Summer Darlings

by Brooke Lea Foster

  “Oh, Hibernia, maybe we’re more alike than I thought,” her mother had laughed, drying Heddy’s tears.

  After that, she’d promised herself she’d never make a fool of herself with a man. She’d be levelheaded, but keeping that promise was proving difficult.

  “You know you’re going to meet someone, Ruth. And it probably won’t work out for me anyway.”

  Ruth pushed the blanket back, standing and smoothing the pleats of her apron. “I’m sorry. That was lousy of me.” She stopped at the door, like there was something serious to say. “I have to stop sleeping here. My mom… I can’t keep pretending this is my life.”

  “Do you think he’ll ever get help? Your dad. There are meetings, on this island, at the church. You could make him go.” She’d seen a flyer for Alcoholics Anonymous in town one day.

  Ruth’s cheeks flushed as she tied her apron tighter around her waist. “I can take care of myself.”

  “I just… I care about you is all.” Heddy felt like she could cry.

  Ruth nodded, wiping at her eyes. “Let’s drop it. Okay?” Before Ruth turned to go, she said: “I hope it works out for you, I do.”

  Minutes later, there was the pitter-patter of little feet, Teddy’s slight frame barreling into her bed, his chest heaving.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I-I-I—” He was spitting, tears rolling like rain down windows. “I had a dream, and Miss Pinkie…”

  She smoothed his sweaty hair. “There, there.”

  “Is she coming back?”

  “I don’t know.” To think that the doll was tucked in a box in the garage. Why was Jean-Rose keeping it from him?

  The boy nuzzled her, and she wondered how she’d leave him and Anna; she’d grown to care for them.

  “But I love her.”

  “I know you do.” She could take away his pain, if only she went to the garage. “Stay here.”

  Heddy wrapped herself in a blanket and padded down the stairs, sprinting past Ruth in the kitchen, going straight to the side door of the garage. After grabbing the doll and stuffing it in her robe, she took the steps two at a time until she was back in her room, holding Miss Pinkie behind her back.

  The boy rubbed his eyes.

  Heddy was out of breath. “You have to make me a promise that you’ll never tell your mother.” The child wrinkled his forehead, trying to see what she had.

  “I found her.” When she held the doll up, he snatched it, clutching her tight, the doll’s legs curling up. Then he threw his arms around Heddy.

  “Keep her hidden,” she warned.

  He pulled back. “Can I sleep with her?”

  Heddy bit her lip. “Put her to bed in your closet.”

  “Okay.” He spun around with the doll, lifting her puckered lips for a kiss. Strange, thought Heddy, a boy comforted by a doll—and yet, how was it different from a teddy bear or a beloved pillow? It was simply what he loved. She wished Ruth were here now so she could point to the child and say: “No, Ruth. That’s what love feels like.”

  Instead, Heddy leaned her head against her pillow and stared out at the wavy lines of the sea. Teddy climbed in next to her, tucking Miss Pinkie under the sheets and giving Heddy an innocent smile.

  “When I die, I want to be buried with her,” the boy said. The comment made her frown.

  “Don’t think like that.”

  “Do you have something you want with you?” he asked, and she cringed. She hated thinking about dying.

  Her journal? Gigi’s dress? Tempting. Definitely her grandmother’s pearls. “My books. Just my favorites.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “That’s weird.”

  “Maybe I’m a bit strange then.”

  Teddy turned on his side to face her. “Do I have to go to the library again today?”

  “No, you and Anna have a birthday party at your friend Matthew’s, remember? Besides everything will be better now that Miss Pinkie is back.”

  “Can we pick blueberries first?”

  She’d forgotten about the blueberries; she couldn’t wait to get out of bed then, and in the bathroom, she pulled on shorts, washing the last of her eye makeup off. “Let’s see if Anna is up.”

  * * *

  She and the children crunched on Frosted Flakes in the kitchen, the morning gloomy and gray with cloud cover. Heddy opened the newspaper to the comics, reading the new Dick Tracy aloud while Ruth wiped counters.

  Jean-Rose appeared in the doorway, her hair pulled back in a patterned satin scarf and her arms crossed over her robe. They stopped laughing.

  “Cinderella returned from the ball?”

  “Mama!” The children ran to her, hugging her legs, but Jean-Rose didn’t budge. The kids slunk back to the table.

  It was clear by the way Jean-Rose was staring at her that Heddy had done something wrong, so she put down her comic. “Did you have fun last night?”

  Jean-Rose padded to the cabinet, removing a juice glass. “I did, but I wasn’t out of my league. The question is: Did you have fun?” Jean-Rose poured a cup of the tomato and lemon concoction Ruth made for hangovers, gulping it back.

  Heddy considered running up to her room and hiding, like a child—she was terrible at confrontation, being the first to give in or make concessions if someone was angry at her, even when it wasn’t in her best interests. “A girl like me at a party like that? I’ll never forget it.”

  Jean-Rose put her elbows on the table, resting her chin in her hands, her mouth so close Heddy could smell the tangy tomato juice on her breath. “You think he likes you, don’t you?”

  “Heddy, are you in love?” Anna asked, coming to her mother’s side, one eyebrow cocked.

  Heddy shifted in her chair, smiling at Anna, while searching for the right answer.

  Jean-Rose kept herself close. “You realize you’ll never fit into his life, right? He’s certainly not taking you to Florida.”

  Sourness balled in Heddy’s throat. “Of course not.”

  “Who, Mama?” Anna said. Heddy rubbed the child’s hand, holding her fingers to her lips to shush her, while Ruth scrubbed harder at a cutting board, her back to them.

  Jean-Rose stood, her eyes half shuttered with a sneer. “To think I stuck my neck out setting you up with Sullivan Rhodes.”

  Heddy folded her hands in her lap, turning down her gaze. “I appreciate that. And I like Sullivan. But his mother. You heard her.” She wanted to scream: What did I do wrong?

  Jean-Rose pulled Ruth, still holding a sponge, to the table next to Heddy.

  “Children, finish your breakfast. We’ll be in the living room.” Heddy and Ruth exchanged anxious glances, then followed Jean-Rose, who sat down on the velvet couch while retying her turban.

  “Sit,” she said.

  Heddy didn’t know what to do with her hands, and they went from her pockets to flat against her thighs to folded in front of her navel.

  “What is it?” Heddy stammered. She could see why Jean-Rose would be disappointed if it didn’t work out with Sullivan, since she had set them up. But why did she care if Heddy liked Ash? Or if Ash liked her?

  Jean-Rose held up her wrist. “This is a bracelet I wear every day. It was a gift from my godmother, and it’s special to me. But it’s nothing compared to my diamond eternity bracelet. Ted gave it to me on our first anniversary.”

  Heddy examined her bitten fingernails, then met Jean-Rose’s eyes. “I love that bracelet,” Heddy said.

  Jean-Rose looked pleased, like it was the answer she’d expected. “Well, it’s missing.”

  Ruth stood. “I’m not sure what you’re implying.”

  “Sit down. There’s no ill will, dear—it’s not like Heddy was wearing it at the party last night, although she borrowed everything else,” Jean-Rose scoffed, making Heddy swallow hard. “I just want my bracelet back. It means something to me, and you are the only two people here who have access to my bedroom.”

  “I don’t even take oyster crackers for my clam chowder.” Heddy glan
ced at Ruth, whose face had turned beet red.

  “Perhaps you lost it?” Ruth said, her back arched like a scared cat.

  “I’ll check my locker at the club. But I’d like it to show up in my jewelry box.” Jean-Rose didn’t take her eyes off Heddy. “Understood?”

  “But I don’t have it, Jean-Rose. I would never…” Heddy, legs crossed on the wingback chair, balled her hands into fists.

  Jean-Rose talked right over her. “And when you take the children to the birthday party today, no unnecessary stops, miss. You can go to the beach here from now on.”

  Heddy was aghast. “I’ve never done anything improper…”

  Jean-Rose slammed her hand on the coffee table. “May I remind you that this is a job, and I need you to work. I heard all sorts of whispers last night about people seeing you and Ash together. All a surprise to me. I just hope you had the sense not to take the children to his house.”

  Heddy massaged her forehead. “He gave us a ride the day you dropped us at the beach. You told him to.”

  “You need to use your head.”

  Heddy stood abruptly; she wanted out of this conversation. “I plan to go out on Monday night,” Heddy said. It would be ridiculous to hold back; this was a job.

  Jean-Rose waved Ruth back into the kitchen. “And with who?”

  Heddy creased her lips together in an uneven smile, croaking: “Ash.”

  Jean-Rose drummed her fingers, and Heddy folded her arms tightly, her heart racing: This felt like war. “I would prefer a different night.”

  “Wednesday?”

  Jean-Rose mocked her, repeating “Wednesday” with disgust. She paused, then said: “Fine.”

  Heddy stormed out the front screen doors, nearly letting them slam. She heard Anna calling her, and then the child was next to her, holding her hand and begging her not to leave. Heddy picked her up and pressed the back of her head against the porch column. What was she doing? There were four weeks left of summer, and she needed this money. At the least, a solid reference.

  “I need to apologize to your mom,” she kissed Anna’s plump rosy cheek.

  “You better kiss her feet,” Ruth quipped when Heddy returned to the kitchen. She found Jean-Rose in her bedroom, smoking a cigarette.

  Heddy coughed, causing Jean-Rose to glance up. “I’m sorry about my temper,” Heddy said, looking at Jean-Rose’s eyebrows. “Thank you for watching out for me. I was just upset.”

  “Love is complicated.” Jean-Rose puffed, closing her eyes, like the inhale relaxed her. “Remember, you’re still in my charge. I don’t want your mother calling me to ask what happened to her daughter at the end of the summer.”

  Heddy’s blood boiled, but she silently backed out of the room.

  “And please, help me find my bracelet,” Jean-Rose called after her.

  When they heard Jean-Rose’s door click shut, Heddy and Ruth huddled in a corner on the porch, while the children carried toys outside.

  “I swear I put it back,” Heddy said. “That afternoon. After I got back, I remembered it was in my shorts.”

  Ruth buried her face in her hands. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes!” She yelled it, and Ruth gave her the eye, holding her finger to her lips.

  “Okay, I believe you,” Ruth whispered. “So either she lost it or you lost it, and let’s hope it’s not the latter. Then we’ll both be out of a job.”

  * * *

  With panic swirling her stomach into knots, she and the children carried their pint baskets to the silvery blueberry bushes lining the yard. Jean-Rose charged them to pick as many berries as they could so Ruth had enough for preserves and a pie. Heddy found herself popping the juicy berries into her mouth one after the next, trying to distract from her anxiety.

  Still, she couldn’t distract her thoughts from the eternity bracelet. Earlier, she’d ran up the steps to her room, digging her hands through the pockets of her shorts. But they’d all cycled through the laundry at least once, since the incident with the bracelet was weeks ago. She looked under the bed, under the desk, in case it had fallen. Nothing.

  After stuffing a handful of berries into her mouth, someone jumped out from behind the bushes yelling, “Boo!”

  Heddy startled, coughing on a blueberry. “You shouldn’t scare people like that, Sullivan.”

  “Sorry.” He grinned. “I didn’t want you to see me and run the other way.”

  Heddy bristled. “Aren’t you looking for Peg?”

  “Where’s your dog?” Teddy asked as he dove behind Heddy.

  “At home.” Sullivan looked toward the gloomy horizon, then back at her. “Forget Peg. I wasn’t expecting to see you there last night—”

  “Oh. Why not?” She came to face him, her hand on her hip. A rogue raindrop fell to Heddy’s arm, even if the sky hadn’t committed to pouring.

  “Because I didn’t think you knew those people.” Sullivan edged closer. “I liked that you didn’t. I would do just about anything to escape a party like that.”

  “Well, it would be pretty hard to keep a fiancée a secret if I knew them.”

  Heddy wasn’t sure why she was giving him a hard time—after all, Ash was in her thoughts, as was, of course, the missing bracelet—yet she couldn’t stop. She’d believed he liked her, and that he had been promised to someone else made her feel foolish.

  “She’s not my fiancée. Mother has ideas, terrible ones. I’m sorry she was so rude.” In the distance, a boat zipped across Vineyard Sound.

  Heddy frowned. “What Mama says, Sullivan does, because Sullivan doesn’t have a backbone.”

  She was being cruel, and she knew it. She wanted him to smack her clear across the cheek, but he only sighed. He removed his glasses, cleaning them with a corner of his chambray shirt.

  “I guess I deserve that. But if you knew her, you’d understand. She just has this way. Father calls her the Little Engine That Could.”

  Heddy loosened her fists. She knew a little something about parental expectations, how crushing it felt to stand in the disapproving scowl of your mother. “We don’t choose our parents, do we?” she said.

  In high school, Heddy had boarded the Long Island Rail Road bound for Cold Spring Harbor, walking a few miles from the station to the address she’d memorized from an envelope in her mother’s top drawer; the letter, dated ten years earlier, read simply: It was special, but now it’s over. Stop calling. Good luck. Jack. Jack Devlin, 22 Maplewood Drive. It was dusk by the time she stood on the sidewalk across from his handsome Long Island colonial, hoping no one would notice her spying into the living room window. And there he was, sipping milk beside a young girl in her pajamas. A girl who might have been her.

  “I never even knew my father,” she said.

  “Oh.” Sullivan let his glasses fall down the bridge of his nose, his eyes peering over the tops. She supposed he felt guilty, complaining about parents that were too present.

  He asked if he could help pick berries, and they did so for an hour or so, comparing notes about restaurants and dance clubs in Boston, until Heddy announced they needed to pick up the car at Gigi’s.

  Sullivan looked at his Cartier watch. “You want a ride?” His Aston Martin, a two-seater with a soft top, sat in the driveway. God, she wanted to ride in that car again.

  She sucked on her pearls. “I guess.” She ran inside to tell Ruth they were leaving for the party, grabbing the birthday present and bounding back out to the car.

  The kids climbed onto Heddy’s lap, while Sullivan grabbed a small black camera bag from the console, putting it in the trunk. “You take photographs?” she asked.

  “Learning.” Sullivan pulled on a Yankees baseball cap, steering the car out of the drive. “Don’t tell me you like the Red Sox.”

  Heddy kissed the back of Anna’s head. “I’ve never been to a baseball game.”

  He gave her a double take; his hazel eyes flickering. “That’s very un-American of you.”

  “The time has never been right.” />
  He leaned over to position his baseball hat on her, beaming, which made her smile. Sullivan tried to be bohemian, and she supposed he was, but she bet he could spend hours playing catch or throwing a football around, too. Most guys would say they’re athletic, science-minded, or creative, while Sullivan was truly all three. “We have the best seats, right behind home plate. Maybe we can go sometime?”

  “Heddy already has a boyfriend.” Anna removed his hat, tossing it in Sullivan’s lap.

  Heddy stared hard at the dirt road. It was sort of, maybe true, so why was she having so much trouble admitting it.

  Sullivan pushed his glasses up on his nose. “I meant, as friends.”

  “Heddy is a tart.” Teddy bounced up and down on Heddy’s leg, chanting.

  She smacked his knee, and he turned around, sticking his tongue out at her. “Teddy! How do you know that word?” Where was the boy thankful she’d given him his doll back?

  “That’s terrible, Teddy. You could go to jail for saying it.” That got his attention.

  Teddy pouted: “Mommy called you that.”

  Sullivan pulled the car into the field where she’d left the Buick, meeting Heddy’s eye with a smirk. She knew what he was picturing—Heddy roaming the island as a streetwalker—and, despite the insult, they burst into laughter.

  “What’s so funny?” asked Anna.

  Heddy patted her back.

  “Why are you laughing?” Teddy snapped.

  Sullivan hiccupped.

  “Can we get out of the car now?” Teddy, irritated that he wasn’t in on the joke, jiggled the door. Heddy pushed her weight into it and lifted both kids out, turning to Sullivan. He drummed his fingers against the tan leather steering wheel.

  “I’m playing again this Friday. Will you come?”

  Heddy hesitated. She and Ash weren’t going steady, hardly, and a girl had to keep her options open. She ducked into the passenger window; it was her day off. “Only if you keep that ridiculous girl away.”

  * * *

  That night, her mother called. Jean-Rose and Ted were at the club for dinner, and she’d already read to the children and tucked them into bed. Her mother sounded odd, her tone guarded, and Heddy knew like she did about rain: something was wrong.