Summer Harbor

by Susan Wilson

  At his kiss, the taste of his tongue and the salt of her own tears, she felt as if she were falling away, as if the ocean had opened up and dragged her down—not in a frightening way, more like the comfort of safe waters, knowing she could breathe underwater. I am drowning in him, she thought, and I will not struggle.

  Seventeen

  Will watched his mother’s face as she talked. He had the oddest impression that, as she reached deep into her memory to pull out the story she needed him to hear, the girl she had once been began to surface. Her eyes, seeing what her words described, brightened; she smiled, and long forgotten dimples showed in the corners of her mouth. He began to see her as she once was, and from the shadow of the beautiful girl she’d been, Will saw that his mother was now a beautiful woman. He was proud that his mother looked good, and, at the same time, a little unnerved by recognizing it.

  As her story went on his mother’s pace slowed, her words mined from a treacherous vein. The dimples receded, she tucked her hair behind her ears and her eyes clouded with pain. Her voice dropped lower and lower as if in amazement at the pictures in her mind she was giving to him. Will realized she’d forgotten to whom she was telling this story. And he’d forgotten that it was his story.

  It was such a complicated tale. The way she was telling it, at least he was cushioned, hearing it as a legend, as a tale outside of himself, outside of her, his mother. These things that had happened involved those three kids beside the boat, those strangers.

  Will tried to sort out that phrase: In every love affair, there is a beloved and a lover. One who loves more. He knew where he stood in that equation with Lori; it was very obvious. He couldn’t quite parse it in his mother’s story. It seemed as though they were all the lovers and, at the same time, each one beloved. Kiley was beloved of both Mack and Grainger. She believed that it was in equal measure. In turn, she loved them both, almost equally. What had she said? They had been two halves of her whole.

  Then there was the third factor in this increasingly weird equation: the love Grainger and Mack had for each other. Brotherly, best friends, like no friendship he’d ever had. The kind of bond that can be badly damaged by betrayal, and remain unhealed for years. Decades.

  Only the thump of the porch rockers kept the moment from complete stillness.

  Will waited for his mother to go on until he understood that she’d come to the end of her story. He spoke gently, as if waking her. “Mom?”

  She roused herself enough to remember he was there. “What, hon?”

  “How did it end? I mean, after you and Grainger hooked up? What happened with Mack? How did he take it?”

  She dropped her eyes, but not before Will saw the tears in them. Her lips trembled slightly and she bit at them. “Not well.”

  “So what happened?”

  She pushed herself out of the rocking chair, sending it into a wild canter. “I can’t tell you. I thought that I could, but I can’t.”

  “I have to know. You can’t not tell me.” He was being cheated. He tried to control the petulance in his voice as he demanded again, “Come on, Mom. You’ve told me this much. How did it end?”

  She put one hand out to stop the motion of the rocking chair. She looked down on her son, then looked to the sea beyond the bluff, the water a deeper dark than the sky above it, a visible line defining where one began and the other left off. “You see, Will, my mistake wasn’t in choosing Mack or Grainger, but in choosing at all. That was the answer I should have given Grainger. I wouldn’t have chosen.”

  “So you really don’t know who my father is.”

  His mother looked down on him with a smile, her dimples showing. “Your father was the love of my life.”

  Like Alice’s rabbit hole, the entry to his mother’s past had disappeared.

  After breakfast the next day, Will tried to concentrate on the books Grainger had loaned him. He lay on his narrow bed and thumbed through the illustrated manuals, rehearsing the lexicon under his breath. Jib, jibe or gybe, mainsail, cleat, clew, shroud, running rigging, standing rigging, bitt, block, blah blah blah.

  Every word conjured the image of the three friends in their boat, the tension between them like a foul wind.

  Every instruction teemed with minute details: move the tiller in that direction to go in the opposite. Even directions for moving a boat away from a dock seemed unnaturally complicated. Will chided himself. He was going to major in architecture; surely he could figure this out.

  But it was no good. He couldn’t concentrate with the story his mother had told him whirling around in his head. For although he told himself that at least she’d loved the two boys, that he was not a product of rape, he couldn’t shake the fact that he was very angry.

  Fickle. That was the word; his mother had been cruelly fickle. No wonder the two boys, now men, wanted nothing to do with her. And, by default, him.

  Will dropped the books on the floor of his bedroom and went downstairs. His mother was nowhere in sight, but the car was in the driveway and he helped himself to the keys. He would go to Great Harbor and try to shake this cloudiness away. After scrawling a note on the back of an envelope to say he didn’t know when he’d be back, Will left the house, letting the screen door slam in anger and frustration.

  Will pulled away from the stop sign a little too fast. Sand spit out from under the tires, making him think of Grainger pulling away too quickly from him. Grainger would know how the story ended. Something had happened; Will was certain of it. If Mack had only gotten mad and said horrible things, she would have said so. The look in her eyes told him there was definitely more to the story.

  Even only yesterday, he’d thought it would be enough to know how he came to be. But now, every answer was shadowed by another question.

  Great Harbor had all the shops and game rooms and movie houses Hawke’s Cove lacked, as well as a strip mall with Staples on one end and T.J.Maxx at the other. A real town. Not like Hawke’s Cove with its old-fashioned, uncool dry-goods store, and plain old coffee shop instead of Starbucks. Will pulled into the strip mall parking lot and went into the coffee bar. Sitting in the window, drinking but not tasting his latte, Will noticed the electric blue shutters of the motel across the street. A shiver of recognition raised the hair on his arms. The motel where…the thought formulated itself before he could deflect it…where he might have been conceived. In the darkness, accompanied by the soft percussion of the rocking chairs, his mother’s story had seemed about fictional people—but seeing those blue shutters brought the truth of it home like a sledgehammer.

  “Hey, look out.” A girl’s voice behind him spoke in warning.

  Will glanced back and saw behind him one of the girls from last night, swiveling to avoid a large man who was completely unaware of her. He had nearly spilled his tray of coffees on her, and she banged into Will’s table to avoid being stepped on. Will reached out and grabbed her tall paper cup before it tipped off of her tray.

  “Good catch. Thanks.”

  Will set the cup back on her tray. She stood a moment longer, scouting for a place to sit down. “I’m almost done, sit here.” Will pointed to one of the cushiony chairs alongside his small table.

  The girl gave the room one more look and then sat down, her tray taking up most of the table. “Thanks. It gets crazy in here.”

  “So I see.” Will didn’t know whether to say more, or if, like him, she’d come in here to get away from something. To think about something.

  She gave Will a look. “Don’t I know you?”

  “I sat next to you last night at the fireworks.”

  “Will, right?”

  “Catherine?”

  “Catherine Ames.” The girl opened up her bagel and began spreading cream cheese on it so that both flat surfaces were covered with exactly the same amount. “I work at the T.J.Maxx. Summer job, although I get a few weekends in during the holidays.”

  “So you live here year-round?”

  “Mmm.” The girl sipped her tall
coffee. “Hawke’s Cove.”

  “Me, too. I mean, I’m there for a couple of weeks.”

  “Summer kid?”

  “No. Well, sort of. It’s my first time, although my family’s been here since the thirties.”

  “Where?”

  “Overlook Bluff Road.”

  “That’s where the rich folks live. You rich?”

  “No, we’re not rich. My mother and I aren’t, that is.” Will took another sip of his cooling coffee and wondered if he should leave. He didn’t relish having to talk about his family right now. At the same time, he was glad for this break from the tyranny of his private thoughts.

  “Ours is a new house, in Cove terms. About fifteen years old. We moved in when I was three. It’s on Bailey’s Farm Road.”

  Will startled a little at the name of the road. “Near Bailey’s Beach?”

  “Yeah. Not a lot of people know that beach. Do you go there?”

  Will frowned a little behind his cup. No, but I might have been conceived there.“I’ve heard of it.” Dear God, his mother had slept with two guys. He felt a little sick and only caught up to this girl’s sentence halfway through.

  “It’s the best. No crowds. I’ll take you there sometime.”

  He’d thought last night that she was cute; now he took an unabashed look at her. Catherine’s short dark hair was highlighted with a little red, her nose, which fit her small face perfectly, sported a tiny pink stone in one nostril. He’d never much cared for nose piercing, but this one looked nice. Her thick dark brows accented the dark of her eyes, eyes he realized were looking at him in a similar critical exercise. He wondered what she saw. “When do you go back to work?”

  “I have to go back”—Catherine checked her watch—“in one minute.”

  “Are you seeing anyone?” Will felt an unaccustomed boldness rise in his chest.

  “No. Why?” Catherine was standing, her tray in her hands.

  “Maybe you’d like to go out?”

  “When?”

  “Tonight? Tomorrow?”

  “I’m off tomorrow.”

  “I’ve got something in the morning.” His sailing lesson.

  “After lunch?”

  “Let’s say two o’clock.”

  “Maybe we could go to the beach, if it’s good.”

  “Could we go to Bailey’s Beach?”

  Catherine smiled at him, an odd smile, as if she’d made a bet with herself that’s what he’d say. As if she knew him already. “I live at number fifteen Bailey’s Farm Road.”

  “Perfect.”

  Eighteen

  Kiley walked down the hill into the village. Maybe she’d go as far as the harbor, admire the boats calling in from distant places. Or pop into the small library and pick out a mystery.

  She was still agitated from her talk with Will last night, suffering from a galloping sense that she’d whitewashed the story. The facts were told, but purified by time and distance. Her bed had been too soft last night and sleep would not come. Maybe it was better this way: chewing on the past had certainly prevented her from dwelling on her immediate future. Over and over, Kiley replayed the mental tapes of her last three meetings with Grainger. The terrible words said, the horrific ending that last August night of their childhoods. Then, the stiff surprised greeting in the Osprey’s Nest. Finally, the fleeting easiness after the softball game, countered with his sudden walking away, as if he suddenly remembered he hated her. Just what did Grainger Egan want from her?

  Almost to Main Street, Kiley decided to get some homemade ice cream at Linda’s Coffee Shop. But as soon as she turned the corner, she stopped. The Egan’s Boat Works truck was parked on Main Street, with Grainger’s dog sitting in the driver’s seat, its small brown eyes fixed on the door of the restaurant. The door opened and Grainger came out, greeted his dog with a pat, and handed it something from the take-out bag, then shoved it over with his hip and got in.

  Kiley stood motionless on the sidewalk, invisible. He’d been so prominent in her relentless thoughts. Now, there he was, and for the first time, she noticed how much he had changed. The Grainger of her memory was a lanky youth, with ropy muscles and a narrow chest. This man was broad-shouldered, the tanned arms revealed by his paint-spattered T-shirt well-defined, his waist narrow, his torso big but lean. In the harsh July sunlight, she could see that his hair had darkened to true brown, touched at the temples with silvery gray. His face was etched with the lines of a man whose life was outdoors. He was a grown man.

  A good-looking grown man with a life. All the imaginary conversations she’d had with him over the years had not prepared her for the reality of him. He’d existed only as the eighteen-year-old boy who’d made love to her and then rejected her. The one she had apologized to in her dreams over and over, the imaginary friend who had always accepted her apologies. It had been necessary to keep Grainger locked up in that magic box where he would always be that boy. But the reality of the man released that boy forever. This was the Grainger she needed to know.

  Kiley turned on her heel and walked away. Her pulse was audible in her ears against the sound of traffic on the narrow street. Walking back the way she came, Kiley thought that she’d be walking away from him. But Grainger had turned in her direction, and was suddenly alongside of her. His eyes were on the double-parked car in front of him, then on the dog. Then, as if drawn by some instinct to look, he turned to see her. They were motionless, staring at each other. A car horn roused Grainger from his transfixion. He nodded a greeting, but did not smile. She raised a hand to wave, but he sped away.

  She didn’t want to keep meeting Grainger like this, accidentally. After all, they did have Will between them. Regardless of paternity, Will existed, and Grainger could make what he wanted of it. The biggest secret from those days was now out in the open. What did he think about it?

  Kiley remembered her father’s request to deal with the boat, and Grainger’s words: “Call me.” She would. No more pussy-footing around; she had a reason to see him. Maybe then they could begin to repair some of the damage.

  Will was gone when Kiley got back home. The black phone sat quietly looming, waiting for her to pick it up and call Grainger. All the way back to the house, Kiley had rehearsed what she would say. She’d keep it all business.

  He had a nice ad in the Yellow Pages, a silhouette of a schooner. Kiley stared at it as the phone on the other end rang and rang until an answering machine picked up. “Egan’s Boat Works. Please leave a message.” What can you tell about a man by his answering machine message?

  “It’s Kiley. I’m calling about the boat. About Random.” She left her telephone number and hung up, painfully aware of the beating of her heart. The sudden shrill ring of the phone startled Kiley and she grabbed the receiver up, half expecting it to be Grainger.

  “Kiley? Hey, it’s Conor.”

  Kiley sat down on the little chair and ran a hand beneath her hair, lifting it up off her neck, where a trickle of perspiration bloomed. “Conor, hi.”

  “Look, I know this is a little short notice, but would you like to have dinner tomorrow night?” When she hesitated, he pressed on. “I mean, if you don’t have anything going on. I’m thinking maybe Anthony’s in Great Harbor. Have you ever been there?”

  “No. But…”

  “Kiley, it’s all right. I know there’s baggage here, and we should talk about it.”

  Why hadn’t Grainger said that? Why hadn’t she? Conor had always been on the periphery of her world, glimpsed as he led his glamorous, grown-up college life when they were still teens. He resided on Olympus, deigning only occasionally to notice them, and they all looked up to him. When she and Mack paired off, Conor had congratulated them, telling Mack he was very lucky. Telling her to confide in him should Mack behave badly. Conor had no idea the weight of the baggage she carried.

  “Okay. But I’ll meet you there. I have some things to do in Great Harbor.” She wanted to tell Conor about Will before she brought them face-to-face; pr
ep him, so to speak, before handing him a boy he might think was his nephew.

  “I saw him today.” Kiley didn’t look up from her plate of spaghetti.

  “Who?”

  “Grainger.” Why had she even mentioned it?

  “Where?” Will reached for the Parmesan cheese.

  “He drove by when I was on Main Street.” It seemed a terribly difficult thing to spool the strands of spaghetti around her fork.

  “Did he see you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you speak?”

  “I think you could say that we were both struck dumb.”

  “Are you guys grown-ups or not?” Will jabbed his fork into a piece of sausage. “Jesus. You could at least have waved.”

  “Don’t swear. And I did wave.”

  “Why don’t you invite him over for dinner or something?”

  Kiley didn’t answer for a moment. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “I guess I just don’t get it. You are dwelling on ancient history.” Will’s voice had risen; instantly, he lowered it. “Could you, for my sake, at least try to understand why I might want the two of you in the same room?”

  “No, I really don’t get it. This isn’t some fucking Parent Trap, some happy-ending movie. We hurt each other. End of story.”

  “Now who’s swearing?”

  Kiley put her fork down and patted Will’s hand. “You’re too young to understand the difficulty—”

  Will pulled away. “Don’t patronize me, Mom. It’s a pretty simple wish. I can’t get to know Grainger better if I think it’s making you unhappy.”

  “Oh, Will. It won’t make me unhappy. I encourage you to get to know him. He was a wonderful guy; I’m sure he’s still wonderful. Just don’t expect us to want some orchestrated reunion neither one of us is looking for.” Grainger still hadn’t returned her call, and she took it to mean he didn’t want to; that his offer to help was simply the conditioned response of a man in the boat business. He was probably having second thoughts after seeing her at the picnic. “Don’t mistake wishful thinking for reality.”