by Unknown
I started to swim again, not wanting to be rescued, wanting to do this myself. I sucked in a big mouthful of water by accident, and stopped again, treading water and coughing the water out, gasping. I was still trying to get my lungs clear when my mother pulled up in our little boat and cut the motor. She ran around to the side of the boat and leaned down to me, reaching out a hand.
“No!” I coughed out the word between ragged breaths. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
“Come on, you can’t do it. Next time,” she said, still reaching.
“I can do it! You watch!”
And I did. It was agonizing. I rolled and pushed the water past me, but I felt like I was going nowhere. I breathed in water again and again, and was forced to stop and cough. My mother stayed beside me the whole way, motoring slowly, but she didn’t try to rescue me again. In fact, she kept looking over at me and smiling. She was proud of me. It was the most amazing feeling in the whole world and made the pain I was in – the stitch that had grown and was taking up one side of my waist, my lungs on fire from the salt water, my exhausted muscles protesting every stroke I took – tolerable and even strangely satisfying.
When I got to the beach, I simply crawled onto it and collapsed, resting the side of my face on the rough warm sand. My mom tied up the boat and then she was beside me, sitting down on the beach and wrapping her arms around her knees. I opened one eye, looked up at her and saw that she was grinning at me. When she saw my glance, she looked away, out at the water and sighed. “Well, you fought that battle, honey. And you won. That’s life right there. Picking your battles and fighting them to the end, not letting them beat you. Because life is full of them. Battles, I mean. And the ones that matter, they’re always worth fighting for, ‘til your dying breath.”
She knitted her brows, her face suddenly serious, and her eyes far away, trained on the horizon.
I propped myself up on one elbow and started to say something, trying to continue that moment, that wonderful moment with her talking to me seriously, telling me something that really mattered to her, rather than the usual surface stuff.
But the moment was gone. She turned back with a wicked grin, smacked me hard on the butt, and said, “Okay, sweets! Time for breakfast. Then, we’re going to go all over this island and brag our heads off. Our Barefoot Baby is a champion swimmer!”
Hannah nodded at the photo. “That shot was taken that morning. Pam requested the pose. ‘Come on and show off already. Show us those muscles,’ she said. And I was so happy I was in a show-off mood. Hence, the photo you see there. Not typical by a long shot. But a happy day. One of the happiest I can remember, really.”
Daniel smiled. “What a great story. So you were a champion swimmer, after all.”
“No, I wasn’t. But my mom liked to call me that. I think she liked to pretend we were more alike. She’s one of the most athletically inclined people on the planet. She just wanted to believe that I was the same way, just like her.”
“You two really are different, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, and it made us fight. A lot. But her being here right now, it feels like things might get better at last. I just wish I could do something about my book.”
Daniel sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you-“
“Honey, I know what I’m talking about. It was right there on the page, how much I’ve resented her all these years. I was jealous, really. Jealous of who she was, that I didn’t have even one of her talents. Jealous of her friendships, of what the Barefooters have. I was lashing out with a pen. I just wish I’d seen it before. Now it’s too late.”
“It’s never too late. Even if it’s as obvious as you think and she reads it, she’ll forgive you.”
“Will she?” Hannah looked at him. “But will I be able to forgive her?”
Chapter 46
Daniel squinted against the soft mist, tiny droplets flying into his eyes, as they traveled through the white layers of vapor in the small powerboat heading for the island’s community dock. Hannah sat at the wheel wearing a yellow slicker with a hood that forced her hair forward to frame her face and looking as comfortable as ever steering, not showing her professed anxiety around boats.
Even though it was cold and damp, fog having settled heavily over the coast after the rain pulled out late last night, it was still hard to leave. But he had to go. He’d already gotten out of work that day by pulling off a trip trade, but he needed to get back to the city, get a decent night’s sleep sans tequila before an early day tomorrow.
Watching the water-darkened dock loom out of the mist, he was amazed again at how things had turned around in only twenty-four hours. It had only been yesterday morning when he was convinced that it was over with Hannah. Only yesterday he’d been struggling with guilt and hopelessness, face to face with how foolish he’d been to think he could easily put her behind him, the ugly truth smirking back at him in a strange stifling apartment wearing pale blue sweatpants.
Seeing Hannah again, he’d wanted to stay angry, punish her for what he was going through. It had been a day-long battle, launched as soon as he saw her naked left hand, one that he knew he was losing every time he looked at her. He still loved her, in spite of her rejection; something he didn’t know was possible. He’d been the recipient of unrequited love, never the victim of his own heart’s treachery. It wasn’t until he opened the bedside table’s drawer and held the ring, heard her words of surprise, that he finally gave in, finally heard what she had been trying to tell him all day.
They pulled up alongside of the dock and Hannah threw a line on the dock and leapt lightly from the boat to scoop it up and wrap it in a neat knot around one of the dock’s cleats. Watching her, he wanted to shake his head in wonder. The way she looked at herself and her family was so mixed up. She saw herself as this klutzy mess, yet she was as capable and efficient as someone could be. She saw her mother as a walled-off mystery, yet her mother’s obvious devotion to her and open manner completely defied that idea.
If there was one good thing about his leaving now, it was that Hannah and Keeley might finally hash it out. As long as he was there, he knew they’d avoid a confrontation. Daniel was certain that if Hannah told her mother these crazy ideas she had about the walls up between them, Keeley would be shocked and possibly amused. It was good that her aunt-godmothers were all here, too. They would talk some sense into Hannah. And, even better, they couldn’t stop talking about the wedding and their idea to have it on the island next summer. He knew now that she was his, but as far as he was concerned there was nothing like a little positive reinforcement.
He got to his feet, grabbed his overnight bag, and then just stood there, feeling the boat rise and fall on the gentle waves. He took a deep satisfying breath. “Damn, I love that smell!”
She smiled at him. “Me, too. Sea air, all-time favorite smell. Oh, and wood smoke, like with a campfire?”
“Yeah, or just a fire in the fireplace. Love the smell of pine trees, too. Makes me think of summer camp. You never went, did you?”
“You’re looking at summer camp for me. Captain’s.”
He climbed out of the boat, dropped his bag on the rain-puddled boards of the dock, and took her face in both hands. “You are a lucky brat, you know that?”
She smiled and shook her head.
“That’s even worse. Well, you’re going to start appreciating things, now that I’m going to make you my slave.”
Her eyes bugged out. “What?”
“Slave wife, kiss me.”
“Oh, you,” she said and kissed him.
“That’s not good enough, come on.”
She made a tsking sound and kissed him more deeply.
He wrapped his arms around her. His wife to be. Everything was going to work out.
She pulled away and reached for his bag, but he was too fast for her, and he grabbed it. “Not yet. We’ll save your slave duties for more important things.”
“Oh
, yeah? And what will those be?”
“Are you wiggling your eyebrows at me? You hot tamale?” He wrapped his arm around her waist as they walked toward the parking lot. Then he stopped. “Are you sure I can take your car? It’s not too much of a problem?”
She kept walking, pulling him. “Of course not. I’ve got rides galore around here. I’ll pick it up at the station.”
He started walking again. “So, are you going to tell me what’s going on with your little house?”
She didn’t look at him, kept her gaze on the ground as she picked her way around the deeper puddles on the path. “I don’t want to talk about it right now, okay? The whole thing just bums me out.”
“Well, you’ll come live with me. My apartment’s big enough. There are tons of waitressing jobs in the city if that’s what you want to do. You don’t have to, though. You could go back to school.”
“You sound like Ben. He’s always…” She stopped and squinted at her car. “What?” She started walking faster, breaking away from him, and then she was running to her car. The taillights had been smashed, pieces of white and red plastic lay on the ground. There was also a dent in the middle of the top of the trunk.
She put her hands up to her ears. “Oh, my God!”
He was there beside her, and then moving around the car. The damage had been limited to that, the headlights still intact. A piece of lined notepaper was folded and melted against the windshield, where it was held in place by the wiper. He peeled it off of the wet glass and unfolded it. Blurry blue smears in the shape of letters marched down the page, the note’s message lost in the rain.
She was beside him, reaching for the dripping paper. “What is that? Can I look?”
“Sure, here. You can’t read it. The ink ran.”
“Who would do this? You were here yesterday morning. Did you see my car?”
He shook his head. “No. I don’t remember looking at it.”
“I can’t believe this!”
He put his hands on her arms. “It’s okay. It’s just the taillights and a little dent. I’ll drop it off at a shop. We’ll get it repaired.” He tried to sound confident, not wanting to admit that the whole thing was unnerving. What had the note said? The damage was clearly deliberate, not the result of an accident.
Looking at her hurt expression as she gazed at her vandalized car, he was torn. Part of him wanted to take her home now. Whoever this person was that had done the damage, they could be on the island: a mostly deserted island in an off-season that had just begun, far away from the rest of the world, from the protection of civilization. He loved the island for its separation from the modern world, but suddenly, he could see all the dangers of it as well.
On the other hand, this was a pivotal moment for Hannah and Keeley. A warming trend had begun between them. He could imagine them finally talking over dinner and plenty of wine, lamplight softening their features and their hearts. When Hannah had asked whether she would be able to forgive her mother, he’d been shocked. He hadn’t realized the depth of her feelings of alienation from Keeley. This was their big chance, out here away from their usual distractions, to make things right between them. He could see that her mother’s friends’ intention was to help that happen. And timing, he knew, was everything.
“But this was on purpose,” she said, walking back to look at the rear of the car again. She looked up and around, suddenly alert. “What if they’re here right now?”
He looked at her. She was getting scared. This whole thing might end up eclipsing what really mattered. This incident of vandalism could ruin everything, something that was probably a simple case of some obnoxious teenagers getting drunk in this parking lot and showing off by damaging one of the cars parked there. The car just happened to be Hannah’s.
“No,” he said. “I guarantee you it was a bunch of stupid teenagers from Babylon or somewhere. Kids getting drunk and showing off. I bet one of them had an attack of conscience and put the note there, an apology, maybe their contact info.”
She looked at him. “Really?”
“Really. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Come on, I need to get going. I've got to get away from you heavy drinkers. My liver needs a rest.”
“Me?” A smile crept onto her face. “Weren’t you the one out on the town the other night pounding tequila?”
“Guilty as charged. And it wasn’t even that much fun either. Brian’s going to have to find a new wing man. I’m hanging up my hat. I’m going to be an old married man now.”
She sighed loudly and rolled her eyes, the small smile spreading into a grin. “Thank God! I thought you’d never say that. Not the old part, but about-”
“I know, I know. Stop gloating. Are you going to help with the gate, or am I going to have to drive through it?”
They embraced again, this time briefly with small kisses, followed by assurances that he would let her know about the car being fixed. Then he was on his way. He watched her push the long metal gate back into place in the rearview mirror and said a prayer that he was right, that the teenage vandals were long gone, that Hannah and Keeley would have plenty of peace and quiet to work things out finally.
He smiled to himself as he pulled out onto the causeway and turned on the radio. The Grateful Dead’s “Truckin’” filled the car at full volume and he laughed, loving yet another thing about his bride-to-be. He rolled down his window and let the cool moist salt-air whip through the car as he headed down the road, singing along and trying to remember exactly how that sick joke went that Keeley had told the night before. Did the duck come in the bar first, or was it the priest?
Chapter 47
Rose couldn’t believe it. They were here. All of them. She crouched in the bushes outside Pam’s back porch and listened, the house swimming in and out of the thick white fog that was blowing across the island. She could hear them cackling away in there. Were they laughing at her?
It was still so hard to believe that they were here. And now, of all times. She’d found out while sitting out on the porch, taking a rest after another fruitless search for her cell phone. She’d been sitting there trying to remember the last time she’d talked to Dr. Omin. How many days had it been? But the blank spaces were becoming numerous in her days, making it harder and harder to keep track. She had to talk to him soon, the world was shifting too quickly, time like a wild dizzying ride.
Phil was gone, had taken their small rowboat and then was gone somehow. How he’d gotten a ride, she didn’t know. But she had ventured across the channel in their boat to check the parking lot and their station wagon was still there. He probably called a cab on his cell. She remembered standing by their car and staring at it, then she looked up, something catching her eye. Abruptly, there was one of her blank-outs, and the next thing she knew she was walking back into their house on Captain’s. She’d felt a stinging in her hands and lifted them up in front of her face, surprised to find her palms red and sore with a painful welt by her right thumb. What had happened?
Yesterday, well, she was pretty sure it was yesterday, she’d done another search for her phone. She knew she should just leave the island, get home and see Dr. Omin, but she was afraid. Afraid of finding their house in Sea Cliff empty, Phil truly gone. She was also genuinely afraid of driving, that one of those blank moments might hit her as she steered onto the highway, causing her to lose control of the car. There was also the stubborn part of her that didn’t want to leave and end her holiday early. This was her time, the one she counted on all year, her time to rest and relax. Besides, her phone had to be somewhere in the house. If she could just find it and call Dr. Omin, she’d be fine.
Sitting on the porch wrapped in a big woolen blanket and mentally retracing her steps, trying to envision the phone’s location, she had seen the phantom-like figure appear out of the rain-darkened morning, coming from around the bend of the boardwalk and heading north. Tall and dark-haired, the person reminded her of Michael. “Michael?” she said with a little gasp.
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Then she laughed a little, feeling silly. Of course not. He was gone long ago, the only boy who had ever really seen her, really loved her. Every other man had been after a little t-and-a when she was young, but not Michael. He didn’t touch her, not even once. He respected her that much. That was the worst of it, that such a gentleman existed and then that tramp, Keeley, destroyed his good name. She’d birthed and raised a bastard child and led everyone to believe it was Michael’s, easily done when he wasn’t around to set the record straight. Keeley was disgusting. It was all so unfair.
Rose watched the stranger’s approach with trepidation. Who was it, then? It wasn’t Hannah – although she was also tall, the girl had a distinctive hourglass figure and a wild head of long wavy dark hair. Really, the girl looked nothing like her diminutive blond mother. The figure stopped in front of the Delaney house and stared up at it. That was when she realized that the stranger was Zooey Delaney. Rose hunkered down in her seat and watched Zooey. What was she doing here? Probably visiting Hannah. But if there was one of them, that coven of witches, the others weren’t far behind. She leapt to her feet. No! Not now! They had the island the rest of the year, they couldn’t have it now, too.
Her movement had caught Zooey’s eye and the woman turned and looked in her direction. Rose made herself stand very still. Then Zooey looked away down the boardwalk in the other direction. No, she hadn’t seen Rose. Rose sank back down in her chair and waited. Was she going to come here, investigate? Zooey was looking back at Rose’s house now. Rose held her breath. Zooey turned and started walking away, heading down-island. Rose let out the air she had trapped in her lungs. Then Zooey started running. What a strange one that woman was. Running away as if something was chasing her. Well, maybe Rose should give chase, chase them all off.
Rose squatted in the bushes and listened to the party-like sound of the women in Pam’s house. Rose couldn’t resist coming here this morning, needed to know if she was right about the others. She was both satisfied and outraged by the confirmed fact of it, the sound of their chatter and movements in the house. She watched Hannah and a young man leave, take one of the three boats the gang of them had tied up at Pam’s dock. She had craned her neck around the corner of the house when they’d left, but she couldn’t tell where they went, the boat fading into the fog.
