Now Allie began tidying up the kitchen, glad that the pile of dishes and sudsy water gave her an excuse to avoid eye contact with Gary. He was just standing there, in the same spot, casting occasional glances toward the door where Savannah had exited.
“I thought she wanted to see me,” he said. “She asked me to come.”
No, Allie thought, scrubbing harder than necessary at a mixing bowl. I’m not doing this! Why did everyone come to her with their problems? She used to find it flattering, but not anymore. The new Allie couldn’t fix everyone else’s life; it was taking every ounce of her energy to hold the fragments of her own together. Besides, Gary didn’t deserve sympathy. So he’d spent a little money and taken a day or so off work—big deal. He could afford it.
Gary reached for the wine bottle again and filled his glass, then sloshed more into Allie’s. “Do you think I should go out there?” he asked. “You must know how she’s feeling . . . Do you think she wants me to follow her?”
Allie dropped the scrubber back into the pan. Why was she the only one doing the dishes? Let someone else clean up.
She looked at Gary, letting her eyes rove over his fancy suit and his pretty-boy face. He’d skipped her thirty-fifth birthday party because he had to “work,” but Allie knew he’d never made an effort with Van’s friends. He’d never really tried to become part of the group. This was one of the few times she’d been in a one-on-one conversation with him, and that was only because he needed something.
The anger that had been building in her all week erupted in one clipped sentence. “I think you should’ve kept your dick in your pants,” she said, relishing watching the shock spread across his face.
Then she walked out of the room.
* * *
Tina reached for the joint Savannah offered and inhaled deeply. “This is goooood stuff.”
“You should’ve seen his other stuff.” Savannah arched an eyebrow. “It was even more . . . effective.” Tina reached over and gave her a high five.
“Watch it, woman,” Gio growled as he came over to squeeze in next to Tina in the lounge chair. He kissed her neck. “Don’t give her any ideas, Van. I don’t want her running off with some eighteen-year-old.”
“He was at least twenty,” Tina joked as she passed the joint to Gio.
“Twenty inches, maybe,” Savannah cracked, and Tina convulsed in laughter.
Tina leaned back against Gio’s arm. By now Ryan had joined them, and Dwight, too. Allie was the only one not smoking, but she’d pulled over another lounge chair to form a circle with theirs. The night air felt swollen with the threat of rain, and the breeze was strong, but the house was blocking it.
Tina couldn’t believe they’d all be boarding Dwight’s plane again in a few days to go home. During this trip, the hours had seemed to pass slowly, but the week had rushed by. It was like motherhood, Tina mused. She’d always felt guilty when white-haired ladies approached her in the supermarket to exclaim over her children and say, “Oh, enjoy every minute! It goes by so fast!”
Really? Tina always wanted to respond as she tried unsuccessfully to keep her kids contained in the cart instead of tearing down the aisles and demanding sugary snacks. Because I wish it would go by faster!
And yet, when she looked back over the past eight years, they were a blur. If she could be granted one wish, it would be the ability to trade time in the present for time in the future. In twenty years, the requests for repeated readings of Goodnight Moon and the washing of soft little bodies in mounds of bubbles in the tub would seem like enchantments instead of burdens. Her house would be too quiet, her days too empty.
“Hi.”
Tina looked up. Pauline was standing there, twisting her hands together.
“Hey, stranger,” Tina said, feeling expansive from the weed. “Come join us.”
Savannah drew up her legs, making space at the end of her chair, and patted it. Pauline walked over and sat down.
“Help yourself,” Savannah said, handing her the joint. The tip glowed red as Pauline inhaled.
“You have no idea how much I needed that,” Pauline said after she blew out the smoke.
“You are one surprise after another,” Savannah said. “Hey, how’s your mom?”
“She’s . . . okay,” Pauline said. “Better, I think.”
There was a pause, then Pauline said, “You all are aware that there’s a strange man in the kitchen, right?”
Everyone looked at her, then burst into laughter.
“It’s Gary,” Tina said through her giggles. “Savannah’s husband. Ex-husband. Soon-to-be-ex-husband.”
“That’s what I thought,” Pauline said.
“What’s he doing, anyway?” Savannah asked, craning her neck to look back at the house.
“He was staring into a glass of wine when I walked by,” Pauline said. “Is he staying?”
Tina glanced at Savannah and waited for her answer.
“I guess,” Savannah said, shrugging. “I mean, we can’t make him sleep on the beach. There’s an extra room, right?”
Pauline nodded.
“I thought you were going to send him back to the airport,” Tina said. “Send his butt packing.”
“I will,” Savannah said. “Tomorrow. It’s probably too late for him to get on a flight tonight.”
Lightning arced across the sky, causing everyone to look up.
“Did you see that?” Savannah asked. “Whoa—here it comes again!”
“That’s amazing,” Ryan said. “Usually you just get a few streaks. That thing lit up the whole sky like some kind of giant spiderweb.”
“I’m thirsty. You need a beer, too, D-man?” Gio asked Dwight.
“Sure,” Dwight said, and Gio jumped up to get it. Tina followed him with her eyes. He was still trying to make up for hurting Dwight on the basketball court, she knew.
“Here you go,” Gio said, handing a Red Stripe to Dwight. He sat back down and popped his tab.
“So, Gio, are you going to teach me to surf tomorrow?” Allie asked, and Tina smiled. Allie hadn’t spoken to Gio in the past few hours, but her question signaled everything between them was good again.
“Sure,” he said. “The waves are getting fierce.”
“Actually, about tomorrow,” Pauline said. “I just got a call from the management company for the villa. They wanted to make sure we were prepared to evacuate, if it comes to that.”
“Really?” Ryan asked. “They think we’re scared of a little old hurricane?”
“They’re sending someone to board up the windows and reinforce the awnings tomorrow,” Pauline said. “Just as a precaution.”
“It would be kind of cool, to be in a hurricane,” Gio said.
“Sure,” Tina said. “Death and destruction is always a hoot.”
Gio gave her a squeeze. “Not a big, bad hurricane. Just a little one. Like a Category Two.”
“Someone’s been watching the Weather Channel,” Savannah said. “Listen to Meteorologist Gio Antonelli, tossing around fancy terms.”
“Should we be concerned, though?” Allie asked.
For some reason, the formality of her words struck Tina as hilarious. She doubled over laughing.
“If we need to leave, we’ll go inland,” Pauline said. “If we get far enough away from the water, we should be fine.”
“They’ve named the hurricane Betty,” Ryan said. “You can’t be scared by a hurricane named Betty.”
“That’s true,” Savannah said. “Betty is just going to pinch your cheeks and tell you how big you’ve grown. She’ll offer you cookies. She’d never rip the roof off your house.”
“Whoa!” Tina yelled as lightning erupted in the sky again. “Betty doesn’t like the way you’re making fun of her!”
“If Betty turns on us . . . would we stay in a hotel inland?” Allie asked.
“I guess so,” Pauline said, reaching for the joint again.
“You’re exhibiting an admirable lack of planning,” Savann
ah said. “Not that you were anal before. Whoops, did I say anal? I meant . . . focused. You were highly focused. Like a laser beam. A red, glowing, pointy—”
“Hold on,” Allie said, lifting up a hand like a stop sign. “Is that a car I hear?”
“Maybe Gary called a cab again,” Dwight said. “He could be leaving.”
Allie stood up and looked toward the driveway. “It’s definitely a car . . . it’s stopping and someone’s getting out. I can’t see anything else, though. It’s too dark.”
“Probably the cabdriver,” Tina said. She looked at Savannah, who stood up. “You’re not going to say good-bye to him, are you?”
Savannah bit her lower lip. “What should I do? I mean, he came all this way and I didn’t even talk to him.”
“Oh, screw him!” Tina said. “He cheated on you. He dumped you! And now he suddenly wants you back just because he and his girlfriend broke up?”
“Well, when you put it like that,” Savannah said, but she didn’t sit back down. “You sure know how to make a girl feel special, Tina.”
“Think about how I feel,” Tina said. “I took off your pants and you never called me in the morning.”
“It’s kind of hot, the way you two keep talking about that,” Gio said.
“You are so—” Tina cut her sentence off.
“Tina? What are you looking at?” Ryan turned around.
A policeman was standing there.
“Shit!” Savannah yelled. She looked down at the joint she was holding, then flung it into the pool.
The police officer walked over to the side of the pool and looked down.
“We weren’t doing anything!” Tina cried—admittedly not a rousing defense, she thought.
“Smoking ganja is illegal in Jamaica,” the officer said.
“Oh, man, we’re sorry,” Gio said. “It was one tiny joint.”
“Still illegal,” the officer said.
“Oh, my God,” Tina cried. “You can’t put us in jail. You can’t!”
“Don’t give him any ideas!” Savannah hissed.
“Excuse me, Officer.” Everyone looked up at the sound of Gary’s voice.
“I’d like to apologize on behalf of my friends,” Gary said, walking over to stand between them and the policeman. “Someone they met on the beach gave them a tiny bit of marijuana. They’re all upstanding citizens. They don’t usually do things like this.”
Tina held her breath and watched the officer weigh Gary’s words. Suddenly Gary’s formal manner and gray suit were an asset—they gave him a gravitas sorely needed in this situation. He looked like a lawyer.
“Just this one time,” the officer said.
“We appreciate it, sir,” Gary responded. Tina almost leapt up to hug the officer, then thought the better of it.
“Someone was mugged?” the officer said. “I’m here to take a report.”
“That would be me,” Ryan said. “But I got my watch back!” He stood up and walked over to the officer, who pulled out a little notebook.
“I hope he’s sober enough to keep his story straight,” Tina whispered to Gio.
“I just hope he can remember his own name,” Gio whispered back, and Tina snorted. She snuggled closer to her husband, feeling the stubble on his jawline tickle her forehead.
“Can we spend a little time alone tomorrow morning?” she whispered. “Maybe have breakfast in bed?”
“Sure,” he said. He kissed her on the temple, and she closed her eyes and smiled. In the early days of their marriage, she and Gio had always fallen asleep entwined around each other, but now a child—sometimes more than one child—climbed into their bed and wedged between them every night. On this trip, though, their bodies had fit back together as if no time had passed—her back pressed against his chest, his arm around her waist. She hadn’t slept so well in ages.
Ryan and the officer were walking back over to the chairs, with Ryan seeming to make a special effort to put his feet down carefully.
“You’re keeping an eye on the storm, right?” the police officer said. “You may have to evacuate.”
“Yes,” Gary said. “I’ve got the TV on now. Thank you for your concern.”
The officer nodded, then walked away and got back into his car. Everyone was silent as he drove off, then Gio spoke up. “Nice job, man.”
“Seriously, Gary, that cop scared me,” Allie said. “I thought about offering him a bribe, then I wondered if it would make things worse. I didn’t know what to do.”
“It’s okay,” Gary said. He cleared his throat. “Savannah? I’d like it if we could talk now.”
Tina watched as Savannah stood there, staring at Gary. He’d saved them from the cop, but he hadn’t even said please to Savannah.
“Fine,” Savannah finally said, and they went into the house together.
“Well, that’s a bummer,” Gio remarked.
“Why?” Ryan asked. “You don’t think she should talk to him?”
“No.” Gio shook his head. “She drowned our joint, and she’s got the rest of the pot.”
Chapter Sixteen
* * *
Thursday
PAULINE OPENED THE SLIDING door to her bedroom’s balcony to let in the gentle breeze. It was another flawless day; you’d never believe a storm was coming.
“Good morning,” Dwight said, walking up behind her.
“Hi,” Pauline said. “When do they expect the hurricane to reach land?”
“Tonight,” Dwight said. “At least, that’s the best guess. But it’s not going to hit us directly; it’s still on course for Cuba.”
“Still, with the wind and everything . . .” Pauline said. “Maybe we should go to a hotel. It could veer in our direction. They said that last night; I heard it on the television.”
“Naw, let’s stay,” Dwight said. “The guys are already here putting up plywood just to be safe, and it’s only going to be a Category Two.”
“What does the hurricane scale go up to again—ten?” Pauline asked.
“Five,” Dwight said. “But that’s rare. Two is considered moderate.”
“Right, I knew that,” Pauline said. She’d seen it on the Weather Channel just yesterday, along with a diagram of the respective intensities of different-level hurricanes. A two wasn’t supposed to be so horrible—trees would come down, but sturdy structures like houses shouldn’t suffer much damage.
Her brain felt fuzzy, so she went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. Usually she got up earlier than Dwight, but she’d woken late today—it was almost nine. She’d had trouble sleeping, and it wasn’t just because of all the yelling coming from Savannah’s room.
She tried to think if there was anything they needed to do to prepare to leave quickly. Maybe they should all pack, just in case. She went back into the bedroom and discovered Dwight still standing there, looking at her. He seemed to be waiting for something.
“Oh! Happy birthday,” she said after a moment, realizing belatedly that her tone was flat. Last year she’d woken him with breakfast in bed—French toast and apple-smoked bacon and strawberries—and they’d ended the night at the chef’s table in the kitchen at the legendary restaurant The Inn at Little Washington. She’d had a massage therapist come to the house after lunch, and there had been a pile of presents on Dwight’s side of the bed when they returned from dinner.
She had some things for him tucked in the back of the closet here, and the chef had been planning a special dinner . . . But of course, Dwight had told her the chef had left because he was superstitious about the storm. She supposed she should do something else—make an effort—but she couldn’t. Her usual energy had evaporated. Therese consumed all of her thoughts.
She recalled her phone call with her mother last night: They’d spoken right before Pauline had gone out to the pool to smoke weed with everyone, and it had been the discussion of funeral arrangements that had made Pauline crave pot—even though she’d smoked it only once before. But last night
, she’d been desperate for oblivion. They’d decided to bury Therese in their family plot on Sunday, the day after Pauline and Dwight returned from Jamaica. Pauline would tell Dwight about her sister’s death on the drive home from the airport, she’d decided.
Now she looked at her husband, standing there in his baggy Levi’s and a shirt he’d picked up on his last business trip to New York. The shirt was an awful Hawaiian print, purple clashing with yellow, the sort of thing an older, color-blind man might choose. Dwight had probably bought it from a street vendor. Pauline hadn’t had the heart to be honest when he’d modeled it for her, saying, “Won’t this be perfect for Jamaica?”
Oh, Dwight, she thought. Why had she ever cared about his wardrobe—about the image he projected? Her husband was so kind and generous and good; he was the best person she knew. Maybe she never would have married him if it hadn’t been for his money, but his money wasn’t the only reason she stayed with him.
Suddenly she regretted pretending to be asleep last night when he’d begun to stroke her hip. She couldn’t make love to him, not with images of Therese still so fresh in her mind. So she’d remained immobile, until she’d heard him sigh and roll away. She’d felt so terribly alone as she listened to him breathing in the darkness.
Now she felt the urge to spill out all her secrets: the abortion, her fears of not being able to get pregnant again, Therese’s death. Dwight might be upset, but she thought—hoped—he’d forgive her.
She took a step toward him, feeling the words surge up inside her, suddenly desperate for the release of saying them aloud.
But just before she spoke his name, someone beat her to it. “Dwight?”
She turned to see Allie standing in the doorway.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” Allie said. “I just wanted to let you guys know breakfast is ready.”
“Breakfast?” Pauline asked.
“Tina and I made it,” Allie said. “And Dwight helped. The birthday boy mixed the eggs!”
“I can smell it from here,” Dwight said. He began to walk away from Pauline.
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