Local Girl Swept Away

by Ellen Wittlinger

  “More or less. Just killing some time.”

  “I’ll kill it with you,” she said, not waiting for an invitation. “I need to talk to a normal person for a change.”

  “I’m normal? Is that a compliment?” I fell in beside Lorna so naturally, as if our friendship had not been kicked around and stomped on like that old shoe.

  “By ‘normal’ I mean more like me. From a family that’s not so damn perfect. It’s exhausting living with Saint Elsie and the Royal Rosenbergs. Obviously, they’re easier to get along with than my insane mother, but still. I don’t fit in with Finn’s family. I’m not like them.”

  “I don’t think they expect you to be like them, do they? I’m not like them either, but Elsie’s always been great to me.”

  Lorna shook her head. “It’s not the same. Elsie talks to you about art, which you want to know about. With me it’s a lecture on how to roast a chicken or what kind of soap to wash baby clothes in. Like she’s teaching me how to be a wife and mother. Like she’s some kind of freaking role model.”

  “You could have a worse one.”

  “I did have a worse one, but that doesn’t mean I want to be Elsie’s clone. I’m not like her and I never will be.”

  “Have you talked to Finn about it?”

  She puffed out a scornful sigh. “Finn. He’s never even home. And when he is, he stinks of fish, even after he showers. Sleeping with him is like curling up with a flounder.”

  It took every bit of self-control I had not to yell at her. This is what you wanted! He smells like fish because he’s taking care of you and that baby that isn’t even his! But what good would that do? Lorna would just think I was jealous, and she wouldn’t be completely wrong. Besides, I had to admit, I took a certain satisfaction from knowing that her life was not working out quite the way she’d imagined it.

  As we walked along silently, I couldn’t help noticing the way people stared at her, often disapprovingly, their eyes traveling a rude path from her face down to her stomach. The story of her epic swim had made the rounds of all the locals and a lot of people were indignant at having been fooled. Those who knew Carla liked to say how apples fell close to their trees. By the time Lorna spoke again, I was starting to feel sorry for her, which she would have hated to know.

  “You don’t like me the way you used to,” she said. It wasn’t a question. “You used to . . . look up to me.”

  “I used to idolize you. I used to trust you too.”

  “I guess I miss that.”

  “Sometimes I do too,” I admitted. “But it wasn’t a good thing for me, following you around like that.”

  “You needed a leader,” she said, tracing the black embroidery at her wrist with a fingernail.

  “And you needed followers. Not just followers—spectators. People to watch and applaud.”

  She pouted. “That’s kind of mean.”

  “I’m mean?” I laughed, but the tamped-down anger rose into my throat. “God, Lorna, you still don’t know what you did to us.”

  “I apologized, didn’t I? You’re just like my mother—you want me to apologize forever.”

  “No, I don’t. I just want you to understand what it was like for us. Those of us who watched you die. Did you know that Lucas jumped in after you that night?”

  She shrugged. “I read the newspaper article.”

  “He could have died if the waves hadn’t pushed him back against the breakwater.”

  “You’re not blaming me for that, are you? I mean, what the hell was he thinking? He’s not even a good swimmer.”

  “He was thinking you were pregnant with his kid.”

  She adjusted the elastic on her pregnancy jeans. “Look, I get it. I did a shitty thing, and Lucas risked his life, and now you’re all mad at me. Forever, apparently.”

  “All except Finn,” I said. “He thinks he failed you because he didn’t jump in and risk his life. He’s thrilled he’s getting a second chance to save you.”

  “Which makes you mad, doesn’t it? You think he’s risking his life now. You think he’s throwing it away on me.”

  I turned to meet her eyes. “I hope he isn’t, but I think he might be.”

  “You could always tell him,” she said, her gaze unwavering.

  “Not a day goes by that I don’t think about doing that.”

  We were almost to the Rosenbergs’ house by then and Lorna stopped walking. “Jackie, do you hate me?”

  I’d never seen that look on her face before. It was not unlike the way Finn and I looked those first weeks when we were crushed and broken, our lives upended. But it gave me no pleasure to see Lorna grieving too. It was just another reminder that we would never again be who we once were.

  “I don’t hate you. Of course I don’t. But you can’t expect me to trust you again.”

  “Or to be my friend?”

  I nodded. “Right. You still amaze me, though. I mean, you might not have made the best decisions, but you made them by yourself. I was always in awe of that.”

  She gazed down at her big belly. “I miss you,” she said quietly.

  I decided not to say I missed her too. Instead I said, “You and Cooper are kind of alike.”

  She gave a half-smile. “I told you we were. Selfish, but a hell of a lot of fun.”

  “You both came from tough backgrounds, too. He had that pushy Hollywood mother and a father who shot himself. That’s a lot to deal with, but he survived it and even wrote a book about it.”

  Lorna’s face lit up and a chuckle escaped her throat. “That’s what happened in the book, Jackie, but it didn’t happen to him. Cooper’s mother is a kindergarten teacher and his father’s an insurance salesman. They live in Nebraska, where Cooper grew up. He told me they were both fat and boring as hell.”

  “What?”

  She laughed. “Did he try to sell you that story about his mother being in that Pain-Eze commercial when he was a kid? He said Elsie believed that too.”

  He lied to me about everything.

  I just stood there staring at Lorna as her laughter ballooned into a howl. “The look on your face, Jackie! He totally got you, didn’t he? You’re so gullible!”

  As I walked away, she called after me, “Thanks, Jackie. This is the first good laugh I’ve had since I got back!”

  I was pretty sure I’d never forget the look of glee on her face. Lorna thought she’d reversed things, put herself back in the top spot. But she was wrong. I was never going to stand behind her again.

  My mother was in the kitchen putting away groceries when I flew through the back door. “What are you—?”

  I put up a hand. “Wait a minute. I have to do something.” I ran up the stairs into my room, grabbed the sacred blue sneakers from their shrine, and hurried back down to the kitchen. I opened the lid of the metal trashcan that stood near the sink and plunged the shoes deep down into the can, then banged the lid shut.

  Mom smiled. “Well, it’s about time.”

  34.

  I told my parents first, as soon as the letter arrived. They tried to be happy for me, but I could tell they were mostly worried, uncertain about what it would mean for all of us. Dad picked nervously at a scab on his arm. Mom patted me on the back, but said little.

  I knew my news would be more properly appreciated at Jasper Street, so I pulled on a coat and boots to trudge through the skim coating of early-season snow. As soon as I turned onto Commercial Street I saw the square white sign, always a harbinger of change, and it took my breath away. At the head of the path that led down to Dugan’s Cottages, the sign read: FOR SALE, COTTAGE COLONY, Bay Front Realty.

  Anyone who’d grown up here would know what that meant. The cabins were in terrible shape and they took up a lot of prime beachfront property. Whoever bought the place would certainly tear down the cottages and probably put up fancy condominiums they could sell to summer people for ridiculous amounts of money.

  I walked down to look at Cabin 5. The door was padlocked now, and it occur
red to me I’d probably never go inside again. The old mattress would be hauled to the dump along with the dented pots, the mildewed blanket, and the sagging couch on which I’d lain with Cooper. And where, it just occurred to me, Lorna had too. I leaned against a boarded-up window and inhaled the damp wood, scrub pine, and seaweed smells that were a memorial to my childhood, which already seemed irretrievably lost.

  When I got to JSAC, Elsie was at the desk in the office, sorting through piles of applications for the director job, as she’d been doing for weeks.

  The minute I came through the door, I unbuttoned my coat and held it open to show her the bright red RISD T-shirt. “I got my miracle,” I said.

  It took Elsie a minute to stop what she was doing and look up, but then she screamed. “You got in!”

  “Full scholarship!”

  She leapt up and grabbed me in a hug, tears sliding down her cheeks. “You did it! You’re going to RISD! Full scholarship?”

  “All paid for,” I assured her. “Well, tuition, anyway. I’ll have to get a job to pay the room and board. This wouldn’t have happened without your help, Elsie. Thank you so much. The show, the review, your recommendation—”

  She batted away the thanks. “You deserve this, Jackie. I just made sure they knew it. I’ve never been happier for anyone.” She took the letter from my hand to read the details for herself. I couldn’t help but notice a brief flash of disappointment flicker across her face, but she beat it back. I knew she must be thinking of Finn, who wouldn’t be going to college, at least not anytime soon.

  “What’s all the yelling in here? Good news, I hope.” Finn stood in the doorway, hands on hips. I hadn’t seen him in weeks and he looked different to me, more like Rudolph somehow. More . . . satisfied.

  “Tell him,” Elsie said.

  “I got a full scholarship from the Rhode Island School of Design.”

  A smile crept over his face. “That’s great, Jackie. Congratulations.” He took a few tentative steps toward me and gave me a quick hug. I tried to feel it only on the outside, on my skin, no deeper. “I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t listen to me,” he said.

  “You mean the part where you told me being an artist was not an appropriate choice for a fisherman’s daughter?” I said it with a grin, but he grimaced.

  “What?” Elsie put down the letter. “You said that?”

  “Well, Mom, it’s not like Jackie’s parents can help her out if she can’t make a living with art. I didn’t want her to be a starving artist.”

  “Jackie will not starve,” Elsie said. “She’s a smart girl who’ll do what she has to do to pay the rent.” She turned to me. “And if you need help, you’ll ask me. Okay? Promise me.”

  I put up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

  “I take it all back, Jackie,” Finn said, grinning. “Congratulations on pulling yourself up out of the muck of everyday life.”

  I was as surprised by his memory as I was by his vote of confidence, and I’m pretty sure I blushed.

  “We’ll have a real celebration very soon,” Elsie said. “Unfortunately, I have to keep plowing through these applications this afternoon.”

  “Come down to the Common Room,” Finn said. “I’m building bookshelves, and one of the Fellows brought over a plate of chocolate chip cookies for me. Since we’re celebrating, I’m willing to share.”

  I followed him down the corridor to the Common Room, trying not to notice the muscles in his arms, which had taken on a life of their own since he’d been hauling around crates of fish on the wharf. “So you’re working here at the Center too?” I asked.

  “When there’s something for me to do. Dock work is sporadic at the moment. I don’t know if fishing will work out for me after all. I’m thinking maybe I should apprentice with a carpenter or something.”

  “Really? I thought you were in love with the romance of fishing?” Oceanography, I would have said, but I didn’t want to remind him of what he’d given up.

  He laughed half-heartedly. “Yeah. But it turns out Lorna’s not in love with the aroma of fishing.”

  And just that fast, Lorna stood between us, wearing the coat she drowned in, reminding me who Finn would always belong to. And it wasn’t only Lorna in the room with us either. The shadow of Cooper Thorne was there too, his bare feet up on the coffee table, charming as ever. Lorna and Cooper. Between them they’d managed to screw up the lives of everyone I cared about. It bit into my joy knowing Finn was stuck here, working two low-wage jobs to provide for his make-believe family. He deserved a bigger life. Could I give it to him?

  We sat at either end of the couch and Finn handed me the plate of cookies. “So I guess your future is all planned out now,” he said.

  “For four years anyway. Who knows what comes after that?” I took a bite of the cookie, but it seemed to be more wheat germ than chocolate chip. One of those good-for-you sweets that turn to dust in your mouth. I laid it aside.

  “What are Lucas and Charlotte doing next year?” he asked. I was glad he wanted to know about Lucas. I hoped someday they’d be able to inch toward friendship again.

  “Char’s hoping to get into the New England Culinary Institute in Vermont, which she probably will, and Lucas has applied to the University of Vermont. They’d be about an hour away from each other.”

  “So they’re more or less a couple now?”

  “Definitely more,” I said. “They’re good together. They’re nice to each other.”

  He nodded. For now that was all the Lucas-news he wanted.

  “Oh, my God, did you see that Dugan’s is for sale?” I asked, sitting forward.

  His face softened. “Yeah. Hard to believe. Another part of old Provincetown gone.”

  Another part of us gone is how it felt to me. “I can’t bear the idea that those cabins won’t be there anymore.”

  Finn grabbed another dusty cookie. “Everything changes, Jackie. You may as well get used to it.”

  It sounded like something an older person would say. But then, Finn did seem older. He was thinner, stringy, except for those muscly arms. As if he’d lost a pound for every one Lorna had gained.

  Looking around the room, I began to mourn Jasper Street too. This place had meant so much to me. The idea that there would still be openings here every few weeks, that Elsie would hire a new director I’d never met, that Finn would build shelves and eat cookies the Fellows made, that life would go on as always even though I was far away, was suddenly terrifying. Who would I be if I wasn’t here? What if leaving was a huge mistake? What if I was closing a door I could never open again?

  And what if I was closing a door for Finn too? A door he didn’t even know he could open? How could I leave Provincetown without telling him what I knew? Even if he hated me for it. Even if it changed everything—again.

  Once the decision was made, I was calm. “I have to tell you something, Finn, something you probably don’t want to hear.” Say it. “About Lorna. About the baby.”

  “Jackie, you don’t need to.”

  “I do. I should have told you—”

  Gently, he put a hand over my mouth. “No, you don’t. Really. Don’t say it out loud. Neither of us is ever going to say it out loud.”

  He took his hand away and we stared at each other for a long time, my mouth frozen open. Finally I whispered, “You know? She told you?”

  He shook his head. “I figured it out. I didn’t want to see it at first, but the pieces just didn’t fit together any other way.”

  “And you know who . . . ?”

  He looked away. “I have a pretty good idea.”

  “Not Lucas.”

  “I know.”

  “But then why are you—?”

  He took my hand in his and stared down at the two of them, intertwined. “Lorna doesn’t know I know, Jackie. And I’m not going to tell her.”

  “But Finn, you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to give up your life!”

  “I’m not giving it up. This i
s my life, at least for now. This is the way it has to be.”

  I was stunned. “But if you know . . .”

  He shrugged. “Jackie, we all make choices. I’m finally jumping off the breakwater.”

  For half a second I wondered what I would do if someone had given me the choice between going to Rhode Island for art school or staying in Provincetown, marrying Finn, and having a child. I was surprised to find it was an easy decision. I loved Finn, but I wasn’t even eighteen. My life was all out in front of me. I was so grateful to have dodged the bullet that took down Lorna, but I was deeply sorry that Finn had been caught in the crossfire.

  And yet, not surprised. “You are a hero,” I said.

  A lazy smile picked up the corners of his mouth. “Some people would say I’m a fool.”

  “Maybe you can be both things at once.” I picked up my coat. “I should get going.”

  He nodded. “Okay. We’ll see you before you leave. You’ve got a while yet.”

  “Sure,” I said, even though I felt like I’d said my goodbyes already.

  “And you’ll come see the baby when she’s born, won’t you?”

  “Sure. I’ll come see Lucy.”

  He walked me to the door, his hand grasping my arm. “You won’t leave P’town for good. You’ll come back, right? I mean, you’re not going to go off to college and forget all about us, are you?”

  “How could I forget Provincetown?” I said. Or Lorna. Or Lucas. Or Cooper. Or Elsie. Or Charlotte. Or you, Finn Rosenberg. And then I had a vision of what it would be like, sitting in a dorm room in Providence, Rhode Island, meeting people from other cities, other countries, and telling them about the beautiful place where I’d grown up and my amazing friends. And hearing their stories too, of faraway places I’d never been, of the people they’d loved and left behind. Suddenly I couldn’t wait, even though I knew it meant I’d have to jump off the breakwater too.

  When I hit the water, I’d swim for my life.

  Author’s Note

  Although I’ve reconfigured the land near the breakwater and reopened the shuttered high school to suit my story, for the most part this is the Provincetown, Massachusetts, I’ve known and loved for almost forty years. A unique and beautiful splinter of land surrounded on three sides by water, P’town feels like both the last place on earth and the destination of your dreams. This tiny town has nurtured artists and writers for a century (Eugene O’Neill, Tennessee Williams, and Robert Motherwell, to name only a few) and sheltered LGBTQ people for almost as long. It’s also been home to generations of mostly Portuguese fishing families whose fortunes have nose-dived with that industry. It’s a town where the sad, the sick, and the lost have often washed ashore and felt themselves at home at last.