by Luanne Rice
Everyone did, except Nell. She had no wine. They’d given her a glass of water, but she’d drained it. Glancing around, she caught Gavin’s eye and gave him a cold stare. Smiling, Sheridan offered Nell her glass.
“Have a sip of mine,” Sheridan said. “We wouldn’t want you to miss out on your wildest dreams…”
“Thanks,” Nell said, taking a big gulp. The wine filled her mouth and made her throat feel warm. As she swallowed, she felt all fizzy.
“Oh no,” Agatha said from her end of the table, looking stricken.
“Don’t worry,” Jack said. “She can have a little. She’ll be leaving the nest, starting college…”
And then everyone started asking about Regis, and saying how excited she must be to be going to college, but she wasn’t…and all she could think of was Charlie. So she took another, bigger sip—and nearly spit it out. The wine had been fine going down, but now her mouth tasted like bitter herbs.
“Was that one of Aphrodite’s toasts?” Gavin asked. And when Nell glanced at him, and saw him watching her, she knew he’d asked it on purpose—to get everyone to stop talking about college.
Stevie laughed. “If it came from Aphrodite, I think we can safely call it a spell, not a toast. I remember how she and my aunt used to go at it.”
“Aunt Aida?” Nell asked. “What do you mean?”
“Well, they embodied each other’s polar opposite. Aunt Aida was an artist, but in some ways the most practical person you ever met. Whereas Aphrodite was so much of the spirit…. I used to think it was because she’d been blind since birth, it kept her from being attached to anything of this earth.”
“That’s true,” Sheridan said. “She didn’t care about anything material. I know she could have walked away from all her possessions in a second. But when it came to people, she was different….”
“Yes,” Bunny said. “She couldn’t bear to let the people she loved go. I remember when our grandfather died…she just couldn’t bear not to have him with her. She refused to accept it.”
“Yes,” Agatha said. “She was so gifted, with such an ability to reach the ones who’d crossed over.”
The words made Nell think of Charlie again, and her eyes filled with tears. The emotion, or wine, made her swoon. He’d crossed over. Charlie was gone, and she’d never—really—get the answers to any of her questions. Gavin might be right, or he might be wrong. Nell would never know. She hiccupped.
“Honey, you okay?” Stevie asked.
Nell squeezed her eyes tight. She found herself thinking of that picture on Gavin’s computer: the shot of the crowd, everyone staring up at the pretty bass player onstage. She saw the kid in the crowd, wondered whether Charlie had been keeping secrets from her all along. Was it possible? Could he have been there? Dates raced through her mind, and she wondered whether she could have been mistaken about the date of the solstice…. Or maybe the date on the website was wrong.
“Cumberland,” Nell whispered.
“Nell…” Sheridan said, leaning forward. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh,” she said, putting her head in her hand. “I…I don’t feel very good.”
“Come on, honey,” Jack said, walking around the table, helping her up. Nell’s legs practically buckled.
“Was it the wine?” she heard Bunny ask.
“I believe it was,” she heard Agatha whisper.
“Nell, tell me what you meant…” She heard Sheridan press, and then she heard Gavin murmuring something, soothing Sheridan so she wouldn’t be upset.
Nell let her dad lead her into Sheridan’s cottage. For a minute, Nell thought she needed to find the bathroom and throw up, but instead she just wanted to lie down on the wicker sofa. Her dad sat beside her for a few minutes.
“Are you okay, Nell?” he asked.
She nodded, burying her head in the soft pillow. Sleep was coming fast…She closed her eyes, surrounded by the love of her father and everyone on the terrace, by the fact that she was lying on Charlie’s sofa, that he had sat here so often, that he had been right here, right here, right here…He’d never lie to her, they hadn’t kept secrets from each other, so why had he been in that picture?
Why had he gone to Nashville without her, why hadn’t he told her?
THE DINNER WENT ON, but Gavin saw the tension in Sheridan’s eyes. Her sisters served coffee and tea, orange cookies and blueberry buckle and a peach pie made by Stevie, but Sheridan seemed preoccupied.
“What did Nell mean?” she asked while everyone else was asking Stevie about baby names.
“It has to do with looking into…”
“What happened to Charlie,” she said quietly, and she sounded calm, as if something inside had settled differently.
“Yes,” he said. “I’ll tell you as much as you want to know.”
“She wasn’t talking about the river,” Sheridan said. “She meant the band, didn’t she?”
“He liked them…?”
“You know he did. That’s who he went to see that last night.”
“Do you know them?”
She shrugged. “I know who they are. But not personally. Why?”
“There’s a girl in the band,” he said. “She’s pretty. Supposedly she’s an up-and-coming singer-songwriter.”
Sheridan gave him a look. “Don’t tell me you’re going down that road,” she said.
“Would it be so impossible?”
She nodded. “Yep,” she said. “It would.”
“Because—”
“You didn’t see them together, him and Nell. They were in love, Gavin. Real true love.”
“Okay,” he said. “But…”
She shook her head hard. “Don’t waste your time on this. I know for sure. My son was madly in love with Nell.”
Gavin opened his mouth, but shut it again. He’d started to say something about young men, how sometimes their hormones took control, but then he remembered himself at Charlie’s age. He’d been wild in plenty of ways, but there’d only been one girl for him.
A few minutes later, the party began to break up. Jack helped Stevie out of her chair. Mike asked when the wedding was, and Jack looked hopeful when Stevie said, “Oh, we’ll see…”
Jack and Stevie got Nell up from the couch, thanked everyone for a great time, and headed home. Agatha and Bunny cleared the table and—in ways practiced for the last thirty years—washed the dishes while their husbands dried, all in record time. Sheridan started taking down the lanterns, but Gavin stopped her.
“I’ll help you with that,” he said, holding her wrist. “When everyone’s gone.”
She stared down at his hand on her skin, as if his touch were burning her. She nodded; they went in to help her sisters, but everything was done, and they were packing up to leave. Bunny took her casserole dish; Agatha took her cookie sheet; Mike held a stack of plastic containers; Louis left the rest of the wine on the sideboard.
“Thank you for a great night,” Gavin said, hugging Agatha first, then Bunny. “It’s so good to see you both again.”
“You too, darling,” Bunny said. “You haven’t changed one bit.”
“Neither have you,” Gavin said, and they both laughed.
“Be careful of Agatha’s words,” Bunny warned. “She called them a toast, but you know they were really a spell.”
“They couldn’t touch him,” Agatha scoffed. “He’s already in too deep.”
“Excuse me?” Gavin asked.
Agatha gave him a look; he knew what she was getting at, and blushed. She was right: she didn’t need to bother putting a love spell on him. He’d been in love with Sheridan for most of his life; nothing had ever changed there.
The sisters all hugged, and Gavin shook hands with Mike and Louis. It seemed odd, a little sad, that they’d been brothers-in-law for so long, in this family Gavin had always wanted to be part of. But he toughed it out, slapped them on the shoulder, told them to row out to the Squire Toby for a day of fishing.
And t
hen everyone walked down the hill, climbed into their cars, turned around in the cul-de-sac at the end of the Point, and waved as they drove past the house again on their way out of the beach.
Gavin stood beside Sheridan at the kitchen window, waving until they were out of sight. They were so close, their arms were touching. When Sheridan glanced at him, Gavin made a half turn and took her in his arms. It surprised both of them so much, he didn’t know what to do next, and Sheridan stood on tiptoes to kiss him.
The heat of her mouth shocked him. Her hands felt cool on his arms. Or maybe it was just that her touch was so light, it made him shiver. They stood there in her kitchen kissing in the near-dark. One small light was on over the sink, but Sheridan’s sisters had seen to it the room was otherwise without illumination.
He could have stood there all night, but suddenly she stopped. She looked up at him for a moment. He held her face in his hands, wanting her to stay with him, not close him out again, change her mind. He thought of the first night he’d seen her this trip: she’d looked like a sleepwalker. Lost, almost blank. Right now her eyes were bright, and she obviously had something on her mind.
“I know what I’m saying,” she said.
“About Charlie and Nell?”
She nodded. “I mean it, Gavin. Thinking otherwise would be a waste of time…”
“You’re pretty convinced.”
“Don’t you remember what it was like?” she asked.
“Very well,” he said, holding her. “That was a long time ago, but you still look eighteen.”
“No,” she said, laughing. “Say something more convincing than that.”
“It’s true. You’re the same Sheridan…”
“I’m a very different Sheridan,” she whispered.
“Well, you don’t look it,” he said, staring past the white hair, meaning every word.
She shook her head as if he was hopeless. Taking his hand, she led him into the living room. The windows were open, and the sound of the waves rolled up the rocky hillside. She pulled him down on the sofa beside her, where Nell had just been sleeping a little while ago.
“Are you a different Gavin?” she asked, pushing the hair back from his eyes.
“Than when?” he asked. “That December when I saw you? I hope so…I was pretty angry that night.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Of course, what did you expect?” he asked. “You were sending me away. I couldn’t stand what was happening between us…”
“Us,” she said.
He watched the happiness drain from her face, saw the doubt and hauntedness come back. What was she thinking? If they’d been together, could he somehow have protected Charlie? Could he have helped Charlie find what he was seeking? If Charlie had had Gavin as a stepfather, would he have learned how to navigate the dangers of life better? Gavin knew how it was to grow up without a father.
She bowed her head, as if all the hope she’d filled up on these last hours was gone. He saw her hold her head in her hands, heard the waves outside, and suddenly there was nothing romantic about them. They sounded bleak.
He looked around. She might not be playing music anymore, but the room was that of a professional musician. There was a Bose system, speakers mounted in corners of the ceiling. Shelves of CDs and loose, piled-up sheet music filled one wall. Another held racks of guitars—both acoustic and electric—and mandolins. Two huge Marshall amps were pushed into the corner.
“You know what I used to do?” he asked. “When I shipped out?”
“No, what?”
“Listen to Sheridan Rosslare. Wherever I was, there you were. On the radio, in my tape player, either way—you were always with me.”
“Even when things were rocky between us?”
“Yes,” he said. “Even then.”
“But why?”
He had the sense that musicians felt about their instruments the way he felt about his boat: touch it uninvited, you’re in trouble. Staring at the rack of guitars, he realized he didn’t know a damn thing about them, but he picked one anyway—a big, classic-looking acoustic with golden-brown wood and mother-of-pearl inlay.
When he turned, he saw her watching him intently. Maybe she was afraid he would drop her guitar. He handed it to her. She held it as if she was about to start playing—but didn’t.
“I listened to you,” he said, “because some things are necessary.”
“What do you mean?”
He crouched in front of her, his heart pounding. Looking into her eyes, he saw the haze of sadness that had been there before tonight. It was back. He wanted to lift her up, carry her upstairs. Everything in him wanted her, was aching for it. But he looked into those blue eyes and knew she wasn’t ready. Maybe she would never be.
He leaned forward, kissed her softly on the lips.
“Some things are necessary,” he said again. He touched her face.
And then he walked out of the room and out of her cottage.
ON THE DECK OF HIS BOAT an hour later, Gavin sat staring up at Sheridan’s house. The lights were still on; he saw her silhouette in the big front window. He’d hoped she would take the guitar he’d handed her, start to play. He’d hoped that would start to heal her. But she seemed to be just standing there.
He got to his feet. Stood looking up at her, and raised his hand.
“Come down,” he said out loud, as though she could hear him across all that way. “Come down.”
His heart jumped, because suddenly she stepped back from the window—into the shadow of the room. Had she seen him wave her out? Was it possible she would come?
He glanced around the boat. He was ready for her—and always had been. From the moment he’d bought the Chris-Craft, he’d imagined Sheridan on board with him. He’d seen it with her eyes: the warm, bright wood, the polished brass instruments, the small bookshelf filled with books he thought she’d like, books about nature and philosophy and old blues singers.
For a minute he thought about putting some music on. The blues, maybe—Robert Johnson. But who was he kidding? He’d told the truth up there on the hill, no lie: the only music he ever played on his boat or anywhere else was Sheridan’s. He glanced at the stereo, knew he could fill the air with whatever CD of hers he had left in the slot.
But the sound of the waves hitting the boat seemed right. They echoed the feeling of the blood crashing through his veins—fast and steady, excited but sure. He played back each minute of the evening in his mind…Sitting beside her, arms brushing a little as they leaned closer. Her eyes, really looking at him again. He’d kissed her goodbye. If he had to, he could relive that kiss for the rest of his life.
Staring up at her window, he wanted more. Try everything: that’s what he wanted from her, all of it. She’d reminded him of how they’d used to feel about each other—trying to convince him that Charlie had loved only Nell, that he’d have been completely faithful to her. Gavin wanted to believe that.
A cry from Little Beach made him turn his head: kids lighting a bonfire. He watched the fire, flames licking the salty wood. The sight filled him with desire; he found himself thinking of building long-ago beach fires with her, making love until the driftwood was a pile of embers.
He remembered one summer night, the middle of August, the peak of the meteor showers. The Perseids always signaled the end of the dog days, ushering in colder weather—as if the meteors themselves were harbingers of fall. The black sky would be filled with white sparks, and the temperature of the beach would drop and make the night just right for a fire.
The tidal zone was always full of driftwood—logs, sticks, branches, old boards from broken docks—soaked with salt water from their voyage from wherever. Gavin had dragged a bunch of the driest wood he could find, made a pile, and set it on fire. It had burned slowly, the dampness keeping the flames down.
Sheridan had sat with her knees drawn up, staring at the fire. Salt made the wood blaze burn blue, green, yellow, and red. The colors were a kaleidoscope, and
the flames looked like faces. The air was chilly, making them sit close together. They held each other, sliding down onto the sand.
As Gavin kissed her, he felt the fire’s warmth on her skin. The sand was cold underneath, and she snuggled against him, one blue-jeaned leg thrown over his. Their bodies entwined, pressing together and trying to be one. That’s how he’d always felt with Sheridan—as if they were each other’s missing part.
They’d struggled out of their clothes on the beach, naked in the cool air. Her skin was pale in the starlight, and the fire glowed in her eyes. They made love, holding each other’s gaze, no need to say anything as the waves crashed at their feet. The salt spray coated their faces, and they tasted it in each other’s kiss.
Gavin stood on his deck, staring up at her house now. He watched as she turned the lights out, one by one, and he knew that she wouldn’t come.
“I’m here, though,” he said out loud. “I’m here, Sheridan…”
SHERIDAN STOOD IN the dark, a few feet back from her window. She held the glasses to her eyes, pressed tight, watching every move Gavin made. She saw him sitting on deck, and then she saw him stand. He waved at her—thinking he’d actually seen her, she’d stepped back into the room. But still she watched….
He wanted her to come to him. Her head spun—maybe from the wine, and maybe from something else. Her house was filled with the aroma of her sisters’ cooking, of the wonderful dinner they’d all just shared. But her senses were filled with other things: the scent of salt air, and of the smoke of a small fire burning over on Little Beach. She saw it glowing, just past Gavin’s boat and the breakwater.
For a second she wondered if he’d made it for her. She remembered making love to him one August night, with shooting stars all around and the sparks of a driftwood fire crackling.
She shivered, thinking of how it would feel to hold him now, to lie on the sand while the fire burned beside them. But of course the fire she could see from her windows, across the bay, belonged to the kids. Nell’s friends, probably—they’d lit a bonfire.
It was so crazy of Gavin to doubt Charlie’s devotion to Nell…. Fires and stars and the sea: primal, elemental, the way her son had felt about Nell. The way Sheridan felt about Gavin. Right now, tonight: all she had to do was walk out the door. Head down the stone stairs, cross the footbridge, walk barefoot down the beach.