Even in Paradise

by Chelsey Philpot

  C: Watch. Not Lockdown! Can’t keep watch. Way 2 much!

  J: U have to. Mum didn’t keep receipt

  J: that might be lie. But could be true. ☺

  C: Meet me after 1st exam tomorrow? Studio?

  J: Ugh. Have community service at 12

  C: After Second exam?

  J: Come to my room instead. Will make “refreshments.” ;)

  C: K. Gotta go study. TTFN

  J: CM?

  C: CM

  NINE

  THE SCHOOL YEAR ENDED AS it always did, with a frenzy of finding boxes, packing, and hugs good-bye to graduates, who I knew from experience would forget their promises to keep in touch almost as soon as their taillights passed through the St. Anne’s gates. Why we bothered with the rituals of email and phone number exchanges was a mystery.

  Not that it really mattered much to me that spring. I had few people to say good-bye to. My world had become Julia’s world, and I knew I would miss it when I went home.

  We began the summer talking or texting every day. But by mid-July she had stopped replying, and I stopped trying. I could imagine the life she had returned to, and I had mine: waitressing at the resort, helping my dad in the garage, watching Sam and AJ, while Melissa went to her classes, and working on my sculptures.

  I tried not to think about Julia—but the more I tried, the more I failed to think of anything else.

  Home was a dirt driveway three miles after the turnoff for the old ski lodge. It was the smell of pines and deep snow in winter and burned dirt and shady woods in summer. Home was a small house that had grown in a haphazard way—a new deck here, a mudroom off the kitchen, an enclosed back porch—until the original cabin seemed as lost in the sprawl as a tree in a shopping mall parking lot. It was forest and the sound of trucks passing on the highway on their way to Canada. It was too many people in too small a space.

  Between Sam and AJ being four and five and Melissa being from New Jersey and my dad’s garage being a hundred yards from the house, most of the time I could barely hear my own voice over the noise, never mind really think.

  I had been back a little over a month when the din drove me outside again. The thin walls were no match for the shouting of two mud-covered boys home from the first afternoon of day camp.

  I pulled on Melissa’s barn coat, more for protection against mosquitoes than for warmth. My paperback copy of The Great Gatsby fit perfectly in one of the large front pockets, even though the sleeves barely came to my wrists. I closed the screen door gently behind me before I jogged across the backyard to the giant trampoline near the edge of the woods.

  When the trampoline was new, before Dad had even met Melissa and before they got married and she moved in with Sam and AJ, I had entertained myself for hours on it. I did back flips, jumped off tree limbs into the center, and pretty much did everything the safety manual told you not to, and never broke a bone. But then I went away and we forgot to take it down in winter. Eventually the middle started to sag, the springs started to creak, and rust covered the poles.

  It was lousy for bouncing, but great for hiding. I tossed the book first, then hefted myself up and did an ungraceful roll, landing on top of Gatsby. For two precious minutes I did nothing but stare up at the tissue paper ceiling of green leaves.

  “What you got there?” My dad’s voice was low and rough like sandpaper against a freshly sawed board. When I sat up on my elbows the trampoline springs protested with sharp squeaks. I shielded my eyes with one hand to look up at him. The early evening sun silhouetted him, and his Red Sox cap was slightly askew. After my eyes adjusted, I could see that he was grasping a crate between his hands; his expression was easy, his posture relaxed. It had been a good day in the garage.

  “Summer reading. Great Gatsby. I have to finish before tomorrow and get it back to the library,” I said.

  My dad scratched his nose on his shoulder. “You should meet up with some kids your age.”

  I flopped on my back. “Who am I going to hang out with around here? I don’t know anyone anymore.” A bird flew below the tree line, and I paused to admire how its shadow crept across the leaves: a streak of black paint over a background of green.

  “Besides, you know if I go out that means Melissa will make dinner. My stomach might never recover from last week’s macaroni surprise. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

  My dad chuckled and set the crate down at his feet. “Nah. I wouldn’t either.” He ran his hand across the five o’clock shadow that covered his jaw. “Charlotte, your mom called again this morning. You gotta call her back. She’s your mom. She deserves a phone call. She’s lonely out there now that your grandma’s gone.”

  “Does she know she’s my mom?”

  “Don’t be a smart-ass.” He put both hands on the springs and pushed them down, bouncing me in small waves. “And lay off teasing Melissa about her cooking. Her mind is half on the boys and half on hair dye and shampoo these days.”

  I struggled into a sitting position, wrapping Melissa’s coat tighter around me as I crossed my legs. “I’m not trying to start anything. Look at what I let her do to my hair.” I pointed at my brown roots. “And she still hasn’t fixed it.”

  “Yeah.” My dad gave the springs enough of a push to make me fall backward. “I would maybe wait until she actually graduates from beauty school before you let her test anything else out on you.” He swiped his cap off his head and wiped his forehead against his T-shirt sleeve. “Just cut her some slack. Get what I’m saying?”

  “Yup,” I said, lurching back up. I ducked my head down, picked up my book, and started to read.

  “Hey, Charlotte!”

  I turned and saw Sam half in and half out of the front screen door.

  “Mom says to tell you to come answer your bleep bleep phone before she backs over it with the truck. It’s been buzzing all afternoon,” he shouted.

  “What’s my ‘bleep bleep’ phone?” I called back.

  “She won’t let me say the bad words.” He spun around, the door slamming behind him.

  “I better go. With all those chemicals on her brain, she would run it over.” I bounced to the side of the trampoline and dropped to the ground, Gatsby clutched in one hand.

  “Yup.” My father shook the springs one more time. “This thing’s a death trap. We gotta take it down.”

  “You say that every summer.”

  “Yeah, and I mean it every summer. Hey, before you go in, I found some good stuff at the dump this morning for you to use.” He rustled in the crate and then stood up. He held an uneven circle of glass in his palm. It had probably once been the bottom of a beer bottle, but now, with its edges worn down by time, it looked like a precious stone. “There’s lots more in the box in the bed of the truck when you need it.”

  “Thanks.” I took the glass and held it up to the sky. “You told Henry I want to use the tools in the garage Sunday, right?”

  “I’ll tell him tomorrow. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “You going to meet the guys before dinner?” I asked.

  He straightened up and tapped the brim of his cap like he was tipping a top hat. “Two beers. Scout’s honor.”

  “You were never a Boy Scout.” I smiled.

  “It’s a good thing, too. I’m terrible at starting campfires.” He looked down at the crate, kicking it gently with his boots. “You better get up there and check your phone before it goes out the window.”

  I slid the piece of glass into one of the large coat pockets and then knocked my dad’s cap so it fell off his head. I caught his choice words just as I reached the porch.

  THE INVITATION

  J: hope u are smashing!! miss u much. so dull here

  J: If I see 1 more guy in pleated khakis. . . . girls too. Ugh. Not cute!

  J: When are u coming to visit?

  J: Are u mad? Sorry, am rotten @ email

  J: am rotten @ text too

  J: I feel like death! Might have cold or bubonic plague

&nbs
p; J: Have never felt so bad in my life. might never get out of bed again

  J: Nanny says could be fu!

  J: Meant flu. Could u come to ACK real soon?

  J: Are u not answering because ur mad!?!

  C: Just got texts. K will try

  J: am buying u a bus ticket from NH to Hyannis JIC. Will email tix. ☺

  J: ???!!!???!!!???!!!???

  C: Can leave Sat or Sun, need to get sub for work. Bus to Hyannis then ferry to ACK. What should I bring?

  J: Just u! ☺ get here yesterday!!!!!

  TEN

  THE BUS TO HYANNIS HAD been stuffy, loud, and crowded. When we reached the final stop, I unfolded myself from my seat, feeling like the smells of the cheesy popcorn the woman next to me had been eating and whatever terrible chemical they put in the closet-size bathroom would never come out of my skin. I saw Sebastian while I was reaching for my bag in the overhead bin. He was pacing in the travel center parking lot in front of a billboard advertising deep-sea fishing and whale-watching tours. His cell phone was pressed to his ear. He had just started kicking at a dandelion tuft that had broken through the pavement when a man behind me in the aisle coughed.

  “Oh. Sorry.” I shuffled the rest of the way off the bus, my duffel bag smacking against my leg the whole time.

  I stood near the travel center entrance, wishing my phone hadn’t died on the ride down so I could at least pretend to check emails or text while I waited for him to see me. I saw him put his phone in his pocket out of the corner of my eye, so I started inspecting the box of chocolates Melissa had insisted I bring for Julia’s parents. The bow was crumpled and one side had a footprint from when I had set it on the floor.

  “Hello again.”

  He was just as cute as I remembered. His collared shirt was missing a button at the bottom and hung loosely over expensive-looking dark blue jeans. His eyes were hidden behind the same aviator sunglasses he had been wearing parents’ weekend. I saw my distorted face in them as he stepped in front of me. He stretched one hand out and reached the other up to remove the sunglasses—a move that would have been smooth if he hadn’t sent them clattering to the pavement.

  “Shit,” Sebastian said as he scrambled on the ground, kicking the glasses twice before grabbing them. He straightened with a jerk. “Sorry.” He stretched a hand out once more. “Sebastian. Nice to meet you again, Charlie.”

  I shook his hand, feeling every inch where it covered my own. Remembering the cheesy popcorn and bathroom chemicals, I dropped it and stepped backward, shifting my duffel on my shoulder. “Where’s Julia?”

  “Pip doesn’t drive . . . I mean, she knows how . . . she just doesn’t do it,” he said, slipping his sunglasses back on.

  “Okay. Does that mean she’s not here?”

  “Nope. Plus, she’s on her deathbed and all,” he said.

  “She’s that sick?”

  He shook his head. “Nah, just that dramatic.” He looked down and kicked at a stone. “Let me guess. She didn’t tell you I’d be picking you up.”

  “Ah, negative.”

  “Typical.” His brow wrinkled and he shoved both his hands into his jeans pockets. “That’s Pip. She’s not one for details. She’s more of a big, huge picture kind of person.” He scooped my bag from my shoulder. “I’m parked around the corner at the coffee shop.”

  Once his back was turned, I pressed my T-shirt to my nose. No bathroom sanitizer or processed cheese. Thank God. I tried to smooth my flyaway strands back into a ponytail. After cursing Julia for not warning me, Melissa for ruining my hair, myself for wearing my oldest jeans, and anyone else I could think to blame in that moment for the marbles in my stomach, I followed him.

  He led me out of the parking lot to a red car with a fabric roof and curved lines from another era. It was rusty near the fenders, and I could see through the driver’s-side window that the dash was scratched and the leather seats had stuffing poking through. There was no backseat. It was a car held together with glue, duct tape, and hope.

  “Is that a seventies Vantage?”

  He tilted his head to the side, letting the handle of my duffel slip off his shoulder to the crook of his elbow. “I wish. It’s an ’87 fixer-upper. But it’s my baby. How’d you know it was an Aston Martin?”

  I tugged at the passenger door. “You own an Aston Martin, my dad works on them.” The fifth time the door finally lurched open. I climbed in, and after his own battle with the driver’s-side door, Sebastian did, too.

  The short drive from the bus station to the ferry was punctuated by squealing brakes (ours) and honking horns (other cars’). Sebastian drove the speed limit exactly and at each stop sign gripped the wheel so tightly I wondered if his knuckles hurt.

  When we arrived at the docks, the man shepherding cars onto the ferry, a mass of metal that floated at the end of a long pier like a huge dog tied to a tree, waved Sebastian on with a flourish.

  “Thanks, Mike,” Sebastian shouted with a wave as we inched by. He drove up the ramp into the ferry like he was going through a series of stoplights. Stop. Go. Stop. Go. Stop. Go. We parked in the last row of cars, right behind a produce truck.

  I pulled myself out of the car as soon as we stopped. My wrists were sore from bracing against the dashboard.

  Sebastian turned off the keys and looked up at the truck in front of him. He froze. “Shit.”

  “Is everything okay?” I ducked my head down and peered at him through the passenger door. He looked confused, like he had just woken up in a bed that wasn’t his own.

  I followed his gaze to the truck. “Cross Family Farm” was all it said across the back. A cartoon cow and bushel of fire-red apples were painted below.

  “Sebastian, you okay?” I said, leaning half in the car. When he didn’t respond, I started to slide back into my seat.

  I was just about to swing my legs in when he ripped the keys out of the ignition and jumped out of the car. “Yeah. Great. Never better.” The sound of his door slamming shut hit the walls of the ferry and bounced back at us. “After you.” He gestured toward a flight of metal stairs at the far end of the parking level.

  I wove around the other cars and led the way up the stairs. When I stopped at the top, Sebastian was only halfway up and staring at the truck.

  “Being parked behind a truck always makes me nervous about the car. Is it okay if we go to the upper deck? It’s the best view.”

  “Sure.” I stood to the side to let him pass. His arm grazed my shoulder when he stepped by me up the second set of stairs, and that moment of touch and the citrus smell of his shampoo were enough to make me choose to stop wondering why he was acting so strange.

  Sebastian found us a bench in a hidden corner of the upper deck, where we were shielded from the wind and the railing and lifeboats didn’t cast shadows. From time to time he would glance up, frowning slightly, as if he was looking for someone. But then he would catch me watching him, and his smile would return and he would go back to pointing out landmarks. And when the shore disappeared and a field of water was the only view, I went to the snack bar and bought us hot chocolate made from powder and dehydrated mini marshmallows.

  Sebastian tried to pay for them, and even though I refused to take his money he seemed grateful that I had been the one to go below to the second deck.

  It was a perfectly ordinary trip—sun, wind, and water—but it seemed like a journey to me. Like I wasn’t just taking a ferry to somewhere, but taking it toward some place and that everything would be different when I got there. I already felt like in a way I did not yet understand, my life had changed.

  By the time our hot chocolates were just crumpled cups lying at our feet, Nantucket Island had begun to rise on the horizon like a blue-green promise. Gray houses with white trim and shutters stood on the perimeter, undulating like the waves that surrounded them. The dark windows were eyes looking out at the boats passing by.

  A faded fishing boat roared to the side of the ferry, dipping left and right. But the men
on board, baked and hardened by lifetimes of working outdoors, did not pause from their pulling and hauling—not even when their boat leaned low enough to one side that waves washed up on the deck.

  The island interior was a landscape of rooftops, and in their center, a white church steeple rose into the sky like a hand reaching for the sun.

  Sebastian leaned across me pointing to a peninsula that was just coming into view. “See that lighthouse there?”

  “I see a tower that could be a lighthouse.”

  “Okay, well take my word for it. On that point, there’s a lighthouse, and every time you pass you throw a penny and make a wish. I’ve never missed it. Not since I was little.”

  “What do you wish for?”

  “You can’t tell. It won’t come true if you do.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t use a penny. Pennies are probably bad for the fish. I would throw something else.”

  “Do you have anything else right now?”

  I pretended to pat my pockets. “Gosh. No.”

  “Well then a penny for your thoughts.” He slid a coin that was warm from being in his pocket into my palm. I didn’t want to throw it because it had been his.

  “One. Two. Three.”

  We tossed them simultaneously, both pennies falling yards and yards short of the peninsula.

  Once we got back in the car, Sebastian went from the guy who could laugh and make wishes to a guy who grasped the wheel like it was a rope and he was hanging over a canyon.

  We were the first ones off the ferry. He insisted. He slunk low in his seat and rolled down the ramp to the shore, glancing only once in his rearview mirror at the still truck as if it might give chase even without a driver.

  He had to slow to a creep once we reached the cobblestone streets of downtown. We bumped by red brick shops with bright T-shirts and gourmet foods on display in the windows, overflowing flower pots, and cars that I had only seen on the calendars my dad liked to order for the garage.

  People milled about with sweaters knotted around their necks, wearing polo shirts in Easter-egg blues, greens, and pinks. Shirt collars were popped against tanned necks, and flip-flops were as common as loafers. An older couple, the man with leather-brown skin and a straw fedora set at a rakish angle on his head and the woman in sunglasses and a bright patterned dress, held the hands of a boy and a girl who couldn’t have been older than AJ. The children were dressed like their outfits had been planned for adults and then shrunk in the wash to make them kid-size. When Sebastian stopped to let them cross the street, the little boy waved to me, and as I waved back I was happy to see his hands were covered with what looked like chocolate ice cream.