The Sisters Chase

by Sarah Healy

  And as they spoke, Mary noticed that his mother’s classifying him as a loafer seemed flawed, as Stefan had very little about him that seemed complacent. “I want to sail around the world someday,” he said. “Follow the trade winds. Go across the Atlantic.” His finger traced through the air, as if he were following a map. “Then through the Mediterranean and down the Red Sea. Then across the Indian . . .” His voice trailed off and he looked at Mary, lifting his head to rest his free hand under it, and he gave the waist of Mary’s shorts a light tug. “You can harness the currents. Go fast.” He squinted at her. “You never really have to stop moving when you’re in the ocean.”

  And never before had anyone spoken such perfect words to Mary Chase.

  For the rest of the afternoon, Mary and Stefan batted about their desire, finding ways to touch each other under the scrutiny of daylight. Mary would press the side of her hip against his as she spoke; Stefan’s fingertips would brush over her breast as he pointed toward this or that, their youth allowing them the honesty of their desire.

  Finally, as the sun began to sink, Stefan rolled back onto his side, and with a depth to his voice that masked nothing of his intention, he asked, “Can I see you later?”

  Mary nodded.

  When Mary returned to the Water’s Edge, Diane was in the office. “Where the hell have you been?” she asked, slamming down the brown phone receiver as Mary pushed open the door. “You were supposed to be at the front desk!”

  “There’s only like six people even staying here right now,” Mary retorted, with an unperturbed shrug.

  “That is entirely beside the point!” said Diane. “You were supposed to be working the desk. You cannot go gallivanting off anytime you please!”

  Mary met her mother’s eyes and saw that there was more there than anger. “Where were you anyway?” asked Diane, worry lining her words.

  “I was at Lisa’s house,” she said. “She needed help with her math.”

  Diane held Mary’s eyes for a moment, then, as if a string had been cut, her shoulders slumped forward and her head hung down. “Mr. Pool said he saw you walking home from the marina,” she said.

  “I stopped there on my way home from Lisa’s,” said Mary. “To see if any of the summer people had come yet.”

  Diane and Mary would sometimes hand out coupons for the Water’s Edge to the summer people. Tell your friends! Diane would say.

  Diane shook her head. “Just stop, Mary.” Without looking up, Diane went on. “I can’t take it anymore. I punish you. I yell at you. Nothing works. You disregard everything I say. Why don’t you tell me what it is you’re trying to prove running wild the way you do and we can be done with it?”

  And if it were only that simple, Mary certainly would have.

  Mary was grounded, told that she couldn’t go out for three weeks. “You know I’m supposed to go out with Barry tonight,” Diane said. “How am I supposed to do that, Mare?” she asked. Barry was one of the few men Diane had dated since having Mary. “How am I supposed to sit there and smile when the whole time I’m wondering what the hell my daughter is doing?”

  Mary looked at her mother blankly. “Why don’t you call Mrs. Pool?”

  Diane shook her head with disappointment, but that’s exactly what she did. She called Mrs. Pool and told her that she had a date with Barry. She glanced at Mary and lowered her voice before continuing. “And I just don’t feel comfortable, Alice, leaving Mary here alone.”

  It was only after Mary’s grandfather had died that Diane started looking for a husband. Someone to take care of her, to share the responsibility of Mary and the Water’s Edge. Barry was divorced but childless, and he owned a carpet-installation service out of Shore Haven. And that night, Diane put on her stiff maroon polyester shirtdress, and she walked out to the office, where Mary and Mrs. Pool were sitting on the itchy brown couch. Diane fidgeted, her expression showing just how nervous she was, just how eager for their praise. Mrs. Pool, who indulged everyone, but especially Diane and Mary, let her hands come together with a gentle clapping. “You look gorgeous, Diane.”

  “Yeah, Mom,” said Mary, who, at the sight of her mother’s too-heavy blush, at the smell of her too-heavy perfume, felt a stab of something she didn’t quite recognize. Something that pained her. “You look really pretty.”

  And that night, after Barry came to the door and escorted Diane to the car, Mary scooted up to the television set and, with her finger on the channel selector, said to Mrs. Pool, “What do you want to watch?”

  Mrs. Pool smiled, the skin beneath her chin soft. “Whatever you want, dear.”

  Within the hour, Mrs. Pool had fallen asleep, her head resting on the back of the couch, her mouth open while her hands remained folded in her lap. Mary tiptoed out of the office and back to her room. She ran a brush through her long hair, changed into new white cotton underwear, and slipped out the door to meet Stefan.

  He was standing right where he said he’d be, under the lifeguard chair, the waves battering down on the sand, then retreating quickly. “I didn’t think you were coming,” he said.

  “Were you about to leave?”

  “No.”

  Without another word, Stefan pulled her into him, setting the pace of their kiss, the pulse of it. “Do you want to go to the boat?” he asked, the question whispered into her mouth.

  His fingers moved up her back, under her shirt. Behind her, the wind moved through the dune grass. In front of her was her ocean scattering the moon. “No,” she said, wanting to feel the yielding sand beneath her, wanting to hear the steady drum of the surf. “Let’s stay here.”

  They lay down where they were, moving as if toward the inevitable. Unlike the boys who had tried to be with Mary, Stefan was slow. Kneeling in front of her, he pulled off her shorts, then his own.

  He laid her down, then rested his elbows on either side of her. They were eye to eye when he pressed himself in. And Mary gasped in pain, her body offering resistance, then release.

  When it was done, he took her place in the sand and pulled her on top of him and ran his fingertips up and down her skin, his back in the sand, her hair riddled with it.

  “You didn’t tell me,” he said.

  She lifted her cheek from his chest and looked at him. “Would it have mattered?” she asked, her curiosity genuine and unmasked.

  Stefan pulled her head back toward his chest, as if he didn’t want her to see the answer on his face.

  They lay there like that until Mary’s eyes started to slip shut, until the blood on her inner thighs was dry, was dust. They lay there like that until Mary said, “I should get back.” Then Stefan laid her on her back once again and slipped her shorts back onto her body, buttoning them gently, before his thumbs ran over her hip bones, before he helped her to her feet.

  “I have to leave for Bermuda tomorrow,” he whispered, holding her hand as they approached the Water’s Edge. “I have to get supplies there. But I’ll come back.” He brought his other hand over to surround hers.

  They took a few more steps, their movement synched. “When?” she asked.

  “October,” he said. “On my way home.”

  She turned to face him.

  “Do you promise?” she asked.

  Stefan nodded. “I do.”

  And then, from inside the Water’s Edge, a light came on. Stefan dropped to his knee and kissed Mary’s hand before disappearing into the night with his promise of a return. Mary heard only the rustle of grass on the dunes until, from behind her, she heard her mother’s voice. “Mary Catherine Chase!” Mary turned to see Diane standing at the threshold, her face tear streaked, Barry’s hand on her shoulder. “What the hell are you doing out here?” And Mary saw Diane search the night, sensing but not seeing another presence.

  Mary looked at her mother. “I just went for a walk.” She then looked at Barry, offering a polite smile. “Hi, Barry.”

  Mary would go back to her room that night, take off her clothes, and look at her body in t
he bathroom mirror while the bathwater ran. She’d soak in the hot water, then slip between her sheets, naked and damp and yearning for sleep. Her dreams would come quickly that night, bounding into her mind agile and swift. In them, she became a creature, black and muscled and darting between trees. She came to a calm pool and saw the reflection of her yellow eyes. She woke with a gasp, hearing her heartbeat in her ears as if it were a roar. Then she walked over to the window and stared into the parking lot. In the dawn light, she saw Barry’s car, as still and silent as it had been when she had tiptoed past it, her hand in Stefan’s, only the night before.

  Fourteen

  1983

  Mary waited at the door to the apartment on Boosk Avenue, watching for Stefan. He was coming down from Boston, as he did most weekends. She’d gotten off of work at the hotel, put Hannah to bed. And now there was only waiting.

  She felt herself lift when she saw his car, felt her body rise as if floating. She stood on her tiptoes but was otherwise still as she watched him get out of the car and pull his bag from the trunk, as she watched him walk quickly to her door, a smile crystallizing on his face as soon as he saw her. She opened the door and he stepped inside, dropping his bag on the kitchen floor and pulling her into him. It was full of his schoolbooks, the bag. And under the yellow fluorescent light, his unshaven cheek catching on her hair, his hand firm on her back, he held her, as if she were something vital and life-giving. As if she were air.

  She stood there facing him, letting him run his hands over and over her body, her eyes closed, her hands gripping the counter. She had changed much in the years since they were first together. She was younger than he knew then and was so still. But she had come into herself.

  He and Mary had sex on the living-room floor while Hannah slept in the bedroom. Then they lay together, their limbs intertwined on the worn brown carpet, listening to the clatter of pots and pans and the lilting conversation that carried through the thin walls from the apartment next door. When Stefan was around, the apartment felt like a charming pied-à-terre rather than a shitty one-bedroom that smelled constantly of cigarette smoke and mold.

  “Can I ask you something?” Mary said, her face against his chest.

  “Hmmm?” said Stefan. As his fingertips circled Mary’s shoulder, she could have asked him anything.

  “Did you come back? To Sandy Bank? When we first met?”

  Stefan drew in a long unhurried breath and pulled her closer. “I did,” he said sleepily. “You weren’t there. There was a sign on the motel saying, CLOSED FOR THE SEASON.”

  And Mary knew that everything she had done to bring them back together had been worth it.

  Mary soon became not only a fixture in Stefan’s life but also in the Kellys’, Martina embracing nearly anything adored by her son. Beth had been disposed of quickly without discussion. Only once, when Martina had thought Mary was out of earshot, did Mary hear Martina say, “Steffie, you should really call to check in on Beth. You two have known each other since you were little. There’s no reason that you can’t still be friendly.” It seemed that whatever fledgling romance there had been in Beth and Stefan’s relationship had been extinguished the moment Mary arrived.

  But despite her concern for Beth, Mary knew that Martina loved that Stefan had taken up with her—the lovely girl with the interesting past. And sometimes Martina would ask about the man Mary said was her father.

  “Do you think your father will come for a visit?” Martina asked one day, as she and Mary stood at the sink cleaning up after brunch. She was running a plate under the water streaming from the faucet.

  Mary adopted a wounded expression. “I don’t think so,” she said, as she set a glass in the rack of the dishwasher. “We don’t really communicate much.” And not for the first time, Mary wished she hadn’t made mention of Robert Mondasian.

  Martina turned to Mary and, with a damp hand, reached for one of hers. “I’m so sorry, sweetie . . . ,” she said, always looking to help, always looking to heal. And in those moments, the affection that Mary felt toward Martina was genuine.

  It was Patrick Kelly who expressed wariness toward Mary. She noticed it in the slowness of his smile as he greeted her, in the glances he’d give her when no one was watching. Mary suspected Patrick would have preferred a more conventional match for Stefan. A girl with a similar upbringing. A girl who would join the Junior League and decorate with chintz. Though Stefan was younger than his brother by five years, it was clear that he was the favorite son. Stefan was a better debater than his brother—quicker and more agile. And when Stefan and Teddy would circle the ring over politics and policy, it was Stefan who landed more hits.

  “The country’s already starting to see the benefits of fiscal discipline,” Teddy would say, Claire, his wife, resting her hand encouragingly on his knee.

  Stefan would lean back in his seat. “Discipline? As a percentage of GDP, the national debt is higher now than it ever was under Carter!”

  Patrick would force a smile and wipe his mouth with a white cloth napkin, seemingly amused by his sons’ rivalry. “Will the gentlemen cede the floor?” he would say—a distinguished call for conclusion. Then he’d drop his napkin back on the table, giving Stefan a final glance, acknowledging the victor. It was Stefan, of course, who should have been granted the keys to the kingdom. Patrick had known this since they were small. He had also known that it was the traits he found most admirable in Stefan that would keep him from joining him in business. And Patrick Kelly, above all else, was lauded for his instincts.

  “Did you ever figure out how you girls got that flat tire?” Patrick had once asked, not long after Mary and Hannah had first arrived at the Kellys’ door.

  He held Mary’s gaze before tilting a bottle of cabernet and filling his glass. Mary shook her head. “You know what?” she said, as if the thought had just occurred to her. “I didn’t.”

  The memory of that conversation would return to Mary unbidden from time to time. It did so now, as Stefan sat on the floor in front of her, his back resting against the tweed sofa that the last tenants had left, his head reclined against the cushion. He had arrived last night and stayed until his eyes started to drift shut. Then he gathered himself up and went to his parents’ to sleep. He hadn’t ever stayed the night with Mary and Hannah. Mary let her finger slowly twirl through his lion-colored hair as he held his book elevated and open. Hannah was playing Barbies on the floor next to Stefan, whispering a scene quietly enough that no one could make out the words except for her.

  Mary let her fingertips trace their way down his neck. Stefan took a breath and closed his eyes. “We should really get you packed,” he said.

  It had been decided that the apartment on Boosk Avenue was unsuitable for the Chase girls. And no sooner was it deemed so than Martina Kelly spoke to someone who spoke to someone who happened to have a nice little condominium in a recently construction development. They would love to rent it to Mary and Hannah. And when the question of the rent came up, Martina named an impossibly low sum. They’re just glad to have nice tenants, sweetie. And just like that, it was done. Such was the ease that came with being close to the Kellys. In their new condo, the Chase girls would have a dishwasher and a laundry room. They would have new carpeting and a bathroom mirror surrounded by globelike bulbs. The Chase girls would even have two bedrooms, but for Mary, the idea of sleeping separately from her sister was unthinkable. She decided that maybe they could use the second bedroom as Stefan’s office, so he could have a place to study when he was down from Boston.

  Before Hannah even spoke, Mary sensed that she was about to. She looked first to Mary, but then addressed Stefan. “Stefan,” she said, her eyes concerned and determined. “I don’t want to move.”

  Stefan put his book down. “What?” he said, reaching over to tickle her belly. “Hannah Banana, your new place is going to be great!”

  Hannah squirmed away from his touch.

  “Bunny,” said Mary. And Hannah’s eyes found her sister
’s. “You didn’t tell me you didn’t want to move.”

  Hannah’s face remained serious; she didn’t like to cause trouble. “I like it here.”

  “I like it here, too, Bunny,” replied Mary, realizing that Hannah’s attachment to place was one of the very many marked differences between the Chase girls. If I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t even think you were related, Diane had once said, while looking at a picture of a toddler Hannah and a teenage Mary. “But we’re not going far. You’ll be at the same school. You’ll even ride the same bus.”

  “But it’ll be a different house.”

  Mary was silent for a moment. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” she said, shaking her head. “We can stay right here. We don’t have to move.”

  Stefan cocked his head but remained silent. Mary remained focused on Hannah.

  Hannah held Mary’s gaze for a moment, then she dropped her chin. “No,” said Hannah. “It’s okay. We can go.”

  “I think,” said Stefan, straining to stand up from the floor, “that moving will sound a lot better after a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.” He didn’t realize that Mary meant it when she said they didn’t have to go. He didn’t yet know the lengths Mary would go to for Hannah. Mary watched his calves as he walked to the kitchen. They were a sailor’s calves: strong, sinewy, and tanned. “Hannah Banana!” he called, as Mary heard the cupboards in her shabby little kitchen open, then bang shut. “You want grape or strawberry?”

  And later, as Mary stood at the sink washing the plates they had eaten on, she heard Stefan and Hannah in the living room. She knew that they were lying where she had left them: with their heads at opposite ends of the small couch, Hannah’s socked foot pressed against Stefan’s bare one. Hannah liked him more than she had ever liked a man before. He bought her books and showed her maps. And there was a steadiness to him. A constancy. “You’re gonna be happy at your new place, Banana,” Mary heard him say. “There’s a great big yard for you to play in.”