Local Girl Swept Away

by Ellen Wittlinger

  “Good job, everybody!” Elsie said, clapping her hands. “Cooper and I will clean up. The rest of you go enjoy what’s left of Sunday afternoon.”

  Cooper tipped his head to me as if silently apologizing for not being able to leave with me. I didn’t expect him to. Our relationship, or whatever it was, seemed to bloom only in dark corners and abandoned cabins. I had no expectations of, say, going to a movie or a restaurant or even to the beach with him. Did it matter? I wasn’t sure.

  The late day sun was warm as we stepped outside and stretched our achy arms and backs.

  “I’ve got my dad’s truck,” Lucas said. “I can give you guys a lift.”

  Finn scowled. “I’d rather walk.”

  “You want a ride, Jackie?”

  I glanced at Finn, trying to gauge how much of his anger was directed at me. “I guess I’ll walk home with Finn, if it’s okay with him.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t care.”

  Considering his crappy mood, that was practically an invitation. “You walking, Char?” I asked, figuring she’d understand I wanted a few minutes alone with Finn.

  Charlotte’s eyes crinkled and her round cheeks turned scarlet.

  “We’re going to the beach,” Lucas answered for her.

  “Have fun,” I said. I was happy that the two of them had connected, but watching them climb into the truck together, I wished for a minute that I had a real boyfriend, an uncomplicated, straightforward I-like-you, you-like-me kind of thing. Someone I could go to the beach with in the middle of the day. Which would probably never be Cooper. Because the age difference was a big thing, even if I didn’t want it to be. If I was really okay with it, I wouldn’t be so afraid of Elsie finding out, or, God forbid, my own parents.

  Finn and I walked down to Commercial Street before I finally said, “Are we going to talk about it?”

  “What’s there to say?”

  “I’m sorry you walked in on us.”

  “Me too. But I guess you’re not sorry you’re doing whatever it is you’re doing with him.” He sounded more concerned than angry.

  “I know you don’t like Cooper, Finn, but he’s been really nice to me.”

  “Yeah, like butting his way into your show. That’s really nice.” When I didn’t say anything, Finn continued. “Look, it’s not just his age. It’s his ego. He’s used to getting what he wants, Jackie, and you’re used to giving people what they want. He’ll take advantage of you.”

  I thought of the afternoon Cooper and I were together in Cabin 5. It wasn’t true. Cooper had pulled away before I had. He’d never hurt me.

  I shook my head. “He’s not who you think he is, Finn.”

  “Maybe,” he conceded. “But he’s not who you think he is either.”

  As usual, Commercial Street had been taken over by bicycles and pedestrians, but we had to move out of the middle when a Winnebago driven by a terrified senior citizen suddenly pulled behind us. The foot and bike traffic gave way just enough for the bus to squeeze through, then flowed back into the street like a river around a rock.

  The interruption was a welcome break in a conversation neither of us seemed to want to have.

  “This time of the year I can’t wait for all the vacationers to pack up and go home,” Finn said. “I like it when the weather’s cold and the place is deserted.”

  I laughed. “You’re really kind of an old fart, aren’t you?”

  He reached over and yanked a lock of my hair. “And proud of it, smart-ass.” It was such a comfortable gesture, I had to remind myself not to respond in an equally familiar way. Not to smack at his arm, or sass him back flirtatiously. It’s not what he means and it’s not what he wants.

  But Finn’s mood kept improving as we got closer to the West End, and I felt more at ease with him than I had in ages. As we walked past MacMillan Wharf, Mojo’s, the Blue Moon Café, the New Art Cinema, it almost felt like it was our town again, the way it used to. Before. We joked with each other, and made fun of the tourists, a pastime locals never got tired of. And when I looked over at him, his face seemed relaxed for the first time in four months.

  “I saw Ms. Waller Friday afternoon,” he said as we neared his house. “She gave me some brochures.”

  “College brochures?” I tried not to sound as shocked as I was.

  He nodded. “Of course, she thinks I should look at Dartmouth, but I assured her that was not happening.”

  “But you’re looking at other colleges? You might apply?”

  He smiled. “I might. I’m ‘exploring my options,’ as Ms. Waller says.”

  “That’s good, Finn. That’s really good.”

  “Yeah, I knew you’d say that. I’m not giving up on boats entirely though. I was thinking maybe I could do something with oceanography, study marine life or something. I don’t even know what the possibilities are, but I think I’d like to learn more about the ocean.”

  “That’s a great idea!”

  “I’m just thinking about it, so stop grinning at me.”

  “Okay,” I said. But I couldn’t stop. And my grin must have been contagious because he gave it right back to me.

  20.

  Friday night Cooper and Elsie and I hung my photographs in the newly spruced-up gallery. I was amazed by the way the blank walls called attention to the pictures, made them breathe and pulse and become, well, art. My head was buzzing with nervous excitement and I was hardly able to keep from bouncing on the car seat as Cooper drove me home.

  When we pulled up in front of my house, he managed to stop my jiggling with a quick, deep kiss. I looked immediately to the window of my parents' bedroom, but the lights were already out.

  “An artist is born,” he said, scooping his fingers through my hair and pulling it away from my face.

  Which was exactly what I was thinking, even if I didn’t have the nerve to say it out loud. I had the feeling I’d just glimpsed the path my adulthood would take, and it was wide and long and brighter than I could have imagined. I was having my first show—my life as an artist had begun.

  And I was growing up in other respects too. My relationship with Cooper took a leap forward every time we were alone, and I knew, before long, there would be a decision to make. Part of me felt ready to jump into another “first,” but I was still nervous too, and tended to pull away a little when Cooper ran his hands over my body, setting off sparks that shocked and thrilled me. As soon as I resisted in the slightest, he stopped and apologized, and then I had to assure him there was nothing to apologize for. I was obviously confusing him and I felt bad about it. I wanted to give in entirely, to belong to him, but the decision wasn’t quite that simple.

  It wasn’t that Cooper seemed old to me, but more that I sometimes felt like a child when I was with him. He was, after all, an actual grownup and I was an inexperienced kid. It was what kept us from being a couple in public—we didn’t look right. And an insistent little mosquito in my ear kept asking, Why would he choose you?

  And there was another thing too. Earlier in the week, Cooper and I had gone back to Cabin 5, and while we were lying on the couch together I started to imagine that it was Finn next to me, Finn running his tongue over my lips, Finn making my breath stop. I tried to push the image away, but I was only partly successful. How could I consider sleeping with Cooper if I was still dreaming of Finn? But Finn was never going to love me, so why shouldn’t I be with someone who actually cared about me? I looked at the question from every angle, but the answer wouldn’t come clear. I hoped that maybe one day I’d stop thinking so much and it would just happen.

  I let myself into the dark, quiet house and tiptoed to my room. Sleep didn’t seem like a possibility, but how else could I fill up the long hours between now and tomorrow night’s opening?

  The white jacket hung over the back of my desk chair. During the week I’d soaked it in vinegar and hand washed it in detergent to try to get out the stains and smells. I hung it outside in the sun, but the pearly white was still dingy and
discolored, and there were splotches of bleach surrounding the spots of mold I couldn’t completely wash out.

  Quietly, I got the ironing board from the hall closet and set it up in my room. It calmed me down to guide the nose of the iron through the deep wrinkles, even though it didn’t do much for the appearance of the jacket. I poked the collar into place and flattened the embroidered diamonds until the cloth was relatively smooth.

  I was about to hang it on a hanger, but changed my mind and instead slipped my arms into the sleeves. Heart pounding, I turned to see my reflection in the mirror. I pulled at the tails and straightened the lapels, but the faded jacket did not turn me into Lorna—it wasn’t a magic cloak. Still, it fit me as perfectly as it had her, which made me feel . . . stronger. I stood up straight and peered into my own eyes.

  Of course I couldn’t ever wear it. My best friend drowned in this jacket. (Didn’t she? But then, how did it turn up in Cabin 5?)

  A loose black thread dangled from a sleeve. Absentmindedly, I pulled on it and was horrified to see how quickly one of the embroidered diamonds began to come unraveled. I snipped the thread, but the damage was done.

  Reluctantly, I took off the coat and hung it on a hanger on the door of my closet.

  • • •

  After a restless night, I hoped to skip out the back door early the next morning without my mother’s usual pleading with me to eat breakfast, but she’d just come back from the bakery with a bag of pastries.

  “Got your favorite,” she said, holding out an almond croissant.

  “My stomach’s too shaky to eat. Maybe later,” I said, nesting my camera into my backpack.

  “You nervous about tonight?” Mom asked as she slathered butter on a roll for herself. “Or is that supposed to be a secret?”

  “A secret? What do you mean?”

  “Well, you’ve hardly told me anything about your big show.”

  “What? I told you all about it.”

  “Well, you mighta told me, but you didn’t invite me, did you?” She sipped from a coffee mug and didn’t meet my eyes.

  I was stunned. “Do you want to go?” It had never occurred to me.

  She shrugged. “Well, I am your mother. Of course, I guess it’ll be all those arty types, like Finn’s folks. I wouldn’t fit in.”

  “That’s not true,” I said. “All kinds of people go to openings. It’s a celebration for the artist. You should come if you want to.”

  She looked skeptical. “You don’t want me there.”

  “Mom, I’d love for you to come.” As I said it, I realized it was true. “I didn’t think you’d want to come. You’ve seen all my stuff already.” The smell of the croissants was tempting me and I opened the bag to look at them curled together in greasy splendor.

  “Well, I’ve seen ’em here in the house, but it’s different when they’re hung in a museum, isn’t it?”

  “It’s not a museum, it’s a gallery,” I explained. “A museum is . . . bigger.”

  “Well, whatever. I’d never get Marco to go with me anyway. Even if he’s home in time, once his butt hits the couch after dinner, he don’t move.”

  “Come with me then.”

  She grunted. “I don’t know. I’ll think about it.” She grabbed another roll from the bag, and the aroma wore down my resistance.

  “Okay, give me half of that,” I said, my hand reaching for the crusty, buttery pastry.

  “What would I even wear to something like that?” she said, her eyebrows knitted with worry. “I don’t have the right kinds of things.”

  “Sure you do,” I said, feeling oddly excited. “I’ll help you look in your closet later. We’ll find something.”

  She let out a whoop. “The person who wears jeans and a T-shirt 364 days a year is gonna help me get dressed up? That’s rich.” But, as the hot coffee fogged her glasses, a rare grin curled up her lips.

  • • •

  It was chilly out that morning. Fall was hurrying toward us. I walked to my usual spots, only this time as I approached the pier where I’d made that disastrous pass at Finn, I thought instead of Cooper, the way he welcomed my arms, my mouth, my body. I’d felt like such a naïve dope when Finn pushed me away—but I didn’t feel that way anymore. Cooper appreciated me, told me I was beautiful and talented. Someday he might even love me. Wasn’t that where we were headed? I said the word out loud—love—to test the feel of it in my mouth. It sounded like a foreign language and I was proud of myself for learning to speak it.

  As I approached Dugan’s Cottages, I thought of the first time Cooper kissed me, on the dusty old couch where I’d played as a child. It was funny how my life kept circling back here to Cabin 5.

  But there was something different about the cottage this morning. At first I couldn’t spot the problem, but then, looking closely, I saw that the boards from the rear window were lying in the sand, as if someone had removed them and crawled inside the way we used to years before. Kids, I figured. And I envied them. I wished I could go back to a time when life and death were only games, before I was familiar with the realities of either one.

  I walked up to the open window, but I didn’t hear any noise. The kids must have left without putting the boards back, which annoyed me. Now the place would be open to the weather unless Mrs. Dugan realized the problem and sent someone to fix it. I decided to take care of it myself. Tomorrow morning I’d come back with one of my dad’s hammers and—

  Wait. There was a noise. Somebody was inside the cabin. I backed away from the window, as if I’d been caught snooping. But then, on second thought, if it was kids, I thought I ought to remind them to put the boards back when they left. And maybe I should check to be sure that they weren’t causing any damage. This was my special place. I was willing to take responsibility for protecting it.

  I went around to the front door and tried the handle, but the door was locked from inside. So I knocked, long and loud.

  “Is someone in there?” I called.

  Slowly, the door began to creak open and then it swung wide. A girl with long red hair falling over her shoulders tilted her head, a wry grin on her lightly freckled face. She leaned one arm against the doorjamb while the other rested across her belly.

  “Hi Jackie,” Lorna said. “I was hoping it was you.”

  21.

  I didn’t scream, but some kind of bewildered yelp came out of my mouth, and for a minute I doubted everything. Was I awake? Dreaming? Hallucinating? Losing my mind? My hands flew up and covered my eyes, just briefly, but when I looked again, she was still there.

  Lorna cleared her throat and gave a slightly embarrassed laugh. “Seen a ghost?” Then she took me by the arm and pulled me into the dark cottage.

  I couldn’t put together words that made the slightest bit of sense, but I gripped Lorna’s forearms and held on tight. My body trembled as if some inner earthquake was shaking me to pieces.

  “You better sit down,” she said, prying my fingers off her arms. She pointed to a kitchen chair and I collapsed onto it. My eyes mapped her body, the same, but different. Her long red hair, always a full mane, hung stringy and lifeless around her face. A scattering of small pimples decorated her forehead on skin that had always been flawless. And she was heavier too, as if she were tied to the earth now, grounded. We stared at each other for a full minute before Lorna broke the connection.

  “So, here I am, not dead, not drowned, not even wet.” She gave a rusty laugh. “I guess you want to know what happened.”

  But I couldn’t speak, couldn’t even imagine what to say.

  “First of all, let me just tell you, the water in the bay in the spring is frigid. You know I always liked distance swimming, and I’d practiced my swim—from the breakwater, around the point and into the harbor—several times on sunny afternoons, but doing it in the dark, without a wetsuit, in the middle of a storm, was totally different. It was so damn cold that night and the waves were wild. I wasn’t even sure I was swimming in the right direction. There
was a point where I thought I really was going to drown.”

  Lorna wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and sank onto the couch. It was the same ancient blanket Cooper and I had lain on, side by side, three times now. She continued, “The thing I hadn’t counted on was . . . being afraid. I never was before, at least not physically afraid. My body always did what I expected it to do. But when I jumped into that cold water—”

  “You jumped?” My voice leapt from my throat. “I knew you didn’t fall!”

  “Of course I didn’t fall—you should know me better than that.” She smiled easily as if this story were no different than the other reports of her adventures I’d listened to over the years. “But once I hit the water, I thought my heart might stop. I might have even turned around and gone back except the tide was already pulling me out, and that awful wind—there was no choice. I had to swim for my life or be swept out to sea.”

  I sat there staring at her, frozen. The most amazing, wonderful thing had happened, but I still couldn’t quite believe it. For a minute, I almost didn’t want to believe it, because if it was true, wasn’t I a fool for spending the past four months agonizing over my best friend’s death? But, no, no. That didn’t matter. I shook my head to clear it. Lorna was back!

  “The tide pulled me as far as the point,” she went on. “I expected that. The idea was to let the ocean take me that far and save my energy for the last part, when I had to swim against the tide to get around the point and back into the harbor, to the beach. I could barely catch a breath between the waves, and I knew it was too dark for anyone to see me out there. No one would save me. No one could. The only way to get back to where I left my stuff was to swim like hell.”

  I thought of Lorna stumbling onto the beach in the dark, half-drowned, chattering with cold. And then one mystery became clear. “You left things here in Cabin 5, didn’t you?” I asked.