Firefly Nights

by Katie Winters

  Christine grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl and watched her dad put together another few pieces of the puzzle. Just after six-thirty, she headed back upstairs to change into a pair of hiking shorts and a tank top. When she reappeared downstairs, she found Felix on top of the breakfast table, peering at her father with enormous eyes. Wes gazed back. He looked profoundly shocked.

  “Christine. I think he’s beautiful,” he said, sounding entirely genuine.

  “Ha. Your grandson.” She dropped to the couch to slip on her tennis shoes.

  “My beautiful grandson,” he said contemplatively, his hand atop Felix’s head. “I don’t know why it’s taken him so long to come home to me. But here he is.”

  “Lola’s still upstairs, right?” Christine asked. Under the surface, the fact was, Wes couldn’t be trusted home alone anymore.

  “I hear her up there, padding around,” her dad returned.

  There they were: the light footsteps. Christine nodded to herself and stood, stretched, and said goodbye. The second she found her footing out the door, she yanked her shoulders back and inhaled that fresh summer air. The memory of taxi horns screaming felt far, far away.

  She shot down the little path that usually led toward the Sunrise Cove Inn, but soon headed away from it, toward the Joseph Sylvia State Beach, which was two miles of white sandy shore with shallow water on either side. It was a place she hadn’t visited in some twenty years, a place where she had frequently walked in the moonlight with whichever lover she’d had that week. The little stretch of beach led from Oak Bluffs to the town of Edgartown, located on the eastern side of the Vineyard.

  When she reached the long, thin strip of sand, she tugged off her tennis shoes and walked closer to the waves. She loved the feel of the little pieces of sand slipping through her toes, the grittiness beneath her skin, and then, suddenly, the brush of the water against her big toe. She gazed out at the impossibly blue, where it met the enormity of that iconic Martha’s Vineyard sky. Something inside her felt as though it broke in two.

  As she stood out there, the water lapping against her feet, she heard her name being called out from behind. At first, she thought maybe she had imagined it. The second time, the “Christine Sheridan! Hey!” forced her to whip around and blink up at her slightly younger cousin, Claire, who stood in running gear and a little white Nike hat. Beside her on either side were her twin girls, both in their own running gear, huffing slightly. All three of them had contagious freckles, which ducked and dotted from their cheeks and over their noses and up to their foreheads.

  “Claire! Hey! Hey, girls!” Christine called. She was surprised to feel grateful to see someone she knew. It wasn’t like her. She was a city girl, someone normally much happier to walk through the lonely streets of Manhattan without knowing a single soul. She ambled up the beach to join them in the center.

  “I had no idea you were coming back!” Claire cried. “We were just at your place for the Fourth of July. There was no mention of it.” Her eyes studied Christine’s confusedly.

  “Well, surprise!” Christine said awkwardly. She forced her smile to widen.

  “No, no. It’s great. The Sheridan sisters are really back,” Claire said. “The girls are trying to whip me into shape again.”

  “She’s always talking about her steps,” Abby said with a sigh.

  “My baby belly never really went away,” Claire said with a shrug.

  There it was: another casual mention of the life Christine had so wanted. Claire’s eyes snuck down her torso to find Christine’s still-flat, teenager-like stomach. Given all the drinking she did, she really had no right to that stomach, but there it was. Thankfully, Claire didn’t make any mention of it being “unfair.” She wasn’t that type of person.

  “Why don’t you walk with us for a bit?” Claire asked.

  Christine agreed. She held her tennis shoes at her side and slipped into step with the other three girls. Gradually, the twins shot up in front of the older cousins. Christine remembered, with a strange thud in her stomach, that over the previous month, she had spent a lot of time drinking around her cousins and other family members. She had heard whispers from them, asking one another if she was all right. Still, there was such acceptance in Claire’s eyes. They fell into easy conversation as they walked down the beach. Small talk about New York, about the girls’ favorite subjects in school, and about how Claire had always wanted to go to Paris to see all the pristine flower shops, as that was her career.

  “By the way, Christine, you work as a pastry chef, don’t you?” Claire asked.

  “I do. Or did. I don’t know,” Christine said. “It’s been my identity for so long; I’m not sure what else I could be at this point.”

  “Haha. I get that,” Claire said. “Well, regardless, the girls’ birthday is coming up next week. We haven’t picked out anyone to bake the cake. Is that something I could entice you into doing?”

  “Of course! It sounds perfect,” Christine replied. She was surprised to feel how much she meant it, too. The girls were adorable, nearly fifteen years old, and she was weightless and unsure, very much in need of a place to put her talents.

  “Great. This is fantastic. My husband will be so pleased. Oh, and we’re having it at the Sunrise Cove Inn, so it won’t be such a hard thing for you to arrange, I guess,” Claire said.

  Christine laughed. “I remember those times. Having our family all around us all the time for every birthday, every holiday, every single important moment. I think even your dad taught me how to ride a bike for the first time. It’s crazy.”

  “Well, I guess we’re still like that,” Claire said. She tilted her head and added, “Why don’t you come out with me tonight? You must know what day it is.”

  Christine arched her brow and wracked her mind. Obviously, she knew Martha’s Vineyard’s summertime calendar like the back of her hand. “It must be the Tisbury Street Fair.”

  “Exactly! Come with me. Bring Lola and Susan or whoever is around. It’s always such a blast. And the girls are too old to pal around with me anymore,” Claire said. “Really, it would be such a pleasure to have you there. When was the last time you went to the Tisbury Street Fair?”

  Christine had to think hard. It had been so long ago, but she knew right then and there it would do her a world of good to go.

  Chapter Six

  Christine hadn’t been to the Tisbury Street Fair since that very last summer before she’d gone away. She had been seventeen years old. Traditionally, the Tisbury Street Fair celebrated the birth of the town of Tisbury, which was even tinier than Oak Bluffs, located just northwest of it. When Christine returned home after her hike to announce her plans to Lola, Lola nearly fell off the picnic table bench and said, “Are you feeling sick? You, Christine Sheridan, want to go to something like that on purpose?”

  “Why not?” Christine said. She dropped onto the porch bench across from Lola and poured herself an early afternoon glass of wine. “Claire seems really sweet.”

  “That’s a pretty different tune than you had a few weeks ago when you said Claire had given up on her life and married the wrong guy,” Lola said, arching her brow.

  Christine glanced out at the water. Just before she drummed up a response, Stan Ellis’s boat snaked across the Sound in front of their place, about a half-mile out. She shuddered, eyeing the boat in the water.

  “There he is,” she murmured.

  “He comes by here almost every day,” Lola said, a fire burning behind her eyes. “I want to go out there and throw something at his damn head. I don’t think my arm is strong enough.”

  “Why does he come by here all the time?” Christine asked softly. “Why do you think he would want to see our place? Doesn’t it remind him of what he did?”

  Lola shrugged. “I could care less about what his feelings are. He is the worst man in the world, in my eyes.”

  Christine nodded contemplatively, watching Stan’s boat disappear around the other side of a rock. She felt
unwilling to make any sort of assessment about what Lola had said, given her own history of “messing things up.” Of course, she wasn’t so willing to forgive Stan—only question the nature of his mind, so long after their mother’s death. She clacked her nails across the picnic table and turned her eyes back to her sister. “So, do you think you’ll come?”

  AT 7:30, CHRISTINE and Lola met up with Claire at the Tisbury Street Festival. From the parking lot, Christine felt the now-familiar shiver of recollection, up and down her spine. After all, Tisbury brought with it countless memories. Claire latched herself around both of them and squeezed them close. “Charlotte couldn’t come, unfortunately, although, I must say, I’m really grateful that I get my cousins all to myself!” she announced, beaming at both of them.

  The fair featured a main stage at the center, with plenty of local and not-so-local acts including, when they entered, a very handsome guitar playing man with broad shoulders and a gorgeous, textured voice. As the women approached, Christine’s jaw dropped.

  “That’s not...”

  “It is,” Claire affirmed. “Zach Walters. He’s fantastic. He’s performed at several Tisbury’s celebrations and other fairs, as well.”

  Christine’s stomach flipped around uncomfortably. Zach’s eyes scanned the crowd, thankfully dipping over her, as he sang a song he seemed to have written himself, something about longing, and about growing older.

  “I never thought time would take so much time,

  But here we are still together, baby,

  And I’m still crying,” he sang out.

  Lola gripped Christine’s elbow hard enough to make her jump. Christine grimaced and said, “What?”

  “It’s your rival! Isn’t he so good looking?” Lola whispered.

  “Whatever,” Christine said, rolling her eyes.

  “What was it he did to you again? I seriously can never remember,” Lola said.

  The song ended then, and the audience burst into applause. Claire whipped around and announced she wanted to buy them all glasses of wine.

  “I can’t fight with that,” Christine said.

  Unluckily, after a few more songs, Zach ended his set and sauntered back down from the stage to join what looked like Claire’s husband, Russel, along with some other men Christine remembered from high school. Claire grabbed her hand and said, “Let’s go, say hi! I like to flirt with Russel like we don’t know each other.”

  As they approached, Christine stalled a bit, outside the group. Claire tapped her husband on the shoulder and said, “Hey. I couldn’t help but notice... you were pretty good looking over here.”

  Russel poured himself over her in a big bear hug. His eyes scanned the two Sheridan sisters as a smile formed. “Hey, girls! Good to see you. Zach’s one of my main buddies from high school. You probably remember that.”

  Zach’s blue eyes beamed toward Christine’s. She nodded as a means to tell him she wanted nothing more to do with him. He seemed not to catch the hint. He stepped closer and said, “Christine! Surprised to see you still on the island. You looked like you were on the verge of getting back on the next ferry.”

  “Maybe it was just you that I wanted to get away from,” Christine quipped and feigned a smile.

  “Fair enough.”

  “You’re um...not so bad up on stage, though,” Christine said.

  Why had she said that? Was the wine getting to her head? It didn’t matter.

  “Thanks. I like performing for these smaller things. Back in Boston, I had a band and it got kind of serious. The pressure was too much for me,” he replied.

  Why had he just told her so much about his past? Christine arched her brow, willing herself to say how little she actually cared.

  “Zach, beautiful as usual,” Claire said. She reached over and swatted him on the shoulder. “I brought some guests over to see you perform.”

  “It’s a rare thing to see the Sheridan sisters,” Zach affirmed.

  “Not so rare these days!” Russel said. “Getting everyone back together again.”

  They stayed on at the Tisbury Street Fair for the next hour or two, until the moon lifted up like a hot air balloon over the Sound. Christine’s head buzzed with wine, and Lola’s laugh rang out through the night, with a mind of its own. Finally, after they’d eaten and drank themselves silly, someone—nobody could remember who—suggested they head off to the beach for a late-night swim. Although Christine was annoyed with Zach Walters’s continued presence, she couldn’t resist it: she loved being at the beach at night.

  Chapter Seven

  Although Lola begged and pleaded that they head to Moshup Beach, which was renowned for its nudity, Claire convinced Zach to drive them all over to the western point of Aquinnah. Aquinnah was known for its gorgeous clay cliffs, serene wildlife, and picaresque lighthouses but those who grew up on the island also knew it as one of the very earliest places for whaling, hundreds of years ago.

  “I can’t get caught going to a nude beach, Lola,” Claire said with a laugh. “My girls are about to turn fifteen. That would destroy their psyche, learning their parents had been caught there.”

  “And if we don’t get caught?” Russel said with a wink.

  Claire smacked him lightly on the shoulder as they all hunkered into Zach’s pick-up. After years of city life, it was still strange to Christine that everyone on the island owned their own car. She’d even noticed that Susan had had her car shipped over to the island, after storing it in Falmouth for several weeks. She had fully transitioned.

  Once they headed in that direction, Christine said, “I remember once we did make it to Moshup, Lola. Remember?”

  Lola, who sat in the back seat directly next to Christine, cast her a funny look. Christine furrowed her brow and said, “What’s up? Don’t you remember it?”

  In front, Zach and Russel’s friend, Clark, said, “Oh, she remembers it all right.”

  “What am I not getting?” Claire asked as she eyed each of them more closely.

  Slowly, memory folded over Christine, and her jaw dropped. That’s why Clark was so familiar! He had dated Lola for a few months, apparently around the time they’d gone skinny dipping.

  “So, that was you!” Christine said with a wry smile.

  This time, Lola was the one to deliver a smack across Christine’s shoulder. Christine chuckled and said, “You don’t remember who I was with, do you? I can’t for the life of me even remember what his face looked like.”

  “It was hard for any of us to keep up, Christine!” Zach called from the driver’s seat.

  “Hey! Now, that’s enough. We’re all grown adults now. And oh, my goodness. Will you look at that! We’re there! Oh, it’s prettier than ever,” Claire cried.

  They drove past Menemsha Pond and then headed straight out toward the furthest tip, the Aquinnah Cliffs Overlook. There, Zach parked the truck and they clambered out to peer into the darkness and listen to the waves crash down below. Christine walked out further than the rest of them, easing across the red rocks. When she turned back, she saw the five of them in a straight line, all of their eyes wide and big beneath the moon. Only two days before had been her final night in New York. She could hardly remember anyone at Chez Frank. Now it was all a blur as she looked out over the blue ocean.

  After the cliffs, they meandered toward the Aquinnah public beach. At night and so far from the traditional places tourists stayed, the beach was completely abandoned and, therefore, a perfect paradise. Lola stripped into her bra and underwear and raced into the waves, with Clark hot on her heels. Russel and Claire joined shortly after. Christine held back, remembering she had worn a stupid thong and lacey bra—nothing as sensible as the others. Plus, she didn’t feel as wild and free as Lola did. Not now, anyway. Maybe not ever.

  To her surprise, Zach remained on the beach with her, fully clothed. He nodded at her from a few paces away, and she nodded back.

  “Not up to swimming?” he asked as he shuffled his feet in the sand below.

>   “It’s going to be cold,” she said.

  On cue, Lola cried out into the night that it was freezing. Christine and Zach locked eyes for just a split second and laughed. Immediately after, Christine dropped her gaze to the ground. She shifted her weight, wishing she had gone after the others into the crashing waves if only to get out from under Zach’s gaze.

  “I had no idea you would be here tonight,” she said finally.

  “Neither did I,” Zach replied.

  “Oh, I meant at the fair.”

  “I know what you meant.” His eyes sparkled.

  “You always have to be the cleverest person in the room, don’t you?” Christine said.

  “I don’t try to be; sometimes, it just comes out. Hey, I have another bottle of wine in the truck—my secret stash. Want me to crack it while the other’s swim?”

  Christine dragged her tongue across her teeth and considered it.

  “I can see it written all over your face. You want to say yes. I’ll grab it now.”

  Zach disappeared for a moment. There was the clunk of the truck door closing, then the shuffle of his shoes across the sand. Suddenly, he unfurled a blanket across the space between them and gestured for her to sit.

  “We might as well get comfortable while they freeze to death,” he said, letting out a chuckle.

  “Ha.”

  Christine sat and folded her legs as ladylike as she could. Zach cranked the cork out of the bottle and poured them each a glass in little styrofoam cups. As Lola screamed another time near the water, Christine and Zach clinked “glasses” and sipped.

  “Oh, my God. This is crazy,” Christine said with wide eyes. She grabbed the bottle and turned it to inspect the label. “French. 1977. Are you serious right now?”

  Zach chuckled. “I have a pretty hefty wine collection at my place these days. It became a hobby when I moved back to the island.”

  “This is some of the best stuff we ever had on offer at Chez Frank,” Christine continued. “We used to sell this for thirty dollars a glass, sometimes more. And here I am, drinking it out of a styrofoam cup.”