“What?”
“It’s a fresh deer,” she said, as if I was the stupidest person on earth. “I’m not gonna let it go to waste.”
“Mind if I take a haunch?” Jake asked, popping another beer.
“Oh, God,” wailed Mr. Carver. “Beatrice... She loved animals.”
“When I was a child at our camp in the Adirondacks,” Amelia said, “a fawn walked into our house and lay down next to the dog. It was utterly adorable. Until our Irish setter killed it, that is. Whiskey, that was his name. A beautiful dog.”
“You don’t mind if I stay to watch, do you?” Xiaowen asked. “I’m kind of crushing on your mom.”
“You’re a horrible friend,” I said.
My mother came back down the dock, knife in hand.
He reached out and his hand closed on the biggest knife handle in the block.
Ice-cold fear slithered down my back, and for a second, the dark Maine sky and heavy half-moon were gone, and I was in my apartment, the door so close. Would I make it? Would he grab me again? The door handle, smooth and hard under my aching fingers, me out, running, screaming...
Nope, nope. Not gonna go there. That was my mother, the world’s most capable woman. Not a killer, not a rapist. And behind her, Sullivan Fletcher, shirtless in the waning light, his puked-on shirt in his hand. Focus on that. Focus on him. You’re safe. You’re safe. You made it.
My heart rate slowed. There was a calm about Sullivan Fletcher that tugged at me. Maybe because he was a father. Maybe because he was spared from some of the chatter and buzz of this world. Maybe because he’d been hurt, too, and recovered.
I guess I should’ve offered him a T-shirt. Then again, I’d had a spewing boss and a dying deer to contend with.
Also, shirtless Sully was a very nice view.
Suddenly, the deer gave a lunge. I jumped back as it scrambled to its feet and ran off crookedly into the woods.
No one said anything for a minute.
“Okay!” I said. “What a fun night! Take care! Mr. Carver, are you okay to drive?”
“It didn’t die,” he said, wiping his eyes. “Maybe it was Beatrice, working a little miracle.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” I lied. “Bye. Thank you for coming.”
They all got into their cars. Xiaowen hugged me, shaking with laughter. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” she managed before sliding into her silver Porsche. Then she was gone, and I was alone with Sully.
“Come on in, and I’ll get you a T-shirt,” I said, starting down the dock. He followed.
“I was kind of hoping to see your mother skin that deer,” he said, and suddenly, I was staggering with laughter. Sully’s smile flashed in the darkness, and he took my arm so I didn’t fall into the water.
I laughed all the way inside.
My place was a disaster—plates still on the table, the coffee table, the floor. A thousand glasses, it seemed. Food everywhere. I went into my room and got the biggest T-shirt I had—Blackbeards Bait & Tackle, a leftover from a long-ago trip to Cape Cod with Doctors Without Spouses, back when Bobby and I were just friends.
“Here you go,” I said, handing the shirt to Sullivan. He pulled it over his head in a quick movement, the muscles on his rib cage flowing, his shoulders rolling in a perfect example of male anatomy.
Xiaowen was right. I could do far worse than Sullivan Fletcher.
But a summer fling was not what I was looking for. In August, I’d be back in Boston. Sullivan would never leave this island. And he had a kid, besides. Also, there was the fact that I had no idea if Sullivan was looking for a fling himself. He had a daughter, an ex-wife, a business and a troubled brother to contend with.
“Let me help you clean up,” he said.
“No way,” I said. “You get on home.”
“I’m not leaving you with this mess.” Those eyes were caramel deliciousness, warm and tempting.
“Oh, but you are,” I said. “Being puked on by a dinner guest gets you a free pass.”
A faint frown settled between his eyebrows. “I’m more than happy to help.”
“I’m good, Bobby.” Ah, shit! Where did that come from? “I mean, jeesh, Sullivan. Anyway, I’m kind of anal about cleaning up, and I have to make a few calls, besides.”
Without moving a muscle, his face changed. “Got it. See you around, then. Thanks for a nice dinner.”
He started out the door, and I closed my eyes. A perfectly nice man, and I was kicking him out.
I went to the doorway. He was about halfway down the dock. “Sully? Sullivan? Thank you for the pie.”
He either didn’t hear me or didn’t want to answer.
16
Dear Lily,
I forgot how pretty May is on the island. All the leaves have popped, and the birds are awake at 4:47 a.m. every morning. I saw three baby rabbits this morning, and they were so cute. The other night, Poe came over to do homework, and I made her grilled cheese and tomato. We always used to eat that on the first day of winter, remember?
Love,
Nora
The weekend before Memorial Day, I took the ferry to Boston to retrieve my dog. I was ridiculously excited to have him back, to tug his silky ears, gaze into his pretty brown eyes and feel his reassuring bulk on the bottom of my bed. Bobby loved Boomer, sure, but the Dog of Dogs was mine. My soul mate.
It had been my decision to get a dog two months after the Big Bad Event. Bobby and I went to the animal shelter, and there he was, twelve weeks old, the result of a Bernese mountain dog and a Rottweiler love affair. He’d grow too big for most Bostonians and their apartments. One look in his worried eyes and the deal was done. And you know what they say about adopted pets—they never forget that they were rescued.
Turns out, Boomer rescued me. He got me outside (armed with pepper spray and rape whistle). If a stranger approached, Boomer’s tail let me know if the person was okay, because I was scared of everyone.
At home, when my heart turned on me in a panic attack, fluttering like a hummingbird, and I couldn’t breathe or remember where I was, Boomer would sense it and nudge my hand with his velvety snout, whining his love and concern. When Bobby worked nights, the dog stayed glued to me, and the truth was, he made me feel safer than Bobby.
So yes, I was glad to have him back. That was an understatement.
And I was eager to see Bobby again, too. He’d been perfectly lovely over these two weeks, sending me pictures, checking up on me via text and even a nice long phone call one night, when I sat on the top deck of my houseboat and watched the sunset. I almost felt like my Perez self.
I wondered what would happen in August, after Lily and Poe reunited and left for Seattle again, as was the plan. When I’d go back to Boston—hopefully with Mom dating someone, because for all her independence, she had to be lonely—what would be in store? I’d need a new apartment. Maybe I’d love it as much as I’d loved my old place. Maybe I’d feel safe there.
Maybe I should give Bobby another chance. I shouldn’t have been indulging in thoughts about Sully—I was only temporary here.
And Bobby wanted to get back together. If I was past the grayness, maybe it would be like old times. I almost couldn’t blame him for fondling Jabrielle’s hair. She was beautiful, if bitchy, condescending and without morals.
Those three months of perfection when Bobby and I were new together...maybe they were worth another try.
So that morning, while I didn’t go crazy with makeup and staring into my closet, I did take a little time to look put together. Traded in the jean jacket for a light brocade coat, and instead of the L.L.Bean muck boots that were required wearing in springtime up here, put on some cowboy boots instead. Added a scarf and dangly earrings.
On the ferry ride over, I decided to quiz Jake on my father. I was the only one on the boat, which was skipping an
d dipping across the swells, the salt spray undoing my hair ironing. Frizz it would be. I’d come prepared with a hair elastic.
I went into the pilothouse. “Jake, remember I was asking about my dad the other night?”
“Huh? I think I was in the bathroom, maybe.”
“Yeah, and speaking of that, if you want a free GI consult, I’m here for you. Or you could just try some Imodium next time.”
“What about your father?”
I tugged my coat closer. “Well, you’ve been the ferry captain since forever. Do you remember him leaving the island that time? He would’ve had a suitcase or two. Might’ve been upset.”
Jake lit his pipe, and a sweet, smoky smell filled the air. “Ayuh, I remember.”
My heart leaped. “You do? So...can you tell me about it?”
He drew on the pipe, clenching it between his yellow teeth. “Well, you’re right. He had a suitcase or two. He was aflutter. Talking to himself. Talking to me, talking to what’s-his-name...the Fletcher boy and his mother.”
“Which Fletcher boy? Sullivan?”
“The one who played all the sports.”
“Luke?”
“I guess so. The one who wasn’t at your party the other night. Anyway, your father was a regular rig that day.” Mainespeak for over-the-top. “Guess your mother kicked him out. He wasn’t happy about it. Said she’d get what she wanted, kept yappin’ on and on about what was fair and what wasn’t and how no one could tell him what to do.”
So they had been fighting. Mom never copped to it, but Lily had known somehow.
“Do you remember if you were going to Portland or Boston?”
“Portland.”
I looked out at the gray sea, the lobster buoys bouncing on the whitecaps. “Anything else, Jake? Anything else you remember?”
Jake looked at me, his craggy face unexpectedly kind. “Yep. He had a picture of you two girls in his hand. Kept starin’ at it. Might’ve been cryin’ just a dite.”
My throat clamped tight. “Thanks, Jake,” I whispered.
“Nawt a bothah.”
I went back onto the deck and sat in the hard-molded plastic chair.
The image of my father, distressed and angry, holding a hastily packed suitcase and a photo of Lily and me...that made me want to put my head down and cry.
It seemed I’d have to talk to Teeny and Luke if I wanted to find out any more.
* * *
When we pulled into the landing an hour later, Bobby was already there waiting for me, checking his phone. Boomer, on the other hand, went nuts the second he saw me.
“Boomer!” I said, kneeling down and hugging my wriggling dog. “My buddy! I missed you!” He whined with joy and licked my face, then tried to hug me, putting his big paws on my shoulders. “Who’s a good boy? You are, Boomer! Everyone says so!” I smooched his head, then stood up, still petting my doggy. “Hi, Bobby.”
“Hey,” he said, pocketing his phone and handing me the leash. “How’s it going?”
“Great. How are you?”
“Good. Listen, I can’t stay. I’m really sorry. Work stuff.”
Oh. My heart dropped a few inches. “No problem. Everything good with you?”
“Yeah. Excellent. I’m gonna miss the big guy, but I guess I can deal with it.” He bent down and rubbed Boomer’s head. “See you in two weeks, Boomer. Love you.”
Those last two words were definitely for the dog. Bobby lifted his hand and, just like that, strode away.
Okay.
So. Cross lunch with Bobby off my mental list of things to do today. It sure was different from two weeks ago, when he had the whole day for me.
This was good. This was reinforcement that our breakup had been for the best. This was exactly the kind of classic Bobby nonchalance that I’d grown to hate.
Even so, it threw me a little.
Still, it was a beautiful day in Boston. I called Roseline, told her I was free earlier than I expected, and she said she’d be on Newbury Street in ten minutes so we could power-shop and eat.
“Oh, my God, I miss you so much!” she said when she saw me, throwing her arms around me. “And you, too, Boomer!” she added, bending down to get a sloppy kiss. “I actually miss you more, puppy. Don’t tell Nora.” She held me at arm’s length. “You, my friend, look fantastic.” We hugged again and started walking, arm in arm.
The brownstones of Newbury Street were beautiful, and Roseline chattered nonstop, giving me all the gossip about our friends and acquaintances. She and Amir were going to Haiti for a delayed honeymoon to see the family, most of whom I’d met over the years. We went in and out of shops, tying Boomer’s leash around a signpost so he could woo the sun-deprived Bostonians, and did our usual thing—fondled purses and tried on shoes. It was great to be together again.
But had Boston always been so loud? Did every driver have to scream curse words out their window? (Yes, of course, it was Boston.) The f-bombs rained down in a nearly benign fashion, so common in this city that the impact was almost nil.
“You should hear how quiet it is on the island,” I told her as we ate lunch, Boomer at our feet, the sunshine warming our hair. “At night, I sit on the deck and watch the sunset and swat the blackflies, and it’s beautiful. Please tell me you’ll come visit.”
“Do you love it there?” she asked.
I didn’t answer right away, taking a slurp of my clam chowder. “Sometimes, I do,” I said. “On the one hand, everyone knows me there and...” I shrugged. “It’s like I’m the same person I was at fifteen, rather than an actual adult.”
“It’s the same for me when I go back to Haiti,” she said. “Harvard, Yale, they mean nothing. I’m still the little girl who peed in church on Easter Sunday.”
“Exactly. This week at the clinic, I was called ‘the fat one’ and ‘Sharon’s other daughter, not the pretty one.’”
“That’s so sweet,” Rosie said, rolling her eyes. “First of all, you’re very pretty. And fat? Come on! Don’t they have eyes?” She took a bite of her burger. “How’s your sister, by the way?”
Roseline knew Lily was in prison; I’d told her when it happened, and now I felt a wave of shame at how I’d done it, making it seem like no big deal. After all, Lily’s sentence wasn’t long, and her crimes weren’t terrible, but she was in prison nonetheless. Then again, a few months ago, I’d been desperate to talk about anything that made me feel better, and somehow my sister going to State did that. I mean, I might’ve been beaten within an inch of death, but at least I wasn’t Lily.
Yes. Shame.
“She’s okay, I guess,” I said, not that I knew. “I’ve been spending a lot of time with Poe and this other girl, my old classmate’s daughter. It’s nice. I forgot I liked teenagers.” Audrey had stopped by this week. Twice, as a matter of fact. We talked about movies, and on Thursday, she was going to come over to watch Naked and Afraid, a show we both loved. I wanted to have another sleepover for both girls, but I wasn’t sure Sullivan would welcome that, since I’d kind of blown him off the night of my party.
“So what’s going on with Dr. Bobby Byrne?” Roseline asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “He was being really...attentive. Lots of texts and emails, a few phone calls. Today, though, he pretty much tossed me the leash and left.”
“Are you thinking about getting back together?” Her voice was suspiciously neutral.
“I don’t know,” I said. “We got off to such a great start, and then...”
“Then you got beat up and almost killed and after the thrill of being noble faded, he got bored,” she finished.
“Thanks for reminding me. But I was pretty pathetic. I’d get bored of me, too.”
“Nora! You weren’t pathetic! You were almost murdered!”
The elderly women at the table next to us looked over with obviou
s interest. “True story,” I said. “How’s your lobster?” They turned back to their meals.
Rosie lowered her voice. “So getting bored because your girlfriend was on shaky ground...that’s kind of shitty.”
“I know, but I didn’t like myself, either. I hate shaky ground.”
“Well, we all have to walk it, girlfriend. Best to have someone who’ll hold your hand while you’re doing it, not run ahead and start flirting with some slutty-ass resident.”
I smiled. “You’re so good for me.”
“I know, I know. And you’re such a slob of a friend to me.”
“Come out next weekend,” I suggested. “It’s Memorial Day, we have a boat parade, and rugged charm is our middle name. Please? You can meet my other friend and everything.”
“You have another friend? I’m devastated!” She grinned. “Okay, I’ll leave Amir home. You know how he is about boats. Titanic ruined him forever.”
“It ruined us all. There was room for two on that door.”
“Preach it, sister. But those last two minutes are worth everything,” she said.
She picked up the tab, and we spent the rest of the afternoon like our old selves, before she got married, before I was attacked.
* * *
On Monday night, after a day at the clinic that consisted of me removing a hook from Jeb Coffin’s palm and closing it with one entire stitch, I went home, changed into jeans and a cute little shirt with cunning little buttons up the back. I fed my beloved, then threw him the tennis ball in the little meadow that spread between the cove and the road.
Then I put my dog inside. Tonight, I was hitting the townie bar to see if I could talk to Luke Fletcher about my dad.
Red’s was the local hangout for serious drinkers and those who hated tourists. The parking lot was full of rusting, dented pickup trucks—beatahs, they were called—and a few cars from the 1970s, not in the classic sense, but in the held-together-with-wire-and-duct-tape sense.
I’d never been here, too young to go to bars when I left the island. Time to see if it was all I’d heard in my youth.
I parked my MINI Cooper at the edge and went in. It was a seedy, dark little place with sticky floors, a few grubby-looking tables and a bar where the serious drunks of Scupper Island sat propped up in a row. This was not a place sought out by flatlanders, that was for sure—it was locals only, and the air itself had a bitter, angry tint to it.
Now That You Mention It: A Novel Page 21
