Whisper Beach

by Shelley Noble

  It was all an act. Wasn’t it?

  Suze stood and carried her plate to the sink. “I better get to work.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t. Don’t think you badgered me into hanging around and then think you can hole up in your room. I’m sure Gigi would love to see you, too. Just like old times,” Van said. “Won’t that be fun?”

  “Minus Dana,” Suze said. “And, Van, sarcasm doesn’t really make it this early in the morning.”

  Van sighed and put her head down on the table. “Please?” She tilted her head to gauge Suze’s reaction. “Pretty please?”

  It took another cup of coffee and several more minutes to convince Suze to go with her to see Gigi. Suze didn’t want to cramp their reunion. Van didn’t want to face Gigi alone. They finally compromised. Suze would come if she could have the afternoon to work.

  “Deal.”

  “But I have to wait for the mail to come.”

  “Suze, it’s Sunday.”

  “Oh.” Suze slumped against the chair back.

  “Are you expecting mail?” Van asked only half jokingly.

  “Yes.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you’re having your mail delivered here? Are you planning on staying awhile?”

  Suze reached for another pastry, chose one, and pushed the plate toward Van.

  Van shook her head. “Suze?”

  “Yeah. I’m thinking about staying here for the fall.”

  “The whole fall? Why? You didn’t lose your job or anything?”

  “No.”

  “Then why here? You have a great apartment on campus and your family lives in the next town.”

  “I need a fresh environment. And if I go to my parents, they’ll try to set me up with promising men for the duration. And insist on buying me my own apartment and a car and—”

  “So what’s wrong with that?”

  “Because it all comes with strings attached.”

  Van nodded. It would be nice to have a family who wanted to buy you things, make your life better, but she wouldn’t want the expectations that accompanied the Turners’ generosity any more than Suze did.

  “You want to go to Rehoboth with me?”

  Suze snorted and ended up in a fit of coughing.

  “You shouldn’t eat and snort at the same time.”

  Suze waved at her and finally got her breath. “I can’t afford Rehoboth.”

  “I’ve already paid for the room and everything.”

  Suze gave her a look.

  “Hey, no strings attached.”

  “Thanks, but I really have to get some work done. If I don’t get this paper finished and published, I’ll be looking for work down at the marina. You’ve heard the expression publish or perish?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, it’s true. But I need this grant money to be able to afford to take off from teaching.”

  “They don’t pay you to publish?”

  “Ha. Part salary. But not enough to do all the research, have time to write, and still eat.”

  “Wait, they make you write this stuff to get tenure but don’t pay you to do it?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “When’s the deadline for the application?”

  “It has to be postmarked by next Monday. I’ve done the preliminary and this is round three. Several others are vying for the same money.” Suze laughed ruefully. “Cutthroat competition behind those ivied walls.”

  “Well, come on, let’s go to Gigi’s. We’ll take her out to lunch if she promises not to break down and bawl in the restaurant and then you can come back and work. I promise to be quiet and not bother you.”

  GIGI’S PARENTS LIVED near the parkway. Not beach property and not exactly the suburbs. The houses looked caught somewhere in between. Most had been refurbished with new siding, or paint. The lawns were fairly manicured, and some were still green even though it was late August.

  Nate Moran was Van’s father’s brother, but unlike her father, he’d taken responsibility for his family, made a comfortable home for them. He’d added on to the house with each new baby, and it was now a rambling ranch.

  Several cars were already parked in the driveway.

  “This was a really bad idea,” Van said. “I just assumed Gigi would be alone.” She took a breath. “Well, hell, what do I care.”

  Van parked on the street.

  “For a quick getaway?” Suze asked.

  “Yeah, so when I give the signal, don’t hesitate, head for the door.”

  “It won’t be that bad.”

  “It might be. Aunt Amelia never liked our side of the Moran family. Plus I really screwed things up yesterday. That’s so not like me. If I hadn’t been so ambivalent about coming, I would have come to the wake on Friday and skipped the funeral altogether; I could be sitting on the beach today.”

  “You can still sit on the beach today. It’s only a block and a half away.”

  She gave Suze a look and rang the doorbell.

  It opened so quickly that Van took a step backward. Gigi stood in the opening. Hopefully she hadn’t been standing at the window all morning, because they hadn’t hurried to get here.

  “Hi.” Van gave her cousin a quick hug and stepped into the house, avoiding any repeats of yesterday’s sob fest.

  It was dark inside, and Van had to blink a few times before things came into focus. Too much fabric was her immediate response. Too much stuff in general. She took another step into the room and nearly tripped over a plastic pull toy. Kids. Right. Gigi had two.

  “Come on back. Everyone’s in the family room.”

  Everyone. Oh, great.

  They followed Gigi to the back of the house to a long wood-paneled addition with windows across the back. Several couches and chairs of various vintages were clustered together in front of a huge flat-screen television, muted to a Phillies game. A wall air conditioner rattled and pumped a stream of tepid air at their heads.

  “You remember my brothers, Pete and Kirby?”

  “Of course I do. Hi, guys,” Van said, then added to the one girl in the room. “Is that you, Jane?”

  “No, I’m Leslie. Jane’s gone to Mass with mamma.”

  “Wow. I won’t say how much you’ve grown.” Especially since she’d grown out as well as up.

  Leslie laughed and heaved herself out of the recliner. “Please don’t.” She patted her butt and went over to a table where a variety of funeral food had been laid out. “You and Suzanne get yourselves some food and have a seat.”

  “Thanks, but we just had breakfast.”

  Suze sat at one end of the couch. Van reluctantly sat down next to Pete. He’d been in his early twenties when Van had left. Now in his thirties, his head was shaved, hopefully to camouflage his receding hairline and not denoting his political affiliation. He’d grown pretty thick around the middle.

  “How are things?” Van asked him.

  “Besides Clay croaking? Pretty good. Got my own place now.” His eyes drifted to the ball game.

  About time, Van thought. “Nearby?”

  “Down the street, renting the apartment over old man Dooley’s garage.”

  “How is Mr. Dooley?” Van cast a help-me-out look at Suze. She’d go stark raving mad making small talk with Pete all afternoon. She hardly remembered Kirby, who had been a gawky preteen when she’d left.

  “Oh, he died years back. His widow rents out rooms. Got me a good deal, too.”

  “Ah.” Van’s eyes strayed to the end tables, Depression veneer but polished to a shine. The doily would have to go. She resisted the temptation to at least straighten it where the lamp resting on it had twisted it out of shape.

  Gigi squeezed in between Suze and Van. “Mother will be back any minute now. I know she’ll want to see you.”

  Van smiled. She was sure Amelia Moran could go a lifetime without seeing Van. Things couldn’t get much more stilted. How long would they have to stay? Wi
th all the funeral food sitting around, she doubted they could get away on the pretense of taking Gigi to lunch. It was going to be a long afternoon.

  “You back for long? Yes!” Pete jumped to both feet. “What a play! Wow!” He threw himself back on the couch, pumped his fist in the air, and reached for his can of soda. “Damn! Did you see that? Yeah!”

  A baby cried from another room. Gigi stood. “Pete, you woke the baby.” She scowled at her brother and left the room. In the family room, silence reigned while Leslie ate, and Pete and Kirby fought over the remote.

  “Can’t even enjoy a game around here anymore. You have kids, Van?”

  “No.”

  “No husband, either?”

  Van shook her head.

  “Well, what are you waiting for, girl?”

  Van was saved from answering by Gigi’s return. She was carrying a blond curly-headed girl, still half asleep, who rubbed her eye and hid her head in Gigi’s shoulder when Van smiled at her.

  “This is Amy. Amy, can you say hi to Van and Suze? Van’s your cousin.”

  Amy shook her head against her mother’s shoulder.

  “She’s a little shy,” Gigi said and handed her off to Leslie, who moved her plate aside, then gave the little girl a piece of cheese.

  A car door slammed.

  “Mom-mom,” Amy squealed as she slid off Leslie’s lap and toddled toward the door.

  Gigi went after her. Suze slid closer to Van. “Isn’t there another one?”

  “I think so.”

  There was the sound of general bustling, and Van braced herself for her aunt Amelia. If yesterday was any indication, she wouldn’t be met with open arms. The first to arrive was a boy about four or five years old. He headed straight for the table of food and grabbed a cookie in each hand.

  “Clayton Nathan Daly, you put those down until after lunch.” Gigi made a beeline for the boy. He managed to shove one whole cookie into his mouth before Gigi confiscated the other one.

  Lunch. That would be a good excuse for them to leave. No way would Van sit down for that meal. Not that Amelia would invite her.

  Van stood with a double purpose, to show deference to her aunt and prepare for an exit. She shot a look toward Suze who looked more than ready to go.

  “Aunt Amelia,” Van said. Her aunt looked pretty much the same as she had before Van left, a little wider in the butt. But then Amelia had always looked middle aged, even when she was younger.

  “Well, it’s about time you came home and let everyone know what happened to you,” Amelia said. “Even though it took a funeral to do it,” she added under her breath but loud enough for everyone to hear. She scrutinized Van from head to toe.

  Van stood still for the inspection. She had nothing to worry about. She was wearing a pair of black slacks and a gray silk shirt. She was the only one who’d even made a nod to the solemn occasion.

  “You’ll stay for lunch.”

  “We really can’t—”

  “Your uncle Nate wants to see you. He had to stop by the hardware store after Mass.”

  This is why she’d never come back. She was a nonperson here. Someone to be talked at, shoved around, and generally ignored until she did something that they didn’t like; then she was maligned and cast out.

  Families. This was what families were. And she wanted no part of it.

  Except for the Enthorpes. They had never treated her that way; they’d been loving and strong, and had cared about her. They had always made her feel welcome the few times she’d gone out to the farm with Joe. Would they welcome her now? Probably not.

  “Jane, come help me set the table.”

  “I can’t stay. I’ve got the three o’clock shift at the hospital,” Jane, who had just entered the room, said. “I have to get home and fix Tom and the kids lunch.”

  “You’ll take some of these leftovers,” Amelia said, and the two women went off to the kitchen together.

  “I’m not staying either, Ma.” Pete pushed to his feet. “I gotta help Wally Phelps with his car.”

  “And Pete’s giving me a ride,” Kirby said.

  “Gigi, we really can’t stay for lunch, either,” Van said. “Maybe we can come back later this afternoon or tomorrow.”

  Gigi grabbed her wrist. “You can’t go without seeing Dad. He wondered why you didn’t stay longer at the repast.”

  Van stood helplessly while all the old feelings—the sense of being trapped, being stifled, being ignored—rose up and threatened to paralyze her. It was like she had never left. She had to get out. She’d been crazy to have come in the first place.

  “Please.”

  Suze had come to stand by her side. “I really need to get some work done,” she said apologetically.

  Gigi looked so disappointed that Van began to give in. Just like she always had. Only now she resented the feeling. It was something that she hadn’t done in years—backed down or felt resentful. She didn’t want to start again now.

  But just as she and Suze got to the kitchen to make their apologies to Amelia, the back door opened and her uncle walked in.

  Nate was her father’s brother but as different as two brothers could be. Her father was tall, wiry, angry, and a mean drunk. Nate was tall and robust, enjoyed a good joke—even if they were off color and politically incorrect—and still athletic. He drank, but not to excess. And he was never mean. At least as far as Van knew.

  “Well, look at you,” he said and held out both arms.

  Powerless to resist, Van walked into his hug. “Hi, Uncle Nate.” She pulled away. “Sad time.”

  Nate shook his head. “Sure is.” He held her at arm’s length. “You’re looking real New York. Aren’t you something?”

  “Van says she can’t stay to lunch,” Amelia said.

  Nate winked at Van. “I’m sure she needs to see lots of people while she’s here. How long you staying, Van?”

  Van shrugged, her mind suddenly blank for a real excuse. “I’m not sure. Long enough to spend some time with Gigi. I’ll call you tomorrow. Maybe we can get together. Maybe get her out of the house.” She glanced at her aunt. “If that would be appropriate.”

  “Better than her moping around here.” Amelia turned back to the sink.

  “Good, good,” Nate said. “I’ll walk you out to your car.”

  Gigi didn’t want them to leave, but with the distraction of the kids and Amelia wanting her to help in the kitchen, Nate managed to maneuver Van and Suze out the front door.

  He closed the door behind them with a sigh. “Never a dull moment.”

  “Sounds like you could use one,” Van said sympathetically.

  “I don’t mind so much. Gigi’s had a rough time of it, but it’s been a strain on the whole family. Amelia’s just about at the end of her rope.”

  He slowed down, and Van slowed with him. Suze made no pretense of holding up but went ahead to the car and got in.

  “Clay was a good enough guy, don’t get me wrong, but they had no business getting married. He couldn’t support a family and little Clay came along in less than a year and Gigi had to stop working.

  “Then with that damn hurricane . . .”

  “Dorie told us some of it last night.”

  “Hell, I woulda helped them, but Clay was just a stubborn cuss. When the looting started, he moved into the RV with a shotgun. Then last week he climbed up on the roof to do God knows what. The whole place was condemned. And that was that.

  “Now she’s a widow with two kids, no insurance, and living at home.”

  They stopped at the car. “It must have been hard on her and the kids with Clay living away from them,” Van said.

  “Hard on everybody. There were tears and fights, and I think she feels guilty for not being able to make him come stay with us. There was room. But like I said—stubborn. And now it’s too late.

  “We love having her and the kids live with us, but it isn’t healthy.”

  Van nodded.

  “I sure would be grateful
if you could talk to her. Maybe give her some ideas about what to do. She just seems stuck.”

  “Uncle Nate, I don’t really know what I could do to help.”

  “Just talk to her. She always looked up to you. She still talks about you. She could use a friend right now.”

  “All right. I’ll see what I can do.” Maybe she owed Gigi that. Her uncle hadn’t said anything, but he must know about the money Gigi gave her. At least he hadn’t pulled the after-all-she-did-for-you card—yet. “Maybe Suze has some ideas. Tell Gigi we’ll call her tomorrow.”

  “Thanks.”

  Nate opened the door for her but held it before she got in. “One more thing, Van.”

  She waited.

  “You ought to go see your father while you’re here. He won’t have anything to do with us. But maybe—”

  She shook her head.

  “Oh hell, Van. I know he was a bastard. He was an unhappy man.”

  “He was a monster.”

  “Maybe it seemed that way to you.”

  “He killed my mother.”

  “What? Nonsense.”

  “He was too drunk to pick her up from her job at the hospital, so she had to walk home.”

  He shut the car door and faced her. “And if he had picked her up she wouldn’t have gotten hit by the car?”

  Van blinked furiously. She didn’t want that all dredged up. “I offered to help Gigi out, not get a lecture about family.”

  “I beg your pardon. But remember this, and you’re old enough to hear it. There were any number of people your mother could have called to pick her up. Even more at the hospital who would have gladly given her a ride home. But she didn’t ask. She was mad at your father and had to play martyr.

  “There are two sides to every story, Van. Takes two people to have a fight. Now that’s all I’m gonna say. If you decide you want to see him, I’ll let him know. If not, well . . . that’s your choice.”

  He opened the door again, and Van got in.

  “Uncle Nate?”

  He stopped. “Yeah?”

  “Don’t be mad. But you don’t understand.”

  “I’m not mad, but think ahead to how you’ll feel when he’s dead.”