“I don’t think so,” I said. “She’s the real thing.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. Just because her paintings sell for ridiculous prices now doesn’t mean she’ll last long. The art world is fickle.”
Standing next to Cooper with Elsie’s expensive scarf wrapping my neck, I felt a little bolder than usual and dared to be a little bit flirtatious. “Is the publishing world fickle too? Do you think you’ll last?” I looked up at Cooper and, over his shoulder, saw Finn glaring at me from his station at the wine and cheese table. God, couldn’t I have fun for one minute without being caught out by him? Did I have to be sunken in gloom constantly, just because he was? I felt my cheeks flush hot, but not with embarrassment.
Cooper laughed and put a hand on my arm. “I don’t know. I’m trying to enjoy my fifteen minutes without looking too far ahead.”
I made sure that Finn could see me grinning up at Cooper. The hell with him. “I haven’t read your book yet, but I want to. I was so busy with work this summer and now there’s all this college stuff to do, but—”
“There’s no rush,” he said, kindly. “You’re young. I’m sure your own life is much more interesting than anything I could make up.”
That certainly wasn’t true, but I didn’t say so.
“It’s stuffy in here,” Cooper said. “Let’s go outside a minute and catch a breeze.”
“Sure,” I said, as if it were no big deal to me one way or the other.
He put a hand on my elbow, which seemed like such an adult thing to do, and led me past the meager wine selection and skimpy platter of Triscuits and Brie to the open door. I could feel Finn’s disapproval grab at me as we passed, and I was amazed at how easy it was to ignore him.
We headed away from the crowd, toward the back of the long studio building where the gallery lights didn’t quite reach. Cooper let go of my arm and leaned against a post, at ease and smiling.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “I get so tired of the artificiality at these things. I like that you don’t pretend to be someone you aren’t. You’re just you, Jacqueline. No pretenses.”
“Nobody calls me Jacqueline,” I said, pretending I hadn’t heard the rest of his lovely sentence.
“No? I think I will. You deserve a more sophisticated name than Jackie.”
I tipped my head to the side. “You know, I’m named after Jackie Kennedy Onassis. She was pretty darn sophisticated.” Was I actually flirting with Cooper? When did I learn to do that?
He cocked his head to match mine. “She’s got nothin’ on you, Jacqueline Silva.”
And then I realized how simple it would be to lean into him and wait for him to kiss me. Surely he would. It just seemed like what ought to happen next. Or maybe I could even kiss him—although I was pretty scarred by the terrible outcome the last time I tried that maneuver. But this was different. Cooper wasn’t an unhappy teenager mourning his girlfriend. He was a full-grown man who obviously liked me. He’d kiss me, wouldn’t he? What was the big deal? Cooper Thorne must have kissed a lot of girls in his life—kissing one more wouldn’t be a life-or-death decision for him.
The problem was that, somehow, I’d gotten to be seventeen years old without ever having kissed anyone but Lucas Baskin-Snow—I couldn’t count my humiliating attempt with Finn—and that experience had not taught me much about technique. What if I was a lousy kisser?
Cooper put his hands on my arms and rubbed them gently shoulder to elbow until an electrical current hummed through my body.
“You chilly out here?” he said.
“I’m good,” I said.
“You are good.” His voice was quiet and seemed to penetrate my skin.
I took one careful step toward him and was just about to tilt forward into his magnetic field when I heard someone coming up in back of me.
“Jackie? Are you out here?” Finn called into the darkness, swinging a flashlight back and forth. His tone of voice implied that he was my babysitter and I was being a very naughty girl.
“I’m right here,” I said, backing away from Cooper. “What do you want?”
Finn shone the flashlight into my eyes and I put up my hand against it. “Do you really need that thing?”
“It’s dark out. I wondered where you went.” Finn lowered the light and stared, not at me but at Cooper.
“We came out to get a little air,” Cooper said, evenly. “It’s stuffy when the gallery’s full. In more ways than one.”
Finn shifted his gaze to me. “You should come in. Simon and Billy are here. They’ve got news.”
That got my attention. “Is Lucas coming back?”
“Yeah. Come on. They’ll tell you.”
“Go talk to your friends,” Cooper said, giving my arm a gentle squeeze. “I’ll see you later.”
“Okay.” I hated turning away from him, but I had no choice. Finn’s timing was terrible, or maybe it was perfect.
11.
“I can’t believe you were out here with him,” Finn said as he lit the path back into the gallery. “Do you know how old he is?”
“Of course I know how old he is.”
“He’s thirty!”
“I know, Finn!” Although in truth I’d been thinking twenty-eight, twenty-nine, which seemed a lot younger than thirty. “Why is this your business?”
He got quiet. “It’s not. Except, we’re friends and I don’t like that guy.”
“Oh, we’re friends? I wasn’t sure.”
He ignored my sarcasm. “Why does everybody think Cooper’s the greatest thing since soy lattes? I thought you had more sense.”
“You know, Finn, you’re the only person I know who doesn’t like Cooper. How did you get to be so much smarter than everybody else?”
He grumbled at that, but he shut up.
Billy Snow, in striped shorts and flip-flops, grabbed me the minute I came through the door and hugged me hard enough to crack a rib. “Here’s my girl! Don’t you look great with that scarf! Here, let me tie it for you—I watched this YouTube video that shows you twenty different ways to tie a scarf.” He flipped the thing over and under in a very complicated series of steps, as if his reputation depended on getting it tied perfectly. Something had obviously changed since he and Simon gave me the cold shoulder at Lorna’s memorial service a few months ago.
Simon’s Oxford shirt was tucked neatly into his ironed jeans. As usual the two of them seem to have dressed for completely different occasions. “Stop fussing at her,” Simon told Billy as he leaned down and kissed my cheek. “We’ve missed you, hon.”
“It’s been a while,” I said, tactfully. I knew exactly how long it had been, and I’d missed them too, almost as much as I missed Lucas. Simon and Billy had always liked having the four of us gather at their house so they’d have a front-row seat for our conversations. Billy provided gourmet snacks in return for being allowed to hang out and act like a teenager himself. Simon, I think, had some idea that we were going to divulge important secrets that he’d be the first parent to hear. But since Lucas left they’d apparently been hiding out at their B&B, the Foxtrot Inn, keeping a secret of their own.
“Tell her what you told me,” Finn said.
Simon smiled hugely. “Lucas is coming home. He’ll be here Sunday afternoon.”
“Really? Why’s he been gone so long? How come he never–”
Simon interrupted my questions. “I know you guys’ll want to see him right away, so come over after dinner on Sunday. I’ll make a cheesecake for dessert.”
“And espresso. We’ve got a new machine,” Billy added.
I looked at Finn, who didn’t seem all that eager. “Well, I guess I can come,” I said.
Finn shrugged. “Okay.”
I figured he was pissed off that Simon and Billy expected us to drop everything and dash right over to see Lucas the first possible minute he was back, when Lucas hadn’t even bothered to e-mail us the entire summer. It was annoying. But we had to go. We needed answers.
“We missed him this summer,” I said.
Simon looked a little embarrassed, and I thought he might actually apologize to me, but then Billy started hitting him on the back and pointing toward the other room. “Look! Candace is here! How did she sneak in without us seeing her?”
Billy left in pursuit of his friend, and Simon rested a hand on my shoulder, briefly. “So, we’ll see you two Sunday then? Around seven.” He smiled and went off after Billy.
“That was kind of weird,” I said.
“Kind of? How about extremely weird?” Finn shook his head. “We’re supposed to go over there and eat dessert and pretend like Lucas didn’t just disappear on us? I’ll go, but Lucas better have something to say this time. I have to go guard the booze, but hang around and I’ll give you a ride home after, okay?”
I nodded and Finn returned to his station. The crowd was starting to thin out, which gave me a chance to actually see the pictures on the wall. It also allowed me to glimpse Carolyn Winter standing in a far corner with Cooper, dipping her pinky finger into his glass of wine and then daintily licking it clean. God, did she know how old Cooper was? Did she know how old she was? I walked into the other room so I didn’t have to watch my idol tarnish any further.
Before long the gallery emptied out and Finn started cleaning up the mess. The cheese platter had been decimated—colored toothpicks lay scattered on the plate like tiny Pick-Up Sticks—and somebody had squashed a bunch of purple grapes into the wood floor.
Rudolph stood in front of the pastry plate from the Portuguese Bakery, stuffing a custard tart in his mouth. He was wearing an expensive gray jacket that puckered a little at his waist. When Rudolph saw Finn he pointed to the smushed grapes. “Somebody could slip on that,” he said, his mouth still full.
“Unless somebody cleaned it up,” Finn said. He looked his father in the eye as he grabbed a roll of paper towels, ripped off a sheet, and bent down.
Rudy laughed good-naturedly. “You’re the one who longs for a life of menial labor, Son, not me.”
“You think fishing is menial labor?”
“I think it’s damned hard work the likes of which you’ve never done in your life.”
“Neither have you.”
“Nor do I aspire to.”
Finn rolled a trashcan over to the table and deposited soggy napkins and picked-over crackers into it. While I waited, I kept busy dumping the dregs out of wine bottles and gathering up the stained tablecloth. Rudolph scooped up the remaining tray of pastries.
“Jackie, have you had one of these?” he asked. “They’re excellent! Try one.” He held the platter under my nose.
“I’m really not—” I didn’t want one, but somehow Rudy got a tart into my hand anyway. He was a hard man to say no to.
“She doesn’t want it, Dad,” Finn said. “Tell him you don’t want it, Jackie.”
“It’s okay,” I said, taking a nibble. “Thanks . . . Rudolph.” Finn’s dad liked everybody to call him by his first name, but I was never quite comfortable doing it. When I told Finn I felt odd calling a literary lion Rudolph, he said I should just think of him as Rudolph the Literary Reindeer.
Rudolph beamed at me. “Good, isn’t it?”
Finn rolled his eyes. “Her mother probably made it.”
For a moment Rudolph was confused, but then a light went on. “Oh, I forgot your mother works at the Portuguese Bakery. Lucky you!”
“Aren’t you guys taking Carolyn Winter out for dinner?” Finn said.
“That’s the ritual,” Rudy said, glancing across the room. “Looks like she’s glommed onto Coop.”
Finn stacked the empty wine bottles into a box. “There’s a perfect match.”
“Oh, he’ll deflect her gracefully,” Rudy said. “He’s used to women falling all over him.”
The last bite of pastry turned to wet cardboard in my mouth.
Finn shook his head. “I don’t get it. What’s the big deal about that guy?”
I felt like he was really asking me, but I stayed silent.
Rudy raked his hand through his long gray hair. “Women like a winner, Son. He’s a good-looking guy and he got a decent review in the New York Times. Not that I think that necessarily places him among the immortals.”
“You mean, like you and Charles Dickens?” Finn said.
Rudolph ignored the jab. I concentrated on wiping custard off my sticky fingers.
“You and Jackie should go out too,” Rudy said, jovially. “The night is young and you start back to school next week.”
I was careful not to look at Finn. Why was everyone in the Rosenberg family trying to push us together? After our beach mishap, I found it excruciating, and I was sure Finn did too. “I told my mom I’d be home early,” I lied.
“Well, let Finn drive you home at least.”
“I intend to drive her home, Dad. Could you butt out, please?” Finn banged closed the legs of the folding table and leaned it against the wall. “I don’t need you to arrange my life for me.”
“Well, I’m not sure that’s true,” Rudy said, chuckling.
“Let’s go, Jackie,” Finn ordered, without looking at me.
“Wait!” I was trying to untie the complicated knot in Elsie’s scarf.
From across the room she saw what I was doing and called over. “Keep it, Jackie. It looks better with your complexion than mine.”
By the time I jogged out to Finn’s car, he was sitting behind the wheel, glaring at the odometer. “Why do my parents have to have their fingerprints on everything? Go out with Jackie. Apply to the college I went to. Like I can’t think for myself. They even do it to you—Wear this scarf. Meet this famous person. Eat the stupid tart. Why can’t they back the hell off once in a while?”
“They make you crazy because they’re your parents, Finn, but they’re really generous people. Your mom’s always giving me things. And look how much time and money they’ve put into the Center. They’ve helped so many artists and writers. You can’t blame them for wanting to help their own son too.”
“I don’t want their help.” Finn started the car, but kept grumbling. “Anyway, they’re only running an art center. It’s not like they’re saving the rainforests or something.”
“Supporting the arts is not trivial, Finn. I know art isn’t important to you, but for some people it’s . . . well, it’s a way to pull yourself up out of the muck of everyday life.”
Finn was quiet as we drove down Bradford Street. Finally he said, “I think I like the muck of everyday life.”
He made me smile. “Well, you can afford to like it. You didn’t grow up with a matching set of depressed parents who think being broke is hereditary, like bad eyesight or weak ankles. To me, art is a luxury I always thought was out of my reach.”
He nodded. “I guess I get that. Sorry if I’m being an asshole.” He calmed down and slowed the car as we turned the corner.
“It’s okay,” I said. “An asshole wouldn’t apologize. I take it Rudy’s still pushing Dartmouth?”
“Of course he is, but I’m sure as hell not going to his alma mater.”
“It’s a good school, Finn.”
“I don’t care. If I go to college, I’m going someplace they’ve never heard of Rudolph Rosenberg.”
“And where would that be?”
“I don’t know. Russia? Antarctica? Mars? I don’t even want to go to college. Does everybody have to go to college?”
I narrowed my eyes at him, though he couldn’t see me. “No, you can be a waiter like my brother, Michael. Or a fisherman, like everybody else in my family.”
“What’s wrong with that? I’d like to be a fisherman.”
My eyes bugged out of my head. “I heard you say that to Rudy, but I assumed you were kidding.”
“Well, I wasn’t. You know I’ve always loved boats.”
“Finn, fishing isn’t just riding around on boats—it’s the hardest work there is! Look at my father—he’s spent his life fishing and what does he ha
ve to show for it? Back spasms, no health insurance, and not enough money to retire. And he’s one of the lucky ones. Most small fishermen have already gone out of business.”
“Your dad’s got his own boat,” Finn said, “and he’s out in the sun every day working alongside two of his kids.”
“Yeah. Ask Marky and Bobby what a great legacy that is.”
“So he’s not rich. I don’t need to be rich.”
“There’s a big difference between ‘not rich’ and ‘can’t afford to fill the gas tank of your twenty-year-old truck.’ Don’t you think my dad would’ve liked to be able to send his kids to college, Finn? For a smart guy you can be really stupid.”
He stopped the car in front of my house and we sat in silence.
“Maybe I am stupid,” he said finally, “but I don’t want to leave here. I don’t want to live in a college dorm with a bunch of idiots whose idea of a good time is funneling booze into their stomachs until they throw up. I feel like I’m already too old for it.”
That I understood. “You’re not stupid. I didn’t mean that. But, Finn, not all college kids are drunken morons. You have to find the right school and do it your way. Do you really want to stay in Provincetown forever and hang around the Old Colony Tap drinking beer with my brothers? How is that better?”
“Maybe it’s not better. But it’s here.”
Of course. “Here. Where Lorna is?”
He didn’t answer, but I knew I was right.
12.
Finn called around five o’clock on Sunday. “You want a ride over to Lucas’s later?”
“I’d rather walk,” I said. “It’s a nice day.”
“I could walk with you.”
“Why don’t I just meet you there?” Then I hung up before he could argue with me. I’d decided to spend as little time with Finn as possible from now on. It was too confusing. I kept getting mad at him, then feeling sorry for him, then wanting to help him, then before I knew it I was having heart palpitations all over again. It had to stop.
Walking toward the inn, I could see Finn sitting in his car out front. He climbed out when I came alongside, but we didn’t say anything to each other as we approached the house. I guess we were both kind of nervous about having whatever the big secret was revealed to us. Billy threw the door open before we got to it and hugged me as if he hadn’t seen me in years.
Local Girl Swept Away Page 8
