“Why? Why me? Someone she hasn’t seen in years.”
“Because you were always her confidante, weren’t you? You always included her in things you were doing.”
“No, I didn’t. She was part of the group.”
“You know for a smart person, you can be really dense. You remember yourself as an abused, downtrodden kid who barely survived.”
“Well?”
“Well, you may have been all that, but you were smart and fun loving and creative . . .”
“Dorie, have I become hard and jaded? Is that what everybody thinks?”
“No.”
“I just wanted them to be impressed at how I’ve succeeded. I needed to show them. I didn’t mean to rub it in.”
“You haven’t even done much to show them how successful you are. You didn’t stay at the funeral long enough for anyone to say hello.” Dorie put up her hand. “I know why, but imagine you from the side of us.”
“What?”
“You sweep into town looking glamorous and successful, make an appearance as if you were above the company. No, be quiet and listen. I know what you were thinking. You saw yourself as someone so unsure of yourself that you were afraid of being dragged back into what you perceived as you as a failure with no future.”
“I— Wow. You saw all that?”
Dorie cracked a laugh. “How many kids have come through this house? How many people have I watched grow up? I’ve got it down. And I know firsthand about not wanting to come back and take a chance of regressing or even being reminded about where you started from. You don’t have to look any further than my own children.
“Ever wonder why they visit so little?”
“They still don’t visit?”
“Occasionally, but not much. They have their own lives now, and Whisper Beach is not a part of it.”
“Do you visit them?”
“Not too much. I have a restaurant to run.”
Van wondered if it would have been different if she’d had parents who had been happy together. But she would never know now. “Dorie?”
“Yep?”
“She said some really weird things. Like she begged me to take her to Manhattan with me. She was going to leave the kids here with Amelia. That sounds like more than grief, doesn’t it?”
“It does sound extreme.”
“I guess I’d better talk to Nate about her.”
“Well, I expect they know something isn’t quite right, but he could use a sounding board. Amelia will never accept the fact that her daughter is hanging on by a thread.”
Van sighed. “Is Suze still upstairs?”
Dorie nodded. “There’s another one on the brink, but for better reasons.”
“She’s really counting on this grant.”
Van got out her cell phone. Called Suze. “Get your professorial butt down here. I’m declaring an early happy hour.”
“Nothing happy about it.” Suze hung up.
“Oops, that didn’t sound good.” Van and Dorie listened to Suze stomp down the stairs. She came into the living room but stopped just inside the door.
“What’s up?” Van asked quietly.
“The grant people finally called back. They sent my papers last week to this address. The stupid post office. They said they would send them again, but they wouldn’t budge on the deadline. I mean, what the hell kind of attitude is that to have? I asked them to e-mail them. They don’t do that. It would be too easy to hack into.
“I just about told them what they could do with their security system.” Suze deflated suddenly and slumped down into her chair. “I am so screwed.”
“Well, did they give you any hints about what you have to present in the next round?” Van asked.
“That wouldn’t be fair. Ugh.” She lowered her voice. “To the candidates who received theirs in a timely manner. Are you kidding me? Like I’m responsible for the U.S. Post Office losing the damn thing.”
“They should come into the twenty-first century,” Van agreed. “Couldn’t you call one of the other candidates and ask them what the project is?”
“Remember the perish part of academia? They’d rather see me crash and burn than help me to compete.”
Van sighed. She was running out of enthusiasm. The situation looked pretty bleak for Suze.
“Even if they manage to get it out by tomorrow and overnight it, the deadline is Monday. I might as well start packing and try to get extra classes for the fall.” She groaned dramatically. “I think I’ll go for a walk.”
Chapter 18
VAN AND DORIE SAT LOOKING AT EACH OTHER UNTIL THEY heard the screen door slam. “You’re not having much of a vacation.”
“Well, it certainly isn’t dull, and actually I’m glad I stayed.”
“Well, hallelujah.”
“But I’m worried about Suze. Should I go after her?” Van asked.
“I think it’s best just to let her work through her disappointment.”
“You act like it’s a fait accompli.”
“If that means, she’s up the crick without a paddle, yeah.”
“There must be something we can do.”
“Unless you can reorganize the whole postal system and find that grant packet before Monday, yep, pretty much a fait accompli.”
In the silence they’d fallen into, Van heard footsteps over their heads. “Is that Dana up there?”
Dorie nodded. “She’s another one. Been up there all day. I don’t know if she’s afraid to go out or afraid to come downstairs and face you.”
“Me? She has nothing to feel weird about. I told her to forget everything. It’s so yesterday’s news.”
“Funny,” Dorie said. “So yesterday and yet everyone’s got it on their minds.”
“I don’t.”
“Don’t make me squirt this wine out my nose. You and Joe are dancing around each other like it was mating season.”
“We are not. Besides mating season isn’t an option.”
“Are you sure? Did you have a hysterectomy?”
Van shook her head. She really didn’t want to talk about it.
“Then what’s the trouble?”
“I don’t know. Scar tissue, compromised walls, and I don’t remember the rest. They just said I couldn’t get pregnant.”
“When?”
“Dorie, do we really have to go through this?”
“Just humor me. When did they tell you this?”
“I don’t know. In the hospital, again later on.”
“Have you tried?”
“Tried? To get pregnant? Why would I? Why would I put myself through the disappointment?”
Van heard footsteps on the stairs; seconds later Dana stepped tentatively into the parlor.
“Come on in,” Dorie said.
Van relaxed. She didn’t think Dorie would pursue her medical history while Dana was present.
“Would you like a glass of wine?”
“No, thanks. I think I’d better cut down. Maybe quit drinking altogether.”
“Excellent idea.”
Dana sighed. “Now if I could just get Bud to quit, maybe we could—”
“Don’t even go there,” Dorie said. “You can’t do anything for him. He has to do it himself. And quite frankly I don’t have too much hope for that.”
“He’s not a bad guy,” Dana said. “He’s just . . .”
“Violent,” Van finished for her.
“It’s not his fault. His father was violent. Died in a bar fight.”
Van shuddered. Bud was definitely following in his father’s footsteps. She was just glad Joe had escaped with a few bruises and his life. “Well, it isn’t your fault.”
Dana shrugged.
Van gave up. Why was it that everyone’s life was screwed up but hers? Dana’s abusive boyfriend, Gigi’s grief, Suze’s missing grant application, Dorie being married to Harold and the failing Crab.
Van almost laughed out loud. She was probably the most screwed up of all of the
m, but at least she’d channeled it into a thriving business. That counted for something, didn’t it?
IT WAS LATE when Suze returned, accompanied by Jerry Corso in uniform. Van, Dorie, and Dana were still sitting in the parlor amid a large pizza and tins of salad and sautéed spinach that Van had insisted on. She was beginning to feel green depleted.
“OMG,” Dana said. “Did you get arrested?”
“No,” Jerry said, smiling. “I found her wandering the streets, so I brought her home.”
“Thanks, Jerry,” Suze said.
“See you Sunday night, then.” Jerry nodded and left.
“Sunday night?” Dorie asked.
Suze glanced at Van. “I invited him to my mother’s cocktail party.”
“The poor guy,” Dana said and grinned.
“We’re taking you shopping first thing in the morning,” Van said.
SUZE TURNED OUT to be a hard sell, but over eggs Benedict and coffee, with Dorie and Van and even Dana chiming in, she accepted defeat and went to get her purse. As soon as she came back, Van, Dana, and a recalcitrant Suze walked into town.
They’d gone a half block when Dana’s cell phone rang.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Van asked.
Dana shook her head. “It’ll be Bud. He’s called me about fifty times since I came to Dorie’s.”
“Why don’t you just turn it off?”
“I might miss something.”
Van let that one slide. This was Suze’s day, and Van was determined not to let anything bring them down.
“I really ought to go out to one of those big box stores,” Suze said. “And find something cheaper.”
“To wear to your mother’s cocktail party? Forget it,” Van said. “You need dy-no-mite, not discounted.”
“I need to watch my money in case I don’t get the grant.”
“You will, and it’s the end of the season. There will be sales.”
“Besides, you should support your local businesses,” Dana said.
“Absolutely,” Van agreed.
The first boutique was a bust. Mainly expensive size twos and not very well-constructed dresses.
“Well, we know why they’re having a sale,” Van said as they crowded out the door and back onto the street.
“Man, did you get a load of those prices?” Dana groused. Van had a suspicion that she secretly wished she could afford them. Maybe bringing her hadn’t been the best idea, but Van was in an accepting mood this morning.
The second store was not much better. The third was some kind of import store that Suze suggested they go into. But after being berated for picking out a batik long gauze skirt, she gave up and gave in and followed Van to the place she’d wanted to look in from the beginning.
“Red,” pronounced Dana, lifting a little shift away from the rack.
Suze shook her head.
“Oh, come on. You’d look great in this.”
Suze shook her head.
“This.” Van held up a black raw silk sheath, form fitting but forgiving, with a heart-shaped neckline, a low scooped back with a pleat at the hem. And it wouldn’t show food, thought Van, as long as she stays away from cream sauces and mustard.
They picked out a couple of other choices, a purple wrap waist in voile, and a hand-dyed silk that flared from a high waist and looked like the sunset. Suze took all four into the dressing room.
“And we want to see every one,” Dana called.
Suze mumbled something. There was the sound of grunting, thumping, an occasional mild expletive and Suze appeared wearing the purple.
Van and Dana both shook their heads.
Suze returned to the dressing room. More grunting and thumping and mumbling.
Suze came out in the red dress. It was too short and a little too tight.
“You look amazing,” Dana said.
“You might look amazing in it,” Suze told her, “but I look like a fire engine.”
“Try the black,” Van said.
When Suze was gone, Van turned to Dana. “I liked the red, but the black will be better. It won’t show wrinkles or the occasional bit of food.”
“Oh,” Dana said as understanding dawned. “She doesn’t pay much attention to what’s she’s doing, does she?”
“It’s because she’s so smart and doesn’t bother with the mundane.”
“Well, she should. Jerry has had some cool girlfriends. He’s not just a local dumb-ass cop. Well, he is, but he’s nice and not too dumb.”
“Now there’s a glowing reference,” Van said. “But I don’t think she’s dressing for Jerry.”
“No, then who?”
“Her mother.”
“That’s dumb. If she’d fix herself up a little, she could get lucky; and then it wouldn’t matter what her mother thought.”
Van let that one pass, and fortunately before she had to say something, Suze stepped out of the dressing room.
“That’s the one,” Van said.
“Yeah, it’s pretty, all right,” Dana agreed. “But you need to do something with your hair.”
“First things first.” Van moved over to Suze, checked out the back of the dress. “Go walk over there and turn around.”
“And shoes,” Dana said, as Suze’s thongs flopped across the showroom carpet.
“Definitely shoes,” Van said.
Suze came back and perused herself in the full-length mirror. Turned to the back and looked over her shoulder. “It’s expensive.”
“You’re worth it.”
Suze half smiled at Van, but Van could tell she liked the dress and maybe liked how she looked in it.
“Oh, what the heck.”
Dana fist-pumped the air. “On to shoes. I know a great place. Not that I’ve ever been inside, but the window is a beaut.”
Suze paid for the dress, and they went down the street to Bijoux, a shoe boutique that made Van think twice. Fortunately, they were having a sale.
Suze picked up a pair of floral high heels. Turned them over, checked out the price, and put them down. “I could just—”
“No, you couldn’t,” Van told her. “No sandals, no ancient Mary Janes. You deserve a shoe for the up-and-coming young scholar.”
“Sensible shoes,” Suze said wryly.
“See if they have these in your size.” They were basic black with a little gold link on the back of the heel. Conservative, but expensive looking. And on sale.
Suze sat down to wait for the saleswoman to return with her shoes.
“Yo mama, it’s Cinderella,” Van said when Suze stood up on wobbly ankles. “When was the last time you wore heels?”
“I wear heels at the faculty meetings, two-inch ones.”
Van groaned. Dana rolled her eyes.
“Well, I don’t want to be taller than my colleagues. They’re very sensitive.”
“And short, right?” Dana grinned.
Suze nodded. “And short. I’ll take them.”
“Good,” Van said. “I have a bag you can use so you don’t break the bank on your first outing.”
“Thanks, Van. You, too, Dana. Ice cream?” Suze asked.
“Works for me,” Van said. “But let’s pop by that art gallery and see how much that painting of the Crab is going for. It would be a nice thank-you present for Dorie.”
Dana and Suze followed her across the street and into the gallery.
“It must be some kind of opening,” Suze said as they stood on the outskirts of a sizable crowd.
“Probably what they were installing when we were here the other day.”
They slipped through the crowd of people standing outside and went inside.
There were quite a few people inside as well. Suze wandered over to the first display wall. “They’re nice.” She leaned closer to look at the display tag. “It’s called Beach. Short and sweet. And, gee, only five hundred.”
“Whew,” Dana said. “You shoulda stuck with that crazy glass painting you used to do. You could be ri
ch.”
“Hmm,” Van said, taking a closer look at the next painting. “Where is that? It looks familiar, but the title is Beach 2.”
“Next to Beach 1?” Suze quipped.
“I think it’s Whisper Beach,” Van said.
They all peered more closely. It was definitely Whisper Beach.
“I guess it’s a local artist.”
They moved on to the next painting. More beachscapes, each different but all conveying a sense of power and yet peaceful. They came to the end of the panel and moved on to the next, which displayed a row of portraits.
“Wow,” Suze said. “Didn’t you used to have a dress like that?”
Van looked more closely at the seated young girl, her hair pulled back into a long braid. Something in her stomach twisted. She did have a dress like that. And she used to wear her hair like that.
“Too weird,” she said and moved on to the next painting. This was a torso view of a woman standing at a window looking out at a meadow, or perhaps it was marshes. She didn’t look at all familiar.
The next one was two children playing on the beach. The artist was good, capturing color and movement with minimal strokes. She looked more closely at the title plaque. Children Playing on Beach.
She thought it was funny that someone who could create such grace and feeling in their paintings couldn’t come up with more inventive titles. She peered at the lower corner of the painting, but the signature was just a jagged brushstroke at odds with the subtlety of the painting.
“Hey, they have food,” Dana said. She started off in the direction of the buffet table that was covered with trays of canapés and wineglasses. Suze and Van moved to the next painting.
“They’re a little pricey; do you want to spend that much on the one of the Crab?”
“Maybe,” Van said. “If it’s under five, I would do it. Plus it’s an investment.”
“And it looks like Dorie might be needing some investments,” Suze said.
“Exactly what I was thinking. But I really do like these. I wonder who the artist is.” They came to the end of the row and there was a printed biography of the artist—Robbie Moran.
“Look,” Suze said. “The artist has the same last name as you. Do you have any relatives who paint?”
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