Strangers She Knows

by Christina Dodd

  Mother was waiting on the porch. She didn’t speak or look at me.

  Mother must have told Father, for he is home and furious. He told me I could never see Patrick again, that he’s going to speak to General Tempe and have him transferred into the thick of the fighting.

  While he was shouting at me, a telegram came. My brother, Larry, hadn’t told us, but he had joined the British Air Corps. On his first bombing raid, his plane went down into the English Channel. He is lost to us. He is lost to the world.

  Larry was father’s heir. Larry was intelligent, distant, dignified, thoughtful… He was so much older, 24 years old. I didn’t really like him, but I think Father’s expectations weighed on him. Now he’s free, if such a thing is possible. Before Father went into his study, he looked around and said bitterly, “Now I have only daughters, and Bessie is barren.” (She isn’t barren; Father picked out her husband, and her husband cares nothing for her.) But what a thing to say on the news of his son’s death!

  Mother collapsed, sobbing. Larry was always her favorite, and she is devastated. Hermione and I put her to bed with a hot water bottle, and Hermione keeps a vigil at her side.

  I’m going out to wait for Patrick. I now need him more than ever.

  Dear diary, that which all have warned me about has come to pass. I have given myself to my darling Patrick. In the midst of grief and despair, we met in the redwood grove and he comforted me. I am now a woman, scarred by sorrow and warmed by love. I hope to see him again tomorrow.

  Amid the ruins of my family, I am guiltily happy.

  Kellen knew what this meant.

  Did Rae?

  Kellen peered at her daughter. Should she talk to Rae about what had happened between Ruby and Patrick? Was this the right moment to talk about sex?

  Rae forgot her bruises and bounced happily on the couch cushion—and winced. “Yay for Ruby! Everything will be okay for her now. Right?”

  Kellen could dodge the issue. But should she? Someone had to talk to Rae. She was The Mother. The full weight of tradition and responsibility landed this right on her shoulders. She swallowed, more nervous than she would have thought possible. “Do you understand what Ruby was trying to say? In her diary? About giving herself to Patrick?”

  “They had sex, right?”

  Rae was so casual, Kellen had to catch her breath. “Yes. How do you know that? What do you know?”

  “Just the stuff Grandma taught us in school. Ejaculation, condoms, STDs, orgasm, sexual responsibility, same-sex relationships, ministration—stuff like that.”

  “Ministration?” Kellen asked faintly.

  “Yes, like when you have your period.” Rae frowned, deeply concerned. “Do you suppose Ruby and Patrick used a condom?”

  Eep! “Unless he was prepared—no. And I think it’s highly unlikely he thought he would ever get the chance to…” Kellen hesitated over the term to use: Get lucky? Get laid? Being in the military had ruined all her delicacy of phrasing.

  “…have intercourse with Ruby?”

  “Right.” Kellen would have to thank her mother-in-law when next she saw her for taking charge of Rae’s sex education. Verona had made this conversation so much easier…Kellen guessed. So why was she so uncomfortable?

  Probably the knowledge that Rae knew what was happening between her parents, really understood it, made Kellen feel (ahem) awkward.

  But she plowed on, saying what had to be said. “Having intercourse, especially for the first time, is a big deal now. In those days, it was best to be married first. There was a lot of bad talk about women who…”

  “Had intercourse? Well, sure!” Rae was still frowning. “Now I’m worried about Ruby. She could be pregnant!”

  “Yes, she could be.”

  “With her father, that would be difficult.” Rae slid a sideways glance at the diary. “We could read more.”

  Kellen flipped through the pages they had read, then flipped through the pages left to read. They were a little more than halfway done, and what would they do when they finished Ruby’s story? The diary bound the family together, kept them entertained in their down moments, gave them a connection to the island. “I think we’d better stop, because kiddo, we need to go practice the piano.”

  Rae frowned at her bandaged hands, and wiggled her fingers. “I don’t think I can.” She grinned at her mother. “I guess you’ll have to practice for us both.”

  17

  Mara walked up to the Conkles’ cottage and lifted her hand to rap on the door—and listened. The couple inside—Dylan and Jamie, she reminded herself—were shouting. About the garden, the environment, the Di Lucas, the child. It wasn’t a friendly fight. Not even. Oh, so much opportunity for a canny opportunist.

  She rapped firmly on the door.

  The shouting stopped.

  A pause.

  Jamie Conkle opened the door.

  Mara recognized her from her picture, and thought that in person, Jamie looked like a preppie East Coast environmental bully, all narrow black glasses and squinty-eyed suspicion. She reeked political correctness; even the dirt under her fingernails had been properly composted. Without saying a word, she irritated the shit out of Mara.

  “Hello!” Mara flashed a smile she knew would be just as irritating to Jamie. “I’m Miranda Phillips, this year’s Isla Paraíso intern and botanist.”

  “Last year we had a biologist,” Jamie said.

  “I’m to do all the work, regardless of the science.” The job description had made that clear. No wonder no one wanted the position. “I was instructed to introduce myself here—”

  Obviously Dylan didn’t find her smile irritating, because he pushed Jamie aside, took Mara’s hand and pulled her into the cottage. “Hi! I’m Dylan Conkle, and I didn’t know you were coming.”

  “Um, the university sent a message…” Mara shot a sideways glance around, looking for some way to communicate with the outside world. “They said they were going to, anyway.”

  “The mail is delayed these days.” Dylan shrugged and sneered.

  Jamie shoved back at Dylan.

  Dylan pushed his glasses up on his nose.

  “Right. Old technology.” Mara openly looked around.

  The place was a dump: one tiny room that included the living space and kitchen, and an open door into the even smaller bedroom and, Mara supposed, a bath. The cottage smelled the way old houses do when they’re close to the sea—of salt, fish and mold. Nothing was that old: furniture, appliances, the gas fireplace. But everything looked worn and sad.

  “Sorry about the mess,” Jamie said.

  “Sorry I dropped by and caught you unaware.” Mara cut a glance toward Dylan. God forbid he should do anything to help his wife.

  “What happened to Bill Miller, last year’s intern?” Jamie asked.

  “I don’t know about Bill Miller. I suppose he got a job.” He had, with Mara’s help, and when she removed him from the rotation for this position, she inserted Miranda’s name and waited to see what would happen. Nothing, that’s what. No one fought for this job—which told her a lot. “I’m a graduate student. They don’t tell me all the good stuff. Um, they did say I could buy fresh produce from you, you’d keep an account and charge it to the university at the end of every month.”

  Jamie nodded frigidly. “That’s the way we’ve done it before.”

  “With the new folks living up at the big house, we’re going to be hopping!” Dylan said.

  “Shut up, Dylan,” Jamie answered.

  “You know you’re worried about the old—”

  “Shut up, Dylan!” Jamie put all her power into her voice.

  “Yeah. Shh.” In an elaborate pantomime of shushing, Dylan put his finger to his lips. He stared meaningfully at Mara. “It’s a secret.”

  Jamie looked as though she was going to plant her fist in hi
s throat, so Mara said, “The university also said if I had any problems to let you know and you’d help.”

  “Of course we will. Right, Jamie?” Dylan elbowed his wife and grinned with lopsided good cheer. He pointed at the sagging plaid couch. “Sit down, Miranda.”

  Mara sat rather gingerly.

  He flung himself down beside her and sprawled with his arms over the back of the couch. He smelled like sweat and liquor. Strong liquor like something out of a still, which made sense since out here, liquor stores didn’t exist.

  Okay. He was drunk, and how much easier did that make Mara’s job?

  “The other interns have been self-sufficient.” Jamie was so pissed at Dylan, she wasn’t really paying attention to Mara.

  Perfect. “I’ve got everything I need. Tent, supplies—you name it, the university had it for me.” After a single glance at her fake ID, they’d blithely handed everything over. “I think they meant in case of a storm or something.”

  “It’s California in the summer,” Jamie said. “We don’t have storms.”

  “Remember that freak storm the year we got here? Some kind of late-season front came out of Siberia. A tree fell on our generator and the whole damned garden washed away. That’s when I knew that I—” Dylan stopped himself, as if even in his drunken stupor, he didn’t dare say how much he hated this place.

  Yes, Jamie had him cornered here, and the only way he could slip away was to waste his life with drugs and alcohol.

  “I’m set up in Paradise Cove.” At the far end of the island from the folks up at the big house. “I think I found Bill’s spot from last year. Protected from the weather, if there is any, by the boulders and that overhang?” She looked at Dylan for confirmation.

  He nodded sagely. “Been there. Used to visit Bill there.”

  She placed her hand briefly on his knee and stood. “That’s all, then. I’ll be off. I’ve got seaweed to inventory and peregrine eggs to count.” She needed to look like she was doing the work, and besides, with nothing else on the agenda, she might just do it.

  Jamie followed her to the door. “Be careful. Three years ago, we had an intern get too close to the nest. The mother dove, talons out, and slashed him across the cheek. Just missed his eye. He got an infection and had to be medevaced out.”

  Mara faced Jamie. “You can’t blame her. A mother will fight to the death for her chick.”

  “You can depend on that,” Jamie said.

  “Oh, I am.”

  * * *

  Jamie surveyed her husband, sprawled on the couch, smiling at his boner like it was a thing of beauty. When they met, he was all charm and ambition, telling her what she wanted to hear.

  Liar. And loser. He was both of those, and a drunkard and wastrel to boot.

  Yet if she wanted to stay here, she was stuck with him. The Di Lucas demanded a couple to care for the island, and justifiably. One person couldn’t handle the maintenance, although she did the majority of the work, and if one of them got hurt, the other would have to deal until help arrived.

  She hoped if anything happened to her, Dylan would be sober enough to do just that.

  “Are you going to tell the folks up at the big house that the intern has arrived?” She waited, hoping he wouldn’t say exactly what she anticipated.

  “Why tell them anything?”

  He never changed.

  “Honey, come on over here.” He patted his lap. “Let’s…talk.”

  Like she needed him pawing at her because Miranda had turned him on. Jamie didn’t budge. “We tell the big house folks because that’s the rules, and the Di Lucas make the rules. This is the only job we’ve got. I’m not getting fired over that woman.”

  “She’s a nice girl.” He was still smiling at Jamie, trying to cajole her.

  So drunk he couldn’t stand up and chase her around, not even for sex. “If she’s a graduate student, she’s got to be around twenty-six. She’s no girl. Look, Dylan, you want to tell them or shall I?”

  “Tell who about what?”

  The bad part was—he wasn’t faking confusion. “Did you take the food basket up to the house yet?”

  His eyes shifted to the side. “I don’t remember.”

  “I’ll take it up and tell them.”

  “You hate to go up there.”

  “You didn’t do it, so I have to.”

  He put his head on the back of the couch and watched her out of slitted eyes. “I don’t know why you loathe them so much.”

  “Then you haven’t been paying attention!”

  He groaned. “Sorry I mentioned it.”

  “Rich people! They’re scum, a drain on the environment. Here we’re trying to save one tiny spot on the earth and keep it pristine, and they arrive and use up the resources—for a vacation.” Jamie did loathe them, all the rich people, the ones who treated the earth as if it was an endless resource for their pleasure. “They’re here to see about turning Isla Paraíso into a resort. People tromping all over the island, littering the beaches, shooting at the native birds—”

  “Um, they said something about a restricted place for some people to, um, view the untouched land and resources to properly appreciate—”

  “Bullshit! Those people don’t care anything about anything except making a profit.” She paced to the window and looked out at the golden grasses, the ancient green of the oaks and, in the distance, the silver glimmer of the Pacific. “If they can make money off Isla Paraíso, they will, and this place will be ruined, like all the other beautiful places of the earth.”

  Dylan let out a snore.

  Jamie turned. He was deeply asleep, mouth hanging open, head lolling to the side.

  He didn’t care about Isla Paraíso. No one cared like she did. No matter what, she had to remain here, and that meant serving the folks up at the big house whatever they wanted whenever they wanted.

  She went out to the root cellar and found the food basket exactly where she’d left it. Picking it up, she started up toward the big house, walking rather than using the electric cart, using her own energy rather than wasting the earth’s energy.

  Yes, she would follow the Di Lucas’ rules. In fact, in the case of Miranda Phillips, it would be a pleasure to tell them the intern had arrived.

  Jamie thought of Miranda’s hand on Dylan’s knee.

  She didn’t trust that woman. She didn’t trust her at all.

  18

  Running…again. Kellen liked it. She ran close to the collapsed caverns where, in World War II, men had watched for a Japanese invasion. She ran through the redwood grove, absorbing the peace of two thousand years of growth. She avoided the Conkles’ home, told herself she was giving them privacy. Tiring early, she turned toward Morgade Hall and slowed as she ran up the expanse of lawn. That gave her time to get her breathing under control. Determined to do her duty to her family—to keep Rae fed and cheerful—she climbed the steps of the back porch and stuck her head into the kitchen. “Olympia, has Dylan delivered today’s produce?”

  Olympia jumped and put her hand to her heart. She breathed deeply, turned, put her hand on her hip, and glared as if Kellen had deliberately sneaked up on her. Max confessed that when he hired Olympia, he thought her so without imagination she would be impervious to the big old creaky house and the windswept isolation of the island. But while her cooking remained exemplary, her attitude, never marvelous, had disintegrated, and the previously well-groomed woman was letting herself go. Her T-shirt and denim skirt were wrinkled, as if she’d picked them up off the floor. Her overgrown bangs dangled in her eyes and gray roots were showing. Over the weeks, she had slowly ceased to wear cosmetics and was down to a smear of lipstick. Yet her mustache was in full bloom.

  In forbidding tones, Olympia said, “I haven’t seen either one of the Conkles today.”

  “Max will speak to Dylan again.” Moving fas
t, Kellen ducked out. Max, Rae and Kellen had worn a path to the garage, and as she fled, she wondered—how could an island that contained only six people—she and Max, Rae and Olympia, Dylan and Jamie—make half of them crazy?

  Kellen supposed she should wonder if the half she considered crazy also considered her half-insane. But no. As an adolescent, Rae had her moments, but they were sane, united, a family. Out of loneliness, desolation and self-loathing, Olympia, Dylan and Jamie were splintering into thousands of pieces.

  She walked into the garage to find Max, arms outstretched, bellowing at the truck. “Why won’t you work?”

  Kellen skidded to a stop.

  So much for her assurances about the Di Lucas’ sanity.

  Rae was stretched across the fender, head stuck down as far as she could under the hood. “Daddy, what’s a carburetor?”

  “What?”

  She came up out of the depths and clearly articulated, “What…is…a…carburetor? Because there’s a carburetor kit on the workbench and I think we could rebuild it.”

  Kellen slowed backed toward the door.

  Too late. Max had pinned her under his gaze. “A carburetor kit? Rae found a carburetor kit conveniently placed on the workbench?”