I found so many people trying to help. Maybe the yo-yo hypnotist I told him about could work something permanent. “They get people to quit smoking, don’t they? They bring back lost memories, too, so maybe the Brit can do the reverse.”
“I’ll ask.”
My first job was bringing back the sand. And staying alive long enough to do it.
“Do you have any new warnings for me, Dad?”
“You know how it works, baby girl, sometimes words, sometimes pictures, sometimes just a feeling like a tickle in the back of your throat. The last touch I had, that Irish guy and Burl Ives were marching in a parade, with a fife and drum band.”
“So I’m supposed to look out for a guy with a bagpipe or a glockenspiel?”
“He’s wearing a wig.”
“Dad, Halloween is coming. Everyone will be wearing a wig. What kind? What color?”
“I’d tell you if I could! I can’t just call it up like ordering takeout, you know.”
“I know, Dad. I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m worried.”
“Me, too. I’ll stay home tonight. See if anything comes to me.”
“Great. Let me know.”
“And you let your mother know.”
* * *
She called back fifteen minutes later. From South Carolina. She could be here by tomorrow.
“Mom, please take this threat seriously. The dirtbag kills pigeons and beheads rats. He sends filthy drawings. He’s so crazy there’s no telling what he’ll do.”
“You’re getting me paranoid, Willy. Now I keep thinking someone’s listening to my conversations and following me.”
“Someone is, Mom. At least they’re supposed to be, to protect you. DUE is taking the threats to heart. You should, too. Please stay away from here until they catch the bastard.”
“Fine. I’ll stop off at the apartment.”
“No! That’s just as bad. How about visiting Lily’s daughter in New Jersey?”
“What’s the jackass say?”
Dad said to tell her about Carinne. “Nothing that I can figure out. Burl Ives, fife and drum, and a wig. Oh, and hives and chives and extra wives. He didn’t mention the mustang tonight, but he did kind of confirm the profiler’s guess that Deni is a boy.”
“I can’t stay away too long, not with the TV show coming up. And the festival.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me the thing on the beach was an earth mother kind of occasion, asking blessings or wishes or whatever?”
“It’s also a thanksgiving, so they changed it to the night before All Hallow’s Eve generations ago to avoid persecution, but keeping to the full moon tradition. Now the kids can enjoy Halloween, but not get up to trouble with all the women abroad. It’s
a beautiful celebration, but you wouldn’t listen. Now all you listen to is the jackass’ drivel. I’m supposed to look out for Burl Ives on a horse? If I catch that fat slob breaking some poor animal’s back, I’m calling the SPCA.”
“You do that, Mom. Oh, I told Deni you had a pit bull and a Doberman and a Rotty with you, to scare him off. What are you delivering anyway?”
“Two toy poodles and a Maltese. We took them from some conscienceless cretin trying to make designer dogs.”
Real scary. “So stay there and find them good homes.”
“No, city-ites are more into toy breeds for apartments. But maybe I’ll stop by the Greyhound Rescue Center in Philly to help get the racers they took acclimated to domestic life.”
“That sounds great. They need you.” I didn’t. “Just let me know where you are, and I’ll let you know when they get this a-hole.”
“What about Matt?”
“He already has a dog.”
“Don’t be—”
“You’re fading out, Mom. Talk to you later.”
* * *
Staying inside with the doors locked couldn’t include walking across the yard to Matt’s office, could it? I took Moses for protection and Little Red for noise.
The Hargrove woman had decamped, and Marta, the kennel man’s wife, already sat behind the counter, looking confident and competent. Two small children played near her feet, crayoning and doing puzzles. Carinne couldn’t come here, either.
The kids welcomed Moses like an old friend, and he almost barreled them over trying to lick both at once. Take that, Mrs. Hargrove.
Marta said her mother had a doctor’s appointment, but she’d be by soon to take the kids to the playground. The little boy wailed that he wouldn’t go, this place was better than any old playground.
With the new income, Marta told me, the children could go to daycare a few days a week, too. She thanked me for recommending her, between answering the phone, making appointments, and reassuring a nervous poodle owner that the doctor would be ready in a few minutes, but Moses would never hurt another animal.
I wasn’t so sure about Little Red, so I held him tight and refused her gratitude. Mrs. Terwilliger had been the one to put Marta’s name on the list.
Marta promised to make the librarian a bookmark.
A favor for a favor. Repaying a kindness.
Damn.
I handed Marta an invitation to the beach thing. “It’s kind of like the annual blessing of the fleet or the blessing of the animals mixed in with thanksgiving.”
“I’ll say a prayer of thanks for you and the library lady. And Dr. Matt, for sure.”
Me, too, when he came out and kissed me and said the poodle was his last patient of the day.
In an hour I was home. Not the pawky little house, not my mother’s, but home in Matt’s arms. My rock, my island, my lover.
And my listener. He told me about his busy day, no sad stories, thank goodness, and I told him about mine, just like an old married couple. Except my day involved my psychic half sister’s breakdown, my appointment as Sand Reclamation Officer, the witches’ retreat, my father’s prognostications, my mother’s disbelief, and my dread of disappointing everyone.
He was certain someone could help Carinne lift her heavy burden, and that I’d get the sand back. I should thank my grandmother for the invitation, he’d be happy to see the town come together, and he’d love to meet my father some day. And the Willingham family is looking for a Maltese to play with the one they already have.
That’s what I loved about Matt, one of the things, anyway, besides his smile, his dedication, his strong, gentle hands, his flat stomach, his . . .
I could go on forever, it seemed. Mostly he had such strength, such confidence, that I had to believe anything was possible.
But not in the cold October drizzle. I couldn’t drag Jimmie to the beach in this. So I made some phone calls—one to the pizza place for delivery—and we kicked around more ideas of what we could do for the Andanstans to repay their kindness.
We could gather as many Matchbox dump trucks as possible, line them up, and see if the guys could drive them. Or we could make small drag nets out of pantyhose. They might appreciate thoughtful gifts that helped move the sand better.
“Great, unless trucks and nets let them steal it faster.”
“Or bring it back faster.”
“Maybe they’d like pizza crusts.” The dogs sure did.
“So what do you think?”
“Try them all. And beg the parrot to help.”
That was my plan, but the storm got worse. And the weather station said it could continue until tomorrow.
So we ate the ice pops Matt kept for Marta’s children and made love all night.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
I had triplets?!!
Holy shit, triplets. That’s what my father’s six AM phone call told me anyway.
Louisa’s baby was the sweetest thing I’d ever seen, and I’d kind of gotten used to cute little Elladaire, the fire-throwing toddler I’d foster-mommed in the summer. I was especially fond of that mental picture Carinne drew of me reading a picture book to a little kid. But three babies, all my own, all at once? “Triplets? Say it ain’t so, Dad!”
“That’s what I got when I thought about you. Usually I don’t have to try, the ideas just come. Dreams, inspirations, who knows? But I did what I said, stayed home all night, no TV, no book, no phone sex. Kidding there, baby girl. But I kept staring at that picture of you I have, from when you came to visit last time. The one with your nose all sunburned. You sounded so worried. And I wanted to give you as much warning as I could so you’d be prepared.”
There was no way in hell to prepare for triplets, unless you were a cocker spaniel looking for a closet and some old blankets. “Triplets?” I know I was repeating myself, but panic clogged my mind. “Never do that again, staying in and staring at an ugly photo. Go out, have fun, I don’t care if you go to singles bars or strip joints. Spend your pension on phone sex, it’s okay. Watch out for chest pains, is all. But do not dream of triplets!
“And you,” I yelled at Matt as soon as I ended the call. “We are never having sex again!”
“Good,” he said. “This is killing me.”
“Hah! Whose idea was it to go another round?”
“Just living up to Walter’s expectations with all those condoms.”
“On your rowing machine?”
He groaned, rolled over, and went back to sleep.
I didn’t. I couldn’t get the T word out of my mind. Triplets. How do you hold three babies at once? How do you carry them for nine months? How soon could I join a nunnery?
Matt’s alarm went off in an hour. I pretended to be sleeping so he didn’t get any ideas about morning sex, which I could tell he had by peeking between my eyelashes to see his salute.
I was not interested.
He showered, shaved, walked and fed the dogs, then brought me coffee and toast with jam. He sat at the end of the big bed, all fresh and clean, his brown hair curling from the shower or the rain I could hear against the windows. The aroma did interest me, and the coffee smelled good, too. “Is this a bribe?”
“No, this is pure love. I have to be at the clinic in ten minutes. I suppose I could . . .”
“No way, José.”
“Okay, but I’ve been thinking.”
“You can still think?” My brain had been turned to mashed bananas.
“Yes, and you were right.”
“We’re never having sex again?”
“Hell, no. About this house being too small.”
“No house is big enough for triplets!”
“Forget about the triplets.”
Easy for him to say. He didn’t have to ju
ggle a career and the three Mousketeers. I ate the toast, all of it. If I had to eat for four, I better start now.
“I looked around, and the house really isn’t suitable for us anymore. You need a studio and I need an exercise room for when I don’t have time to go to the gym. And the view does stink, especially when there’s such great scenery around us.”
He tossed me the real estate brochure Mrs. Terwilliger thought I needed. “We could look at what’s available.”
Buy a house? Fill it with miniature Matts? I choked on a crumb. “I’m not ready.”
“Well, I am.” He reminded me how the practice was growing so fast he needed a partner. He had one in mind, a friend from vet school who liked the idea of being near the beach, the Hamptons, and horses, which Matt did not generally accept as patients because of the time involved in stable calls. His friend sounded eager to leave his current job at a conglomerate veterinary clinic in Jersey for a practice of his own, especially since he’d heard world-famous Ty Farraday was opening a horse ranch here.
“And, yes, I warned him the new ranch might have its own, um, holistic practitioners, but he was fine with that, the newest thing in vet med. He’d be happy at the chance to work with Farraday and his shamans or whatever.”
“Ty will be thrilled. I’m sure they can’t afford a full-time vet there, or the price for a horse doctor to come so far out. Want me to call him?”
A shadow passed over Matt’s face. I guess I shouldn’t have reminded him that Ty and I had a personal history. “Or you can. I have his cell number.”
He relaxed and leaned over to lick a drop of jelly off my chin. “Not yet. Tarbell and I haven’t worked out all the details. The problem is, he can afford a down payment on what a partnership here is worth, but not to buy a house at the same time. And you know what the prices are like out here. So I thought I could rent him this one, at reduced rates since he’ll be handling the night duties, and we could find a nicer place of our own.”
“I can’t afford to buy a house. I’m finally making my city rent and expenses, with something left over for my IRA.”
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