“And who is he talking to?” Christine asked, furrowing her brow.
“I guess he’s the owner of that boat,” Lola said. “I just saw him hop off and tie it up.”
“Maybe they’re just fishing friends?” Christine offered.
“Who knows,” Lola said. “The Round-the-Island Race is coming up. Maybe he’s racing in it? That’s certainly the kind of boat that he would need to win.”
“Hmm.” Christine kept her eyes toward Stan, hardly hearing what Lola said about the handsome stranger.
“I’m actually supposed to write about the race for an online magazine,” Lola said suddenly.
“Oh?”
“And supposed to interview a sailor in the race,” Lola continued.
Christine arched her brow. She hardly had energy to stand there on the porch, waiting for Susan’s chemotherapy to end, let alone consider whatever story possibility Lola had with the guy who now spoke to Stan Ellis. Still, the second Stan Ellis stepped away from the stranger Lola cut across the porch and headed toward the staircase that led to the docks. Christine barreled after her, not wanting to be left alone.
“What are you doing?” Christine hissed.
Lola pressed her shoulders back, a portrait of arrogance. “I just want to talk to him. That’s all.”
As they marched down the dock, it creaked beneath them, casting them to the left and right with the slam and ease of the waves. The stranger continued to organize the interior of his sailboat and pile things into a large black backpack. When they got close enough, they could hear him whistling an old sea shanty.
When they reached him, he turned around slowly, so that his dark eyes locked onto Lola’s with cinematic power. Lola, who wasn’t afraid of anything, stood her ground.
“Hello, ladies,” the man bellowed out in a cheerful greeting. “What can I do for you?”
“Hey there,” Lola said. She shot her hand out to shake his. “My name is Lola Sheridan, and I’m a journalist covering the Round-the-Island race. I was wondering. Are you racing in it this year?”
The man spread his arms out in either direction and said, “What was your first clue?”
Lola laughed good-naturedly. “Fantastic. I would love to feature you in my next piece about the race.”
“An interview, huh? What makes you think you deserve my flair for language in your piece?” he asked.
Lola grabbed her business card and placed it in his outstretched hand. “I would really appreciate it,” she said. “By the way. I saw you chatting with Stan Ellis before. How do you know him?”
The man gave her a curious look. “Stan Ellis is my ex-step-father,” he said. He and my mom split up when I was twelve or thirteen before he came to the island.”
Christine’s jaw dropped. Her eyes flashed toward Lola, trying to catch any sign of what she thought of any of this. But Lola was accustomed to this kind of journalistic endeavor.
“Interesting,” Lola said. “What did you say your name was again?”
“I didn’t,” the man said. “I’m Tommy. Tom Gasbarro. My dad was, or, is, Italian, but he left Mom and I when I was really little before she met Stan. It didn’t work out, but Stan was the only father figure I ever really had. I try to race in the Round-the-Island race every year, just to meet up with him and reconnect. He’s something of a loner out here, I think, although it’s difficult to get the full picture.”
Christine’s heart panged. Lola’s smile was still very difficult to read. “It’s really good to meet you. I hope we can meet for that chat before the race. My editors would be very pleased, to say the least, especially given your experience with the race.”
“Sounds good, Lola. Thanks a lot,” Tommy said, flashing them both one last smile before they turned to walk away.
Christine and Lola returned to the cancer wing a few minutes later. Christine’s heart beat wildly in her throat. They collapsed in the plastic chairs, again a little too loudly for the receptionist’s liking, and turned their eyes to one another.
“Are you kidding me? Stan Ellis’s ex-step-son,” Lola breathed.
“This whole thing is getting weirder and weirder,” Christine affirmed.
“Do you think he knows about Mom?”
“I have no idea,” Christine said. “He didn’t jump or anything when he heard your last name.” She paused and tilted her head. “He’s really handsome, isn’t he?”
Lola flipped her hand around exasperated. “Sure. I mean, he’s got that whole sailor vibe, doesn’t he? It probably works on all the girls.”
“It certainly worked on you,” Christine said, giving her little sister a knowingly nudge.
Lola rolled her eyes. “Don’t be stupid. I’m just trying to get the story.” Her eyes flashed. “Besides. Two can play this game. Why haven’t you gone back to the bistro or even said Zach’s name in the past few days?”
Christine gave Lola an eagle-eyed look. Lola chuckled. “That’s what I thought.”
The door out into the lobby opened to reveal Susan. She walked slowly, her eyes glistening, but her face stoic. Christine and Lola burst up from their plastic chairs and hustled to Susan.
“How did it go?” Lola demanded.
“Oh, fine,” Susan said. Her voice was strangely far away. “I just want to go home.”
Back in the car, Susan placed the top of her forehead against the window as Lola snaked the car back toward the main house. Lola messed with the radio station until it played a song that had come out during Christine’s senior year of high school, “Lovefool,” by The Cardigans. Gently, under her breath, Susan began to sing along.
“Love me, love me, pretend that you love me,” she sang.
“So, I cry, and I beg for you to...” Lola sang.
“Love me! Love me!” Christine joined in. “Say that you’ll love me!”
Large tears rolled down their cheeks by the time they reached the house. The song faded out and left them with the wild radio DJ bantering through the speakers.
“I remember when that song came out. Jake was just a baby. I was pretending to be the kind of new mom who knew how to do everything,” Susan said. “I tried to make all my own baby food.”
“Christine and I were probably in this very driveway listening to it,” Lola offered.
“And singing at the tops of our lungs,” Christine said.
“Some things never change, I guess,” Susan said. “Other things change a lot.”
That was the theme of the year, Christine thought.
Scott opened the screen door facing the driveway. His face was grey and apprehensive. He reached the car seconds later and brought open Susan’s door. “Hey, baby. Hey.” He helped her out and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, tucking her against him.
“Hey,” she said. Her smile was more beautiful than ever. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to collapse on you. The doctor just said I might vomit all over you in a few hours—nothing to worry about.”
“Did someone say vomit?” This came from Audrey, who appeared in the doorway of the main house and opened the screen door wide for them all to enter. “Because I know all about that.”
“I’m sure you do,” Susan offered. She gave her a soft, knowing smile.
That evening, Wes, Scott, Susan, Audrey, Lola, and Christine sat out on the porch. It was a surprisingly chilly night, despite the lateness in July, and they wore sweatshirts and drank hot tea and watched the waves roll in. The conversation was either light or nonexistent, as though each of them had to live in their own sacred spaces, consider their own thoughts, and find meaning in them. Still, the company was necessary.
Since there was still so little space at the house, Scott and Susan left soon afterward to go sleep at his place. Christine and Lola glared at each other, daring the other to protest. When they left, they both blurted, “She should stay here! We need to take care of her!”
At this, Wes just shook his head. “Scott has her back. He always has.”
There was so much truth
to his words that they couldn’t protest.
About a half-hour later, both Wes and Audrey escaped upstairs, leaving Christine and Lola out on the porch swing, rocking back and forth. Lola scrubbed her hands over her eyes.
“What a day,” she marveled.
“One for the books,” Christine returned. After a pause, she said, “I was amazed that you just walked up to that sailor guy like that. You had so much confidence. More than I’ve ever had.”
“Are you kidding? You’ve traveled all over the world. You have so many experiences...”
Christine shrugged. “I still don’t think I would have done something like that.”
Lola pondered this for a long time. “I guess maybe it’s been the magic of this summer. Or maybe the curse of it, I don’t know. I know better than to waste any time, though. I wanted to know who that guy was, so I went over and figured it out myself. I hope he calls me for the interview.”
Christine had a hunch that Lola wanted him to call for many other reasons, as well.
Still, her words rang through Christine’s head that night as she tossed and turned in bed. At forty-one years old, she was still strong, both emotionally and physically; she had years of potential happiness ahead of her. All around her were reasons for her to push herself to build the life she’d always wanted.
Lola was right. She couldn’t waste anything anymore.
Least of all... time.
Chapter Twenty
The next day, Scott texted Christine and Lola to say that Susan was more wiped out than ever. When Christine went down to the kitchen around seven, she found Audrey curled up in a ball by the floor near the couch, her head on a pillow. Christine grabbed a glass and filled it with water, to place near Audrey, just in case.
“You okay, pumpkin?” she asked her.
“Oh, yes. Just a minor infestation in the uterus region,” Audrey tried to joke.
“You’re the funniest of all of us, even when you’re sick,” Christine said, placing her hand across Audrey’s forehead.
Audrey grimaced and said, “You would have been a really good mom, Christine. Just in case you needed to know that.”
Christine was surprised that this didn’t shock her or hurt her or make her feel small. Instead, she gave the girl a delicate smile and told her to call her if she needed anything. “I’ll be here until just after lunch. Then, I have a job to do.”
Audrey rushed up and heaved toward the bathroom again, leaving the pillow and water glass behind. Felix snuck around the side of the couch, his eyes buggy as he meowed.
“Where have you been?” Christine asked him, stroking his glossy back.
From the bathroom, Audrey called, “He sleeps with me a lot. Sorry.”
Christine laughed. “He probably knows you need the extra comfort. He’s good like that.”
In response, Felix let out another meow.
Christine joined Wes out on the picnic table and helped him stitch a few puzzle pieces into place. He nibbled on a croissant, which Scott had brought over the previous day from the Oak Bluffs bakery. “They’re just not the same,” Wes said of the croissants. “Not as buttery. Not as flaky. How do you do it, Christine?”
“I sold a French pastry chef my soul,” Christine said, giving her dad a wink.
Wes chuckled. “Normally, I wouldn’t condone something like that, but in this case...”
Buzzing with excitement for the next few hours, Christine did anything she could to keep her mind focused. When Audrey felt a bit better, they did some yoga stretches near the water, their chests arched toward the sky. She let Audrey paint her fingernails and tell her about some of her favorite boys from school, leaving out any news about the guy who’d gotten her pregnant in Chicago. It seemed like nothing had changed in that department, anyway.
“I LOVED COLLEGE SO much,” Audrey said with a heavy sigh. “I don’t know how I’m going to say goodbye to it. College parties... late-nights at the dorms with my new best friends...” She buzzed her lips as she smeared another dark purple line across Christine’s left ring finger. “Oh, but it’s not good to dwell on it. It’ll poison me.”
Just after three in the afternoon, Christine donned a white sundress, a pair of sandals, and an old gold necklace that had belonged to her mother’s. She pulled her shoulders back, checked her makeup, added another gloss of lipstick, and then walked toward the bistro. Her heart pumped like a bass drum, and she felt dizzy with every step.
But she couldn’t waste any more time.
When she appeared in the bistro kitchen, she found Zach in conversation with Ronnie and another cook. Immediately, Ronnie’s face broke into an exuberant smile.
“Christine!” Ronnie rushed toward her and wrapped her in a huge hug. “I was so worried you wouldn’t come back.”
Zach’s smile was difficult to read. She hadn’t contacted him at all over the past week. The air between them was strained.
“Hey there,” he said.
“Hey. Lunch rush over?” Christine said.
“Yeah. Decent rush,” Zach said. “I was about to head out.”
“Right. I figured,” Christine said.
The cook and Ronnie exchanged glances. Christine opened her lips and closed them again, suddenly worried she’d done the wrong thing all over again.
Suddenly, another of the busboys burst through the swinging kitchen door and cried, “We have a situation!”
“What’s up?” Zach asked. He seemed grateful to deal with anything else.
“Shamala is here,” the busboy said. He was breathless. “She just filmed a music video on a yacht, and they want to eat.”
“Shamala?” Zach and Christine asked simultaneously.
Ronnie rolled his eyes. “Christine, come on. I told you about her. She’s a huge YouTube star, and she just signed her first major label. This. Is. Huge. She has maybe two or three million Instagram fans, so anything she posts...”
Zach’s eyes grew huge. “How many people are in the cast and crew?”
The other busboy poked his head out the door again. When he returned, he coughed and said, “They filled up the whole bistro again.”
“Shoot. Okay. Nobody leaves!” Zach cried. He leaped toward the door and entered the dining area again, surging toward the girl who seemed to be Shamala—an early twenties-something with gorgeous, inky hair, wearing a crop-top and typing out something she seemed bored with on her phone.
Christine had been in situations like this countless times. Immediately, she scrubbed up her hands, grabbed an apron, and jumped in to help. The orders flew in fast and loose, and she found herself pouring drinks, flipping burgers, checking on fish, and drizzling lemon over everything. The kitchen staff and wait staff swirled into a kind of chaotic, but workable rhythm, until all members of the cast and crew had a plate in front of them, ready to eat.
Zach crashed hard against the side of the kitchen wall about an hour later. Sweat billowed down his back. Ronnie stomped into the kitchen, wrinkled up his apron, and cried, “I’ve never been more exhausted in my life! But I think I might be in her Instagram story!”
Christine and Zach burst into laughter. Suddenly, it felt as though all the drama and awkwardness between them floated away. They’d been united to craft the perfect late-lunch rush for some celebrity, and they’d done it without a hitch.
As the kitchen staff cleaned up, Zach approached Christine and leaned close to her ear. “Could I interest you in a drink at my place? No pressure, if not.”
Before she gave a thought to what she did, Christine found herself in the front seat of Zach’s pick-up, watching Oak Bluffs trade itself out for Edgartown. She half-expected Zach to say something about how she had found his place without asking him the week before, but luckily, he seemed not to care. When they parked in the front, he said, “I have craft beer and wine and something a little bit stronger. What are you game for?”
“I’ll drink anything right now. I’m just as tired as Ronnie. Maybe even more.”
“And the poor kid has to wash down the pain with ice cream,” Zach said with a laugh.
Zach’s porch had a gorgeous view of the water. His dock was located next to a healthy line of large thick trees, and he had let a lilac bush take over much of that area of the yard so that it looked like a firework of purple color. Christine sat, watching as he poured her a glass of chardonnay.
“Not in a styrofoam cup this time,” she said. “Impressive.”
“Ha. Doesn’t that seem like months ago? Time on this island in the summer is bizarre,” Zach said.
They clinked glasses and sat in separate rocking chairs, gazing out toward the Nantucket Sound. Secrets, questions, their past, swirled around them ominously.
Finally, Christine said, “My sisters could never remember why I hated you so much.”
Zach cut her that attractive smile again. Christine felt strangely comfortable like she could tell him anything.
“It’s so stupid, but, I really liked you, you know,” she said. “And you dumped me right before we went head-to-head in that stupid cooking competition.”
“What! I didn’t dump you,” Zach protested. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “No. Someone told me they saw you making out with that trombone player. Peter.”
Christine furrowed her brow and had to try to think back. Had she done that?
“No way. I don’t remember anyone named Peter,” she said.
“You looked pretty cozy with him the week after that,” Zach affirmed with a shrug. “I was so mad at you during our cooking competition.”
“I was so mad at you! We were supposed to go swimming the night before, but you dropped me off early and wouldn’t tell me what was wrong,” Christine said.
Zach’s eyes glittered with humor. “This is ridiculous. Both of us thought the other one wronged each other.”
“For all these years,” Christine finished.
“It’s kind of a miracle that we’re here together now,” Zach said.
Christine nodded as her heart jumped. After a pause, she said, “I’m sorry I stormed over here like that. I guess I thought things were a bit different, or something, and I...”
Firefly Nights Page 13
