Now That You Mention It

by Kristan Higgins

  "Bawb, we've talked about this. The answer is no."

  "Are those ostrich-skin shoes you're wearing?" Xiaowen asked him.

  "They are!" he said, pleased.

  "You have quite a sense of style."

  "I love a man who can wear jewelry!" Amelia said. "Those bracelets are copper, aren't they?"

  Bob held out his arms. "Yes," he said. "They help with my arthritis. See these rings? Also copper." He wore one on every finger except his thumbs. God help him around meth addicts looking to score a quick buck.

  My mother glanced at her watch. "How about that suppah, Nora?"

  "Ten more minutes, Mom. Hang in there. Have an oyster."

  "No, thank you. Does anyone mind if I turn on Wheel of Fortune?"

  Damn it. No one said no. "Where's your clickah?" Mom asked.

  "On the bookcase next to the globe," I muttered. She got the remote, pushed the button, and there were Vanna and Pat in high-definition splendor.

  "I don't know how they do it, all these years," Mom said. "That Vanner is still a stunning woman."

  "My wife loved this show," Mr. Carver said. This time, his eyes filled with tears. I sat down next to him and patted his shoulder.

  "How long has it been?" I asked.

  "The enchanted forest!" my mother barked. "Christly, how could she miss that?"

  "Three years," Mr. Carver said. "Seems like yesterday, though."

  He started to cry.

  Oh, God. I handed him a cocktail napkin and psychically begged Xiaowen for help. Alas, as was so often the case, all eyes were now on the TV, including hers.

  "Clear and present danger!" she said gleefully. "Got you, Mrs. Stuart."

  "Nawt bad," Mom said.

  "I was once a contestant on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire," Amelia said.

  "Are you a millionaire?" Jake asked, popping another beer. Another guest with a drinking problem. I wondered if Scupper had Uber.

  "Yes," said Amelia, "but not because of that show. My grandfather was a robber baron! Isn't that fun?"

  I patted Mr. Carver some more, then went into the kitchen and tossed the asparagus in the same frying pan I'd use to cook up the bacon.

  "Need help?" Sullivan asked, joining me.

  "Oh, no, I'm fine. Sully, I'm so sorry for what my mother said. Audrey is a lovely, wonderful girl."

  "I know," he said. "And she's overweight. Amy likes to..." He rubbed the back of his head. "She likes to buy Audrey junk food, and when I tell her not to, she gets mad at me. Says I'm trying to keep them from having fun."

  "That's tough." I nudged the asparagus spears, which were turning bright green.

  "I just don't want Audrey to have any troubles. Healthwise or at school. Kids can be such shits at that age." Then he seemed to remember who he was talking to. "Uh, by the way...I'm sorry for the way my brother teased you."

  Teased wasn't the word I'd have chosen. And not just his brother. His ex-wife, too, and most of his friends. "No. That wasn't pleasant." We looked at each other for a minute.

  The weather had etched lines around his eyes, and he was already tan. Working at the boatyard meant a lot of time outside. There was nothing particularly special about his face--brown eyes, straight nose, normal everything else, but when you put them together, the porno music started playing distantly in my brain.

  He was a man who said a lot with his eyes. They looked slightly amused with my ogling.

  The porno music got louder.

  "Right," I said. "Here, want to take this to the table?" I handed him the bowl of steaming mashed potatoes.

  "Adopting a puppy!" my mother shouted. Xiaowen gave her a high five.

  "Dinnertime," I said.

  "Program's over, anyway," Mom said, clicking off the TV. "Speaking of dogs, where's Boomer?"

  "He's with Bobby. Have a seat, everyone."

  "Who's Bobby?" Amelia asked, weaving to the table and nearly missing her chair.

  "Her boyfriend," Mom said.

  "My former boyfriend," I corrected.

  "Don't sit next to me, Bob. I don't trust you," Xiaowen said. "Sully, sit between us, okay? Good man." She steered him to where she wanted him. Not next to me.

  I wondered what it would be like, not to hear everything, to perhaps be wondering why someone was moving you, to try to piece together the words you did hear.

  I hoped he'd heard me say former boyfriend. His face was hard to read.

  Bob slid past me, his cologne like a green fog. "This smells wonderful!" he said.

  Maybe it did. My sinuses were clogged with Polo by Ralph Lauren.

  "Where's Jake?" I asked. Could've sworn he'd just been here.

  He answered by opening the bathroom door. "Got any Febreze?" he asked.

  "I told you this was a bad idea," my mother said.

  "Is this lamb?" Mr. Carver said. "My wife made the best lamb." More tears. Jesus.

  "Did I mention I'm vegan?" Amelia said merrily. "I told you that, didn't I, Nora?"

  "No, you did not," I said.

  "Is your vodka vegan?" Xiaowen asked.

  "It is," she said smugly. "Don't worry, Nora, I'll just have this beautiful asparagus." Before I could stop her, she took a bite. "Oh! Delicious! You'll have to tell me how you cooked it!"

  In pig fat, I thought. Ah, well, what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

  Jake sat down next to my mother. When the potatoes were passed to him, he took a bite from the serving spoon. "I'll get another spoon," I said, hopping up. I went to the kitchen, came back, replaced the tainted spoon, then sat down. "I'm so glad you could all come."

  "Uh-oh. I better hit the head again," Jake said. "I musta eaten somethin' for lunch that didn't agree with me, if you know what I'm sayin'." He bolted from the table, knocking over his chair, which Sully righted.

  I hoped I had enough bleach.

  "Sharon, you look very beautiful tonight," Bob said, leaning forward and folding his copper-clad fingers together with a faint clinking sound.

  "Knock it off, Bawb."

  He turned his attention to Xiaowen. "You know, I've developed an interest in the Korean War recently."

  "And why are you telling me this?" she asked.

  "Because you're Korean?"

  "I'm Chinese."

  "Do you like Chinese food?" Bob asked. "I'm a big fan of General Tso's chicken."

  Xiaowen sighed. At least she and my mother were getting along like a house on fire--I even heard my mother laugh, which was a rare occurrence. Jake returned from the bathroom, then went again five minutes later. Amelia drank her vodka. Mr. Carver got it together enough for me to ask him how he liked retirement, but he just kept talking about his wife. One wondered why he wanted the little blue miracle pill.

  "What was her name?" Sullivan asked him.

  "Beatrice," he said, tearing up again. "She was a wonderful woman." He began to sob.

  "Nora," my mother said, "why don't you get on with it so we can all get home?" She fixed me with her turtle stare--implacable and steady.

  "Uh...get on with what, Mom?"

  "You asked us here to see if we knew what happened to your father."

  Oh, right! My lie, back to bite me in the ass. Well, half lie. I did want to know about my father, of course. "Yes. Well, as many of you know, my father left the island when I was eleven. That was twenty-four years ago. I hoped one of you might remember where he went."

  "Kind of late to be asking now, isn't it?" Jake said, coming out of the bathroom. "You need more toilet paper, by the way." He grabbed a roll of paper towels from the kitchen counter and went back to the head. I smothered a scream.

  "I remember your father," Bob Dobbins mused. "A good man."

  "Jake's right," I said. "It was a long time ago, but I was wondering if anyone had heard anything. I've Googled him a thousand times, but he has a common name, and...well. I never found anything."

  Sullivan was looking at me intently. He didn't say anything, though.

  "No one's got anything, then?" Mom
said, clarifying for me.

  "So many people gone," Mr. Carver mused. "Your father. My Beatrice. My dog, Licorice, isn't getting any younger, either."

  "Well, if my father's...uh, passed away, I'd like to know that, too," I said.

  No one said anything for a second.

  "So there you go," Mom said. "Welp, thanks for dinner, Nora." She pushed back her seat. "Can I help you clear? We don't want to overstay our welcome."

  "I, um..." I'd managed to get one bite of lamb so far, but looking around the table, I saw that, yes, everyone's plate was clean.

  "There's no hurry," I started to say, then stopped myself. Jake was violating my bathroom, Bob was not a candidate for stepfather, and Mr. Carver was currently weeping into his napkin.

  "I drove Amelia and Jake here," said Bob. "Can't have any DUIs under my watch," he added. "Since I'm the first selectman and all. Can't have that! Sharon, would you also--"

  "No," she said.

  Fine. Everyone could leave. Maybe Xiaowen and Sullivan would stay.

  Where was Amelia, by the way? I was terrified of going into the bathroom after Jake had been there. I knocked on the door. "Gimme a minute!" Jake called from inside. There were sounds that every gastroenterologist recognized. I flinched, then suppressed the urge to cry. Maybe I would just burn the houseboat.

  Amelia must've gone onto the deck. Alternatively, she'd fallen in the water and drowned, which wouldn't be great.

  Nope. As I passed my bedroom door, I spotted her. On my bed. Fast asleep. Drooling on my pillow, in fact.

  "Hey, Amelia. Amelia? Time to go." I shook her shoulder gently. She didn't stir. I shook harder.

  "I'm very tired," she said. "I worked so much this week." She sat up, lipstick still perfect. "I don't feel so well." She put her hand on her stomach.

  "Let's get you home," I said. "Bob's ready to go."

  "Can I help?" It was Sullivan.

  "Would you give me a hand, darling?" Amelia said, extending an elegant arm in his direction.

  "Sure thing." He went over to her and put his arm around her, helping her up.

  "You're quite a charmer," she said, then puked on him.

  I mean right onto him. It hit him in the throat and slid right down his shirt. I felt my own gorge rise.

  "Whoopsy," she said. "I'm terribly sorry. But I feel much better now." She puked again, just in case Sullivan missed the point. "Did I eat butter, perhaps? Was there butter in that asparagus? I've been a vegan for so long, any animal product upsets my stomach."

  "No butter," I said. "Uh, Sully, my bathroom's right there. Towels and stuff. I'll be right back."

  He gave me a look and went in, and I ushered Amelia down the hall to the other bathroom--Poe's, not the powder room Jake had been using, and handed her a washcloth.

  "What a beautiful boat!" she said, cleaning up. "Do you know who the architect was?"

  "I don't. But thanks for coming, Amelia. Let's get you home, okay? It's getting late." It wasn't even eight-thirty. I steered her down the hall to the dock, where the others waited.

  "Well, safe home, guys," I said. "Where's Mr. Carver? I didn't get to say goodbye."

  "He left already," my mom said, pointing to a set of taillights heading down the road. "Uh-oh." She cupped her hands around her mouth. "Watch out for the deer, Henry!" she called. "Henry! The deer! Oh, for Christ's sake!"

  The rest of us watched in horror as Mr. Carver ran smack into one of the wild residents of Scupper Island.

  Xiaowen made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

  I ran down the dock. Mr. Carver's car was only about fifteen yards from where he'd parked it, but apparently he'd been going fast enough.

  The poor deer was panting, lying on its side. Oh, God, the poor thing! We'd have to call the police chief to shoot it, and God knew how long it would take him to get here.

  Its eyes were wide. Should I pet it? Then again, that might scare the poor critter. Also, ticks. But if it was in the throes of dying, maybe I should comfort it? Her? It was a doe.

  "Is it dead?" Mr. Carver sobbed. "Is it hurt?"

  "Um...it's not dead yet," I said. I pulled out my phone and called 911. No signal, of course. Shit. I got on the hood of Mr. Carver's car, held my phone up. Aha. Two bars. That was enough.

  "Nine-one-one, please state your emergency."

  "Hi, this is Nora Stuart on Spruce Brook Road. A deer was just hit by a car."

  "Hi, Nora, it's Mrs. Krazinski! How are you, honey?"

  "Well...not that great. And you?"

  "I'm fine. Your mother said you were having a dinner party tonight."

  "I am, and well, I'm afraid Henry Carver hit a deer, and--" I lowered my voice "--I think it needs to be put down."

  "Damn. And the chief's away. His daughter, you remember her? Caroline? Well, she had a baby! A boy. Her third."

  "That's great. But what about the dying deer?"

  "Can't your mom take care of it?"

  "Probably, yeah." Chances were high my mom could do one of those Jason Bourne neck twists and Bambi would be on the way to heaven.

  The entire dinner party had made its way down the dock.

  "With a little physical therapy, you never know," Xiaowen said. "Could be eating hostas by next week."

  "I'll put it outta its misery," my mother said. "Nora, run home and get my butchering knives."

  "What?"

  "It's a fresh deer," she said, as if I was the stupidest person on earth. "I'm not gonna let it go to waste."

  "Mind if I take a haunch?" Jake asked, popping another beer.

  "Oh, God," wailed Mr. Carver. "Beatrice... She loved animals."

  "When I was a child at our camp in the Adirondacks," Amelia said, "a fawn walked into our house and lay down next to the dog. It was utterly adorable. Until our Irish setter killed it, that is. Whiskey, that was his name. A beautiful dog."

  "You don't mind if I stay to watch, do you?" Xiaowen asked. "I'm kind of crushing on your mom."

  "You're a horrible friend," I said.

  My mother came back down the dock, knife in hand.

  He reached out and his hand closed on the biggest knife handle in the block.

  Ice-cold fear slithered down my back, and for a second, the dark Maine sky and heavy half-moon were gone, and I was in my apartment, the door so close. Would I make it? Would he grab me again? The door handle, smooth and hard under my aching fingers, me out, running, screaming...

  Nope, nope. Not gonna go there. That was my mother, the world's most capable woman. Not a killer, not a rapist. And behind her, Sullivan Fletcher, shirtless in the waning light, his puked-on shirt in his hand. Focus on that. Focus on him. You're safe. You're safe. You made it.

  My heart rate slowed. There was a calm about Sullivan Fletcher that tugged at me. Maybe because he was a father. Maybe because he was spared from some of the chatter and buzz of this world. Maybe because he'd been hurt, too, and recovered.

  I guess I should've offered him a T-shirt. Then again, I'd had a spewing boss and a dying deer to contend with.

  Also, shirtless Sully was a very nice view.

  Suddenly, the deer gave a lunge. I jumped back as it scrambled to its feet and ran off crookedly into the woods.

  No one said anything for a minute.

  "Okay!" I said. "What a fun night! Take care! Mr. Carver, are you okay to drive?"

  "It didn't die," he said, wiping his eyes. "Maybe it was Beatrice, working a little miracle."

  "I was thinking the same thing," I lied. "Bye. Thank you for coming."

  They all got into their cars. Xiaowen hugged me, shaking with laughter. "I'll call you tomorrow," she managed before sliding into her silver Porsche. Then she was gone, and I was alone with Sully.

  "Come on in, and I'll get you a T-shirt," I said, starting down the dock. He followed.

  "I was kind of hoping to see your mother skin that deer," he said, and suddenly, I was staggering with laughter. Sully's smile flashed in the darkness, and he took my arm so I
didn't fall into the water.

  I laughed all the way inside.

  My place was a disaster--plates still on the table, the coffee table, the floor. A thousand glasses, it seemed. Food everywhere. I went into my room and got the biggest T-shirt I had--Blackbeards Bait & Tackle, a leftover from a long-ago trip to Cape Cod with Doctors Without Spouses, back when Bobby and I were just friends.

  "Here you go," I said, handing the shirt to Sullivan. He pulled it over his head in a quick movement, the muscles on his rib cage flowing, his shoulders rolling in a perfect example of male anatomy.

  Xiaowen was right. I could do far worse than Sullivan Fletcher.

  But a summer fling was not what I was looking for. In August, I'd be back in Boston. Sullivan would never leave this island. And he had a kid, besides. Also, there was the fact that I had no idea if Sullivan was looking for a fling himself. He had a daughter, an ex-wife, a business and a troubled brother to contend with.

  "Let me help you clean up," he said.

  "No way," I said. "You get on home."

  "I'm not leaving you with this mess." Those eyes were caramel deliciousness, warm and tempting.

  "Oh, but you are," I said. "Being puked on by a dinner guest gets you a free pass."

  A faint frown settled between his eyebrows. "I'm more than happy to help."

  "I'm good, Bobby." Ah, shit! Where did that come from? "I mean, jeesh, Sullivan. Anyway, I'm kind of anal about cleaning up, and I have to make a few calls, besides."

  Without moving a muscle, his face changed. "Got it. See you around, then. Thanks for a nice dinner."

  He started out the door, and I closed my eyes. A perfectly nice man, and I was kicking him out.

  I went to the doorway. He was about halfway down the dock. "Sully? Sullivan? Thank you for the pie."

  He either didn't hear me or didn't want to answer.

  16

  Dear Lily,

  I forgot how pretty May is on the island. All the leaves have popped, and the birds are awake at 4:47 a.m. every morning. I saw three baby rabbits this morning, and they were so cute. The other night, Poe came over to do homework, and I made her grilled cheese and tomato. We always used to eat that on the first day of winter, remember?

  Love,

  Nora

  The weekend before Memorial Day, I took the ferry to Boston to retrieve my dog. I was ridiculously excited to have him back, to tug his silky ears, gaze into his pretty brown eyes and feel his reassuring bulk on the bottom of my bed. Bobby loved Boomer, sure, but the Dog of Dogs was mine. My soul mate.