Play of Light

by Debra Doxer

  But even as I tried to understand his actions, resentment gradually set in because he’d used me. He’d used the obvious crush I had on him and the way I drank up every word he spoke like he was rationing out affection to a love-starved puppy.

  I couldn’t blame him for needing someone to talk to, and if being able to talk to me helped him in any way, I was glad for that. But he should have been more careful with me. He didn’t return my feelings, but he had to know how he affected me. He chose me to talk to because I was safe. I was young, impressionable, and vulnerable, especially to him. I wouldn’t tell anyone the secrets he shared with me because I wouldn’t risk losing him. He knew that, and he used it. He only realized his mistake that last day, when he held my face in his hands before saying he wouldn’t miss me when I was gone and he regretted us completely.

  Despite my better judgment, my curiosity about him won out long ago, and I tried cyber-stalking Spencer too, but I couldn’t find anything on him. He wasn’t on Riley’s Facebook page with her many friends. At least, I didn’t think so. Until she posted that grainy photo of the local band her boyfriend sang in. I didn’t think much of it until I saw the name of the band written beneath the photo: Swallowed.

  And I knew. Spencer was somehow involved with it.

  I studied the picture, focusing on the band members, especially the two guitar players who flanked the singer standing at the microphone. They were all dressed alike, mostly in black with tattoos scattered over their muscular arms. Riley’s boyfriend was in the middle. But it was the tall, dark-haired guitar player standing to the side and slightly behind her boyfriend that had me squinting furiously, trying to bring the image into better focus.

  His face was too dark to see clearly, and his shaggy hair obstructed most of his profile, but the way he stood with hunched shoulders and the guitar low on his narrow hips made me believe it could be Spencer. He’d curled his body over his guitar the exact same way when he sang to me once.

  Would I see Spencer while I was in South Seaport? Did I even want to? The answer was yes, but not because I still held any hopes where he was concerned. My foolish unrequited love was locked away long ago, and the obvious schoolgirl crush I’d had on him only had the power to embarrass me now. But I wanted to see him with fresh eyes and the maturity I’d gained. I wanted to put him behind me along with everything else. I had to prove to myself that in spite of all that happened, I was strong. Spencer didn’t break me. My father’s friends didn’t break me. They didn’t win.

  No one did.

  It was an easy descent into Logan Airport. The weather was clear and the plane landed on time. A more fitting welcome would have been a terrible rainstorm with flashes of lighting ripping through the sky. But I didn’t really do drama, and it felt like the weather agreed with me today.

  With my backpack collected from baggage claim, I pulled out the MBTA map I’d printed out before I left and made my way through the humid summer air to the T and then to South Station, where I was to catch a bus to Cape Cod. It was the same station and bus line that Spencer and I used when we played hooky from school that day. As far as I could tell, it looked about the same—dingy, dark, loud, and bustling.

  The bus was packed, and I managed to grab one of the last seats. Sliding in toward the window, I pulled my damp tank top away from my skin, trying to cool off, when I felt eyes on me. The skinny, beady-eyed guy sitting beside me was staring at my chest. Feeling bold, I lowered my head and met his gaze with a rude look. His eyes widened before he quickly averted them.

  Glancing down at the way my tank top was clinging to my chest, I decided not to give a shit. It was too hot to cover up, and it had been years since any sign of a blush had touched my skin. As the bus began to move, I ignored the pervert beside me and leaned back to stare out the window.

  I would be here for two weeks. That felt like a long time, even though it wasn’t. Uncle Russ was supposed to be waiting for me when I arrived at the bus station. We planned to have dinner together, and then he would take me to Riley’s apartment.

  During the bus ride, I tried to take slow, even breaths. I could feel a tiny burst of panic building inside me, like a seed that wanted to bud, but I stayed in control of it, not letting it bloom. In and out, I inhaled and then exhaled. The pervert’s gaze returned to my rising and falling chest, and I blocked him out too. My nervous reaction to being here was normal; I could hear my old therapist’s voice in my head telling me so. But I was controlling it. I wasn’t that naive and wide-eyed girl anymore. I was strong. I could handle this. That was what I kept repeating as the hour passed and the Bourne Bridge over the Cape Cod Canal loomed in the distance.

  I spotted Uncle Russ right off when the bus pulled into the small station. After all this time, it was a shock to see him standing there waiting for me with a woman at his side. His hair was the same buzz cut I remembered, but now it was sprinkled with gray. The woman had long blond hair with dark roots. I figured Russ was probably in his late forties now, maybe fifty, and still a bachelor. If we lived here now, Mom would be cooking him dinner all the time and trying to fix him up just like she used to.

  The beady-eyed pervert slid out into the aisle, and I followed behind him. Through the window I could see the driver unloading the luggage. My army surplus backpack hit the sidewalk along with all the other bags.

  When I walked off the bus, the dense wet air surrounded me. I’d forgotten about the heavy humidity of summer here and how as a kid, it had twisted my hair into a gravity-defying mass of curls.

  “Sarah!”

  I turned to see Russ coming toward me. His smile was bright, turning his cheeks into circles on either side of his face. Other than the telltale gray, he looked exactly the same, and my throat grew tight picturing my dad standing beside him, as he had so many times before.

  Before I could say anything, I was pulled into a hug. His cologne tickled my nose, which was being pushed into his shoulder.

  “Russell, let the girl breathe, for God’s sake.”

  His chest rumbled with laughter before he released me. “You did a great job growing up, kid.”

  “Thanks,” I said, even though my growing up was mostly involuntary. Taking credit for it seemed silly.

  “This is Hannah.” He gestured to the woman who was about the same height as me, but extremely thin with tanned skin that spoke of years in the sun.

  “Hi, sweetie.” Her toothy white grin was supersized, and her use of the word sweetie surprised me. She was trying too hard, I thought. But not for me, for him, trying to hook the perpetual bachelor, maybe.

  “Hi,” I replied before turning to get my bag.

  “Let me grab that for you.” Russ walked around me and stopped right in front of my backpack. “That was your dad’s, wasn’t it?”

  Surprised he knew that, I nodded.

  Lifting it easily, he said, “He used to bring it with him when we went camping.” Then Russ blinked a few times as if he was holding back his emotions. Soon enough the smile returned, but it was a little dimmer now. “How about the Lobster Shack for dinner. Remember that place?”

  “They have the best fried clams,” Hannah said as her hand briefly touched my shoulder. A light wind blew against her white dress, causing it to flow out behind her.

  I didn’t remember the Lobster Shack. We hadn’t gone out to eat much because my mom liked to cook back then. But I agreed, and Russ led us to his car. As I slid into the backseat, my phone buzzed in my pocket. When I pulled it out, I saw a text from Nate.

  NATE: Did you get in okay?

  I quickly texted him back.

  ME: All is well. Thanks for checking.

  Then I tried not to think about how brief and impersonal our messages were now. After our talk, despite what we’d said to each other, things had felt strained. Nate was walking on eggshells, and it was all my fault.

  Putting the phone away, I looked up at Uncle Russ, who was asking me questions about Emma and Mom. He already knew the answers, but he probably
wanted to hear them firsthand from me. For a moment, I imagined what it would feel like to tell the truth. Emma hates me and she’s a lousy parent, and Mom is a recluse, scared to leave the house.

  “They’re good,” I replied.

  “I miss your mother’s meatloaf.” Russ grinned, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. “She made a mean meatloaf.”

  “Maybe I can get the recipe,” Hannah commented, turning to look at me.

  “Sure.” My smile was tight. This whole conversation was overly friendly and awkward. It continued this way through dinner as the sun set and we politely ate our fried food with the seagulls watching us from the railing outside. Things didn’t get real until we were back in the car on our way to Riley’s.

  “Are you going to see the house while you’re here?” Russ asked.

  My nerves jumped at the thought. “I’d like to. Do you know who lives there now?”

  Russ handled the sale of our house and the remaining furniture, then sent us the money. That house had belonged to my grandparents. My father had talked about passing it down to Emma and me, but now it was gone.

  “Summer people,” Uncle Russ answered as he rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “The whole street has been turning over in the last few years. The new owners seem to be tearing down and rebuilding. Pretty soon the neighborhood will be seasonal and way too rich for our blood.” He glanced at Hannah, who grinned back at him.

  In my mind, the neighborhood was frozen in time, a perfect place where my happy family still lived in my memories. Unable to imagine someone tearing our old house down, I blinked the same way Russ had when he saw my dad’s backpack. I had a feeling I’d be doing that a lot while I was here. When I looked up, Hannah was scrutinizing me.

  “You upset her, Russ. Why did you have to tell her that?”

  His eyes widened as his head swiveled to see me in the backseat. “Shit, Sarah. I’m sorry. Your house is still there. You’ll be able to see it if you want.”

  I made myself smile. “I’m okay. It’s just sad the neighborhood is changing. That’s all.”

  He nodded. “I’m with you there.” Then he reached over and started fiddling with his GPS, entering the address for Riley’s apartment that I had given him. “It’s nice that you’re still friends with Riley. Her parents haven’t sold. They still live next door to your old house.”

  It was a quick ride to Riley’s place. Her apartment was on a street filled with triple-decker homes. Since her apartment was number one, I assumed she lived on the first floor of the white house Russ parked in front of. He popped open the trunk and went around to get my bag for me.

  “We’ll see you soon, sweetie. If you need anything, you call. Okay?” Hannah said. The supersized smile was back.

  “Okay.” I returned the grin because her expression seemed to demand it.

  Russ was walking up to the house with my bag when the door flew open and a burst of energy with short black hair wearing a pink miniskirt and a white tank top came running out.

  “I can’t believe it!” Riley screamed this loud enough to make Russ cringe. “I can’t fucking believe it.” She ran at me so fast, I braced for impact. But then she stopped short. “Holy crap,” she whispered. “Aren’t you a tall glass of water.”

  I laughed. “And you look . . .” Her overall appearance seemed familiar to me, like she resembled an actress whose name I couldn’t remember. But with nothing creative on the tip of my tongue, I went with, “. . . amazing.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “Oh, hey,” she said, noticing Uncle Russ beside me.

  “Hi, Riley. Good to see you.” Then Russ turned to me. “I’ve got your number and you’ve got mine. Use it as much as you like. I’ll call you tomorrow to check in.”

  “Okay.”

  He hesitated before pulling me into another hug. Ready this time, I returned it. Despite everything, it was good to see him again.

  “Say hello to your folks for me,” Russ told Riley before waving and walking back to his car.

  “So you kept in touch with him,” she said.

  I heard the silent and not me at the end of her sentence. I nodded, feeling guilty.

  She eyed me quietly for a moment. “Here’s the deal. I won’t ask you any questions, but that doesn’t mean I’m not dying to know why you left that way and what you’ve been doing. So if you want to, you can tell me when you’re ready. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I replied, relieved. Then it hit me. “You look just like Winona Ryder in Reality Bites, only with much better clothes.”

  She beamed. “Not exactly what I was going for, but I’ll take it. Come on. My roommate is visiting her family until school starts. So, it’s just you and me.” She took my arm and led me inside.

  The door to her apartment was just inside the main entrance, and it stood open so I could see in. Right off I noticed that her look wasn’t the only thing that reminded me of Reality Bites. There was an old linoleum-floored kitchen and a ratty-looking couch that could have come directly from the set. The layout appeared similar too with a small hallway leading to the bedrooms. The TV was an upgrade, though, a flat screen attached to the wall. Also, it was much tidier with no empty cans littering the floor or cigarette smoke hanging in the air. Yup, I’d watched that movie a lot. It was a classic.

  “When do you start school?” Riley asked.

  “I’m supposed to move in before Labor Day weekend. I shipped all my stuff to the dorm before I left.”

  She grinned. “We’ll be less than two hours away from each other, and I’m up there all the time visiting Colby.” Then she sat down on the couch, folding a leg beneath her. “So I thought we’d hang out here tonight and go out somewhere tomorrow night. I have to work tomorrow, but I’m back by four.”

  Over e-mail, Riley had told me that she was waitressing at a seafood restaurant on the harbor.

  “Tell me what you’d like to do while you’re here,” she said. “I was thinking you could drive me to work and then use my car if you want.”

  I sat down beside her, letting my backpack drop to the floor. “Are you sure?” She was being so nice, generous with her place, and now with her car too.

  “Of course. It’s a shitbox, though. So don’t get too excited.”

  She folded her other leg beneath her. Then she pulled in a breath and straightened her shoulders as if she was preparing herself for something. “I tried to see you after your dad was gone, but your mom wouldn’t let me come over. When I tried to talk to you after the funeral, no one would let me near you. Then I heard you’d left and you never even came to say good-bye.”

  Embarrassed, I closed my eyes. I had no idea she’d tried to see me. It was another slight I could hold my mother and Uncle Russ accountable for. “I’m sorry, Ri. If it were up to me, I would have.”

  She watched me, waiting for more of an explanation. When I didn’t offer one, she released a heavy breath. “So here’s what I know,” she said, pausing to wait for my reaction.

  When I raised an eyebrow, she restlessly shifted her foot to the floor again. “I’m not asking you anything, so don’t give me that look. I’m telling you stuff, that’s all. So,” she began again, “after you were gone, even though the newspaper said no one knew who, um . . . killed your dad, people were saying that Jackson Pierce was somehow involved.” She watched me, waiting for a reaction.

  My eyes were wide, but I hardly knew what to say. My mind was spinning. “That was a rumor?” I finally asked.

  “One of them, at least.”

  Familiar resentment tightened my muscles. “So then what? Did anyone care or did they say, ‘Let’s go get some ice cream.’”

  Her jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me? Geez, Sarah. You have no idea. Everyone started turning against Jackson, not lining up for ice cream. Seriously. No one would go to his bars anymore or say hello to him on the street. It was like the final straw for him in this town.” Riley grabbed my hand and pulled me in closer. “Everyone loved your dad. I don’t think my parents e
ver spoke to Jackson again, not even when he got sick.”

  I felt a small sense of relief. Maybe we weren’t simply disregarded or forgotten. “Who said it was Jackson Pierce? How did that rumor get started?”

  She shrugged. “I have no idea. I guess he was the obvious choice.”

  “But if everyone thought that, why didn’t they go to the police and ask why nothing was being done?”

  “Based on a rumor? If the police weren’t arresting him, everyone figured there was probably a reason. No one knew if it was true or not.” She licked her lips, hesitant now. “Was it true?”

  My heart started to pound. I’d only been in town for a few hours. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t have this conversation. Not yet. Stalling, I lifted my hair up off the back of my neck, which was suddenly perspiring, and gave her a pleading look. “Riley, I . . . It’s . . .” I cut off again, at a loss.

  Her eyes blinked for the first time in a while. When I stayed silent, Riley’s gaze shifted to my cheek. It followed the small raised white line that ran from the top of my cheekbone, near the outside of my eye, down toward the edge of my mouth. It wasn’t that prominent. I could easily cover it with makeup, though I rarely did. It was a part of me. I hid so much, but this scar was something I wanted to see when I looked in the mirror.

  After a long moment, she met my eyes again. “I’m sorry. I promised no questions, and I already blew it.”

  I smiled weakly. She hadn’t changed. She was still somehow feisty and full of empathy at the same time.

  “Subject change,” Riley said, not asking the remaining questions I saw in her eyes. “Tomorrow night I’m going to see Swallowed at Hollander’s, and you’re coming with me. The show has been sold out for weeks. But because we’re with the band, we’re on the guest list.” She bounced excitedly on the couch. “Then Friday night I’m throwing a birthday party for Colby at the restaurant I work at. You have to come to that too.”