Luanne Rice

by Summer's Child

  She had taught Marisa to protect herself from swans, but not from sweet-talking men. Not from Ted. Glancing up, Marisa looked at Jessica across the shop. It was their turn, among all the Nanouks, to work in Lily’s store. They wanted to keep it open—keep Lily’s business going strong—so that when Lily and Rose returned from the hospital, they wouldn’t have to worry about an income.

  Lily had told Anne, who was serving as the In Stitches bookkeeper until Lily’s return, that she should pay everyone a salary for their work. Many of the Nanouks refused—donating their proceeds straight back into the “Bring Rose Home” account—but Marisa didn’t have that luxury.

  Their exodus had been a financial hardship. As carefully as she had planned the escape, she hadn’t counted on such difficulties. She had followed instructions from a couple of different domestic violence websites: stayed as even-tempered as possible, so Ted wouldn’t suspect her intentions, hidden money in a fake frozen orange juice can in the freezer, started emptying accounts, taken proceeds from the house sale.

  He had charmed her into putting his name on so many of her investments, including her main account at the brokerage where he worked—United Bankers’ Trust. All of her first husband’s pension had been there, as well as her inheritance from her father. Ted had made such a show of caring, of wanting to help her invest wisely—“so you will never have to worry.”

  “You” meaning Marisa and Jessica. How benevolent he had sounded—when, in fact, he had been using them the whole time. The longer Marisa stayed away, the more she was beginning to see. Was it possible that just a few months ago—right after leaving him—she had had some doubts, had actually felt some longing for him? Had been missing the feeling of his arms around her shoulders?

  He had been like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. He could be so funny and sweet, but his mood could change in a flash—just like a storm whipping up on a summer day. His moods had kept both her and Jessica so off-balance.

  Now, listening to Spirit sing “Lonesome Daughter,” Marisa looked over at Jessica and wondered how long they would have to keep up the charade. Knowing that Lily was down in Boston, in New England, made Marisa homesick. She missed her sister Sam and the music they had played together. What had she been thinking, hauling her daughter way up here, to this far-north outpost? “White Dawn” came on, haunting and powerful.

  “Mom?” Jessica asked.

  “Yes, honey?”

  “When is Rose coming back?”

  “After she has surgery, it should take about two weeks before they let her leave the hospital.”

  “I want to talk to her.”

  “I know. You will, soon.”

  “She’ll be happy to get home, won’t she?”

  Marisa nodded, looking over with curiosity. It seemed funny to hear Jessica refer to this place as “home.”

  “We’re so lucky to have such a cool place to live,” Jessica said. “With so many whales and hawks and owls, and friends. I never thought I’d be a member of a secret society.”

  “The Nanouk Girls?”

  Jessica nodded. “They didn’t even know us, but they took us right in and let us be members. And now look at us, raising all this money for Rose.”

  Marisa swallowed hard. Hearing her daughter sound so happy and grateful was worth almost everything—all the pain that had led up to her decision to do this, to drop out and abandon everything at home, even their real names and identities. It reminded her a little bit of the Internet—message boards, where everyone took on a phony name and tried on different personas. Discouraging, to say the least. Yet she did it too. Marisa had logged in her share of time chatting online, at times when she couldn’t sleep or didn’t want to feel.

  Footsteps sounded on the porch, and then the bell above the door rang. Marisa looked up to see Anne, Marlena, Cindy, and two of Cindy’s daughters walking in with sandwiches from the inn.

  “Lunchtime,” Anne announced.

  “I’m almost finished with another pillow!” Jessica announced to Allie.

  “We made two last night,” Allie said.

  “They’re selling out, as fast as we can put them at the inn desk,” Anne said as everyone pitched in. Thermoses of iced tea and lemonade, plastic cups, slices of lemon and orange, turkey sandwiches, chocolate chip cookies, paper plates, napkins, all came out. Marisa cleared off the counter; women friends amazed her. Although they hadn’t known each other for very long, they had bonded completely over concern for Rose Malone.

  Marisa watched Jessica, carefully passing out paper plates. Her heart swelled, thinking of how it was Jessica who had made this happen. While Marisa hid inside, afraid to trust anyone or show her real self, her daughter had reached out to Rose—and beyond that, to Lily and the Nanouks.

  Now, looking around the circle, Marisa desperately wanted to tell them all the truth. It killed her, to hold so much back from these women who had given her—and continued to give her—so much. She thought back to nursing school, when she had first realized how generous and healing women were by nature. She thought of Sam. The Nanouk Girls of the Frozen North were further proof.

  “I have to tell you all something,” she said out loud, her mouth dry.

  They looked at her, smiling, ready for anything.

  “Jessica and I …”

  Anne paused, thermos poised over the empty glasses.

  “We’re not who we seem to be,” she whispered.

  “Mommy?” Jessica asked—and there was warning, even panic, in her eyes.

  “What do you mean?” Cindy asked.

  “We’re on the run …”

  “You told us,” Marlena said. “On the boat, the day of Rose’s birthday party. We understand, honey. You’re escaping a bad marriage. It happens.”

  “But we’re using false names.”

  “Mommy!”

  The women stared at her. Marisa was shaking, thinking that they would feel so betrayed, they’d just walk out the front door. They wouldn’t speak to her again; they’d kick her and Jess out of the Nanouks. Anne’s eyes were bruised, as if she was terribly hurt. Marlena’s eyes widened, and Cindy hung her head. Cindy’s two daughters just stared at Jessica, and Jessica turned bright red.

  Suddenly Anne stood up, came around the circle, put her arms around Marisa. She hugged her so hard, Marisa felt it in every bone in her body.

  “I’m so sorry,” Anne said. “For whatever you went through that made it necessary for you to do that.”

  “We know something about it,” Cindy said. “Because one of our other members had to do it too.”

  Anne and Marlena nodded, exchanging glances with Cindy. Marisa knew, without them telling her, that they were talking about Lily.

  “Did you ever go to a safe house?” Cindy asked. “Were you able to get a restraining order against him?”

  “You don’t have to tell us,” Marlena said gently.

  “Yes, I did try,” Marisa said. “But the kinds of things he did were too subtle. The judge, when I went to court begging for an order of protection, told me that if Ted hadn’t literally tried to kill me within the last twenty-four hours, he wouldn’t issue one.”

  “Fucking idiot,” Marlena said. “It’s just what Lily told us. The courts don’t understand domestic violence.”

  “You can say that again,” Cindy said.

  “How can it happen to such strong women?” Marisa asked, not understanding, thinking of Lily, with her clear eyes, with the fortitude she had to get through Rose’s illness. “How did we attract them?”

  “First of all, you can’t blame yourself. That’s what we told Lily,” Marlena said. “You were both vulnerable. You’d lost your husband, and Lily had never really gotten over losing her parents. Her husband saw that she made good money—from her needlework design business—and he went after it.”

  “Mine did the same,” Marisa said. “He came after my first husband’s pension.”

  “The point is, you’re both wonderful. We all have different sorts of issues a
nd problems—that’s life. Thank God we came together—to keep each other safe and warm. We have a lot to talk about, and a lot of strength and spirit to offer each other.”

  “It’s not all about escaping rotten husbands,” Cindy said. “In fact, they are completely beside the point. It’s about being friends and having fun.”

  “We have plenty of other things in common,” Anne said. “Beyond our problems and worries.”

  Marisa smiled, remembering how Lily had said, “Welcome to the thaw.”

  “See?” Marlena asked. “We don’t care what your real names are. We love you for who you are inside.”

  “Sometimes I don’t even know who that is,” Marisa whispered. “I feel as if I left her someplace far away… .”

  “Well, we know who you are,” Anne said. “Someone loving, kind, caring, and open. A woman who’d give up her summer afternoons to look after Lily’s store, and make pine pillows to raise money for Rose.”

  “Thank you,” Marisa said.

  “The pine pillows were my idea,” Jessica reminded everyone, and they all laughed.

  “That’s right, they were,” Cindy said.

  “I still want to tell you our real names,” Marisa said. “I trust you all, so much. And he—Ted—lives hundreds of miles away. He has no idea where we are—none at all. Cape Hawk is a mystery to him. He’d never suspect that we’d come here.”

  “He wouldn’t,” Jessica said, her eyes brightening at the idea of revealing the truth.

  “Well,” Anne said. “We can promise you that nothing you say will leave this room. We won’t even tell the other Nanouks, unless and until you say it’s okay.”

  “I believe you,” Marisa said.

  “So do I,” Jessica said, smiling.

  “Okay then,” Cindy said.

  “Who are you really?” Marlena asked, with a big grin.

  And Marisa told them their real names.

  The Florida disaster, Hurricane Catherina, had brought out the best in people—especially in Spirit fans. Secret Agent had filled his coffers the last few weeks, with contributions sent in by all his friends on the SpiritTown message board. He had woven a story that just kept getting better and better. His sister and her husband had lost everything—everything. The 150-mile-per-hour winds had blown the roof off their house in Homestead and destroyed everything inside. His poor little nephew Jake had needed stitches from all his cuts caused by flying glass. Now he needed plastic surgery.

  Secret Agent started a new topic: “Jake Update.” Then he typed in his message: “Hey you guys. Here’s the latest on my nephew, Jake. Thanks to all of you, my sister was able to take him to the best plastic surgeon in Miami. And you know they’ve got great plastic surgeons in Miami. (We know all about face-lifts and boob jobs.) Anyway, now they’re talking about a few operations.”

  He paused, wondering how far he could go with this. He had learned, over time, to set the hook and then be patient—let the people on the board reach into their hearts and pocketbooks and offer. He rarely had to actually ask. Rereading his writing, he deleted the part about face-lifts and boob jobs—it struck a wrong chord. Then he hit “Send.”

  Didn’t have to wait too long, either. It was late night, past midnight, and there were plenty of Spirit fans camped out by their computers, chatting with each other.

  “So sorry, man. That family’s been through too much,” came the reply from Spiritfan1955.

  “What kind of surgery? How extensive?” came the question from SpiritGirl—who posted a signature picture that showed she was hot, blonde, and, interestingly enough, surgically enhanced.

  “Pretty extensive,” Secret Agent typed back. “His face is very scarred. He’s only 13, so he’s pretty devastated.” Here came the bait: “The worst part is, my sister has used nearly all the money you folks have been so great to send—trying to fix up the house. It’s a disaster.”

  Now he waited again. He was itching to get out of here. He had a porn site open at the same time, and he was really dying to get back to his hot, horny, barely legal honeys. But he couldn’t resist making a little money tonight—not that he needed the funds. He had plenty from the bitch. But Secret Agent’s theory was, if people wanted to give it, well then, it was his job to take it. He stared at his “Jake Update” heading, and opened the single new reply.

  “Like you said: it’s a disaster. That means it’s a disaster area, and your sister is getting money from the government.”

  Whoa! Who the fuck was this? Secret Agent looked at the signature: White Dawn. Had to be a woman—no guy would sign on with a name like that. On the other hand, it was the title of a Spirit song, and these Spirit fans—men or women—were freakily obsessed. Then Secret Agent noticed the number positioned right next to the screen name: 1. It was this person’s first post on the message board.

  “Nice first post, White Dawn,” Spiritfan1955 wrote back sarcastically. “You don’t know the whole story.”

  “Exactly,” wrote PeaceBabe. “Welcome to the board, White Dawn. Secret Agent’s sister and her family were affected by Hurricane Catherina, and we’ve been pitching in to help. Disaster aid goes only so far—and it takes a long time to sort out the bureaucracy. We’ve just given the family a little boost.”

  That was Secret Agent’s cue. He typed: “Thanks everyone. I’m sure White Dawn didn’t mean any harm. It’s just, we’re like a family here, White Dawn. These guys have been a lifeline to my sister.” Should he remind everyone about little Jake and his cut face, the reason for starting this topic in the first place? Money for young Jake’s reconstructive surgery? People, get ready, there’s a train a-comin’ … He’d give it a couple of minutes. But he didn’t have to: bingo.

  “Hey White Dawn,” Spiritfan1955 wrote. “Here’s how the SpiritTown board works. This thread started out with a story about Jake. Thirteen y/o boy, needs plastic surgery? I’m in—Secret Agent, PM me your PayRight info, and I’ll make a contribution.”

  Secret Agent didn’t waste a second: he sent Spiritfan1955 a private message, containing his account information, along with the requisite “thanks, man.”

  “I’m in,” wrote PeaceBabe. “I have a thirteen-year-old daughter.”

  “Dude, so sorry about Jake,” wrote OneThinDime. “I’ll help out as much as I can. My wife was in a car accident last year, and I know how bad it can be. Plastic surgery isn’t cheap, and those bills mount up. She went through a lot—we all did. We listened to the box set Spirit Days and Spirit Nights for about a month straight—got us through. My prayers are with you.”

  “Thank you,” Secret Agent wrote back. “I’m humbled by your generosity. Truly. And I think I’ll get my sister that box set—great idea. Her spirits are very low right now, needless to say.”

  “We’re with you, man,” Spiritguy1974 wrote.

  “Totally with you,” LastCall25 chimed in.

  The PayRight account was filling up—a good night’s work, Secret Agent thought, just getting ready to say good night to his fabulous friends, his SpiritTown family. He had been slipping back and forth between websites, tuned in to a webcam focused on the nether regions of some horny housewife in the Badlands somewhere—but now the time had come to give Ms. Housewife his full attention.

  Just then, White Dawn’s screen name appeared in the “Jake Update” thread. Secret Agent chuckled. Another convert to the world of give-me-your-money. He’d had just about enough of this, and was really ready to click onto his porno screen. He’d just see what White Dawn had to offer, so he scrolled down to her post.

  “Beware.”

  Secret Agent’s blood turned ice cold. He couldn’t believe it. Just one word there on the SpiritTown screen, for all to see: Beware. White Dawn’s second post—warning the world. Secret Agent felt as if he had a new enemy—as if he had just turned over a rock and found a rattlesnake coiled and ready to attack him.

  He couldn’t believe his eyes. Another post had popped up, and he read it:

  “Hurricane Catherina didn
’t hit Homestead. It tracked north, dude. You can do a better job conning people if you first check out the storm track on the NOAA website.”

  “You fucking bitch!” he yelled. But he didn’t even know whether it was a man or woman—he knew nothing about White Dawn at all. He looked for the profile and found none. He was going to find out—that was for sure. He would learn this person’s identity and make White Dawn sorry for shaming him on the board.

  “Fuck you!” he said out loud, totally losing his erection.

  Chapter 21

  Boston was filled with kids. Lily saw them everywhere: with their families, with groups, on camp outings. Heading to the Public Gardens, the science museum, the Freedom Trail, Faneuil Hall, the aquarium. Kids having fun, too excited to walk slowly or in single file. They tried to outrun the rain. They tried to outshout the city noises. They tried to have more fun today than they’d had yesterday.

  Lily hoped they would all succeed. Even more, she hoped that Rose would one day be able to join them. She turned away from the wide plate-glass window overlooking the playground on the banks of the Charles River. Then she sat in one of the orange chairs of the hospital waiting room, Liam by her side, while Rose was being prepped for surgery.

  She glanced over at him. She felt she was in a dream, where everything was both normal and bizarre at the same time. Here she was, sitting with Liam Neill, as if they were a longtime couple. They were waiting for Rose to have open-heart surgery. Two nights ago he had kissed her.

  That was the part that made life feel like a dream. Lily couldn’t understand how she could be feeling so secretly happy and tender while her daughter was in the fight of her life. Liam touched the back of her hand, and Lily turned liquid inside. He asked if she would like a cup of tea, and she was so befuddled, she couldn’t quite stop looking at his eyes.

  But there had been no chance to talk about what had happened—or even to repeat it. Since getting to Boston, every minute had been focused on being with Rose and talking to the doctors. Lily knew that was for the best: she didn’t want to be distracted. Rose was her full-time job, and more: she was Lily’s life. And Lily didn’t want to jeopardize anything by messing up her priorities.