by Unknown
Whenever an islander referred to the house, they either called it the Delaney house, her family’s name, or the “wedding cake house”. She used to love the romance of that, the celebratory air of it. Looking up at it now, she realized that she didn’t love it anymore. Three weddings under her belt, she was tired of white lace and overblown fantasies. She wanted something simple and small, a cozy bungalow down-island near her friends and their shared little house. That was it. She’d put the house on the market in the spring, start checking around to see who was selling down-island so she could be first to bid. It was time to move on - let go of the past and its hold over her life.
As she stood regarding her house, she felt the prickling feeling of being watched. She looked around. The wet windswept boardwalk was empty in both directions. She looked at the nearby houses, their beaches dusted with small tangles of seaweed, their long spare docks. Three doors down, there was a boat tied up to a dock. Someone was here, then. Watching her.
She narrowed her eyes and then widened them, realizing whose house the occupied dock belonged to. It was Rose’s house, a tall pale yellow house with a whale weathervane and scallop shell cut-outs decorating the shutters and a deep screened-in front porch. Rose, who used to be at the center of the social whirl when they were young, had retreated to the periphery of island life sometime in her thirties. They never saw her at any of the parties anymore. The house was locked up and empty most of the summer. But she was here now. And, somewhere in that house, she, or someone else who was staying there, was watching Zo. How strange.
She tried to picture Rose, but couldn’t. It had been too many years since they’d seen each other face to face. All she could remember was Rose in her late twenties, still as beautiful as her name suggested, still as cruel and cutting as that flower’s thorns. The last time Rose had shown up at a party, she’d brought a new boyfriend, who promptly started flirting with Keeley. Keeley, not realizing whose boyfriend it was, flirted right back. Rose had left the party in a huff a few minutes later, while her boyfriend was the last to leave.
Zo shivered, both from the cold and from the eerie malevolent feeling she was getting from whoever it was that was watching her. Was it Rose? There was no movement in the house or on the porch, though she thought she could make out a figure there.
“Jeez,” she whispered, another shiver crawling up her back. She gave Rose’s house one last look, and then turned and started walking quickly back toward Pam’s, breaking into a jog after a few steps, a hunted feeling suddenly sweeping over her and propelling her away from that picture-perfect yellow house that was anything but cheerful.
Chapter 43
Keeley entered the sun room holding a large tray loaded with freshly-made lobster salad rolls aloft, and stopped in the doorway for effect. “It may be raining outside, babies, but it’s a sunny summer day at Pam’s. I present, drum roll please…, lobster rolls!”
The group was seated at the table, a nearly empty pitcher of Mean Greens in the middle, and they all turned around and made gratifyingly appreciative ooh’s and ah’s. There was even a squeal of delight from Pam. Keeley had told them she had a surprise for lunch, winking at Daniel, who knew her secret, and then made them wait in the sun room while she assembled the sandwiches. She only hoped they were as good as they looked. She had not had time to make the lobster salad herself the way she usually did, and had to get it in an overpriced gourmet shop in Manhattan.
Zooey stood up and dragged the pitcher off of the center of the table to make room, her hair still drying and clinging to her face from an unexplained walk she’d taken in the rain that morning. Keeley was pretty certain she knew the reason for the walk, though, and didn’t add insult to injury by asking. She placed the platter down on the table, and then everyone reached greedily for a roll to put on their plate, lunchtime having passed hours before and several pitchers of Mean Greens consumed on empty stomachs because Keeley had forgotten about the lunch she’d brought; she’d been too busy putting on a cheerful face while surreptitiously watching Hannah and Daniel.
Things had changed between the two of them. That summer when they had visited the island, they had been cute and cozy, cuddling and kissing often. Hannah had been more clearly happy and at ease than she could ever remember. Daniel had been relaxed then, too, more comfortable and confident than Keeley thought he had a right to be. He had to pass her test, didn’t he know that? But he had passed - with flying colors. He was a natural for Captain’s, rugged and athletic and never squeamish. He was also a kind person, had a great sense of humor, and it was obvious he genuinely adored Hannah.
Now, even after several drinks, the two of them sat stiffly beside each other, not touching. They engaged in the general conversation, but not with each other. When Hannah wasn’t looking, Daniel studied her as if trying to figure something out. His eyes lingered again and again on her left hand.
Keeley couldn’t believe that Hannah wasn’t wearing her ring. When Daniel had first told her about it over the phone, she had brushed it off. Of course, if he came without warning, Hannah may have had it off for a normal reason. Maybe she had been washing the dishes or something and forgot to put it back on in her haste. Keeley remembered when she first got engaged to Ben, how alien her engagement ring felt on her finger, how she worried about getting soap on it so she would remove it whenever she washed her hands or showered. Then she almost lost it in the ladies room at a restaurant, had a real scare halfway through her entrée when she realized the ring was gone. She’d leapt up from the table so quickly, she knocked over her glass of wine and it poured right into Ben’s lap. The ring had been there, sitting where she’d left it by the sink, but she’d been lucky. She didn’t take it off again.
She looked pointedly at Hannah, trying to catch her eye, but her daughter was fully focused on her sandwich, taking a huge bite. Keeley lifted up her own lobster roll and bit into it. Oh, thank God. It was great. Well, it could use a little more celery. And the hot dog rolls should have been toasted. But, otherwise, it was delicious.
Pam was complaining about some author and his book tour, but it was hard for Keeley to pay attention. She ate her sandwich and watched Hannah and Daniel and the space between them. How much of a role had she played in that space, that stiff polite way they were with each other now? She wasn’t the type to hash over past mistakes, had always simply charged ahead, focused on doing her best that day and then the next and next. But she could still remember the stinging shock of betrayal she’d felt reading the review of Hannah’s book, not just in any newspaper, but her hometown’s. Her decision to cut Hannah off had seemed like the only choice at the time, all she could handle. It was only now, seeing how miserable Hannah was and seeing what had happened to her and Daniel, that Keeley knew she’d made a terrible mistake.
Ben was right. It was time. Actually, it was long overdue. She just had to find the right moment, the right way.
Chapter 44
Hannah opened the bureau drawer where she had put all of her pajama sets and regarded them, the colors muted by the darkness of the room, the sole source of light a hurricane gas lamp she’d brought up to the bedroom with her which brightened the bedside area but left the rest of the room in shadows that flickered and shook.
What did you wear to bed with your ex-fiance, one you wanted back but who had apparently fallen out of love with you? One who had just told you that the only reason he was staying overnight was because he didn’t want to upset your mother and her friends by leaving too soon? One who wouldn’t listen, interrupted you every time you tried to explain?
She felt a sob welling in her throat and choked it down. No, no more crying. It wouldn’t fix anything. It would probably just make him even more annoyed with her. No, she was going to be strong now, have some dignity in all of this. If he didn’t love her anymore, then she was just going to have to accept that. She knew she wouldn’t be able to stop loving him, though. He was in her heart and there he would remain no matter what happened in the out
side world. Would she ever love another man? She couldn’t imagine it.
The door to the bedroom swung open and Daniel stepped into the room holding the same small overnight bag he’d brought for that first aborted visit.
She turned to face him, closing the drawer. “Hi,” she said softly.
“Hey. This is weird. But,” he said, dropping the bag unceremoniously on the floor, where it made a loud thud. “It is what it is. I’m going in the morning, though.”
“I know, you told me.”
“Just want to be clear. Damn, my head hurts. Those Mean Greens really are mean. Have you got any Advil?” He sat heavily on the side of the bed she usually slept on, and put one hand to his head. “This is two nights in a row of tequila.”
She looked at him rubbing his hand on his head. She wanted to sit down next to him, rub his neck, touch him, but she didn’t dare. What did he just say? “Two nights? You were out last night?”
He didn’t look at her, just nodded slowly, staring into space. “Yeah. Went out with Brian.”
She hated that he wouldn’t look at her. Hated this emptiness between them. And the mention of Brian, the Lothario of Lotharios, made her feel even worse. So they’d been out on the town last night, drinking and trolling the clubs, probably in the company of beautiful women. “Uh huh…”
“I’m going to ignore that. I don’t think I have to make excuses,” he said, glancing at her sharply. “Do have any Advil? Tylenol? I can go check downstairs-“
“Yeah, sure, there’s some around here somewhere,” she said miserably, pushing away from the bureau to walk over to her suitcase that lay in the corner. She crouched down and started feeling around in the outside zippered compartments. She heard the scrape of the bedside table’s drawer being opened, Daniel searching, too. Then there was a particular silence, a breathlessness in that part of the room that made her turn to look.
Daniel sat on the bed, holding something between his thumb and index finger. Her engagement ring.
She gasped, and then the words rushed out before she thought about what they revealed. “Where was that?
He looked at her, puzzled. “What do you mean, where was it?”
The drawer of the small table was still hanging open. That was where she had put it. Not in her suitcase, or her purse. It all came rushing back to her. That first night, how tired she’d been. She had been putting the ring on and taking it off all day, trying to fight the anxiety she felt when she saw it on her hand. As she lay in bed that night, her eyes heavy with sleep, she’d taken it off again and put it in the drawer next to her, blew out the candle in its pretty Delft candleholder that sat beside the bed, and her mind had rushed away into a deep dream-filled sleep.
She stood up and reaching involuntarily toward him, the ring, before dropping her hands to her sides. “I-I couldn’t find it.” There, the truth was out – the awful fact that, on top of taking it off, she had lost it.
He looked at her, and then back at the ring. “You lost it,” he said in a wondering voice.
She had to make him understand. “I was just taking it off for a little while, while I was getting my head on straight. I thought I put it in my suitcase, in the zippered pocket where it would be safe. I still wanted to marry you. I want to marry you now. I love you. I know you don’t love me anymore. You don’t want me, but-“
“No. You’re wrong,” he said, shaking his head and looking at the ring.
“Yes, I do. Stop telling me how I feel. Stop shutting me out!”
He looked up at her, his eyes bright and wet in the lamplight. “No, I’m not talking about you. You’re wrong about me. I never stopped loving you.”
“What?” Her breath caught and she stared at him, at the open and yearning way he was looking at her, had been looking at her all day, but she couldn’t see until now. How had she been blind to it? She had assumed his anger was a lack of love.
“Come here.”
She went to him, kneeling on the floor in front of him, her eyes fastened on his.
“Give me your hand,” he said.
She lifted up her left hand and he took it between his, still holding the ring between two fingers.
“Hannah O’Brien, will you be my wife?”
“Yes, yes, please. Oh, please,” she answered, sobbing and then laughing a little.
“If I put this ring on your finger, will you wear it for the rest of your life?”
“I’ll never take it off again, I’d rather die.”
He laughed at her earnest expression. “I don’t think it will come to that. I just want to know that you’re really mine, that you want to be mine. Because I want to be yours, Hannah. I don’t want anyone else. Only you.”
“You’re all I want.”
He put the ring on her finger, sliding it into place. Hannah looked at it, beautiful and glittering brilliantly, shooting sparks of color everywhere. She waited for the flutters of panic, but they were silent. Instead, there was a spreading warmth within her, unfolding. She looked up into his eyes, and watched them grow closer as he kneeled down beside her and drew her into his arms.
Chapter 45
Hannah opened her eyes, turned over, and looked at Daniel’s side of the bed. It was empty, early morning light pooling on the crumpled sheets. Suddenly frightened that he’d left, she sat up and looked around the room. There was his overnight bag, where he had dropped it in the middle of the floor, still zippered shut.
She sank back under the warm covers and sighed, smiling. Then she ran her hands up and down her bare arms, and then down to her bare thighs, her mind replaying the night before, remembering how quickly their kisses became fevered, their efforts to be quiet, the bed squeaking too loudly and them ending up on the rag rug on the floor with a blanket over them.
The door to the bedroom opened and Daniel crept into the room, shutting the door carefully behind him. He turned around and looked at her. She smiled at him. She started to speak before he put his finger on his lips.
He whispered. “They’re all still asleep down there, one big grown-up sleepover. It looks really uncomfortable. Don’t they all have houses here where they could sleep?”
“Yes,” she whispered back. “But I think they’re babysitting me right now. Keeping an eye on me.”
“You’re a troublemaker, all right,” he said quietly and climbed back into bed with her. “Oh, and a show off. Look at you there. I guess you were a big athlete, huh?” He nodded at the framed photo by Pam’s bedside, one of Hannah at seven years old. She was standing on Pam’s dock with her arms up and bent at a ninety degree angle muscle-man pose, grinning widely. “I was checking that out this morning while you were still sleeping and I wondered, do I really want to marry a show off? I mean, will there be any room left in the spotlight for me? What about my tender male ego?”
She gave him a little shove and laughed. “Silly, you know I’m not like that. I’m the last person who wants to be in the spotlight. That’s more my mom’s kind of thing.”
“You can’t tell from that photo. Look at you.”
She turned and looked. It was an unusual photo of her, but then, it had been an unusual summer. “I’d just turned seven. That was the summer I learned how to swim.”
“At seven? Isn’t that late? I think I was swimming at, like, four or five.”
“Yeah, most kids learned then. Not me, though. I was scared of the water.”
“You spent every summer out on this island and you were afraid of the water?”
“Terrified,” she said, nodding and remembering. “That was the first time my mom ever pushed me to do something I didn’t want to do, and I hated her for it.”
“Really? What happened?”
Hannah looked at him closely and saw that he really wanted to know. She took a big breath and began to speak.
From my first memory of Captain’s, I remember thinking that the water looked too dark, too deep. Huge and strange things moved under that water, things with tentacles and sharp teeth. The on
ly time I liked the water was at low tide, when the sand was right there, just below the water where I could see it. Then I didn’t mind wading in the shallows or just sitting in the water if it was a hot day, but generally I preferred dry land. Instead of splashing around with the other kids, I’d sit on our little beach and make sandcastles and play with my dolls. Mom didn’t like it, thought I should be learning to swim already, at four like she had, but Aunt Zo came to my rescue. She said she didn’t learn to swim early either and she turned into a fine swimmer. What was the rush?
At the Dog Days celebration the year I was four, I was out on the dock with the rest of the kids, watching the watermelon-rolling contest. That’s the contest where all the three and four-year-olds have to roll big greased watermelons out of the shallow water by themselves, and most kids are just falling all over the place. I think the adults held that contest purely for the comedy of watching those kids slipping around and falling on their butts. I wasn’t competing, just up there on the dock with all the kids and somehow, even though I preferred to stay away from the edge of any dock, I ended up standing in front of the crowd. There was some pushing and then there wasn’t any room and, plop! Fell right in the water.
The water wasn’t that deep, but it was deep enough. I sank like a stone according to everyone there. I don’t remember much except the surprise of the splash and being under the water, and the air drying up in my lungs. Then the witches started grabbing me and I was terrified. No, I know, they weren’t real witches, but I thought they were. It was probably just seaweed or sea grass or something brushing up against me. But I was convinced. There were witches everywhere back then, in my bedtime stories and on television and in The Wizard of Oz. Of course they were under the water, too.
