Island Girls

by Nancy Thayer

  Arden, Meg, and Jenny had strategized the meeting with the care of an international summit conference. They’d moved the furniture into arrangements that would prevent the mothers from having to sit next to or too close to one another. They’d put end tables beside each chair with napkins waiting, and also, discreetly next to the low bowl of flowers in the middle of the coffee table, a dainty box of tissues, in case anyone was to burst into tears. Surely someone would. Their platters of finger food covered the rest of the coffee table, and a table behind one of the sofas held the ice bucket, glasses, and drink mixers.

  They’d also worked out a plan of action.

  At six o’clock, they carried everything into the living room. Shortly after that, they heard steps on the stairs, and Justine appeared.

  “Oh, thank God. Drinks.” Justine walked to the table and prepared herself a vodka tonic with the authority of the woman who had been the owner of this house for years. She still wore her white capris, her magenta halter top, and her jeweled sandals, but she’d redone her makeup and brushed her long black hair out of its ponytail. She was magnificent.

  Jenny dithered around, making drinks for herself, Meg, and Arden, wondering aloud if she should have prepared some sangria, asking Meg if they’d remembered to refill the ice trays.

  “I’m sure I did,” Meg told her. “I’m going up to get Mom.”

  A few minutes later, Meg and Cyndi entered the room. Cyndi had combed her gray hair, smoothed her wrinkled skirt, and applied lipstick, which only made the rest of her face look paler. She stopped when she saw Justine, her chin jerking up defensively, as if blocking a blow.

  “Hello, Cyndi,” Justine said smoothly, carrying her drink to a chair.

  “Hello, Justine.” Cyndi looked everywhere but at Justine, seeming confused about what to do next.

  “Sit here, Mom.” Meg settled Cyndi on the end of the sofa farthest from Justine.

  “What can I fix you to drink?” Jenny asked Cyndi. “We’ve got everything.”

  “Oh, water will be fine,” Cyndi said.

  “Come on, Mom, have some wine. We’ve got Prosecco, which is sparkling, and cool and light on the alcohol.”

  Cyndi allowed herself to be convinced. “Fine.”

  Jenny was handing the flute to Cyndi when Nora stalked down the stairs and into the room. She’d changed into a turquoise tunic thick with embroidery and matching turquoise sandals. Even her earrings were turquoise, dangling and bright.

  “Hello, everyone,” Nora cooed. “Oh good, drinkies.” As silkily as a lioness, she lounged down onto the end of the other sofa, stretching out her long, sleek legs. “Fix me a g and t, will you, Arden?” No sooner was the ice clattering into the glass than Nora was beaming her easy smile around the room. “Good grief, check us out! What a bunch of luscious babes. One thing we’ve got to admit, Rory Randall had great taste in women.”

  Justine’s mouth quirked up nervously.

  “Although you, Cyndi,” Nora continued brashly, “could use a serious makeover.”

  Cyndi bristled. “I have sons. I’m busy all the time, doing laundry, attending soccer games. It’s not like I have time to sit around filing my nails.”

  “Obviously,” Nora stated flatly. Flashing her attention on her own daughter, she demanded, “Okay, so when do the fireworks begin?”

  Arden sat down next to her mother. Meg poured herself a glass of wine and sat on the sofa near Cyndi. Jenny took her own wine to a chair near Justine. And there they were, the six of them together.

  “I’ll go first,” Meg announced. “I have just been offered tenure at Sudbury College. I’m getting a raise. Plus, my freshman English syllabus will be the standard, and I’ve been put in charge of the freshman English program.”

  Cyndi smiled. “That’s wonderful, Meg. I’m sure that will help you get a position in a real college.”

  Meg’s pale cheeks blushed crimson. “Sudbury Community College is a real college, Mother. To my way of thinking, it’s more important to our country’s future than many of the four-year colleges. Our students learn the skills that will help them get jobs and be valuable members of our society.”

  Cyndi’s smile soured. “You sound like a pamphlet.”

  Arden’s head jerked up. “Hey. Give Meg a break. More than that, give her a damn compliment, Cyndi. She’s just had an enormous responsibility placed on her shoulders and a huge tribute paid to her skill as a teacher.”

  “And there you are,” Justine said smugly. “The real Arden Randall. Ready for a fight.”

  “What?” Arden stared, mouth open.

  “Justine,” Meg began, “Arden wasn’t trying to start a fight. She was championing me, something I wish you—”

  “This is perfect.” Jenny stood up suddenly, startling everyone. “I was going to wait to get into this, but it seems we’re all in the mood for confrontation, so I’m going to dive right in. Mom”—she faced Justine, her hands clenched at her sides—“we’ve found the necklace.”

  Justine went white. “You did?”

  “I did,” Arden said.

  “You would,” Justine muttered darkly.

  “What are you accusing my daughter of now?” Nora demanded.

  Jenny didn’t allow herself to be sidetracked. “You hid it yourself, Mom, in the back of your own closet. It’s time you admitted it and apologized to us all.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Justine sniffed. “Of course I didn’t hide my own necklace. Why would I do that?”

  “So you could get rid of us,” Arden said. “Me and Meg.”

  “Mom.” Jenny knelt before her mother and took her hand. “Please. Please just admit it, won’t you? We want to get past this.”

  Justine averted her eyes. The other mothers sat frozen, as if afraid to break a spell.

  Everyone waited. One beat. Two.

  “Fine,” Justine said. “I hid it. I was sick and tired of dealing with Arden, and you all have to agree that that year she was a miserable, nasty, disobedient little hellion.”

  “I can attest to that,” Nora said dryly. “Still, manipulating events to oust her from the house seems a pretty severe reaction.”

  “Making us all believe Arden was a thief was a pretty severe reaction,” Cyndi cut in. “I was afraid to let Arden come to our house to hang out with Meg because of what she did. I was afraid she’d steal something of mine.”

  “But why did you make me leave, too?” Meg asked Justine. “I didn’t do anything.”

  Justine lifted her eyes and scanned the room. What she saw in the faces of the other women was not anger so much as curiosity. After all, it had been so long ago. These girls, these daughters, were close to the age Justine was when she’d had to deal with Arden and Meg. These girls were now women.

  Justine sagged just a bit. She ran her fingers over her forehead, and then she tried to explain. “Listen. I was Rory’s third wife. Both you girls were his real, biological daughters. Jenny needed a father. I wanted Rory to think of her as his daughter, his real daughter. You both were, well, in the way. I was insecure, I was jealous, I was young.”

  “You were a grown woman,” Nora reminded her, but her voice held no malice.

  “Oh, when is anyone grown-up?” Justine asked. “I thought I was an adult when I gave birth to Jenny. Legally, I was an adult when I turned twenty-one. But I had a brief marriage in my twenties to a guy who hardly noticed my sweet little girl, and we divorced after a year. That destroyed my self-confidence. Perhaps it made me feel not so grown-up. Certainly not so smart. You were always so capable, Nora, swanning around like you owned the world, and you, Cyndi, why, you had Tom and your two sons. Neither one of you needed Rory the way I needed him, the way Jenny needed him for a father.”

  “Self-preservation,” Nora said, nodding her head. “I can see that.”

  “No,” Meg objected. “Selfishness. You wanted Rory all for yourself and Jenny. You took him, and this house, and our Nantucket summers away from Arden and me. Maybe Ar
den deserved it for being a pill that year, but I never deserved it. Do you think Tom was a father to me? Hardly.”

  “He was your stepfather,” Justine reminded her. “He was there.”

  “Not for me, he wasn’t,” Meg shot back.

  Cyndi hung her head and pleated her skirt with her fingers, shrinking into herself.

  Justine glared at Jenny, who had returned to her seat on the sofa. “So this is why you wanted us all down here?” she asked her daughter. “To humiliate me in front of everyone? To hurt me, when I’ve just lost the love of my life.”

  “He was the love of our lives, too,” Arden pointed out quietly.

  “He was your father!” Justine tossed her black mane of hair, and her dark eyes blazed. “He was only your father, not the angel of your heart. It’s not my fault if Rory preferred Jenny to the two of you. Jenny was lucky she had his affection at all. Our passion was all consuming. I was Rory’s one real, true soul mate.”

  In the midst of the tense silence, a loud knock sounded on the front door.

  “Now what?” Nora demanded. “What other delights have you girls arranged?”

  Arden snapped, “I have no idea who it is.”

  “I’ll see.” Jenny rose, went into the front hall.

  They heard a female voice.

  When Jenny returned to the living room, her face was white. “She says her name is Marcia Kirkpatrick.”

  Justine frowned. “Marcia—? Oh, you mean his office manager here on the island.”

  A woman appeared behind Jenny. She was perhaps forty-five or fifty, slender, with tumbling blonde hair. Without invitation, she stepped around Jenny and right into the room.

  “You’re the blonde!” Arden said in surprise.

  Meg nodded. “Right. We’ve seen you everywhere.”

  With a toss of her head, Marcia announced, “Yes, I am the blonde. And I was more than Rory’s office manager.”

  Justine drew back. “What do you mean?”

  “For heaven’s sake, what do you think I mean?” Marcia Kirkpatrick retorted.

  “Oh my,” Nora murmured smugly.

  The other women, mothers and daughters, gaped in shock at the self-assured knockout in her neat blue dress and pearls. Her heels were low. Her makeup was pristine, so well applied it seemed nonexistent. She had a bit of the same polish and confidence Nora had. But she was younger than Nora, Cyndi, and Justine, and that got their backs up.

  Arden broke the silence. “Uh-uh. Dad didn’t like blondes.”

  “He liked me.” Marcia’s hands and voice were trembling but she held her head high. “In fact he loved me. That’s why I’m here.”

  Justine gathered her wits and rose. Trying to gain control, she said, very lady-of-the-manor, “Marcia, we’ve met before, at a real estate party one year. I’m Justine, Rory’s wife.”

  “I know who you are. I know who you all are.” Staring at each woman as she spoke, the blonde woman pronounced their names: “Jenny. Cyndi. Meg. Arden. Nora. Rory talked about you so much.”

  “I’m sure he did,” Justine agreed coolly, “because you both worked together for years. It would be odd if he hadn’t spoken about his daughters.”

  “We did more than talk,” Marcia insisted.

  “That’s ridiculous.” Justine turned her back on the woman and returned to her seat. “Please. We’re having a family conference. This isn’t a good time for you to … to do whatever it is you think you’re doing.”

  “Family conference? I suspected as much. I’ve been monitoring your activities—”

  “You’ve been stalking us!” Jenny cried.

  Marcia smirked. “So, this is the perfect time for me to be here.” Reaching into her purse, she lifted out a pack of letters tied with ribbons. “I can pass these around. These are love letters Rory wrote me. As you can read, he promised me a house.”

  Justine froze in place. Only the pain in her eyes expressed her emotion—the ache deep in her gut said Marcia Kirkpatrick was telling the truth. Her chin trembled.

  Seeing her mother’s agony, Jenny stalked around to face the woman. “Stop it. You’re lying. My father would never be untrue to my mother.”

  “Because, really,” Nora interjected with a smirk, “Rory never cheated on his wives.”

  Jenny’s head whipped around toward Nora. “He didn’t cheat on my mother.”

  “Of course not,” Arden said bitterly. “Not Rory Randall.”

  Meg rose and put her arm around Jenny’s shoulders. Aiming her scarcely concealed disgust at Marcia, she asked, “Why have you come here? Whether you’re lying or telling the truth, it seems needlessly unkind.”

  Marcia’s mouth thinned. “As I said, I’m here because Rory promised me a house, and I want it.”

  “I see.” Meg nodded. She scanned the faces of the other women. This had to be dealt with. “I think you’d better sit down.”

  “Thank you, Meg.” Marcia gracefully sank into a chair, smoothing the skirt of her blue dress over her knees.

  Impatiently, Arden cut in, “When were you our father’s mistress?”

  “For the past three or four years,” Marcia answered. “Until he died.”

  Justine sank onto the sofa, hiding her face in her hands.

  “That’s just ridiculous,” Meg blurted. “Dad was sixty.”

  “Believe me,” Marcia cooed coolly, “Rory was as virile as a thirty-year-old. He didn’t even have to take Viagra. He could—”

  “That’s enough.” Meg spoke with authority. “Let’s stick to the matter at hand. You say that our father, Rory Randall, left you a house?”

  Marcia shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “Yes. In a way.” Before anyone else could speak, she hurriedly continued, “Rory and I were in love. Deeply, truly in love. We were business partners as well. Rory couldn’t have run his agency down here without me. I did everything for him. He told me everything about his life.” She glared at Jenny. “You, little miss, had a terrible time when your wisdom teeth were taken out. You had a dry socket and were in pain for a week, and he had to leave the island to help your mother take care of you.”

  Jenny put her hand to her mouth, as if protecting it from sight.

  “And you, Meg, might be quite the smarty-pants but you couldn’t have gotten your master’s degree if Rory hadn’t paid for your grad school.”

  Meg shook her head, baffled. “I was always grateful to Dad—”

  “But you were the worst,” Marcia said to Arden. “Running your TV show about simplifying houses, and did you ever once mention your father’s real estate agency?”

  Arden stared, stone-faced.

  “You mentioned your mother’s real estate agency. But not your father’s, oh no, you wouldn’t give him a break.” Marcia’s face flushed. “I was the only woman who cared for your father for himself.”

  Arden scoffed. “And that’s why you’re here trying to scam us for some money.”

  Marcia drew back as if slapped. “I’m not trying to scam anyone. I’m only asking for what I deserve. Rory promised he’d give me a house on Nantucket.”

  “Do you have any proof of this promise?” asked Meg.

  “I have these letters.” With a shaking hand, Marcia held up her packet. “Love letters. He says things to me—”

  “Don’t,” Jenny cried. “I don’t want to know the things he said to you.”

  “But if there is a promise in our father’s handwriting that he will give you a house, I would like to see that,” Meg clarified.

  “Or any legal document,” Arden added. “Hand it over.”

  Marcia looked down at her lap. She took a few deep breaths. When she spoke again, her tone was sweeter. “I was hoping it wouldn’t have to come to this. I was hoping that Rory’s daughters would honor his feelings for me. I didn’t come here as an enemy. I came here as a friend. As—as, almost, a relative.”

  Jenny muttered, “Ugh.”

  Marcia continued unfazed. “I’ve known about you girls for so long. You have no ide
a how many times I’ve advised Rory on the kind of birthday or Christmas presents he should give you.”

  “What you’re trying to say,” Arden interjected triumphantly, “is that you don’t have any legal document.”

  Marcia drew herself up, shoulders straight, chin high. “Fine. I don’t have a signed affidavit from your father stating that he will give me a house, but anyone who reads these letters will believe that was his intent.” The slender blonde stood up. She laid a package on the coffee table. “These are copies of the letters. If I have to, I will sue, and it will cause a scandal. Think about it. Call me when you’ve reached your decision.”

  “Wait a minute,” Meg said, holding out her hand. “Marcia, we don’t have enough money to give you a house. If our father didn’t leave you the money, then he simply went back on his promise.”

  “Sell this house,” Marcia said coolly. “Then you’ll have the money to give me.” She looked around. “It’s a historic old house on a prestigious street. I don’t want it; I don’t even want all the money you can get for it. I just want, let’s say, half. You three could split the other half and we’ll all be happy.”

  “You’re not getting a penny!” Jenny’s face was red, her hands clenched into fists. “Get out.”

  Marcia smiled. “It’s too bad things didn’t work out for you with Bjorn, Jenny. You made such a cute couple.” She rose, chin high, shoulders back, haughty, bitter. “All Rory’s women gathered together like this. How sweet. I wonder why? Well, now you have something serious to discuss.” She sauntered toward the doorway. “Don’t bother to see me out. I know which way to go. I know this house very well.”

  The front door slammed.

  The room was silent. Then Justine burst into tears.

  Nora said, “Oh, that Rory still has a lot to answer for.” She made a stiff gin and tonic and put it in Justine’s hand. Sitting next to her, she said, “Drink up. Believe me, I know the feeling. Here, take some tissues.”

  “Thank you.” Justine blew her nose. “I can’t believe Rory had an affair with her.”

  “For four years,” Jenny stated baldly.

  Justine’s eyes and nose were red as she looked pitifully up at Jenny. “You must hate me to say such things.”