So Luke loved his niece. And she loved him, too. It was reassuring.
Sully came in holding two glasses of white wine. “Kind of a shitty date so far,” he said, sitting next to me.
I nodded. “I can’t disagree.” Took a big sip of wine. “I like your house.”
“Thank you.”
“How’s Audrey? Is she feeling good? Any problems?”
“She’s great. You saw for yourself.”
I nodded. Tried to think of something to say. Came up empty.
So did he. We glanced at each other at the same time, offered each other a pained smile and averted our eyes.
Bird killing seemed to put a damper on things.
He took a deep breath. “Well.”
“Yeah.”
“I heard that nurse is dating your old boyfriend.”
I jerked, slopping wine onto my dress because why not, right? “Wow. Did you? It’s true. They met at a Starbucks near the ferry station in Boston.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you if you don’t look at me.”
“Shit. Sorry.” I faced him square on and repeated what I said.
“Small world,” he said. “You okay with that?”
“Oh, sure,” I lied. “I mean...I guess. I don’t think he’s being completely honest with her. I know he’s not, in fact. He lied about me, and she doesn’t care and this is when you really hate being a woman, because guys seem to handle this stuff much better.”
He nodded.
I nodded, too. “You wanna make out?” I asked, because conversation was just not going to be our thing tonight.
He laughed, and then I felt something stir in my belly, a lovely warm squeeze of attraction. At the same time, we both leaned forward to put our wine on the coffee table and bumped heads. Hard.
“Ow,” he said. Just what the guy needed. Another brain injury courtesy of yours truly.
“No, it’s just part of my sexy dance,” I said. “You could be my next Tweety.”
“What happened with that bird, anyway?”
“I hit him with the shovel. Anyway, back to the kissing. What do you say?”
This was not how things usually went with me. Not to brag, but I used to be kind of adorable.
Great, great, he was leaning forward. He cupped my face in his hands and looked at my mouth for a second, studying it. My heart sputtered and flapped like...well, like a dying Tweety.
A laugh popped out of my lips just as Sully kissed me. I pulled back. “Sorry, sorry. Try again.”
He did. And he wasn’t a bad kisser, and I didn’t think I was a bad kisser, either, but nothing was happening. His mouth was gentle, his hands slid into my hair—a mistake, because my hair immediately curled around his fingers like malevolent thorn bushes in a fairy tale. “Ow,” I said when he tried to move his hand.
“Sorry.”
“No, it’s my hair. It’s alive and evil. Here.” I pulled back a little and helped free his hand.
We did, eventually, make it to the bedroom through force of sheer will. I’ll spare you the details. Technically, we did have sex. And it wasn’t awful. There were a few moments where we...connected. It just wasn’t... Yeah.
It was hard to make eye contact after, and unfortunately, eye contact was necessary for conversation with this guy. I propped myself up on an elbow and did the brave thing.
“Did I hurt you?” I asked.
He laughed. At least there was that. I ran my hand through his hair and knocked out his hearing aid. It was that kind of night.
I sighed, handed him back the earpiece and said, “Maybe we should just be friends. I mean, I’m leaving in August and...well.”
He touched the tip of my nose with one finger. “You weren’t awful,” he said.
“And neither were you. Maybe we should quit our jobs and write Valentine cards.” I kissed him on the cheek. “Friends?”
“Sure.”
“You’re a good sport, Sullivan Fletcher.”
Half an hour later, I was back in my houseboat. I took a shower and got into my jammies and cuddled up with Boomer on the couch. Texted Sully to thank him again for bird disposal, eating my mother’s food and doing me.
He texted back, thanking me for putting up with his mother and apologizing for his brother. See you around were his parting words.
So not what I’d hoped for or expected. Not exactly an enchanted evening.
Nonetheless, it was hard to get to sleep that night. There had been a couple moments in bed with Sully where...well, where it felt like something special was about to happen.
“You’re leaving in six weeks,” I reminded myself. “It’s better this way.”
It just didn’t feel like it.
24
A few days after the Date That Wasn’t, Poe came over after work to have dinner.
She’d only been employed for a week, but she’d already gotten a little color, despite slathering on the sixty-factor sunscreen she wore to protect her bluish-white skin. Tonight, she was full of talk about how cool Audrey was, all the things Audrey knew—dropping lobster pots, tides, storms, all the things island kids knew. “She wants me to sleep over sometime this week,” Poe said. “So we can make posters and stuff for the Go Far, Be Strong thing.”
I thought of that cute little house, the stability Audrey had. Even if her parents had divorced, it was clear Amy had a huge role in the girl’s life, and while I didn’t think too highly of Luke or Teeny, they loved Audrey. As for Sullivan, I’d bet a lung that there was no better father on earth.
I wondered if he ever did things like my father had done with Lily and me. The midnight bike rides down Eastman Hill, the springtime swims, the Cave Challenge.
I hoped not. A father’s job was to make his children feel safe.
Poe never knew her father. She only had Lily and a grandmother who visited dutifully once a year...and an aunt who’d accepted no a little too easily.
“That sounds like fun,” I said, snapping out of my funk. “I mean...do you want to sleep over?”
Poe shrugged. “I guess. Yeah, I do. She’s so positive all the time. I mean, nothing gets her down, but it’s not like she’s oblivious, either.” She paused. “By the way, I’m not a lesbian in case you were about to ask.”
“I wasn’t, but it would be fine if you were,” I said.
“Everyone thinks I am because of my hair and tattoos and stuff. But I think I like guys. Just...not yet.”
“You’re not even sixteen. ‘Not yet’ is a really mature answer.”
“Did you have a lot of boyfriends?” she asked, spearing some asparagus. I’d cooked extra healthy tonight—quinoa salad with asparagus, chickpeas, red peppers, cucumbers and salmon. There was pie waiting on the counter as our reward.
“I didn’t date at all in high school. Back then, I had all the appeal and energy of a pile of sweaty gym clothes.”
Poe snorted.
“But in college and med school, sure.”
“Were the guys nice?”
“They were.” I took a drink of water. “Does your mom date a lot?”
Poe didn’t answer for a minute. “Yeah. A new guy all the time, even if she pretended they were just friends.”
“How was that for you?” I asked.
She shrugged. “It was fine. I mean, there were always people around. We almost always had someone staying with us, or we were staying at someone’s place. Usually one of Mom’s guys.” She poked a chickpea with her fork. “I’ve been living at Gran’s longer than I ever lived in one place before.”
My heart twisted. I wanted so much to tell her she could stay here on Scupper as long as she wanted. I wanted to grab my sister and shake her and tell her kids needed stability and constancy and to be able to rely on the adults in their lives, and what the hell was she thinking, having al
l those men parade through Poe’s life?
In the past, I’d made some gentle suggestions. When Poe was just a little thing, I’d suggested that maybe she needed more sleep and less fast food. “And how many kids have you raised?” Lily had asked, her eyes going cold and hard. She didn’t let me visit them the next day, and I’d been forced to wander around Seattle alone, feeling angry and useless.
I’d offered to give my sister money, loan her money, cover her rent, buy things for Poe. The only answer I ever got was “We’re fine.”
In other words, I had no say in Poe’s life. All I could do was spend this summer with her, and hopefully it would be at least a small positive in her life.
“Want to help me find Gran a boyfriend?” I asked, and she grimaced and brightened at the same time.
“Seriously? That’s so gross. Why would you?”
“I worry about her. She’s been on her own for a long time.” And both Poe and I would be leaving soon. “Come on,” I said, standing and gathering our plates. “I registered on a dating website. I’m screening her men before I introduce her.”
“She told me she thought you were matchmaking,” Poe said, putting her glass in the dishwasher. “When you had that dinner?”
“I was. It didn’t go so well. Someone hit a deer, though.”
“What is it with you and animals? Boomer, watch your back, boy.” She bent and rubbed him behind the ears. First time she’d called him something other than dog.
I wiped down the table, then got my computer. Poe helped herself to a slice of blueberry pie (no sugar, very nutritious, minus the lard I used to make the crust) and sat down next to me.
A sudden lump filled my throat. I was going to miss her. Lily was due out in a little more than a month. The countdown on my time with Poe had begun, and the summer, which had seemed so long at first, was slipping past like a fast-moving stream.
But Poe was older now, and now that she knew me, she’d keep in touch.
At least, I hoped she would.
“Okay,” I said, clearing my throat. “Here we go.” I clicked on the dating website and went to the profile I’d set up for my mom. I’d called her SuperMainah in her profile.
“‘Divorced woman,’” Poe said, reading out loud, “‘sixties, enjoys animals’—well, she used to, until you killed hers—‘reading, the satisfaction of a hard day’s work. I’m a no-nonsense kind of person, honest and straightforward. Attractive and fit. Great sense of humor.’” Poe looked at me. “Sense of humor? Gran?”
“You pretty much have to say that,” I said.
“So who took the bait?” she asked.
“Let’s see! Three people. Wicked pissah.” I clicked on the first guy—Servus.
“‘Hello, Supermainah!’” I read. “‘You sound very in control of life and you could be in control of me.’ Oh, God, here we go. ‘I am a very submisive betta male—’ look at this spelling, Poe ‘—seeking a strong, dominent alpha female. I acsept my inferiorty and know my place. I live with my mother, who is 103 years old and instilled my love of obediance. If you don’t mind helping with her diapers and baths, let’s hook up!”
“He sounds perfect,” Poe said.
“She does like to boss people around,” I murmured. “Moving on.” I clicked on GotLove2Offer.
“My turn to read,” Poe said, turning the laptop toward her. “‘Hello, SuperMainah, I’m glad you are so capable. I’m going to be blunt, I’m poor. I don’t have a car, my financial situation is horrible, and I still live at home with my five sisters, who are nasty bitches, all of them. I’m not the greatest-looking guy, either. I am looking for someone to give me financial support, likes to cook (for my sisters, too) and enjoys long walks but doesn’t necessarily want sex.’” She started snickering. “‘I will make your heart full again. My interests include pro wrestling, military-grade guns and...and...and cuddling.’” She shrieked with laughter.
“Oh, God,” I said. “See what you have to look forward to? Okay, next one.” I clicked on MusicalFisherman. “‘Hello there! You sound very nice and uncomplicated.’” I looked at Poe. “I’d give her uncomplicated, wouldn’t you?”
“Absolutely.”
“‘I’m a widower, a retired music teacher, no kids. I enjoy fishing and watching documentaries on the History Channel. I moved to Maine from Florida four years ago and really love it here. If you’d like to meet for coffee, I can come to your neck of the woods. I live in Kennebunkport and don’t mind driving.’”
We looked at each other, a little surprised at his normalcy. “Let’s set it up,” I said.
“You gonna pretend to be Gran?” Poe asked.
“No, I’ll come clean. Here.” I read aloud as I typed. “‘Dear Fisherman, this is actually SuperMainah’s daughter. I’ve been helping my mom with online dating. You sound really nice. Anything else we should know about you before we set up a date to meet?’”
“Oh, you’re good.”
“Once I get his name, I’ll do a background check.”
“See? This is why you’re the adult.”
Speaking of background checks... “How’s Luke Fletcher been toward you?” I asked.
She shrugged. “He’s okay. He doesn’t talk to me much. He works on engines, and I do grunt work, so I don’t really see him.”
That’s what Sullivan had told me, too, when I texted him two days ago.
The computer beeped. “It’s our suitor!” I said. “He likes us.”
“Poor Gran,” Poe said. “You know she won’t be happy about this.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “But maybe once she meets him, she’ll get swept off her feet.”
“Can you really picture that happening?”
“No. But let’s pretend.”
* * *
Two days later, Richard Hemmings, aka MusicalFisherman, met me at Jitters, the new coffee shop that had just opened. It was cute inside; whereas Lala’s was a true bakery, this was a coffeehouse, with a tin ceiling and black-and-white-tiled floor and lovely old oak door. There was a bean roaster in the back, and the smell was dark and rich. They sold baked goods (bought from Lala’s so as not to antagonize the locals, a smart business move). They also had tables on the sidewalk where extremely beautiful dogs could recline and drink water (or iced decaf, in Boomer’s case).
Xiaowen arrived about five minutes after Boomer and I did and went to the counter to order a drink. She’d wanted to check out my mother’s possible beau, and we also had some work to do on Go Far, Be Strong, which was turning into a real pain in the ass, great cause aside.
It was full tourist season, and Jitters was filling up.
Xiaowen came over, coffee in hand. “I just got these guys to sponsor us,” she said smugly, taking a pull of her drink, which was topped with a mountain of whipped cream.
“Yay!” I said. “And my practice is kicking in some money, too.”
She pulled her iPad out of her bag and showed me the bottom line.
Just about every business in town was sponsoring Go Far, Be Strong, so in addition to covering the cost of the permit, insurance, public safety and all that, we had plenty of money left over. We ordered T-shirts, and I was working on a brochure that talked about the new food pyramid and how to read nutrition labels, and a website that would link to other websites full of great information regarding health, exercise and nutrition.
The biggest message I wanted to send was our slogan—Healthy Looks Different on Everyone.
I’d gained a little weight this summer. The truth was, I needed to. Maybe it was the stress after the Big Bad Event, maybe it was just trying to be perfect all the time, at work, with Bobby, at the hospital. Here, I’d let my standards loosen a little. I had pie. Sometimes I had pie with ice cream. Not every night, but not never, either. I still ran and rode my bike whenever possible, the Dog of Dogs galloping majestically at my side.
“We should have a different tagline every year,” Xiaowen said. “Next year, it can be something like You’ll Be Amazed What You Can Do.”
“I love that,” I said.
But next year, would I be able to do this? I’d be in Boston. This was a pretty big commitment.
Well. We could get a committee, I supposed.
“Do I actually have to run in this thing?” Xiaowen asked for the forty-sixth time.
“Yes. To inspire the troops.”
“Like Lady Godiva. Should I run naked?”
“No. We don’t want a riot on our hands. Oh, look, he’s here. Hi, Richard!”
He’d sent a picture—he was tall with glasses, a fairly good head of hair, on the rangy side. He’d been quite nice about me running interference. He was a bit younger than Mom, but I thought that was okay.
He wore a polo shirt and khakis, boat shoes. No baseball cap, thank God. What was it about men in baseball caps that halved their sex appeal?
“Hello,” he said, blushing. “Very nice to meet you, Nora.” He shook my hand, then Xiaowen’s.
“Xiaowen Liu,” she said. “A great admirer of Sharon Stuart.”
“Nice to meet you both,” he said.
“This is my dog, Boomer,” I said, and though he was power napping, Boomer wagged at the mention of his name.
“He’s very beautiful.” Boomer’s tail thumped harder. “Can I get you more coffee?”
Manners, very nice looking, a little shy. “I’m all set,” I said.
“I wouldn’t say no to a slab of chocolate cake,” Xiaowen said.
“Be right back,” he said with a smile and went to the counter.
“It’s a test,” Xiaowen told me. “If he doesn’t make me pay, he passes.”
A minute later, Richard came back and set the plate in front of my friend. “On me,” he said.
My friend and I exchanged a smug look.
“Xiaowen,” Richard said thoughtfully. “That means color of the morning clouds, doesn’t it?”
Her fork froze halfway to her mouth. “Uh...yes. More or less.”
Now That You Mention It: A Novel Page 31