“I knew it! You’d bend over backward for the jackass, and you get all huffy when I ask to share my own apartment! I don’t see why you can’t move in with Matt the vet like any reasonable woman would do. He’ll get tired of waiting, Willow.”
Like my father had? “He hasn’t asked me. Besides, his former wife is here this weekend.”
“And you have pink hair. Well, I have to find homes for ten pit bulls before I can think about where I’m going to stay when I get to New York.”
* * *
What about me? Living with my mother was not an option. So where was I going to stay, and who cared?
Here I was, having microwaved soup with three dogs staring at me.
My supposed bodyguard was upstairs, watching TV and checking his security monitors for deer.
My new half sister was Dr. Harmon’s new best friend, sharing Jimmie’s balcony, hot tub, Lily’s biscuits, and his wonderful stories, that should have been mine.
And Lou called her kiddo. But I was kiddo.
Grandma Eve was out having a ménage à trois argenté, after dumping a missing shitload of sand in my lap.
My father only wanted to know if his other, older, firstborn daughter was all right.
Even Monteith had smiled at Carinne and carried the cat into the elevator. I bet he was showing her new tricks. With the yo-yo.
And Matt . . .
Yeah, what about me? I mean, things weren’t always all about me, but it wouldn’t hurt if sometimes I starred in my own life.
I wandered around the house, after looking in every cupboard for something sweet. I doubted if Harris had any chocolate in his cooler, so I didn’t ask. Instead I shouted up the stairs that I’d be outside, looking for the professor’s parrot.
He wanted to go with me. I said no. I’d be in plain sight, on the property, within calling distance. Mostly I did not know if Oey would come if a stranger with a gun loomed in the shadows. I doubted she’d show on the cameras in her true guise; creatures from Unity never did.
I told Harris he could watch from the windows, but no closer. He reluctantly turned off the alarms, but not the boundary sensors or the motion detectors. He’d watch them instead of me, he said. Lou’s orders.
I found a heavier sweatshirt and turned the porch lights on, then I dragged the plastic kiddie pool out of the shed and filled it. Next I pulled one of the wicker chairs off the porch, made sure my flashlight had working batteries and my drawing pencils had sharp points.
I sat and waited. That got boring after five minutes, and the insects found me. So I got up and paced around the side of the house, still in Harris’ view. Feeling foolish, a not unusual experience for me, I squawked like Oey, loudly, harshly, but distinctly recognizable as the parrotfish’s call.
Nothing. So I switched to words I knew she understood in parrot mode. I’d never heard the fish, the male part, say anything but “glub.”
“Come on, pretty bird. We need to talk. And I miss you. I’m all alone out here, with no one for company. Your Jimmie misses you, too. I filled the pool, if you want to swim. Jimmie still keeps the hot tub uncovered for you. Come on, lovey, come to Willow.”
Nothing. I heard something scurry in the shrubs, a sound that hadn’t come from any parrot. Or any fish. Harris didn’t rap on the window or come flying out with a weapon in hand, but I retreated to the safety of the porch anyway.
“Come on, Oey,” I begged, wishing Harris were in sight instead of peering at his various screens. Then I wished I had a chocolate bar. Mostly I wished Matt were here with me again. Nothing scared him, especially not a critter in the woods. He stood firm in any crisis, and kept me from panic. If I were a willow, he was an oak that kept me from being battered by storms.
Nothing answered my wishes.
I started drawing. The light from the house windows and the bulb on the porch wasn’t great, but I’d made the same sketch so often, I didn’t bother with the flashlight.
First came the willow tree. My willow tree. With a beautiful big parrot in its gracefully arching branches, forked fish tail dangling beneath its perch. I stared at the picture and concentrated on sending my thoughts and the image and my emotions, all at the same time, because that is how the creatures of Unity communicate with each other.
Hey, no one might want me around tonight, but I was still the Visualizer. That’s what I did. I held up the drawing and scrunched my eyes shut and projected: Love. Friendship. Loneliness. Pets. Come, Oey, talk. Need, want, help. Warm, smooth feathers, smooth skin, Willow. Shiny scales, glub.
I changed the drawing to the same tree, with bare branches. This time I tried to express urgency: Winter coming, ice, snow. Oey cold. Come back to the warmth of Rosehill and Jimmie. Alone, lonely, sick at heart. You? Me? Come back, Oey. Come warm my heart.
Nothing.
I stank at that, too.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I had bad dreams. But I had brownies.
Susan came home to find me asleep on the porch, huddled in a blanket Harris had brought me. Poor guy was so afraid of Lou, he couldn’t go to sleep until I went inside, locked the doors, and reset the alarms, which I couldn’t do till Susan got in anyway.
She brought the leftover bottoms from the Breakaway Restaurant’s bestselling dessert, hot fudge sundaes over chocolate brownies. We ate in the kitchen.
She’d brought milk home, too, knowing the refrigerator here was empty, knowing my tastes. “Although I never thought you ballsy enough to go for pink punker hair.”
“It was an accident.”
She looked more closely. “Uh-oh. You’ve really messed up this time.”
“I told you, the color was an accident.”
“No, there’s something else. You’re definitely hiding something bad.”
Susan always knew when I was in trouble, and always tattled. As soon as she learned to talk, she knew when I tried my mother’s makeup or robbed the cookie jar at Grandma Eve’s . . . and she always sold me out. The less she knew now, the safer my secrets.
“I am protecting the innocent,” I said, pouring on the pomposity with a glass of milk. “Besides, you’ll find out soon enough.”
Harris came down from his room then with his laptop. He showed a bunch of hieroglyphics he considered a computer profile of Susan: voice recognition, facial features, patterns of talk, walk and posture, plus body shape and weight. He and his machines could identify her again and not set off warnings when she approached the house. I wondered if he could recognize the speculative look in her eyes. I could: good-looking dude, no ring, staying right in the guest room.
I cleared my throat and gave her the same narrow-eyed look she’d given me. I didn’t need her psychic talent to notice trouble or guilt. I didn’t need to watch Harris check out her skimpy shirt and low jeans that left her belly bare. His sensors couldn’t tell him my cousin had flexible standards. The navel ring might.
I offered him a brownie to get his mind off Susan’s body.
I lost the bet about Susan getting him to smile. He grinned after the first bite. “You can cook, too?”
We all laughed, then talked about the restaurant business, favorite foods, awful customers. Things were looking up, until Susan mentioned that Matt and a woman had come into the restaurant. Did that have anything to do with my hair? she asked. A lot of dumped women cut theirs off, as if getting rid of a bad memory. Mine was already too short for that.
“I swear I didn’t mean to go pink. I was aiming for strawberry blonde, instead of my own streaky sandy.”
“Hm. You didn’t mean to go red like the woman Matt brought in!”
“Definitely not. Uh, was she good-looking?”
“Not unless you go for tall, thin redheads with a toned body and high cheekbones.”
“Sounds hot to me,” Harris put in, unhe
lpfully.
I had to ask: “Was she hot for Matt?”
“For anything in pants, according to Uncle Bernie. She held his hand too long during intros.”
“Ginny would kill him.”
“No, she’d kill the bitch.”
Which reminded me of the scene at the gym. So I had to warn Susan about Carinne and her talent. Susan might hear something unpleasant.
“I still don’t know if I believe all that crap.”
“Well, she said she saw me with a children’s book I’d written.” I left out the baby part.
Susan let the old German shepherd lick crumbs off her fingers. “That’s how they get you, carnival fortune-tellers and Vegas acts. They find out enough about you to guess your dreams and ambitions.”
“But I always wanted to write and illustrate a kids’ book.”
“Of course you did. You’re an artist and a writer. She guessed, and your imagination supplied the rest. That doesn’t make it real.”
She didn’t bother with the fact that my imagination provided a troll, magic horses, and sea gods, all of which turned out to be real.
“So if your dreams are going to come true, why do you look like a little kid after some bully dumped cotton candy on her head?”
I touched my poor hair. It felt like a pot scrubber. “It’s the humidity in this wretched place.”
“Not the woman with Matt?”
“She’s not a woman. She’s his ex-wife.”
“I would have gone for black hair. You know, to contrast with her red.”
I slammed my glass of milk down on the table so hard a lot of it sloshed on the floor. Little Red growled the big dogs away then lapped it up. Now he’d be sick. “My hair has nothing to do with Matt’s ex-wife!”
“Sure,” Susan said. She didn’t believe me.
Harris shrugged. “I’m no truth-knower.” Which meant he didn’t believe me, either.
I tried to change the subject to what he was, if not a Royce-Harmon descended psychic lie detector. Kenneth was a precog and Colin had dead-eye aim. Harris had to have some talent to qualify for DUE.
All he said was, “I’m a bodyguard,” and dipped his brownie in a saucer of milk.
Speaking of talents, Susan wanted to know when she got to meet the new woman.
“Matt’s wife? Oh, Carinne. She’s working for the professor now. I don’t know when she’ll have free time.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to go visit Cousin Lily.”
“No! That is, Lily’s already got Colin and Kenneth and all those workers to manage. She doesn’t need more company.”
“It’s Sunday. I’ll bring scones.”
Susan was as stubborn as three mules. She’d go, one way or another. And who knew what Carinne would see, or what seeing it would do to both of them.
I felt another headache coming on. Maybe a nosebleed, with my luck. “Well, I’m leaving early tomorrow morning to look at what has Grandma Eve in such a snit. I might have to walk for miles once I get to the beach, or get someone to take me out in a boat”—heaven forbid—“to look at the shore from that angle. So I’ll need the car all day.” That wouldn’t stop her, but it might slow her down until I could think of something else, like taking her with me.
She wouldn’t go. She needed more sleep than that, she claimed, to work the rest of the weekend. Besides, there was nothing to see, with hardly any beach left. She ate the last brownie. “I don’t see what you can do about the erosion anyway.”
Me neither.
“Grandma is the one who has a bug up her ass that you can do something. I don’t have much hope, but maybe you can get rid of the rash lady.”
“You still have a rash?”
She held up both hands. I couldn’t see anything. Neither could Ms. Garcia, Susan said. “But the woman took apart my kitchen. Seems we supplied a lot of the food for the ship rescue and after the hurricane. Ms. Garcia thinks my ingredients were contaminated. She took samples of everything.”
“That’s bull.”
“Of course it is. But how could I stop her? She had a board of health inspector with her, and a bunch of official looking documents with seals on them.”
“They won’t find anything.”
“Will you?”
I had no idea.
Since there were no brownies left, we decided to go to bed. First Harris explained the security system to Susan, how to override it or deactivate it. He warned her not to, though.
Susan stopped on her way upstairs. “You take those threats so seriously?”
“Not necessarily,” Harris told her. “Lou’s just hedging his bets. Anything happens to Pinky here, he has to face the grandmother.”
Susan tapped her own chest. “And me.”
See? I did have people on my side.
Harris went into the yard with me for the dogs’ last outing. I silently called Oey, in my head, with pictures and pleas, but the birdfish did not answer, not from in a tree, in the kiddie pool, or in my mind. We went back inside, turned on the alarms, and went to bed. Separately. Or so I supposed, but, knowing Susan, I couldn’t be sure. At least that was one thing I could not be held responsible for.
* * *
I thought I’d have trouble nodding off with so much on my mind, but I was fast asleep when the phone rang.
A phone call in the middle of the night could only be a disaster, or a crank. My stomach clenched as I fumbled for the bedside lamp. I heard Harris get out of bed and hurry toward his equipment in the guest room next door. “It’s your father,” he yelled out before I could check the caller ID.
“Dad? What’s wrong? Are you okay? You aren’t in the hospital or anything, are you?”
“Your mother is going to have a heart attack.”
“Oh, no! When? How bad? How soon? Maybe I can warn her and get her to a doctor before it’s too late. Should she take aspirin or go to the emergency room?”
“It’s not that kind of heart attack. It’s figurative. I was lying here trying to fall asleep when I realized she was going to have a fit when she discovered the truth about Carinne.”
He should have thought of that thirty-seven years ago. “I could have told you she’d be mad, Dad. During the day.”
“But she’ll hate Carinne for existing and you for hiding her. The fit she’ll throw will be worse than that hurricane you had last month.”
“That’s why I’m not going to tell her. She won’t be staying here long, not with filming her new TV show in Manhattan. And we’ll keep Carinne busy and out of the way.”
“No, you’ll never be able to hide it. She has to be told before she gets to Paumanok Harbor. Or hears from her sister or cousin or the whole grapevine they’ve got going there.”
“Fine. You tell her.” I got ready to hang up the phone. “I’d wait for the morning if I were you.”
“Oh, I can’t tell her. I tried for years and never could. I think it’ll be better coming from you.”
“Me? Not on your life. I had nothing to do with this mess. You straighten it out. Besides, what can she do? Divorce you again? She can’t murder you either, if you stay in Florida, so you’re safe.”
“But she’ll take it out on Carinne. I’ve got a bad feeling about that.”
“Is that one of your presentiments or just common sense?”
“I don’t know. I’m concerned Rose will push Carinne out of Paumanok Harbor and not let her back.”
“How can she do that? Carinne is safe at Royce’s Rosehill. They’ll keep her as long as she wants.”
“I don’t know, baby girl. It’s a worry.”
“But not the worst worry, so go to sleep already. Unless you can tell me about Deni or the sand people or Matt.”
“Did you say Matt? That’s it!”
“I need a new mattress. That’s why I can’t sleep. It’s killing my back. You have to tell your mother. And watch out for wives.”
“Yeah, I’m already avoiding Matt’s ex.”
“Or is it chives?”
“You must mean hives. I’ve got that covered, too, Dad. Almost gone. Good night.”
That’s when I had the nightmares.
First, I was buried under a ton of sand. I was trapped and couldn’t dig myself out. I called for Matt and Oey and Susan and my mother. Even Lou. I gasped frantically—and realized Little Red was lying on my chest, his fluffy tail covering my nose.
I rolled over.
This time I was lost in a swamp full of quicksand, alligators, snakes, and spiders. I was all alone, but not alone. Someone followed me. With chives in her hand, like Grandma Eve collecting her herbs. She didn’t hear me call out to her, or else she didn’t listen. “Help,” I cried. “I cannot find my way back.”
Back. That was it.
I jerked awake, my heart pounding, Little Red snarling at being disturbed again. I took deep breaths, realizing that I couldn’t sleep because my father’s words had kept nagging at me. Like a name you know but can’t locate in the back of your mind.
Back. Like backbiting, backstabbing, backsliding, watching Carinne’s back, not letting her back, even my mother jumping into the mix by saying I’d lean over backward for Dad, his bad back, my not finding a way back home.
I finally understood what he’d been subconsciously trying to tell me: The Andanstans wanted their sand back, so they were stealing ours.
I had no idea how we were supposed to replace the sandbar they’d built, or restore the grains blown to dust in the explosion, or even return what the tidal wave had washed out to sea. I had to talk to them. And my mother. And Oey and the professor. Definitely Matt. Maybe the mayor and the police chief and the rest of Grandma Eve’s council.
I tossed and turned for hours without falling back to sleep.
Too many problems.
Sand Witches in the Hamptons (9781101597385) Page 14
