I was halfway down the stairs when I bolted back up and ran to the master bedroom. Something had caught my eye in the jewelry drawer.
I fished through the tangle of scarves and jewelry until I found it. There it was: the little Spanish dancer. I pocketed it and went into Jilly’s room. In the cedar box on her dresser was another Spanish dancer necklace and a sailing medal. I took both and went down to the kitchen and turned on the computer.
While it was booting up, I looked through the stuff on the desk. There was the usual assortment of pencils, tape, markers, notepads, and clips. I put a sailboat paperweight in my bag.
Most people have a place where they keep their mail and their junk mail. I know we do. I looked under the desk (where we kept ours), and there it was—a junk mail bucket like at home. I reached in and took a few envelopes. Current Resident. I got on the floor and pulled the bucket out, pawing through it and not caring about the mess I was making. The anger welling up in my gut was barely contained. There were only supermarket flyers and a few empty envelopes. I kicked the mess back under the desk and opened the drawer.
Bingo.
Business cards from Old Port Toyota. Gail Halstrom, Sales.
That’s how I know her! Gail and Hal Halstrom. They were our old friends from the boat trip. My mind spun through those weekends on the Calliope. I remembered Gail as a sweet lady with a long red ponytail.
Now I understood our stare-down on the sidewalk. Even with her sunglasses and shorter hair. Even though we both looked completely different. We had experienced a trauma together that was imprinted on us forever.
And we recognized each other.
How long has this affair been going on?
On my way out the door, I grabbed two candlesticks off the mantel. I ran across the street to my car, but before hopping in, I went to the rear bumper to see something I knew would be there: a sticker from Old Port Toyota.
It was Sunday, so nobody would be at the law office. I could go through the photo album again. On the way, I felt the outline of the Spanish dancers in my pocket.
Dad had been on to a trip to Spain for a conference; because it was work-related, Mom and I couldn’t go. When I cried and wouldn’t let go of him, he promised to bring us presents. And he did. He brought Mom and me each a necklace with a beautiful dancer on the end. Mine with blond hair and Mom’s with dark. The ones in my pocket had red and blond.
The office was empty and quiet except for the bubbling coming from Bubba’s tank. I sat at Uncle Steve’s desk, got the album from the drawer, and flipped to the photos of the boat trip day.
And there she was, happy and laughing between Hal and Dad. Sitting on the bow, sunbathing with Mom and me. And one of her on the dock, holding Hal’s hand. Gail Halstrom and Dad.
When my phone rang, I wasn’t surprised when I saw Dad’s number. I knew it was coming.
“Yeah, Dad,” I said, bracing myself for being found out.
“It’s about Grandma. Please come home now.”
* * *
The house was quiet, and Mom and Dad were at the kitchen table. Mom’s eyes were puffy, and Dad was slouching in his chair.
“Honey,” Dad said, “Grandma died last night. They think it was a heart attack.”
“But I just talked to her,” I said, sitting down across from him.
“She’s had a condition for some time, but I didn’t think … I thought she’d live forever.” Dad laughed softly.
Mom put her arm around me and squeezed.
Dad cleared his throat. “The funeral is in Massachusetts. We’ll go down in the morning.”
For a moment all was forgotten as we cried together and then later at dinner sat with Uncle Steve and Aunt Mimi and talked about Grandma. We remembered the way she’d held us together when we came back from the accident. She was all business and sweet calmness.
By the end of dinner the funeral was planned, and the shock was beginning to wear off. That’s when Gail Halstrom and Dad popped into my mind, and piggybacking on that horrid discovery was the image of Will and Nicole at the Clam Shack.
Before this day of death and discoveries, I might not have had the courage to confront Will, but now I was eager to hear what he had to say. I texted him to meet me at the island.
I emptied the brownstone goodies in my closet, put my camera in my bag, and on my way out took a magnum of champagne from the liquor cabinet.
Will’s car was already there, and so were Doug’s and Bo’s.
Jenn came rushing up and threw her arms around me. “I’m so sorry about your grandma. She was awesome.” She hugged me again.
“Can you come with me to the funeral? It’s in Massachusetts. There’s no way I can deal with Dad for that long. Alone.”
She raised an eyebrow. “His mother just died. Give him a break.”
“That’s not why. I just want—” I shook my head. “Forget it,” I said, walking off to find Will. He was at the fire, feeding it with pieces of cardboard.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey,” he said back.
“Want to share this with me?” I said, opening my bag to show him the champagne.
“A magnum. That’s a bottle for each of us,” he said.
I followed him to the back side of the island where the dunes dropped off steeply. We skidded down the sandy slope to where it leveled off, and sat with our backs against a rock. His mouth was on mine before I could take a breath, but it didn’t matter. His breath was my breath; my breath was his breath.
And then I remembered. I pushed him off and asked him, “Are you still seeing Nicole?”
He laughed. “No, I told you we’re just friends. Friends do things. Like talk.” He nuzzled my neck and reached under my shirt.
“When I passed the Clam Shack today, I thought I saw you kiss her,” I said while he continued to nibble.
“She was there with Sam and Dory.” His nibble turned into a gentle suck, and then it became more intense.
“I don’t like you seeing her,” I said, knowing I sounded as if I were in middle school.
“I don’t like seeing her, either. I like seeing you,” he said, moving to my mouth and kissing me deeply. “I like you more than anyone.”
I stopped pushing his hand away and lay down. I pulled his shirt up so I could run my hands up and down his muscles. He felt as warm and smooth as I remembered. Soon his teeth were back in the crook of my shoulder and neck. It was a magic spot and he’d shown it to me. I rolled over and did the same to him.
“Kendra,” he said softly, “you look amazing. Where have you been hiding so long?”
I giggled a little and leaned over enough to let my hair fall into his face. “I wasn’t hiding. You just forgot.” I kissed his chest and belly.
Gathering my hair into a ponytail, he said, “Sometimes you’re behind that camera too much,” he said.
I got off him and reached for the champagne. Aiming it straight toward the open ocean, I uncorked it, and a log plume of foam erupted. We mouthed the bottle together, laughing as we lapped up the drips. Then he held it while I drank a long swallow. I’d had it before at weddings, but never so much, and never so fast. I held some in my mouth and let the bubbles tickle my tongue. It was a big bottle, and we passed it back and forth like soda, alternating between kisses and gulps.
I lay back and felt the whoosh of the alcohol.
“Where’d you get this?” he asked.
“Dad.”
“Nice of him.”
“It was, wasn’t it?”
“A car and champagne. What did you do to deserve this?”
“It’s not what I did; it’s what he did.”
“Oh,” he said, nodding like he understood, which scared me for a second, so I drank some more. And then it hit like I was realizing it for the first time again.
“Did you hear me? It’s not what I did, it’s what he did.” This made me erupt into howls of laughter, which made me laugh harder for laughing at something so terrible.
W
e moved to where the rocks trailed into the water, and drank more of the champagne. My head sloshed inside as I turned toward Will. I was feeling so much at once, and it was all mixed together, the good and the bad, the beautiful and the horrible. Looking at Will was the beautiful part. I rested against the crook of his shoulder and hugged the bottle. Then he grabbed it from me and held it up toward the darkening sky.
“To John.”
I shook my head.
“It’s a toast. Thanks for the drinks. I’ll get the next round,” he said, waving the bottle at the water.
“Oh, right,” I said.
“Your dad’s cool, Kendra.” He put the bottle to my lips and I sipped. “One time he picked me up hitchhiking, and get this: I know he knew I was drunk, but he never told my parents.”
“What a guy,” I said. My eyes closed on their own and I sighed. “Did you know my grandmother died?”
He laid me down again, and this time a rock jabbed hard into my spine. I cried out, but he just moaned, kissing me hard and feeling my breasts. I arched my back to get off the rock. “Yeah, Kennie, just like that.”
I wriggled. “No, I need to—”
“Here,” he said, holding the bottle to my mouth.
I got onto my elbow and swigged. “Did you know that our parents used to party here?”
He drank and nodded. “Yeah, I think your mom and my dad went out together.”
“Can you believe it?” I said, shaking my head and liking the feeling inside.
“But your mom dumped my dad,” he said.
“Big mistake. But look at us; we’re meant to be.” I stood up, then caught myself before I fell. “Gotta pee.”
“Hurry back,” he said.
My body was headed in the right direction, but my head was doing something different. “Where’s Jenn?” I wanted to tell her everything. I stumbled a few steps. “Jenn!” I made it to the path and climbed up a little, then fell onto my ass. “Jenn!”
Will appeared, laughing, and helped me the rest of the way. “You are so smashed,” he said, heading me off to the bushes. In the distance I could see the fire circle glowing and everyone milling around.
“There’s no way I’m peeing over there. No way.” I reached for my bag, but it wasn’t across my shoulder. Gone. My camera. Gone. A panic rose quickly. “Go get Jenn, please. Please, Will. I only pee with Jenn.”
“Is this the first time you’ve been drunk?”
I opened my mouth and then shut it quickly so I could think about how I should answer. But I couldn’t think. The island swirled around me, and I reached blindly for something, anything. “Where is my camera?” I wanted to be looking through the lens right then. Everything would be clear if I could see through the lens.
Will plunked me down. “Sit here.”
“No, don’t go,” I said, grabbing his shirttail.
He wrenched himself free. “I thought you wanted me to get Jenn.”
“And my camera. I need my camera.” I looked down at the dune where we’d been making out and touched my lips, but I couldn’t feel them—they were numb, like my forehead. A bubble of laughter came up from my belly. And then the tears came as I thought about my missing camera and Grandma. And Dad.
I rested my head on my arms and closed my eyes while the world spun away into darkness.
Someone shook me.
My eyes searched randomly for the voice while arms lifted me to standing. Jenn? Finally I focused on someone who wasn’t Jenn. Or Will. Someone bigger.
It was Bo.
CHAPTER 17
Slivers of light stabbed my eyes, and my head hammered with a thousand shouts of protest. I focused on stilling my body and willing my stomach to keep down whatever was left in there. I didn’t think it was possible to throw up any more than I already had.
And then I remembered that Grandma was gone, and my body rebelled again. I didn’t remember putting the wastebasket beside my bed, but I was glad it was there.
And how’d I get home? I went to the window, which was a bad idea, because my legs weren’t getting the message from my very sick brain. I fell on the way, skinning my knees on the rug and banging my elbows. But thankfully I saw what I wanted to see: My car was in the driveway, and Dad’s Saab right behind it. They came home after me.
So how did I get here? Poison rose up in my stomach again, and I ran for the wastebasket.
Shivering in my clammy skin, I stepped into a steamy shower. While the water pounded on my aching head, I tried to piece the night together. Soap stung my back where I had scraped it against the rocks. I remembered that. Oh, how I remembered Will’s mouth clamped onto the crook of my neck. I shivered again despite the burn of the spray. But I didn’t remember driving, so how had I gotten home?
When the sticky, sweet sweat was washed off my skin, I felt halfway human again, but I glimpsed my face in the mirror. My look said it all: Kendra, you and champagne are not friends. Will never be friends. I brushed my teeth and swished around some mouthwash, put on some makeup, and went down to the kitchen.
My bag and my camera were plopped in the middle of the kitchen table. I sent a silent thank-you to Bo and called Jenn.
“What happened last night?” I asked her on the phone.
The response was laughter with Doug. Speaking to him she said, “She wants to know what happened last night.” Mumbling from Doug.
I held my stomach. “Talk to me, Jenn.”
“You want the short version or long?”
“Oh my god, Jenn, just tell me!” I sat at the kitchen table with a glass of juice, not ready to let it pass my lips, but so thirsty.
“I don’t really know all of it because Doug and I were MIA ourselves for a while, but what I heard was that you and Will killed a magnum of champagne. He came back and you didn’t.”
“I didn’t drive, did I?”
“No. Bo drove you in your car, and Sam followed in Bo’s truck, and guess what? He and Dory are going out now.”
My stomach clenched. “Bo and Dory?” I remembered him helping me up.
“No, Sam. Sam and Dory are going out.”
“I didn’t drive; I think I can breathe now.”
“You were pretty funny, Kendra.”
“Pretty disgusting.” I sighed loudly. “Jenn, I don’t know—”
“What?”
“I can’t remember if I—” I couldn’t say it.
“You can’t remember what you did last night? With Will?”
“I’m freaking out.” I sat back down. “Did anyone say anything after I left? Did you talk to Will?”
“I saw Bo talking to him, but that was all. Stop obsessing. Will thought the whole thing was funny.”
“I think I’m going to be sick again.”
“Next time, eat before you drink, and pace yourself.”
“There won’t be a next time. I feel like shit. At least Mom and Dad don’t know.”
The sound of a glass clinking made me jump. I’d spoken too soon. It was Dad at the sink. He turned on the tap.
“Hey, Kennie.”
I nodded a little.
“Gotta go,” I told Jenn. “We’re heading to Grandma’s house. Please come with me?”
“Sorry. Can’t. Doug and I are going to a reunion for his family. It’s in New Jersey, so I’ll be gone a week.”
“Your mother is letting you go for a week?”
“She’s been on the phone with his mother and laid down the Costello Sleepaway Law.”
“Which is?”
“Separate bedrooms until you’re engaged.”
Jenn’s going to a family thing with Doug? And when did she learn how to hold her alcohol? This was the stuff we always talked about before it happened, not after.
It was a new reality; Doug was her best friend now.
“I miss you, Jenn.”
“I’m not even gone yet.” Oh, yes, you are, I thought as I said good-bye.
My thoughts of Jenn and Doug at a family reunion were interrupted by Dad’s whist
ling as he filled the dishwasher.
“How are you doing?” he asked me.
“What do you mean?” I said, not knowing where this was going. Does he know I’m hungover?
“You just lost your grandmother.” He rinsed the glass and put it in the top rack.
“Oh, fine. It’s sad. How are you?”
He gave me a long look. “Kendra, don’t be surprised if this brings up some old patterns.”
“What are you talking about?” Patterns? You’re the one with the patterns, I thought.
“Your anxiety attacks.”
How could he say that? “I’m good. They’re gone now.”
I looked away but felt him still staring.
“Pack up; we have to head down for the funeral.”
Upstairs, I re-sent the photo of Dad and Gail kissing in front of the brownstone to Dad’s phone.
Then I texted Will.
Me: Can you forget about last night? On my way to funeral. Be back in a few days.
I sent the same one to Bo, but added: Thank you.
* * *
Grandma’s house in Massachusetts was filled with casseroles and visitors. Mom and Aunt Mimi were running around setting things out and putting things away and introducing people, and Dad and Uncle Steve were hanging with relatives and old friends, remembering the good times, I guess. I found myself clinging to the wainscoting and wallpaper. I wanted to be invisible, but there was always the inevitable “You’re Kendra, Elsa’s only girl grandchild. She loved you so.”
Since I hadn’t heard back from Will, I sneaked upstairs to make a phone call, but it went to voice mail. I hung up instead of leaving a message. Habit made me dial Jenn, but then I hung up when I remembered that she’d left for New Jersey. Bo immediately popped into my head. He probably hated me now and wouldn’t answer. When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I called him. No answer.
It went like that all day: me worrying what Will thought about me, and then wondering why Bo wouldn’t pick up, and then wishing I could talk about it with Jenn, and then checking my phone again, hoping to hear from somebody.
The next day the crowd thinned out and it was just immediate family that stayed to pack away Grandma’s house. What began as polite and practical decision making dissolved into flat-out arguments about family mementos, and finally ended in drunken touch football in the yard.
A Lie for a Lie Page 10