“Dad doesn’t know that Montigue is Angus?”
She straightens up. “I’ve never said anything to him...because he already knew. He’s always known.”
“You didn’t tell him?”
She looks at me solemnly. “He knows.”
“Are you sure?”
“Jenna, your father understands me in ways that no one else does, and that’s why I love him. And because he came back into my life at just the right time.”
“Did you always love him?” I ask.
Mom shakes her head, as if she’s telling me I have much to learn. “Your father came back at a time when I was most desperate. In the end I loved him, so it didn’t really matter.”
“And you never talked about Angus? It never came up?”
“Your father knew how much I loved Angus. He knew I wanted to forget. So he forgot, too.”
“Just like that?” I wonder if Mom ever loved Dad as much as she loved Angus.
“Just like that.”
“Why was it so important to never tell?” I ask. “Why would you promise Adeline something like that?”
Mom takes my hand. Hers is warm and sticky, and her eyes appear to have pressure behind them—a pleading, as if I am not her daughter right now but some judge, a jury. “It all happened so fast,” she continues. “I don’t know why...” she looks around the room, as if some evidence will appear to show her the truth. “I didn’t mean to do it.”
“No,” I assure her, curious about what she is talking about. “You didn’t.”
“But it was Adeline who started it.” Mom lets go of my hand, runs her fingers through her hair. “Adeline was so used to getting what she wanted. Not getting him...it nearly destroyed her.”
“Maybe it did destroy her, Mom.”
Mom sinks into her chest, slouching, and her exhausted brows fall, relax over her eyes. “I’ll never know for sure.” She reaches over to me again, but her hand doesn’t make it; this time her arm falls and rests limp on the bed, palm up. “Maybe I destroyed her,” she says.
“Mom,” I say gently. “What about Angus...and Aunt Adeline? Can you tell me what happened?”
“The accident.” She brings her hand to her mouth, to her lips. “It wasn’t...” Her eyes jump around my face, as if searching for something.
“You don’t have to tell me.”
“No, I want to.” There is revelation in her eyes, a look of relief. “Why on earth wouldn’t I tell you?”
part fourteen
in the wake of green
{renee
forty-four
The words from Adeline were like a knife in Renee’s side. Angus is meeting me tonight.
“What?” Renee asked. “Angus is—”
“Nine o’clock, at the jetty.”
Renee’s heart fluttered wildly, and her forehead grew hot. “No,” she said. “He isn’t back from Carbur yet.” Or was he? After all, he was due back that night. But Adeline had to be making it up. The jetty was where everyone went; it would be easy for Adeline to fake it, to go there anyway. “Is he?”
Adeline nodded yes.
Renee wanted this to be a lie, needed to know that this was only her big sister scheming again. “Adeline,” she said, making sure to look at her directly, holding her gaze. It was difficult for her to do, even now; she could feel the pull, her eyes begging to withdraw. She expected Adeline’s eyes to cast her own away. “Why are you doing this?”
“I should say—” Adeline let out a single chuckle. “Why are you?” She shook her head. “You are not going to get away with this.”
Renee was confused. “Get away with what?”
“With him.”
“I don’t understand.” Renee felt the tears swelling, blinked to keep them back. “What am I supposed to do? There’s nothing I can do now but tell him.” She wasn’t even sure why she was crying—if it was out of despair or out of helplessness about being pregnant. Or was it for Adeline, who no longer seemed in a right state of mind? “Why are you meeting him?” she added. “Are you going to tell him about the baby?”
“I’m certainly going to tell him about a baby. But not necessarily yours.”
“What?”
Adeline sat on the edge of the bed, took off her sandals. “Do you know what will happen,” she said, “if anyone finds out about your baby? They’ll take him away, Renee.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“I’ll just tell him,” Renee said, “and then we’ll wait...to tell everyone else.”
Adeline chuckled. “Don’t be silly, Renee. You can’t have this baby.”
“I don’t...really have a choice.”
“Look,” Adeline said, “I couldn’t have my baby. You are not going to have yours.”
Adeline wasn’t making sense. “What are you talking about?” Renee asked.
Adeline stood and brushed off her jeans. “I tried to tell you the other night, but you refused to listen.”
“Tell me what?” Renee remembered part of a story, something about a baby, but nothing real. There was something about Angus in there, too. It had been a quick rush of words, another blur of Adeline nonsense.
“I was pregnant,” Adeline said, looking to the floor.
Renee wasn’t sure whether or not she wanted to hear the rest of the story, at least not from Adeline’s lips. Perhaps she could learn it from some other source. This was a story she preferred to hear without witnesses so she could toss it back into the trash if she chose to. She didn’t know what to say.
“I lost it,” Adeline continued. She had a wild look in her eyes, the pupils small in the lamp light, the color like bright jade. “Or you could say I gave birth and lost it. He was a stillborn.”
He. Renee thought of the word, how it suddenly brought an image to mind: a rubbery, living thing, a tiny baby boy. “But how could…” she began. “Adeline, we would have known. Were you in a hospital?”
“The bathroom. At college.” Adeline’s words emerged so calmly, so smoothly, as if this was not a significant announcement. “It was a few months ago. In April.”
Renee’s stomach turned; she felt nauseated, dizzy. She waited for Adeline to say something else, to take it back or explain what she really meant, and she didn’t. “Don’t say things like that,” she said. “You’re scaring me.”
“But it’s true.”
“Adeline—what are you saying?” Renee suddenly felt like the big sister, trying to make sense of this. “I saw you at Christmas...you weren’t fat.”
“I was only three months at Christmas.”
“But—” Renee would not hear this nonsense. She knew what would come next, feared hearing his name. She wanted to block her ears and mind from it. “You couldn’t have been.”
“Are you saying I’m lying?” Adeline snapped. “You heard me. My baby died.” She crossed her arms and turned away from Renee, toward the white wall. When she turned around again her eyes were hard on Renee, as if she had been recharged. “And Angus and I—”
“No!” Renee yelled out, afraid of what Adeline would say next. A lump rose in her heart and her body went heavy; she shut her eyes tight to hold back the tears. “You’re lying!” she shouted, and covered her ears. She did not want to hear Adeline’s voice, or even her own. “You’re doing this just to—”
“To what?” Adeline leaned down close, and Renee could no longer look her in the eyes. “Why would I play games about something like a baby?” She picked up her jacket off the bed. “Now get out of my way. I’m going to meet him.”
Renee could not move her body, she sat slumped on the floor. “I don’t believe you,” she sobbed. She thought about Angus’s letters, how they just stopped coming.
“Renee,” Adeline said, her voice gentler now. “If you don’t believe me you ca
n come by tonight, see for yourself. Come see if he really is meeting me.”
Renee didn’t want to believe Adeline. She would prefer this was just some cruel joke; Adeline seemed capable of something this extreme, only using nonspecifics, only hinting at things, to lead Renee down a path to madness. It was something Adeline was good at.
Renee looked up at her big sister, saw a woman both frightening and sad. For a mere second, she believed what she had said. “Your baby,” she said. “What happened to it?”
“He’s buried in the yard,” Adeline said, “beneath the forsythia bush.”
***
At eight-thirty Renee told Mother she was walking down to Healy’s for a soda, then maybe to Cherine’s house. Take your windbreaker was all Mother said. It was cold this time of night down by the water.
The sky was clear, with only a slice of moon showing, but the stars were bright. The road was gray-green in the overhead street lights, and the trees at the side of the main road looked like a tall black hedge. The hedge seemed so long, so endless as she walked as fast as she could, but it didn’t go by fast enough; it was a good mile and a half. Renee was frantic to get there—no longer just walking, but trotting, running in spurts. Walking felt too much like she was wasting time, like she’d miss something. But what would she see when she got there?
It took her only fifteen minutes. She could hear the surf as she approached, crashing hard against the rocks and the pier; the tide was in and the wind was strong. The lights from the wharf reflected on the water, and on the boats that rocked within the cove. In the distance she could see silhouettes on the brightly lit docks, long legs dangling over the edge, and could hear the clinking of bottles. The jetty, about two hundred yards across from the docks, blended into dark, and all Renee could see was the dim yellow glow of the lighthouse lamp above it.
She walked down Mackerel Pass and turned onto the cement slab step entrance to the jetty. She passed through the rusty iron gates, by the commemorative plaque, onto the rocks, and stepped into sudden cold and dampness. It was difficult to see the size of the cracks between the large slabs of granite, so she was careful jumping from rock to rock. The wind was strong and cool, but the stone felt warm beneath her sneakers. Over the loud rush of surf she heard voices, probably the youth center kids on the docks far across the water. She wondered if they could see her, as they were tiny silhouettes to her.
As she moved farther down the rocky pier she saw something in the distance—two figures in the dark, moving toward the left side of the jetty. It could have been anyone—two fishermen going for mackerel when they weren’t supposed to, or perhaps two creepy men waiting for a fifteen-year-old girl to wander out there alone. She stopped for a moment and was quiet, listening to the voices. One was low-sounding and barely audible amongst the crashing of waves against the rocks. But after the water rushed out again she could hear the other voice, higher and soft, unmistakable.
Adeline.
Renee felt a panic in her heart, a turn to her stomach as she moved closer, more slowly this time. She crept in, stopping about ten yards from where the figures stood, and could clearly make out their silhouettes beneath the yellow glow of the lighthouse. It was too dark to see features, but the strong profile and angular build of a man looked familiar, too familiar. She saw wisps of hair above a high forehead, blowing in the breeze. When the figure spoke, she shuddered. “Give me a second,” the man said, and she knew it was Angus.
Angus and Adeline.
They were moving over to the left side of the jetty and down the steep decline of rocks, toward the bottom. In the murky water at the base of the rocks sat a small dinghy roped to a wooden pillar, waiting for them. It rocked gently as a crest of whitecaps rushed in, reminding Renee of their night together under the stars. How it seemed like a dream now, a nightmare.
She blinked hard, opened her eyes wider as she moved closer. They were in dim light now, from the lighthouse lamp that hovered above. Adeline’s face looked stern, impatient, as she waited for Angus to step toward the boat. He stopped at the bottom and looked back up the rocks, then to the left, toward Renee. It seemed for a second that he was looking right at her, but then he turned back toward the boat, where Adeline was already stepping in.
“Come on,” Adeline said, her voice muffled by the wind. “You said you would.”
Angus seemed to hesitate, then continued down the rocks. As he reached the water, Adeline put out her hand and he took it, supporting himself as he stepped into the dinghy. It hurt Renee to watch, his skin touching Adeline’s.
From her seat in the boat, Adeline leaned over the edge and grabbed the rope and began to untie them from the pillar. Renee imagined Adeline leaning too far over the edge, her neck catching the rope as she plunged into the water, her arms flailing while she pleaded for help. She imagined Angus just sitting there, watching her die, because he was not there of his own free will; like Renee, he was captive of Adeline’s power and madness. But in real life Angus wouldn’t just sit there; he would most likely plunge in after her—and not because he was a good guy or a man of duty, but because he cared about her. He cared about Adeline.
Renee fought the tears swelling up inside. Her anger was strong, perhaps strong enough to overpower the tears. She couldn’t cry now; crying would only weaken her, diminish the anger she needed to get through this. How awful it was going to feel, she imagined, to confront them, to be defeated; how humiliating it was going to be to admit herself a victim. But it was better than waiting in agony for a confrontation that might never happen, for subtle innuendoes from Adeline, lies from Angus. She had to face it now, before this anger could melt away into pure sorrow that would crush her completely. She wanted to step into the light above so they could see her, and explode right now.
As Renee moved forward, her heart pounded against her chest and a surge of heat rose to her face and neck. She had no idea what she was going to say and didn’t care; there was an energy inside her like nothing she’d ever felt that would be speaking for her. She saw Adeline with the rope in her hands now, the boat slowly drifting, rising high in a wave. Angus looked tense, holding tight to the sides of the boat, jerking as waves lifted them and water crashed. As Renee stepped into the glow of the light above her, Adeline’s mouth dropped open and Angus’s head whipped around, his eyes wide with surprise.
“Renee,” he said, his voice in decline, heavy with breath. She expected him to say something more, but it didn’t come.
Adeline gave a quick nod to Renee, a haughty glow upon her face. She seemed satisfied with this outcome, this ultimate humiliation for Renee. But there was also a daunting look behind her eyes, as if she’d never truly expected her little sister to show up. The confrontation was no longer just between Adeline and Renee; now it was the three of them, and Adeline seemed as though she might actually be afraid.
Angus suddenly grabbed the rope from Adeline’s hands. “Wait!” he called out. He flung it out toward the rocks. It missed, landing in the water. “Take it, Renee,” he said, his voice trembling, desperate. The boat was rocking hard in the water now, moving away from jetty. Angus reached for the oar to his right, but Adeline grabbed his wrist to stop him.
“No,” she snapped. Her mouth was tight with threat, her eyes serious.
“Adeline!” he shouted, shrugging her off. “Let me talk to her!”
Renee moved down the steep slope of rocks to the base of the jetty, slipping on the greasy moss-covered rocks and clumps of seaweed. The surf crashed against the rocks as she stepped into the water, over her shins and knees, spattering her face. The water was cold, but she could barely feel it. The boat had moved back toward the jetty again; still, it teetered hard in the waves. The rope was within reach, writhing just below the surface of the water. She grabbed for it, managing to grasp the frayed end in her hands. It was difficult to hold, as Adeline was tugging from the other end.
“Stop it!” Angu
s demanded. “Let’s go back.”
“There’s only room for two of us in this boat!” Adeline shouted back.
“No,” Renee said, holding tight to the rope. “Apparently, there’s room for three.” Her voice had emerged with such strength and sarcasm, it did not feel like her own. She plodded toward the boat, each step an aching push against the heavy water, which rose higher and higher as she advanced. Her jeans and windbreaker were soaked. She looked at Angus. “Isn’t that right, Angus?”
“I can explain, Renee,” he said.
“Yes,” Renee said. “Do explain why you are here.”
He continued to paddle the boat toward the shore. “Adeline asked me to come,” he said. “To talk.”
“Oh, I see,” Renee said. “Did she make you come here?”
A larger wave was rushing in, moving quickly; the dinghy tottered and splashed, and the wave pushed Renee onto her back and into the water. As she stood up again the wave was pulling out, and pulling the dinghy boat with it. Angus was paddling quickly. “I think we should get out of this boat,” he yelled over the crash of water, “and then I’ll explain.”
“Tell her the rest, Angus.” Adeline said.
“You shut up!” Renee shouted to Adeline. She could yell as loudly as she wanted; the roaring surf demanded it, and so did her anger. Her right hand burned, and as she looked down she saw that her palm was raw and chapped, and the rope was still in her hold. She felt like crying, wanted to stay angry instead. She had to stay angry, so she could bear to listen to the rest. “Angus,” she said, her voice garbled by the waves. “Why did you stop writing to me?”
“I didn’t.” Angus’s eyes grew wide with innocence, complete surprise. “I sent letters twice a week.”
“Well, they stopped coming.”
The One True Ocean Page 24