“You’re going to win, Elle,” Dean said. “And we’re going to help you do it.”
At first she thought he was going to leave it at that, but he did an about-face. Crossing the room in four long strides, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the floor, the way a dad would lift his little girl. He didn’t swing her around. This wasn’t that kind of occasion. He just held her. And Elle held on for dear life.
Sniffling, she buried her face in his neck. He was warm and fit and earthy, and when she breathed, she thought she could smell the ocean. “Mya told me you were a bully.”
“I did not!”
Her dignity restored, Elle waited until her feet touched the ground to say, “You should have, because he is.”
Dean’s grin sneaked up on Elle, closing her throat and bringing fresh tears to her eyes. “Tell everyone thanks.”
“Tell them yourself.”
Elle glanced at Mya, who shook her head. “You’re right. He is a bully. And full of himself. Remind me to tell you what he did to win a fight in the eighth grade.”
She wound up giving Mya a tentative smile. And it concerned her.
Elle hadn’t planned to feel so strongly about these people whose passion had created her. It had been easier when she’d disliked them, blamed them, resented them. “Why can’t life ever be easy?” she asked.
“Hell if I know,” Dean said.
Mya answered over her shoulder at the doorway. “I don’t think it’s easy for anybody. From the moment we’re conceived, life happens. And we spend the rest of our days trying to figure out why. When it comes right down to it, every one of us holds on.” She paused. “For dear life. I’ll be right back.”
Dean was already down the steps when Mya stepped onto the porch. She closed the door behind her and said, “That was a close one.”
He looked back at her, slowly raking his fingers through his hair. “She’s our daughter, all right.”
Something unspoken passed between their gazes. Too choked with emotion to voice any of the things she was feeling, she said, “One battle down, a thousand to go.”
He nodded, and she swore he wanted to scale those steps and haul her into his arms, to somehow rejoice in this small, magnificent achievement. He wound up looking at her long and hard. Dean had trouble with words. He always had. So he talked around them or did without them.
“I’d better be going. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck.”
“I hope to God I match.”
“So do I.”
He started toward a car parked in front of the house next door.
“Dean?”
He looked at her over the roof of his car.
“Use the back door next time,” she said. “The front door is for company.”
His expression took her back.
And then he drove away.
It had been a long, draining, exhausting day.
Mya used to insist she could never work in a hospital, but as Elle went through test after test, discomfort after discomfort, indignity after indignity, Mya noticed that the doctors, nurses and technicians inflicting the pain and discomfort often had tears in their eyes, too. Mya wanted to make them stop. At the same time, she wanted to grasp each of their hands and thank them for the part they were playing in Elle’s treatment and cure.
The worst was the bone marrow biopsy. Mya couldn’t watch the procedure during which the doctor inserted a long needle into the back of Elle’s hip, extracting marrow from deep inside the center of her bone. It was horrible to watch Elle’s face contort in pain. That hurt far more than Elle’s crushing grip on her hand. But Elle endured the invasion, the indignity, the discomfort and the pain with a quiet constraint that humbled Mya.
By the end of the afternoon, Elle had been poked, injected, tested and nearly drained of her blood. It made twenty-six hours of body-splitting labor seem like a stroll in the park.
Beyond exhausted, Elle huddled in a chair with her eyes closed. And Mya wondered if she and Dean were doing the right thing by forcing her to go through this. But the alternative was unthinkable.
Helplessness, worry and the smell of the hospital churned in the pit of her stomach. What else must they face?
Thankfully, Dr. Andrews didn’t keep them waiting long.
He entered his private office and quietly closed the door. Mya dreaded what he was going to say. He glanced at the checklist of tests that had been run, riffled through Elle’s file, then closed it, setting it aside.
“There,” he said, looking at Elle.
“Easy for you to say,” Elle said, opening her eyes. “What’s next?”
“You have a little wait ahead of you while the lab technicians do their jobs. Meanwhile, I’m prescribing vitamins, exercise and weight gain. The next time I see you, I want there to be more of you. Eat. I’d like to see some color on your cheeks, too. More than anything, I want you to have some fun.”
“What?” Elle and Mya said together.
He took off his glasses. That nurse that first day was right. Bryce Andrews was gorgeous.
“Fun,” he said. “You remember that, don’t you? Go shopping or dancing, or better yet, go lie on a white beach somewhere.”
“I hear the weather in Maine in famously harsh until July,” Elle said.
He smiled. “I hear that, too. As much as everybody complains about it, why do you suppose so many people stay here?”
“Bullheadedness,” Elle answered.
“Watch it,” Mya said. She couldn’t believe it. They were joking.
The dread lessened.
Dr. Andrews was prescribing a reprieve. Later there would be talk of IVs and a port surgically placed, treatment options and plans, drugs, pills, possible side effects and realistic expectations. But today, Bryce Andrews spoke of different possibilities and pleasant expectations.
“Laugh. Play. Raise some hell if you want to. In fact, I recommend it. It’s good for the soul. Any questions?”
“Did you ever raise any hell?” Elle asked.
“I should give you my mother’s number.”
Mya hadn’t planned to like the good doctor. She didn’t ask how long this reprieve would last. Right now she wanted to pretend it might last forever.
Evidently, Elle felt the same, because she stood. Dr. Andrews shook both their hands.
Out in the hall afterward, Elle said, “That man is hot.”
“Apollo reincarnate?” Mya asked, making her way toward the elevator. “Or Brad Pitt’s identical twin?”
“Both.”
Mya pushed the down button. Waiting for the elevator to arrive, she said, “Do you feel like taking a vacation? We could go to Greece or Rome or to the south of France. Doctor’s orders.”
“I know where I want to go.”
“You do?”
They crowded into the elevator. As the door slid closed and they began their descent, Mya feared Elle was going to say she wanted to return to Pennsylvania. Nothing could have prepared her for her whispered reply.
“I’d like to spend the next few weeks raising some hell on Keepers Island.”
“On the island? The kids who live there think it’s the most boring place on the planet.”
“All the better. We’ll sneak up on them. Turnabout is fair play.”
Elle stared straight ahead, her nose a few inches from the door. When the elevator reached the bottom floor, she and Mya were the first out.
“You want to go to the island.”
“Yes.”
“When?” Mya asked.
“This weekend.”
“That gives me two days to make arrangements for someone to help out at Brynn’s.”
“You’re coming, too?”
The large hospital exit door opened automatically with a quiet swish. Out in the May sunshine, Mya’s answer was a firm nod.
“Grandma Millie says you never go back to the island.”
Mya thought about that. The island was where Elle had been conceived and where
Dean still lived. For a long time, memories of both were off-limits. “Never is a long time.”
“Tell me about it.” Elle retreated into her own thoughts.
And Mya made a mental list of everything she had to do to prepare for the weeks ahead. First, they would need a place to stay. Perhaps they could rent one of the summer cottages. It wouldn’t be easy to make arrangements without the islanders’ notice.
It was ironic that Elle hadn’t gotten over the way Dean’s family had barged in on her the day before yesterday. Holding grudges ran in this family. On both sides.
Perhaps even more ironic, they were going to the island, where it all began.
CHAPTER 11
O ther than a few rustic hunting cabins in wooded areas and the old hotel downtown, the only places for rent on Keepers Island were the McCaffrey Summer Cottages. Six in all, they overlooked McCaffrey’s Cove, named seventy-odd years ago by a lobsterman who’d decided there had to be a better way to make a living, and had proceeded to build these stone island houses for tourists. The tourists hadn’t come, and Keepers Island had remained a tree-and mist-shrouded recluse in the Atlantic. Mya could still picture the old fisherman scratching his white beard and shaking his head, grumbling because in his lifetime he’d discovered two surefire ways to go broke.
So many old stories. So many old memories.
They’d bombarded Mya as she’d driven past the brick school, the long-deserted lighthouse, and the cliffs overlooking Eagle’s Landing, where for years a pair of bald eagles nested every spring. She wondered if the eagles still lived here.
For the most part, the island looked the same. The summer cottages certainly hadn’t changed. They were made of stone, had steeply pitched roofs and symmetrical windows and formed a gentle curve between the road and the shore. Mya didn’t know who owned them now, but the realty office in town had handled the details when she’d called to make arrangements for their stay.
The cottage had been cleaned and aired before their arrival. The window glass was wavy, the doorknobs and hardware original, as were the painted wood floors throughout the small story-and-a-half structure. The upstairs consisted of two bedrooms with sloped ceilings. On the main floor was the only bathroom, a small eat-in kitchen and a large, square living room. Elle had chosen the sleeping porch facing the ocean for her and Kaylie.
Pausing in the doorway, Mya said, “Are you hungry?”
Kaylie stopped drinking her bottle long enough to grin at Mya from the center of the double bed. Elle didn’t look up at all. “Maybe a little.” She started to remove several photographs from the bottom of her bag. As if thinking better of it, she slipped them back inside.
“Are those pictures of you?” Mya asked.
“I guess.”
“May I see them?”
Elle hesitated.
And Mya was nearly overcome with yearning to know everything about every stage of Elle’s life. “I promise not to laugh.”
At least Elle finally looked at her.
Entering the room, Mya didn’t apologize for staring. Thin as a waif, Elle was beautiful beyond description. Mya couldn’t help smoothing a lock of hair nearly as wispy as Kaylie’s away from Elle’s forehead.
“How did you wear your hair, before—” She caught herself, for Elle had named one condition before coming to the island. She didn’t want to talk about her cancer.
“Before it all fell out? You can say it. I call that my BC era.”
Before cancer.
“I wore it short until my mom died, but then Brunhilde wanted it long. How did you wear yours?”
It was the first time they’d broached the subject of their pasts since Elle’s initial questions after her surprise arrival last month. “I liked to wear mine short, too. Your grandma Millicent claims she decided it would be best to keep my hair short after I took the scissors to it myself when I was three. I kept it that way until I was seventeen.”
Elle regarded Mya’s short tresses.
“I let it grow after I left the island. It was shoulder-length until the day you knocked on my door.”
“No sh—kidding?” She glanced at Kaylie, who was intent upon drinking her bottle. “Why did you get it cut that day?”
It was Mya’s turn to shrug. “Some cosmic force?”
It seemed as though a cosmic force had been at the helm ever since.
They’d pulled into the driveway in front of the old cottage about an hour ago. Although Mya hadn’t told anybody they were coming, she knew that if her inquiries into this rental hadn’t alerted the islanders, the sight of Millicent, Mya, Elle and Kaylie leaving the ferry in a car obviously loaded for an extended stay would have.
Now Millicent was banging pots and pans together in the kitchen, her new purpose in life to fatten Elle up. God help them, they would probably all starve.
Motioning to the photographs, Mya said, “May I?”
Elle’s expression stilled and grew even more serious. “Why not?”
The first photo had been taken at a booth at the mall. It was a black-and-white snapshot of Elle and newborn Kaylie. In this photo, Elle’s hair was chin-length and thicker than it was now, her face fuller. But her eyes were as old as time itself.
“It was right after the diagnosis. I wanted Kaylie to know what I looked like.”
Staring at the image, Mya was filled with such tenderness. As always, it was mixed with a nagging dread. “It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”
Elle shrugged one shoulder, and Mya wondered if she’d always been shy. The next photograph depicted Elle as a baby. Not even two years old, she was dressed in red velvet and sat on a tall woman’s lap, a distinguished-looking man holding her tiny hand. This had been Elle’s family, and this woman was the mother Elle missed.
“Was Renee her first name or her middle name?”
“Her first.”
There was nothing more Mya could say about a woman she’d never known. Elle acted as if it was enough.
They wound up sitting at the foot of the bed as she brought out four more photographs. The first was a school picture in which she was missing her front teeth. In the next picture, she looked about eight years old. Her short blond hair was mussed. Laughing with her friends, she wore a blue soccer uniform. In the next one, Elle stood behind the same distinguished-looking man, a different woman and a much younger girl and boy. Both girls’ hair was long. Elle looked twelve or thirteen, and so lost.
Elle stared at that photo for a long time before putting it away. Only one remained. It was a picture of Elle and a boy, and had also been taken at a booth at the mall.
“Kaylie’s father?”
“I almost threw it away, but then I decided she should have one picture of him.”
Since it seemed important to Elle, Mya looked closely at the boy. Although his eyes were blue, they weren’t the same blue as Kaylie’s. He looked like a thousand other teenagers, unshaven, a little cocky and so, so young. His smile looked genuine, his face pressed close to Elle’s. “I can see what you saw in him.”
Elle studied the photo. “Are you saying you think he’s cute?”
“Don’t you?”
Again with that shy shrug. “For an asshole.”
They both glanced behind them to see if Kaylie had heard. The baby was sound asleep, her bottle still in one chubby hand.
There were so many things Mya wanted to tell Elle, but the words formed too big a lump in her throat. By the time she swallowed it, Elle had drawn away, and the moment was lost.
Elle returned to her unpacking, a pretty strong hint, all things considered. Reminding herself there would be time to talk later, Mya quietly left the room.
She hadn’t gone far when a knock sounded on the side door. Millicent and Elle entered the living room from opposite directions.
“Are you expecting company?” Elle asked.
Mya shook her head.
Millie said, “Care to place a bet as to who our first visitor is?”
Mya opened the door
to find Dean standing on the stoop, sawdust on his jeans and a carpenter’s pencil in his pocket. He assumed his usual stance, work boots planted, hands on his hips.
Behind them, Millicent said, “Shoot. I would have won that bet, too.”
“I take it word’s out,” Mya said.
His smile caught her in the little hollow at the base of her neck. “You were spotted en route, but that was secondary. Evidently there’s a leak in security over at the realty office that rented you this place.”
Mya had surmised as much.
“I’m here on a mission. I have strict orders to invite all of you to a party.”
“Strict orders from who?” Elle asked.
“What kind of party?” Millicent said.
“When?” Mya said at the same time.
Dean looked at Mya last. There was warmth in his eyes and a lazily seductive gleam that reminded her of how he’d looked at sixteen. Twenty years later, his face was made up of interesting planes and hard angles. His teeth were white and just crowded enough to keep him from looking too pretty. His lashes were long and dark—women never had lashes like that—his chin firm, his skin tan.
“My orders came from Sylvia and Gretchen. They’ve planned a small gathering to celebrate your arrival.” He smiled at Elle. “If that isn’t cause for celebration, I don’t know what is.”
“Where?” Millicent asked.
“On the beach in front of the Harbor House. They’re having a clambake.”
“More seafood,” Elle said drolly.
“When in Rome,” her grandmother quipped.
Dean said, “I have to get back to work, but I stopped over to welcome you to the island. Tonight’s gathering is come as you are. Mom is cooking up enough linguine to feed the entire island.”
He smiled and left without saying goodbye.
Closing the door behind him, Millicent said, “Did he say linguine?”
Mya sniffed the air. “Is something burning, Mom?”
“Oh, my God. Lunch.”
The street in front of the Harbor House was lined with cars. Hawaiian music greeted them through the double doors, and Grady handed out leis just inside them. “Aloha,” he said.
Life Happens Page 13