The Girls of Tonsil Lake

by Liz Flaherty

I waited, looking down at a crescent-shaped chip in a nail, then said, “Maybe what?”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t.”

  “Why not?” I reached for a cotton swab and the nail polish remover, holding the phone between my ear and my shoulder. “It’s just a good time, Sarah. Nothing serious.”

  “Does Andie know?”

  I could feel myself blushing and turned my back on the bathroom mirror. “She knows.”

  “What does she say?”

  “Well, she’s not happy about it, but—”

  “Never mind. I understand.” Her voice was flat and bitter. “You’re only concerned about other people’s happiness as long as it doesn’t interfere with yours. What made me think you could change?” She hung up with an abrupt “goodbye.”

  I disconnected the phone and laid it down and began to fix my fingernail. It would only take a minute and then they’d all be perfect. I needed to repair my makeup, too, because I’d cried when I talked to Jake. Where were my cosmetics? Andie made such a mess in here I couldn’t find anything when I wanted it. Jean’s book-signing is tomorrow and I will need to help her with her makeup.

  Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. Oh, for God’s sake, my hands were shaking. Oh, Tommy, where are you? Sarah, what have I done to make you hate me so? The questions kept hammering. But I couldn’t listen to them. I needed…

  I opened the door to the medicine cabinet, holding the newly polished nail away from the others. Surely there was something in here that would help take the edge off, silence the questions for a while. I knew I had some left. I had only been taking one a day, just as the prescription said, so I knew there was another two-week supply in the bottle.

  Well, not quite that many. I looked at the bottle of antidepressants in consternation, trying to remember if I had doubled up on other days.

  Tommy, please call. It’s okay if you need money. I don’t mind, really I don’t.

  The bathroom door opened. “Suzanne, are you in here? I knocked, but you didn’t answer.”

  Vin looked down at the bottle in my hand, then at me. I saw an expression cross her face that looked horribly like pity, and her green eyes went dark. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t.”

  Andie

  We’ve been here two weeks now, and I feel better than I have for a couple of years. I find it odd that I am not homesick for the house where I have lived for fifteen years, or even for my kids and grandkids.

  “I don’t miss mine, either,” said Jean when I mentioned this. “I think it’s because they’re always inside us, wherever we are. And our children are grownups now. We don’t see them every day.”

  Which is a mushy thought but probably accurate.

  I don’t really miss Paul that much, either, though I enjoy talking to him when he calls. It will be interesting to see if this relationship develops into what I’ve avoided ever since divorcing Jake. If it does, I’m going to have to explore a whole bunch of mind and emotion things, which exhausts me just thinking about it.

  That book business is going along just fine. Vin tells me what she wants, I bitch at her, then I do it. I can’t say I want to spend the rest of my life doing it the way Jean does, but it’s certainly an interesting diversion.

  It reminds me of exercise. When it’s new and different, you kind of enjoy it, but once you find out it takes real discipline and makes you sweat in the bargain, it’s not near as much fun.

  We spend a lot of time on the beach, both together and separately. It will be hard to go back to being landlocked. We’ve always laughed about moving back to Tonsil Lake in our retirement days and I must admit the idea doesn’t sound as ridiculous as it once did.

  Although we all avoid going there during daylight hours, I did make a lonely trek there when I first got sick, driving around the lake, past the church and cemetery, all with my hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel. When I looked at the lake, it was as though I could see—but of course I couldn’t.

  The trailers are gone except for a couple of doublewides that have been put on permanent foundations, and everything looks pretty respectable these days. One end of the lake doesn’t have any houses at all, just trees and well-tended grass. The other has the pub and the general store that has been there since we were kids, though it looks better now.

  The trees have matured and given the whole area a park-like look. The road to it has been improved enough that it’s much easier to get to. If you’re there about twilight and you squint a little, it’s downright pretty back there.

  One morning last week, while we were having coffee, Suzanne said, “I think we should have a question a day that we all have to answer and we have to tell the truth.”

  We are all enjoying it here, but to Suzanne it’s one long slumber party. I didn’t want to answer a question a day, but when Suzanne wanted to know why not, I didn’t know how to tell her it was because I didn’t want to talk to her about Jake. Which, knowing Suzanne, would probably be Thursday’s question, as in, “What kind of attachment do you have to former relationships in your life?”

  At any rate, I got voted down, which I should be used to after forty-some years of knowing these women, and as much as I hate to admit it, the questions have been fun.

  We now know that Jean’s all-time favorite book is Little Women, Vin’s is Gone With the Wind—which surprised the hell out of me, Suzanne’s is The Price of Pride, which Jean wrote. We all accused Suzanne of sucking up, but then she listed a whole bunch of really good reasons why it was her favorite. Tickled Jean to death and shut Vin and me right up.

  My favorites are Sue Grafton’s alphabet mysteries, which only recently replaced the Nancy Drew books in my reading heart. I like knowing what I’m getting when I open a book.

  The next day, the question was favorite movies. After breakfast, we went to the video store and rented them all, and as soon as we got in from the beach that afternoon we made popcorn and started watching them. We never had supper, which was good because it was my night to cook.

  I’m pretty sure Jean got sick in the middle of the night, but she was okay in the morning. I really wish she’d gone to see Carolyn Murphy before we came here.

  Lucas Bishop comes around occasionally. Not enough to get in our way or to dilute the all-girl atmosphere, just enough so that we’ve all gotten to know him. He’s a truly nice guy, I think—like David and Paul and Jake are nice guys, but different, too. He’s in love with Vin and I think everyone knows it but her.

  I can see Jean missing David when Lucas is around. This pleases me, because theirs is the only true love story that I’m sure of and I know she’s been less than happy for the past year or so. Although this worries me for her sake, it worries me for my own, too, because I need a happily ever after story to believe in.

  Curiously enough, Lucas’s presence doesn’t make me miss Paul. I think maybe I’ve spent too much time alone. Now that I’ve finally allowed him into my life, I want him to stay there; I’m just not sure how far in I want him to be. Oh, hell, I think this boob that looks seventeen has affected my mind and made part of it seventeen, too.

  I’m not sure how Suzanne feels, which is curious, too, because she’s the original wearer of her heart on her sleeve. I know she talks to Jake almost daily, but he’s a subject I avoid and I hope she does, too. She doesn’t look good today. The face that is always all light seems to be in shadow. I touched her shoulder as I walked by, and she clutched my hand for a moment.

  Jean’s book-signing is today. She was in a real flutter all morning. She hadn’t brought any suitable clothes, her hair needed cutting, and she was almost out of that antacid crap she takes all the time again.

  Vin brought out this thing that looked like a wadded-up sheet, but when Jean put it on, it was a white gauze dress with a scoop neck and little cap sleeves. It was probably calf-length on Vin, but it went to Jean’s ankles and looked like that was exactly what it was supposed to do. Suzanne did her hair, makeup, and nails and she looked great, if a little thin.

  I scro
unged in my suitcase and found the abalone necklace and earrings I’d bought with the vague idea of giving them to Miranda. I carried them into the kitchen and thrust them at her. “Here,” I said. “If you don’t like them, don’t worry about it.”

  But she put them right on and they completed the outfit perfectly. I felt like an idiot because it made me so happy, but when I looked at Vin and Suzanne I saw that they were beaming, too. And Jean looked a little less anxious, sliding her thumb over the smooth setting of the necklace and smiling at her reflection in the mirror Suzanne had set on the kitchen table.

  Fine, so we’re all idiots. I don’t care.

  Jean checked her leather attaché for business cards, bookmarks, and flyers, lifted her chin, and went to the back door. “Remember,” she said, “you’re not to come. I’ll be fine.”

  “You bet,” I answered.

  “Break a leg, sweetie,” said Suzanne.

  Vin just smiled and waved. “See you later.”

  We crowded together at the windows in the door and watched her until she was out of sight.

  “Okay,” said Vin. “I’m going to the dock. Andie, you’re checking with the florist. Suzanne, what are you doing?”

  Suzanne rolled her eyes. “Calling the photographer at the Island Voice, although I don’t know how she could forget since we’ve called her almost every day.”

  I looked up at the clock. “Should we synchronize our watches?” I asked, grinning.

  Vin didn’t miss a beat. “Andie, you’re such a bitch.”

  Jean

  Sometimes I am so ridiculous. I didn’t want David to come to my book-signing at the island store, but when he said he couldn’t come to Maine this weekend, it hurt my feelings.

  We haven’t seen each other for two weeks, although I’ve written him four letters and he’s written me two and we’ve talked every day. We haven’t been apart for this long since his early days with the company, when his superiors thought nothing of sending him away for weeks on end.

  It’s so different being apart now than it was then. I can remember preparing his favorite dinner no matter what time his flight was due in, sending the kids to Andie’s or Suzanne’s for the night, and meeting him at the door in something sexy. Although I never wrapped myself in plastic wrap or aluminum foil the way I’ve read about, I wore about everything else. I’d fly into his arms like a love-starved woman—which I was—and we’d invariably have a long evening of good food and even better sex.

  I don’t think I’d fly into his arms now, though a part of me would be very glad to see him. I’m ready for some sex, and he’s the only one I want to have it with, but there’s no sense of urgency.

  It’s as though this sojourn has given me a look inside myself, a closer look than I’ve ever taken, and what I’ve seen is a murky impression of David’s wife, the kids’ mother and grandmother, and the strong one of the Tonsil Lake girls. Surely there is more to me than that.

  It was David’s wife who always flew into his arms when he came home, near tears with the relief of having him back. I think Jean stood back a little, wondering if he was really glad to be home, wondering if he’d been unfaithful again and terrified of finding out, wondering what she would do if she ever didn’t have him.

  Here on the island, I am Jean. I am going to a book-signing this afternoon in a gauzy white dress that feels heavenly, with silver and blue jewelry that is warm against my skin, and as scared to death as I was the first time. But now I am scared for myself, not that I will disappoint or embarrass anyone else.

  My kids went through a time in junior high school when they were very uncomfortable with what I did. They didn’t want to answer the leering questions about how their mother researched love scenes or did she pose for those lurid book covers. I told them just to tell everyone she didn’t do anything different; she stayed home and kept house and drove in carpools, and that is what they did.

  At a dinner party once, I learned that none of David’s associates knew about the books when I mentioned one in passing. After they knew, they were curious—respectfully so at that—but I demurred talking about it. I’d seen the look in David’s blue eyes and knew the pride he’d professed to have in me was only lip service. He’d been ashamed to tell his friends what I did.

  That left one of those scars that never completely heal over.

  But today, walking by myself on the path that leads to the island village, I will not think about that. I will not care about it. I am going to sign the books I have put my heart and soul into writing.

  Because that’s who I am. Jean O’Toole, romance novelist.

  Vin

  “What if we’ve done the wrong thing?” I stood with my hand on the ornate handle of the bookstore door. “What if she never talks to us again? What if this makes her stomach worse?”

  Andie shrugged. “We’ll tell her it was all my fault. She expects such things of me and, besides, I owe her one for sending you that damned book.”

  “We won’t find out any younger.” Suzanne opened the door.

  It was a madhouse. Islanders and tourists were all over the bookstore and spilling into the coffee bar next door.

  “Oh, Vin, isn’t this wonderful?” Meg inched around a cluster of customers to greet us. “She’s so gracious, and we’ve already sold out of every book of hers in the store, including the ones I special ordered. She’s up there signing bookmarks, bookplates, and napkins from the coffee bar. Plus, she’s recommending all kinds of books to everyone and they’re buying them. The flowers you sent are just beautiful. The people from the Voice are here now.”

  “She sold out?” asked a male voice.

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry. But she’ll sign a bookplate for you.” Meg beamed past my shoulder and I exchanged grins with Andie and Suzanne.

  “That’s okay.” He walked past us. “I have a copy already.”

  We followed, skulking along in his wake. Jean was talking to the reporter, her face and voice animated. I was so happy for her I could feel tears burning at the backs of my eyes. I heard Suzanne sniff behind me and knew I wasn’t alone in that.

  The man in front of us spoke. “Excuse me. Could I get this signed?”

  Jean’s cry of “David!” brought the whole store to a standstill.

  A moment later, the Voice photographer was snapping pictures of the most passionate reunion the island had seen since the end of the Vietnam War, when Lucas’s brother Zeke had come home minus one eye. His eighteen-year-old wife had met him at the wharf.

  “This is our boat that you’ve bought for us,” Maggie told him. “It will support our family and it’s a good place for a second honeymoon, especially since you shipped out before we got to have a first.”

  Zeke swept his bride into his arms and carried her onto the boat. The picture still hangs in various places on the Island, including Lucas’s office.

  Once they figured out this was another happy occasion, the occupants of the store burst into applause, and we joined them.

  I felt an arm come around my waist and looked up at Lucas. “If that’s not her husband,” he murmured in my ear, the vibration of his voice tickling, “the island’s got the biggest soap opera on its hands since that one filmed a storyline here in the eighties. We all came to a standstill at one o’clock every day to watch it.”

  I laughed. “No such luck, he’s her husband. For almost thirty years. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

  The men shook hands, but David kept his arm around Jean the whole time.

  “I thought you weren’t going to be able to make it this weekend,” said Lucas.

  “No, I wasn’t coming because Jeannie never wants me to come to her signings. Then Andie gets on the phone and says”—he raised his voice into a falsetto—“‘Jesus Christ, David, when are you going to stop listening to what she says and listen to what she means?’ After that, I knew I was in trouble no matter what I did, so I figured I’d rather be in trouble with Jean than without her.” He brushed a kiss over the top of
her head.

  Jean gave the three of us a mock threatening look. “I thought I told you not to come, either.”

  “It was Andie’s fault,” said Suzanne instantly.

  “She made us do it,” I added, sounding as righteous as I could.

  “Well, to punish you, I’ll cook dinner,” said Jean, “even though it’s not my night.”

  We all beamed at each other, and I’m sure my expression was as self-congratulatory as Andie’s and Suzanne’s. This was our Jean. The nurturer had only needed her self-confidence restored a bit.

  “After this, the star’s going to cook?” Lucas looked around at the people still milling throughout the store. “Doesn’t sound right to me. How about if everyone comes over to my house about six and we’ll have lobster?”

  He didn’t understand; the star wanted to cook.

  Then I looked at Jean’s face. No, she didn’t, and who did we think we were? I could feel my cheeks burning. Jesus Christ, when are you going to stop listening to what she says and listen to what she means?

  “That sounds great,” said David. “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Sure can. You can walk right down to the market with me and help me choose the screamers. You any good on the grill? We could do some steaks, too. Have us a real saint-and-sinner supper. We can buy salads from the deli and put them onto real dishes, and no one will know we didn’t slave all afternoon over them.”

  David’s smile went from Jean around to the three of us. “Work for you?”

  “Absolutely,” I said. “We’ll bring the wine and the scintillating company. Will that do?”

  “Perfect,” said Lucas.

  We watched shamelessly as David and Jean exchanged a lingering kiss. Then the men left the store.

  “I don’t know about this,” said Suzanne.

  Andie frowned at her. “Don’t know about what?”

  “Jean and Vin both have dates. Back in high school, we wouldn’t have dreamed of encroaching on their privacy. We’d have sat at home and been afraid our social lives were over forever.” She sounded so serious, then her shadowed brown eyes lit with laughter and she grinned at Jean and me. “Too bad for you two we’re not in high school anymore.”